The Transition (Please Leave Bigotry at the Door and Open Your Mind)

This is a tale that is adapted from my own personal life struggle. You'll probably read a thousand of these but every story is different. I ask that as you read, you keep an open mind, as it involves a very personal topic. If you hadn't guessed it already, it's about the journey one takes for transgender shift.

Everything you are about to read has actually happened to me, and some of it can be very graphic, so read at your own discretion. I also ask that you refrain from posting anything to this thread.

Chapter One: Confusion​

On May 22, 1991, I was born Christian Alexander Wood. Growing up, I seemed like a normal toddler, a little on the quiet side, but still very energetic and bubbly. When I gained the ability to walk and talk, my memories were still going through the period where very little if anything gets recorded. At age 7, I seemed to have a strange attraction to wearing my 8-year-old sister's sleeping beauty Halloween costume and wearing the blonde wig that came with it. At first, it was dismissed as just kid silliness.

The infatuation with wearing my sister's clothing continued to age 11, when the awkward gaze came 'round. By then, it was "getting weird," and I was told that I probably shouldn't be wearing girl's clothing. Needless to say, I didn't listen, and kept crossdressing. Fortunately for me, I never really was all that heavy or tall for that matter, and I fit in my older sister's clothing pretty well until I was about 13. Hair was starting to grow in more places than I could handle, and I felt weird about it. I ended up using scissors to cut off as much of it as I could, hurting myself in more than one place.

My parents started taking notice in my strange mannerisms, how my voice didn't get all that deeper, how I never really made friends with other boys, and the obvious continuations of crossdressing. I never could wear girl's clothing outside of my house at that age. And it wasn't even the fact that it was a guilty pleasure, it simply was a fear of judgment.

Well, my parents sat me down and gave me the birds and the bees talk (MySpace was already popular, so there wasn't much I didn't have at least an idea about). But then they talked about how some people are attracted to the same gender and how it was okay if I was gay.

It certainly was a wake up call. I questioned my sexuality, who I was, the like. I came to the conclusion that I was only interested in women, but I was also not comfortable with my appearance. At first it was that worry of whether or not you're masculine enough. But at 15 years of age, I realized my happy place was pretending to be a girl.

So I did something daring. I swiped a few pairs of my sister's panties and her waxing kit. Idiotically, I ripped off as much hair as I could until I was as smooth as a baby. Then the following school day, I wore panties under my clothes at school. In public. The insurmountable fear of getting caught was a huge concern, and a source of major anxiety for me. But at the same time, it was liberating and I had never felt more real in my life.

But I couldn't stop there. No, I had to step up my game. I started wearing tighter pants, tucking my penis so I didn't bulge out of my panties, letting my hair grow to my shoulders. Once again my parents noticed, sat me down, and asked if I was gay. I told them, "No. I'm very much into girls. But I want to be one too." I noticed they distanced themselves from me. Like I was some sort of abomination. Like a sick dog that needed to be put down.

I didn't let that stop me. I started to wear my sister's makeup, brushing my hair, styling it... and then I did something wonderful. I took an old bra from my sister and I wore it. In public. It felt so good, I did it again. And again. And again. Finally, I started stuffing my shirt. I took two tennis balls and put them in the cups of the bra. And once again, I went out in public. By now, I was 16, going on 17.

For the last time, my parents pulled me aside, and gave me another talk. But this time it was different. They talked about how I should be comfortable with who I was and my self image. And they told me that they were behind me 100%. The validation from my parents that I was no longer their son but their daughter, I asked what they would've called me if I had been born female.

Katherine Delaney Wood

And thus, I was no longer Christian, I was Katie. And I was happy. Friendless and alone, but happy.

Finally, my 17th birthday came around, and my parents took me aside one last time. They told me they were going to put me on hormones. Unless I objected of course but... I couldn't pass up the opportunity. I could finally fill the mold I wanted to fill ever since I started crossdressing.

Chapter 2: Changes​

My first few weeks of hormones weren't really all the eventful, just the clichéd sensitive nipples and a less boners overall. I still had to shave and wax religiously to keep that hair down. Especially the facial hair. My family is notorious for having quick growing beards and mustaches so I would have to devote 30 minutes of my time to just getting rid of that damn hair every night. I did, however, start trimming my eyebrows and wearing more and more makeup.

After about four months, I noticed I had grown small breasts, and the hair was coming at a slower rate (on the face). My skinny figure had taken on a very subtle curve, and I was delighted with the quick results. In fact, I was so excited, I went out and actually bought new underwear to accommodate my new shape. I still got weird looks from both men and women, but at that point I had blocked out most public opinion. I knew it was a one-way street from then on. And there was no way I was gonna try to turn back.

