Mom's Girl Revised free porn video

Mom's Girl Part One "William," Mom called, "Come here my Sweetie." I came to her bedside. I guess I was Mom's favorite, if you call it that. Being quiet and shy, I didn't have many friends and I liked to read and help around the house, like pick up my things, make dinner, and help my younger brothers with their homework. I guess Mom was my best friend. I could tell her anything and she'd never get mad at me and we'd talk about lots of things. "I need your help with the house and your brothers," Mom said to me. "Someone to clean, wash and iron, cook, and get your brothers off to school in the fall. And your brothers are going to need someone to look after their needs. And not just their physical needs but someone to give them the motherly care that I won't be able to give as much as I'd like." "What about Paul?" I asked. "He's older, he's 17". "Paul's now the man of the house and what this house needs now is a woman's touch to run it. And besides, even though you're only 14, you're so much more adult acting than even your older brother." "Ah, Mommy, I'm not a woman so how can I have a woman's touch?" I asked. "That just means that you're gentle and caring and try hard to do a nice job and are clean and tidy. That's a woman's touch. Men don't have that touch. And women are around to help out when someone needs them and your brothers and I need you." Gee, I thought, I must have a woman's touch cause that described me real well. "I'll try, Mama. I'll do my best." And I meant it. Under the watchful eye of my mother I became like the woman of the house, as she would call me. I dusted, vacuumed the rugs, washed the floors, laundered, prepared meals with Mom's help, washed dishes, and took care of my bothers: Paul, age 17, Chris age 11, and Logan age 10. Of course I also did what I could to help Mom get better, which included helping her getting a lot of rest. In fact, I think I had more of a woman's touch than Mom. I worked really hard at taking Mom's place and the house never looked so clean. Of course everyone has their chores to do and my brothers helped me but I was kinda in charge, which I loved. Several weeks after our conversation, Mom touched my hand as I passed by her on the couch. "William", she said as she exhaled cigarette smoke straight up in the air. "You'd make such a pretty boy and I'm sure the boys would love to see a pretty face around the house. I used to be pretty before my illness. Let me pretty you up for all of our sakes." "Mama" I whined, "I don't want to be pretty." "But you are already with your size, delicate features, and quiet ways," she responded. How many times Mommy had said that I'd make a pretty girl! And how often I protested with a "Mama, I don't want to look like a girl" "But Mama" I instinctively whined. I felt I should protest much more than I did but I knew I was never very manly, being small boned and the quiet type. I'd even let my hair grow to my shoulders, at Mom's insistence and had started to wear it in a ponytail, which I guess wasn't very manly to some people. "Please dear, I think you'll like your new look," she said as she guided me to her side. She snuffed out her cigarette and started stroking my ponytail as she said, "Let me fix your hair first. I always wanted a daughter to comb her hair and make her look pretty. If you don't like the look, you can undo it when school starts." "And what about the other kids, and Paul, Chris, and Logan? What will they say? They'll all laugh at me. They'll call me a girl." "No they won't and if you don't like your new hairdo, we'll just wash it out," Mom said in a sweet voice. "Just try it for one day, please sweetie. Please for you mother?" Mom was so determined that I just had to give in. I got on a chair and leaned over the kitchen sink and Mom shampooed my hair. We shampooed, rinsed, shampooed, rinsed, put on a conditioner, and rinsed. This was all fun for me. I mean I'd washed my hair before but can't remember anyone else doing it for me. Mom's fingers felt so good massaging my scalp; like her nails caused shivers to go down my back. After wrapping a towel around my wet hair, we went to the living room and I sat down with my back to her. To her side the coffee table full of bottles, a pair of scissors, and other items, like she was going to operate on me, which I guess she was. "Your hair is long enough and so full; I'm sure you're going to love your new look", Mom said as she placed a basket of pink one inch rollers in my lap. I was happy that mom was happy. I felt the large tooth comb slide through my wet shoulder length hair, hitting a snag every so often. "Ouch... Ouch," I whined. "My God, you're a sissy," Mom chided. "Sissy." That word hurt. "Sissy," the word echoed in my mind. The comb squeezed water from my hair and I felt the wetness trickle down my neck, missing the towel around my shoulders, and continuing down by back, causing a shudder through my body. "Always gently comb your hair," William. "Wet hair stretches and is easily broken. It's been awhile since I went to beauty school but I was a good student," Mom said with a note