Diary Entry: Reflections on Past Years.

I was a good little boy. There was a perfectly good set of rules to follow: be nice, share toys, work
hard, brush your teeth. On the opposite side of that coin, I hated anyone who didnt follow the
rules. I would pout and rage whenever other children were rude to me in the slightest way, and
having such trouble fitting in compounded the lonely feeling of being an orphan. So despite my
desire to be a good boy, I was a problem child. Most of the other orphanage caretakers were fed
up with me. Mrs. Hen was different. As an adult, I know now that she was probably just another
good person, but I only ever knew her as a saint. She took a lot of heat from her boss and would
stay late at the orphanage.

There was one night that I think is important to note. It is an unavoidable truth, a part of who she
really was. One night, I woke up to get some water. I heard a voice, muffled. I was afraid there
might have been a robber, but I snuck through the halls to see. An orange light peeped out from
under a door. I pressed my ear to the floor and looked underneath. By the flickering of the
candles, I could see Mrs. Hen, kissing a man. They were naked. I saw her boobs. She and the
man hugged and kissed. I didnt recognize the man, but he rubbed his hands over her boobs and
back. They made their way to an empty cot and laid down. Mrs. Hen laid face down on the bed,
the man on top. He looked down and grabbed what I guessed was his grown up peepee and put
it in front of her butt. And then he pushed it in over and over again. I was a kid; I thought he was
pushing it into her butt for some reason. Then again, maybe he was. I bring this up because of
impression it made on my view of women and of sex.

Mrs. Hen died of pancreatic cancer at age 40. I dont think she had children. I was 10. I didnt
understand death at first, but in the following years, I would understand that I would never see her
again. I had to grow up fast and learn to look after myself. I already had a tendency to daydream,
running off to a wonderland where I was happy, skilled, and self-sufficient. I sought solace in
stories and movies of capable heroes and started formulating a vision of who I wanted to be. As
part of that vision, I wanted to be like Mrs. Hen, in that she was an upstanding giver. She gave so
much to the ones she loved.

When I was 14, I was called into the principals office, and I met with a man. He said he worked
for the military and that they were trying a new experimental program that started with young boys
to make the nations most elite stealth operatives, servants to the country. He said I was talented
and a promising candidate. I was a 14 year old boy; of course I was excited to join the military.

There were 10 boys in total. We had condensed classes to make more time for military training.
Gosh, the first month was murder; I was not good with cardio. And so we trained, for years.
Thomas was a good guy; he was a good soldier and very friendly. James came from a big and
loving family that nurtured his ego; he was a bully. Fernando was some rich kid. I mean, he came
through fine, but boy did he complain a lot. Costas, I dont know how he graduated; that twit was
carried the whole six years. I like to think I was at least friends with the weirdo Vladimir, but the
truth is, I never really was close with anyone. I didnt fit in, and I just sat with them at lunch.
Commander Orson was like a father, and the most reasonable of the instructors; he knew we were
just dumb kids, not really adult soldiers. Still, I have fond memories of those days. We had a pool!
And I loved the adrenaline of battle. I loved the relief and triumph afterwards. I loved having a
cause worth giving myself to. I liked my teammates. They had faults, but they all boys dedicated to
serve as I was, and we would get the job done together. Even James the bully had his moments,
tackling me to save me from a training grenade; he nearly broke my ribs though. Those were
perhaps my best years of uphill hopefulness and progress. I was on track to be a strong, capable,
cool, stylish, and otherwise awesomely refined man, just like in the movies.

At the end of the program, we had to do three solo operations to graduate, so the program could
be approved and we would become reliable assets. We were given black jumpsuits that, frankly,
were embarrassing to wear. We covered our crotches awkwardly and tried to think of dead
grandmothers to deflate erections. Heheh. Thankfully, we were given regular BDUs to wear over
them. Our jobs were relatively small, spy on this, kill this person, traverse the area. My first mission
was marking bombing targets, which, in hindsight, was rather easy, but it was a nerve-wracking
cherry pop back then. I was more confident on my second mission, but it was my second mission
where things went wrong.

I was sent to appropriate a formula that the Greater East Asian Empire was developing for
population control. It was a small base with a laboratory and whatnot. I made a mistake; no excuse.
In my carelessness, my foot tumbled a pebble, and I was caught. The sentries rang the alarm, and I
was bitten by dogs and beaten by guards. They took my gear, my boots, and even my clothes,
leaving me in my jumpsuit. I was thrown into a bare cell. My black eye hurt with every beat of my
pulse, and every other part of my body hurt just to move. My hands were raw and my feet cold.
There are many moments in my life branded into my life; this is one of them. I tried to plan an
escape, but I could only think on how I had been the first and only failure to my commanders, and
I was a pathetic waste, not at all the hero I wanted to be.

The guards came back with a scientist. The guards held me up. The scientist held a large syringe
with no needle, filled with a blue fluid. A guard gripped my jaw and held my mouth open. The fat
syringe was thrust into my mouth and deposited its viscous goo into my throat. I coughed and
choked, but I couldnt stop them. When the syringe was emptied, I was dropped to the floor as I
tried to regurgitate the drug. Nothing came out, but there was no time to weep. The door was open,
so I dashed past the scientist and shut the cell door behind me. I had little time to find the data
and escape.

