You Miss Things free porn video

Post this anywhere free, but please credit me. You Miss Things Copyright 2000 by Melissa Virus I like girls. Boys have never really done anything for me. They're just big, like bulky, they take up so much space, and they're not graceful. There's just no magic to them, like there is to girls. I mean, I guess this is just a rationalization of some very undeniable information I get from my pussy whenever I smell a cute girl's hair, or I see one walk by in a tight pair of pants. Girls fucking turn me on, and boys don't. I swear to God it's in my genes. For a long time I couldn't admit this. It wasn't a conscious thing, like thinking, "I must like boys, and I must not like girls;" it was more an unconscious feeling that I didn't fit, and must therefore make myself not fit, or must consciously be a weirdo. Around sixth, seventh grade, I started running around with scuzzy high school boys and taking acid and smoking weed and stuff; I cut school all the time and basically was a pain in the ass to everyone around me. I was cheesily enough nicknamed, behind my back, "Jail-bait Jess." How lame, right? Anyway, to fix me, my parents sent me to an all-girls Catholic school. Every porn movie you've ever seen has been right: lesbianism runs rampant in all-girl situations, or at least, it did in mine. I had my first girlfriend the second week I got there, and the first time she ate me out, something clicked. It didn't just make me lose control of my body, she felt more, like, appropriate in my pussy than any cock ever did. I knew who I was. I actually kind of got my shit together after that. I gave up drugs, though not drinking; I started doing homework. Remember, I was like 13 at the time. I grew up fast. There was something about not having to prove who I was or wasn't to everybody around, as well as being removed from all these boys trying to get in my pants, that helped clear my head and got my priorities straight. Maybe I'm just easily distracted. I was 17 and had been mostly clean, and dick-free, for four years when I met Nona's brother Val. My friend Nona was not a dyke. At all. She was cute, and I'd tried to lure her to the dark side, but she wasn't having it. She liked that guys were bigger than her, and cruder. She was attracted to them, plain and simple, and she was an ace with language, so in conversations that went on all night, she convinced me that she was straight like I was gay, and I couldn't argue. We became close friends though, making fun of each other's sexual orientations and stuff. Neither of us really liked being in Catholic school, but she was like me in that she'd been big trouble before she came here, and cleaned up a lot. We didn't have any chips on our shoulders about being in Catholic school, but we were not blind follower-types. This set us apart. Well, that and the fact that we were both total intellectual snobs. We hated stupid people more than anything else, which I guess is pretty normal for overly self-aware teenagers. We were both prone to fits of depression. We were also both really big on getting away with stuff. We would steal shit from other girls' rooms, or like, stay up all night, outside, in each other's underwear, just to do it. Neither of us was content to live within the boundaries of "normal;" we would do anything, no matter how retarded, just because it wasn't the usual. I mean, there are a million reasons we clicked. We were great friends. Our school, St. Thomas Aquinas' School for Girls, was far from both of our homes. You know, because the parents didn't want us sneaking out to be with our old friends and stuff. One night, we found out about a party some kid from the local high school was having, a no parents thing, and we decided to go: I liked bourbon, and, while she pretty much stayed out of trouble, Nona still had an affinity for nose candy. She was hoping she could score a little heroin; she called it Soma. She'd always been able to handle her dope, and I was way beyond being preachy about drugs, so I didn't have a problem with her bingeing every now and again. So we'd go to this party and get fucked up. The thing about this night was that she wanted me to meet her brother, as I always tried to convince her to join me on the isle of Lesbos; she was always trying to bring me over to the land of the breeders. She actually figured it would be pretty futile, but worth a shot; her brother was rad, she said, and I'd really like him. And besides, he was nineteen, two years older than us, and working as a freelance mechanic, saving money to go to college. He had nowhere else to be tonight. Whatever, I thought; if he's got a dick, I'm not interested. We went to the party. I got some greasy guy to buy me a bottle of Jim Beam, and was half in the bag by the time we even got to the party. Her brother Val was going to meet us there; it was an hour and a half drive from their hometown, so he'd be getting there late. Well. It was a big bottle of Jim Beam, and by the time Val got there, I'd freaked out every single square in the house, and turned on every cute girl with latent lesbian tendencies. It was a blast. I was actually sitting on a couch stroking some poor gorgeous fifteen-year old girl's leg when the front door opened and Val walked in. Everything stopped. Maybe it was the low angle I had from the couch, but I swear to God it was like some kind of Manga or something. The door opened up and there he was, chin length black hair blowing in the wind, white scarf all billowing too, framed by the door frame; in my head all the terrible pop-house music stopped and no one moved. He was gorgeous. He was skinny, wearing an oversized brown corduroy jacket, tight brown boot jeans, big clunky black shoes, and a gray sweater with a red T-shirt poking out from underneath. I let go of the girl I was sitting with, walked up to him, and introduced myself. He introduced himself back. At that point I remember raising the bottom of my bourbon bottle up to the ceiling and finishing the end of it. He laughed, honestly, but not too loudly. He said that he couldn't believe he was at a silly high school party. We went back and forth a couple times, and while I tried to hold up my end of the conversation, I was half drunk and amazed, and must have sounded like an idiot. I was entranced. He had this slow, laconic way of talking, where I didn't know if he was half-retarded, making fun of me, just taking his time, or honestly thinking really hard about every word he said. It wasn't like he was saying 'duh,' though; it was more like he was waiting for somebody else to move, so he could play off them, or like he was so in control of the situation that he didn't even need to assert himself. It was clear that he got self-assurance from inside himself, and had nothing to prove to me, or anybody. You know how they say a girl knows whether she'll sleep with a guy within a couple minutes of meeting him? Yeah. I was good and drunk, but I already wanted to suck his dick. Yup, I'm a fucking slut; so shoot me. I went with him when he dropped off his coat, and then we went out onto the back porch to talk. He produced his own bottle of bourbon and we talked; he'd heard a lot about me from his sister, and knew I liked most of the same bands as he did, so it wasn't even awkward at first. Every single band he brought up was one that had changed my life, and all his jokes were really funny. He had this way of