of confidence. After sectioning off an area of hair, she pinned it up. She started to cut the back underneath first. "The hair at the nape establishes the shape," she repeated, once, twice, three times as if relearning a school lesson. For days that melody repeated in my head, "The hair at the nape establishes the shape." Damn that tune even if I didn't know exactly what it meant. I soaked in that ditty like I did every minute of my beauty treatment. Section by section she pinned and cut. I was spacing off, staring at my mom's pack of Marlboro Light 100's. I felt girly and even though I don't smoke, her cigarettes were calling out to me. I have always felt that smoking was a "feminine" action. I related smoking to pretty girls. It always seemed to me that the pretty girls were the ones that smoked, like Mommy. And now I wanted to smoke too. Mom must have been able to tell that something was wrong with me. I don't know if I was fidgeting or if it was something else but Mom asked "Sweetie, what are you staring at?" I had to answer and it all came out so quick that I just blurted "Mom, can I try one of your cigarettes?" As soon as I said it I wished I hadn't. The fear of being told no and then scolded was too much. If I had thought it out the fear would have stopped me, but there was no thinking when I made my request. Mom's response wasn't what I expected. "Sweetheart, it's an adult decision but I am asking you to be the woman of the house. There are a lot of adult decisions that will need to be made and I'm trusting that you will make the right decisions. I don't have a problem with my little girl smoking and if that's what you want to do, I support your decision." I was floored. My Mom is curling my hair, she just called me her little girl and just gave me permission to smoke... and I love it all! I had never smoked but had wondered what it was like for about two years now. I trembled as I reached for the white and gold pack of long, feminine looking cigarettes. I flipped back the top and pulled one out. I held it near the end of my fingers like I had seen Mommy do all my life. I reached for the pink lighter that was sitting next to the pack and ashtray. Like instincts bread in to me I put the cigarette up to my lips and held it there with my teeth. I had studied Mommy often and felt that smoking was the sexiest thing a woman could do for a man if done right. Now all I had to do was imitate what Mom had done all these years. I cupped my left hand as if shielding the upcoming flame from wind and flicked the lighter. The flame jumped and seemed brighter than normal. I moved it to the end of the cigarette that now seemed to be the length of a small tree. I sucked in and knew that it wasn't smoking unless I inhaled. I took a deep breath and it burned as it went down. I imagined little hairs in my throat being singed as the fire I was breathing filled my lungs. I knew coughing meant that "I lost" and wasn't an option. If I was gonna let my Mom style my hair like a girl then smoking was a necessity. I fought off the urge to cough and exhaled. A long stream of smoke went skyward out of the left corner of my mouth exactly where I had aimed it. A smile crept on to my face that I knew Mommy couldn't see. Now she was the one that would study me. I rested my hand to one side. Cigarette pointed straight up, my hand in a semi-fist, elbow by my side just like Mother would do in public situations. I waited seconds and brought the cigarette back for another pull. I hollowed my cheeks and rolled my eyes somewhat to the upper left as I sucked until I knew I had the correct amount of smoke in my lungs. I repeated the exhale out of the side of my mouth. I had it mastered in two drags and couldn't wait to smoke in front of a mirror. "What's happening?" asked Chris as he and Paul and Logan bounded into the house. They froze in their steps and stared at us. I was scared. There I was sitting on the floor in front of our Mother, smoking a cigarette while she prepared to curl my hair. What could be going through their heads? "I'm fixing your brother's hair," Mom replied. I don't remember when she sounded so happy. With that reply Chris and Logan both squiggled up their faces. "But he's smoking" Chris said. Mom just looked at him in a way that we all understood to mean don't ask too many questions. Chris got the point as they both just shrugged, turned and raced out but Paul hesitated. "Want to watch, Pauliewog?" Mom asked. That was Paul's nickname when Mom wanted her way. I lowered my eyes, looking away from him. He hesitated; "Na," he said and left. This was the first time that I realized how a cigarette could help a stressful situation. I sucked on the filter as if there was some kind of magical mist that would take this embarrassment that I was feeling away. I exhaled straight out in an exasperated fashion as I try let the stress of my brothers seeing me in this girly state leave me. I finished the cigarette and wondered how long I would feel the light headedness that I was currently experiencing. After about 20 minutes the feeling was gone and Mom was finally finished with the