I returned home with the formula; mission complete. I didnt dare tell anyone what had happened;
I didnt want to fail, but I was also terrified of what might happen to me. I didnt know what the
drug was, except that it was intended for population control.

Within a few days, my skin had started to feel strange, numb. I couldnt feel my scratches, but they
would leave red marks easily. The feeling went away, but that winter seemed colder than usual; its
hard to hold a weapon steady when youre shivering. Its even harder when your whole body aches,
and mine did. I dont know if it was my bones or my muscles, but it felt like there was acid in my
blood, and neither stretching or lying still would relieve the pain. I lost weight rapidly, and my
shoulder boards hung over my actual shoulders. I needed a belt at my waist, but my pants actually
felt tight around my hips; yes, my butt was getting bigger. One of the training obstacles was a
claustrophobia-inducing tube to crawl through, but I couldnt quite reach my record time again.
The other boys noticed and would slap their towels at me; it was like having a big target on my
backside.

My penis got smaller. When I sat on the toilet, I looked down and pulled at the stretch flesh, but it
pulled back into its smaller and smaller shape. I started taking my showers later at night, when
everyone else had already finished. My scrotum started to form a bizarre w shape, with the center
seam pulling inward. Over the next two months, my genitals became smaller and smaller, to the
size of a finger to the size of a digit. It became harder to use the urinals, so I started to use the stalls
exclusively. I think it was around that size that my lower abdomen started to hurt, as if I was kicked
in the crotch. Thanks heavens it only lasted a week. I had to take a few days off because of how
nauseous I felt.

Then one morning, it was gone. I reached down to find my little nub, and it was gone. I parted the
folds of where my scrotum used to be, and to my shock, it was pink inside. It had all been leading
up to this, and I feared its coming since I first noticed my penis shrinking. I was now a girl. From
the pains of my stomach, perhaps I had a uterus too. I had been stripped of my Y chromosome,
and I had to sit down to pee like every other girl on the planet, sit down in such a vulnerable and
obedient position, with my pants down. With great trouble, I tried to relax and let my waste drain;
it trickled and splashed as it hit the water.

After I finished using the stall, I looked into the mirror, and realized how girly I looked. My face
was changing. My eyebrows were thinner, my cheeks slimmer, and my cheekbones more full.
Perhaps it was just the changes in my eyebrows, but my eyes seemed bigger. I think the boys
started to notice and avoided me. They didnt make eye contact and pretended I was invisible; I
think I made them uncomfortable, as it was rude to stare. I knew I was a girl, but I told myself
nothing else had to change. Being a woman was a curse to me; they were the weaker sex, the less
capable, by no fault of their own, the handicapped. Mrs. Hen was trampled upon, and penetrated
by a man, violated. Still, I found myself imagining a life as a normal woman. Who would I marry?
I imagined kissing Thomas, but I rebuked myself to stop thinking such things. I started feeling a
strange sensation, however. I no longer felt any lust powering my hips to thrust in the shower.
Instead, I felt a tingling wave, rising up from my legs up to the blushing in my cheeks, as the warm
water caressed me. I shuddered and bent over as my finger explored myself.

All of the changes I had undergone so far could be ignored or hidden, and I hoped it would stop
there. Revealing what was happening to me would destroy my career, bring on investigations, and
perhaps force me to create a new legal identity. But it wasnt the end. Estrogen was coursing
through my veins, and my age was ripe for further maturation.
My nipples stood up on my chest. The areolas expanded and puffed out. My breasts were like the
sore and tender buds on a 13 year old girl, except that I was a 19 year old, and I was recently a boy.
I tried my best to pull my shirt away from my chest, so as not to chafe them. When getting lunch, I
accidently bumping my tray against the hard cores of my breasts, and boy they did hurt! I verbally
grunted, which turned a few heads. I never made that mistake again. Every morning, I cupped my
breasts to gauge their growth, and every night, I would lie on my side and see the flesh form
cleavage. I had never really seen breasts in such detail before. The fat that filled my chest truly was
underneath my skin, inside me, part of me. My breast was both attached to me and was me,
reaching out rather far, integrated and connected to my ribs, to my clavicle, to my pectoral muscles
reaching my shoulders.

On my third and final mission, my suit was a very bad fit, and my tactical harness bound my
breasts and hurt them. I completed my mission, with finesse, cutting my targets throat,
contemplating the look on his face as everything he was pooled out on the floor. But as I was
crawling towards exfiltration, I felt a wetness in my pants. I was sure I didnt wet myself, but even if
I did, filth wasnt a problem. I kept crawling. However, when I was finally in the escape van, I saw
in the light that I had had my period. I sat with my knees together and rushed out of the van,
leaving a stain. As I quickly debriefed with my commanders, I blood pooled by my boots, blood I
said was the targets blood. My boot left the floor with a sticky sound.