letting you know that he was intelligent without dropping Kant quotes, he could drop words like "simulacrum" and "pedagogy" into conversation about the Dropkick Murphys without seeming contrived. As he got drunk, and I maintained my level of drunkenness, we both got looser, until he brought up my sexuality. Okay, firstly, straight boys do NOT know how to bring up a girl's dykehood in conversation. I don't know why; I guess it's outside their sphere of existence or whatever, but they just can't bring it up. They're half turned on by it, half tryin' not to hurt my feelings, and half... I don't know. Half freaked out by homosexuality? The point is, Val was no different. He was better than any other boy who'd asked me if I was queer and stuff, but still, he didn't pull it off with that much grace. "So... uh, Nona tells me you're gay?" Maybe there is no good way to broach the subject. I mean, the point of being gay is that there's no boys allowed, right? So how are they gonna ask about it? I told him I liked girls, and he told me that I was flirting like mad. I almost died, in a good way, he was so candid. I told him that he was right, that I thought he was a fox. I was using the old sexuality inversion technique, wherein I, as the girl, am open and honest about sex, thus giving me the conversational upper hand, but it didn't work. He just told me he thought I was cute too. I couldn't get the upper hand with him, and he seemed to barely even be trying. I'd worn my school uniform skirt with a tight black top, with tiny sleeves, because I knew that it turned a lot of people on. The problem, though, was that in my little skirt and top, out on the back porch, I was freezing. He noticed that I was shivering, and gave me his gray sweater. Didn't ask if I wanted it, just took it off and put it around my shoulders. I put it on over my shirt and smiled up at him. Then I kissed him. I was a little surprised, but I was very drunk. He kissed back. Then we both pulled back, he told me he was really turned on by the fact that I was gay, and he totally respected it. If I didn't want to kiss him, I didn't have to. And of course, this made me even more attracted to him. Drunkenly, it seemed like his acceptance of the fact that I was a lesbian made him kind of not a real boy, and therefore fair game. I kissed him again, and then stood up. I took his hand and was about to lead him up the stairs, when I noticed his tight shirt. Not just the fact that it covered an amazing skinny-but-muscular torso, but that it said "the Chemical Brothers." We'd talked about all the indie/punk bands we liked, I thought I was the only indie rock dork who could appreciate the Chemical Brothers; apparently not. They were an important musical and lifestyle touchstone for me. I actually let loose a girly "Ohmigod," put my hand over my mouth and pointed at his shirt, he just grinned at me with big white teeth. I noticed that he was taller than me. Then I led him upstairs, to find someplace to suck his dick. The idea of cock had wedged itself into my brain, and for the first time in over four years, I really wanted to see one, to play with one, to suck one. I wanted to fucking gag on a cock, play the role of the slut. I was ready to be debased. I held his hand and led the way as I looked for a room. Of course there were a bunch of couples in a bunch of different rooms, and I kept laughing whenever we opened a door on one. He just looked half embarrassed to be at this party at all. Eventually we found a room, and when we entered, he locked the door. Smart boy. I grabbed him before he could sit down on the bed, took his hand, and put it on my ass, up under my skirt. He seemed to appreciate this, and he rubbed and squeezed. His other hand went to the back of my head, and he pulled me in to kiss him. His finger snuck its way into the top of my panties, and crawled between my ass cheeks. I knew from anal stimulation, and just the insinuation of it was enough to get me nice and wet. I moaned. I felt his dick, big and hard, pressing into my stomach where my belly button went in. I wanted it. I bent my knees, forcing his hand out of my panties, and knelt in front of him. Then I undid his fly and pulled his pants to the floor. His cock was gorgeous: not too fat, and almost, but not quite, too long. I totally had another Manga moment, where this cock just stood out, with like a million speed lines around it, zoom zoom zoom, light from heaven shining all around it, and my knees hurt from kneeling. I was soaking my panties. I put my little hand around this monster and went up and down a little, getting it ready, even though it was already hard and huge. I stroked, one finger at a time, the underside, and fondled his nuts. His male genitalia didn't even seem absurd, usually, the thought of the awkwardness and, y'know, lack of aerodynamics, could make me laugh out loud. This time, though, his straining dick seemed noble, totally beautiful. I played with the skin around the base, like the crotch area, running my long nails all around. Then I couldn't take it anymore and had to put it into my mouth. I opened up my red lips and ran my pink tongue up and down the shaft. Unlike the guys I'd been with in the past, he kept his shit clean, and it almost tasted good, at the very worst, it tasted like nothing. Then I opened my mouth and took it in. I hadn't done this in so long that in retrospect, I'm sure it wasn't much of a blowjob. But he made faces and noises like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He made me feel confident, I pulled up the front of my skirt and put my hand in my panties. I sucked and licked and bobbed my head in and out. When feminists say that doing shit like this is degrading, they're right, but what they tend to forget is how much fun it can be to be degraded. I was sucking cock, I was a cocksucker. It's such an easy insult. I felt insulted, and it made me wet. I kept going over this magic word, cocksucker, in my head, and it kept turning me on... Cock. Cock sucker. Sucking cock. Gimme that cock! I'm a cock sucker. I'm sucking dick... Finger on my clit, I came. I didn't stop sucking though, until he came too. I swallowed three or four spurts before there was too much and I started to choke, and his spum shot all over my face. I didn't know there could be that much spum in one load, but here I was, covered in it. It hung together in strands between my parted lips, and I wiped some away from my eyes. He looked at me, touched my hair, and then fell back on the bed. I licked his spunk off my lips. I went to the bathroom and found some toilet paper and cleaned my face up, couldn't be leaving his spum as evidence that he was here. I'm so considerate. I came back into the bedroom and he was lying on the bed. He was totally about to go to sleep; I knew that's how guys worked. But not girls. And I was gonna show him how we did it, and it was going to blow his mind. I stripped off all his clothes, and his dick was totally limp. I didn't even want to play with that though, so instead I went for his nipples. I straddled him right above his dick, so that the only sensation it got was the tickle of my skirt resting on it, and sat mostly upright, rubbing his nipples. My pussy sat on his belly button. His chest was so skinny he might as well have been an anorexic girl, although of course he had tiny nipples and no tits. Still, I was turned on by his petiteness. His nipples