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"I wish I didn't have a cock."
I keep my expression warm. Other people might be appalled by Shona's admission, but I've heard it all before. Every girl they send to me tells me the same thing. I know exactly how this is going to go. The girl in the armchair opposite me is in the awkward in-between stage of puberty, taller and wider than a fully grown cis woman, upper body bulging with muscles, but lacking the thick layer of fat on the hips and thighs. Her breasts are still sharp, stiff buds poking through her thin summer dress. In a couple more years, she'll look just like me. It's my job to make sure she's ready for her new role.
I lean forward in my chair, trying to make my hulking body seem small and approachable. I know how people cower away from me in the street, and I don't want her scared right now. I'm here to treat her dysphoria, not to add to it. She's staring out the small office's lone window, gently glowing with mid-afternoon light. From beyond comes the melody of children at play. The rest of the school is on lunch break. I know she wants to be out there with them, to avoid thinking about the things we're discussing, but she's a part of something bigger now, and it's my place to show her that. I keep my voice soft. I've seen the way people flinch at my natural tone.
"I used to feel like that too."
For the first time this session, she turns to face me. I knew that would get her attention. No fully grown trans woman would ever admit that publicly. The consequences would be too great. To the world, we have to be big, and strong, and on top. She must feel so alone. Showing her how much we have in common will be the seed of connection I can use to move her past this phase. Every trans girl has it, and she's luckily enough to have it young enough that there's still time to fix it. That's why they brought me in. Hundreds of girls have taken up their natural place thanks to my therapy. She'll be no different. I've given this speech enough times that I can recite the words without thinking.
"I hated being seen as a man, and in my head I couldn't separate my penis from maleness. Men had one, women didn't, and that was it. But slowly I understood how small-minded that was. Trans women are women, and we all have penises, and therefore there is nothing male about a penis."
She's looking out of the window again. She's heard all this before. No matter. The next part is what will hook her.
"Instead, I came to realise how privileged I was to get to have one."
There we go.
"Most women don't get the strength we do, or the wealth, or the sex. They have to spend their whole lives working for us and having our children, with every moment spent in fear of us, while we get to be alphas, and use them however we want. Our penises are what give us access to lives of safety and pleasure. It took time for me to recognise just how much I owed my cock. You should take a moment right now to think about everything it's done for you. Giving that all up would be a far greater discomfort than a little dysphoria."
She's shuffling her feet, face turned to one side but eyes glancing up at me: classic signs that curiosity is beginning to overtake the avoidance. No girl can resist a woman willing to be candid with them. Her hands are clasped firmly on her lap, held strangely still for how restless the rest of her is. She licks her dry lips, words hesitant to escape her mouth.
"I don't want to give that up."
I don't let my surprise show. This is normally the first step of a long process. She's not supposed to agree so easily. There must be some catch. I let her continue.
"I just don't get why I can't be like other girls."
There we go. That familiar, impossible desire. I used to feel the same way, before I learned better. I nod, to make sure she knows I sympathise, and pull out my next psalm.
"I know most of us don't admit it openly, but we all felt the same way at some point, cub. I did, too. To be trans is to want to be a girl, in every way, including the ones that hurt us. I felt that urge every day, to be an omega, to be beaten, and raped, and impregnated, and, in so doing, prove beyond a doubt that I was really a woman. It was agony, feeling like my transition could never be complete, that I could never become the woman I'd dreamed of being as a child.
"What helped me move past this was to think about what would really happen if I got what I wanted. If I let someone do that to me, then that becomes permission for anyone to do it to any of us, and then we're no longer in charge. I can't disrupt the order of things just for my own selfish wants. If I did, every trans woman would lose the safety and comfort afforded to her by her status. We all end up suffering. I owe it to my trans sisters to stay on top."
Her eyes are now locked on mine, wide, clear evidence of her shock. No one will have dared put those feelings into words around her before. She's completely still, hands still firmly clasped. Has she been trying to conceal an erection? Perhaps she is aroused at the image I just presented her with. I wouldn't blame her. I used to think about it all the time, before I learned how to distract myself. In our next sessions, I'll teach her my tricks. First, I need to help her open up about her feelings.
