My “uncle”, my transformer. This story is 100% true. Well, 100%... real. Or not. What difference does it make? To give a

My “uncle”, my transformer. This story is 100% true. Well, 100%... real. Or not. What difference does it make? To give a little background, I have to tell my story prior to these events that ended up marking my later life. I am 17 years old, my name is José and I study in a city near mine, where I have no friends or acquaintances. Just my “Uncle” Ángel. And I put it in quotes because there is no relationship. He is an old friend of my parents, who has been there all his life. Many of you will have someone like this in your life and childhood. But I imagine that it didn't do the same to most of them as it did to me. Since I was very little, I have had the need to wear feminine clothes secretly. It will sound familiar to many. My parents caught me a few times and always the same drama. What if the child is a faggot, what if this is not normal... Anyway, the usual. The fact is that when the time came for me to go study abroad, my parents were not entirely happy with the idea of leaving me unsupervised, and since Uncle Ángel lived in that city, they asked him to “keep an eye on me” from time to time. Thus my visits to his house for lunch or dinner were frequent. I liked Uncle Angel. No, not in that sense, I am not homosexual. He was a mature man, 46 years old, a confirmed bachelor, intelligent, funny, well-formed... A great asset for any girl. It was on one of those visits that he told me, a little embarrassed, that he wanted to ask me a favor. He had bought, as he told me, a very expensive dress for his new girlfriend, to wear it for the first time at the wedding they were going to attend. And that was true. At that time in my parents' circle there was a quite famous wedding. So I didn't see anything strange in his comment. I did see it as a favor, since we were both more or less the same size, his girl and I, that I should try it on in case it had to be changed. If everything had stayed like this, nothing would have happened, the problem is that he asked me with the dress in his hand. The most beautiful long, gold, satin dress I had ever seen in my life. It was a spectacle of satin, gold and feathers. As soon as I saw it I was dead, I think I blushed and everything. It was beautiful, perfect, ideal... I fell in love with that dress at first glance. I don't know if he realized it there, or if he already knew it from my parents before or, I don't know. The fact is that it cost me the same life to appear credible while I denied. The touch for God's sake, how soft, what luxury. I had to give in, I couldn't help it. But I tried to look annoyed and hurt in my manhood while I made him promise to pay me back. Once the dress was on, which fit me like a glove, she appeared with the heels. Beautiful 13 cm high heels, matching the dress. A bit of platform, gold patent leather and feather trim. And of course, with the dress, refusing was stupid. My number, exactly. They seemed, what a coincidence, bought for me. My problem was that no matter how well I played the role of the macho man doing a favor, I couldn't hide how well I performed in heels. That's when he definitely caught me. And his question, after a moment, was devastating. Do you... Do you often dress as a woman? He let me go suddenly and without anesthesia. I was dead, lost red, babbling and nervous as hell. Before I managed to say lada in the longest ten seconds in history, he smiled and told me that nothing was happening, that it was fine, that my secret was safe with me. He took me by the arm and took me to the sofa to calm me down and offered me a drink. I was embarrassed to death there. Paralyzed and red as a tomato. Without saying a peep. He gave me the glass, another one for him. Safe and confident, as if it really wasn't a big deal. I accepted his drink and, letting myself be carried away by his calmness and poise, I began to talk to him about my situation. He answered politely and after reassuring me again, he asked me if, since I was there and we had time, it was Friday and there were no plans for any, I wanted to get dressed there. Let him see my other half. Appealing to our mutual trust and affection, he suggested that I trust him better than his best friend. I don't know if it was the cup, the situation, or the dress that he kept looking at and caressing over my skin that I ended up giving in to his idea. I was going to dress as a woman, with that beautiful dress for a person I had known all my life. In a way, it was calming and relieved the idea. Shower and shave everything. Face and body. In the bathroom you will find my girl's things that you can use. Powders, deodorant and more. In the shower the doubts and fears returned. All the consequences of such an idea. But the dress… oh! The dress. And now, the secret was out, he knew it, he had nothing to lose. Showered and shaved, I went out to the bedroom where the dress was again on the bed and, oh surprise, a set of white and pink satin lingerie. Bra, panties, garter belt and white stockings. And a white satin cinching corset. When asking what that was all about, his response was, if you're going to do something, do it right, princess. That offended me. Okay, he had a specific occasional cross-dressing problem, but he was a boy, and not a faggot. But the dress... I decided I couldn't pass up that outfit and of course I wore it. It was different to be shaved, everything was so soft, much more intense to the touch, lighter, lighter and feminine. Before