started getting hard, I was pleased, because I hadn't known whether boy nipples worked at all. "I'm gonna fuck you like a girl. I'll show you how we do it. You're gonna like this, kid..." His dick was getting hard. I could feel it against my ass. "Maybe I'll let you use that dick. You're turned on by lesbians? I'll show you how we fucking do things." I was whispering into his ear. By this point I was pinching his nipples, licking and then biting them. His face was flushed, boy nipples were way more sensitive than the media would have led me to believe. Soon I stopped being rough on them, took my hands off altogether and just licked at his right one. Soft and cold, it was a new sensation, and his breathing shortened up. He was totally into it. Phase two was bondage. Everybody loves bondage. So I took the terrycloth belt from a bathrobe hanging on the back of the door to the room and blindfolded him, then took off my soaked white nylon panties and stuffed them into his mouth. Next I started licking. I licked up in his inner thighs, but stayed away from his glorious cock, which was once again, already, huge. I stroked his stomach. I picked up his arms and put them above his head, then slowly traced my nails down the sides of his body. He started to get goosebumps, he liked the nails. I stroked him all over with them, on the neck, on the stomach, even heading down toward his taint thing. I figured that must be pretty sensitive, he started to moan. It was. I stroked that piece and soon I was rolling his balls between my fingers and licking his taint. He really liked that. It was clean down there, even by girl standards, so next I did the only logical thing I could, I put my tongue up his ass. I mean, not right away, the secret to good sex is teasing. So I licked around his asshole, hard and soft, fast and slow, still holding and playing with his nuts with my hand. You can't penetrate an asshole too far with your tongue, try it. So once I had it nice and wet, I put a finger up into it. Just one. I went in and out, and I wiggled the last digit. I didn't even need to touch his dick, I knew that this could make him come without it, so I didn't want to do it very long. Soon I stopped. His dick was harder than a diamond. I didn't touch him for a solid minute. I just let him wait. Then I took my panties out of his mouth and sat on his face, sixty- nine style, so that I could stroke his cock lightly with my nail. He was a pussy-eatin'-ace, it turned out, and soon his face ran with me juice. I played with his balls the whole time, and he stayed hard. Soon I was about to come, so I got off his face and straddled his huge cock. He thrust it into me, hard, and I was really, really ready for it. I bucked like a fucking bronco for about five minutes until he shot me full of come. I came again. Then, as his cock shrunk inside me, I left him blindfolded and stroked his nipples in circles. Goosebumps broke out like crop circles. He was spent, and since I didn't want him to fall asleep, I took off his blindfold. "Yo, I need more lesbian sex," he told me. "You make a terrible lesbian, with that gorgeous cock of yours," I told him, "although I think you could pass for your pussy- eating. You're amazing." We were both quiet for a minute when I realized something: He looked a lot like Nona. A lot. His hair was the same, he was only a little less skinny, his face was only a little more manly, not too much; he looked kind of girly, for a boy. He didn't walk like a girl or anything, but he didn't really walk or act in a manly manner, either. But I think not drinking for the last hour or so had sobered me up enough to realize: fucking him was totally a substitute for fucking Nona. I suddenly believed in the unconscious. Sobering up further, I realized that I still felt the same about his cock, and about the conversation we'd had. He was everything I'd wanted in a girl, except for the boobs and the vagina, but I loved his cock. I wondered whether I could love him, I thought I probably could. How about that. "Yo, you're a slut! I only met you like twenty minutes ago," he told me. This cracked me up. It's tough to explain why, it's like, when two people have such similar world-views, when the same things are important to them, they have magic. And one of the things we both believed in was being blunt, because it was funny. What he meant by the slut comment was that it was fucked up that we'd just met and we'd already had sex, he didn't really think I was a slut. We both knew how deeply we'd connected, and he was making fun of it. That was why I liked him. "Yo, you're the slut, kid. I was all playing with your nipples and fingering you and shit, you just laid there," I told him back. "In fact, I think you should wear my panties, and I'll wear your boxers." "Sure thing. That anal thing felt amazing. You're, y'know, talented. I'll be your girlfriend." I pulled my soaked panties up his legs, and then I pulled his pants up. I put on his boxers. They weren't even that big on me, sure they were tight on my ass, but I could get away with wearing them under my skirt for the rest of the night. He reproduced what little bourbon was left, and we finished it. It was cool. I was turned on to think that he was so like Nona, and I'd fucked him, and he was wearing my panties. Suddenly I felt sadistic. "You look a lot like your sister, dawg. I bet with makeup, and her uniform on, you could pass for her." "Pssssssssh," he said, making an exaggerated "oh, I see" face, "you totally just fucked me because you want to fuck my sister! Holy shit, you fucking bitch!" he asserted. "I'd love to fuck your sister, true. But know what? I'm totally in love with, uh, your cock. I'm as surprised as anyone else. Maybe it's just the fact that it doesn't smell funny, or that it's like the perfect size, but I totally loved sucking it... Not to mention the fact that Nona likes the motherfucking Red Hot Chili Peppers." "Ha ha true, fucking Nona. I bet she just wants to get it on with Flea. Or fucking Kiedis. Anyway, I was kidding. I probably could pass for her. My point is, this is what I'm getting at here, we should go outside and smoke a cigarette." I agreed. His boxers felt weird under my skirt, but he didn't say anything at all about wearing my panties. It made me grin to see panty lines through his tight jeans. We went out back and smoked. "So uh, are you going back home tonight? Because if you feel like doing some sneaking, you could crash in my bed," I told him, hoping. "Baby," he said, putting his arm around me, "I was born to sneak, and I was fucking born to crash in your bed." I felt like the cheerleader in the football player/cheerleader scenario we were acting out. I hadn't been this happy in forever. "We should get back to school. I have classes in the morning, and God knows where your sister is," I said. "Probably sucking somebody's dick for heroin," he said, taking my hand and heading back into the house. He was leading this time. I totally didn't mind. Nona wasn't actually sucking anybody's dick, but she was blitzy- blitzed in some tubby long hair guy's bedroom, face down on the floor. (This long hair guy made me remember why I was a lesbian.) Val and I both knew that she was fine, no vomit equals no problem, but still, we were both worn out now, and Nona was in no condition to get back to school like this. It'd be two hours, like four A.M., by the time she was ready to sneak back into