"Have you thought about being raped before?"
After a moment of lag, she shakes her head.
"No, never."
Denial is a common response. These aren't feelings we're allowed to admit we feel. But every trans woman does feel them, and I need to help her understand that. I can give her the space to admit that to herself.
"Can you think about it now, for me? Tell me how it makes you feel."
Her head is shaking violently from side to side.
"I don't want to! I get it, I don't want to be like the other girls. Please don't make me think about that!"
I pushed too hard. She's not ready to acknowledge her feelings head on. Time to ease off, and work up to this more slowly.
"That's ok. You don't have to do anything you don't want to do."
She settles, but her eyes are on the window again. Her voice is quiet and empty, almost scared.
"Is there really no way to be an alpha without a cock?"
This is also familiar. Many girls have tried this before with me. She's bargaining, trying to win this smaller concession as a foot in the door towards her full desire. But that means it's a foot in the door for me, too. She may not be ready to talk about her true feelings, but I can use this idea as a proxy to start opening her up. I take a deep breath, and throw my mind back, planting my feet flat on the ground to steady myself. These memories are as sore as when they were fresh.
"I understand. I really do. Before my first time, I was desperate for there to be some other way to do my duty. I hated the idea of having to use a part of my body that made me sick just to think about. But I was in rut, barely able to think, and a girl happened to be cycling past, oozing the scent of a fresh first heat, and I found that all the disgust my conscious mind threw at me didn't matter in the face of instinct. I was on her before I realised what I'd done, and I couldn't stop myself no matter how hard I tried. I realised this was going to be a part of my life regardless of what I wanted.
"Every time I thought about what I was doing, I felt ill, but it felt good too. I hated liking it. It made me feel like everything a woman isn't. But I couldn't help liking it any more than I could help doing it. And that made me realise what I needed to do to get through it. I figured out that I could focus on the urges and the sensations, let them fill up my head, and there was no space left to think about how it made me feel. For those moments, I was free of the pain that had chased me my whole life. That's how I came to love my dick. For a few moments, it lets me escape the dysphoria."
I've stopped looking at her. All I can see are my hands gripping my knees. I let myself get distracted by my feelings, when I should be playing my role, making myself seem open instead of closed off. I quickly return to my original, approachable position, but when I look up I realise it doesn't matter. She is transfixed. The moment our eyes meet, her gaze snaps down to her lap. The flash of a separate cry cuts through the window, but she doesn't react. My story has struck something in her. We've formed a connection, and now I can start to dig. She takes a deep breath before she speaks.
"Is that how it's supposed to feel?"
Questions like this are where therapists need to be careful. Every girl I've seen has experienced what I described, and I need her to know it's normal, but I also need to keep from being prescriptive. I need the moment she recognises herself in my words to be authentic.
"There's no one right way to feel about anything, but this one is very common. However you feel, I'm here to support you."
She repeatedly glances up at me, only to avert her eyes as soon as they meet mine. The meaning could not be clearer. She's close to admitting her feelings, but she's scared. Without my guidance, she's not going to take the next step. One way or another, I've led every girl to this point, and from her I know exactly how to take her the rest of the way. I start with a simple idea.
"How does raping girls make you feel?"
She fumbles for words.
"Um... good?"
The trick now is to direct her thoughts to something specific. Before the session even started, I'd picked out from her file the event I want her to focus on.
"I know you got referred to me because of a feeling you got while raping someone. Can you tell me about that?"
For the first time, her hands start to move, fingers curling and uncurling, winding up her voice until everything comes spilling out, choked and stuttering, sentences assembled as she tries to say them.
"I have never felt pleasure like when I pushed my cock inside her."
I smile and nod at her to continue.