cut. "Now listen to me, William, because I expect you to set your own hair after a few more sessions". I straightened up to concentrate. "I'm combing out a section of hair about an inch deep and half an inch shorter than the roller. Are you listening?" I replied with a "yes." "Now I'm combing it straight out up from your scalp, spraying setting lotion on it, wrapping an end paper over the hair, sliding it to the ends, and holding it... Hand me a roller, dear." I did, gingerly picking up one and handing it to her over my shoulder. "Now I'm placing the roller next to the end of the paper," she continued like a doctor teaching his students on one of those TV medical shows. "Mama," I whined, "it's too tight." "Sush, Hon; it's not killing you," she chided as she smoothly and tautly wound the section of hair around the roller. "Now I'm attaching the first roller with a clip at the base of the roller, not the top or you'll leave a mark on the finished hairdo." Section by section she combed, sprayed, and rolled, attaching the second roller to the first one and so on and so on. Starting in front, she then did the sides, and finished with the back. I was surprised at how excited I became as she applied each roller and by the time she finished with the last roller, I'd put my hands in my laps, trying to push down on my growing bulge in my pants. Wow, I couldn't believe that I was getting a hard-on. "That's it. All done," Mom exclaimed and then she sprayed the setting lotion all over my hair and especially at the roots, I felt the cold wetness on my scalp. "Why not let your hair dry naturally while you do your chores?" she suggested. As Mom lay down on the couch and lit a cigarette, I gathered up the supplies and brought them to her bathroom, locking the door. In our house with so many people wandering around, the bathroom was the only place a person could find any privacy. I looked at myself in the vanity mirror. What a turn on: a row of curlers, taut and smooth, straight down the middle, and row after row on the sides and back. I had seen Mom this way many times and remembered the curlers being transformed into fluffy curls, like caterpillars changed into butterflies. I had such an erection that I felt that I'd explode in my pants. I just had to satisfy myself. I laid on the bathroom floor, head against the wall, cigarette in my left hand while my right hand unzipped and pulled out my erect penis; with the thumb and two fingers, I stroked it while my left fingers held out a half smoked cigarette. I loved the feel of myself but I raced to relieve the mounting tension. Harder and harder. Faster and faster I stroked my penis as it became as rigid as it had ever been. I loved to play with myself and did at least once a day and sometimes two or three times a day. I held my erection tightly in my fingers savoring that last minute... "Ahhhhhh", I sighed as I leaned to one side and shot a load of cum into my hand as best I could. Once, twice, out spewed a stream of white liquid. Tapping my dick on my palm, a little mound of white cream dropped from the swollen head. "Geeeeez," I exhaled. For a moment I stared at my hand and finally brought it up to my mouth. It was delicious and left me craving more. I cleaned up my hand and flushed my finished cigarette and a wad of toilet paper down the toilet. I spent the rest of the day doing housework. I stopped lots of times to look in a small mirror with my back to a larger mirror, patting my damp hair, and pushing the plastic rollers to my scalp. I asked Mom several times if I could take out the rollers but she said no and told me that under no circumstances should I remove them without her permission. At the dinner table I still had the rollers in my hair. I felt so silly that I could hardly look at my three brothers. All during the meal my brothers looked at me and giggled or snickered. "You look like a girl" Chris said. "A girlie girl," chimed in Logan. I guess I did look silly in my jeans and shirt and curlers in my hair. But Mom made me feel even sillier. "Now boys, William's not a girlie girl; he's more of a girlie boy." "What's a girlie boy?" asked Logan. "That's a boy who looks like a boy but acts like a girl," Mom answered. The boys all laughed and I felt really bad especially because it was all Mom's fault. "Now, now boys don't get carried away. Your brother's going to be like the woman of the house and Paul is going to be the man of the house. William isn't very pretty now but he will be and I know you'll all be happy to see a young pretty face around the house. "Yeah, said Paul, "he's going to look pretty like mom". "Thank you, Paul," Mom said. "And I want you to listen and respect William just like he was your wife", turning to the two younger boys, "just like you'd respect me". The boys giggled, knowing how often they were disobedient. "Now promise me, boys". "Sure," they answered "we'll behave," the younger boys answered without giving a second thought. Their world was full of horseplay, computer games, sports, and boys stuff. Paul's answer was more serious. He was the oldest and wisest in our eyes. He was a man, driving