Addicted to Womanhood 1

by Zoe Brown

  “Vi,” I cut her off, trembling and fixing her with an intense, imploring look, “I want turn myself into a beautiful young woman for a weekend. I mean, I want to go away for a weekend, as a… a sorority girl, or early-twenties-something-girl, pretty and sexy and with everyone drooling all over her—me. I want to go shopping as one, and lounge about around a pool as one, and be seen as one out in the world, and flirt with men – and women – as one. I want to be fucked as one.” I felt my hard cock twitch inside my pants again, and the color in my cheeks intensified. “A lot, preferably.” I coughed, gruffly.

  Violetta gasped at me. Her eyes grew as wide as saucers and her mouth hung open for so long that I thought possible that she might accidentally swallow a bug.

  When she finally did speak, she could only manage a low and startled gasp. “…Pardon?”

  I huffed out a frustrated breath of embarrassment, glancing away from her stunned expression, and drew my head a little deeper inside the collar of my coat. “… You heard me.”

  The dark-haired Catalonian woman laughed, faintly, and nodded, though her eyes remained big and round. “… Oh, yes, I heard you. I just… can’t believe that I heard you right.” She drew my face back towards her own with one hand, looked me in the eyes again, and shook her head, a mystified expression on her face. To my surprise, though, the excitement was starting to come back into her eyes again as well. “… Really? You want to be transformed… into a pretty, sexy… ‘college girl?’ So that you can dress up like one and play around as one and… get fucked as one?”

  I blushed again, glancing away and muttering self-deprecating things under my breath. “Yes,” I huffed out after another moment. Then I felt a shiver of intense desire go through me, and I sighed, meeting her eyes. “So much. So badly. More than anything.”

  The amazed and mystified expression didn’t leave her face, but the excitement increased. She laughed, softly, again. “Oh my god…” She shook her head, a grin starting to stretch out her beautiful mouth, “… no, no, oh, my god… that is…” she laughed a third time, batted her eyes expressively, and marveled… “God, but that is utterly perfect.”

  I blinked at her, confused and surprised by her reaction. “What? Perfect? What do you mean?”

  “I mean—” she threw up her hands in defeat and then gestured at me, “LOOK AT YOU! You have spent your entire life trying to be the best, most successful, most powerful, most desirable and most daring macho man around, but now that you’re there…” she laughed, shaking her head again, “it all feels meaningless to you, and what you want more than anything is to be a ‘hot girl.’ Give up all that power and strength and success and sexual dominance and just be a soft,” she lowered her eyes, coyly, and batted her eyelashes at me, “beautiful, sexy young woman who gets flirted with, and maybe teased, and gets to be a little bit decorative, and feminine, and… who ‘gets fucked.’” She raised an eyebrow significantly at me, grinning wickedly as she tapped my chest. “I listened when you said that: ‘get fucked.’ Not ‘fuck.’ ‘Get fucked.’” She wiggled her eyebrows at me and licked her lips. “There IS a little bit of a submissive inside of you after all! I was right! I just didn’t know…” she lowered her voice, looking around with exaggerated caution and winking at me, “I didn’t know that she was a girl!”

  I blushed brighter and more intensely after that outburst, grinning nervously and stamping my feet, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. It was true, but it was also a bit embarrassing, and it still felt a little bit shameful, a little bit kinkier than I would have liked to have it all laid out like that, as if part of what I craved was that loss of power and control and male dominance that had always come naturally to me, as a man, to give that all up and to be on the receiving end of sexual desire, of sexual advances, of sex. The shame and the embarrassment roused a bit of the defensive reflex again, and I found myself stammering an explanation, or an apology of sorts, on behalf of my so eagerly-discarded manhood. “I mean, I just want to try it,” I explained, defensively. “Just want to see what it’s like. To find out if I…”

  “If you like it?” Violetta supplied, getting there ahead of me. “If you’d like to try it again, sometime, perhaps? Maybe quite a bit more ‘sometimes’ in the future?”

