giggityguy
Virgin
- Joined
- Oct 25, 2011
- Posts
- 11
For a while, I've wanted to do a story about a "shemale" character where I actually gave her a backstory and made her a more believable character, but most importantly to explore the concepts of gender identity and sexual orientation in a person in which these elements are less than clear. I've finally started it and I'm happy with what I've got so far but I wanted to get a little input from you guys. First take a look at what I've got so far to set up the story.
**************************************************
I was born a boy. I suppose I should start there. I was given the name Chris, and raised as Chris. I was a more or less normal child; I ate, I slept, I played. The only thing that evenly remotely suggested that I was different was that I never went through that stage in which girls were “icky” and to be avoided; as a matter of fact, I pretty much spent my time exactly 50-50 playing with boys and girls. I could spend time having dirt clod wars with the other boys down the street, or I could play make-believe with the girls from school. When we got into 2nd or 3rd grade the boys teased me a little bit about spending time with girls, and the girls giggled about the other boys, but mostly they left it alone.
It wasn’t until about 5th grade that my life began to change. I realized that I was starting to hang out with girls more. I still liked my male friends, but for whatever reason, I started feeling more connected with the girls. We seemed to think more along the same lines.
We started having those awkward health classes where they start to talk about sex and whatnot. My parents had told me what sex was and all that, but they never discussed with me all of the little things about it. That was fine by me; for the most part, I had no interest in sexual stuff. The only thing that bothered me was that I started to get funny feelings around some of my friends. Of course, I had friends of both genders, and I got those feelings with some boys, and some girls. I had no idea what was causing me to feel funny around these friends, but it made me uneasy.
So imagine my reaction when they talked about how our bodies were beginning to change, and we might start to feel strange around members of the opposite sex. I was relieved to know that it was normal to feel funny sometimes, but totally perplexed by the fact that they had only talked about feeling funny near members of the opposite sex. It was at that point that I began to suspect that I was just a little bit different. It wouldn’t be too long before I realized just how right I was.
As I moved into middle school, my parents began to become concerned by the fact that while my male classmates were growing broader, I maintained my skinny, boyish shape. My friends’ voices were deepening; mine was still high. Eventually they began to wonder if I had a hormone imbalance, and so they scheduled an appointment with an endocrinologist. He drew some blood and told us that he would run some blood tests and let us know. When he came back, he looked rather perplexed. He said that there appeared to have been some sort of mistake, and that he was sorry, but he would have to run the test again. He drew another vial of blood (which I was not thrilled about) and disappeared into the lab again. When he came back, he was looking at a sheet of paper with some indecipherable graphs and numbers on it, looking even more perplexed than before.
My parents asked him what was wrong. He turned to us and said, “I don’t know what to make of it. Chris has an extremely unusual set of hormone levels. I’ve never seen anything like it.” My mother, looking worried, asked, “Well what does this mean?” The doctor replied, “I honestly have no idea. Like I said, it’s unprecedented, so I couldn’t tell you exactly what sort of effects it may have on Chris physiologically. It may not have any effect whatsoever; he doesn’t seem to be severely physically affected now, apart from his physique and voice, which may not be due to this imbalance at all. Maybe his body, since it has always been working with this imbalance, can cope with this chemical mystery and will develop normally. We really have no way of knowing.”
My father, always to the point, asked, “What should we do?” The doctor, still looking a little thrown by all of this, responded, “For the moment, there’s little we can do. I feel that we should allow your son to go back to his life as normal. As I said, it may be possible that it is life as normal; nothing would be different. However, I would ask that you keep an eye on him, and give me a call if something strange comes up. That goes for you too, Chris. If you notice something strange, even if you think it’s embarrassing, let your parents know.” I nodded, unsure of what to make of this entire situation.
Skip forward a few months; I began to notice that my chest was tender, and swelling a little bit. After a few days, I told my parents about it, remembering the doctor’s advice. They scheduled another appointment immediately, and next thing I knew, I was back in the doctor’s office. He took a close look at my chest, then called another doctor from down the hall. “This doctor is an obstetrician,” he said as the other doctor walked in. I had no idea what that was at the time, but my parents looked confused and worried. The obstetrician, a pretty woman in her late twenties, also looked closely at my chest before reaching out and touching it lightly. I shivered at her touch. I wasn’t really sure why; her hand wasn’t cold or anything. Just something about someone touching my chest like that made me tremble.
