comsmith
12-26-2008, 12:07 AM
Confusion was the word that described my feelings better than anything
else, as I sat here, in my mother's living room, of the big old country
home that I had grown up in.
I'd been away from home for three years now, because, I just knew that
if I went home, I would do what I was doing this minute. I just knew
that I loved those old feelings just too too much to resist it.
I plucked daintily at the ruffled hem that tickled my nyloned knee.
Oh, how I loved this. I was so ashamed of my inner feelings, but, I
loved this and craved this feeling of being pretty. My dress was a
light orange color, with wide ruffled shoulder straps. It was a sun
dress, with a wide tight waist band. It had been three years since I
had last worn it.
I could hear my mother in the kitchen, humming as she prepared a light
lunch for us. I was very aware of the pressure of the high instep of
the three inch heeled sandals I wore on my feet. I felt, constantly,
the caress of my satin panties, the tight fingered grip of my corsetry,
and the dainty jewelry that adorned my neck, wrists and ears. I could
smell my perfume. I could sense the halo of curls my shoulder length
hair framed my pixie face with. My silk slip rustled delicately across
my nyloned thighs, as I stood and went to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, I dropped a ruffled pink apron over my head, and tied
the big bow at the back. "Can I help out with anything, Mom?" "No, you
just relax. Now, take off that apron, and get out of my kitchen. You
should know by now that two women in a kitchen is a ready formula for
trouble."
"Okay." I removed the apron and went out onto the front porch to look
once again at the beautiful scenery. A slight wind was teasing at my
skirt hems.
I resigned myself. I knew that I never wanted to be a boy again.
Girls clothes were just too exciting, to ever settle for anything less
again. I was thankful that my mother understood me and that she had
insisted, almost from the moment I walked in the door, that I go up to
my old room and change into something more natural for me. I had not
resisted. I'd willingly doffed masculinity, and gratefully once again,
accepted my feminine role in my mother's house.
My room had not been changed. The pink canopied bed with its lace
trimmed skirts, still dominated the room. The pictures of ballet
dancers, were still on the walls. My dolls were seated prettily on the
satin pillows of the bed. The vanity that I'd spent my formative years
before, was still there, with all the necessary cosmetics to make me as
feminine as I could be.
Three years ago, I had left home, in a desperate attempt, to, for once
in my life, try to be a male. I'd enrolled in college, and I had been
a miserable failure. I'd been a failure, not in my marks. I had
received my degree, one year early, but, in my ability to adjust to
living as a boy. It had been worse there, trying to live as a boy,
than it had been growing up in a household of eight brothers, where
they all knew I was a boy, but, was cast in the role of the baby
sister.
When I was born, I was the last in a long line of boys. I was also
very small and delicate. My mother could have no more children, and,
she convinced my father, somehow, that he should agree to letting her
dress me as her little daughter, for just the years before school.
Unbeknownst to him, mom would go to the barn once a week, and get a
small jar of the hormone creams that were used on the cows.
The result was, that by age seven, when I should have joined my
brothers in school, my hair was long enough for me to sit on it. My
facial features were not that of a boy. I had a delicate frame. I
still did not even know that I was a boy.
My brothers knew, but they did not tell me. I grew up, being treated
like a girl in a house of men, under a special umbrella of protection
and favor, of a rather domineering mother. Because of my obvious
feminine orientation, my father accepted the fact that I was more of a
girl than a son. He let mom enroll me in school as a girl. My bothers
disliked the favoritism that was poured out on me.
I did not do chores, like they did. I was allowed to stay in the house
all the time, and help my mother. I was encouraged to wear pretty and
soft clothing, unlike them. Mom encouraged me to learn how to run a
home, to read, to paint and to study music. We were not rich, and, I
was the only one allowed to take music lessons. She encouraged the
artistic nature that I had, with special classes in poetry, prose and
artwork. By the age of fifteen, I could make my own dresses, lingerie,
cook, crochet, needlepoint and knit with a fair amount of alacrity.
Because my brothers resented the special treatment that I got, I did
not get along with them at all. They would not let me join their games
or anything like that. In fact, whenever I did try, Mom got very mad
at me, and made me stop playing boys games. If I did not spend time
with my mother, I was alone. I guess that was why I did spend so much
time with her. I wanted to be just like her, she was so competent and,
pretty. It just seemed that she was the wisest person in the whole
world, to me, and, she was greatly respected by the men in the house.
I grew up thinking that the womanly role in a home was the most valued
role in life, and I just wanted to do every thing that I could, to be
just like her.
