Mike Versus Michelle free porn video

Synopsis: This story follows a young boy and his flirtation and eventual evolution into womanhood from the ages of 12 to early 20's. Its about 150 pages long, so I suggest you bookmark it. There are a few chapters that contain sex, but that happens when the character is 17 and of legal age. The story is 90% G, and 10% R. Mike versus Michelle 1: I'm not a sissy Most people who know me...and I mean really know me, can't understand how or why I could have given up my life as a boy to become a woman. Of course the reason they don't understand is because they don't know me as well as they think they do. Its hard to tell by looking at me now, but up until last year, I was a regular looking boy who was leading a rather average life. I had friends and played sports. Girls liked me and I liked them. I didn't look, act, or talk like a sissy. As a matter of fact, and I'm ashamed to admit this now, but I was downright hateful towards people like me. Publicly hating them was my way of putting up a front. No one ever suspected a thing. No one that it is, except for my mom. Mother's have a sixth sense when it comes to their children's likes and dislikes. I remember the first time she caught me wearing her clothes. I was 12 years old. To make matters worse, I was holding one of her cigarettes between my fingers- unlit of course! As embarrassed and humiliated as I was, I had the wits about me to notice that she was neither shocked nor disgusted. None the less, she didn't look pleased either. She was gone by the time I had put on my clothes and come out. I strongly considered running away, but since I had no money saved up, I elected to have dinner first. It made more sense to run away on a full stomach, if I was going to do it. It was one of the most awkward dinners of my life but it wouldn't be the last time I felt awkward in front of my family. I didn't say a word to either of my parents or my little brother until halfway through dinner when my mother asked if everything was okay with me. As if she didn't know! She did know, but my father and little brother didn't because she hadn't told them. But she would. Wouldn't she? From that day on, I lived in fear of the other shoe falling. Sooner or later, my mother would say something to me about what she had seen. But when? And just when I thought the whole incident might be forgotten, she spoke up. Two weeks had passed since my mother had walked in on me. Summer vacation was right around the corner and I was thinking about swimming, and baseball, and hanging out with my friends. I won't say I had forgot what had happened, but I was trying to. When I got home from school, I found my mom sitting on the couch in front of the TV, smoking a cigarette. There was a shopping bag from Victoria's Secret by her feet. The conversation began rather ordinarily with questions about my day, and then it changed abruptly. "I was thinking we should talk about the other day in my room," said my mother. My heart skipped a beat and my stomach did flips. She wasn't going to let it go. But why had she waited until now? Why had she let me think it was over when it really wasn't. She patted the couch and told me take a seat so that we could talk more comfortably. "Its okay," she said. "Your father is working late and Tony is playing across the street." "Did you tell Dad?" I asked as I sat down next to her. "No. Not yet. I wanted to talk with you first, you know...woman to woman." I cringed as she said that, but I was also deeply aroused by the idea of talking to my mother woman to woman, even if she was just kidding. Regardless, I told my mother that I wasn't a woman because I was sure that was what she would want me to say. Beside that, I wasn't one. I was a boy- a male, like my father and brother. "I know that," she said, "but I also know that wasn't the first time you've dressed up in my clothes." She took a puff from her cigarette and exhaled. "But I didn't know about the cigarettes. Are you smoking now?" I didn't know what felt worse; the painful lump in my throat or the sickening nausea. I shook my head no, hoping she'd be satisfied with my silent answer. "I know this is hard for you," said my mother as she leaned forward and put her cigarette out in the ashtray. "Its difficult for me too. I tried my best to pretend it never happened, but I can't do that. And I don't think you can either." My eyes followed her hands as she removed a cigarette from her pack and lit it. "Are you staring because this is bothering you or because you want one?" she asked. I shrugged my shoulders and told her I didn't smoke. "You were holding a cigarette when I saw you in my room. Wouldn't you have lit it if I hadn't have been there?" I told her I had just wanted to see what I'd look like. It was the truth, but as soon as I had said it, I wished that I could take it back. That must sound so stupid to her, I thought. She nodded her head as if she understood. "I used to do the same thing with my mother's cigarettes when I was your age. As a matter of fact, sometimes I'd even wear her clothes when I did it. I guess it made me feel older and more like her." The excitement in my face must have been obvious as I looked her in the eye for the first time since the conversation began. "You did?" I asked. She smiled at me and laughed softly. "Yes, I did honey. I suppose that must sound rather silly to you." "No it doesn't." "Oh no?" I shook my head. "I see," said my mother as she took a long puff from her cigarette and exhaled toward the ceiling. "Is that what you were doing when I walked in on you? Were you pretending to be older? Or were you pretending to be me?" "Both," I said between heavy breaths. She smiled knowingly, as if she'd played a winning hand of cards, and then she placed her hand on my knee. "I thought so," she said. "But I was afraid to come out and say it in case I was wrong. I know how hard this must be for you and I didn't want to embarrass you any more than I already had." It was at that moment that my mother and I bonded in a way that I had only fantasized about. She said she had done the same thing I had done. That meant I had done the same thing she had. When you thought about it like that. It meant that in some kind of cosmic way, I was like my mother and she had just acknowledged it. Perhaps she was right about us having a woman to woman to woman talk. I smiled back at her. She looked at me as if she were seeing me for the first time. It made me feel nervous and wonderful at the same time. My mother and I had a secret, at least I hoped it was a secret. "I bought you some things," she said as she lifted the bag from Victoria's Secret and set it on the coffee table. "I left the tags on them in case you want me to take them back, but if you're going to keep doing this, I think it would be best for you to have your own things. You're not that much bigger than me but you have been stretching my panties a bit," she said as she pulled a pair of silky pink panties from the bag. "Aren't they gorgeous?" she asked. They were gorgeous! But I couldn't say so. To say so would be to admit that I was a little sissy. I had too much going for me to do that. My reputation was at stake. Who knew where this could lead? Mom laid the panties on my lap and pulled a long cream colored nightgown with pink lace from the bag. "I thought you could lock you door at night when you go to bed. That way...well, you know. Isn't it just darling?" It was darling. Even if I didn't say so, which I didn't, the gown was beautiful, and I wanted so badly to put it on. I couldn't believe it was really mine! But how could I take it. She'd know the truth about me if I did. But she already knew. She'd known for a long time. I wasn't a boy in my mother's mind any more. I was a girl like her. It excited me as much as hurt me to think my mother knew that I wanted