  The defensiveness grew. “I’m not making any permanent changes, Vi,” I declared, with maybe a bit more defensiveness than confidence in my tone. “I’m not changing anything about myself. I’m just… I’d just like to … try this, once. And maybe, if I like it… it could be something I do, once in a while, to let off steam. To recharge. To get in touch with my feminine side.” I shrugged, as dismissively as possible.

  Violetta favored me with an indulgent smile. I couldn’t tell whether I’d convinced her or not, or whether I even really believed that myself, but I didn’t care. It was true. I just wanted to try being a woman, for a while, for a weekend. To see if I liked it. To see if it might be something I could enjoy doing, once in a while… like, uh, like… handball, or Chinese food.

  But whether she believed me or not, Violetta dipped her head respectfully and shrugged, wrapping an arm around the inside of one of my own and tugging me slowly back away from the sculptures of Rincon park again and back towards the hustle and bustle of the city. “So, when did all of this… happen?” She asked, holding my arm close and gazing up at my face with still-barely-concealed excitement of her own.

  I relaxed. Talking about how I’d gotten interested in the idea of gender-bending made me much less uncomfortable than having to defend my insistence that I planned to return to my normal habits once I’d gotten this out of my system a bit, once I’d been able to really indulge myself in my new fetish for a little while, had a chance to enjoy the experience of gender-bending from the perspective of one of the Werewomen who were actually taking the drugs, instead of being one of their lovers. Once I’d gotten to experience just how sexy and naughty and fun being a hot young woman for a weekend could really be.

  So, I told her. I told her all about meeting Jade, about her revelation to me, about being sold my first bag of Werewoman drugs. I didn’t give Jade’s exact name, of course – I regarded the beautiful, gender-bent young woman as just as much a trans woman as any other that I had known throughout my life, and would have never outed her in such a fashion, even to my oldest and dearest friend. I didn’t give Vi Brianna’s name either, but I told her about my encounters with the hot, sexy gender-bending redhead, and how her comments had started me down the path of fantasy, masturbation, and increasing distraction as I slowly came to realize that I desperately wanted to try Werewoman myself.

  As we walked, the redness of my face slowly started to dissipate, and a sizeable weight seemed to slowly drop off of my shoulders. The reality of having admitted my big, sexy, kinky secret to my oldest friend, and not having had her scream at me, accuse me of being a pervert, and run off on me in a huff was beginning to settle in, and I was breathing more easily, and feeling more and more encouraged. But still, I was curious. Why was Violetta taking this revelation so well? It couldn’t just be about her hidden suspicion that I had a secretly submissive side hidden underneath the surface, could it?

  “So…” I asked, softly, after a minute, as we walked back along the railing walk on the San Francisco Trail, back towards the Port and the Plaza, back the way we’d come. “You’re really… okay with this? Okay with me, and what I want to do?”

  Violetta grinned up at me again. “‘Okay?!’” She teased me with sparkling eyes, “Darling, I am so much more than ‘Okay…!’ I’m already starting to imagine what styles of lingerie I’m going to dress the female version of you in.”

  I laughed, and my cock twitched excitedly again. Now that was a sexy idea. Dressing up in some sexy, sensual lingerie was already a firmly-established part of my fantasies, and my plans – vague as yet as they still were – for what I would do when I took a weekend away and indulged in some Werewoman myself – but having a chance to be sold some of the world’s finest, most luxu
rious lingerie, custom-fit just for my body – or, well, for my female-alter-ego’s, and by my ex-lover, one of the sexiest, most sensual women that I had ever met, that was so much sexier than what I’d imagined. I could imagine no more feminine clothing experience. “That would be…” I struggled to contain my excited grin as I returned her look, “really sexy.”

  Violetta laughed again, pressing closer against me as she squeezed my arm and skipped a little down the sidewalk beside me. “Oh, but this is so exciting!” She pressed her lips against my cheek and then slipped away again. “I am so delighted that you are doing this! Being a woman, especially a young, beautiful, sexy woman,” she wiggled her eyebrows at me and laughed again, “it can be so wonderful, Ashton, so much fun and so exciting! I have loved being a woman all my life, I must tell you, and I would not have traded the experience for any money, or the…” she waved a hand generally, “most magical cock in the world, or for all the privileges of being a man.” She beamed up at me again. “I only wish I could join you on this adventure. Take some Isis and be… twenty-two again, for a while, just long enough to enjoy this experience with you.”