At my 18th birthday, I got an acceptance letter from my first choice of college. The new endeavor scared me, especially since my transition hadn't been complete yet. And that was promised to continue by my parents. Especially since the masculine features had mostly faded from my face, my breasts started filling out a b-cup and my hips were getting too wide for the male skinny jeans I wore. Comfortably, I started buying female clothing: dresses, skirts, hosiery, blouses, shorts... heels. Heels were another hurdle that I thrust myself over. The wobbling and dancing I did to keep my balance as I stumbled around in platforms were all worth it to my image.

August, that same year, I attended my first classes. They were massive! My biology class alone had 400 people packed into one room. There was no way anyone could get noticed in there. Especially me.

Dorms were another nightmare and they forced me to stay in the male dorms with a male roommate because of my birth certificate. It was terrible! My roommate was incredibly creepy, made fun of me all the time, and just generally brought me down. But verbal abuse wasn't the extent of it. He peeped on me when I showered, constantly tried to get me in his bed... I could tell the sexual frustration was getting to him. Specifically because he forced me to the bed, pulled down my skirt and panties and laughed at me. Laughed at my penis. I wasn't... small. At least for someone on the tail end of hormones. Around 5-5 1/2inches.

But he did something even more horrible. He hit me. Knocked me out and started raping me. He took my virginity against my will and violated me while I was only conscious enough to know he was stuffing himself, bareback, into my ass. My moans of agony and weak cries of help were drowned out by "You like that don't you faggot?" And "Yeah, moan you fucking sissy slut." And "You're such a faggoty whore, aren't you?" He finished inside me and then acted like nothing had ever happened. I was in an emotional rut that took a drastic toll on my life. I attempted suicide three times, twice with sleeping pills and once with a noose made of bed sheets.

Thankfully, my stomach was pumped both times, and the noose slipped and I only ended up with a broken nose.

I needed escape from my life and almost tried again.

Until I met that geo-major.

Chapter 3: Her​

It started off so simple. We had a small English class together, and just happened to sit next to each other. The woman was the single most beautiful creature I had ever met in my entire life.

Snake bite piercings, a brow piercing, a septum ring, gages, and gorgeous sleeves of tattoos. Wild black hair and gorgeous green eyes that sat behind wide brimmed glasses. Dark makeup and black lipstick. Not necessarily the girl you'd bring home to your parents, but she was beautiful all the same.

So I talked to her. She was a little younger than me, by about two months, and she was about as liberal as they get. She was perfect, and I couldn't imagine a better person. I asked her out to a date two weeks later. We ended up eating ramen in her dorm room, watching terrible Adam Sandler movies. Nothing happened beyond that, but I definitely felt a connection.

We had another date four weeks after that, when our workloads calmed down a bit. This time, it was different. I took her to Italian restaurant on my parents dime. We shared our first kiss in the University Commons and I took her back to her dorm. Somehow, the hormone gods let me have a massive rager for this girl and we ended up having awkward, clumsy, beautiful unprotected sex in her bed. I was in love, I knew it. She was so accepting of who I was, how could I not love her?

We started seeing each other on the regular, and she started on birth control as we got closer and closer as a couple. She held my hand before a few reconstructive surgeries and she even tried to convince me to get gender reassignment surgery. But she had told me she wanted daughters and if I was going to make that happen, I knew I couldn't get rid of my last bastion of masculinity yet. Not until I gave her children.

On her 21 birthday, we got wasted, as one usually does. In a flurry of emotions, we had sex again and we exchanged "I love you's." I couldn't have been happier. Nothing felt like it could stop me, and I just wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.

So I bought a ring. At the end of junior year, I took her to the spot where we shared our first kiss and I got down on one knee. The next thing I knew, I was being hugged and kissed in a barrage of emotions. Of course, Texas forbade our marriage, but that didn't stop us. We had a big ceremony and reception. We didn't have time for a honeymoon, as senior year came 'round. But we got an off-campus apartment and lived together for the rest of the year.

After graduation, we moved into a small house near her parents and we both took jobs. I ended up legally changing my name to the one I had been using for the past years, and was finally, fully comfortable with who I was and who I was with.


I wouldn't be here without my wonderful wife. I probably would have killed myself. I owe my life to you, my love, my life, my one and only.

Thank you for the insurmountable love and support baby, I love you so much, Bianca Camille Rodriguez, my Spanish princess.

Epilogue​

About two weeks ago, Bianca and I went to California to stay the weekend and get our marriage legal in front of a judge. That still doesn't mean Texas recognizes us as a married couple, but at least some government does. On top of that, we plan on moving as soon as possible. Though on our income, it will take a long time.

Roughly, 1 1/2 months ago, on a mutual agreement, Bianca came off of birth control. It took us about a month of trying, begging my sperm to be fertile. But we confirmed it last weekend that my lovely wife is pregnant with our baby! She's due in December and we're crossing out fingers it's a girl.



The End