New Beginnings free porn video

New Beginnings (I'd really love an illustrator for this story. If you're interested, please let me know.) I know dad and mom hated each other, and dad had left a year ago and moved to Europe with another woman. But I never thought of him as mean, you know? When they argued, it always seemed as though mom was screaming louder than dad, and was more abusive. But mom kept telling me that he was "out to destroy our family," and wanted custody of me and wanted to take me away from her. Mom was a little high strung, and kind of a basket case, especially when it came to my dad, so I didn't think she was totally right. But she was growing more and more crazy about moving to Oregon and changing our identities, and while I thought she was over reacting, I finally agreed. It was just her and my older sister, Chelsea, and Chelsea was going to be a senior and I was going into tenth grade. I was freaking about leaving my friends, but Chelsea was the kind of person who would do well no matter where she was. She was tall, blonde and stacked. She had mom's d cup boobs. The one thing that made me kind of want to go was I had lost a lot of friends lately. I was small and kind of slender while my guy friends were getting muscles and were, well, most of them were starting to avoid me and even bully me, kind of to prove they wanted nothing more to do with me, I guess. It didn't help that I'd developed little boobs, which the doctor said happened to a lot of guys my age. I had stopped going to gym class because of the boobs, and I always wore baggy shirts and sometimes even held my books over my chest, like a girl to hide them. It also didn't help that mom didn't want me cutting my hair, so it had grown to my shoulders, and was thick and shiny - a perfect chestnut brown. If I didn't comb it down, it would naturally rise off my head and look like I'd slept in curlers, like my sister sometimes did to get the same effect in her hair that would happen in mine naturally. Oh, and my brown hair contrasted with my blue eyes and made them really stand out. They were very big, just like my dad's. In fact, I had inherited my dad's cute face and small stature - mom and my sister were actually at least as tall as he was. Mom said I'd eventually understand why she didn't want me to cut it. Well, eventually was now, the week after school ended, when I found out my mom was serious about leaving Maryland and moving to Oregon. She said that dad's people (he had people?) would be looking for a family like ours, but not a family with two daughters. Her idea was to dress me up as a girl, and we'd drive cross country that way. She and my sister would dye their blonde hair dark brown, we'd get a new car, new identities, and off we'd go. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I mean, a girl? I spent all my time trying to flirt with girls, and even though I was small and had the boob problem, I was generally considered very cute, and was popular with girls at school. Sometimes I felt like their mascot, but a lot of times I know they liked me, and I had even had little dates and kissed one, Beth, this kinda pretty ginger girl who was even shorter than I was and who was into me. I can't tell you how many nights I fell asleep ... thinking ... of her. One uncomfortable thing was my boobs were about as big as hers, and were becoming a topic of discussion in my family. In fact, my sister had gotten some pushup, a cup bras, along with little silicon inserts. She made me put on the bras (yes, made me, she was five inches taller and a track star) and was pulling on my chest and pushing on the inserts and smacking my butt when I squirmed or complained. Finally she had them just as she wanted them, and she put a pink, low-cut top over my head, put barrettes in my hair, a little makeup, and showed me to mom. A big smile spread across her face, and she turned me to look in the full length mirror in her bedroom. I could not believe my eyes. I did have small but unmistakable cleavage, but worse, with my hair up in little ponytail things and with mascara and lip gloss, I looked like a cute tween girl. Chelsea hustled me off to the bathroom, shaved my legs (a whole new level of embarrassment, being naked in front of her), then put me in panties and denim skort. White lace anklets, pink sneakers, and some bracelets finished the ensemble. No question, I could pass as a girl. They dyed each other's hair, and the next morning we set off in a Volvo wagon my mom's sister had bought for us. When she saw us off, she fussed over how pretty her new niece Brandy was (my name was Brandon), and spent a lot of time whispering with my mom and stealing glances at me. She was a doctor, so had lots of money and had bought the car for us and was lending mom a wad of cash to help get us re-established. As we were driving across Pennsylvania, my mom and Chelsea gave me lessons in talking "musically" and higher so I'd sound like a girl, and how to walk (small steps, swing my hips a little) act (flip and play with my hair, be shy around boys) and generally