Becoming Katie, part 1

I'm not entirely sure about this story. It kind of meandered around a couple of themes as I went. But it's clearly the first part. So far, I think there's some character development. I hope. Then again, maybe not. 

Becoming Katie, part 1:

I know I'm not supposed to enjoy losing a bet. I'm not supposed to look in the mirror and actually like what I see. If Jared had known that I would enjoy this, he probably wouldn't have made me do it.

Then again, maybe he did know. Or at least suspected. I wouldn't put it past him.

The silk feels good against my skin. The stockings cling in all the right ways, and running my hands up and down smooth my legs sends a shiver down my spine. The garter belt looks good against my skin, and it only took me two tries to figure out how to attach the stockings.

The breast forms were even easier, and seeing the way they push at the bra really excites me. I'm starting to get kind of turned on, just looking at myself.

Which is difficult. I have to get the panties on, and that means I have to tuck myself back so it's not incredibly obvious that I'm a man in drag. Which means I can't get too turned on. Or maybe, that I should just take care of it.

Can I do that? If I jerk off at the thought of dressing like a woman, if I make myself cum because I'm dressing like a girl, what does that say about me? Does that mean that I want to be a girl? That I've always, deep down, wanted to be a girl?

It would explain a lot. Like why I was popular among girls in high school, but never popular with them. Girls have always wanted to be friends, but not girlfriends. I was never really that athletic, or at least not into the sports that would make me beef up. I liked to swim; it kept me slim and let me be strong at the same time.

No. It's like the guys on the swim team said. Only fags want to be girls. You're not a fag, are you? I'm not a fag.

On the other hand, here I am, standing in front of a mirror, almost naked. I'm wearing stockings, I have breasts, and my nails are painted. And I'm hard as a rock. Am I a transvestite?

No. Trannys have little cocks. That's why they're so girly. And look at that. That is not a small cock. I'm not going to get offered a career in porn, but I know the statistics. Six inches is average, and that puts me comfortably above average. So I'm not a tranny. No way. I'm a man. I'm not a girl.

I turn away from the mirror; don't want to look any more. Maybe I'll just calm down over time, and can put on panties later. It'll be okay. Jared will get his laughs, he'll take some pictures, and then I can come home and put on real clothes again.

Shit. He's going to take pictures.

Okay, I can do this. All I have to do is look convincing. If I'm convincing enough, pictures won't matter. I'll be able to tell people it's my sister. Or my cousin. Something. Yeah, that's it. I'll be my own cousin. Katie. I always liked that name.

I should take care of the hair. Mine is dark brown. I bought three wigs today. One has to work for Katie. There's the long black hair, the punky blonde and pink, or the curly red. Katie's a redhead, I think.

Okay, so red hair with the black nails I put on earlier. What color should the lipstick be? Seems like red would be the obvious choice. But I don't want to be obvious. If I'm obvious, it'll be too clear that Katie is me, and I don't want that. Katie has to be someone else. Someone who actually is a girl. Who wants to be a girl.

Not me.

Black lipstick will work. Maybe Katie is a goth chick. I think I've got the right top for that. Long fishnet sweater with sleeves that go all the way up to my fingers, waist cincher underneath. If I put on a pencil skirt, the stockings won't even seem out of place. Maybe I should change them anyway. Fishnet stockings to go with the top? No, that's too much. The boots will take care of things.

I try not to look at myself as I put on the makeup, carefully using the blush to create cheekbones, heavy on the eyeliner and the mascara. Black lips.

I've calmed down enough to get the skirt on, and I strap on the boots. It's a bit difficult balancing, even though the heels are barely three inches high. Thankfully, the straps go all the way up the leg, lashing the boots up to my knees and giving my ankle the support it apparently needs.

I smooth out the outfit and check out what Katie looks like.

And immediately, the skirt doesn't fit anymore. Just when I thought I was okay, the sight of Katie in the mirror, the gorgeous thing that she is, goth goddess with the black lips changes everything. I just want to see those lips wrapped around my cock. My rock hard cock.

Katie's rock hard cock.

Oddly, that doesn't do anything to stop me. Seeing this gorgeous girl with a big cock of her own doesn't turn me off. It turns me on even more. That doesn't make me gay, does it? Does that mean I like being a girl?

I can still hear the guys on the swim team. Once a fag, always a fag. You can't come back from sucking cock. And, of course, the classic If you get fucked, you're gay. Forever.