to put on those panties and wear that nightgown. "I got you a bra too," she said as she pulled out a lacy pink bra that matched the panties. "It's a "C" cup, so I know its a little large, but you can stuff it." Stuff it? Oh yeah! Sure, I could stuff it. I'd have boobs just like her then! But how could I? How could I trade my dignity for boobs and panties? What would Dad and Tony say if they caught me wearing them? Tony might let it slip to my friends. Or maybe he'd tell on purpose. My life would be over! "I can't take these Mom. You got to take them back. I don't want them." Mom turned her head and frowned. I saw the disappointment and confusion on her face as she put the bra back in the bag. "Do you really want me to take them back?" she asked. "Or do you really want them and you're just too embarrassed to say so?" "I can't wear those Mom. I'm a boy," I whined. "Boys don't wear stuff like that." "I know they don't. At least most boys don't," she said. "But we're not talking about most boys honey. We're talking about you and I'm not blind. I've seen the way you stare at me while I'm getting dressed and putting on my make-up. I know you like to read my women's magazines when you don't think anyone is looking. It just means you have a feminine side to you. That's all. Its not the end of the world." She made it sound so normal, but I knew I wasn't. And even though I wasn't a fortune teller, I understood the gravity of the situation at hand. If I said yes to the clothes, I was saying yes to being a sissy. Saying yes would change my life in so many ways that could never be right. I wanted those clothes with all my heart but I didn't want the other things that came with them. I didn't want my parents or anyone else thinking of me as a sissy. It was supposed to be a secret. My mom wasn't supposed to find out about it but she knew everything. Wasn't that bad enough? Did I need to make it worse by taking the clothes? I knew with every fiber of my body that I should I say no to the clothes. I knew I'd dress up again, but I'd be more careful. This wasn't something I wanted anyone else to know about, especially my mom. "I'll tell you what," said my mother. "I won't take them back but that doesn't mean you have to wear them. I'll just put them in your dresser. They'll be safe there and no one else will find them. If you want to wear them you can. And if you don't want to wear them, you won't have to." "I don't know mom." "Its okay sweetie. I won't tell your father or Tony. This will be our little secret." I leaned forward and hugged her before she could hug me. "Thanks Mom. I love you so much. You don't know how much. I've always loved you." "I love you too Michelle." ************ Part 2 I took the the things mom bought me from Victoria's Secret and put them in my dresser. I did as she suggested and locked my door at night. I was in heaven! Although I'd worn my mother's lingerie many times before, I never had the opportunity to go to sleep in a nightgown and wake up wearing it! Of course I did more than just sleep in my sexy long nightgown! I pranced in it. I watched TV in it. And obviously I masturbated in it. Oddly enough, I never masturbated to sexual thoughts. It was more than enough for me to fantasize about wearing pretty clothes in front of my mom and her friends. In my fantasies, I was one of them, even though I was still a boy, but they accepted me as a woman! Did they notice I was only 12? Wasn't it obvious that I was a boy? It didn't matter because it was my fantasy and it felt so good to touch my self through the silk as I pictured myself as one of them. I had difficulty concentrating during the last two weeks of school. I had never been the best student in the world, so having another distraction didn't help. While I should have been listening to my teachers, I was instead daydreaming about being one of the girls. I was one of the girls in the teacher's lounge. I was one of the girls on the playground. My mind would alternate between being a 12 year old girl and being an adult woman. I looked at the clothes the girls my age in school were wearing and compared them to my mom's clothes at home and the clothes my teachers wore. The younger clothes were cute, especially the dresses, but the pink tees and girl's jeans didn't do it for me. I liked the real dresses and women's pant suits that populated my mother's closet. I felt the same about purses. The girls in my school carried around little purses capable of holding not much more than a tube of lipstick and a compact. But my mother's purses and the ones my teachers slung across their shoulders were as big as houses. I imagined all the things I could carry if I had a big purse. My friends were the other things that distracted me from my school work. They all had a case of summer fever. Our community pool had opened up and that's where we spent most of our nights after supper. On the weekends we'd play baseball. My two best friends in the whole world were Frank Rodrigues and Cam Holsteader. Frank lived in another neighborhood but it was close enough to ride my bike too. Cam lived two houses down and had a little brother who was Tony's age. Given my drithers, I'd rather spend time at Cam's house than Frank's because Cam's mom was hot! Her name was Dana and she was good friends with my mom. Sometimes I thought about what it would be like to kiss Mrs. Holsteader, but when I did think about it, I'd feel guilty because of Mr. Holsteader. Mr. Holsteader was a nice guy. His name was Dave and he and my dad were pretty good friends. The Holsteaders had a second house in the mountains and we'd usually go up with them for a week every summer. Those were my favorite vacations because I got to hang out with Cam and I also got to look at his mom. Getting back to my mom, she was really cool about the stuff from Victoria's Secret. She knew I was embarrassed about it so she tried not to bring it up. After the first week of summer, she bought me five more pairs of panties because I'd mess them up and she didn't like me sleeping in them when they were dirty. That was almost as embarrassing as having the panties in the first place, but she said she understood and told me not to worry about it. That summer seemed to fly by. I was a boy by day and a girl in my bedroom. In some ways it was the best of both worlds. And the only two people who knew about both of my worlds were myself and my mom. Mom did her best to include me whenever her friends came over. By include me, I mean she acknowledged my presence and tried to include me in the conversations. I loved hanging out with her friends- especially Cam's mom, Mrs. Holsteader. But usually if Mrs. Holsteader came over, Cam came with her, so I'd have to break away from the ladies and hang with my friend. I learned a lot about women by spending time around my mom and her friends. I loved the way they talked with their high pitch voices. They were always moving their hands around, especially while they were smoking. Sometimes I'd hold a pencil between my fingers and try to move my hand around like they did. It made me feel so feminine when I copied them. My little brother and my father had gotten their hair cut twice before school started back in the fall. My dad badgered me about getting mine cut, but I always found a way to put it off. By the time I entered eight grade in the fall, my hair was touching my shoulders. I loved it. My friends who hadn't seen me over the summer gave me a little crap about my hair being so long at first. But eventually they got used to it. Dad didn't. He was bothering me about it at least once a week. Mom tried to defend me and my hair by saying a lot of boys were wearing it long. Dad wouldn't give in though until I promised to at least get it trimmed. Mom told him that she'd take me to the place where she gets her hair cut. Dad laughed and said I