school. I couldn't wait that long. We told the kid that she was with to tell her we'd gone back, and Val wrote a note telling her what was up, and slipped it into the pocket of her jeans. Then we headed to his Mustang and drove back to school. In my life, whenever I've been involved in drunk driving, the song "Drinking and Driving is So Much Fun," or whatever it's called, by the Business, I think (I'm a girl, I don't have to know band names), has always been on. Tonight was no different. Fucking drunk punks. We parked in a grocery store lot about a mile and a half down the road from school and walked the rest of the way. Sneaking in and out was stupid-easy: Nona and I shared a ground-floor room, and we left the window open. I mean, the nuns weren't even fucking trying to keep us in. We didn't complain though. We climbed in and stripped. I wore his boxers and a little strappy tank top that said, "dyke;" he wore my panties. It was an unspoken game of "I can hang:" if he had taken them off, I would have made fun of him for not being able to wear a little pair of panties, but if I said anything about his leaving them on, then I'd have been a kind of prude, and I could fucking hang. So he wore my white nylon panties to bed. I set the alarm for 6:30, which was only four hours in the future, and fell asleep in his arms. It was nice to be the held one, for once When the alarm went off, he didn't have to get up, so I let him sleep while I took a shower. We shared a bathroom with two girls in another room, so I had the shower to myself; I just locked their door. Halfway through my shower I realized that I couldn't remember whether Nona had been in the room when I'd gotten up, it hadn't occurred to me to look. I hurried through my shower, shaved my legs and washed my hair, then ran into my room. She wasn't there. "Val! Wake the fuck up yo, your sister totally didn't come home last night." I shook him. He woke up a little, until he understood what I was saying, and then he woke all the way up. Oh shit. See, here's the problem, Nona's notorious for absenteeism. She probably had maybe one absent day left in this semester, before she had to retake every class. Val and I both knew this. The problem was that we both also knew that this was her best semester so far, and if it didn't count, she was gonna get depressive. Like, real bad, depressive. Nobody wanted that. We discussed briefly. And as soon as I thought that he should try to pass for her, he thought it too, and he looked scared. Scared! I was surprised for a minute. Last night it had seemed like nothing could scare him. He was imperturbable. He was a rock. He hadn't even squeaked when I'd massaged his prostate. And here he was with wide eyes. "You'll do it, right? I'll print up a note that you can show the sisters that says your throat's fucked so you don't have to talk. Eh? I know I can make you look like her. I'm a makeup ace. Come on, please? I'll bet it turns you on." I knew he'd do it. So did he. It was 7:05. "Yo, it kinda does. Okay, lemme shave my legs." He walked off to the shower. His fucking lazy-ass manner made me unsure whether he was kidding. I didn't really care though; I booted up the ol' Tandy and got to work making a suitably smart-ass note for Val to show the Nuns. When he came back from the shower, his hair was clean and shiny, and he was smooth as hell. I thanked God that he hadn't cut himself shaving his face. I showed him the note I made for him to show everybody, "I'm sick. I can't talk. I'm probably dying. But I don't have any absences left, so I will quietly take notes in the back row. Thank you. Winona Grea." Everybody was used to us being wiseasses. "Ok, get dressed, because doing your makeup is going to be a bitch," I told him. I picked out a pair of satin rose patterned Victoria's Secret panties for him to wear, thought for a second, then tossed him a pair of tight white cotton ones too. "To keep your monster restrained," I told him, poking his groin. I gave him a white bra to wear, which I stuffed with more panties. Then he put on a white satin camisole over it, because it was opaque and hid the fact that his breasts were panties, and finally the white button down shirt. Then came the red, black and green skirt, which I tucked the shirt into. Then I rolled the waistband twice to make it shorter. "Sorry, that's kind of the way we wear 'em," I told him, and gave him the sheer white knee socks. He pulled them up to his knees. I was doing my makeup in my mirror and I looked over at him. He had the socks on and was struggling to hide a hard-on. He saw me looking. He started rambling. "Fuck man, I wasn't kidding. It's hard to keep your a secret when you're forced to do it. Look, I like you a whole lot, Jess, so... I get off on dressing up like this. Ok? I've never actually done it. I'm a closet fucking crossdresser. I've suppressed the hell out of it, and I'm trying to repress it right now, but my dick won't fucking listen. You can't know how much it turns me on that I'm going to be my sister today. It's like, sex fantasy number one for me. It's the most amazing thing that's ever happened to me. And fuck you, mother fuck you, if you so much as look at me funny for it. I mean God-damn, what am I supposed to do? At least I'm being honest, right? Fucking... Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." He was halfway toward crying. He was not invincible. I didn't dislike him at all, I think I loved him, and I really felt closer to him knowing this. Listen: it's like, last night he'd seemed perfect, and he was almost inhuman. His slow speech made it seem like he had a comeback for everything, like he was total master of everything. Now suddenly he was as human as me, flawed, perturbable, and that made him even more attractive. As for the fact that his flaw was some kind of wanting-to-be-a-girl, well, I was a fucking dyke. So what? Nobody's sexuality is perfect. I still liked him. I sat down on the bed next to him. "Val, look at me." He did. "I tried not to be a dyke for a long time. I know what you're going through, well, kind of, and let me tell you, I sure don't like you any less. I think I like you more because now you're imperfect. It's okay that you like to wear skirts, kid, it's just clothes. It's not like you, I don't know, appreciate the work of Creed, or something." He smiled. Then he let out a dumb-little-joke-post-emotional- outpouring giggle. He was shaking like Parkinson's, but I knew he'd be OK. Remember, he still was almost perfect. "All right then, motherfucker. I'm gonna pretend I've got a pussy!" He hugged me really hard, then sat down by the mirror for me to do his makeup. Nona was big on makeup, so his lipstick was dark brown with a black outline, his eye shadow was dark, and I gave him a lot of foundation. I also gave him probably more eyeliner than he needed, but by that point, I was getting into it. I was thinking, this is fun. I could get used to having a transvestite boyfriend. I put some barrettes in his hair, and he was done. He looked a whole lot like Nona, just... prettier. His hair was thicker, his eyes were darker, and his body was better toned. It wasn't something anyone else would notice, but having lusted after her for so long, and having stared at her so much, I did. He was fucking gorgeous. The new problem was, of course, how to pass him off as sick, looking like that, but it didn't even occur to me. I wanted him so badly, and