think like a girl. The back seat was filled with teen girl magazines, and I had to read articles out loud and was tested on their contents. By the time we reached Oregon ten days later, I could act like a girl - nobody at any place we stopped ever suspected I was a guy, though a lot of that was probably because my hair was always curled or barretted or ribboned, and I always showed what little cleavage I had. I noticed even much older boys would look at me, which made me feel, well, creepy. I was sick of skirts and dresses, but mom and Chelsea wanted to make sure no bulges showed. As a compromise, they bought me a gaff thingy which kept my boys pressed up into my body, and give me a smooth front. At least I could wear jeans then, but I could also wear shorts, and they insisted on short girl shorts that looked surprisingly good on my butt. It had always been kind of round, but it had gotten a little plump when my boobs started growing. The plan was I'd spend the summer as a girl, but start school in the fall as a guy. My grades weren't that great at home, and mom thought it wouldn't hurt if I repeated 9th grade, which, given how small I was compared to all the kids my age, and I hated being bullied and teased, didn't seem like a bad idea. So, for the summer I was Brandy Anne Wilson, age 14. Frankly, it was such a relief not to be bullied and not to be some freak skinny guy with a pointy chest that I really threw myself into the role. I admit that. To be admired instead of picked on made my anxiety, stress and depression vanish. Did I mention 9th grade was a tough year for me? It was a horror show, and the chance to do it over in a new place seemed like a fantasy come true. We kept mostly to ourselves that summer, and any socializing we did we did out of the town - a suburb of Portland - where we lived. We needed to stay under the radar, because mom insisted dad would be looking for us by then. She and Chelsea were relentless about me being a girl, at home and out, to keep up the deception, though they had let their hair go back to being blonde. Every day I learned more about makeup and stuff, and they would make me practice talking on the phone as a girl to people who called. I even made a friend in another town, a girl named Kelly, who invited me over to swim in her pool, and who had three older brothers. I liked hanging out with her, though she teased me about my one-piece suit. I told her I wore it because I was sick of her brothers staring at me, which was true! Anyway, we talked about lots of girl stuff, but at least I had a friend. Her brother Davy, who was 16, was generally nice to me too, and was surprised I knew so much about college football. I made sure we didn't get too close. We saw them a lot because my mom quickly became partners in a business with her mom. By the beginning of August, I realized there were two problems with me going back to school as a guy. My left boob and my right boob. They had grown, to say the least, and had big pinkish nipples that strained at whatever I wore. I tried to ignore them, and my mother would say, in a patronizing way, that any time they would start shrinking. It was almost as though she enjoyed how big they were getting. At first I didn't need the pads to have cleavage in my a cup, push up bra, then I couldn't fit in an a cup bra anymore. I remember when Chelsea's boobs started growing when she was like 13 or 14, and that she was a c cup by 15. I was definitely headed in that direction, and it caused me all kinds of stress. Mom got me anti-anxiety pills, and I would take one or two almost every day, which made me kind of out of it, but sometimes I'd fall asleep at night crying while mom stroked or brushed my hair, and I tried to ignore the twin peaks pushing out of my t-shirt or nightie. Yes, I had a drawer full of pretty nighties, all with lace and most low cut to show off my boobs. Mom said it was best not to ignore them. My rear was growing too, and now it was unmistakably rounded and girly, a perfect bubbly butt that even jiggled a bit when I ran. I crushed my boobs in sports bras, but whenever I took them off, they just sprang out, defiantly. I now had a drawer full of pretty bras and panties, and growing closet full of tight girl clothes. Mom had taken me to a salon where she had bangs cut and some light layers, which did keep the hair out of my eyes, but which made me look even prettier. I mean, I was a cute little hottie now, no question, and I wish I had a nickel for every time I caught a guy looking at my boobs or ass. My soft, narrow waist didn't help, and made my hips look like Kelly's. One night we did a sleepover at our house and she spent hours braiding and playing with my hair, which felt nice, but then she'd say stuff like: "I wish I had your ass!" Or, "OMG, my brothers can't stop talking about you!" She said she thinks she caught Davy jerking off to a picture he had taken of me in a bikini top and shorts. Great. Meanwhile I would jerk off thinking of her, or of Beth. I actually managed to keep up a correspondence with Beth through email, but