Tuesday, February 21, 2012


I haven't had the time to work on a new installment over the last day or so.  Part of that is because I was working on a new set of captions for my Imagefap profile (which can be found HERE). The other part is that I've been really, really busy with my real work over the past week, and I just haven't been able to find the time to sit down and write this story.

That said, I love this installment.  I'm loving how this character is growing before our eyes.  He's turning into a three-dimensional character, and I never really expected that from this writing experiment.  In fact, I didn't expect it to go on this long, really.  But there's still a ways to go, so I'm excited about it.


I've always wanted to not care whether people love me or hate me.  I see all of these people, just letting criticism slide by like it means nothing.  Or worse yet, there are people who can actually take that criticism and apply it to whatever they're doing so that they get better.  But I'm not one of those people.  I know, rationally, that I shouldn't care about the people who personally attack me (for any number of reasons), but I can't help it.  I do care.  I feel every single insult; I might not show it, but they're always there, eating at me.  And don't get me started on constructive criticism.  That's the worst kind because I know that it's not personal.  But I know that on some levels, it is.  It's my work, it's my life that they're criticizing.  And it hurts.

With my life being what it is, you'd think I would've gotten used to it all.  The sheer number of people who have opinions about me is absolutely staggering.  And even the ones who want to identify with me an be annoying sometimes.  You know the ones -- everyone has a friend or family member who has been through the exact same thing, and they think that it makes them understand you.  It's a load of crap, if you ask me.  How can anyone understand my life if they haven't lived it?  If someone has gone through something similar, yes, they understand; they get it.  And we can talk about it.  But a friend of a friend or a long lost family member?  Please.

I guess I'm a little worked up with this entry, and it's not hard to understand why.  I had this inescapable fame thrust upon me; I wasn't expecting it.  I hadn't planned for it.  I didn't want the entire world to know me.  Seeing me naked or having sex was one thing -- with that, I was playing a character.  But letting them into my life, letting them see the real me, with all of my flaws and personality quirks...it's so exhausting.  I should be used to it by now; I really should.  But some days...it just gets to me.

So where was I?  Oh yes, the beginning of my new career...

I told you about the concept, but I may have made it sound like just a typical reality program.  It was, and it wasn't.  I mean, most reality programs don't contain hardcore porn, do they?  I still had a job to do; I still had movies to shoot.  And the cameras caught everything.  But to their credit, they didn't focus on those scenes.  They had to acknowledge them, right?  That was the hook -- get them interested in me so they'd pay to watch those movies.   But they wanted to focus on my everyday life.  Sure, there was still a lot of nudity (a particular favorite was watching me shower), but that's not a big deal.  I've gotten comfortable like that.

At first, I was so aware of the camera following me around, but as the days dragged on, I kind of forgot about them at times.  The crew was just part of the landscape as I went about my daily life.

And my daily life was...strange.  My job notwithstanding, I was going through a lot of changes during that first year. 

It was strange, going to the doctor with a camera crew in tow. Never mind that I was going to get my first prescription of anti-androgens and female hormones.  It was one of the few times I truly got nervous during the filming; I knew my condition might keep me from being able to safely take the hormones.  I didn't care that the doctor had said it should be okay -- that was over the phone.  This was a real examination. 

As it turned out, I shouldn't have been worried.  My condition was completely irrelevant.  No, that's not true.  In fact, the doctor said that I should expect better results simply because my body had never gone through a real puberty (I wanted to argue the point, but, well, it wasn't worth it to point out that I had gone through something like puberty in high school).  He detailed the changes I should expect:  softening of my skin, decrease in muscle mass, increase in body fat, a more feminine pattern of that body fat, nipple and breast growth, slower growth of facial and body hair (like that was ever a problem for me), and a decrease in testicular size.

I know all that sounds really clinical, but I guess that's because I watched that episode of the show like a dozen times in that first year.  I practically memorized what the doctor said. I guess it was fear; I mean, I was never much of a man to begin with.  I've talked about it enough.  But this was different.  Taking these hormones would change me into something else.  And I wanted it.  I told myself so every day...but it was still so scary.  I have a hard time explaining it, I guess. 

But the gist was that my body would take on a more womanly shape over the course of the next year or so.  The doctor said that it might take a little less time for the hormones to start to take effect, but the changes would be gradual. 

I remember standing in front of the mirror in my bathroom, pills in hand, staring at my reflection for almost twenty minutes.  It seemed like hours.  I was naked, staring at my body; there was no camera crew.  It was just me, my thoughts, and my body. 

I looked at myself.  In a year's time, a different person would be looking back.  I'm not naive.  I knew, even then, that the changes wouldn't just be physical.  And I'm not talking about male and female thoughts.  I'm talking about my perception of myself and how other people looked at me.  Would I grow more confident as I grew more womanly?  Or would I retreat into a shell?  I did want it.  It made so much sense.  But there were lingering doubts. 

After about twenty minutes, I simply put the pills in my mouth, and swallowed. 

There.  It was done.  It's funny, thinking of it now, but I panicked.  I almost stuck my finger in my throat to gag myself, to get the pills out before they did anything to me.  Almost...

1 comment:

  1. Another great chapter in this story that just keeps getting better as it goes along. So many changes already and more I'm sure to come. Great experiment Nikki!