She continued having me rub that special cream into my chest area,
every night, for as long as I was at home. The result was, I had very
small genital development, breast development, almost no hair on my
body, and, my voice never changed.
I learned that I was a boy, when I was thirteen. One of my brothers,
Bobby, about three years older than I, started to become very friendly
with me, shortly after I started to develop my breasts. One afternoon,
a very hot summer afternoon, Bobby and I were alone at home.
I was laying on my bed, in a shorts and halter, sandals, and my hair
was pulled back in a ponytail. I was laying on my tummy, reading a
novel.
Bobby came into my room, and sat on the bed. He did not say anything,
but, I sensed somehow, that this was going to be something different.
It was. He reached over, put his hand on my bum, and gently rubbed my
cheeks. It felt so nice. It was certainly the nicest that any of my
brothers had ever been to me. His hand moved around my bum,
delightfully slowly.
I waited to see what he would do next. His fingers went down between
my legs, and gently rubbed my private. It got hard under his fingers
manipulations. I moaned, and rolled over onto my back. I closed my
eyes and let him do whatever he wanted to. His fingers gently rolled
my erect nipples, driving me wild.
Then, his hand went to the front of my red shorts and began, again, to
rub my private. I could not help myself. I shuddered uncontrollably,
and pushed myself up into his hand. Then, the most glorious sensation
washed over me, as I began to release something into my panties. I
felt like I was on a pink cloud, and it took many minutes for me to
settle back to normal.
"Bobby, why did you do that?" "Did you like that, Karen?" "I adored it.
Can that happen all the time?" "Lots of times. I just wanted to see if
you would act like a boy or a girl." "Why wouldn't I act like a girl?"
"Because, you are a boy. In fact, you are the only one who does not
know it. You are a guy."
"I am not." But, I knew, deep down within me, that it was true.
"Listen, Karen, you are a boy. I'll prove it to you. You have a cock,
just like mine. I just jacked you off, just like any boy gets off."
With that, he stood up, and took off all of his clothes. He stood
totally naked in front of me. Except for the hair, and the flat chest,
he was a lot like me. He also had an erection. I was fascinated by
it. It was ugly and horrible, but, I was fascinated. I wanted to feel
it. I wanted to kiss it. I wanted to suck on it. I was amazed, as I
had never had thoughts or feelings like that before. I could not take
my eyes off it.
else, as I sat here, in my mother's living room, of the big old country
home that I had grown up in.
I'd been away from home for three years now, because, I just knew that
if I went home, I would do what I was doing this minute. I just knew
that I loved those old feelings just too too much to resist it.
I plucked daintily at the ruffled hem that tickled my nyloned knee.
Oh, how I loved this. I was so ashamed of my inner feelings, but, I
loved this and craved this feeling of being pretty. My dress was a
light orange color, with wide ruffled shoulder straps. It was a sun
dress, with a wide tight waist band. It had been three years since I
had last worn it.
I could hear my mother in the kitchen, humming as she prepared a light
lunch for us. I was very aware of the pressure of the high instep of
the three inch heeled sandals I wore on my feet. I felt, constantly,
the caress of my satin panties, the tight fingered grip of my corsetry,
and the dainty jewelry that adorned my neck, wrists and ears. I could
smell my perfume. I could sense the halo of curls my shoulder length
hair framed my pixie face with. My silk slip rustled delicately across
my nyloned thighs, as I stood and went to the kitchen.
In the kitchen, I dropped a ruffled pink apron over my head, and tied
the big bow at the back. "Can I help out with anything, Mom?" "No, you
just relax. Now, take off that apron, and get out of my kitchen. You
should know by now that two women in a kitchen is a ready formula for
trouble."
"Okay." I removed the apron and went out onto the front porch to look
once again at the beautiful scenery. A slight wind was teasing at my
skirt hems.
I resigned myself. I knew that I never wanted to be a boy again.
Girls clothes were just too exciting, to ever settle for anything less
again. I was thankful that my mother understood me and that she had
insisted, almost from the moment I walked in the door, that I go up to
my old room and change into something more natural for me. I had not
resisted. I'd willingly doffed masculinity, and gratefully once again,
accepted my feminine role in my mother's house.
My room had not been changed. The pink canopied bed with its lace
trimmed skirts, still dominated the room. The pictures of ballet
dancers, were still on the walls. My dolls were seated prettily on the
satin pillows of the bed. The vanity that I'd spent my formative years
before, was still there, with all the necessary cosmetics to make me as
feminine as I could be.
