My name is Raj. I'm twenty two years old, and I live with my mom — my everything.
She’s beautiful, not just in appearance, but in the way she carries herself—confident, bold, graceful. After my father passed away when I was just seven, she raised me entirely on her own. She works as a manager at a five-star hotel, owned by one of her old friends from another city. Watching her build a life for us made me admire her deeply—her strength, her elegance, her quiet power. From the way she draped her sarees to the way she moved through life with poise, I admired everything about her.
And slowly, a desire grew within me. Something tender, something beautiful. I know that nowadays it's common for many boys, but they keep it hidden in their hearts. Yes, as you might have guessed, my desire is to get ready like a girl every day—especially like my mom.
Even though I was assigned male at birth, I always felt different. My features were naturally soft—no facial hair ever came in, and my skin remained smooth no matter what I did. By now, my hair has grown long and thick, falling well below my shoulders, something my mom had allowed without much comment. She said it suited me, and I had quietly taken that as encouragement.
But the truth is—deep inside—I wanted to be more than just her son. I longed to be like her, not just in spirit, but in form. I wished I had been born her daughter instead of her son. I dreamed of dressing like her, speaking like her, walking like her.
I wanted to be her reflection. That’s why I started growing my hair long, and now it gently brushes against my shoulders.
I know that she also wants a daughter, but I was afraid to tell her that I want to be her daughter.
I didn’t want her to think I was doing something wrong. Society doesn’t exactly welcome boys like me with open arms. So I kept my feelings to myself, trying to connect with her in little ways—helping in the kitchen, doing chores, staying close. I thought maybe one day I could tell her. But she never understood my hints.
So I tried secretly. I would sneak into her room when she wasn’t home and try on her sarees, her jewelry, her bangles. But whenever I looked in the mirror, I felt... incomplete. Something was missing.
Then one night, everything changed.
Unbeknownst to me, my mother had seen me through the window. And she knew my secret. She knew I talked in my sleep, so that night she waited until I was deep in my dreams and gently asked me what I was doing with her things. In my sleep, I told her everything. Every hidden wish. Every silent prayer. I told her I wanted to be her daughter.
And instead of anger or shame, she responded with love.
The next morning, She made a few calls to her friends who had daughters, asking if they had any old clothes that might fit me—and later that day, she even did some online shopping to fill in the rest. Without my knowledge, she filled the guest room with beautiful dresses, accessories, and girly essentials. My mom had made a silent promise to help me become who I truly want to become.
She began replacing my clothes gradually, introducing more unisex outfits into my wardrobe. Whenever I asked, she'd smile and say they were gifts from her friends—brand new and barely used. I didn’t argue. In fact, I wore them gladly. They were labeled unisex, yes, but they leaned distinctly feminine—soft fabrics, gentle colors, delicate cuts.
Mom was involving me in more and more household chores—far more than she used to. It wasn’t just about helping out anymore; it felt purposeful. She’d ask me to sweep, mop, carry laundry, cook, and run around doing errands nonstop. I didn’t complain. Maybe a part of me even enjoyed it.
All that activity began to reshape my body. The little fat I had slowly melted away. Within three months, my frame had changed completely. My waist grew narrower, my limbs looked slender, and my entire body took on a graceful softness. I had slimmed down so much, I could now fit into what Mom proudly called “zero size.”
At the same time, I noticed she had changed my soap and shampoo. I didn’t ask why. I just used them, and before long, the changes became obvious. My skin turned smooth and soft to the touch, my hair glossier and easier to style. Not a single strand of body hair remained—my entire body was flawless and hairless, like polished silk.
Even my wardrobe had subtly shifted. I found myself reaching for the new clothes Mom had added to my closet—unisex, she said, but clearly chosen with care. The tops clung gently to my figure, the jeans were more fitted than what I used to wear, and the overall look was unmistakably softer, more refined. Before I realized it, I had stopped wearing my old boys’ clothes altogether. The new clothes felt... more me.
My hair had crossed my shoulders by then, thick and healthy. I’d gotten into the habit of tying it back into a neat ponytail every morning. It was a small detail, but it made me feel tidy, graceful—even feminine.