After a moment, she looked up at the other doctor and said, “This is the boy with the hormone imbalance?” He nodded, bearing the same perplexed look he had always had since he first discovered my chemical problems. The obstetrician turned to my parents and said, “I’m pretty sure the swelling is breast tissue.” My mother gasped, my father frowned deeply but said nothing, and I immediately exclaimed, “You mean I’m growing boobs? Like a girl?” The obstetrician nodded. “It’s called gynecomastia,” the endocrinologist cut in, “It’s actually not that uncommon; at least, relative to the rarity of your son’s condition. The only reason it’s worth mentioning is because of the hormone imbalance. Normally, it will go away on its own, or in some cases requires surgery, but in your son’s case, we obviously have no idea what may happen.”
“So what do we do now?” my father asked. The obstetrician said, “I think we ought to consult a urologist before we do anything else.” So she made another call, and next thing I knew, another doctor was in the room, this one another woman but in her thirties. She asked my parents to leave the room, then told me to drop my pants. I was a little uncomfortable doing so in a room with three doctors, but I did as I was told. The urologist did a little examination, asking questions like if I ever had trouble peeing, then asked the other two doctors, “How old is this boy?” “Thirteen,” I cut in; I was sick of them talking like I wasn’t even in the room. She stood up, and said, “There don’t appear to be any functional or structural problems. But he’s in the 96th percentile for genital size for his age.” I was surprised; I hadn’t ever thought about my penis as particularly large or small. It was just the penis I had.
The three doctors had me put my pants back on, then called my parents back into the room. The obstetrician told them, “Chris appears to be developing secondary sex characteristics of females, as well as being far more developed as a male than most boys his age.” “What does that mean?” my mother asked. “It is our theory that Chris’s hormones have caused some female characteristics to be expressed, as well as driving his general sexual development into overdrive. At this point it’s only speculation, but I would guess that as he continues to go through puberty, he will continue expressing these characteristics, and develop at an accelerated rate.”
My father began to become impatient, “What should we do about it?!” he demanded. The three doctors looked at each other uneasily, then the endocrinologist said, “I’m not sure there’s much we can do. We still don’t know exactly what is causing your son’s hormone imbalance, but the chemical processes involved are so complex and tied to so many glands that we can’t feasibly consider surgically correcting the matter without risking his life. Nor can we risk giving him hormone supplements or chemical repressors; the chemistry in his bloodstream is so crazy; there are some hormones in there that haven’t even been seen before. If we gave him anything, there would be a distinct risk of unforeseeable synergistic interaction.” He had lost both my parents and me with his medical jargon, but the message was clear; there were no ordinary methods to make me normal.
My parents asked him if there were any alternative treatments, and he began rattling off experimental procedures and untested techniques, all of which were risky and weren’t guaranteed to work. But I had had enough. “Shut up!” I exclaimed. All of the adults in the room turned to me, surprised. “You keep talking about me like I’m not even here. Don’t I get to decide what happens to me?” The doctor turned uneasily to my parents and began, “Your son is a minor. He can’t understand all of the ramifications of any particular action. Ultimately the decision is yours. If I could just....” “SHUT UP!” I yelled again. “Stop talking like I’m not even here!” My mother knelt in front of my chair and asked, “Ok Chris. What do you want?”
“You’re all talking like this is something wrong with me. I don’t really get why you need me to fit into one category or another. I have plenty of friends who are girls and plenty who are boys; I don’t see that many differences between them on the inside; all that’s different is the outside. But if they are both the same on the inside, what’s wrong with me being different on the outside? You think that something bad will happen if I’m not ‘normal’. But I’ve been like this my whole life, apparently. This is normal for me. I’m not changing just because you think I’m a freak.”
The doctor, addressing me directly for the first time, said, “I understand that you’re scared of the change, and of the treatments. But it will be a hard life to continue as you are; people won’t understand.”
“I don’t care,” I said defiantly. “I like who I am. And if people don’t like me for who I am just because of this, I don’t want to waste my time with them anyway.”
The doctor looked helplessly at my parents, expecting them to set me straight, or use the fact that I was too young to override me. But they stood resolutely. My mother said, “I don’t know exactly how this will end. But Chris is a smart kid. Smarter than you give him credit for. If this is what he wants, we can’t make him do anything different. It’s his body, it’s his call.”
The doctor, realizing that there was nothing he could do or say, sighed and sat down next to me. “Ok Chris. If this is what you want, then you can do it. I hope that I’m wrong; I hope that you have a good life, despite everything.” “Don’t worry about me,” I said with my best sneer, “I’ll be fine. And you know what? I’m betting that I’ll have a better life than you.”
*************************************************
After that I'll skip ahead to when Chris becomes Christine, with exaggerated femininity with the exception of a large penis, and explore Christine's sexuality as she discovers sex with both boys and girls. I've been wondering a few things though; should I rewrite the backstory so that Christine also has a vagina? It will obviously take some doing, but it might be worth it. Also, how should I approach entering into her sexuality? I'm not sure exactly how to begin. I want this to be an extremely believable character, so I don't want her sex life to suddenly become absurd. Please get back to me with feedback so I can develop the story more.