  My eyebrows climbed up my forehead at Vi’s mention of Isis, another sexy, illicit black-market TCE knock-off of the ‘Aphrodite’ formula, one that was designed to not only turn a cis woman into a beautiful goddess, as ‘Aphrodite’ did, but also to reduce the apparent age of her physical appearance back to that of a woman in her early twenties, late twenties, early thirties or late thirties depending on which variation of the formulae the user took. It was black-market because the chemical involved in the de-aging process – for both Werewoman and Isis – was an unapproved substance known as ‘Tithonus,’ a rejected TCE formulae that had originally been slated for release with the ‘Imagine Yourself’ product line before it was discovered that using ‘Tithonus’ could excessively tax the heart, liver, and cardio-vascular systems of users over forty – the prime audience for the drug – incrementally-shortening user lifespans a few days at a time. For gender-benders over forty who were on Werewoman, that side effect was often considered a fair exchange for the chance to become what they so desperately craved to be, but far fewer cis-women were willing to trade a few days or weeks of their lifespan for a few more days of youth and beauty, so the product had never gone to market. Instead, it was ported directly onto the black market, where a not-insignificant number of women occasionally partook of it. I wasn’t really surprised to hear that Violetta was one of them – or, if not yet, that she was so excited about what I was proposing to do that she was actively considering becoming a user herself. After all, she was a woman who loved being a woman, had a very healthy sex life, and who would be very mischievous and naughty on occasion. I would not have been at all surprised to hear that she had taken Isis a few times since her husband had passed away so that she could relive some of the pleasures of her youth with all the experience and wisdom of an older woman, running rings around handsome young men in their thirties and forties and using them for her own enjoyment. But was intrigued by the notion that she might want to try doing so with me.

  “I mean, you could,” I stammered slowly, although a strange reluctance came over me as I said the words. As much as the idea of gender-bending alongside Violetta as she turned herself back into the smoking hot, sexy young twenty-something Catalonian bombshell that she’d been when I’d first met her all those long years ago, trawling for cock together, as hot, sexy girls sometimes did, did turn me on, I didn’t really want to share my first experience with Werewoman… well, with anyone. I didn’t know, yet, how much I was going to like being on Werewoman, or whether I would like it at all. And I still felt more than a little embarrassed and ashamed of my effeminate, emasculating desire to transform myself into a hot, sexy young woman so that I could – as Violetta had so effectively highlighted – get myself fucked. I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone to see that, or to be a witness in the general vicinity when it happened. I wasn’t sure how proud and happy I was going to be about my little experiment after the fact.

  Fortunately, however, Violetta seemed to pick up on my reluctance with a small, not at all disappointed little smile. “No…” she said slowly, looking ahead again and shaking her head from side to side. “No, not this time. Perhaps, if you enjoy yourself, some time in the future?” She raised an eyebrow at me, and I blushed, but then I shrugged. Who knew? “But you deserve a chance to experience this on your own. To decide for yourself how it makes you feel, and whether you want to do it again.”

  I smiled, ducking my head slightly as we turned left back onto the Embarcadero Plaza. The sounds of the city were beginning to grow loud around us again. “Thank you, Vi. And yeah, maybe, if I like it… that could be fun?”

  Violetta smiled again. “So when were you planning to have this wild, sexy adventure, young miss?” She teased me, winking as we stepped back out onto the street and crossed over towards the other side. I stumbled at her jocular tone and her words, and she laughed again.

  “I don’t know yet, exactly,” I replied once I regained my balance and after we had made it across to the other side again. We started heading back down in the direction from which we had come, returning Violetta to her new boutique and me, shortly thereafter, to the grind of the business world again. I could already feel the buildings and the constraints of the dog-eat-dog, thick-necked atmosphere and cut-throat competitiveness of my life starting to close in on me again, and the urge to escape flared brightly inside of me. “Not too long. A couple of weeks, maybe a month? I just have to get some things ready first…”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Timestamp: Friday, Twenty-Eighth of September, 2018. Now.