we only had twenty minutes to get to class. His skirt stuck out ten inches in front of him, even with two pairs of panties. His cock was perfect and obvious. I was gonna have to suck that off, so I pushed him back onto the bed, pulled both pairs of panties down and yummy down on this. He came real quick, and he was moaning all squeaky like a girl. That was fine with me, he was such a fox, and I was in love with his dick. I thought, transvestites are weird. Since he'd come so quickly, I had time for myself too. He couldn't get down into my cunt, because he'd fuck up his makeup, but I had a backup plan that ran on double A batteries. I told him to pose for me, feel himself up, just be a sexy girl while I watched, and rubbed my piece over my clit. He was terrible at it, really amateurish, and largely unaware of how a girl would move, but that in itself was a turn on. Soon I was coming. Ten minutes left, I told him to keep posing. I beat off again, and then we were off to class. His awkwardness paid off, because he was all introverted and shy and drawn in, and that's similar to how you are when you're sick. As soon as we were out the door, he reached for my hand, and I gave it to him. We held hands to our first class, English. He was still not comfortable, but comfort, I thought, was for people who could be sedated by television. This was a fucking experience, this was irregular, and this was awesome. There was a lot more to it than just sex. Even after my vibrator session, I was still turned on for him. I felt exhilarated, but I knew that after spending nineteen years in the closet, he must be way more so. I reached up his skirt and pinched his ass. He slapped my hand away, then looked over and grinned sheepishly. Now he remembered: this was going to be fun. He pinched my ass back. There were girls everywhere, dressed just like us. He squeezed my hand tightly. His heart was going three hundred beats per minute, but anxiety can only last so long before it burns itself out, and he couldn't stay that worried. We headed into our first class. He showed Sister Orton, the English teacher, his note, and she groaned. She was used to this shit from us, and wasn't surprised that Nona was all dolled up and pretending to be dying. But before she could even say anything, though, Val was in the back of the room, sitting next to me, legs crossed, pretty. I'd definitely put way too much on his eyes, but I thought it was cute. We sat through the lecture on the Great Gatsby without incident, passing notes. He actually had a lot to say about it in his notes. He hadn't loved the book, but he made points a hundred times better than the ones made by the girls in class. I was falling in love. I started thinking, my life fucking rules. I'm a dyke in love with a transvestite. I bet our kids are into bestiality. Or plushies. We left class without saying anything, and he showed the note to our Spanish teacher, Sister Gomez. He handed in Nona's homework, which she'd thankfully done before the party last night, and took a seat next to me in the back of the room again. We passed more notes. He got comfortable enough to give me a note, halfway through class, that was a diagram of the room and all the desks in it, with X's over the desks of the girls he'd like to fuck. I laughed out loud. We almost got in trouble, but I managed to defuse the situation with some quick "No, no esta muy divertida, no esta nada." I was a Spanish class superstar, I learned from Black Francis. We went on like this all day, making fun of people and passing notes. We sat at the back of every class. I kept looking at his legs, crossed under his desks. They were really well shaped, he'd been a fencer in high school, and that had given him really well defined leg muscles, but after a year or so of not doing it, the muscles were less cut: softer, but still strong. I kept finding new things about him that turned me on. As for him, well, at one point in our Calculus class, he got a hard-on. It looked like the situation might be grim, but the terror of getting caught killed it quick, he informed me afterwards. Calculus was right before lunch, though, so I had a little time to take care of the problem. We went to the girls' room; he told me that the silhouette of the girl on the door, the triangle skirt, was a turn on for him, just because of the basic symbolism. I laughed and pushed him onto a toilet in one of the stalls, joined him, then closed the door. This was going to be fun. We had to be quick. I pulled his skirt up and his panties way down, then downed my panties a bit and sat down on his lap, impaling myself on his dick, facing him. My legs wrapped around his back and rested on top of the toilet. He held my waist and bobbed me up and down on his dick. The cotton of his shirt and skirt scratching against my naked thighs got me rolling, but apparently, being dressed like a girl and fucking a girl dressed the same way, in the girls' room, was turning him on too, because he came as quickly as I'd hoped. There, that should put that dick to sleep for a couple hours. We went to lunch. Nona and I usually ate alone, because we hated everybody. So other girls weren't a problem. If anybody spoke to Val, he just showed his note, and they went away. Lunch was hot dogs. While we were waiting on the line to get our food, I made a mental note to deep throat mine to make Val laugh, but as soon as we got back to the table, he beat me to it. He slid the hot dog in and out of his red lips like he was blowing it; it was so unexpected I almost died laughing. Under the table he put his hand on my thigh, but I took it off, and whispered in his ear that if he got a hard on in here, I couldn't do anything. He was like, "Oh yeah," and ate his peas. The rest of classes were uneventful. We didn't have gym that semester, we had health, and so he didn't have to change. He told me he wished he could have changed in the locker room, with all these girls around, and I told him, trust me, it was awesome. All those strappy bras and little panties and hard nipples... After classes were over we went back to our room. All day, we had both pointedly avoided talking about poor Nona, wondering where she could be, because with dope, it's always a possibility that something really, really bad had happened. He was sitting on her bed with his legs together, leaning back, when he brought her up. "I'm kind of worried about Nona. Where is she? I mean, she was finally getting her shit together. Now it looks like she's on a fucking dope binge that's going to last how long? Days? Fuck man... She'd better not be killing herself." Then his eyes opened up huge: "What if she ODs! Oh fuck..." I sat down next to him and hugged him sideways. "She hasn't OD'd. She wouldn't do that. She's probably just with that scuzzy guy, fucked up out of her gourd. She'll be back soon, yo, I bet she e-mailed me. Let's go to the library, I can check. But uh, you're gonna be suspicious if you don't change out of your uniform, kid." He didn't want to change. He loved being dressed like this. But I told him he didn't have to wear pants or anything, just that wearing the uniform all day was mad suspicious. He could wear... I had an idea. I went to Nona's closet. "Dig this, little girl," I told him, taking out an almost floor- length black satin column dress. It was pretty formal, but Nona had worn it around before, so it wouldn't be too weird. His eyes got