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.

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Just before Colette and I mounted the carriage, Colette suddenly remembered something she needed at the haberdashers'. She ran off, telling me to wait for her. She was not thinking, because up to then she had made sure I never left her sight when we went out. Still, I was alone in public for the first time since I became a woman, and I felt pleased. I went over to the milliners' to look in the shop-window. Yes, I was by now looking at ladies' hats, thinking how I would look in them. No qualms about it. But I was paying too much attention to these creations to realise that someone was coming up from behind. `Mam'selle, turn round, will you.' said a slurred masculine voice in English. I turned to see two British soldiers. Two lance-corporals, both rather drunk, and looking as if they thought a lot of the sight of me. `My name's Pete, and this is my pal Henry,' said one, the smell of beer on his breath. `What's your name, love?'I was mortified to hear them. And even more horrified to realise that `Pete' was Lance-Corporal Millson, who had terrorised me since I got to the Front. Now he was making eyes at me, in his drunken way. They were both being very offensive, as if they were thrusting their groins forward as they spoke to me. It was both fascinating and horrifying at the same time. I recovered my presence of mind `Excusez-moi Messieurs, je ne parle pas anglais. Je dois partir..' I babbled on, trying to convince them I did not understand them. I turned away, knowing how dangerous the situation was. But Millson grabbed my wrist, a little too hard. `Allez..nous... Mam'selle' he slurred. Then he said to his companion. `If we can get her down the back alley, she'll drop them for a shilling.' I felt his other arm snake around my waist, first hugging me, then coming to rest on my buttock, which he squeezed. I squirmed as he touched me there, and felt sick smelling his beery breath. I was terrified. Did they take me for a prostitute? Or were they planning to rape me? Now they would certainly discover my true sex, and would probably beat me up before they turned me in. I opened my mouth to scream, but realised I might easily give myself away. All kinds of questions might be asked, and I may not be able to maintain the deception Here I was, in the middle of the street, with a British soldier holding onto me, one hand holding my wrist, and another caressing my bottom. Millson was pressing up against my body, his groin against my other buttock, where I could feel his rising manhood. This last was the most horrifying, and the most exciting.What could I do? If I screamed I would risk attention drawn to me. Much worse if I tried to fight him off, and even then I would not do very well.

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