putting on the dress, she asked me to go back to the bathroom, where she opened a cabinet drawer for me with the most complete collection of makeup products I had ever seen. Three times more than my mother, my sister and my aunt combined. Totally amazed, I asked him about it, but according to him, it was all about his girl. I was always good at putting on makeup. And the practice I had did the rest. All those YouTube videos and well, my talent, have made me be very convincing when it comes to putting on makeup. And of course, I have never had so much or so good product at my fingertips. I tried my hardest. Foundation, powder, bright blush, super-marked eyeliner, shadows in three shades finished inside the eye and the highlight with a very very bright gold. I like glitter, what's up? Two fake moles on the cheekbone and outlined lips, leaving the last touch for last, the lipstick that I always apply after I'm dressed. I was so involved in the situation that when she arrived with a beautiful blonde wig with medium length wavy hair, and a set of metallic gold false nails, I didn't even stop to think about it. He helped me put them on, without thinking about how the hell I was going to take off those nails later, which said on the box that they were for two weeks. He put the wig on me and helped me comb it. His hands, both with his nails and with the wig, came into contact with my skin, on my hands, shoulders and back. Lightly, nothing intense, nothing obscene. And… Caress? Or casual friction? Although it made me a little uncomfortable, I wanted my drug. And he was giving it to me. The dress, how different to feel like that. Waxed, makeup, long hair. The necklaces and earrings matching the rings were the finishing touch. She handed me a clutch bag that also matched the suit and the shawl that completed it, and a feather headdress that she attached to the wig. He gave me the entire outfit that his girl was supposed to wear to the wedding. And three hits of Obsession perfume to top it off. He accompanied me to the living room and returned to prepare a couple of drinks. We talked about whether he was calmer now. How I felt and so on. It was a magical situation. A friend with whom I can be that other part of myself without judging or offending me. Just two colleagues. Now calmer, more relaxed, I began to behave more feminine. Which he suggested she enhance, that she was safe there with him. What a delight to be able to walk in heels without fear of the neighbors when I went to the living room mirror to paint my lips a dark copper color, very shiny. So he told me that if I wanted, I could go to his house to get dressed whenever I wanted. That there was no problem. And his girl?... And the dress, isn't it divine?... He told me that he understood and understood it, that he had several homosexual friends who also had that need. Curiously, I was wearing a gold satin suit and putting on copper-colored lipstick while I responded “but what are you saying, I'm not a faggot”… And that sounded derogatory, as well as ironic. He became more serious, and at the same time I noticed a half evil smile on his face. Back on the couch, with my drink in hand, he asked me if I had anything against faggots. I told him no, of course, I was very tolerant. That everyone could do whatever they wanted with their ass. Sucking cocks is free, let them swell… It didn't sound as funny as I thought. Then he began to mix a trap with kindness and reproach. He lit a cigarette and asked me if I wanted another one. Although I have tried it with friends and others, I did not consider myself a smoker. But I accepted by insisting on his offer. In your bag you will find yours. I proceeded to open my bag and took out a pack of cigarettes that I didn't know. Virginia Slims. Long, very long, white in color and a strong menthol smell. They're the ones who hit you with that dress, she told me. They were soft and tasty, very minty. He returned to his interrogation, offended by my comments. And what happens if someone you know is a faggot? Are you going to leave him aside? No, of course not, why do you say that? Take the remote control and press play. I turned on the television where two gym hunks appeared kissing, and breastfeeding a very thin young man. I was shocked. And what happens if I'm a faggot, like you say? White. Stone. Dying of embarrassment with my copper-colored lips wide open and my super-long cigarette in my totally mannered hand. Do you know what I'm telling you? Yes, I am. And I thought you would understand me. And you would support me. I didn't know what to say. My mother. What a situation. The next thing was what left me stunned. And you know what else? You are too. And if you're not, I'm going to make you. There the situation became tense. Both of us were offended, nervous, and I got up scared to leave when he suddenly let me go if I was going to go out on the street looking like a faggot. No, with my clothes. You don't know where your clothes are. And you're not going back to the bathroom. You're going to sit here and listen to me. We're losing our minds honey, he finished. With the super gay porn movie on, with his drink in his hand he pointed out a hiding place on the shelf where there was a wifi webcam recording everything. I'll edit it to make it look like you snuck into my house to dress up as a woman. My parents, my friends, my entire school would know. Completely in shock, stuck not knowing what to say or do, scared to death and on the verge of bursting into tears came the begging and pleading. All the