MidReal Story
Blossoming Beyond: Naty's Journey to Love and Identity
Scenario: la historia de Mateo un chico afeminado que luego se convierte en una nena chica trans cuyo nombre será Naty esto empezó Desde los 12 años cuando dormía con su prima Ivonne ella un día dejó unas bragas colgada en la ducha y le dió curiosidad a Mateo y se puso de allí sigo con su brasier faldas tops zapatos maquillaje lencería hasta que un día decide empezar a tomar hormonas terapia y empezó a crecer sus pequeños bubis y decide cambiar quería antes ser ingeniero pero ahora ya en proceso hormonal decide ser una mujercita Naty y estudiar moda y confección hasta que se enamora de un chico 🔞
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I was a feminine boy.
I loved to wear my cousin Ivonne’s clothes when I was a kid.
I would sneak into her room and try on her dresses, skirts, and high heels.
I would look at myself in the mirror and feel happy.
I felt like myself when I wore those clothes.
I felt pretty and confident.
But I had to hide it from everyone because I knew that boys weren’t supposed to wear girls’ clothes.
I knew that my parents wouldn’t approve of it, so I kept it a secret from them.
But Ivonne knew about it, and she didn’t mind me wearing her clothes.
She even encouraged me to be myself and not care about what other people thought of me.
She told me that I was beautiful just the way I was, and that I should embrace my femininity instead of hiding it.
And so I did.
I started wearing girls’ clothes more often, even though I had to do it secretly because my parents wouldn’t allow me to do so.
I was 11 years old.
I had been wearing Ivonne’s clothes for as long as I could remember.
It all started one day when I was playing in my cousin’s room and I stumbled upon her closet.
I saw all those beautiful dresses and skirts, and I felt an urge to try them on.
So I did, and it felt right.
I felt like myself when I wore them.
I felt like a girl in a boy’s body, but when I wore those clothes, it felt like everything was the way it was supposed to be.
I felt pretty, confident, and happy.
But I had to be careful.
My mom didn’t know that I was wearing girls’ clothes, and I couldn’t let her find out, because she would never understand it.
In my mom’s eyes, I was her little boy who was supposed to act like a boy and dress like a boy.
But I wasn’t a boy.
I was a girl, and wearing those clothes made me feel like one.
One day, my mom went out to run some errands, and my dad took my little brother to the park.
It was just me and my other cousin at home.
The house was quiet and empty, and I saw the perfect opportunity to wear one of Ivonne’s dresses that I had been eyeing for weeks: a beautiful blue dress that she wore to her prom.
It was long and flowy, with a deep V neckline that showed off her cleavage and an open back that ended in a bow at the waist.
It was the most beautiful dress that I had ever seen, and I wanted to wear it so badly.
So I put it on while no one was home, along with a pair of high heels that matched the dress perfectly.
It fit me perfectly, as if it had been made for me.
I looked at myself in the mirror, and I couldn’t stop smiling.
I felt so beautiful and free in that dress that I couldn’t help but dance around the room for a while.
But my little moment of happiness was short-lived because I heard the front door open and close downstairs, indicating that my mom had come back home.
I panicked and quickly took off the dress and changed back into my boy clothes before my mom came upstairs to check up on us.
My heart was beating so fast, and I was afraid that she would find out what I had done.
But luckily, she didn’t come to check up on me, so she didn’t find out about it.
And so, I went back to keeping this secret to myself.
My mom didn’t know that I liked to wear girls’ clothes, and I wanted to keep it that way.
I wasn’t ready to come out or tell her about it just yet because I knew that she wouldn’t understand or accept it.
She would think that there was something wrong with me or that I had some kind of mental illness if she found out about this.
And so, I kept it a secret from her.
But deep down inside, I wished that I could wear those clothes more often without having to hide it from everyone or worry about getting caught.
Skirts made me feel pretty, and dresses made me feel like a princess.
Every time I wore them, it felt like everything was the way it was supposed to be.
And so, I continued to explore my feminine side by trying on more of Ivonne’s clothes.
I wore skirts, dresses, blouses, and even bras and panties.
