Andy
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Andy 19 free porn video
Andy by Transbonder, translated by Leah from the German
NINETEEN
Monday morning. What more is there to say?
And this Monday morning was so much worse than all the others before. It
wasn't just that vacation had come to an end, I had to put on pants. For
the first time in weeks. I didn't like the compact feeling, preferred to
feel myself free again in a skirt.
And that wasn't the only tightness. My sport bra confined me, too. Not
really badly, but still not pleasant either. My normal bras were clearly
better, even when they had to carry the weight of the breast forms.
My breasts projected even more pointedly to the front, they had grown
somewhat more. A millimeter or so. But just forward, not in breadth. They
weren't really large, but they were conspicuous because of their
pointedness. My skin felt warm there. And it felt strange as though it
was growing inside.
My new sneakers, my dream just a few weeks ago, seemed clumsy and
misshapen. You really had something on your feet in contrast to the cute
ballerina flats. Even my boots seemed neater.
"You don't looked very enthusiastic," my mom greeted me at the breakfast
table.
I counted on my fingers, sticking out another finger for every point:
"I don't like my hair style - The sport bra is uncomfortable - I don't
like how confining my pants are - The tights under them are too warm - I
feel naked without make-up - My shoes are so clumsy."
"That's really all?"
"No!" More fingers were added. "It's Monday - Vacation is over - I still
haven't heard anything from Biene-"
"Enough, enough!" she interrupted me. "This sounds like a catastrophe."
"It is, too," I blurted out full of passion.
"Now, then you should go put on your make-up, put on a skirt instead of
pants, put on the hair piece, and slide into your ballerinas - have I
forgotten anything?"
"Mom! I'm serious."
"Yes, and I am, too." She said it with a deadly serious face, which she
wasn't able to keep for long. She had to giggle, and I couldn't stay
serious either.
Then I said, "This is all a bunch of crap! And my breasts hurt." I
lightly rubbed over the sweater, which didn't really help at all.
Actually did the opposite.
"Did you rub in some cream?"
"Forgot to. My brain doesn't function on Monday mornings."
"I'll get the cream. Pull up your sweater high and the bra."
I got the sweater up high quickly, but I was very cautious with the bra,
so that I didn't touch the breast buds. Mom was already back again and
rubbed the cream in gently. Then she put the breast pad over it, which
kept the cream in place. Then I cautiously pulled the bra over them again
and let my sweater fall down.
"Better?" she asked.
"Yes. Some. Thanks a lot, Mom."
##
Even in school I didn't see Biene. But I found Svenja.
"Andrea- s?" she said. "I almost didn't recognize you."
"Don't remind me about it. I just can't stand myself like this either."
She ran her hand through my hair. "Is the net really still in there? You
can't see anything. Yes, I do feel it."
"Svenja! Not so obvious!" She looked as though that didn't apply to her.
"Have you seen Biene? I can't find her anywhere."
She smacked herself across the forehead. "Crap, I totally forgot."
"What did you forget?"
"She broke her leg skiing and had to be operated on. Supposedly she'll be
out of the hospital tomorrow."
"And she called you and not me?" I was very disappointed.
"Her parents called my parents. They may well not have had your telephone
number."
"And how is she?"
"I don't know anything more exact. We'll probably have to wait until
she's home again. Or you'll have to call her parents."
"I'll do that after school. I've gotta go now, so long."
"So long."
##
Thoughts of Biene allowed me to completely forget my own problems. But I
still remembered to turn in the doctor's excuse to get me out of gym
class.
After school it seemed very odd for me not to go to the garden house, but
to go home instead. Man, I was glad when I could finally take off those
pants.
The sport bra left red streaks behind. That couldn't be right? With none
my other bras had that happened. Now my normal bra felt uncomfortable
where it lay on the welts. Sighing I took it off again and took a teddy
which was much more comfortable to wear.
After the uncomfortable pants my dearly beloved jeans skirt was the only
possibility. With my pumps. Even if they were impractical for
babysitting, I needed them now. Just no sneakers, not even if they were
pink!
Then I rethought my decision. The pumps really were nothing for
babysitting. Instead of them I took the shoes with the high chunky heels.