Three years ago, I had left home, in a desperate attempt, to, for once
in my life, try to be a male. I'd enrolled in college, and I had been
a miserable failure. I'd been a failure, not in my marks. I had
received my degree, one year early, but, in my ability to adjust to
living as a boy. It had been worse there, trying to live as a boy,
than it had been growing up in a household of eight brothers, where
they all knew I was a boy, but, was cast in the role of the baby
sister.
When I was born, I was the last in a long line of boys. I was also
very small and delicate. My mother could have no more children, and,
she convinced my father, somehow, that he should agree to letting her
dress me as her little daughter, for just the years before school.
Unbeknownst to him, mom would go to the barn once a week, and get a
small jar of the hormone creams that were used on the cows.
The result was, that by age seven, when I should have joined my
brothers in school, my hair was long enough for me to sit on it. My
facial features were not that of a boy. I had a delicate frame. I
still did not even know that I was a boy.
My brothers knew, but they did not tell me. I grew up, being treated
like a girl in a house of men, under a special umbrella of protection
and favor, of a rather domineering mother. Because of my obvious
feminine orientation, my father accepted the fact that I was more of a
girl than a son. He let mom enroll me in school as a girl. My bothers
disliked the favoritism that was poured out on me.
I did not do chores, like they did. I was allowed to stay in the house
all the time, and help my mother. I was encouraged to wear pretty and
soft clothing, unlike them. Mom encouraged me to learn how to run a
home, to read, to paint and to study music. We were not rich, and, I
was the only one allowed to take music lessons. She encouraged the
artistic nature that I had, with special classes in poetry, prose and
artwork. By the age of fifteen, I could make my own dresses, lingerie,
cook, crochet, needlepoint and knit with a fair amount of alacrity.
Because my brothers resented the special treatment that I got, I did
not get along with them at all. They would not let me join their games
or anything like that. In fact, whenever I did try, Mom got very mad
at me, and made me stop playing boys games. If I did not spend time
with my mother, I was alone. I guess that was why I did spend so much
time with her. I wanted to be just like her, she was so competent and,
pretty. It just seemed that she was the wisest person in the whole
world, to me, and, she was greatly respected by the men in the house.
I grew up thinking that the womanly role in a home was the most valued
role in life, and I just wanted to do every thing that I could, to be
just like her.
She continued having me rub that special cream into my chest area,
every night, for as long as I was at home. The result was, I had very
small genital development, breast development, almost no hair on my
body, and, my voice never changed.
I learned that I was a boy, when I was thirteen. One of my brothers,
Bobby, about three years older than I, started to become very friendly
with me, shortly after I started to develop my breasts. One afternoon,
a very hot summer afternoon, Bobby and I were alone at home.
I was laying on my bed, in a shorts and halter, sandals, and my hair
was pulled back in a ponytail. I was laying on my tummy, reading a
novel.
Bobby came into my room, and sat on the bed. He did not say anything,
but, I sensed somehow, that this was going to be something different.
It was. He reached over, put his hand on my bum, and gently rubbed my
cheeks. It felt so nice. It was certainly the nicest that any of my
brothers had ever been to me. His hand moved around my bum,
delightfully slowly.
I waited to see what he would do next. His fingers went down between
my legs, and gently rubbed my private. It got hard under his fingers
manipulations. I moaned, and rolled over onto my back. I closed my
eyes and let him do whatever he wanted to. His fingers gently rolled
my erect nipples, driving me wild.
Then, his hand went to the front of my red shorts and began, again, to
rub my private. I could not help myself. I shuddered uncontrollably,
and pushed myself up into his hand. Then, the most glorious sensation
washed over me, as I began to release something into my panties. I
felt like I was on a pink cloud, and it took many minutes for me to
settle back to normal.
"Bobby, why did you do that?" "Did you like that, Karen?" "I adored it.
Can that happen all the time?" "Lots of times. I just wanted to see if
you would act like a boy or a girl." "Why wouldn't I act like a girl?"
"Because, you are a boy. In fact, you are the only one who does not
know it. You are a guy."
"I am not." But, I knew, deep down within me, that it was true.
"Listen, Karen, you are a boy. I'll prove it to you. You have a cock,
just like mine. I just jacked you off, just like any boy gets off."
With that, he stood up, and took off all of his clothes. He stood
totally naked in front of me. Except for the hair, and the flat chest,
he was a lot like me. He also had an erection. I was fascinated by
it. It was ugly and horrible, but, I was fascinated. I wanted to feel
it. I wanted to kiss it. I wanted to suck on it. I was amazed, as I
had never had thoughts or feelings like that before. I could not take
my eyes off it.