deserved it to get my hair cut in a beauty parlor. That was a weird moment for me. I felt bad about my dad laughing at me. The way he said "beauty parlor" was bad enough, but I knew he was thinking sissy parlor when he said it. He knew it and I knew it. Tony laughed too, but I think he was just laughing because our dad was. I felt bad about my dad laughing at me but I was relieved that I'd get to keep my hair long. And you better believe I was excited by the idea of getting my hair cut in a beauty parlor. So like I said, it was a weird moment for me, but not as weird as actually sitting in the chair next to my mom as two women did our hair. Not surprisingly, I was the only boy in the salon, although there was one girl there who was about my age, except a little older like fifteen or sixteen. Everyone else in the store was older, like my mother's age. I stuck out like a sore thumb. Mom told me not to worry about it and asked me if I wasn't just the tiniest bit excited about getting my hair done in a beauty salon. I was excited but I was also worried. I told her I was afraid they'd make me look like a woman. She told me not to worry because she'd be right there with me. She assured me that I'd still look like a boy when I was done. She told me it would be fun. Mom was right about the fun, but she was a little off on the manly forecast. To be fair, some of it was my own fault. The lady who did my hair asked if she could shape my eyebrows a little. I hesitated and turned to my mom for advice. She said a little wouldn't hurt, so I went with her suggestion. In the end, I thought it was a bit much but my mother assured me that probably no one else would notice the slight feminine arch. Yes, I was worried that my friends would notice but I was also silently delighted with the look! I have to admit that I loved the entire experience! Going to a beauty salon was nothing like going to Pete the barber. I loved getting getting a shampoo and the manicure felt wonderful on my hands. They didn't use nail polish or anything like that on me, but it felt nice- like a hand massage. I walked out of the salon with a nice looking haircut. It was still long, hanging close to my shoulders, but it was neat and styled. I didn't look like a girl, but I knew that I could if I tried. Mom told me that I looked terrific and asked if I liked it. I loved it but I wouldn't say so. I told her it was alright but I thanked her for taking me. I told her I liked the hand massage. I felt kind of guilty about not showing my excitement, but that's what I meant about not wanting her to think of me as a sissy. I understood there was something different about me. No other boy in his right mind would allow his mother to take him to a beauty salon, much less wear pretty little panties and nightgowns to bed. My attraction to womanly clothes and feminine things was beyond the scope of my understanding. I just knew that I liked it. I loved it and wanted more of it. I don't think at that point in my life I ever really wanted to be a woman for real or for keeps. For me it was about being "like" a woman and "like" my mom. Its safe to say I idolized her the way most boys idolize their fathers. She was and is my role model. Mom needed a cigarette after we finished with the salon, so we went to the food court. It was only 11:00, too early for lunch, so she got us a couple Diet Cokes and we sat at a table so mom could smoke. I had just turned 13 and was still a year away from smoking my first cigarette, but I thought about it often. I identified smoking as being a feminine habit, even though I knew that just as many men as women smoked. Maybe it was because I grew up with a mom that smoked and a dad that didn't. Regardless, I couldn't imagine seeing my dad with a cigarette and at the same time, I couldn't imagine my mother without one. It just looked right on her. After she finished her cigarette, mom announced that she'd like to do a little shopping before we went home. We got up from our table and I followed her out of the food court and into Macy's. School was just a couple of weeks away from starting, so it made sense that I would need some new pants and shirts. We also looked for some that would fit Tony while we were there. We were spending all of our time in the boy's department and there's nothing remotely feminine about the boy's department. I say this because I want you to know that buying something feminine for myself was the last thing on my mind. Yes, I'd gotten a nice hair cut and even had my eyebrows shaped a little, but it wasn't really that noticeable. I knew I'd get away with it when I went back to school. My dressing up had always been a private thing. The only time I'd ever let my mother see me dressed was by accident and I had no intentions of ever dressing as a girl in public. That's why the nightgowns, and the bras, and the panties had always been enough for me. Those aren't the kinds of things you wear in public, even if you are a girl, which I certainly wasn't. We were leaving Macy's with our bags full of boy's clothes when my mother stopped in front of the junior miss department. My heart immediately went into palpitation mode. I knew darn well thatl my mother didn't have a reason to stop in front of the junior miss department unless... "I was thinking we could look around a little since we're already here," said my mother. "Not for me," I said sternly. "Yes for you," said my mother in her melodious tone that seemed to mock and reassure me at the same time. "What for? Its not like I go outside when I do what I do. What's the use of paying for something I'm just going to wear in my room?" "So you're saying that if we buy you something, you'll at least wear it in your room?" "No. I'm just saying its a waste of money and I don't need anything else." "Like you didn't need your hair trimmed today?" "Well I didn't need it. The only reason I did it was because Dad said I had to get it cut." "But you could have gone to a regular barber like your father does but you didn't." "Thats because it was your idea to go to the salon." "And I was right," said my mother. "A barber would have chopped up your hair and since you want to wear it long, I knew best about what would work for you. Just like I know now that you're going to kick yourself if you don't let me help you pick something out. What about this top," she said as she picked a white flowing hippie type shirt from a rack. The label on the collar said it was made by a company called Miss Chievious. "I think this would look nice on you if you had a pair of jeans to go along with it." "I already have jeans," I said defensively. "But not like these," she said as she pulled a pair of Baby Phats from another rack while draping the top across her shoulders. "They both look to be about your size, but it would probably be best if you tried them on here so we don't have to take them back." "I can't change my clothes here," I said adamantly. "This is a girl's store and I'm a boy." "I hate to break it to you Michael, but with that new haircut and your eyebrows arched, you could pass for a girl if you tried these on." "What!" I shouted as I looked at a floor length mirror mounted on a column. "You said it it didn't look bad. My friends will kill me if they find out." "Relax honey. It doesn't look bad and no one can tell by looking at you in the clothes you have on now. What I'm trying to say is that you look kind of ambiguous with your hair long. If you dress like a boy, then people will see a boy. And if you dress like a girl..." I completed my mother's sentence. "Then people will think I'm a girl?" Mom smiled at me. "Yes honey. That's what I'm saying. But isn't that what you want? You know, to have it both ways, to see what its like." "Well yeah. Kind of. But I didn't want to do it for every one to see. Its supposed to be secret. I could get in a lot of