And every day, after my bath, I would catch my reflection in the mirror. Wrapped in a towel, standing there quietly, I’d stare at the person looking back at me. I didn’t see a boy trying to look different. I saw something else. Someone else. A girl—shy, emerging, but unmistakably real—was taking shape, little by little.
And the strange part was... I didn’t resist. I didn’t question it. Deep down, I welcomed it.
One fine day, while I was busy dusting the top shelf of the old cupboard, my phone buzzed. It was Riya, my girlfriend. I answered it with one hand still holding a cloth, smiling instinctively at the sound of her voice.
Hey, want to come shopping with me this evening?" she asked cheerfully.
I agreed instantly. Spending time with Riya always made me feel lighter. I should mention—my mom knows about our relationship. She had once told me gently, "When you settle into your life, I’ll arrange your marriage with her." It was said with warmth, not pressure. She liked Riya, and perhaps more importantly, she had come to accept my truth.
Riya knew everything about me—my desire to dress and live as a girl, the feelings I had carried silently for so long. I never wanted secrets between us. And she had been nothing but supportive, never judging, always encouraging me to be myself. But we never tried to explore my desire fully, as we had both decided to wait until after our marriage.
After finishing the cleaning, I took a quick bath, feeling the layer of sweat and dust wash away. My smooth skin, hairless and soft, gleamed slightly under the bathroom light. I dried off and, without thinking too much, slipped into an old pair of male trousers and a loose-fitting shirt. The clothes felt rough and a bit too big, but I was in a rush.
Before heading out, I went to let Mom know I was going to meet Riya.
She took one look at me and frowned slightly. “This dress isn’t looking nice on you anymore. It’s old, faded. Go wait in your room,” she said firmly.
I paused, surprised, but obeyed without argument.
A couple of minutes later, she returned—this time holding a neatly folded bundle of clothes in her hands. She handed them to me with a soft smile. “Wear these instead. They’re new. The colors will suit your skin tone beautifully.”
Curious and a little apprehensive, I unfolded them.
My heart skipped a beat.
It was a beautifully tailored top, adorned with delicate embroidery around the collar and on the sleeves—subtle, but undeniably elegant. Alongside it was a matching pant—narrow, snug, and clearly designed with a feminine silhouette in mind. I stared at the outfit in silence, unsure how to react, unsure even of how I felt.
I parted my lips to speak—to question, maybe even protest—but before any words could leave me, Mom gently rested her hand on my shoulder. “Trust me,” she said softly. “You’ll look lovely for your date. Just try it once. Look at yourself in the mirror. If it doesn’t feel right, we’ll change it. I promise. But at least give it a chance.”
Her voice wasn’t stern. It was calm, comforting—the voice of someone who knew me better than I knew myself.
I gave a small nod, still holding the folded clothes close to my chest, and turned toward my room. My heart thudded as I walked in and shut the door behind me. I wasn’t sure what I would see in the mirror... but I was willing, just this once, to find out.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly began to undress. The old, oversized shirt slipped off my shoulders easily, followed by the faded trousers that no longer matched my shape. I stood there in nothing but my underwear—worn thin from years of use—feeling exposed in more ways than one. My fingers hovered at my waistband when I heard Mom’s voice again from outside the door.
“Wait,” she said gently, noticing the condition of what I was still wearing. I heard her footsteps retreat, and a moment later, she returned with something new—softly folded piece of soft fabric.
It was unmistakably—a pantie.
I recognised the style instantly. Riya had often taken me shopping with her, trusting my taste in color and combinations. I had seen pieces like this in stores many times, though I never imagined actually wearing one myself.
I froze for a moment, uncertain. But the hesitation passed. I didn’t want to argue—not now. I was already running late, and something about Mom’s quiet confidence gave me strength. I took it gently, walked into the bathroom, and slipped it on.
The moment the soft fabric touched my skin, something shifted inside me. It hugged my body gently, snugly—like it belonged there. For the first time in a long while, I felt… comfortable. Truly comfortable. My smooth, hairless body seemed to welcome the sensation as if it had been craving it all along.
I realized then how uncomfortable I had felt in my old underwear—how the harsh material of my old men's briefs scratched and pressed in all the wrong places. They never truly fit me, not just in size but in spirit. I had grown so soft over the past few months—physically, emotionally—and those stiff garments felt like armour I no longer needed.
