Epilog: Whatever Happened to the Boi Cunts?

©2010 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission.

Rick Bloom had been sent to BCS on a dare.

His dad is a professor of sexuality studies at the state university. Several years ago, he met Dr. Hamou at a conference dealing with transgender males, where they shared a few beers and became good friends. Over the years, they often attended the same conferences and both gained a well-deserved reputation as experts in the field. Their friendship continued outside of academia. When Hamou asked about Bloom's family, the professor would pull out his wallet and proudly show off pictures of his son Rick, a "chip off the old block!"

Frequently the two men found themselves on the same panel arguing opposite sides. Professor Bloom insisted the transsexualism was innate; some males are born with something that makes them that way. He'd interviewed thousands of MtF transgenders, who all spoke of knowing they were females from an early age. The causes were probably multiple, but, he insisted, nonetheless biological. Some cases might be attributed to a chromosomal anomaly; for instance, about one in every 500 males is born with an extra X chromosome, and half of these develop Klinefelter's syndrome. Others are due to a hormone imbalance. Some XY men have bodies that do not respond to the testosterone they produce. Many cases are probably neurological, involving a difference in the structure of the hypothalamus. When the human genome map is thoroughly explored, a genetic cause may also be found.

Hamou, the behaviorist, however argued on these panels that MtF transsexuality was more often than we realize a matter of environment. This was the politically incorrect side of the argument, but organizers knew that including him would create a lively debate. Hamou enjoyed the challenge and argued his case forcefully with many case studies. He was careful to distinguish himself from such charlatans as John Money and Michael Bailey. Yet at every appearance, he made the polarizing assertion that any boy given the right circumstances could be made into a girl.

Although they had opposing viewpoints, the two men remained good friends and frequent drinking buddies. When Rick was 8 1/2, Bloom met Hamou in Chicago at yet another conference. They went out for beers and after a few bottles, got to arguing. Hamou said, "Bloom, if you're so sure my theory is bogus, then prove it. Send Rick to BCS and see if he doesn't come back a girl."

Rick had never exhibited any sissy traits. He rough housed with his young friends, watched the NFL games with his father, and always had to be hounded to straighten up his room. He was highly competitive, never accepting defeat, whether in a wrestling match, a swim race, or a farting competition. Prof. Bloom was confident when he sent his somewhat confused son away to BCS.

When Emily returned home all excited about her new life, her father was understandably perplexed. Everything he believed in had just been undermined. In August, he was scheduled for a series of lectures in San Francisco. He delivered his usual arguments, but now that he had a daughter back home, his heart was no longer in his theories. He began to hedge his arguments.

He hoped the effects of the school would wear off, But the nine-year old acted more and more feminine every day. He could not dissuade her from taking her pills. She no longer showed interest in sports either as player or spectator, preferring to play with her dolls. She fastidiously kept her room and wardrobe neat.

Most disconcerting of all to her father was her repeated pleas for sex. She missed the fucks she got regularly at BCS. Emily was a very popular choice of cat house night customers. So, back home, every evening, she'd sit in the living room in her most provocative dresses or lingerie and try to coerce her father into satisfying her female desires. Her efforts were in vain for Bloom was neither gay nor pedophiliac.

Mrs. Bloom could empathize with her new daughter. After losing her own virginity to a neighbor boy when she was prepubescent, she hungered for fucks. She craved every cock in her young world and was disappointed that she couldn't get it. No matter how old she is, once a bitch learns what her cunt is there for (whether its a vagina or a boi cunt), it becomes the focus of her life and the sole motivation for everything she does. So now Mrs. Bloom was sorry her husband was so deaf to Emily's pleas, but she hoped another man might be found to fill the gap.

When the kid started fourth grade as Emily Bloom, her friends and teachers who knew her as Rick had a lot of adjusting to do. Classmates teased her on the bus and the playground. Teachers looked at her askance. A counselor was brought in to work with her. But she was resilient and consistent and eventually people began accepting her new identity.

The music teacher, Mr. Westerman, was the only faculty member who didn't need to alter his mind. He had transferred to her school that fall and so never knew her as Rick. He began giving her clarinet lessons. He was captivated by the twinkle in her eye as much as she was by his warm smile.

