The Possession of Mallory
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Show What You Can't Say -- Mallory free porn video
Part 1-
"What are you reading, dear?"
Mom and I were relaxing in the living room after dinner. We had always
been close, but ever since her divorce had been finalized she seemed to
put more effort into spending what she called 'quality time' with me.
There was nothing worth watching on TV, and my homework was done. I had
started skimming through some catalogs she left on the end table looking
for anything interesting. "Just a catalog, Mom."
"Oh, which one? Let me see, Mallory."
What a name I had! Supposedly I was named for the famous mountain
climber who was an early explorer of Mount Everest, but the name always
sounded more girlish than adventurous. I glanced down at what was in my
hand - a glossy collection of trendy women's and girls' fashions. Worse,
it was open to a page of intimate apparel. Blushing, I quickly shoved in
between my back and the couch cushion. I kept silent. Maybe Mom would
let the issue drop.
"Mallory, dear, I am not prying, but your acting guilty is not good. I
want you to always be open and honest with me." Her look was loving, but
controlling. "I suspect something has been troubling you, and we should
talk more."
What did she think was troubling me? If only I could find a way to
express my mixed up feelings. But talking about personal topics was
nearly impossible for me. Not feeling like a normal boy was difficult to
discuss with anyone, but especially a parent. "Maybe later, Mom."
There was no way I was going be able to honestly explain why I was
looking at lingerie section of the catalog. I picked up one of my school
books and pretended to be reading. Glancing up, I saw Mom looking
directly at me. She seemed determined to wait me out. Two can play that
game.
After half an hour she was still waiting for me to reveal the catalog,
and I wouldn't be able to put off a bathroom call much longer either.
She saw me looking up and demanded "Show me what's behind you, dear."
I gave up. Without saying anything I reluctantly I pulled the catalog
out from behind my back and held it out toward her.
"That's a start, dear. Now what page were you looking at?"
Her look told me that resisting would do no good. I nervously opened it
to the page of teen models posing in matching bras and panties.
Mom glanced at the page then sat down right next to me. "Thank you,
sweetie. There is nothing to be embarrassed about. It's perfectly normal
for boys your age to wonder what girls have on underneath," she said
with a wink. "You know, before the Internet boys would sneak off to look
through the bra section of the Sears Roebuck catalog that was in every
home back then."
I tried to turn away. Words choked up in my throat as I felt her hand on
my cheek.
"It's not that at all, Mom, " I said impulsively. I wasn't sure what I
was denying, but I had to say something.
"What do you mean 'not that'? How do you feel when you look at pictures
of pretty girls in their undies? Do you get a little rise between your
legs?"
Oh, God! Mom always was totally open about sexual topics, much to my
embarrassment. I paused and looked away. I was so mixed up about girls.
I liked being around them, and all of my close friends at school were
girls. I was usually uncomfortable whenever I found myself in an all-boy
group, especially when the 'locker room' talk started. The things they
said about girls sounded gross to me.
"No! I mean ... that... It's just that I feel ... feel different, ...
I ...," What was I saying?
"I know you spend a lot of time hanging out with girls at school. Your
teachers and other mothers have mentioned this to me. Is there anyone
you are starting to have fantasies about? A special girlfriend?"
"Mom, I'm not into that."
"No? Most boys are by your age. It's OK. You can tell me anything."
She looked into my eyes with concern. "This is OK whatever you answer.
You said pictures of girls don't excite sexually. Is that right?
I nodded silently.
"Well then, I need to ask if pictures of boys give you a tingle?"
"Mom! I am not gay." I had never used that word around her before, but I
knew what it meant. This conversation was spinning out of control, but I
didn't know how to change the topic. "It's a different feeling about
girls."
"Yes, please keep talking."
"I see girls with beautiful hair wearing pretty clothes and wish ..."
"Yes, what do you wish?"
I couldn't bring myself to say it.
Mom had a knowing look on her face. "So let's see - you associate mostly
with girls; you claim not to be turned on by pictures of girls; you
claim not to have sexual fantasies about any of your girl friends, or
about boys either. But you seem to enjoy looking at pictures of girls
modeling fashions. And I have noticed you even read some of my women's
magazines. What is going on?"
By this time I was totally embarrassed. That at least seemed normal. No
one I knew was really comfortable talking about sex with their parents.
And Mom was prying more by the minute.
"Mallory, you have always been sweet, gentle, considerate, and never
mean or tough like other boys. That has been important to me, and your
behavior has been something I have encouraged. Mothers watch their
children closely, and I have noticed a lot of things that about you that
I have wanted to talk about. You've been reluctant. I want you to know I
love you for who you are."
I was almost ready to cry. I had always tried to keep my feelings
private, but some hints must have slipped though. How could I talk with
her about something I did not understand myself?
"Why don't your put your things away for the evening then come back and
we can finish our little chat." She gave me a tight hug then headed into
the kitchen.
She was obviously giving me a chance to collect my thoughts. I must have
seemed totally clumsy as I absent-mindedly picked up around the living
room. Thoughts raced through my head. I was trying to figure out what
she suspected already, and what I was willing to tell her. I was mixed
up about my identity but was not ready to out myself either. I was in a
daze when Mom came back from the kitchen and indicated I should sit
down. Instinctively I sat with my knees together and ankles crossed and
put my hands in my lap.