Yeah, that was stylish and clearly more suitable.
Because I wanted to feel feminine now, I not only did my make-up with
special care, but I also swiped a bit of Mom's perfume.
Then I called Biene. No one there. Grrr. So I set out on my way to Mrs.
Weber's. I just hoped that my hair piece held, because by myself I wasn't
able to anchor it completely. But that was a minor concern. If someone
pulled on my hair, it would hook it deeper into the hairnet, which,
thanks to the investment of forty Euros, was again firmly in place.
##
When Mrs. Weber left, I called Biene again. Again nothing. Then Svenja.
When she answered, I said, "Hi Svenja. What are you doing now?"
"Homework."
"Want to do something together? I'm babysitting at Mrs. Weber's."
"OK, why not?"
She was there a quarter hour later. I had already parked Mark in front of
the television, so we had some quiet.
As we sat at the kitchen table, Svenja asked, "OK, now let's hear it. You
really don't want to see me because of our homework?"
"Was I so obvious? Yes, I have to talk with you."
"About Biene?"
"No, not really, although naturally I would like to know what's going on
with her."
"What is it then? Problems with going to school as a boy?"
I looked around at Mark. His attention was captured one hundred percent
by a talking sponge.
"Yes, that too. But I have another problem. My puberty is beginning to
kick in again, but in a different way than anyone predicted."
"What can be different in that?"
"Oh, several things. For example breasts can grow on a boy."
"Breasts? Are you growing breasts?"
I nodded. "And they hurt. Was it like that for you, too?"
"First things first. Why are you growing breasts? Are you taking
hormones?"
"No. Well, yeah. But no hormones because of my breasts, although they
grow because of that. Oh, that's all so complicated."
"It appears to me it is. Now tell me from the beginning."
And I did just that. Always with one eye in Mark's direction. But he was
looking at the television in complete captivation.
I told her of my experiences with our family physician and then - in
somewhat modified form, so that it fit with the transvestite story - of
my visit to the psychologist and finally to the endocrinologist.
"Wow, can I see them?"
"Let's go into the bathroom."
When I shoved the teddy straps down over my shoulders, you could still
see the marks left by the sport bra, even if they weren't very strong
now.
But Svenja was interested most of all in the small swellings. "Mine were
never so pointed," she offered. Then she touched them carefully. "Kind of
hard."
"The doctor," which one was it this time? "was of the opinion they would
soon change."
"I still remember how it happened with me. They were very sensitive, but
they never did hurt."
"Can you feel your breast glands, too?"
"How do you mean that?"
"I can feel a hole in the middle. What surrounds it is supposed to be the
breast gland."
Carefully she tried it. "For real."
Then she took off her sweatshirt and bra. Svenja was still very young and
her breasts were not yet fully developed. But they were already
thoroughly genuine breasts. With one finger she investigated. "Yes, I can
feel it."
"May I?" I was really curious, since this was what I would also soon
have. If not - unfortunately - quite so splendid.
Svenja didn't mind. "Of course, I've just been allowed to touch yours."
I'd never thought that my first detailed inspection of a girl's breast
would be owed to a response to my own breasts.
Svenja's breast was so soft, so wonderfully soft. Have I already said, I
like soft?
But my cautiously investigating finger really did find the harder tissue
of the breast glands, after I had first checked out the remainder
thoroughly, which caused an expression on Svenja's face that I didn't
actually understand. "Hmm, just like me, only a lot bigger."
"Why should it be different?" she said with a funny voice.
"I only want to know that. I can talk with my mom about a lot of things,
but..."
"Yes, I understand. But for that we have girlfriends."
I felt her breast once more until she shoved my hand away.
We got dressed again and went back.
##
We still talked a little more about what I had yet to expect. Then I got
around to asking about the sport bra. It was her opinion that it was much
too tight, you shouldn't get such marks from it. But without seeing it,
she couldn't say much.
Then we did our homework together. When Mrs. Weber got home, Svenja had
already gone again.
We spoke about everyday things, then she asked Mark, what he had done. "I
watched TV. Because the goofy girls just wanted to talk about their
bosoms."
I looked at him in shock. Note: Never underestimate small children.