**************************************************
I was born a boy. I suppose I should start there. I was given the name Chris, and raised as Chris. I was a more or less normal child; I ate, I slept, I played. The only thing that evenly remotely suggested that I was different was that I never went through that stage in which girls were “icky” and to be avoided; as a matter of fact, I pretty much spent my time exactly 50-50 playing with boys and girls. I could spend time having dirt clod wars with the other boys down the street, or I could play make-believe with the girls from school. When we got into 2nd or 3rd grade the boys teased me a little bit about spending time with girls, and the girls giggled about the other boys, but mostly they left it alone.
It wasn’t until about 5th grade that my life began to change. I realized that I was starting to hang out with girls more. I still liked my male friends, but for whatever reason, I started feeling more connected with the girls. We seemed to think more along the same lines.
We started having those awkward health classes where they start to talk about sex and whatnot. My parents had told me what sex was and all that, but they never discussed with me all of the little things about it. That was fine by me; for the most part, I had no interest in sexual stuff. The only thing that bothered me was that I started to get funny feelings around some of my friends. Of course, I had friends of both genders, and I got those feelings with some boys, and some girls. I had no idea what was causing me to feel funny around these friends, but it made me uneasy.
So imagine my reaction when they talked about how our bodies were beginning to change, and we might start to feel strange around members of the opposite sex. I was relieved to know that it was normal to feel funny sometimes, but totally perplexed by the fact that they had only talked about feeling funny near members of the opposite sex. It was at that point that I began to suspect that I was just a little bit different. It wouldn’t be too long before I realized just how right I was.
As I moved into middle school, my parents began to become concerned by the fact that while my male classmates were growing broader, I maintained my skinny, boyish shape. My friends’ voices were deepening; mine was still high. Eventually they began to wonder if I had a hormone imbalance, and so they scheduled an appointment with an endocrinologist. He drew some blood and told us that he would run some blood tests and let us know. When he came back, he looked rather perplexed. He said that there appeared to have been some sort of mistake, and that he was sorry, but he would have to run the test again. He drew another vial of blood (which I was not thrilled about) and disappeared into the lab again. When he came back, he was looking at a sheet of paper with some indecipherable graphs and numbers on it, looking even more perplexed than before.
My parents asked him what was wrong. He turned to us and said, “I don’t know what to make of it. Chris has an extremely unusual set of hormone levels. I’ve never seen anything like it.” My mother, looking worried, asked, “Well what does this mean?” The doctor replied, “I honestly have no idea. Like I said, it’s unprecedented, so I couldn’t tell you exactly what sort of effects it may have on Chris physiologically. It may not have any effect whatsoever; he doesn’t seem to be severely physically affected now, apart from his physique and voice, which may not be due to this imbalance at all. Maybe his body, since it has always been working with this imbalance, can cope with this chemical mystery and will develop normally. We really have no way of knowing.”
My father, always to the point, asked, “What should we do?” The doctor, still looking a little thrown by all of this, responded, “For the moment, there’s little we can do. I feel that we should allow your son to go back to his life as normal. As I said, it may be possible that it is life as normal; nothing would be different. However, I would ask that you keep an eye on him, and give me a call if something strange comes up. That goes for you too, Chris. If you notice something strange, even if you think it’s embarrassing, let your parents know.” I nodded, unsure of what to make of this entire situation.
Skip forward a few months; I began to notice that my chest was tender, and swelling a little bit. After a few days, I told my parents about it, remembering the doctor’s advice. They scheduled another appointment immediately, and next thing I knew, I was back in the doctor’s office. He took a close look at my chest, then called another doctor from down the hall. “This doctor is an obstetrician,” he said as the other doctor walked in. I had no idea what that was at the time, but my parents looked confused and worried. The obstetrician, a pretty woman in her late twenties, also looked closely at my chest before reaching out and touching it lightly. I shivered at her touch. I wasn’t really sure why; her hand wasn’t cold or anything. Just something about someone touching my chest like that made me tremble.
After a moment, she looked up at the other doctor and said, “This is the boy with the hormone imbalance?” He nodded, bearing the same perplexed look he had always had since he first discovered my chemical problems. The obstetrician turned to my parents and said, “I’m pretty sure the swelling is breast tissue.” My mother gasped, my father frowned deeply but said nothing, and I immediately exclaimed, “You mean I’m growing boobs? Like a girl?” The obstetrician nodded. “It’s called gynecomastia,” the endocrinologist cut in, “It’s actually not that uncommon; at least, relative to the rarity of your son’s condition. The only reason it’s worth mentioning is because of the hormone imbalance. Normally, it will go away on its own, or in some cases requires surgery, but in your son’s case, we obviously have no idea what may happen.”