But this pantie… it felt like freedom. It felt like relief. Like being cradled in softness I had always longed for but never allowed myself to claim.
I stood in the stillness of the bathroom for a few moments, breathing steadily, letting the feeling settle—allowing myself to feel, without guilt or confusion.
When I stepped out, Mom was waiting, her expression calm and patient. She didn’t speak—she just handed me the top with both hands, her eyes shining with a quiet hope.
It was beautiful—soft to the touch, delicate in every stitch. I pulled the top over my head slowly, though I struggled a little as it clung closely to my frame. “I think this might tear,” I murmured nervously, gently tugging at the sides.
Mom stepped forward without hesitation, her fingers adjusting the fabric carefully along my shoulders and waist. She examined it with quiet focus, then gave a small nod, her smile reassuring.
“No,” she said softly. “It’s perfect. It fits you exactly the way it should.”
Then came the pants. They were designed without front pockets and cut to fit closely around the thighs. I slipped them on carefully, and as the fabric slid up my legs, it felt like it was molding to me—clinging to every curve, every line. There wasn’t even a sliver of space between my skin and the cloth.
The snugness didn’t make me feel trapped. It made me feel graceful. Elegant. Like my soft, reshaped body had finally found something that understood it—something that celebrated it rather than confined it.
At last, she turned her attention to my hair. With gentle fingers, she loosened my ponytail slightly, letting a few strands fall softly around my face. I stood still, letting her guide me, her touch light and reassuring.
Then, without a word, she took my hand and led me toward the hallway, where the tall mirror stood waiting.
I followed, heart thudding quietly in my chest.
And then I looked up.
What I saw stopped me completely.
For the first time, I didn’t just see traces of her. I didn’t just see hints or softened features or a graceful silhouette.
I saw her.
The girl I had always imagined. The one I used to whisper to in the dark. The one I had hidden for so long behind old clothes, behind silence, behind fear.
She was standing there in the mirror—real, whole, and glowing.
She was standing there—wide-eyed, uncertain, but real.
The top and pant hugged her frame tightly, outlining every delicate curve. Her lips were slightly parted in awe, as though she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. And as I stared, I realised … she was me.
After a moment of stillness, I began adjusting the top nervously, smoothing the fabric down over my waist. That’s when I noticed something small, but startling—there was barely any space between the top and the pant. If the hem of the top rose even slightly, my milky white, slim waist would be exposed. And sometimes, with even the slightest movement, my belly button peeked out—soft, round, shyly visible.
I froze for a second. My fingers instinctively reached to tug the fabric lower, trying to hide it—but even as I did, something else caught my attention.
My chest.
It wasn’t flat anymore.
Beneath the soft fabric of the top, I could see them—two small, gentle curves, rounding out my top in a way that hadn’t been there before. They weren’t dramatic or sudden, but unmistakably present. The beginning of something. Breasts?
I blinked, unsure, my fingers reaching up to graze over the shape gently.
Soft.
Real.
"Mom...?" I asked, my voice almost a whisper.
She stepped closer, her expression calm and full of knowing warmth. “That’s normal,” she said, her voice light, almost amused. “You’ve lost a lot of fat in other areas, beta. With all the housework and the changes your body’s gone through, some of it has settled there.”
She placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “What you’re seeing,” she said with a small smile, “are your Man bobs . And don’t worry—it suits your shape beautifully.”
I didn’t know whether to blush or laugh.
Just then, my phone rang. It was Riya.
“I’m waiting at your doorstep,” she said cheerfully.
Panic surged through me for a brief moment. I didn’t have time to change. Not even enough to grab anything else to wear. I glanced down at myself—every inch of me looked feminine, soft, exposed in a way I’d never shown the world before. I turned toward Mom, unsure, silently pleading for direction.
She didn’t say anything, just smiled, her eyes glowing with quiet satisfaction. Her plan had worked—slowly, gently, and without pressure. I had stepped into this version of myself at my own pace.. and now I was about to step outside in it.
With no other option and my heart pounding wildly, I whispered a quick goodbye and stepped out of the house.
Behind me, I could almost feel her joy radiating—like sunlight on my back. This wasn’t just a shopping trip anymore. It was a rite of passage. A moment she had patiently and lovingly prepared me for—sending me out into the world, not as the boy I had been, but as the girl I was becoming.