trouble if anyone ever found out." Mom started to look cross and it was clear to me that her patience was wearing thin. "I'm not trying to make you do anything that you don't want to do. I'm not pushing this on you and just so you know, you're certainly not doing this for me. So if that's what you're thinking, then maybe we should forget about the whole thing and just leave. As a matter of fact, if you want, we can stop by the barber on the way home and fix what they did in the salon." It was then that it dawned on me that my mother was right about kicking myself if left the mall without something like a dress. A dress? Why not the top and jeans that my mom was holding? Because thats not what I like, I thought. I don't want to look like a teenage girl. Mom doesn't wear stuff like that. I want to look like her! I looked at the simple but stylish blue dress she was wearing. I don't know how much time ticked off the clock while I was preparing my answer but I know I did a lot of thinking, and I though fast- maybe too fast. What do I have to lose by saying yes, I wondered? Mom knows I like women's clothes. But if I'm going to do it, I don't want to look like a girl from my school. I want to look older and more mature. I looked at the top and jeans my mom was carrying. They were definitely feminine. I mean no one was going to mistake them for boy's clothes. All I have to say is yes and they're mine. I won't even have to try them on here if I put up a fight. And then I stumbled on my pride. Just how much of a sissy do I want my mother to think I am? Was it really worth it? I mean I didn't even like the clothes she was holding- not really. "I don't think so Mom. Lets just go home," I said. "Does that mean you want to stop by the barber too?" "No," I whined. "Lets just go." Mom looked disappointed as she hung the top and jeans back on their racks. We walked the next fifty feet or so in silence with me kicking my self in the butt as we got closer and closer to the exit. And that's when I saw the skirt and blouse in the Anne Klein section. The skirt was long and flowing and printed with red and yellow flowers. The top was just white and the mannequin wearing it looked so elegant and classy. It was something my mom would wear. I summoned up my courage and stopped in front of the mannequin. "Its very pretty," said my mother knowingly. "You have good taste. But don't you think its a little old for you. It looks like something I would wear." My face felt like it was burning so I looked at the floor to hide my shame while shuffling my feet. "I know that Mom. Thats why I like it." Mom nodded her acknowledgement of my words as she placed a finger to her chin in thought. "I still think its a little old for you. As a matter of fact, I think its very old for you, but if this is what you like, then I suppose it would be less expensive and more private to look through my closet." "Really? But I thought you said I was too big and that I stretched your clothes." Mom shook her no. "I just said that because I thought it best that you have your own things. I still do, so whatever you like, if its something I'm willing to part with, we'll call it yours." "Really?" I didn't know what else to say. I was stunned, not so much that my mom would offer to let me have some of her clothes but because for the first time since she caught me, I was honest about what I wanted, even though I hadn't really explained it to either of us. "Yes Michelle. I do mean it. If that's what you really want then you're not asking for much. But if you don't mind, I'd still like to buy you the top and the jeans." I started to argue with her but thought better of it. "Okay Mom. We've got a deal." "Then its done, but we'll still need to get you some shoes." "But why? Its not like I'm going to go out or anything." "Trust me honey. You'll feel better about yourself in a pair of shoes that fits, even if you never leave your room." ******** Dad and Tony were in the front yard playing catch when Mom and I pulled up the driveway. Tony asked us what was in the bags and Dad asked me when I was going to get a hair cut. "He already did," said my mother as she ran her fingers through my shoulder length hair. "Beth just trimmed off the split ends and gave it a little body. I think it looks nice." Dad shook his head and threw the ball to Tony who dropped it. He was focused more on what mom and I had in the bags than he was on his game of catch. "Did you get me anything?" asked Tony. "Just some clothes for school," said Mom. "I got you both some new pants and shirts. You can try them on after dinner." "Aw mom! Do I have to?" he whined. Mom told him she wouldn't have said it if she hadn't meant it. She turned and walked inside the house with me following in pursuit. The last thing I wanted was for Tony or Dad to get a look inside my bag. She described some of the clothes she thought I might like as I followed her up the stairs to her room. "I have some extra purses you might like too. Do you like dresses or pantsuits?" "Both," I said shyly. "Well I wish we had the time and privacy for you to try them on, but I'm pretty sure they'll fit." She looked at my flat chest. "But you'll definitely have to fill that bra of yours with some socks or something. I know, maybe I can look into getting you something more realistic than socks." "What do you mean?" "You know. Breast forms. They're made from the same material they use in breast implants." I couldn't hide my excitement. The idea of having real looking breasts was titillating. "Would I be able to sleep in them?" I asked. "I suppose so. As long as you take them off before you go to school." I laughed at her joke. "I don't think I'd forget something like that." "Probably not," said my mother as she opened the door to her walk-in closet. *********** Three Mom was very generous with her closet. She was also generous with her patience and understanding. On our way home from the mall, we talked about the situation. I confessed a lot to her on the way home, but I didn't confess everything. At the same time, she said things to me that went a long way toward explaining her tolerance for what I was doing. Up until then, I had always thought of my mother as being the most unselfish person on the planet. She always seemed to put everyone's happiness ahead of her own. I still think she's the most unselfish person I know, but on the way home from the mall, I learned that my mother was deriving at least a little bit of joy from what I was doing. I never doubted her love for my brother and I. She was and is our biggest fan, but I suppose her love for us was so bright that it blinded me from seeing the hole in her heart. Short and sweet, Mom missed not having a daughter. She loved her sons but there was part of her that always wondered what her life would have been like if she had had a daughter. Now that I'm older and have a family of my own, I understand her feelings better. But on that day in the car, I just accepted what she told me. I understood, but now my understanding includes the feelings that go along with the knowledge. My wanting to wear "older" clothes and to dress like her hit her hard. It wasn't my sense of fashion that affected her. It was my reasons for wanting to dress like her. She had always known about my adventures in her closet but she was in the dark as to what my motivations were. My mom is as logical as she is compassionate, so she chalked up my adventures to curiosity, sexuality, and or physical pleasure. She never considered the idea that there might be something more behind it. At the time, I'd never heard of the saying, "imitation is the sincerest form of flattery". But Mom had, and she recognized my actions for what they were, and when she did, it made her very happy. She was happy. I was happy. We began to trust each other in ways that were previously impossible. That