i wanna help a confused little thing detransition so bad… it starts with him shyly saying that it’s ok if i call him a good girl in bed sometimes- he’s still a boy, he says, it’s just a turn on. and for a little while, it is, but something changes as we keep going.
i notice how hard they cum around my fingers when i coo at them for being my good little girl, my princess, my babygirl; i notice they don’t react as much- at all, eventually- if i call them a good boy. we both know that something is different, that it feels more real, but i don’t say anything- just keep reminding them they’ll always be my good girl. slip in a princess here and there in casual conversation, watch their face heat up. pretend not to notice when they wear a little tighter clothing, stop binding every day. i know it’s coming when they tell me over dinner one night they’re fine with he/they pronouns, and they know i know too, but i just tell them im proud of them for telling me.
i smile into their back that night as i run my fingers through their slit and feel the full body shudder when i ask if she needs something. i take them shopping and quietly ask if they’d like to go to the women’s section, too, and squeeze their waist lovingly when they blush and nod. tell them they look so cute in that crop top, that the leggings make their ass look great, remind them that boys can wear skirts too when i catch them looking.
he/they becomes they/he. i notice their hair growing out, twirl it in their fingers and tell them i like it. i pull down their skinny jeans one night to find boyshorts rather than the usual boxers and pin their thighs open, making them cum in the cute boyshorts and pushing them aside to suck on their swollen clit until they cum again, whimpering in a high little voice that makes me twitch. they’re still clinging to masculinity, but it’s falling away- they/he becomes they, they tell me one night as i’m softening in them that they’ve lowered their t dose. of course baby, i say, whatever feels right, and i can’t help it if i twitch a little in their warm hole when they say it.
they appear at breakfast one morning in a sundress, and if they don’t say anything i wont either, other than “you look good, princess”. when i slowly undress them that night, unlacing the back, gently moving their now long hair over their shoulder, i do it front of the mirror, whispering how i love their beautiful feminine body as they shiver and whimper, dress falling away to reveal a cute little bralette and lace panties, already damp with their arousal by the time i slowly pull them down around their thick thighs to feel them.
it’s not so soon after that they tell me they’re thinking of taking a break from t, just for a month or two, and i tell them i think that’s a good idea, im proud of them for listening to their body, and i see the fear melt away from them as they nod, clinging to me. i pay close attention, watching as their body changes, asking them every night how it feels, how they feel, what they need from me. i don’t push, but i see the way they flush in pleasure when someone asks if they’re my girlfriend, rub their back under their crop top when they murmur, i’m his partner, yeah.
i notice how they haven’t bound in months, how they only wear feminine clothes now, how they haven’t called themself a boy recently at all. i notice, but i don’t push- this is something that needs to come from them. they/them becomes any pronouns, and i feel pride and love fill me at the little hitch of breath i hear when i say “she’ll have the same i’m having” on our anniversary dinner.
i ask her on the walk home, with no one around, the familiar question of how she feels in her body now that she’s off testosterone, what changes she’s experiencing, if she likes them. she nods, slightly. looks around, and says quietly, i don’t think i’m gonna go back on it again. i look into her eyes and wrap my arm around her waist and tell her i love her, im so proud of her, that i think this is the right decision. we walk a little, and before we get to our place, i ask if she wants to go on birth control, now that it’ll be more dangerous. her little “no” gets me half hard by the time we’re in the bedroom, and when i cum inside her that night, i can’t help but place my hand firmly over her womb, and i feel her cum harder than i ever have before.
i’m not surprised, after, when i feel her body shake against mine, when tears fall from her eyes, and she finally admits it- tells me she thinks she’s a girl, after all, that she wants to be my girlfriend, my wife, a mother, that it feels so right watching her breasts fill back in and her skin soften again, so right when i call her “her”, whispers her name, her real name, her first name, into my ear and shakes in relief as it slips from my mouth for the first time. i knew it was coming, but i don’t tell her that, i tell her that it’s ok, it’ll all be ok, she’s a beautiful girl, i’ll always love her and support her, no matter what, im so damned proud of her for having the courage to experiment, to tell me. she says she’s scared, she doesn’t know what to do, and i hold her tight and let her cry it out, murmuring her name over and over again, and when she calms down i tell her we’ll figure it out together. she doesn’t have to tell everyone, or anyone, if she doesn’t want, nothing has to change, that she can start slow, that no matter what i’ll be there for her, and she falls asleep safe in my arms with me still inside her, making sure my seed takes in her womb. when we wake up the next morning and i brush her hair out of her face, call her by name as i greet her, remind her that i love her, i see her shakily match my smile, her real self finally pouring out, and she tells me she’s ready to be a girl again.
