Erotic Transformation Flow

My story began in the worst of nightmares, but ended in my dreams coming true. It was in the trenches, in 1917, that I knew that I could not go on. As a man I was expected to fight, to win victory, or suffer death trying. I could never do any of that, and I did succeed in escaping.

Page [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 ]

At least, I remember thinking, I would be free of him now. I hated every minute of army life. From the moment they cut my hair so short, to the time of the events I am about to tell you about. My basic training at Longmoor was sheer purgatory. I never did well at anything, not drill, shooting or combat. The sergeants were always striking me, and I was often on a charge, or on extra duties. I was never at ease with my fellow soldiers. They all used such bad language, and talked about nothing but sex and women. They drunk heavily, swore all the time and got into fights and rowdy behaviour. They would not talk to me if they could help it. They knew I was not one of them. I knew it too, but realised that I could do nothing about it. I could only wish the war would not go on much longer, and that I would not be killed in it. I know that no soldier liked the trenches, and I found them even worse than Longmoor. It was such a nightmare. The raids on enemy trenches were the worst, and I do not know how I came back alive from any of them. I do not think that I ever killed a singleGerman. Somehow I survived. I took it a day at a time. I lived in hope that this nightmare would end, and I could be away from all this, and not killed.

We had been in the same trenches for months. Even the best soldiers were battle-weary. Or dead. In September we were told that we would be taken out of the fight for a short while, for even the senior officers realised that we had had too much. We were overjoyed, all expecting that we would go back to Blighty for a time.But we were only moved a few miles away. We were sent to a village called Eglise Saint-Martin, which was also used as a supply station for the Front. In our tents we could still hear the guns in the distance, and often saw German planes fly over us. At night we saw the flashes of the guns and bombs on the northern horizon. Still, we were glad to be out of it. It was there that I finally became useful to my regiment.In all this time the army had a low opinion of me. I am sure that my sergeant resented that I was still alive, while so many real soldiers had been killed that summer. But when it came out that I spoke French fluently, and that I was almost the only one who spoke French at all, I was much in demand. I was assigned to a Lieutenant Carruthers, an officer who was not much older than me. He was a public school boy, it seemed. He treated me with the utmost contempt, except when he needed my services as interpreter, and kept watching my legs as I walked. It was said that he was queer, and I did everything I could not to be alone with him.

Page [ 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 ]

[ Back to Transgender Fiction ]

0.189575910568