My Summers With Aunt May free porn video

My Summers with Aunt May (CD, cons) by Princess Pervette Oh no...! Not ANOTHER story about a boy being feminized by his aunt over the Summer!! Well, there are some differences this time. First, and most important, everything in this story is consensual. The boy knows what he wants, and what he wants is exactly what his aunt wants. And I've tried to make the story as realistic as possible. His feminization isn't permanent; he doesn't have surgery or take hormones. His parents are alive, and each year, when Summer is over, it's quite clear that he is going to go back to them and live as a boy again. Consensuality is important. If you've ever read any of my other stories, you know that nobody is forced. Even when some one is pressured into something, he quickly ends up liking it. There's too much nastiness and coercion in real life; we don't need more in stories. And with young children especially it's important to avoid coercion in a story. The boys in my stories know what they want, and they have enough understanding that their consent, when they give it, is informed consent. If you get off on stories of compulsion, dominance, brutality, humiliation, and forced feminization, you can skip this one. You can skip it if you're looking for sex, too; the most our boy does is kiss. Pervette **** My Summers with Aunt May Mom had gone out shopping and wouldn't be back for an hour. This was my chance for a little fun. I went to my dresser and fished out the panties from their hiding place. They were only plain cotton, but at least they were pink. They were a little worn, but they fit me perfectly. When I had found them in the neighbors' trash can, I had known that they would be nice to wear. I had been hoping for a break like that. I had taken them home and secretly washed them. I took off my clothes and put them on. Panties...! They felt so good on me. They looked so good! No fly in front: these were *girl's* clothes. I loved girl's clothes, and the panties were the first piece of girl's clothes I had ever owned. I ran my hands over them. I ran my hands over the front, where there was no fly. I felt my little dick, captured inside the panties. It wasn't very big, but for an eleven year old boy, it was okay. I lay down on the bed and fondled myself through the flimsy cotton. Then my bedroom door opened. It was Mom! I hadn't heard her come back. She wasn't supposed to be back for another half hour or more. I was paralysed. "You look very pretty, Tommy," she said. "Oh shit.... Oops!...I mean...er, Mom...I...I can explain everything," I said, blushing all over. I had no idea how I would explain wearing a pair of panties. I had to think of something. "You do look pretty," she said, smiling. "They're very becoming to you." "I...I...." "Tommy! I meant it. I like the way you look. No, don't take them off. Stand up and let me look at you." I got off the bed and stood up, dry-mouthed with fear. "Where did you get them?" she asked. "I found them in the Andersons' trash," I muttered. "Oh. You didn't steal them, then. I'm glad." "You're...you aren't mad at me?" "Tommy, Tommy. Sit down and let's talk." I sat down on the bed, and she sat next to me. "You think I don't know? You think I didn't see them in your dresser? Mothers find out about things like this. We always do. I was putting fresh things in there this morning, and when I straight- ened up the drawer, there they were. Tell me, how long have you had them?" "I...I found them last week." "And how many times have you worn them?" "Only twice, Mom. This was the second time. I wore them once last Thursday. But it was only for a couple of minutes, Mom." "Do you like them?" I nodded, red-faced. "They're girls' clothes, Tommy. Do you like to wear girls' things?" I nodded. "Well, Tommy, we can't have this." I got up and started to take them off. "No, don't take them off. It's not the girl's things. I don't want my boy to be a sneak. "You're still young, Tommy. It isn't as if you were a teenager. Little boys go through phases like this. As long as you're young, I don't see that there's any harm in it. But I don't want you to be a sneak, Tommy. That's much worse than wearing or not wearing something." I would never in a million years have expected her to take that line. "Here's what I'll do. I'll buy you some panties, and you can wear them whenever you want, until you get this out of your system. But don't sneak things out of people's trash, Tommy. And don't wear them behind my back. Okay?" I nodded again. I was so relieved, I was speechless. She was true to her word. The next afternoon, she really did go shopping, and when she came back, she had three pairs of panties. "Now, we won't hide these in your dresser. I'll put them in my dresser, in with my other lingerie where they won't be noticed. Any time you want to