I was careful never to tell her where we were. I made it sound like we were on a mysterious adventure. Beth would send me pictures of her. This one in a tube top and shorts had me doing to her what Davy did to me, though I noticed I had more curves than she did. She begged me for photos of me, but I just made excuses that it was for "security" purposes. That sad thing was, it was becoming harder and harder to cum, and I felt in a weird way like I was betraying her. So I started school in 9th grade, again, with an ID that said I was 14- year-old Brandy Anne, though I had turned 15. Being pretty, and well, funny - I have a great sense of humor - and knowing sports and stuff, I instantly became a hit with lots of guys, and many of the popular girls. I just told the guys my mom was "like, super religious, and like, won't let me date until I'm 16," and they didn't go further than flirting. Some thought because I always showed a little boob and wore cute outfits I was a tease, which is something my mom seemed to encourage. She and my sister both made it clear that boys were jerks and teasing them was fun and, like, payback. It was all I could do to stop myself from flirting with some of my girl friends, some of whom suspected I was gay, I bet. But that was cool. It was a really liberal place. A few times I actually did make out with a girl from drama club, but I was so scared she'd discover my little secret I didn't let it go very far. I never wanted to be thought of as a freak again. Being a girl with a penis would be worse than a boy with boobs. My mom kept getting more drugs and things from her sister, but nothing seemed to help "my condition." Acting like a girl became totally second nature, and I realized I was emotional like one. I even seemed to get PMS once a month, which was weird - especially because it was exactly when my sister did. But I was never attracted to boys. I couldn't go to gym class because of some medical problem my mom told the school I had, but that meant I couldn't do sports either. I would have loved to do soccer or lacrosse, but instead I did stuff like student council and drama. As you can imagine, I was a great actor. I had to have been to pull off being one of the most feminine girls in school. Oh, and I danced in a studio - jazz and modern dance - my mom insisted I do that to stay in shape. But believe me, my shape wasn't a problem. I had slender pretty legs that flared to rounded hips and a high rounded ass, a narrow waist that was soft and was a perfect hourglass except for my little belly button, and then my perky boobies that were becoming more round, a slender neck, thick brown hair and big blue eyes. My eyes were kind of the only evidence of my father I had anymore, and sometimes when I looked in a mirror doing my makeup I saw him looking back at me. I wondered what he would think of his sissy son. Around spring break of that year, I was really missing him, and also Beth. We had become closer during our correspondence, and I thought I was falling in love with her. She seemed desperately in love with me, and was pushing for us to get together. We were both 15 - well, I guess she had turned 16 - and I had let slip we were in the Pacific Northwest. If my mom had known I had told her that, she would have killed me. Mom had actually become more and more loving towards me the more I became a girl, I think she couldn't relate well to men. She seemed to be a total man hater after dad left. Chelsea treated me with amusement and like an annoying little sister. She was constantly trying to get me to wear the kind of low-cut, slutty clothes she loved. You'd think if she didn't have those d cup boobs, and that long blonde hair, she would just disappear. Her string of boyfriends, who she encouraged to flirt with me, were unending. The only guy I really confided in - I mean, everything but my big secret, was Davy. He was pushing me to go to the Junior Prom at his school, and my mother said it would be rude not to. Ha. I wanted to go to prom with Beth, and I kind of deluded myself into thinking that even though I now looked totally like a girl, and acted like one without thinking, and had even bigger boobs than she did, she would accept me as I was because she loved me. She was going to be in Seattle and Vancouver with her parents over break, and I told her that if she could borrow a car, I'd meet her just over the Washington border. I'd take the train, which we'd done before, and slip away for the weekend, telling my mom I was having a sleepover with Kelly. I tried to wear my most boyish clothes - jeans and a sweatshirt, and put my hair up in a baseball cap. I guess I was in denial that my boobies were now c cup, and I tried to squish them down with a new sports bra. I knew she had grown to 5'7" and I was an inch shorter, so I wore some stacked heels that made me like 5'8" without looking to girly. We agreed to meet at a restaurant at noon, and when I walked in, my heart sank. The hostess said, "Can I help you miss?" so I knew I still didn't look anything like a guy. And when I told her I was