“So what do we do now?” my father asked. The obstetrician said, “I think we ought to consult a urologist before we do anything else.” So she made another call, and next thing I knew, another doctor was in the room, this one another woman but in her thirties. She asked my parents to leave the room, then told me to drop my pants. I was a little uncomfortable doing so in a room with three doctors, but I did as I was told. The urologist did a little examination, asking questions like if I ever had trouble peeing, then asked the other two doctors, “How old is this boy?” “Thirteen,” I cut in; I was sick of them talking like I wasn’t even in the room. She stood up, and said, “There don’t appear to be any functional or structural problems. But he’s in the 96th percentile for genital size for his age.” I was surprised; I hadn’t ever thought about my penis as particularly large or small. It was just the penis I had.
The three doctors had me put my pants back on, then called my parents back into the room. The obstetrician told them, “Chris appears to be developing secondary sex characteristics of females, as well as being far more developed as a male than most boys his age.” “What does that mean?” my mother asked. “It is our theory that Chris’s hormones have caused some female characteristics to be expressed, as well as driving his general sexual development into overdrive. At this point it’s only speculation, but I would guess that as he continues to go through puberty, he will continue expressing these characteristics, and develop at an accelerated rate.”
My father began to become impatient, “What should we do about it?!” he demanded. The three doctors looked at each other uneasily, then the endocrinologist said, “I’m not sure there’s much we can do. We still don’t know exactly what is causing your son’s hormone imbalance, but the chemical processes involved are so complex and tied to so many glands that we can’t feasibly consider surgically correcting the matter without risking his life. Nor can we risk giving him hormone supplements or chemical repressors; the chemistry in his bloodstream is so crazy; there are some hormones in there that haven’t even been seen before. If we gave him anything, there would be a distinct risk of unforeseeable synergistic interaction.” He had lost both my parents and me with his medical jargon, but the message was clear; there were no ordinary methods to make me normal.
My parents asked him if there were any alternative treatments, and he began rattling off experimental procedures and untested techniques, all of which were risky and weren’t guaranteed to work. But I had had enough. “Shut up!” I exclaimed. All of the adults in the room turned to me, surprised. “You keep talking about me like I’m not even here. Don’t I get to decide what happens to me?” The doctor turned uneasily to my parents and began, “Your son is a minor. He can’t understand all of the ramifications of any particular action. Ultimately the decision is yours. If I could just....” “SHUT UP!” I yelled again. “Stop talking like I’m not even here!” My mother knelt in front of my chair and asked, “Ok Chris. What do you want?”
“You’re all talking like this is something wrong with me. I don’t really get why you need me to fit into one category or another. I have plenty of friends who are girls and plenty who are boys; I don’t see that many differences between them on the inside; all that’s different is the outside. But if they are both the same on the inside, what’s wrong with me being different on the outside? You think that something bad will happen if I’m not ‘normal’. But I’ve been like this my whole life, apparently. This is normal for me. I’m not changing just because you think I’m a freak.”
The doctor, addressing me directly for the first time, said, “I understand that you’re scared of the change, and of the treatments. But it will be a hard life to continue as you are; people won’t understand.”
“I don’t care,” I said defiantly. “I like who I am. And if people don’t like me for who I am just because of this, I don’t want to waste my time with them anyway.”
The doctor looked helplessly at my parents, expecting them to set me straight, or use the fact that I was too young to override me. But they stood resolutely. My mother said, “I don’t know exactly how this will end. But Chris is a smart kid. Smarter than you give him credit for. If this is what he wants, we can’t make him do anything different. It’s his body, it’s his call.”
The doctor, realizing that there was nothing he could do or say, sighed and sat down next to me. “Ok Chris. If this is what you want, then you can do it. I hope that I’m wrong; I hope that you have a good life, despite everything.” “Don’t worry about me,” I said with my best sneer, “I’ll be fine. And you know what? I’m betting that I’ll have a better life than you.”
*************************************************
After that I'll skip ahead to when Chris becomes Christine, with exaggerated femininity with the exception of a large penis, and explore Christine's sexuality as she discovers sex with both boys and girls. I've been wondering a few things though; should I rewrite the backstory so that Christine also has a vagina? It will obviously take some doing, but it might be worth it. Also, how should I approach entering into her sexuality? I'm not sure exactly how to begin. I want this to be an extremely believable character, so I don't want her sex life to suddenly become absurd. Please get back to me with feedback so I can develop the story more.