"Dad, I want to take private lessons with Mr. Westerman. He says if I do good, I can join the band and play in the winter concert. Please, Dad, please?"

Professor Bloom saw no reason not to encourage her musical interest, so his wife scheduled Emily's first lesson for Thursday. When she got home from school, Emily got busy orchestrating all the details for her lesson. She told her mother to please not stay around, that it made her nervous, so Mrs. Bloom went went next door to have coffee with her neighbor. Emily moved a bench from the dinette into the living room and set up her music stand. Then she bathed and put on new clothes.

"Hi, Emily, I see you changed clothes. You weren't wearing that in school today. You look very pretty." She was wearing a short black skirt, nylons, patent leather shoes, and a gauzy blouse that revealed her bra.

"Thank you, Mr. Westerman, I chose it just for you. I thought you'd like it."

"Yes, I do. I don't think you should dress that way for school, but I'm very glad you dressed that way for our lesson. Very glad." The two sat side by side on the bench and Westerman had Emily review what she'd been learning at school. "You are progressing very well, little lady. I wish all my students practiced as diligently as you." Emily returned a sly grin, and wiggled her ass closer to his, in the process inching her skirt up another inch, revealing the top of her stockings. Westerman labored on, giving Emily musical pointers, telling her what to practice the coming week, and complimenting her maybe a little too much. But he was finding it hard to concentrate. Whenever he spoke to her, she laid her clarinet across her lap and the bell extended on to his lap where it touched his package. When she picked it up again to play, it always seemed to nudge his dick. She didn't always watch the music, preferring to look at her teacher with doe eyes even when she was playing. Her entire body was pressed against his side. After half an hour, there was no hiding the bulge in his pants.

Wordlessly, she stood up, laid the clarinet on the bench and took his hand. He followed her to her bedroom. Now she was in charge of the lesson. She took off her skirt and blouse which weren't hiding much any way. Westerman ogled her bikini panties and started unbuttoning his shirt. Her smile made him quicken his pace and soon his shirt and pants were on the floor. His tight t accented his well defined chest and his boxers were tented. She knelt to service his cock and he pressed her head into his crotch. She knew just when to stop the oral stimulation. She leaned over the side of her bed, reached back and pulled her panties to one side. Westerman saw that inviting crack and knew what he wanted to do, no, what he had to do. He leaned over her pressing his chest down on the back of her bra and pushed his cock against her anus. He remembered the condom in his wallet, but that was in his pants on the floor and he was in no condition to stop now. His ample precum and the spittle she left on his cock were enough lube. When he pushed his helmet through the sphincter, she let out a short grunt. He raised his chest up and supported himself on his two strong arms as he pistoned his way deeper into her love tunnel. Emily couldn't be happier. It had been over two months since her last fuck and she needed this badly. Westerman also was happy, delirious actually. He pounded away and the musician's screams exhibited both perfect pitch and perfect rhythm. When he reached the coda, Emily's chute was filled with his cream.

Mrs. Bloom next door kept watching the clock. She'd wanted to speak to the teacher and pay him before he left. With all the noise they were making, Westerman and Emily didn't hear her open the back door, didn't hear her climb the stairs, didn't hear her retrace her steps back down.

After the fuck, they quickly got dressed and went back down to the living room where Emily picked up her clarinet and resumed her lesson. Mrs. Bloom opened and closed the back door again. "Hi, Sweetie, I'm home. Are you almost finished with your lesson."

"Yes, Mommy."

"Hello, Mrs. Bloom. Yes, I was just showing your daughter what she should practice for next week. She's a very talented young lady, you know."

"Yes, I know. How much do we owe you?"

"No, when a student shows as much potential as your sweet daughter, I consider it a privilege to teach her pro bono."

"Well, that's very generous of you, Mr. Westerman. I know Emily will work very hard to please you."

"So, I'll see you next Thursday then."

"No, you'll see Emily. I think it best if I'm not around then. I don't want you to feel you're being watched. I'll stay next door until I see you leave. Take all the time you need." Mrs. Bloom shook his hand and went back into the kitchen. Westerman left but not before Emily kissed him. Her mother came out of the kitchen with a wet sponge and paper towels. "Here you go, Sweetie, wipe up the cum on the bench. You were leaking." The nine-year old shemale blushed, took the sponge, and said thank you.