As I stepped outside and walked toward the gate, my heart thudded in my chest. I wasn’t just nervous—I was terrified. What would Riya think?
When I reached the gate, I saw her on her Scotty, phone in hand, busy texting someone. She didn’t even glance up at first.
But as I came closer, she finally looked up from her phone, gave me a polite smile, and said casually, “Hi, is Raj home?” Her tone was light—completely unaware “Could you tell him Riya is here?”
I stood frozen, stunned that she didn’t recognize me at all. I lowered my eyes, suddenly feeling a little shy. In a soft voice, I murmured, “It’s me, Riya... Raj.”
She blinked.
For a moment, silence hung between us—thick, stunned.
Her eyes scanned my face again, slower this time. I watched confusion turned into disbelief, and then gradually... into awe.
“Raj?” she said again, softer now. Almost a whisper.
I nodded, biting my lower lip, unsure of what else to say. My hands instinctively moved to cover my waist, tugging gently at the hem of my top. I knew what she was seeing—smooth glowing skin, the soft curve of my hips, the subtle rise of my chest beneath the fitted fabric, and my long, neatly tied in ponytail. Everything about me now leaned unmistakably feminine.
Her mouth parted slightly, eyes fixed on me as if she were seeing me for the first time. Then, without warning, her lips curled into a smile
A real one. Gentle. Kind.
“Oh my god, Raj…” she said, taking a slow step forward. “I didn’t recognize you at all. You... you look so different. So beautiful.” Then her eyes widened as she took in the details. “Wha—when did you start wearing feminine top? And your skin—it's glowing! And there's no body hair at all!”
Her voice was a mix of surprise and disbelief , tinged with wonder.
A breath I didn’t know I was holding escaped from my chest.
“You’re not mad?” I asked, my voice trembling.
“Mad?” she said, stepping even closer. “No. Just... surprised. You said you wanted to wait. I thought we’d take it slow. But now that I see you like this...”
She reached out and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear. Her fingers lingered a moment.
“You look like you,” she whispered. “Like the real you.”
Something inside me melted. I hadn’t expected this—not the softness in her voice, not the calm in her expression, not the acceptance in her eyes. I had braced myself for shock, for awkwardness, maybe even a little distance. But what I found in her eyes was steady, patient love.
Then she tilted her head, eyes twinkling. “Although... I think you forgot to warn me that my girlfriend is prettier than me now.”
I blushed deeply, and we both laughed—soft, nervous, but full of something new. Something tender and full of promise
“Come on,” she said, starting up her scooty with a playful grin. “Let’s go shopping. And don’t worry—next time, I’ll get ready like a tomboy.”
I blushed, both at her teasing and the unexpected role reversal. Usually, I was the one who drove. But today, she was clearly in charge.
I walked toward the back of the scooty and hesitated for a moment. This was the first time I was climbing on wearing such a snug, feminine pant. I could feel how it hugged my body with every movement—how it outlined my shape so clearly. Even the act of sitting felt different, more delicate.
Each step reminded me not only of how I looked… but of how much I had changed.
Of how different I truly was now.
Riya, watching through the side mirror, said gently. “For grip, hold my shoulder”
I nodded and did as she said.
The scooty roared to life, and we rode in silence. The wind blew through my hair as I sat behind her, feeling completely different—more exposed, more seen, and yet oddly free.
We reached the mall and parked in the basement. Without wasting time, Riya led the way to one of our favorite clothing stores. I followed her closely, still self-conscious. I couldn’t shake off the fear that someone might notice I was a boy in girl’s clothing.
But as we walked through the aisles, something unexpected happened again—no one stared. No confused glances, no raised brows. Even the salesgirl who approached us referred to me as “she” and offered to help both of us together.
I was stunned.
Riya noticed my expression and smiled softly. “You look like a girl to them,” she said. “And a beautiful one.”
I didn’t know what to say. She handed me a couple of dresses and asked me to help her choose. After some hesitation, I slowly began to get involved. I picked out two kurtas with matching pants—similar designs, just different colours.
She looked delighted. “Perfect,” she said, and led me toward the trial room.