pleases in the world had no effect, even the “I will do everything you ask of me”… I will do everything you ask of me was not my best phrase, standing there in my evening dress, perched on my sky-high heels in front of the man who dressed me as a woman and was now threatening to expose me. He took me by the shoulders and turned me to the mirror, to speak softly to me and tell me how pretty I was. That's true. She was wonderful. It was a golden bomb of feathers, glitter and makeup. She looked more like a showgirl than a girl at a wedding. I fell in love with my image and it blocked me. His hands caressed my shoulders and my ass. Rejection. I wave him away and go back to the couch to light another long cigarette and drink from my glass. I tried to reason with him, explain to him that he was not gay, that I admired him just the same and respected him much more, that his secret with me was also safe and we would leave it at that. That I would never dress with him again so as not to confuse him and that's it. And my best smile and bat of my eyelashes… Will you let me do everything I want? Remember the video I recorded. You will only do what you want to do, I will not force you to do anything you don't want to do. But you'll let me do whatever I want. That was their agreement. His offer not to betray me and expose me. And I couldn't refuse anymore. I nodded, thinking about the consequences of my refusal and, cowed and scared to death, I agreed to his deal. He would try to make me a sissy and I wouldn't resist. He sat next to me and put his hand on my thigh and the other on my back. My secret is going to be your secret from today. Today I'm going to make you a faggot, like me. Caressing my thigh and knee, with the softest tone in the world and a certain tone of reproach and punishment when saying “faggot,” the closest thing to an uncle I never had, he told me that I was going to become homosexual. More sobbing. Don't cry queen, your mascara is going to run. He was gay, but not effeminate, he had no pen. I was forcing her to humiliate me and laugh at me for my comments. But it was reassuring at the same time. He gave me another glass, I drank hard, his hand on my thigh and my back. Watch the movie and relax. But it can't be, I'm not, please. Shhhh! Watch the movie. With my drink in my hand, the most beautiful dress in the world and painted like a Las Vegas stripper, I smoked my long cigarette and watched on the 51-inch screen a big man and a transvestite sweetly sucking his cock. His hand went from my thigh to my chest, and the one on his back became firm to catch me when I tried to escape again. Sitting on the couch, my flat chest wrapped in feathers and satin was being caressed by another man. I took another sip, took another drag, and my right nipple got pinched. It didn't hurt. I moaned, shit. I groaned. It had given me pleasure. On TV the transvestite sucked the man's cock crazy with pleasure. My nipple and breast were being tortured by pleasure and caresses. I smoked another puff, and asked to please let me. Shhhh! Relax, look how those “faggots” enjoy themselves. I closed my eyes, offended, overwhelmed. My nipple caressed, My back caressed. He stood in front of me, I saw him huge, strong and masculine. My hands were decorated with rings and metallic nails. He stripped down to his boxers with a huge package next to my face. He sat down again and leaned closer to me. Look how they enjoy. Now the man was penetrating her. When the cock on the television broke the transvestite's entrance, my crotch was grabbed tightly, letting out a strangled, feminine scream. He relaxed his hand and started massaging my crotch. I was getting excited and became erect. You like it, I can tell. Let it go, take it over. My no, please came out half muffled by a hint of a moan. Here, paint your lips again, I want to see it. Without knowing why, I did it. Putting on lipstick next to a half-naked man who rubbed my crotch and back. And I liked it. It was pleasure what I felt. Pleasure and helplessness. He stood up and put me on. I could refuse according to the deal, but I couldn't really. He hugged me and caressed me from my thigh to my ass and my back. He kissed my neck and I sobbed and moaned. Totally confused. He was right. I was becoming homosexual. My hands were fixed on my sides. I refused. No, not to mention. He will abuse me but I won't be what he wants... I will simply let him use me even if I love him... I no longer knew what he was thinking. After caressing my body completely, rubbing his body against mine and letting me feel his huge cock imprisoned in his underwear against my dress and my panties, he pulled down his underwear and released his huge cock in front of me. What I glimpsed was enormous, and I closed my eyes and looked away. His face in my ear nibbled on my lobe and whispered, look at her, don't refuse. And his hands lifted my dress and lowered my satin panties, letting out my erect cock... if it could be called that. When I looked down and saw them together, mine was almost half the size of his. Seeing them like that was the most humiliating thing of the entire night, the defining moment, when the sobs turned to tears. Not many, just a couple. Grabbing my cock and joining it with hers in a completely homosexual massage was the greatest pleasure received to date. Of course, to top it all off, she was still a virgin. The tears turned to moans, intense moans, Trembling, pleasure, my hands grabbed their shoulders and they hugged each other. No... I managed to whisper, not knowing if it