"We'd both just got home from school. Mum was out doing deliveries, as usual. Normally my sister stays after school doing sport so she can avoid being home first, but practice was cancelled due to rain, so she was holed up in her room. She's stopped playing with me since I came out." Her voice trickles out for a moment, but she takes a breath and continues. "I changed out of my school clothes and then went to hang them up to dry, and I saw hers hanging up too. She'd washed them thoroughly, but I can smell so well now that I could still tell she was in heat.
"I'd fucked one of the girls at school just before leaving, like I always do. It's easier than hunting one down on the way home. Usually that satisfies me until mum gets back, but I couldn't get the smell out of my head, and it was seeping through the crack under her bedroom door when I walked past, sticky and heavy and sweet. It reminded me of how she used to smell after sports when she'd barge into my room to play with me. She'd not done that once since I came out. I'd been respecting her need for space and time to adjust, but it had been so long, and I wanted more than anything to be close to her again.
"I knocked on the door, and she shouted at me that she's busy, like she always does now. She used to do that before too, but eventually she'd get bored with whatever she was doing and come drag me into some adventure or other. She never does that anymore. After I came out I used to beg her to play with me, but eventually I gave up. I'd assumed she'd tell me when she was ready.
"I tried knocking one more time, asking her if she wanted to hang out, and she gave the same answer. She tried to hide it, to only sound fed up and busy, but I could hear that she was scared. That stung far more than I expected. I'd never done anything to her, even though it's my right to, because I love her more than anyone else, and I didn't want her to stop loving me back. I knew I could control myself around her, but by avoiding me she wasn't giving me a chance to prove it. So I entered her room anyway.
"She was lying on her front on her bed, facing away from me, looking at stuff on her phone. She was in pyjamas, not even undressed or anything, but she still shrieked and threw herself against the wall like I'd just walked in on her naked, grabbing a pillow against her chest. I think she almost tried to tell me to leave, before she remembered that she's not allowed to anymore. It didn't matter how close we used to be. My presence alone was now a violation to her.
"I knew the only way we were going to reconnect is if I pushed through and made her see, so I sat myself at her desk at the opposite end of the room, and asked her what she was up to. I thought if I could prove that I could hold myself back around her, then she'd let me into her life again. She gave short sharp answers, cutting off each conversation I tried to start. It was frustrating, but I kept myself calm. Getting angry would have proven her right, that I couldn't control myself. I even made sure my mouth was closed when I smiled to hide my fangs. It didn't matter. She refused to open up. Eventually I ran out of things to say, and we sat there in silence staring at each other. Her smell was everywhere, like ripe berries and honey, and all I could think about was how we used to play together, and I broke.
"I tried to hold back the tears, but the hormones don't let me do that anymore. I don't even know why I was fighting my feelings so hard. I'd cried around her plenty of times before, when her games got taken too far and I ended up hurt. I think I thought she might also see this as losing control, and I didn't want to scare her. I sat there, bawling into my hands, face covered in snot, for what must have been minutes, and in that whole time, she did not move an inch.
"It took me ages to notice. All I knew was that something was off, that this time was different to all the times I'd cried before. I thought it must have been me. My emotional responses are completely different now, and I'm not used to them yet. But I kept feeling this void behind me, not dark or cold, but a hole where something should be. Each breath I took filled my lungs with more of her, and it ached with familiarity. Desperate for comfort, I breathed deeper and deeper, until it was all I could sense, but it didn't fill the void. I dug through my mind to try and find the source of the ache. It hadn't happened often, but I'd smelled her like this before. It was when I used to cry, and she would wrap herself tight around me and hold me till I felt better. Everything came together. The void was her absence from my side.
"It took everything I had to stop myself rushing over and hugging her the moment I realised. No matter how much it hurt me to stay away, I needed to keep control. I looked up at her, and all I knew was that she'd never let me back in, never hug me again, unless I did something to fix things. The only thing I could think to do was apologise. I told her how much I missed her, how I would never hurt her, how sorry I was for making her scared and ruining everything. She didn't say a word. Instead, her face slowly took on a look of utter contempt. She stared right at me, and told me that she wouldn't fall for my tricks so easily.