looking for a friend, she pointed to Beth, who was sitting in a booth scanning the restaurant. Her scans went right over me, but I screwed up my courage and walked over to her, and sat down across from her. "Ummm, hi Beth." "Do I know you?" "Beth, it's me, Brandon." I let that sink in, and finally she looked in my eyes, and I could see a glimmer of recognition. "Oh. My. God. Brandon, it is you? What's happened to you?" She took my hands in hers, and I realized my nails were longer and prettier than hers. I should have cut them, or at least taken off the polish. She sat there and listened to my story with a mixture of horror and disbelief. We ate, talked for hours, walked in a park, and finally settled in the back seat of the car she had "borrowed" to drive to see me in. "Brandon, I need to see what you look like, I really need to see." So, reluctantly, I took off my sweatshirt, and then she took off my tank top, and reached behind me and undid my bra. She gasped when my breasts sprang fourth, and touched them and cupped them to make sure they were real. She saw the tears forming in my eyes, and she stroked my bouncy boobies, making my nipples get hard, then gave me a long hug and a kiss on the lips. During that kiss I thought that everything was going to be okay, but after she pushed me away, helped me put my things back on, and said, "Oh Brandon, I don't know what's going on here. But I'm your girl ... I'm your friend, and I'll help you anyway I can. Now you'd better go and I'll be in touch." She gave me like a sisterly kiss on my cheek and kind of hustled me out of the car, and drove off, leaving me crying in a parking lot. I made my way back to the train station and came home, brokenhearted. The next week I actually did go to Kelly's, and I told her about meeting an old friend and how she dissed me, and how depressed I was. I told her she was jealous of how pretty I'd become, while she had just kind of gotten plain - which was true. Maybe I was just thinking mean thoughts about her, but Beth had really hurt me, and there was no denying I had blossomed into a totally hot girl who could pretty much have any boy I wanted, and she was just kind of tall and thin and flat and gawky. I was so depressed I accepted Davy's invitation to prom, though we had to lie and say I was 16 to go. He said, and he was right, I could totally pass for 16 now if I dressed and did my makeup the right way. On the other hand, I could pass for 13 if I put my hair in pigtails and wore a cute dress and knee socks. Kelly and I shopped for a dress that weekend, and a month later I had my first date with a guy. My dress was a little low cut, but besides that was pretty conservative. Well, it was strapless and it did show my nice arms and had a high slit so my legs flashed. My hair was swept up at first, but it fell down in a mass of curls and looked so good that we just put a couple ribbons in it that matched the sparkly pink of my dress. There were other super-hot girls there, but Davy only had eyes for me, and we danced and danced and went to a very cool after party, where I drank my first beer. I was going to stay at his house that night with Kelly, and we didn't get home until 2 a.m. I knew what was coming, and I didn't resist the kiss. He was sweet about it, and before I knew it, I was sitting on his lap in the den, making out. I felt safe and loved, and while I wasn't attracted to him sexually, at least not much, I did enjoy being with him, even kissing him. He and Beth looked a little alike, with their auburn hair and freckles, so I imagined I was kissing a very aggressive Kelly. When I crawled in bed with Kelly, she'd obviously been watching some of our make out session, and I told her how turned on I was and how big a crush I had on her brother. She ate it up, so that made me feel good too. She even pinched my boobs, and said, "Did you let him touch these? The sacred boobies for which so much semen has been spilled?" I laugh at that, and then remembered that he had copped a feel, well, several times, but he was gentle and it felt good. My nipples certainly responded, and it did make me tingly all over. We dated all that summer, and while I never let him get past second base, I did help him get relief sometimes. It amazed me how big and hard a regular boy's penis was, when mine was just so small and soft. My mother said my case was "really one for the medical journals, your aunt says." She pointed out that it being so small, along with my balls, that it was easy to push them up into my body and secure them with a little medical tape, which she routinely did before I went to school in the morning. By the time I started my sophomore year in high school, my hair was down to the middle of my back and my ass was actually plump. No amount of exercise seemed to help, and I realized it was just genetic - my mom had the exact same ass, as did her sister, who had come to visit us a couple times that summer, and always gave me a thorough physical examine. She was, in fact, the only doctor I had been to in several years. Around the middle of