ride in the car was a Hall Mark moment of sorts, though I don't expect to see transexuals on a greeting card anytime soon. The reasons behind my actions and desires were becoming more clear to both my mother and I. However, we were both clueless as to where it would lead. At 13, I was too young to know what I needed. I was only aware of what I wanted and I wanted to be like my mom. She was the center of my universe. She had always been there when I needed her most. She was the one who bandaged my scraped knees, fed me when I was hungry, and delved out the hugs that let me know everything would be okay. With all this praise for my mother, you might be tempted to think my father was some kind of monster, but he wasn't. My dad is an awesome guy and I can plainly see why my mother loves him as much as she does. I wish my father and I had a better relationship. It's not terrible, but it could be better. I don't blame him though because I'm not what he expected. I knew he'd be disappointed in me. My mom knew it too. That's why neither of us were in a rush to tell him what a sissy I was. The fear of disappointing my parents, especially my father, led to my having a secret double life. But on that day in the car, I started the process of sharing that secret with my mother and it was liberating for both of us. I wish I could tell you that my mother and I had some kind of brilliant master plan for my future, but we didn't. The truth of it was that we were making up the rules as we went a long. At that point, I don't think either of us expected me to become the woman I am today. She was just trying to make me happy and we were both trying fulfill our needs. It would have been so much easier for both of us if I had been born a girl. Mom would have had the daughter she wanted so badly and I would have had the chance to experience the phases of womanhood in the right order. I also wouldn't have had to live with the shame of wanting to be something that I wasn't born to be. You'd have to be a boy to know the shame that goes along with the pleasure that comes with dressing up as a woman. I grew up like any other boy. I could go into it in detail, but the point is that I didn't play with dolls and I didn't play dress-up. I didn't play any of the games that little girls play. I think childhood games prepare us for our lives as adults. I didn't know it then, but I was getting a crash course on everything I missed out on as a kid. LIttle girls want so badly to be big girls like their mother and I was no exception. That's why I wanted to wear her clothes and emulate her. My mother understood that and that is why she was so generous with her wardrobe. She knew I was playing a childhood game of dress-up with her clothes behind my locked bedroom door. Her hand me down clothes were for me and the cute jeans and top from Macy's junior department were for her. As I said before, my mother is a very logical and practical person. She might have wished she could dress me up in a three year old's clothes, but she knew she had missed out on that part of my life. She didn't want to miss out on my teen years. At the same time, I was in such a hurry to become an adult. I think most 13 year olds are. What on earth could be so special about a mother and woman that it would make a child of the opposite gender want to be like her? I've asked myself that question a million times. I've discovered the answer varies depending on whether I reflect on it through the imaginative eyes of a child or an adult who understands the hard truths of reality. Since I was young before I was old, my appreciation for my mother was based on my childhood perception of her. For starters, she was and is the most beautiful woman in the world. I realize some people would beg to differ with me, but that would be pointless since we're talking about my perceptions rather than theirs or anyone else's. And don't most children, boys and girls, think the world of their mothers? Besides being enamored by her beauty, I was in awe of her femininity, grace, wisdom, and strength. My dad was the figurehead leader of our household, but as is the case in most homes, its the mother who is the true leader of the family. I recognized that early in my life. It wasn't important to me that it was my dad who was the bread winner. I could only appreciate what my mother did with the bread he brought home. My mom is a stay at home house wife and so am I. When I was younger, I thought my mother had an easier job than my father. She got to stay at home, make herself pretty, and have fun with my brother and I while my dad trudged off to work. I don't feel that way any more. Being a stay at home mother is the toughest job in the world, but I believe its also the most rewarding. I really looked up to my mom and I saw her as being in charge of our family. I think my dad saw her like that too. He was by no means hen pecked, but I could tell he had a deep and resounding respect for her. They discussed things, but hers was usually the last and defining word on any given subject. My mother never slumped and always held her head up high. I will always remember her as being the last one to look away during a conversation or a disagreement with other people, yet she was as feminine and graceful as she was powerful and strong. Her only weakness is her addiction to cigarettes, but ironically, as a child, I mistook her weakness as a strength and of course I wanted to be strong like her. As a child and young teen, I glamorized my mother's smoking and was in awe of it. The concept of breathing smoke seemed so challenging and difficult to my childish mind, so I reasoned that my father and others weren't up to the task. She was and is a heavy smoker. The habit invaded every waking moment of her life. She smoked while she did her housework, and when she chatted on the phone, and drove the car. There was nothing she couldn't or wouldn't do without a cigarette between her fingers. When I was younger, I saw my mother's habit as a badge of feminine honor rather than the crutch it really is. Her smoking made a deep and resounding impression on me, even though she warned and encourage me not to follow in her footsteps. Her footsteps? Mom had big shoes and I was eager to fill them. Speaking of shoes, my mother bought me a pair of white sandals. She said they'd go with almost anything. I took her at her word because unlike most boys who dreamed of being girls, I lacked a fashion IQ. I just knew what felt good to me. Besides some dresses and suits, my mom gave me an old Coach purse. It was made of cream colored leather and was big enough to move in to. Before she gave it to me, she emptied it of its contents and picked and chose what would be returned to it. I got a small compact mirror, a tube of lipstick, a wallet, and a hair brush in the exchange. She kept the half a pack of Virginia Slims cigarettes and the two disposable lighters for her self. I think I remember so much about that one day because it was one of the most important days in my life for better or worse. I replay it over and over to see if my life would have changed if anything had happened differently that day. I don't think it would have. Nothing extraordinary happened to me in my eighth grade year. Mom kept my secret and no one else found out. I didn't fall in love and I didn't go to jail that year. I didn't get expelled from school either, but there were plenty of days when I wished they would throw me out. Mom and I continued to get closer. Dad noticed it, but he didn't think anything of it. I was still the same to him, except that I needed a haircut. The next important thing that happened to me was make-up. I had played around with lipstick and face powder, but I had never taken the time to learn to use it correctly. It wasn't for lack of wanting to on my part. It had more to do with my family situation