 

But looking at Katie, wanting to see a cock on those lips, part of me still knows that they're my lips. When I say they look perfect for sucking cock, I know I'm talking about doing it myself. I look at myself and see how comfortable I look in these boots, even with the balance issue. I look and see how I feel like I look better now than I ever have in my life, ever. I know that Katie is me. I know that I am Katie.

And when I do jerk off to the idea of it, when I have fantasies about Katie getting fucked from both ends, when I imagine her making out with goth boys, I know that I'm imagining being in her place. I'm imagining being her.

I've never been gay. Never been okay with being gay. But Katie isn't gay. Katie is straight. So her liking guys is okay. It's normal.

Jared doesn't recognize me when I come into the bar. I spent enough time practicing walking in these boots that it doesn't look like I'm a newborn deer anymore. I can walk with confidence, flick my hair out of my eyes, and I can enjoy the looks I'm getting.

I can walk up to the bar right next to him, not even looking at him, and stand there. I can immediately get the bartender's attention, and can get a bottle of water so fast that I barely finish saying the word.

And, more importantly, I can get Jared to pay for it. I watch his eyes travel up and down my body, and find myself doing a little bit of a pose for him. I smile at him, a sexy little smirk.

“Thanks for the drink,” I say. The club is loud enough that he can't quite make out my voice. That's good. I don't have Katie's voice down just yet.

“My pleasure,” he says. He glances towards the door. He's still waiting for me. He really has no idea. “I'm Jared.”

“Katie,” I say. I smile at him.

He looks towards the door again.

I put on a bit of a pouty look and tilt my head a bit. “Am I boring you already?” I ask.

He smiles and shakes his head. “Just waiting for someone,” he says.

“Girlfriend?” He shakes his head again. My voice gets weak. “Boyfriend?”

He laughs. “I'm definitely not gay,” he says.

I smirk again. “How emphatic.”

“What?”

“You're so emphatic about that. Are you afraid of gays?”

He shakes his head. “No, it's not that. I've got nothing against gays. I'm just not one myself.”

I nod. “Me either,” I say. I let him watch my eyes as they trace the curves of his body. I never thought of Jared as all that attractive. Katie likes him, though.

He smiles again and steps a bit closer. Close enough to smell the perfume I put on. I see his nostrils flair. Jared's always had a thing for smells. “You smell great.”

“You like it?”

He nods. But he doesn't have to. I can see the erection. Are they always that obvious? How have I never noticed that before?

He blushes when he sees where my eyes are.

“Don't be embarrassed,” I say. I smirk at him again. “A girl likes to know she's appreciated.”

He gives me a very charming smile. It's the kind of smile he used to show when he said something incredibly horrid during swim practice. It was a face that made it impossible to be mad at him.

Something about that face. The lines of his jaw. I bet he feels scruffy.

Katie reaches up and rubs her finger along his jaw line, enjoying the stubble, gently scratching with her black nails. Jared gives a bit of a shiver, and his erection gets even more obvious.

I laugh, but in that flirty way all my female friends used to do when guys would hit on them. It's the laugh that tells the guy that you're interested. That's what they used to tell me. I guess I picked up on it.

“I don't usually do this,” he says, “But I feel like there's something special about you. Do I know you from somewhere?”

Wow. That's a lot of pickup lines pushed into a really small space. “We've never met before,” I tell him. And it's true. He's never met Katie. And Katie's never met anyone. “But I'd be lying if I said you weren't have an effect on me.”

He raises an eyebrow, confidence back in his court. “An effect?” he asks. “What kind of effect?”

I lick my lips, then glance down at his crotch. He smiles and asks if I want to go outside to his car. 

“What kind of car is it?”

“It's a truck,” he says. “Nice and big. Powerful.”

If I didn't know him, if I hadn't seen first hand what's between his legs, I probably would have laughed at him. “Nice,” I say. “Show me.”

As we walk out to the parking lot, I know what's about to happen. He's going to lean against the back of his truck, sitting lightly on the bumper, and I'm going to get on my knees. I'm going to unzip his pants, and I'm going to put that thing in my mouth. And there will be no coming back.

Should I tell him who I am? Should I tell him after?

What if he pulls off the wig? Maybe I should tie him up. I could tie him up, suck him off, and then tell him who I am. And he'll have to spend the rest of his life knowing he got head from a guy.

But it won't matter that I did it. Because it's not me. It's Katie.

I like Katie.