October I was walking to school - it was only a few blocks away - and feeling particularly good about the outfit I was wearing. It was super cute light brown capri's with a yellow top that had a bra insert that really made my boobies pop. I had a yellow ribbon in my hair and these backless sandals. Mom had really complimented me on the outfit, and insisted I wear a pair of her lacy thongs underneath. We were always borrowing each other's clothes, and dressing in front of her and my sister had become second nature. Just one big sorority house, she would say. Then the black van pulled up. Before I knew it, two masked guys had pulled me into it, and the last thing I saw was one of my shoes flying off. Then a cloth sack went over my head and I felt something sting on my arm. Before I lost consciousness I thought if they meant to rape me, they had a real surprise coming. I drifted in and out for what apparently was a couple days, and when I awoke I was in a sunny bedroom with a skylight, and outside I could see a beach and palm trees. This definitely wasn't Portland. A pretty woman in her thirties with long dark hair and big brown eyes, and a nice tan, was sitting in bed with me. When she saw my eyes flutter open she smiled and called out that "he was awake." I had no idea who "he" was - no one had seen me as a he in a long time. I sat up slowly and looked down to see I was in a simple, white, soft t-shirt with no bra on underneath. It was pretty thin, and the breeze from the open window was making my big nipples stand at attention. I folded my arms across them in embarrassment and thought of asking her for a bra, but she was only like a b cup. Then my dad walked into the room. He sat close to me on the bed, and stupidly asked, "Do you know who I am?" "Well yes, dad, of course I do. What the hell is this all about?" I flipped my hair rather defiantly, and then realized it was a totally feminine gesture, as was putting my hands on my hips. He had this look of sorrow on his face, and it seemed with every word I spoke it deepened. Then I realized I had this high, soft, sexy voice, and it must have hurt his ears to hear me. It took me the better part of a week to hear, understand and accept everything he had to tell me. The woman was his wife - he had indeed run away with her and moved to Southern France. Part of it was he'd fallen in love with Jacqueline, but part of it was my mother had become so domineering and obsessive that he felt he had to leave or lose himself completely to her. He had told her that, and that made her even more angry and abusive, he said. I knew my dad was always a sensitive guy - I had inherited that from him - but he hinted that she was out to make him into a kind of servant in his own house. He also objected to what she was doing to me, which at the time I didn't even realize. But as I thought about it, she was so disapproving and manipulative that I had come to be totally dependent on her and her opinions. As soon as he left, he now realized, mom and her sister had started a program of hormones on me that stunted my growth and began my feminization. That alone took a couple days to comprehend. She is the reason I went through such trauma, and the whole time she was rubbing lotion on my little boobs to make them feel better, she was just adding more hormones to my system. I was, in effect, chemically castrated, which is why I never really developed a strong sex drive like a guy should. The hormones and other drugs kept me passive and accepting of my change to a girl, and with just a week away from her, I realized I was thinking more clearly. The sun seemed brighter (and not just because he had flown me on a private jet to Hawaii), things smelled better, and I was just, well, generally, more alive. I did start to feel sick from the lack of hormones, but a doctor gave me a prescription. He had been frantically searching for me, but it wasn't until Beth's family had contacted him that he had enough clues to locate me. By the time we were under surveillance, he realized I had gone through puberty as a girl, and would be in a girl's body forever. As proof of just what a manipulative bitch my mother was, he showed me pictures she had been periodically sending him. I had no idea that most of these were even being taken. But there I was, buying my first bras with my sister at a Victoria's Secret. There I was, comparing boob size with her, nipple to nipple. There I was, in my first thong. There I was at prom with Davy. There I was, making out with him, my tube top down around my waist and his lips on my nipples, my back arched in ecstasy. She had sent him all these pictures as evidence that I was transgendered and was enjoying becoming a girl. Beth had convinced him otherwise. I owed her one. Jacqueline and I were walking on the beach one morning, in matching white bikinis, actually, and she told me about my father's trauma at seeing me become a girl. He never quite believed what mom was telling him, especially because she did it in such a hurtful way. A couple surfer dudes were walking by and tried to