"Mallory, dear. It is always hard for children to talk to their parents,
but I want you to try to be open. OK, dear?"
"Y... yes."
"Girls have an easier time opening up to their mothers as they enter
their teen years, and ..."
Mom always seemed to be addressing me as 'dear' and 'sweetie.' Was this
her way of telling me something?
"... you have been closer to me than typical for a boy. I appreciate
that. I also appreciate your interests in reading, music, and art. I
appreciate your willingness to accept kisses and hugs from me. I
appreciate your good taste in clothes and your willingness to help
around the house. You are a child I am proud of."
Why did she use 'child' not 'son?' I wasn't sure where this was leading
and I started fidgeting in my chair.
"I have been putting this conversation off, but I need to really talk to
you something that I have been suspecting. Tonight, you already implied
some very important things when we talked about the pictures in the
catalog."
This little talk seemed to be about much more than the catalog. Mom
always seemed to notice every detail about me, even things I tried to
keep private. She seemed as nervous as I was as she took my hands in
hers and looked deeply into my eyes.
"Mallory, have you ever wished you were a girl?"
Her question hit me like a hammer. I knew she was right, but had never
been willing to admit this even to myself. My eyes started to get misty.
"I don't know." She hugged me as I started to cry softly. I had not
answered directly, but my secret was out.
"I love you, dear, what ever you do. Remember that."
We sat close together for a long while. Finally she spoke again.
"You know I always wanted a daughter, but was not able to have more
children. Maybe you could be my make-believe daughter for a while."
The idea excited me, but I was too confused and embarrassed to say so.
"My, it's late. Time for you to get to bed, sweetie."
I staggered to my room in a daze. Could that conversation have been
real? What did she think about me now, and what was she going to do
about it?
*************
I sat on the edge of my bed to think. Could she have been right? Did I
really wish I had been born a girl? I thought about my hopes and dreams
over the years. Since kindergarten I always preferred to be with the
girls, and the teachers used too pressure me to play with the boys
during recess. As I grew older I mastered acting like a boy in school,
but never really felt like one. And, my nighttime dreams usually
involved either my being 'one of the girls' or else being punished for
acting like a sissy.
Looking back I realized that all the disapproval of my behavior came
from Dad. Thank goodness he had been largely gone from my life for the
last few years, and now was gone forever. Mom never criticized my
behavior. Thinking back it seemed like she had always been gently
encouraging me to become more feminine. She used girl terms like
'sweetie' when addressing me whenever we were talking privately. She had
taught me to cook and help with the housework. She had given me gender-
neutral or even effeminate clothes for Christmas and my birthday. She
always made sure there was plenty of girlish reading material around
where I could find it.
Still, I had never openly admitted I wanted to be a girl - not even
tonight. The most I had been able to bring myself to say was a tearful
'I don't know.'
After a long while I went into the small bathroom attached to my bedroom
and started to take a shower. I needed to calm down and get some sleep.
Suddenly I heard the bedroom door open.
"I put something for you on your bed. Try it on only if you want to.
Good night, dear. See you in the morning."
I heard the door latch click and decided it was safe to come out of the
bathroom. Nervously I looked for what Mom had put on the bed. She had
laid out a delicate, frilly, feminine nightgown. The pink fabric was
smooth and silky, and the low-cut neckline had a lace collar. Where did
this come from? Of course, I remembered that Mom bought lots of sexy
outfits while she was trying to hang on to my father. This must have
been one she had not tossed out.
She was tempting me and testing me. That was for sure. Mom knew that I
had a hard time expressing myself, and that I would find it much easier
to act out my wishes than to talk about them right now. She would be
checking me out at breakfast. If I wore the nightgown I be admitting to
both myself and to her that I wanted to experience being a girl. I was
more agitated than I had been before I took a shower. I was afraid to
try on the nightgown. But what would happen if I wore my regular boy
pajamas tonight? I was afraid she might never give me another chance
like this one. Finally I walked to the bed, picked the gown up, lifted
it over my head, and let the fabric slide down my body.
The sensation of the smooth fabric against my skin was a totally new
experience. I looked at myself in the mirror and say an ambiguous image.
I was still young enough to have not started developing any hair on my
face or chest and the gown did make me look somewhat feminine. On the
other hand, my hair was longish, but cut boy-style. I tried rearranging
it and that helped a bit. The gown was a 'baby-doll' style designed to
make a woman look like a little Lolita-girl, so it really was effective
give my youthful appearance. I turned sideways and regretted I did not
fill-out the curves that the gown was obviously designed to highlight.
Unsatisfied I dropped onto my bed.
How was I going to answer her questions in the morning? What I was
wearing in bed was an undeniable fact, but I wasn't sure about my
emotions. What I was doing seemed both pleasurable and wrong at the same
time. Well, maybe not wrong, but dangerous. I thought about changing out
of the gown before breakfast, but decided that was futile. Mom would ask
anyway. Maybe Mom was setting some kind of a trap for me. Maybe she knew
me so well that she had guessed my most private thoughts. Maybe ...
After a while I dozed off.
... To be continued.
Louise
- 09.08.2021
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