##
"Really too bad that no one cooked today," Mom said, when I came home.
"No problem, Mom. You pay me the same as Mrs. Weber and I'll cook for
you."
"Why do you need money? After all you just spend it for clothes and
shoes."
I tried to kill her with my deadly stare, but once again it didn't work.
She continued, "I registered you today in dance school."
"Aww, Mom, do I have to do that?"
"Everyone your age does it. And you can't even do the waltz well enough."
"I'm not going to any more balls."
"Just because of Kai?"
I said nothing, but stormed up to my room. The whole world was against
me! Biene didn't call me and Mom registered me in a stupid dance school.
Can it get worse?
##
Somewhat later I went to Mom again, when I had calmed down. "Whom did you
register at the dance school, Andrea or Andy?"
"Andrea, of course. That's pretty obvious, or..."
I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't know. Maybe, yes."
"You will need a pair of shoes for that."
"Won't the pumps be OK?"
"No. They are not meant for a dance school."
"Oh man, will I ever be able to have extra money? Everything goes for
clothes."
"You talk like the typical female teenager."
"Can't you buy the shoes?"
"I'm not Croesus. Besides I'm already paying for the course."
"What kind of shoes do I need?"
"Some with a small heel that are comfortable. And they should have a
leather sole so that they glide nicely."
"Good, I'll look around Ebay. But there's something else: The sport bra
doesn't fit right."
"What makes you think so? You did try it on?"
"Yes, and it seemed OK then. But today after just a short time it was
very uncomfortable, and afterwards I had red welts."
"Go get it, so I can have a look."
I got it and Mom looked at it critically. "Hmm, it looks pretty good. Put
it on."
I put it on and Mom put a finger under it. "Indeed, much too tight. These
are normally much more elastic, but this one hardly gives at all. Let's
go right away and exchange it, you can't go to school wearing this."
And in short order we were in the sporting goods store. Mom was loaded
for bear. "What did you sell my daughter?" she asked the young clerk
abruptly. "This sport bra doesn't fit at all. I thought that this was a
professional place of business."
Wow, I'd never seen Mom so fired up. I was happy that I wasn't the target
of her eruption.
"Ye- Yes, but didn't she try it on?" stuttered the young man.
"As you can see, in this case her breasts are just beginning to grow." I
was wearing neither bra nor breast forms, so that didn't make much sense.
"After all she can scarcely be well informed."
"Please, wait, I'll get the manager. It would be best if you go
upstairs." The business had a small area at ground level and because of
that extended several levels. Gymnastic suits, leggings and also sport
bras were on the second level.
In short order a woman in her fifties came to us. "How can I help you?"
"I would like a sport bra for my daughter." I still couldn't get used to
how naturally Mom referred to me as her daughter. "She is complaining
about very sensitive breast buds, and we need the bra to avoid
irritation. The bra which we were sold by the young man unfortunately
doesn't fit."
"Ah, I understand. Can you undress, please?" she said to me.
I blushed and couldn't say a word. Mom said to me, "You don't have to
feel ashamed, we're alone."
Had she forgotten that I wasn't really a girl? And I was supposed to
undress? As I still hesitated she said, "Let's move it, we don't have all
the time in the world."
I noticed that Mom was beginning to get impatient. And that wasn't a good
sign. Still hesitating I took off my sweatshirt. Just good that I wasn't
wearing a dress; I didn't want to stand here in just my panties.
Embarrassed I held my hands in front of my naked breasts. "Isn't it sweet
how they are still ashamed at this age?" ventured the manager. At the
same time she gently pushed my hands aside and wound a measuring tape
around my chest.
"Yes, that bra was definitely much too small. And we don't need one that
gives a lot of support, but instead one that is very elastic and very
soft."
Had I just heard my magic word? Suddenly the situation was no longer
embarrassing at all. Full of expectation I cautiously pulled the bra she
handed me over my breasts, which seemed to be even more sensitive in the
cool air.
Now that was something quite different! It fit so comfortably that I
hardly felt it. And it was in fact very, very soft.
"As misty-eyed as you look, you appear to like it?"
"Oh yes. Mega comfortable."