bigger than the moon. Hell yeah he wanted to wear that. He took it from me and rubbed it against his face. His dick became prominent again. He took off his skirt and his shirt. Now wearing just his panties, bra and camisole, he looked so cute that I wanted to deep throat his dick again. I had him sit on the bed and I did just that, pulling his panties down just enough to get his dick out. This time though, I stuck a finger up his ass and wiggled it while I sucked his dick. When he came, it was with such forced that I choked, let go of his dick, and caught his load with my face. When I reopened my eyes, he was on his back on Nona's bed, nipples hard, black dress in one hand. I wiped off my face. "You gotta watch that, kid, you're gonna make me break out" and helped him into the dress. It had a square neckline that didn't show any actual cleavage, though it hinted at it, and had a ribbon all the way around, right under his breasts. Then it fell straight, most of the way to the floor, not tight, but still constraining. I cupped his ass through it. He sat down and crossed his legs inside the dress. He was in heaven. I liked seeing him with his defenses down like this. He put on a clunky pair of strappy black platform shoes and we went to the library. Nona had e-mailed me. She didn't care about school, she'd woken up this morning, seen how fucked up she'd been last night and freaked out. She realized now that she honestly had a heroin problem. She was coming down as she wrote the e-mail, but soon she was going to be doing more lines to get back high. She'd apparently been taking a lot of dope, in school, without me finding out, for months. That explained a lot of thus far unexplained absences... So, the mail said, as soon as she fixed, she was checking herself into rehab. She asked me to tell her parents some kind of story, anything except drugs. She wasn't going to be giving the rehab people her real name, because she didn't want this on her "permanent record." So, while I was pissed at her for being a junkie and not telling me, like really fucking pissed, I was reluctantly glad she was getting help. I was also really glad that I had Val here to cover for her, and I knew Val would be really, really happy to know that Nona was okay, and that he'd be dressing like her for at least a couple weeks. I mailed Nona back and told her our plan, so she wouldn't come busting back into school without making sure Val got out first. I knew she'd check her mail before she came back, we were both procrastinators. He was excited. He kept trying to surreptitiously rub the dress against his body, but I kept catching him. I'd pinch his tit, and even though he couldn't feel it, he'd try to defend it. He told me that his dick already hurt from all the fucking, and that after two weeks of this, it'd probably never work again. I laughed and we thanked God for the birth control pill. So... This went on for the rest of the week. In the evenings I taught him how to do Nona's makeup without looking like a drag queen; we always fucked after makeup lessons, because they got him really hot. School classes were uneventful, the same note every day, saying Nona's throat hurt. He took to wearing nightgowns. It's funny, his enthusiasm for girly clothes set off a femme kick in me, too. I mean, I'm always pretty femme, but I got really girly too. I wore nightgowns to bed too, or panties with tank tops. It was fun. That weekend could have been great, but it was pretty much shot because I got my period, and when I've got my period, I become pretty much immobilized. I lay in bed, read, and bitch, because that's about all I can do. So Val practiced makeup and played dress-up all weekend. He seemed to enjoy it. He also went and got me tea, and food, and stuff. He was pretty selfless about the whole thing, actually. It was nice. The next week we needed a new note, because Nona's throat couldn't have been fucked for so long. I decided to play along too, and wrote a note that said, "Both Nona Grea and Jess Perrine are holding a silence-vigil in both honor and protest of the Chinese imprisonment of Tibet. Our consciousness has been raised by both rap-rock band 'Rage Against the Machine' and rap group 'The Beastie Boys.' Thank you, Nona and Jess." Neither of us spoke in class, all week. Not only was this tactic efficient, but also funny. Val had mastered makeup, or at least, he could do it on his own. So this week we tried to figure out how to make him sound like his sister when he talked. It was tough, but he was actually not a bad mimic, and, like the makeup, once he got past doing a garish caricature of femininity, he actually managed to sound passable. So when the Sisters finally got sick of our silence shenanigan, he wouldn't be all fucked. One cool side effect of his learning to sound like his sister came in our sex lives: when we fucked, now he could really moan, and he sounded just like a girl. It was particularly sexy to me because I'm so much more impressed with girl-voices than with boy voices. (Uh, remember, I'm supposed to be a dyke.) He would pant and squeal and everything, he was now, effectively, a hot chick with no tits and a dick. I was still into it, but actually, the novelty was wearing off. It was a good thing he was so funny and intelligent... And that his dick was so fucking gorgeous. And now he could moan. He was as smart as he'd seemed on the night I met him. We had talked mainly before sleep and at lunch, I mean like, really talked, not just made sexual innuendoes and evil jokes and stuff, and not only was he better read than I, but he had all types of crazy insights, and this way of seeing problems from a bunch of different angles. This became even more apparent over the weekend, when there wasn't much to do but talk and read. He played fashion show a lot of the time, but grouchy me wasn't in the mood for it, and so just kinda tolerated it. I was feeling better by Sunday night, and we watched the Simpsons and stuff, lying in my bed. He continued to take care of me, and I appreciated it. I almost wanted my period to last longer, so that he could keep waiting on me. I made fun of him, I told him I was gonna FemDom him into a maid's uniform and thigh-highs. He said he welcomed it, "Maaahstaah," and curtsied in his sister's yellow satin dress. After TV we did our Spanish and Math homework. He'd already read the next book for English, Jane Eyre, but I hadn't, so he played more dress-up while I read. Truth be told, I was getting sick of his playing dress-up. I mean, his enthusiasm was great, and infectious, but how much fun can it be to wear a dress? Yes, it's emasculating, and yes, I enjoy this magic power I get over people when I wear one, but still... I don't sit around trying on my clothes. I just didn't get it. Maybe I was even a little jealous that he could get so much pleasure from something as simple as clothes. I don't know. But before I was done reading, I asked him to get dressed for bed and stop playing. As far as we knew, there was one more week of Nona in rehab. Val was determined to enjoy it, and said he wanted to sneak out a bunch of times and go dancing and all. I had to remind him that we were still in school, and the point was kind of to do our work and get decent grades and most importantly, not be too tired to go to class. Still, he made me promise that we'd go out at least once during the week. Monday morning came and we decided to stick