  “Brendan, forward my calls to Miranda for the weekend. Take messages until you leave, then direct them to her office; she’ll be in tomorrow morning. Send any pending inquiries to Miranda as well.” Brendan was my primary EA, but since he worked mostly during the week, when I worked, he functionally operated a lot more like a traditional secretary than an Executive Assistant. When I was in the office, I was usually pretty insistent about handling most of the work that was directed towards my office myself – I just had Brendan fielding calls and keeping my schedule and drafting paper work, although that had been changing more and more recently as he’d begun demonstrating some aptitude for the more involved aspects of what I did in my role as CEO. But on the weekends, when I was always away and Brendan was off for two days, Miranda was my girl. She came in to virtually run the office for me, to keep up with all of our current lines of inquiry, to pursue new lines of inquiry that opened up to us over the weekend, and to keep tabs on all of the important departments and clients who needed to be checked in on during those forty-eight hours a week when none of the senior officers was … in the office. Technically, all of Miranda’s decisions and actions were subject to my oversight and under my review, and I could and did revoke them whenever it was necessary, but it rarely was. Miranda and I had worked together for over half a decade by this point, and I trusted her instincts now almost as much as I trusted my own. Besides, she still saved all the big fish for me.

  “Yes, Mister Rhodes,” Brendan confirmed my orders as I swept by him, glancing up at me as I passed, a look of questioning on his face, but before he could even frame the words for me, I was already moving on, walking fast and feeling frisky as I closed in on my office. The end of the work day, the end of the work week was here, and a weekend full of new, exciting, never-before-sampled hedonistic pleasures awaited me. I had no time for my assistant or his questions now.

  If I wasn’t feeling flushed and excited before I ended the Senior Executives’ weekly wrap up, I certainly was now. Seeing Amy Cho walking back and forth across the conference room in that sexy, feminine outfit, with her beautiful, womanly body on display, the slowly-building anticipation and excitement that I had been feeling the last few weeks about this weekend’s coming adventures had ratcheted up from a natural ten to a quivering fifteen. I was hard, I was horny, I was jeal
ous of her womanhood and her beauty, and I was finally free to do something about it.

  I did my best to conceal my trembling, nervous excitement, fixing my features to keep them from contorting into the mischievous smile I could feel welling up inside of me. With my attaché case hanging from my hand, and the long coat draped over my arm covering the swelling hardness in my pants, I clipped out a distracted farewell to the various staff members I passed, and dipped my head in cool acknowledgment of waved goodbyes from several other members of the executive support staff who saw me as I slipped past them into the luxurious, expansive suite that was waiting for me at the end of the hall. Plushly carpeted, with a drink bar mounted upon one wall, an expensive leather furniture set arranged in the sprawling space before my hand-crafted mahogany desk, and a glorious view of the San Francisco Bay and the Oakland Bay Bridge just outside my window and off the balcony of my hundred-and-twenty-fifth-floor office atop Rhodes Tower, the suite was just one of the many perks of being the owner and chief executive of one of the top holdings companies in the world. But today I was utterly disinterested in it. Today I just wanted to get out of it, and… some other things, as quickly as possible, so that I could be on my way.

  Aware that members of my senior executive team were sure to stop by my office on their own ways out of the building if they thought I was still available, I quickly locked the double doors behind me and moved around the desk. If they only knew, I thought again with a hint of perverse humor, closing the blinds all around the periphery of the office with the push of a button. If they only knew what their playboy multi-millionaire boss was getting up to on his secret weekend away from the office, away from his thrill-seeking, playboy lifestyle, why he’d turned off his phone at 4:58 this Friday afternoon and raced down the hallway to this office, and to the executive elevator standing in the corner adjacent to his desk. If they only knew what was about to happen in here, during these first few minutes after our last board meeting of the, or in that elevator during the five-minute ride down to the sub-basement garage…