stop us to talk to us, but we politely moved on. "I guess you get that a lot, don't you honey?" Jacqueline said, looking at me carefully. "Yeah, mom really did a number on me, I guess. I mean, I can't help smiling and flirting with guys. She even programmed my walk and how I make my boobies jiggle a little when guys are approaching." "Yes, I noticed that. You are a little ..." "Slutty?" "Well, I was going to say 'proactive'." "I really need to work on that, I guess." "Do you even like guys?" "I think I like girls more, but to be honest, I do kind of like guys. One guy in particular. His name is Davy, and he's the one you saw ... in those pictures." "He's very cute." "I know, isn't he?" I was embarrassed that I agreed so quickly. But I had to be honest, I really did have a crush on him, and I actually was thinking about him and missing him." "We could bring him here, if you'd like. If it would make you more comfortable." "Really, you could do that? Really?" "Yes, my family is very well off, and we can arrange just about anything." I practically squealed with delight. "I would love that sooooooooo much! Gosh, I wonder how my dad feels about that. I mean, me liking a guy." "Don't worry about your father. He's just happy to have his child back - boy or girl. It's going to take him a while to get used to having a pretty daughter though. You two need to expect a period of adjustment." "I know, it is really awkward at times. I feel like I need to cover up my ... body ... when I'm around him. I mean, I catch him looking at my boobies and rear, but not in a guy way. He just can't seem to believe it. And when you were French braiding my hair the other night - thanks again, it really looked pretty after - he couldn't seem to take the scene all in. He did an about face and disappeared for an hour. What can I do to help this along?" "Well, I have some suggestions, but you might not like them," she said, softly. "I really want to hear. I feel so badly that I missed so much time with him, and was mad at him for no reason." "Well, don't be self-conscious about being a girl in front of him. He needs to know you're happy the way you are. You are, aren't you?" "Honestly, yes. I mean, I probably became a girl for all the wrong reasons, but I like being pretty and having attention and not having to do guy stuff I really never liked to begin with. I like being popular." "Then don't be afraid to wear feminine things around him. Give him kisses on the cheek. Call him daddy. And when we get Davy here, don't be afraid to be his girlfriend. Your father will find that a big relief. And if you really want to help him ... well, how do you feel about becoming a total girl?" "You mean sexual reassignment surgery? I might as well, at this point. I mean, I still think of myself as kind of a freak, and this would make me as normal as I'll ever be." "Good. I think you wanting that would make him feel better about you wanting to be a girl." We hugged at that point, and I actually thought to myself: I wonder if this is how a normal mom is supposed to act? We went back to the beach house and I put on cute white lacy halter top and little blue shorts, and told "daddy" what a nice chat I'd had with Jacqueline, and how much I really liked her. That was the beginning of normalizing relations. When Davy came with his whole family a few days later, dad was kind of in for another shock. He didn't mind us holding hands, but when he caught us necking on the back porch, Davy's hands on my bikini-clad ass, I could tell he was more than a little uncomfortable. But I guess any dad would be, seeing his daughter kissed and touched by a handsome guy. Dad told Davy's family that I had been kept from him, but nothing about me being a guy. That would come later, when mom found out where I was and the lawsuits began to fly. I didn't hear from Davy or Beth for a long time after that started. The upshot was my mother was convicted of child abuse, put on probation, and made to undergo all kinds of psychological counseling. Her sister was convicted of malpractice, and lost her licence, and was fined into the poor house. I moved to France and finished high school as a total girl - I had SRS between my junior and seniors years. I had boyfriends and girlfriends, but kept things casual. I guess I was still healing psychologically. I started college back in the states, and when I went home for Christmas break there was a special present under the tree. It was Davy, now David, looking more handsome than ever, and holding a pile of presents for me. Each one showed me more and more that he had never forgotten me. One was a series of letters he had written me but never sent because he didn't have an address. Another was a photo album of our prom night. There was a gorgeous necklace and a negligee. There were kisses. There was me finally losing my virginity. And a couple years later, there was a ring. And at the wedding, there was my mother and sister in the crowd, and a feeling of sweet victory when I danced with my daddy at the reception, and saw them sitting miserably in a corner.