"It felt like ice in my chest. My apology fizzled into smoke as I tried to understand how she thought I could possibly have faked all of that. I had no idea where it came from. I'd never lied to her before about important things like this. Knowing that's how she saw me reframed all the sadness and frustration I had felt up to then. It hurt more than ever, but the pain morphed the frustration into anger. How could she think of me that way? I pushed it down, and tried to tell her she was wrong, but she doubled down, insisting I was lying to make her lower her guard. I begged her to tell me what I could do to make her trust me, and she didn't answer. It was that moment when I realised. I'd tried fix things, and failed. I was never getting her back.
"It was like my heart was being crushed. I couldn't do anything. I'd already ruined it all when I came out. I'd been selfish and short-sighted and foolish and only thought about myself when I should have thought about her. In that moment, I even considered telling her I'd detransition. I opened my mouth, but when I tried to form the words I got so nauseous I knew I couldn't. I needed my new body too much. And that meant what we had was lost forever. The void behind me was silent.
"I stood up to leave, but something had changed. Now that I wasn't trying to win her over, I wasn't repressing my anger anymore. I had been nothing but nice to her this whole time: not just now, but every day since I'd come out. She had seen how careful I was to control my rut, and how I never made her do anything even though I could have, and she didn't care. She wasn't avoiding me because she wasn't yet sure if I was safe. She had decided that I was someone she knew I wasn't. And that wasn't my fault. I may have chosen to transition, but it wasn't me who threw our relationship away. It was her.
"In that moment, all my pain turned into rage. All I could think about was how much she'd hurt me since I came out. We'd been best friends, and she'd ruined it, and worst of all she'd made me think I'd been in the wrong. She resented me for choosing not to be in agony in my own body forever, because of her prejudice against girls like me, even though I'd proven she was wrong. I had been accommodating of her, respecting her even though that goes against everything we're taught to do, and all that had achieved was giving her the power to hurt me. I understood for the first time why our society is the way it is. People like her will never give us what we want. That's why we have to take it.
"She screamed when I turned towards the bed. Her eyes were wide, and she tried to retreat even though there was nowhere to go. I was expecting that to hurt, but it felt right. All the fear she was feeling right now was her own fault. She chose to feel that way. I wasn't going to let her push the pain onto me anymore. The void felt a little smaller. She sat facing me, frozen, as I climbed onto the bed next to her and pulled her whole body onto my lap in a hug.
"The first thing that struck me was how small she was. She'd always been my big sister growing up, sporty where I was shy. Now my arms were twice the size of hers, and her head barely reached my neck. She struggled, but I had no difficulty trapping her arms against her sides. When we used to fight, she'd always been the one to pin me. All she could do was scream, calling me a rapist and a predator, but I wasn't going to let her hurt me anymore. I pressed my face into her hair, drinking in her sweet scent, and the void behind me was filled with her warmth.
"I was finally getting to hold her again. My tears had dried up, and I gently rocked us both back and forth as her shouts fizzled into occasional quiet sobs. I didn't realise the motion was working me up until she suddenly flinched, and I realised my cock was pressing into her ass. I almost instinctively changed positions to hide it, but I stopped myself. There was something satisfying about her fear. It was nothing but more pain she'd chosen to inflict on herself. Instead of pulling back I pressed myself up against her, and the way she flinched was nothing short of beautiful. And with that came one final realisation. If everything between us was ruined forever, then I had no reason to hold back anymore.
"Normally rape was something I got over with quickly, to appease the endless overpowering rut. I enjoyed the sex itself, and I liked how it felt to be stronger, to hold someone down and have my way with them, to get to do something for myself and not have to worry about what other people thought. I just got more than enough of it as it was, and so didn't feel the need to seek it out. On that bed, as I slowly grew hard underneath her, her increasingly frantic struggles only serving to get me worked up faster, I understood for the first time why so many of us go out hunting.