was even audible. Do you like it right, faggot? Moans You love my cock don't you faggot? Intense moans Tell me what you like, come on, tell me that I've already made you a faggot? Wailing. I'm not going to say it. Wailing. Pleasure. Run. Hugging him tightly, my cock began to shoot jets of semen like never before. The most intense pleasure ran through me as I moaned loudly with pleasure. My semen used as lubricant made the double masturbation more fluid and smooth, more intense. Moans, Pleasure… Shame. As always, after jerking off dressed as a woman, my masculine side returned with force, making me ashamed and regretting it and swearing and perjuring that I would never do it again. On this occasion, it was also like that. He knew what was happening and held me tight as I sobbed and tried to escape. Be still, we have to strengthen your queen homosexuality. Humiliated and violated, I tried to get away to be easily placed facing the mirror. The same image of a feminine goddess wrapped in satin, feathers and makeup was returned to me. My blonde hair adorned with feathers and my perfect makeup barely smudged by two little tears. Except my little cock still dripping cum into my crotch and a big naked man grabbing me from behind. Don't refuse, don't resist, you have to make sure you are. He didn't even say it anymore, but I thought about it. Faggot, faggot, crazy, homosexual... all that resonated in my head... but it didn't sound bad. His hands wet with my semen entered my panties, through my ass, and a lubricated finger broke the entrance suddenly and to the bottom. I screamed and jumped, I tried to escape but I was their prisoner. No, No, No, No... Shhhh! Take it. His finger moved in my ass. Pleasure. Pleasure, Moans. No, No, No... Stop moving, you'll see how you like it. His finger moved back and forth, in circles. I relaxed. Pleasure, Moans. Silence. Wailing. And now I'm going to fuck you like the fagot bitch that you are. Obviously I said no, I struggled and resisted. But the drinking, the heavy running and the emotional stress had me weak and helpless. That echoed in my head, helpless, faggot. While my eyes saw myself in the living room mirror, lying on the floor, with my legs open and the dress raised and my Uncle Angel sinking his cock into my ass slowly and gently, almost effortlessly. My head resonated with helpless, faggot, whore, slut, faggot. His cock entered me little by little while my mouth whispered No, No, No, No... The sad and crying expression, without any tears, gradually gave way to a relaxed expression, until my image returned from the mirror excited me more and more. And the cock that was tearing my ass and caressing the walls of my anus gently, shifting me, turning me, sent waves of pleasure throughout my body. My little hands touched the floor looking for the best position, the most pleasant. Totally covered by a man with his cock buried in my ass I couldn't deny it anymore. His last “faggot” was returned with a Yes. This encouraged him and he grabbed my waist, placing me on all fours, covering me like a mare in heat and fucking my ass hard, with increasingly deeper strokes, his balls hitting my cheeks and each blow was returned by a shrill moan. His hand returned to my cock and he started jerking it hard while he fucked me until I couldn't help but cum again on his hand, much more intensely this time. Stopped after the orgasmic convulsions, his cock inside my ass was a pleasant and pleasurable invader, his hand milked my cock and my eyes closed in shame and regret. He left me sitting on the floor. Looking down with eyes closed. Sobbing. I didn't see him stand up in front of me or take off the condom he had fucked me with. I only felt something soft, wet and hot brush my lips and my heavily made-up cheeks. I opened my eyes and looked. His cock rubbing against my creamy lips and my face. I looked at him. He nodded. Convert, Assume it. Come back… He said. Faggot, Whore. Babe. Transvestite sissy played in my head while I timidly picked up his balls with my little hand and kissed the tip of his glans that I let enter my gorgeous mouth to suck my first cock of my own free will. Hot, soft, tasty, sweet, sour... Sucking, I'm sucking a cock. I like it. Groan. Blow job. Look at me, I looked at him with his cock in my mouth. Touch yourself. Enjoy it bitch. Blow job. Blow job. Pleasure. Groan. Masturbation. Blow job. Pleasure. Masturbation. His cock pulsed, grew, hardened, he moaned. I sucked. I came for the third time with his cock in my mouth, wet and hot. His cock left my mouth empty as I came and he returned to caressing my lips and face as a stream of hot, slimy cum began to run over my face and lips. His glans attached to my cheek let out precious and viscous, hot and tasty liquid that ran over my cheeks, my lips and entered my mouth. I opened my eyes and the world stopped. I looked at him, I looked in the mirror and I saw another person. He was no longer the boy who came in at noon. She was a queen. Reinona if you want. But different. And safe within his Fantasy of masculinity. I didn't speak again all night. He picked me up from the floor and undressed. He took me to the shower and washed me. She dried me and perfumed me and put me in a satin robe and some low mules with feathers. He led me to the couch and offered me one of my cigarettes. He kissed me on the lips and I returned it, letting him kiss me. The nails, the nails did not come off for a week. A week of clothes, makeup, heels, pleasure, moans, her cock, her boyfriend's cock... You already get the idea.