"Good." She turned to the lady. "Then we'll take two more; this one she
can keep on. As elastic as it is, it should still fit when her breasts
are larger."
"Yes, but for really larger breasts it isn't suitable. The good
elasticity is of course very comfortable, but it doesn't afford much
support."
"That shouldn't be a problem. After all it will take rather long before
they become that large."
I found it unreal, the way my breasts were being discussed. Mom seemed to
have completely forgotten that I wasn't a girl. And the woman apparently
hadn't noticed anything unusual. Did my upper body really look so much
like that of a girl? At least Biene had a more conspicuous waist.
"Yes," the woman answered. "At this age they just can't wait for it." And
she patted me on the head.
I would have liked to kill her. That she took me for a girl, well yes,
but that she treated me like an infant, that was going too far!
##
"Biene," I almost screamed into the telephone. "At last!"
"Were you worried?"
"What a question! Of course! What happened?"
"I broke my leg. Skiing."
"I know that already. Exactly what happened?"
"Did Svenja tell you that?"
"Yes, just today."
"Sometimes she forgets her own head."
"Now tell me at last. How are you?"
"Right now A-OK. At first though it really hurt."
"They operated on you? Was it so bad?"
"Not really. A clean break without complications. There was an operation
only because it was close to the knee."
"And when can you walk again?"
"Actually right now. The doctor explained to me that the break is held in
place by a plate and I can walk normally again. I'm supposed to move as
much as possible, but that hurts too much."
Now she related to me in detail about the accident and everything that
had happened. She had barely finished, when Mom raised a stink because
she wanted to use the telephone, too. Man, she may be putting on an act.
I'd only been talking about three hours. Well OK, three-and-a-half.
##
The task of buying a pair of sensible dance shoes was proving to be not
so simple. I'd already seen numerous pairs on my computer, but I didn't
like any of them. For the most part they looked so shapeless, somehow so
clumsy. At any rate I didn't like them.
Then I found some that I liked. But they were sandals, and it was winter
now. So much for that.
It finally dawned on me why I didn't like the shoes. It was the heel,
which was not very high, but rather wide. Apparently you needed that for
dancing, although I had gotten by with the stilettoes quite well.
And then there was the problem of my shoe size. It seemed that dancers in
general have tiny feet. I had finally found something that half-way
pleased me and it was only available in a teensy size.
I was about to give up in frustration when I actually did find a
beautiful pair. It didn't actually say dance shoes, but I knew by now
what I had to pay attention to. A heel that wasn't too high and not too
narrow. These shoes almost looked like my Mary Janes, but had a playful
2.5 inch high heel that absolutely did not look clumsy.
And they had it in my size! What an expenditure of time just to buy a
pair of shoes. As Andy I would have finished in a few seconds: Simply a
pair with leather soles, pay attention to the size. Who cares about the
appearance?
Why had Mom registered me as Andrea? That didn't make sense. Because that
meant that for dancing I would always look like a girl. Or could you,
once you had learned, dance both roles?
I recalled what I knew about dancing. Hmm, stick out right hand and put
the left on the shoulder of your partner. What would that be the other
way around? At any rate stick out the other hand. And then the other hand
not high up on the shoulder but rather around the waist. Instead of being
held, you had to do the holding. That was probably the reason why the man
led.
I was pretty sure, if I learned to dance as a girl, then no doubt that
I'd be able to do it as a boy.
But why had Mom registered me as a girl?
##
Next morning at least one reason occurred to me, why I did want to do the
dance course as a girl: I didn't like pants. And then try to dance, too,
in something so confining?
I wasn't clear how all those years I had been able to be comfortable in
pants, especially when there was something nice like a skirt. Why did
practically all the girls in school have pants on, above all now in
winter?
The warmth couldn't be the answer, tights were pretty warm, too.
Sometimes too warm.
When I met Svenja, I decided to ask her. After our usual greetings, I
laid it on her.
"You told me once that you don't like tights, that's why you gave them to
me. Why actually?
"I don't like the feeling of confinement around my legs."
"Hmm, and I don't like the confining feeling of pants. They're not one
bit elastic."