But there was one thing that I was too afraid to wear: bikinis.
I loved bikinis, and I thought that they were the most beautiful swimsuits in the world.
But I was too afraid to wear them because they were too revealing, and they would show off my body hair if I wore them.
But one day, when no one was home, except for me and my brother, who was taking a nap in his room, I mustered up the courage to wear the red bikini that Ivonne had bought for herself.
It was the same bikini that she wore when we went swimming at the beach during our family vacation last summer.
It was simple yet sexy, with a triangle top and low-rise bottoms that showed off her tanned and toned body.
I put it on and looked at myself in the mirror.
I felt so beautiful and sexy in that bikini, and it made me happy.
I loved wearing girls’ clothes, and no one could take that away from me.
But at the same time, I knew that it was risky because someone could walk in on me at any moment and catch me red-handed.
But the risk of getting caught was what made it even more exciting than it already was.
And so, I let myself enjoy the little pleasure of feeling beautiful and free for a while before getting changed back into my boy clothes before anyone came home.
I loved wearing women’s clothing, and that love only grew stronger as I got older.
But as I got older, it also became harder for me to keep it a secret from everyone.
And then one day when my mom caught me wearing Ivonne’s clothes, she was furious and scolded me for it.
She told me that boys weren’t supposed to wear girls’ clothes and that it wasn’t right for me to do so.
I felt so ashamed of myself that day, and my mom made me promise to never do it again, so I did.
But deep down inside, I knew that it was impossible for me to stop wearing girls’ clothes because it was a part of who I was.
I couldn’t change who I was or how I felt, but at the same time, I didn’t want my mom to be mad at me, so I promised her anything just to get out of trouble.
I didn’t want to fight with her or make her upset because we had always been close, and I didn’t want to ruin our relationship over something as silly as this.
So, in order to avoid getting into trouble with my mom, and so that she wouldn’t think that there was something wrong with me, I kept this part of myself hidden from her and everyone else.
I stopped trying on women’s clothing for years and tried to forget about the fact that it ever happened.
But the truth was that it never went away.
But the truth was that no matter how hard I tried to forget about it, it never did.
As I got older, my dad’s family started coming over more often on the weekends, and they would stay at our house for hours on end.
My dad is an only child, but his cousins have always been very close to him, and they would always come over to visit and hang out with us on the weekends.
My dad is also very close to my aunt who still lives in Colombia, and he talks to her every day.
My dad’s family has always been a big part of our lives, and my parents have always done everything they can to keep us all as close as possible.
But as much as I love having them over and spending time with them, their frequent visits have also made it harder for me to keep my secret hidden from everyone else.
Because every time they came over, I would get an uncontrollable urge to try on Ivonne’s clothes again while they were visiting us.
I didn’t know why I felt the urge to do that every time someone came over, but I did, and I couldn’t help myself from ignoring it.
But the more I tried on Ivonne’s clothes, the more my dad would notice how much I loved wearing them, and the more he would pressure me to act like a boy instead of a girl when they were around.
He would tell me that boys don’t wear dresses or skirts, and that I needed to stop acting like a girl if I ever wanted to be a man in the future.
And then he would make fun of me for not being like other boys my age, telling me that I wasn’t normal for not watching soccer or playing video games like my older brother did, or for not having a girlfriend like all of my friends at school did.
He also criticized me for being too girly, telling me that I had a long neck like a giraffe, and that I needed to be more like a man in order for people to take me seriously in life.
But no matter how hard I tried to be more like a man, or how hard I tried to fit into his idea of masculinity, he would still treat me like I was nothing more than a sissy, and that there was something wrong with me for being different from who he wanted me to be.
And then he would tell me that if I didn’t start acting like a man, he was going to beat the marica out of me so that I could finally learn how to be one of the boys instead of acting like a girl all of the time.
But what he didn’t understand was that no matter how hard he tried to make me act like a boy instead of a girl, he couldn’t change the way that I felt, or the person that I truly was inside.
And no matter what he said or did, he wasn’t able to make me forget about the fact that I loved wearing girls’ clothes and that there was nothing wrong with me for being different from him.