"I didn't let on what I was doing at first. I merely cuddled her more aggressively, pressing my face into the side of her neck, pulling her hair out of the way on the pretence of getting it out of my eyes and mouth. The scent of her exposed skin was overpowering, my new nose revealing countless layers of rich musk, a side of her I could never have seen pre-transition, a side she couldn't even see herself, and that she'll never get to take back now I'd claimed it. I wanted her to know how how naked she was before me in that moment, so one by one I described every detail to her. I told her that it reminded me of how I smelled after sex. She called me a creep, and I grew harder.
"It didn't take long for the arousal to grow uncomfortable to ignore. I decided against dragging things out even more. I did want to savour it, but I held myself back for too long already. I let one hand slide over her chest. The moment it reached the thin cotton of her top she froze. Her mind must have been running through a thousand terrible possibilities. I made sure to give her time to picture all of them, before my lips touched her neck and my fingers found her breast.
"For all she had acted scared of me, for all she must have pictured me raping her before, she was not prepared for the reality of it. The moment I started touching her, her defiant edge crumbled into a torrent of pleading, babbling and incoherent like someone trying to talk while in pain. Her panic carried an edge of confusion, of being unable to process the feelings I was giving her, and her scent grew harsh and acrid as the space left by the unknown was filled with terror. I pressed a fang against her neck, and her spike of panic had me drooling.
"Her skin was as soft as mine is now. Its sharp salty taste filled my mouth. Only the thinnest veil of flesh separated my fangs from the arteries that fed her brain, and the gentlest pressure made her breathe harder between her protests. I left a trail of kisses down her throat, a reminder of how much I'd loved her until just minutes ago. Her breasts were barely beginning to come in, already so tiny compared to my own, but she was sensitive enough to gasp whenever I brushed her nipple. There was a rush of euphoria as I realised just how similar the two of us were.
"My cock was leaking, and I decided I was done dragging it out. I tried to loosen by grip to get her top off, but she took the chance to try and scratch my face, so I ripped her pyjamas open instead. As her clothes fell away she let out a long, defeated whimper. She had no more fight left. I spun her round and pinned her onto the bed beneath me, and stared at her body for the first time.
"She'd never have willingly given me this view. Her lean muscles, her small growing tits, the medley of curves and flats, was altogether a skinnier, less developed version of what I saw in the mirror every day. In her face, wet with tears, I saw how I used to look cleaning myself up so mum wouldn't get her in trouble again. Before, I had been frail and shapeless. Now, we could have been twins. In her, I could finally see just how much of a girl I had become.
"With my weight on her chest, she could barely move. I could pin both of her hands above her head with just one of mine, while the other pulled off my dress and tore apart her bottoms. Her flailing legs only made the scraps fall aside faster. I slid backwards and grabbed her legs, getting us both into position. Her hands scrabbled at my chest, but she was too weak and worn out to fight me. I spread her legs and lined myself up, and felt something no other girl had made me feel before.
"In one moment, the two of us were divided. All the changes hormones had made paled in comparison to the truth between our legs. Her tiny tuft of pubes did nothing to conceal the absence. The body pinned beneath mine was everything I had wanted to be, and every other part of it we shared, but my cock would always mark me as different. I felt hollow, bile rising in my throat. I was burning with rage, not at her but at the world, for not having me born like her, and I poured every ounce of anger into my thrust.
"And god, it felt so fucking good.
"Ever since my very first time, I've loved fucking girls. Waves of pure pleasure shooting straight through your body, a slowly building mountain of sensation that finally bursts in exquisite release. This was more. Her screams of pain, her pleading whimpers and terrified cries, all were reminders of the hurt she'd made me bear for years, that she wanted me to bear forever, and that thanks to my transition I would never have to feel again. I didn't want to be in her place. I hated before, when she would make me cry. I loved being an alpha, and I loved raping girls, and I loved hurting her.