But just as we reached it, she suddenly grabbed my hand and pulled me into one of the stalls. Before I could react, she shut the door behind us and locked it.
“Riya! What are you doing?” I gasped.
She grinned and covered the lock with her hand. “You want me to open it? Then wear one of these,” she said, holding out the dress I had chosen for her.
“No way…” I protested, but she knew exactly how to get to me.
She leaned in closer, voice soft but knowing. “You’ve always wanted this, haven’t you? Just try it. For me.”
She wasn’t wrong. She knew my weakness—and my secret wish.
Reluctantly, I changed while she changed into the other. When we stepped out together, dressed alike, we took our old clothes and headed to the billing counter. She paid for both without hesitation and took a cover to pack our old clothes.
“I want to change back?” I requested her, in confuse state.
“Nope. We’re fine like this,” she said with a wink.
We walked through the mall, side by side, both dressed in flowing kurtis. The fabric was light, the embroidery intricate.
People passed us by—some smiled politely, some didn’t notice us at all. But no one stared. No one questioned. To the world, we were just two girls shopping together.
And that realization hit me like a slow, warm wave.
I glanced sideways at Riya, her long earrings swaying as she walked, her bangles tinkling softly with every movement. She looked effortless. Free.
I, on the other hand, felt like I was still learning how to exist in this new form. Each step felt like I was balancing on a wire—part fear, part thrill. Yet, the longer we walked, the more natural it began to feel. I stood a little straighter. My steps became lighter.
At one point, Riya slowed and gently reached out, fixing a strand of hair that had fallen into my eyes.
“There,” she said, admiring her work. “You’re glowing.”
I blushed and looked away, but I couldn’t help the smile tugging at my lips. For once, I didn’t feel like I was faking something. I didn’t feel like I was acting.
I felt seen. And right.
Later, as we sipped cold coffee in the food court, I asked hesitantly, “Riya... did you really mean it earlier? That I looked beautiful?”
She leaned back in her chair, eyes sparkling with mischief. “No.”
My heart sank for a second—until she added, “You didn’t just look beautiful. You are beautiful. And not just on the outside. You’re finally showing the girl I’ve always seen in you.”
I stared at her, speechless.
Riya leaned forward, her eyes narrowing with curiosity.
“So... did you ever open up to your mom about your desire?” she asked. “I mean—how did she react when you told her everything?”
Her questions came one after another—gentle, but persistent. “Was she shocked? Did she already know? Did you explain how long you’ve felt this way?”
I hesitated, letting her finish before answering.
Then, quietly, I shook my head. “I never actually said anything to her.”
Riya blinked, surprised. “Wait… what? You mean… she doesn’t know?”
“I don’t know,” I replied honestly. “I never confessed anything directly. But I started noticing changes in her behavior about three months ago.”
I looked down at my cup, running my fingers along the rim as I spoke. “She began replacing my clothes—gradually. She told me they were unisex, gifts from her friends, but they all leaned toward the feminine side. She also started giving me different soaps and shampoos… body care products that made my skin soft and smooth. And my body hair just… disappeared.”
Riya listened silently as I continued.
“She’s also been involving me in more and more household work—mostly the kind usually done by housewives. Cooking, laundry, sweeping, everything. I didn’t mind it… but it felt intentional. Like she was slowly preparing me for something.”
I glanced down at my outfit—the snug top, the thigh-hugging pants.
“The clothes I wore today?” I added. “She chose them. In fact, she made me wear them before coming to meet you. I didn’t have a choice.”
Riya looked stunned. “Wait... so you didn’t tell her anything… and she’s been doing all this?”
I nodded.
She sat back slowly, her expression thoughtful. “That means one of two things,” she said. “Either… your mom also wishing for a daughter... or somehow, she found out about your desire.”
Her words hit me with a quiet weight.
I leaned back, my mind spinning, replaying every moment from the last few months—each glance, each comment, each subtle change in her tone and actions. I tried to remember if there had ever been a moment where I slipped up, or said something in my sleep, or left something out of place.
But I couldn’t recall a single clear clue. It was all a blur now.
I was still lost in thought when Riya stood up, gathering our empty cups. She gave me a small smile.
“Come on,” she said, looping her arm through mine. “You can think about it later. Let’s just enjoy today.”