wear one of them, tell me, and I'll let you open that drawer and take out a pair. But don't let your father know about this! He wouldn't understand. This is just a private little thing between you and me. Okay?" Dad was a veteran, an an officer in the reserves, and he was always talking to me about being a little man. That was the way it started. Mom and I had forged a secret alliance, the two of us against my dad. At first, I was shy about asking Mom to let me wear panties, and it was a week or more before I mustered the courage to ask her whether I could get out a pair. But when I did, she just smiled. We went to my parents' room, and she opened the drawer. "Which ones do you want, dear?" she asked. I pointed to a pair in a pale blue. "Well, go on. Take them." Smiling. With trembling hands, I reached into the drawer and took them out. These weren't plain cotton. They were some kind of silky material, soft and shiny. "Okay. Let's go to your room and you can model them for me." I had to undress and put on the blue panties while she watched me. I put one leg through them, then the other. How soft the material was on my skin! I stood up and drew them the rest of the way on. "Those look so nice on you, Tommy," she said. She gave me a little kiss. "My little girl." Looking back, I realize that Mom was more into this than I thought at the time. Her attitude seemed merely tolerant at the time, but actually I think she enjoyed seeing me dressed in panties. I don't know whether it was feminization--she never tried to interest me in any other kinds of girlish things or activities--but I think it was more than just letting me "get it out of my system." And she had been affectionate when she called me her little girl. The next time, it was less than a week later. And the time after that, it was only a couple of days. Pretty soon, I was wearing them every afternoon when I came home from school. At first, she would watch me when I put them on, and admire them, but after a while she stopped. But I had her tacit permission to go about the house in them if I wanted. It was early Spring, and the house was well heated. Wearing them, I would pretend I was a girl, and I wished I could wear other girl's clothes besides just the panties. Mom quizzed me once, very gently, and found this out. After that, she got me a little slip to wear over my panties. Came Summer, and school was almost over. Mom came to my room one afternoon. "How would you like to spend the Summer with Aunt May?" she asked me. I hardly knew Aunt May. I had seen her only once or twice, a few years ago when I was little, and she was hardly any more than a name and a face to me. "Er, why would I do that?" I asked. Baseball season had begun, and I was going to be on the team. "Well, here's the idea," she said. "You're still wearing panties." I was; as we talked I was in a little pink pair with tiny red flowers on it. It was one of my favorites, satiny and very feminine. "Aunt May likes boys in panties. She likes boys in dresses, too. You could go out there and spend the whole Summer dressed as a girl. Nobody knows you there, and with your face, I think you'd make a very convincing girl. We'll just skip the next trip to the barber and let your hair grow out a little longer." My heart quickened. Dressed as a girl! Aunt May's place was in a small town in the next state. Yes; if I could get away with it, I'd love it. What a break this was! "Now, remember, it will only be over the Summer. When you get back here, you're going to have to be a boy again. It's okay if you like to wear girls' things, but you have to grow up to be a man." She smiled. "I know; I sound like your father. But I want you to get this out of your system, and if you spend an entire summer dressed and living as a girl, maybe that will do the trick." I know now that nothing would have done the trick. Spending the Summer dressed and living as a girl was only going to make me a confirmed crossdresser. But I didn't know that then, and it would never have occurred to me. (And if I had known it, I wouldn't have been about to blow it by telling Mom!) All I knew was that, by some miracle, I was going to get my heart's desire. This was even better than baseball. When school was out, Aunt May came to visit us for a week. Mom took her into my room the Monday after she had arrived. "This is my little boy in panties," she said. Then, to me: "Would you model a pair for us, Tommy?" I was used to wearing them with Mom around, but I had never put them on before anybody else. But Aunt May made encouraging sounds, and we went to my parents' room. I selected a plain white pair with a little bit of pink lace on the edges and put them on. Mom and Aunt May admired me and said how nice I looked in them. When Aunt May left, I left with her. When we arrived at her place, she took me to the room she had