Irine's Journal

Story by Eianna Cale

Hello again, everyone. This, like most any of my tales, is one of extremity, depravity and general weirdness. There are elements of non consent, pain, mild injury and other objectionable themes. If you do not want to read about things like that, you should turn away now.

Hopefully, this bit of fiction won't end up like my others- While I generally tend to write for other people, this is pretty much the only thing I've ever actually endeavored to write for myself alone, simply because I wanted to do the idea. The story will explain itself, and is actually the only thing I've ever done in this format. I expect that the introduction will be most likely the longest, but I can't guarantee other chapters won't eclipse it.

Without further ado, let's begin.

My name is Irene.

My life is weird. There are complications.

I am writing this at the age of twenty, in an unimportant year, simply because I am completely aware that if this journal is found, the circumstances will make the year worthless.

I am writing this journal because I am fearing more and more that as my life progresses, my tale may end up as interesting to someone. I can only hope that interest is scientific- nevertheless, I will record my existence as it flares in a fashion that serves to exclude itself from the actual journal. Anyone reading this will understand that this is a secondary volume, and that its contents are the only contents of my life of interest to anyone that would actually be reading it- That is to say, that if you are reading this because you want to read about its subject, then you have all of the relevant events in your hands.

The subject, as you probably already well know, is the physical development of myself.

Specifically, it is the physical development of the twenty-four inches by four-point-five inches of fully functional male genitalia, coupled with six pound, stiff to the touch, softball sized testes.

My life started weird. Not necessarily from birth- I was born, to all that observed, female. However, there was noted on my first physical examination as a child, a growth on my pubic mound. While it was dismissed as a minor deformity that would clear up(my parents were assured!) in a few years, it definitely did not.

It was when I was about six, that I noticed it was growing. The years from then on until my "sweet" sixteenth are completely and utterly normal, save for that single issue. This, very clearly by my thirteenth year alive, penis was growing on my person. Though I was lucky enough that the by-then eighteen inch mammoth dick growing freakishly by my loins had yet to sport any sort of erection and was, though forearm-thick, well enough stuffed into panties and hidden under skirts. My secret was kept, firmly, with myself. It was not until several months later that things took a turn for the difficult- while some less stable beings might complain that my ordeals were hellish, I well and truly did not consider them so.

Before I explain how exactly things took their turn, I should first describe myself- perhaps a before and after, but we'll get to that later.

To view me wearing nothing at the fresh age of sixteen would be the startling image of normalcy- I was barely five feet tall, and my body had yet to widen out too intensely at the hips and bust to suggest I was a woman- if one were to judge me by my mother, that would never happen. My bust then was barely over a handful, my ass more skim and my hips barely noticeable. My face was my only strong point- I try to say this with as little vanity as possible, but I definitely must say that I am absolutely startlingly pretty. I have and had enough weight on me to somewhat pad out my features, but not enough to actually seem overweight.

My face is ovular, curved and sculpted cheekbones rising high. My nose is small and dainty, rounded and without much hook. My lips are slim, yet have a plump volume to them that sometimes forces them into an easy pout- a confidant of mine, Chelsea, calls them cocksucking lips. I've made it very clear that the term is distasteful, but she says they're made for it. My eyes are quite the stunning blue, and for the life of me I can't recall ever having to pluck or groom much to achieve the look I have now. Whether it will weather the test of time, I do not know. I certainly hope it does.

To say, however, that I bloomed over the next two years would be an understatement so severe that I am relatively sure that I have known people to suffer internal injury in making that statement. My face, of course, stayed the same- However, my measurements did not. I replaced bras twice a month, finding my breasts to be constantly growing. By now, I wear none, for various reasons- none the least of which is that I want eyes drawn upwards in any way I can draw them. While handfuls described them before, now each breast is as large as my head. The

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