I had made it. We were all going to graduate. Nothing else mattered now. I was adjusted to my life
as a female disguised as a male, I had gotten used to tampons, and I was on my way to be the
badass I dreamed of. But then there was an exit health examination. When I heard about it at
breakfast, my heart dropped. They were going to find out that I had gotten caught and lied about it.

I walked into the doctors room and removed my clothes, my vagina, breasts, and feminine figure
presented bare. The doctor paused, puzzled. Then she took my height and weight, listened to my
lungs, and pressed my stomach. I cooperated, silently mortified, my pulse heightened. Was it
better or worse that she was a woman too? She knew all about having breasts and periods, but
additionally socialization; she was a real woman. Years before, she had done this physical when I
was a boy with a strately penis and strong shoulders. I felt like a teen, shy and insecure. But I was
caught, revealed to be a weak woman, the lesser sex. At the end, she did a breast examination.

I was called before the program board, and I wore my dress uniform, without baggy BDUs to
cover my breasts. I had been given a bra and panties to wear, which seemed to exposing and sexual
at first, but I reasoned that it was all a woman needed to cover with underwear. I stood at attention
to be scrutinized and interviewed, my knees locked. They asked me what had happened. They
asked me why I lied. They asked me if I still wanted to serve. What a glorious relief! I was allowed
to serve. I was still capable and loyal, though I had made a mistake, though I was a woman.

I showered late that night, having shower thoughts of accepting myself as a woman. If the board
had approved me, perhaps being a woman wasnt so bad. Maybe I was still okay and could still be
an awesome hero. I wonder what else about my character would change, what clothes I would wear,
what demeanor Id put out to people as a woman. I used to speculate on what kind of a woman I
would like to marry, what traits Id admire in a woman. I realized that I was starting to simply
design myself into that woman, becoming my own wife, heheh.

I put back on my dress uniform from earlier that day and continued to think as I walked under the
moonlight. I thought of Mrs. Hen, and how far I had come from being an angry little boy. When I
returned to my room, I was struck in the head as soon as the door closed. It was James; and I
knew what he wanted. I through my punches and tried to grapple with his, but he was too big and
strong, and getting hit one more time was enough to kick me out of action. I fell back on the floor
and knew I was defeated; I couldnt stop him. He sat down on my waist and tore my shirt open,
buttons jumping off. My weak hands could do nothing to stop him from ripping my bra and diving
right in, his tongue and cheeks sucking my breasts into his mouth. I laid there and put my hands in
his hair, trying to push him away. His head slid upwards, dragging his tongue across my neck, unto
my mouth. I clenched my teeth and turned away, but he gripped my jaw and forced his tongue into
my mouth, exploring my teeth, spreading his saliva. I held my breath so as not to take in the heat
from his nostrils. When he pulled away, I gasped for air, and he moved down to my pants. He
undid my belt. I bent forward, but he pushed me back against the ground and continued to
remove my pants. I kicked him and flailed, but he pushed my feet aside and rolled me over. I lay
on the cold floor, breasts squashed, and he forced his way between my legs. I felt the warm tip of
his sword, I felt the fingers in the lips, and in an instant, my virginity was taken. I gasped, unable to
believe my fate. And the pumping began, rigorous, without consideration. With each thrust, I was
pushed against the floor. I was a boy. Now I was a woman, being raped, being fucked, just like Mrs.
Hen. He lasted 15 seconds, and he sped up to a furious pace as he climaxed, squirting his hot seed
into my stomach. He stood up, fastened his pants, and left hastily. I lay there on the cold floor,
semen dripping between my legs, eye blackened.

The stealth program was approved, but I was ejected. Even if pregnancy didnt anchor me down,
psychological damage was an issue. They couldnt get rid of James because they were already
losing one soldier, and James was still strong and capable. I was dismissed, and referred to a job in
intelligence analysis.

I moved out of the barracks and found an apartment. My breasts got tender and swollen again, and
I felt sick. I was terrified. I was the anything but ready to be a single mother, to give birth. I tried to
make some new friends with the other analysts, but I think they were all well adjusted adults who
didnt need me as much as I sought comfort with them. I especially couldnt connect with the other
women. For obvious reasons, I wasnt like them; they seemed weak and shallow. My belly started
to swell, and my skirts didnt fit. I had to go to the bathroom often. Every day, coming out of the
shower, I would see my bloated body, carrying my daughter, nurturing her. I did start to be a little
more optimistic, loving my daughter, making the best I could of the life I had. I was still
traumatized by all that had happened, including my ejection from the program, and I wished none
of it had happened, but I was already there in that situation, so I may as well carry on.
Labor was excruciating, muscles pulling like never before to push a baby through the same hole
she came in from. I cried out, wishing Mrs. Hen could be there to guide me. When the birth was
over, I held the little person who was inside me to my breast, feeding her my strength. Shes three
years old now. As I reflect on who I am now and how far Ive come, I feel distant and sad, like that
boy is so far away, gone. Whoever he was, I must leave him here in these pages and move on. He
has been haunting me for some time now, but I have to move on. I have to focus and make sure
my new daughter gets the love he lacked. Goodbye, little boy. Ive got to take care of your sister
now. Its okay. Youre safe in my memory.