selected for me and said, "Now, from now on until you go back home, you won't have to wear a stitch of boy's clothes. Unless you want to, of course. But if you're going to be a girl, you might as well go all the way." "I want to go all the way, Aunt May," I said. And I did. In fact, I would have to. Mom had anticipated this; she had packed things like my toothbrush, but the only boy clothes I had were the ones I was wearing. Aunt May opened my closet door. It was like a glimpse of Heaven: the closet was full of dresses and skirts and smelt faintly of some kind of cologne! She had obviously planned this; she and Mom must have planned it together and spent a bundle on all those things. She showed me my dresser; there were drawers with lingerie, and a drawer with blouses. "Let's start right now, Tommy," she said. I was excited. This was my dream come true. Aunt May selected a plain denim skirt for me and a blouse. She let me select the panties. There was such a wonderful variety that I didn't know what to choose. Finally, I picked a pair at random. I undressed and put on the panties. She handed me the blouse. It was soft and very light, and with a thrill I noticed that it buttoned the other way. These were real girl's clothes! She smoothed it with her hand once I had it on. Then I stepped into the skirt and she showed me how to adjust it. A pair of short socks and some sneakers finished the job. She took me to a mirror. I looked at my reflection, and saw a girl. I realized that I could pass, although I couldn't have put it in those terms at the time. I was still young enough that my features had the soft contours of a girl's face. By the time I was in my late teens, that was no longer so. "Come, I want to take a picture of you." She took me to the front room, where the sunshine poured in through the windows, and took a Polaroid picture of me. "These are going to be happy days, Tommy, and you're going to have happy memories of them. It may not mean much to you now, but later you're going to be glad to have pictures to remember this Summer by. We're going to take lots of pictures." I spent the rest the afternoon learning how to walk, how to move, and especially how to sit down like a girl. She drilled me on the use of my legs and how to make sure the skirt was modestly draped when I sat down. "You're going to have to go back to being a boy in the Fall, Tommy," she said, "but while you're here you're going to be a little girl, and you must act the part. You have to do all these things automatically--unconsciously." That evening we had a fashion show. She had gotten an enormous collection of panties for me--at least two dozen--and she picked out six for me to model. I took off my clothes and put on a pair. Then I stood there, looked at myself in the mirror, and let Aunt May inspect me. Then she would take a picture of me in them and we would go on to the next pair. This became a regular routine for our evenings. We would take turns choosing: one evening I would select half a dozen and the next evening she would. For the first few days, she selected the clothes I would wear during the day. She said I had to learn how to dress and how to choose clothes for different occasions. This was a good idea; if left to myself I would have selected the frilliest dresses, but, as she pointed out, those were for evening wear, not for the daytime. She selected plainer things, and sometimes just jeans--but then there was always a pretty blouse to go with the jeans. I asked when I could wear nylons. She said, "Eleven-year-old girls don't wear nylons. Those are for older girls. They don't even make garter belts that small." But she relented and got me a pair of pantyhose and showed me how to put them on. I went wild over them. I had never had hose of any kind on my legs, and it was a revelation how good they felt. And to me they made my legs into woman's legs: the tightly stretched fabric, the way they darkened my legs, and the way they smoothed and, yes, feminized their contours--these were all things I had unconsciously associated with grown women, and now this was how my legs looked. I couldn't wear them often, but sometimes, when I just had jeans on instead of a skirt, I would put pantyhose on first, with short socks over them, just so I could revel in the way they felt on my legs. Afternoons were for training. That first afternoon, when she taught me how to move and to sit, was typical. We had many more sessions on that, and in addition she taught me the rudiments of makeup. It was funny--she would have me apply all kinds of things to my cheeks and eyes, finishing with lipstick; but then, when the whole job was done, she'd make me remove it all on the grounds that that, too, was too old for me. "But there's always next Summer," she said, "and the Summers after that." I was thrilled to think that this