"And despite all this, every thrust reminded me of the one part of me I couldn't escape. I wanted everything she had been given for free, not just her shape and power. I wanted a cunt. I wanted a girl's body. Even as I tore her open, even as I relished the feelings her body gave me, I felt more sick, more empty, more angry. I fucked her with ever increasing force, blood and pre pooling on the bed. Cumming in her was the greatest ecstasy I'd ever experienced, and it left me with a pit of dysphoria that swallowed me whole.
"The paramedics found me sobbing into her chest, knot already long deflated. She hadn't moved a muscle, her blank stare broken only by the aftershocks of pain. I was completely unresponsive. Mum made me go straight to my psych, and she referred me to you." She shifts in her seat for a moment as her perception leaves the past and returns to the small room, the chair, to me. Her arms are raised, punctuating every key word with a gesture. Her cock is rock hard through her panties and dress, pre leaking down her front. "So that's how I feel. I love raping girls more than anything else. I never want to give that up. But trans girls are supposed to get whatever we want, and I want to get rid of my cock."
She's looking at me. She's looking at me and I'm supposed to speak. I'm supposed to tell her what she needs to do to reframe the intrinsic pain of being an alpha, to make her accept her duty and take her rightful place. I run through all the previous times I've done this, all the talking points I've amassed. My mouth is hanging half-open, and I snap it shut. I need to look certain, so she can trust what I say. She's starting to fidget again, her eyes falling aside once more, her hands returning to her lap. The silence drags on.
No girl I've seen has said anything like this before. The ones sent to me always have the same problem in the end. They want to be omegas. Like I did. I know how to help them. I've helped dozens find a way to fit in. But Shona isn't like that. I don't understand. To want to be a girl is to want to be an omega. We don't talk about it openly, but it's how we all feel. We put up with the dysphoria to maintain our place on top. The girls who come to me just need help figuring that out.
She's uncomfortable now. I can't keep saying nothing, but I have nothing I can think to say. I could refer her to someone else, but I don't know anyone out there who handles stuff like this. Is there someone who could help her? Is there even anyone else like her? I prepare the words I never want to say, that I'm not a good fit for her and she should find someone else. But there has been a doubt sitting patiently in the back of my mind the whole time, and it catches my tongue every time I try and muster the confidence to continue.
If Shona exists, then there's going to be others out there like her, others who like to rape, who like being in charge, who like being alphas. There are girls who don't have to pretend like I do. Any of the women I've spoken to, who've talked about loving everything I hate, could have been telling the truth all this time. Who knows how many of them there are. It could be everyone except my patients and me.
And if that's true, does that make me the one who's not normal? If all the other trans women have no dysphoria post-transition, and I do, then I'm something different from them. If transition didn't fix me, then maybe I'm not trans in the first place, and I was wrong when I chose to transition all those years ago. If trans women are supposed to be like Shona, then maybe I'm a fake. And that would mean every girl I have treated isn't trans either. I might have been dooming those boys to a life of misery, because I didn't realise girls like Shona were real. I look her dead in the eyes and tell her the only thing I can.
"I've never met a girl like you before. I can't tell you how you should feel. But you are right. We're supposed to be happy. And you are happy as an alpha, so you should never give that up."
She's still looking away.
"So there's no way to get rid of my cock?"
I reach out and place my hands on hers, pulling her attention back to me.
"I don't know. Hormones and surgeries have come so far in recent years. It could well be possible. You're going to have to figure out how on your own. But, if getting rid of it is what you want, then it's your right to do that."
She pulls her hands out of mine. I am about to pull away when she throws her arms around me in a hug. Her face is pressed against my shoulder, and I feel her shaking with sobs. For a moment I don't move. If I've been wrong all this time, how can I know what do to? I throw out my script, and the answer is obvious. It is her right to be happy, and making her happy is my job, my entire purpose. I hug her back, firm and tight, holding her steady, grounding her. She let's out a long sigh, and whispers the words I always want my patients to say.
"Thank you. I know what to do now."
A bell rings, the sudden noise snapping us both out the moment. We've overrun. We release each other, and I fall awkwardly back into my chair as she rises to return to class. Just as she reaches the door, I call out after her.
"Whatever happens, you're a girl. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."