with the Beasties/Rage note. I took the first shower, and was dressed and ready to go to class by the time he was out of the shower, shaven, pale and pretty. I sat on my bed, pulled my knees into my chest and watched him get dressed. He didn't realize I was watching him, and dressed oblivious. It was sexy; it was really obvious that he still relished every feel of nylon or cotton on his body. He pulled up the panties slowly, writhing his body a little, like the models in the Victoria's Secret commercials do, looking down toward his ass. Then did it again with a second pair of panties. He pulled on his bra and looked down at the cups, sticking out his chest; he filled them with a few pairs of panties. Then he sat at the makeup mirror and did himself up pretty, sliding his ass back and forth on the chair. Once he was sufficiently beautiful, he pursed his lips and made faces in the mirror; then he realized we had class, put barrettes in, and scurried to the closet to grab a white blouse. Then he put on his skirt, slowly, and looked at himself in the mirror. He dropped his chin in toward his chest and made a rock star face in the mirror, then pulled up the front of his skirt to show his panties to the mirror. He was hard, but he'd set up a system so his dick went straight up into the skirt's waistband so I didn't have to suck him off every couple hours. He let his skirt fall, put his purse over his shoulder and picked up his books. He still turned me on. He was still beautiful in Nona's makeup, and his body was still amazing. I wanted to grab his tits, but they only frustrated me, since there was no tit in them, just panties. So I grabbed his ass under his skirt again, and said, "One more week. Can you handle it?" He looked at me and nodded. Then he smiled, his teeth looked particularly white in comparison to his brown lips, and said simply, "Fuck yeah." He made a pouty kiss face and headed off to class, me trailing behind. Classes were uneventful again, and we continued not to talk. The nights were a boring blur of homework and studying; we'd already cut down on the sex because his dick hurt, and because, honestly, there was a lot of schoolwork to be done. We were only fucking like once a night, twice tops. Wednesday night we went out. He made me take him to this lame straight club, the Golden Cup or some dumb shit, so he could dance with boys and stuff. We dressed all up in our finest; he wore a short light purplish dress with a tight top part, no straps, a wide belt, and a swingy, chiffony skirt. He looked half ready to be a bridesmaid, but I figured it was his night to be himself, so I wouldn't criticize. I figured maybe I'd get to eat some pussy tonight. I put on a tight black shirt and a long black nylon skirt, way too much eyeliner, and pale gray lipstick, and figured I'd eat some Goth pussy. We headed out the window at 10 o'clock. We got into the club because we were foxy, and bouncers never pay attention to foxy girls' IDs. The club was kind of dark, not too full, and playing lame dance music. We both knew it, but Val let the fact that he was a girl overcame his hatred for wack music, and danced like a pro out on the floor. He was actually really good at dancing like a girl, and I caught myself wishing he was one, because he was turning me on. While I was thinking this, though, a cute Goth girl approached me, the type for whom I was on the prowl. We were making out on a couch in ten minutes. I'd forgotten how good I was at talking girls into making out and stuff, and had only been out of the game for a week and a half. It felt great to feel up an actual girl. I lost track of Val. When the place closed at two, I couldn't find him, and didn't get much opportunity to look, because everybody was basically herded out of the place like cattle. I stood around out front waiting for him to come out, but he didn't; once I was sure nobody else was left inside, I decided that he must be sucking a dick in an alley next to the club or something, and went looking. Well. He was in the alley next to the club, but he wasn't sucking a dick. He was lying down kind of curled up. I figured he'd drunk too much, and I'd get him up and drag him back home, but when I got up close, it became pretty apparent: he'd taken a punch. At least one. One eye was blackened and cut, and his lip was split. I knelt next to him and cradled him. He came to a little and half smiled at me, then hugged back. "What the fuck happened?" I asked him, almost yelling. I was bugging out. I just knew someone had read him as a boy and taken hate out on him. I couldn't believe we were dumb enough to think he could pull this off. What the fuck was wrong with us? Why did we think he wouldn't be beaten? Why couldn't we have gone to a proper gay club? I was going to hunt down and ritualistically murder whoever the fuck had done this. I reached into my purse and felt my Mace... He looked up at me, one eye swelling. "Jess. Never suck the dick of a guy with a big girlfriend." Oh. On closer inspection, he really wasn't too beat up; somebody must have hit him and left him, or maybe just gotten in a good punch. This wasn't a hate crime. He hadn't been read. He'd sucked off some guy, and been beaten by his girlfriend. He tried to get up, but fell down; turns out he was also blind drunk. That was more why he was in the alley than his eye. I thanked God I hadn't been involved in the fight, or we'd both be in jail right now; I fight like a caged rat. So he got up, leaned on me after all, and we headed back to our room. We slept like the dead. I got the story out of him the next day: he'd gotten really drunk right away, and then this Hispanic guy with a goatee kept buying him Long Island Iced Teas. His thought process had basically been that people never bought him drinks, and he never went out in public dressed like a girl, so tonight was his night, and as such, he could lose control a little. So he kept having his Long Island Iced Teas, and dancing with the guy. He'd been clean and all, and actually dressed like one of the guys from Swingers; Val said he kept expecting the guy to tell him he was money, or a beautiful baby, or something Val had used his silence to his advantage to try and be all exotic; it had worked, and the guy, whose name he never got, was entranced. Val had followed him to a little broom closet, sat him down on a bucket, pulled down his pants, and sucked him off. Val said the guy had a big dick, and that sucking it had been everything he'd hoped, and he'd even let the guy come on his face... I guess that's a common fantasy for everyone involved. Whenever Sancho, as I'd decided the guy's name was, had asked Val anything, Val would just hold one red fingernail up to his lips and "shhh." But when Val had straightened his skirt, looked in his compact mirror and made sure he was a presentable girl, and they'd opened the door, there had been a big fat Hispanic woman waiting outside. She punched him, hard, in the eye, grabbed Sancho by the ear, and stormed off; Val had fallen backwards, giving anyone who might have been in the narrow hallway a show of his pink panties and white stockings, and landed on his back in the closet. Then he'd gotten up, confused from being punched, looking for the girl to beat her up, but been unable to find her. Defeated, he asked some guy at the bar to buy him one last Long Island Iced Tea, slugged it, and gone outside to find the senorita. She'd been