Summer, which was soooo dreamy, wouldn't be the only one. After a couple of weeks, Aunt May decided I had had enough tutoring to be seen in public. I had been hoping we would be able to go out together; the thought of walking about in that little town, dressed as a girl, had been in the back of my mind and I was impatient to make it a reality. She dressed me very conservatively: that same denim skirt I had worn the first day, and just a T-shirt over it. No lipstick. Plain white socks over plain, low-heeled shoes. "Now, we need a name for you. It won't do to introduce you as my niece Tommy! How about Amy? It has the same letters as my own name. Do you like `Amy'?" I liked it very well. One of the happy things about this Summer was that our tastes, at least in things where I was educated enough to make a judgement, agreed so well. Actually, in retrospect, I realize that that first day in town together was sort of an anticlimax. But I was so thrilled to be out dressed as a girl that it didn't seem that way to me. But we didn't meet any of Aunt May's acquaintances and she never got a chance to introduce me as her niece Amy. But she took me to stores. We shopped together, and she got things for me. I just loved it when she turned to me and asked, "Would you like this ribbon for your hair, Amy?" She took me to lunch and gave me whispered pointers on feminine table manners. I used a ladies' rest room for the first time that day, too. It felt so different from a men's room. Then we went back home, and I tried on all the things she had bought for me and modeled them for her. One afternoon, I said, "You mentioned next Summer and the Summer after that. I hope you meant that. This is just like heaven for me, being able to dress this way and not having to hide or to pretend. Tell me we can do this next Summer, too." "As long as you like, dear," she said. "Until you get tired of it or until you have to go away to college." "I think I'm always going to like it, Aunt," I said. "Mom called it a phase and talked about getting it out of my system. I don't want to get it out of my system." "You mean, you'd like to stay a girl forever? Would you like to stop being a boy altogether and become a girl, a real girl, for good?" I thought about that. "Well, no," I finally said. "I like being a boy. I like playing baseball and football. But I like wearing girls' things and dressing up this way. I guess I would like being a girl and not being a girl, all at the same time." "You want to have it both ways, don't you?" she said. "Well, that's a good decision. You actually *can* have it both ways, if you want it badly enough and if you're smart. But the other way--taking hormones to influence the way your body develops, or even having an operation--that's the right way for some boys, but I don't see that for you. I watch you, and what I see is a boy dressed as a girl and learning to act like a girl. But what's inside is still a boy. And when you grow up, if you still like to dress up, I think what's inside will be a man." I realize now that this was a remarkable insight, because that was the way it turned out. Aunt May was a kind woman, and she understood me even better than I understood myself, then. After a few weeks I started going into town with her regularly. I met some of her friends, too, and they all accepted me as a girl. They talked to me as they would to a little eleven-year-old girl, and by this time Aunt May had trained me well enough that I could give them answers that were in character. And all the time there were photographs, photographs. That day when I went into town for the first time, she took a picture to commemorate the event. In our evening panty sessions, she took pictures of me from every angle; every time I tried on something new, the took a photograph. I have all those pictures now; they are among my most treasured possessions. Amy at eleven; Amy at twelve, from the following Summer; Amy at thirteen. The originals are in a safe deposit box in acid-free protective envelopes; the ones I have framed at home are copies. That Summer...! I look back on it as one long, blissful time; it's as if there had been nothing but blue skies and sunshine all the time. Aunt May and I got on beautifully together. There must have been disagreements and arguments at times, but I can't remember any. It was one of the happiest periods in my life. But it came to an end, inevitably. The days grew shorter, and one day it was the end of August: time to go back home and to school. I was going to miss my dresses. But then I thought of the football season and being on the team...Aunt May was right: inside all the dresses and lingerie there was still a boy. When my mother found out that I hadn't gotten it out of my system, she wasn't as disappointed as I had thought she might be. I've wondered sometimes whether she had been wishing for a daughter and was letting me dress up as a way of fulfilling that wish. I've read that some boys' mothers do that. In any case, she resigned herself to my dressing with remarkably little trouble. Our joint conspiracy against Dad's finding out resumed. That year, whenever I didn't have gym or football practice, I wore panties under my clothes when I went to school. And--wonder of wonders!