"But that is something else. True, in principle you have more freedom of
movement in tights. But when do I need that? After all pants are just
loose around the legs. Like I said, I don't like the tight feeling, I
don't wear kneesocks either."
"I can't really understand that. Tights don't really confine at all. And
they are elastic and attractively soft." That last was especially very
important.
"But I don't like them. And in a skirt I have to pay attention to how I
sit. To me that's much too troublesome."
"But that's not so bad at all. I mean-"
She interrupted me. "Now listen, Andrea. If you absolutely want to wear a
skirt, then simply do it. For my part I'll stick to my pants." And with
that she stormed out.
The world is unjust, I decided. She could wear a skirt, but didn't want
to for any reason. And I wanted to, but I couldn't.
##
When I got home I took off my shoes, then right away my pants.
"You're in a big hurry to take off your pants."
I got a gigantic shock. Normally Mom was at work, and I hadn't expected
anyone. "Man, did you throw a scare into me!"
"Did school drain your brain so much that you didn't even notice me?"
"I hadn't expected anyone and wanted to get out of the uncomfortable
pants fast. What are you doing home?"
"The tax authorities came to the company and the boss sent everyone
home."
"Oh. Are there problems?"
"Nothing that I know of. But I'm not a part of the management team. Even
the head secretary can't explain it."
"Is the company going to be closed now?" Then Mom would be without a job,
that was suddenly clear.
"No, tomorrow everything is supposed to go on as usual. Maybe the problem
turned up somewhere else and we're just being checked."
"I hope so."
"Have you already eaten?"
"Yes, in the cafeteria as usual. I have to go right on over to Mrs.
Weber's."
"Have you done your homework? Is there enough time for it?"
"Mom! I get that stuff with no problems. Other things are much more of a
bother."
"And that would be?"
"Mark constantly wants to wear the same dress I have on. I mean, he IS a
boy after all."
"Exactly as you are, if I'm correctly informed."
"But that's something totally different. I just wear these things for the
job."
"Ahh. If it's professional clothing and is quite different from what you
normally wear, then it all doesn't matter, or...?"
"No! I can't wear these things just for little children!"
"But a stylish skirt and pumps? That's also considered totally normal for
a boy."
"I- eh- I mean, I have to wear a skirt, because otherwise I wouldn't look
like a girl."
"And when you finally tell Mrs. Weber the truth? I mean, she likes you so
much, you don't want there to be any problems in the meantime."
"Do you think? I don't know..."
"I rather believe you want to look like a stylish girl. Or?"
"No, I mean yes. I mean if I have to wear a skirt then I ought to look
good."
"And that has now become an end in itself? Shall I call Mrs. Weber and
tell her that you're not a girl? In reality that's my obligation."
"Mom! Please, don't!"
"And why shouldn't I do that? Just don't tell me it's because you like
Mrs. Weber."
Crap! Why does Mom always have to ask questions like this? I really
didn't know how I should answer.
As always in such situations, my brain was blocked. Always when you
urgently need an answer nothing comes out.
Finally I said, "Because I like being a girl." Actually I wanted to say,
because I like dressing as a girl, but it just came out the way it did.
Mom nodded, as though she hadn't expected anything else. "But why don't
you go to school as a girl?"
"Because I'm a boy?"
"Andrea, you cannot be a boy in the morning and in the afternoon a girl.
Sometime you have to decide."
Do I really? Everything is so nice just the way it is.
"Andrea, you have to reach a decision. Soon. Your puberty cannot be put
on hold endlessly. And I think, when you reflect about Mark, then you
will be able to reach a decision for yourself. For that reason it is
quite good that you don't like that dress. Consider why Mark wants to put
on that dress."
"I've already read some about it. Childish curiosity."
"Do you think it's that simple? Even if most boys put on a skirt or a
dress sometime, they don't do it very often. And apparently Mark never
got tired of doing it."
"Yes, I'm surprised at that, too."
"I think I will get together with Mrs. Weber. After all we both have the
same problem: Our sons like to wear dresses. I think we will be able to
help each other."
"Mom! You're not going to tell her that I'm a boy?"
"No. Not yet."
Hester
- 28.02.2021
- 6
- 0