and the fact that 13 year old boys aren't afforded a lot of privacy or time alone. The other big thing that happened and went hand in hand with the make-up was that I went on my first public outing dressed as a girl. Mom took me to the salon where I had originally got my hair done. I got the royal treatment and this time they did use nail polish when they gave me a manicure. These two wonderful events took place over the Christmas break. My mom and I were able to do it because my father was out of town on business and Tony had gone on a skiing trip with one of his friend's family. Dad actually felt bad for me because he thought I was missing out. ************ Four This is part 4 of "Mike versus Michelle". Mike goes out in public for the first time dressed as a girl. He also meets a boy and it bothers him in many ways which he explains. As a matter of fact, as always, Mike is doing a lot of explaining. I had been going to school for four months without any major or minor repercussions, because I erred on the wide side of caution. I wasn't one to take chances. I never wore panties to school, even though I would have loved to. I adhered to a very strict rule that called for no dressing up outside of my room. And when I did dress up, I always locked my door. I won't tell you I liked eighth grade because I didn't. Academics weren't my thing, but I had always enjoyed the social aspect of school until...my hair got longer. And then it wasn't bad, but it was definitely different than I had been used to. Hair and clothes are both superficial things, but I discovered they play a big role in other people's perceptions. My long hair had made me look like a rebel of sorts. It didn't bother my good friends like Cam or Frank. I don't think they would have cared if I shaved my head or dyed my hair pink. But other kids noticed. I didn't have a reputation as a sissy outside of my bedroom, so I didn't take it seriously when some of the boys from school would kid me about my hair and call me a fag. They laughed when they said it and I could tell they didn't really mean it. Girls noticed my longer hair too, especially the "bad girls". They weren't really bad as in evil. We just called them bad girls because they dressed in black tee shirts, smoked cigarettes and had potty mouths. Mothers like mine didn't care for girls like that, but I did, and so did my friends. Cam and Frank were jealous of the attention I was getting from them. Frank even threatened to quit cutting his hair. We knew he wasn't serious because we knew his dad. Mr. Rodriguez would have kicked him out of the house and stomped his ass. As a general rule of thumb, eighth grade boys and girls don't date. They "go" together. Its like going steady without really going out. I know that sounds kind of silly, but that's the way it was back then and probably is today. I went with a girl named Wendy Deitrich. There was a rumor going around the school that Wendy shaved her vagina, but I never asked her and I never saw. I just thought it was cool to hang out with her at lunch and talk to her in the halls because thats what boyfriends and girlfriends do in the eighth grade. I started going with Wendy around halloween and she broke up with me the day before Christmas break. She said I was boring and that we never did anything. Worse than that, she asked if I was gay. I was really bothered by that. When Wendy asked me if I was gay, it wasn't like when my friends called me a fag for having long hair. My friends were just kidding but Wendy wasn't. Of course I told her no, but that's beside the point. It really hurt my feelings that she'd even wonder. And that got me to thinking. I started wondering if I really liked girls. I definitely thought they were pretty and I loved hanging around them. So if I liked them, then that meant I wasn't gay! I thought about my friends and tried to imagine myself snogging with them and couldn't. The thought didn't fit right. But the thought of snogging Wendy Deitrich didn't fit either. When it came right down to it, there was only one person in the world I ever seriously considered kissing and that was Cam's mom- Mrs. Holsteader. Christmas break started as a bust with Wendy dumping me. And the first couple days weren't any better because I was moping around worried about my sexuality. The only thing that made me feel better was dressing up in my mom's clothes and beating off, but I couldn't do much of that either because Tony was still in the house. I knew that if I could make it one more day, Mom and I would have the house to ourselves. Dad was away on business and Tony was going with one of his friends on skiing trip to Ski Sundown in New Hartford. All I had to do was to hang tight until Sunday and not make any mistakes. When Sunday morning came, I said goodbye to Tony and stood with mom in the driveway as he got into Herbert's car and drove away. It was official. Mom and I had the house to ourselves. I didn't need Wendy Deitrich, or Cam, or Frank. I had my mom and a closet full of her old clothes. I was going to spend the next three days dressing like her and hanging out with her! We'd been talking about it all week. She was going to show me how to wear make-up! I was ready to go back in the house and I looked at her as if to coax her along. I didn't want her to change her mind. Mom grinned and said, "It looks to me like you're ready to get started." I was a little bothered that I looked so eager, but I knew it wasn't like I had anything to hide from her. "What do we do first?" I asked. As we walked back inside the house, Mom explained to me that before we did anything, I needed to shave my legs and arm pits. I asked if she was kidding. She told me she wasn't. I asked what shaving my legs had to do with putting on make-up. "You want to feel like a real girl, don't you?" she asked. I nodded. "Then you'll want to shave because girls are smooth and our clothes feel and look nicer when there's no hair." I'd never thought about shaving my legs before and I'd certainly never thought about shaving under my arms. It wasn't that I didn't want to, but I was impatient and was ready to get down to the serious business of learning how to put on make-up. Beside that, I was afraid of what my friends would say if they noticed. Mom poo-pooed all my reasons for not wanting to do it as she pushed me into the bathroom and handed me a razor. "The sooner you get finished in here, the sooner we can get started," she said as she left me alone in the bathroom. I did as mom said and made quick work of my legs and arms. After the first knick or two, I decided that I didn't really care much for shaving, but I finished what I started. I also decided that If this is what girls had to look forward to every morning, then I felt sorry for them. I got out of the tub and wrapped a towel around myself. Mom was sitting at her vanity and I told her I'd be back after I got dressed. She told me to put on the jeans and top that we had gotten at the mall. I hadn't expected that and told her that I wanted to wear the gray pantsuit she had given me. My mom told me that if she wanted to see another old lady, she'd look at her self in the mirror. "Put on the jeans and top," she said. "I want to see how cute my daughter looks in it!" I grumbled without disagreeing as I walked down the hall to my room for the change. I heard Mom shout from her room. "And make sure you put on a bra!" I stuffed the bra with socks before meeting Mom in her room. She gushed when she saw me. There was so much emotion that I mistook her joy for sadness. "Oh Michelle! You look adorable," she said as she held out her arms for a hug. "I like it when you call me that," I whispered in her ear as we hugged. "You do?" I nodded my head and pulled away. "Yeah. It makes me happy." "It makes me happy too," she said as she moved my bangs away from my eyes. "We really