--for the class play they needed a boy to play a drag role (it was some obscure and probably deservedly forgotten comedy), and I got the part. My Dad thought it was a hoot: his son, the tough little quarterback, in a drag role. Apparently school theatrics were an exception to being a little man. But what a treat, to go on stage dressed as a girl, and to be applauded for it! I was wily, though, and took care to be just a little wrong in how I wore my dress and how I applied makeup. But then my training with Aunt May would show through accidentally, and it made my performance steal the show. The big event next Summer was breasts. I was twelve now, and some of girls at school were already beginning to blossom. I asked Aunt May about this almost the moment arrived at her place. No, she said, that wasn't out of the question; she would see what she could do. And she got me my first bra. It was a training bra, and she sewed some stuffing into the cups so I looked as if I were just beginning to sprout a pair of boobs. In fact, she got me several training bras, and that Summer our panty modeling sessions featured me in a bra as well as panties. The other big event was scary: in town one day, I was alarmed to recognize a guy I knew at school. But he didn't recognize me. He gave me an assessing look, but there was no sign that he knew who I was. But then, when we were in fast food place having a sandwich, he came over to us at the counter. "Hey, you look familiar...don't I know you from somewhere?" What to do? I thought fast. Aunt May had taught me that feminine mannerisms in the voice were more important than the pitch. So I replied, in my girliest manner, "No. You aren't from around here, are you?" He said no, that he was just visiting here for the week. I didn't encourage conversation, and he left. But it was a close call, and my heart was pounding inside my pink blouse. But the third Summer was the best. As a thirteen year old, I could now dress in almost an adult manner, with makeup, stockings, and heels. Aunt May had sprung for a pair of breast forms, too, and my hands trembled the first time we cemented them into place. (I still have those breast forms.) She had to help me; otherwise, with my shaking hands, I would probably have put them on crooked. When she unwrapped my first garter belt, I kissed her--and I could have kissed the garter belt, too. Then she got out my first real nylons, and we had a tremendous time that evening, trying on one dress after another. And miniskirts...! This was the first time I had worn a miniskirt. I stood in front of the mirror and stared and stared. My legs looked smashing! And my pert little boobs completed the picture. Aunt May's photographs from that evening show me with a deliriously happy and joyous smile on my face. Our learning sessions that Summer began with learning how to walk in heels. It was a tricky business, and is was a week or two before I could be sure of not falling or twisting an ankle in them. But by the end of the Summer, I was secure and comfortable wearing them. We discussed dating boys. That guy from home never showed up again, but I had been approached a couple of times last Summer, and more incidents like that were on the cards this time around. I know now that I'm not gay. And I know that I should have realized that then. But teenaged boys don't know much about their sexuality; they're just finding it out. And I wasn't sure. Being a crossdresser doesn't mean you're gay; but I didn't know that, either. And I wondered whether I was. I had never been interested in other guys or stared at them in the showers at school, but still...one never knew. We finally agreed that I would try dating guys, if the occasion arose, and I would play it by ear. The occasion arose sooner than we thought. The first time we went into town, I was wearing a pretty blue dress, with ruffles, and I had my hair tied back with a blue ribbon. I was wearing a little bit of makeup, but after all of Aunt May's careful instruction, I was wearing it with much more sophistication than most thirteen-year-old girls would have. And a boy noticed me--again, when we were having a sandwich for lunch. We fell into conversation. He was very polite, but clearly interested. And he asked me out to a movie. I gave Aunt May a questioning look; she said it was all right as long as I was back by ten. We spent a long time preparing for my date. I took off everything I had worn