outside, punched him, hard, in the stomach, and he'd collapsed in the alley. Sancho was nowhere to be seen. That had been his big night. Sigh. At least he'd gotten to go out in public. Thursday school was uneventful, nobody even asked us about Val's eye. It was overcast and gloomy, Val said he was glad it hadn't been rainy last night. That afternoon I got an e-mail from Nona at the computer in the library; she was clean and as rehabbed as she was gonna get from the local church. She'd gotten my mail about our plan to sub Val for her, hoped it had worked, and would be sneaking into our room at some point tonight. Val was crushed. He said he was glad his sister was okay and all, but it was really fucking obvious to me that all he cared about was the fact that he was going to have to stop wearing her panties. He was all moping around like a little kid after opening all his presents on Christmas. He wanted more. Christ, he'd become so one-dimensional, once he'd started dressing up as his sister. I started to get pissed. We went back to our room. I told him how sick I was of his being so boring in his sister's clothes, and being all-selfish, playing dress-up and being a fucking lout. I ranted: "Your sister's off dope, she's fucking clean for the first time in God knows how long, and all you fucking care about is yourself, and that you can't wear her skirts any more! You're the most selfish bastard I've ever known! I thought your smug little attitude had something to do with you actually being better than other people, but know what? It's only because you don't care about anyone but yourself! I am so sick of putting up with your fluttering around, and your self-obsession, and your affected girly mannerisms, and your attempts to be cute, and all this fucking bullshit. Can you be real? I don't think you even can. I just, I'm so sick of dealing with someone who isn't even himself. Or herself. Or whatever the fuck you are." As soon as I looked up from my rant, into those bruised eyes, I knew I'd fucked up. As soon as I saw his eyes I realized the other side of the argument: if I couldn't look at girls, ever, just wasn't allowed to at all, and then suddenly had two weeks to do it, I'd be in worse shape than he was, by the end. And he hadn't been inconsiderate; he'd waited on me all that weekend, while I'd been in bed. I have no idea why I reacted so violently all of a sudden, but the fact is, the tears in his eyes, the ones he wouldn't let out, biting his brown lips in and just staring, fatally wounded... I was the worst person ever. "You're right," he told me, turning around and climbing out the window. I didn't know whether to follow him or let him go, but the ache in my stomach felt a lot like crying, and I knew it wouldn't go away if I didn't follow him. So I disappeared out the window too, in my pajama pants. He looked silly on the side of the road, trying to thumb a ride, with no cars going by; the school was basically in the woods, and it was starting to drizzle. Of course he was wearing the dress he'd been born to wear, the long thin black one he'd worn the other night, in the library. His first real dress. His makeup was running down his face, and instead of making him look like a boy in makeup, it made him look like the saddest girl in the world. I went to hug him, say I'm sorry, but he wouldn't have it, and pushed me away. "You're right. I'm fucked. I'm sick, I define myself as a sexual deviance, I shouldn't care that I'm weird, but I do; how am I supposed to get by in a world where this is me, and when people see this, they want to fucking beat me? That fat Mexican bitch was more right than she knew to try and punch me out. I deserved it. Where do I get off sucking cock? There's nothing real for me in this world; everything's fucked. I'm so fucked it's ridiculous. Look at me!" He plucked at his dress, hard. He was shaking really hard. He sat down on the shoulder of the two-lane road. He looked at me for a second, then curled into a ball. The rain started for real. The sky was bright night blue. I distinctly remember thinking that if this was a movie, the camera would pan away, the whole thing would be over, and the ending would be ambiguous. Then I remember thinking, in life, there really aren't endings. Then I felt self-consciously melodramatic and walked ten feet over to him. I put my hand on his waist and he didn't even look at me, just cried, all quiet. "Come on, kid, you're going to catch pneumonia," I told him. I helped him up and all but carried him back to the dorm, and helped him up into the window. He lay down, wet, in Nona's smartly made bed. We'd slept in my bed the whole time he'd been here. I talked to him. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that, I'm an asshole. It's just fucked, that I was with you for almost two weeks, and I don't even like guys. Me liking you fucked up my whole way of thinking; I figured I didn't know much about the world, except that I liked girls. Now I don't even know that. I'm sorry, I really can't handle being with a boy, even a boy like... like you." I already regretted saying "a boy like you." I was just... talking, trying to make sense as I spoke. It wasn't working. He said, really quietly, "I'm so sick of being this." He looked up at me. He wasn't crying anymore. He was wet though. Soaked. His hair was plastered to his head, and he still looked beautiful; for some reason, he reminded me of one of those 'Precious Moments' figurines. "Now you're talking about your self. All anybody fucking cares about is themselves. Even me, especially me. Me! This is me! I'm a boy in a dress, this concept that's totally fucking trivial and stupid, and yet loaded with hatred to most everybody, and yet it's all I am. That's it. Everything else about me is predicated on this idea of a boy in a dress. And I'm sick of it. And nobody will ever understand except other boys in dresses, who are as self-obsessed as I am. I'm so sick of being human. So fucking sick of it." If I'd been writing the movie that this was playing itself out in my head as, I'd have let him stop being human. He'd've probably become a cocoon and then a butterfly, because I'm cliched like that. But at this point I couldn't even retort. I hesitated, then: "Your sister's gonna be here soon. Do you want to borrow a dress from me to wear... wherever? Where are you going?" "Fuck if I know. Fuck if I care. I've got a car. Maybe I'll live in it until I starve to death. Yes, I'd love to borrow a dress. Even though I feel like such a fucking faggot and weirdo in them." He was regaining his composure, except now he was all grim. I didn't know what to do. Fuck it. I did everything I could, I gave him a Sunday dress my parents had given me to wear to church, which I hated, because it was so girly. Everybody's selfish. I could give him that dress, because I didn't want it, and he could fucking have it. I felt lost. "I don't even want to see Nona. I can't handle that, I've been wearing her clothes these two weeks, which I've been fantasizing about since I was little. It'd be too weird for me. Thanks. I'ma just wear this dress out, and hope I'll be OK. Tell her I say hi." He took off the black dress, patted himself sort of dry with a towel, put on my dress, and climbed out the window. He didn't even give me a goodbye kiss. I lay on my bed and fell asleep, like you do when you're suddenly depressed. I don't even remember Nona coming in.