need to do something about this," she said. "Its so limp and stringy. It's a good thing I made an appointment for you at the salon." "For tomorrow?" "No. For today. I don't want to rush you, but the appointment is for 11:00, so we've only got an hour and a half." I wanted to go to the salon. I really did- but not right then. I'd been planning on dressing up with Mom since we found out Dad and Tony would be gone at the same time. It was bad enough that I was dressed like a teen when I wanted to dress like mom. "But Mom! I just got dressed. I even shaved. Can't you call them and changeit for another day?" She shook her head and smiled. "I think we can do both." "Huh!" She took me by the shoulders and turned me so that I was looking into the mirror. "What are you worried about?" she asked. "You're beautiful." "But Mom. I can't." "Don't say you can't until you give me a chance to do your make-up and do something with your hair. I think you look fine now, but if you don't agree with me after I'm done, then..." "Then I don't have to go?" "I didn't say that. I was going to say if you don't like it, we'll try it again until you do like it." "I don't know Mom. I don't think its such a good idea." "Oh yeah? Well I have something to show you that might change your mind?" I didn't say anything while she went to her closet and pulled out a box. But my jaw dropped low when she took the lid off the box and I saw inside. "They look like breasts," I said. "Don't they?" said my mom as she took one out and placed it in my hands. I don't know how to describe it. I've never felt a real breast before but I can't believe a real one would feel any different than the one in my hands. It was flesh tone and matched my own skin coloring very well. "How do I put them on?" I asked. "Take your top off and I'll show you," said my mother. Whoa! The feeling! I couldn't believe how heavy the felt. "Do yours feel like this?" I asked. "You know. Top heavy." Mom giggled. "Maybe. I'm not sure. I guess I've never really thought about it because I'm used to having them. So do you like them?" "It feels so much different than socks. Yes! I love them," I said as I squished my breasts against hers in a hug. "Thanks Mom. I love you so much." "I love you too Michelle." I sat down at my mother's vanity and watched in the mirror as she began the process of putting make-up on my face. She described everything as she was doing it, and sometimes she'd give me a brush or a pad and have me do it too. I thought I was looking great even before she did my hair. She used a hot curling iron and a brush to give my hair a little bounce and body. I was in awe of myself as I looked in the mirror. "I really look like a girl, don't I?" "Yes you do," said my mother as she put her hands on my shoulder and lowered her chin so that her cheeks were brushing mine. "I think you look like my daughter and I want to show her off at the mall." "But you already did my make-up," I said. "Are we still going to the salon?" "That's right honey," said my mother as she grabbed her purse. "You could still use some work and God knows I'm overdue for some maintenance." After retrieving my purse from my room, Mom and I were off to the salon. My excitement over how good I looked was stronger than my fear, but I was still paranoid when we got out of the car and walked across the parking lot. The paranoia was worse once we entered the mall because I was sure I wasn't imagining the stares from others. "They are looking but believe me honey. Its not in a bad way. You look more than fine." "Really?" "I wouldn't have pushed you into this if I thought you couldn't handle it. Tell me the truth. Aren't you having at least a little bit of fun?" Without hesitating, I told her I was having fun. "I feel so pretty," I said as I followed her into the salon. Beth, the same woman who had done my hair the last time, led my mother and I to our chairs that were position beside each other. Mom told Beth that I wanted some help in looking older. "How much older?" asked Beth. I shrugged out of embarrassment. "I don't know. Older. Like I could be my mom's sister or something." Beth laughed. "I don't know sweetie. What are you? Sixteen? Seventeen? I could help you look like her younger sister. You'd probably look old enough to get in a bar without being carded. Would that be good enough?" I nodded as I tried to restrain my excitement. She thinks I'm 16 or 17. If she's talking about me getting into bars then she's talking like 20 or something. "Cool," I said. I watched Beth's every move in the mirror so I could remember how she did it. Every so often, Mom and I would wink at each other in the mirror while a lady named Cassie did her hair. It was funny and ironic when I think about it and I guess mom had it in mind too, but as Beth made me look older, Cassie made my mom look younger. She still looked a lot older than me, but it was like Beth said. I could probably pass for my mother's younger sister. The process took less than two hours. Mom and I walked out of the salon with freshly painted nails and spry heads of hair. I was so excited about the way I looked and felt that I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so I just giggled. "You really like it don't you?" asked my mom. How could I lie or play it down? "I love it Mom. Thank you so much," I said as I laid a big hug on her as we stepped on to the escalator. "Are you hungry?" asked Mom. "I am. There's a Ruby Tuesday's upstairs." "Okay," I said as I followed her off the escalator and walked the ten yards or so into the restaurant. Mom asked for a table in the smoking section and the hostess led us to a booth located in the bar. After opening her menu and laying it on the table in front of her, Mom removed a pack of Virginia Slims from her purse and left the pack on the table between us. I pretended to be look at my menu but I was actually watching my mother as she shamelessly lit a cigarette. I told myself that I could never do something like that, but I wanted to. I'd be fourteen in a couple months. I wondered how old my mother was when she started. The signs in convenience stores say you have to be 18 to buy cigarettes. I don't want to wait that long. One time I looked up a bunch of stuff on the web about my state- about how old you have to be to do certain things. I live in Connecticut. The age for drinking is 21. I think that's the same as the other states. The really crazy thing about my state is that you can get married at 16 if you have your parents permission. It doesn't matter if you're a boy or a girl, or two girls, or two boys. I looked at the pack of cigarettes on the table and then back to my menu. They sure were close to me. Did she mean to put them that close? "What do you think you want?" asked my mother as she put down her menu and took a draw from her cigarette. "A hamburger and fries sounds good." "Oh Michelle," said my mother in a disappointed tone. "You'll bite into that greasy hamburger and smear the make-up off your face. Not to mention all the calories. I'm getting salad with thousand island dressing on the side. If you want to fit into those jeans after Christmas, you'll have to stop eating the way you used to." I took my mother's comments with a grain of salt. I agreed with her that I didn't want to make a mess of my face with grease. But why was she talking about changing the way I eat? I wasn't fat and I wasn't skinny, at least not from my perspective, which was that of a boy. I realized my mother was enjoying our girl time and it was special for her. It was special for me too. But I was starting to wonder if my hobby was more important to her than it was to me. And of course that led to an even more important question. How important is this hobby to me? Is it even a hobby? I love it! I enjoy it! I couldn't stop it if I wanted to and I didn't want to stop it, but I had