during the day and had a bath. Then Aunt May showed me how to tuck my penis back between my legs so it wouldn't show. ("You never know where he's going to put his hand, Dear," she said.) She had me wear plain pink panties ("You don't want to be provocative, Dear.") and a plain pink bra. She thought pantyhose might provide a little more protection, but I managed to talk her into a pair of nylons and a garterbelt. Then went the slip and a yellow dress with a full skirt and a neckline that was rather daring for a girl my age. And yellow heels to go with the dress. I had been doing my own makeup for three Summers in a row, but Aunt May insisted on doing this job herself. She took a long time at it. "Now, with your skin, you don't need too much. Just a little powder... something around the eyes...and lipstick." She also used lip liner and lip gloss. It was a simple makeup job, but she fussed endlessly to get it right. She got a pair of pretty gold earrings and a fine chain for my neck. And finally, just before Mike was to arrive, a spray of Arpege. The movie...I don't remember what the movie was; in fact, I didn't even pay much attention at the time. My mind was on this boy next to me, my date. My date!! I was one of the best players on our team back home, and I was dating a boy. Things didn't improve any when he shyly put an arm around me. I felt uncomfortable, but I thought I should rise to the occasion, so I leaned gently against him as we watched the movie--or rather, as he watched the movie and I sat there wondering what came next. Nothing came next until he dropped me off at Aunt May's. He kissed me. There's an old joke that two men can do anything together in bed, but as long as they don't kiss, they aren't really queer. And I kissed him back. Not passionately, but when he drew me to him, I let him do so. This could have had extremely embarrassing consequences if I had had an erection under my dress, but I didn't. From my point of view, the kiss, while not disagreeable, was no more sensual than the kisses I exchanged with Aunt May. Now, I hate to disappoint you. It would make a much better story if I could say that Mike and I dated the rest of that Summer and that I started giving him blow jobs and he started fucking me in the ass. But that didn't happen. I was affectionate, which was easy, because he was a nice boy and I liked him, but we never got beyond the kissing stage. And by the end of that Summer, it was clear to me that I wasn't gay, kisses or no kisses. **** I saw Aunt May this Spring for the first time in years. She's an old lady now, but she still has style. She was at home, convalescing from a minor stroke, but her mind was as sharp as ever. We talked about the old days. "You know, darling, those were good times, those Summers. I never told you then, but when I was a young woman I had an affair with a crossdresser. We were in love, and if things had turned out a bit differently, we might have gotten married. But we didn't, and the reason had nothing to do with what he wore. But it left me with a fondness for crossdressers, and when your mother phoned me about you, I was eager to help." "So that's the story! I've often wondered what you were up to, and why." "Oh, yes. Your mother knew about my affair with Bill. That's why she didn't get upset when she found you in panties. My assignment was to see just how committed you were and to give you some guidance and protect you from making any foolish mistakes." "Foolish mistakes? You mean...like becoming a lifelong cross- dresser?" "And you did, didn't you?" "Oh yes; I have a pair of panties on right now, under my trousers." "You have!" Her eyes sparkled. "Let me see them!" "Oh, Aunt May, you're naughty!!" But I dropped my trousers and let her admire my panties. These were black and mostly lace. I had put them on in her honor, and I suppose something in the back of my mind thought that she might see them, or might want to. "They're very handsome," she said. "Oh...no, I guess I should say, they're very pretty!" She smiled. "And...do you still date boys?" "No; that didn't work. I'm engaged to be married. And yes, Alice knows what I wear, and she says it's cool." "`Cool'...what strange expressions you young people have. "You know, I still have all those photographs I took of you. You looked so sweet and so dear in them. I've thought sometimes that I shouldn't be silly, that I should throw them away, but I've never been able to. I loved you so much." And that's how the photographs passed into my hands. Aunt May gave them to us as a little extra wedding present, as a sort of private joke. The one of me in my blue ruffled dress is framed on my desk at work, as a sort of reminder of what I was, and am. Whenever anybody asks me who that pretty little girl is, I just say that it's my second cousin Amy. Princess Pervette October, 1996