After that, we roamed around the mall, stopping at nearly every store. We didn’t buy anything—just window shopped, laughed, and wandered aimlessly like we hadn’t done in a long time. At last, Riya stopped in front of a beauty parlour and tugged gently at my arm.
“Come on, let’s go in,” she said with a glint in her eyes.
I followed her without a word.
Inside, she signed us in and then spoke softly to the beautician. Before I could react, I was seated in a chair with a face pack being applied, my skin gently massaged. Then came the eyebrow threading. It stung a little—but I didn’t flinch. In fact, I welcomed the pain. It felt like a step closer to something I had long wanted.
Next came the surprise—ear piercing.
I didn’t protest. I didn’t even hesitate.
Somewhere deep inside, I had always wanted this. I closed my eyes and let it happen.
When it was done, Riya smiled brightly and reached into her bag. From a tiny box, she pulled out a pair of small golden earrings. Simple. Elegant. Feminine.
“They’re for you,” she said softly, and before I could respond, she gently pushed them into my freshly pierced ears herself.
I opened my eyes and looked at my reflection in the mirror.
A girl looked back at me.
Dressed in a kurta that hugged her soft frame, with the tiniest hint of breasts beneath the fabric, glowing skin, hairless cheeks, and golden earrings gently swinging from freshly pierced ears… there was no trace of masculinity left. Not in the way I looked. Not in the way I felt.
After that, we had dinner at the food court—just the two of us, like old times.
We laughed. A lot.
Riya, more than anyone, seemed to be enjoying herself. She teased me about my expressions, gave me tips on how to walk more naturally in tight pants. Compared to me, she was having even more fun—maybe because she finally saw me living the version of myself she always knew existed.
After dinner, she dropped me back home. As I got off the scooty, she handed me the bag with my old clothes and smiled.
“Good night, sweety,” she said sweetly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “Sleep well. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Good night,” I murmured, still in a daze.
I walked slowly to the door and rang the bell.
The door opened.
It was my mom.
She stood there, frozen for a second, eyes wide as she took me in—the soft kurta and its matching pant, the freshly pierced ears adorned with golden jhumkas, the gentle glow on my face.
For a moment, I had forgotten how I looked.
Reality hit me like a sudden gust of wind.
But she didn’t gasp. Didn’t raise an eyebrow. She simply stepped aside and said, “Come in.”
Her voice was calm. Gentle. Just like always.
Still, I couldn’t meet her eyes. Embarrassment swirled in my stomach as I walked in, clutching the bag tightly, trying to head straight to my room.
But just as I turned the corner, her voice stopped me.
“Raj… sit with me for a bit.”
I froze. Then slowly, I turned around and walked back, settling beside her on the sofa. I sat stiffly, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my kurta, eyes fixed on the floor.
“So… how was your date?” she asked, the corners of her lips lifting into a small, knowing smile.
It took me a moment to realize—she was treating me the same way Riya had.
Like this was normal.
Like I was normal.
We talked for a while. Nothing deep. Just light conversation—what we ate, how busy the mall was, how late it got. Her tone never shifted. Never once did she mention how I looked. Never once did she question it.
Later, she stood and said, “Will you help me with dinner?”
I nodded.
We moved into the kitchen and worked side by side—like we always had. I peeled the vegetables while she stirred the curry, and we moved in harmony. At some point, I even forgot I was wearing a kurta and pant. It just felt... right. Like it belonged on me.
After dinner, as I headed toward my room, she paused in the hallway.
She looked at me, eyes soft.
“You looked very beautiful in that kurta set,” she said quietly. “It suits you far more than what you usually wear.”
My breath caught.
“If you want,” she continued gently, “I can get you more like this. To wear at home. Only if you’d like that.”
I opened my mouth to speak—but the words caught in my throat. What would she think if I said yes too quickly? Was it too much, too soon?
So I just nodded. A small, uncertain nod.
She didn’t press further. Just smiled and said, “Good night. We’ll talk about it in the morning.”
And with that, she walked away, her footsteps soft against the floor.
I stood in the hallway for a moment longer—heart full, eyes misty, and a strange, deep warmth blooming quietly in my chest.
Maybe tomorrow… I would say yes.
To Be Continued..
So friends this is part-1 if you liked my story please comment with some suggestion where i should improve
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