tried to give it up before. My confusion about where my so called hobby might lead argued with the pleasure I was getting from being dressed as a girl in front of my mother. This is supposed to be fun, I told myself. I'm dressed like a girl in front of my mother! I look older, like I should be in college or something. Isn't that enough? Or is it too much? When the waitress came by to take our order, I asked for a salad with thousand island dressing on the side and a glass of unsweetened ice tea, the same as my mother. I looked across the table at mom. She was all smiles. Nothing could be better as far as she was concerned. She was having too much fun to notice my dilemma. Was it even a dilemma? "I'm having so much fun Michelle," said my mother as she stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray. "How about you? Isn't this just the best day?" I looked down at my freshly painted nails on my left hand and ran the fingers of my right hand across the curls in my hair and then to my naked ear lobe. "I am having fun. This is the best day." And then without thinking about the consequences or repercussions, I asked my mother if I could get my ears pierced. "Of course you can," said my mother enthusiastically! "I should have asked if you wanted to get them pierced while we were still in the salon?" "They do it there?" I asked. "I think Claire's is on this level. We can get it done after lunch!", said my mother. I'm going to get my ears pierced, I thought solemnly as I moved my hands to make room for my salad. None of my friends have their ears pierced. "I don't want loops like yours," I said as I picked up my fork. "They don't use loops when you first get your ears pierced honey. They'll be simple gold studs. If you're worried about your friends, they'll probably think its cool. I wouldn't be surprised if they do it too after they see yours." I zoned out after that. I was still having conversations with my mother but I really can't recall what we were talking about, other than it was mother/daughter girl stuff. It was like half my brain was keeping pace with mom and the other half was thinking about everything else. I think they call that being preoccupied. The one thought that played continuously in my mind was the fact that I was sitting in a public restauraunt in a mall crowded with Christmas shoppers dressed as a girl. How had I allowed my mother to talk me into doing this? And more importantly, why hadn't I done it earlier? It was great! It was phenomenal! I loved it! I'm such a sissy loser, I thought as I watched my mother push aside her finished salad and light a cigarette. Why wasn't I repulsed? Why wasn't I in fear for my life? I looked around the restaurant. No one was staring at me. I did get a few looks but none of their faces suggested they had seen anything other than a daughter having lunch with her mother. I thought it funny and odd that I wasn't afraid, but at the same time, I was also deeply ashamed. I wasn't ashamed because of my lack of fear. I was ashamed because I had a raging erection. I haven't mentioned this until now, or maybe I have and I've just forgotten. Its just embarrassing because I don't think its normal. I get erections when I wear women's clothes. It always happens when I'm wearing something that I consider to be extremely feminine, like a dress or a silk nightgown. It doesn't happen so much with jeans and blouses. But that day in the restaurant, the breast forms made me think about feeling feminine. That and the trip to the salon. Any way, like I was saying, I'd been struggling with a major league erection from the moment my mom helped me put on the breast forms. Now that I'm older, I've pretty much accepted the fact that I get sexually turned on when I look and act like a woman. But it bothered me a lot when I was younger. Understanding something and accepting something are two different things. I still don't understand it to this day, but I've accepted it. You don't get to where I got without spending at least a little time on a therapist's couch. My therapist told me I had a sexual addiction to women's clothing. That means I can't get an erection without wearing feminine clothes or thinking feminine thoughts. Do you remember what I said about Wendy Deitrich? It threw my brain into 5th gear when she questioned my sexuality. It got me to thinking and it totally frustrated me because I couldn't come up with an answer that worked. I was certain that women turned me on. So how come I wasn't turned on by Wendy Deitrich? The obvious answer was that I was gay, but that didn't work either. I wasn't turned on by guys. I liked them, but only as friends, the same as with girls. So if I wasn't turned on by girls or guys, then what was I turned on by? Was it dogs? Of course not! I tried to write it off as a symptom of being only 13 and a half. My hormones were in high gear and I was masturbating on a nightly basis and having wonderful orgasms. I thought that maybe I was too young to like girls and that it would change as I got older. I certainly didn't want to like boys. My therapist later explained it to me. but I didn't have the benefit of her council while I sitting with my mom, dressed as a girl, while she finished her cigarette. All I knew was that I had a hard-on as big as Texas and I hoped like hell it would go down before we got up from the table to leave. I told my therapist about my first public outing and about that day at Ruby Tuesdays with my mom. She asked me what I thought about when I masturbated. I told her the truth. I told her that I think about getting dressed up in my mom's clothes and smoking her cigarettes. And that's when she told me that I had a sexual addiction. I'm not gay. I'm not straight. I'm just some kind of weird and perverted sissy. That's the feeling I had while I was waiting for my mother to finish her cigarette. That's the feeling I had when my therapist explained my reasons for doing the things I did and the feelings I got from doing them. That's the way I feel after my husband makes love to me. Its joy and bliss up until the orgasm. and then afterwards, the joy is followed by shame and disgust to the nth degree. I told my mother that I needed to go to the bathroom. She looked at me seriously and said, "You know you can't use the men's room dressed like that, don't you?" "I know Mom." "Its no big deal sweetie. They're all just toilets. Just make sure you sit down." I had positioned my erection to the best of my ability while sitting at the table, but the walk between the table and the restroom felt longer than a marathon, even though it was less than twenty feet and only took seconds. I didn't have to pee, but I needed to relieve myself all the same. I had so much excitement built up. The orgasm was phenomenal and the tidal wave of shame that followed was like tsunami. The worst part was that I couldn't change clothes. I was stuck as a girl until we got home. I wiped the sperm off my penis and pulled up my panties and jeans. I didn't want to get my ears pierced any more, but I knew that I would and I did it, and it hurt both physically and emotionally. Mom looked so proud of me after the woman at Claire's lowered the gun that had shot the studs into my ear. She asked me if it had hurt. I told her it didn't. I lied. But I couldn't tell her otherwise. I wouldn't have known what to say or how to say it. I thought that at least one of us should be happy. Beside, I knew the feelings would pass. It wasn't the first time I'd felt this way. I'd been feeling it all my life. I'm a girl, I thought as I stood up from the chair. And pretty soon I'll like it again. And then I'll hate it, and then I'll love it and it will always be like that. If only I'd been born a girl then none of this would be happening. I wouldn't feel like this. My mom is really big into Christmas and so am I for that matter. B