a car, and going on dates with girls and we all listened to him as much if not more than mom. If he said something was ok, then it was ok with us. That night I had a hard time sleeping in hair rollers and thinking about all that had happened that day. I was craving nicotine and wanted a cigarette bad. I know Mom had told me it was okay to smoke but I was hesitant. I didn't want to take advantage of the new found freedom I was being handed. Finally I went to sleep with my face on my pillow. The next day Mom said she'd take out my hair rollers. I really didn't want them out. Maybe I was scared to take them out or something like that. What would I do if I looked real good or if I didn't like the way I looked? I smoked several times throughout the day and Mom never said a word about it. I tried new things every time I smoked. Exhale this side, exhale that side. Roll my eyes to the right, roll my eyes to the left. Hold it with my arm bent, let it dangle from my lips. I loved my new habit and couldn't wait for my first victim. Just before dinner time, I sat in front of Mommy in the living room. Carefully she removed the rollers, unwinding each one to the end of the strand before pulling it out. "All dry," she announced and proceeded to remove the rest of the rollers. She then ran her fingers through my hair, shaking the stiff golden curls. "Mom", I said "why not comb them out tomorrow cause I got to start dinner?" "OK, tomorrow I'll comb them out," she said and laid back down on the couch. I lit a cigarette and raced to the vanity mirror. I saw curls, lots of uncombed curls: curls that dangled sensuously over my ears, fluttered off my cheeks, and twisted on my forehead to my eyebrows. Flat strips of hair wound like mattress coil springs, catching the light and hiding in the shadows of my face. Stiff curls that tempted one to touch them. I took a drag and gave my best pouty look as I exhaled. I was excited when I felt my hair. I hesitatingly slid my fingers into the tendrils and felt their stiffness but dare not continue for fear of spoiling the perfection. It was a bold look even for a girl, much more for a boy. I knew I'd have to be brave to carry it off, and I hoped I was able to do just that. I threw on my glasses that were sitting on the bathroom counter hoping for that studious look. I looked cute, really cute. Like a bad good girl. I finished my cigarette staring at the mirror. Multiple poses were attempted as I put on a show for myself. I served Mom her dinner in bed and returned to our big kitchen table where my younger brothers chatted about their day, paying little attention to me. Paul didn't say much but just glanced at me every so often. I was quiet as usual. I was washing the dishes alone in the kitchen wearing a ruffled pink apron over my blue jeans when Paul came up behind me. "I think you look kinda cute and sexy, little bro" he said as he touched my hair and bent over to smell it. He breathed deeply and exhaled a long sigh. "Smells good. Are you going to comb it out?" He stood so close to me that his blue jeans almost touched mine and I could feel his warm breath on my neck. Both his hands rested on the kitchen counter top surrounding me as he moved so close that I felt his muscular body touch mine. Many times he had pinned me to the ground in our days of roughhousing, the times we wrestled with him holding my outstretched arms on the ground, his body pressing up against mine and him calling me names, making me cry. I tensed up waiting for him to toss me to the floor, mess up my hair, and call me a girl, a little sissy boy. Of course I could never compete against his strength and often wished I was big and strong and could flip him over and make him cry "uncle". I envied Paul because he was big and strong and handsome but I hated him for making me feel so helpless but at this point I was wanting him to throw me down, not in anger but from passion. "Should I leave it uncombed?" I answered in a soft, sexy voice. Without thinking I arched my body back. For what seemed like several minutes we stood still, our bodies touching. Paul then started to rub against me and I felt his hardness against my body. Paul moved up and down on the tip toes of his shoes, pushing himself against my butt. I arched my body further back and his hands held me by my hips. I knew what was rubbing against me and felt a shiver of excitement run through my body; but I didn't say a word. "I I I.... think, you look awesome, just the way you are," he stammered and then turned and walked away. "Wow!" I thought. "A compliment from Paul, the coolest brother in the world." I was like in a trance after what happened. I finished my work and went to bed, remembering his words as I smoked the day's last cigarette, "cute and sexy" and "awesome"...and remembering his jeans touching mine. So many thoughts ran through my mind that night; so many questions. And then I suddenly realized something: I had like a secret spell over my big brother, like a power. Geez, I thought, that's really cool, like all these years he hardly ever said much to me or paid any attention to me and now all of a sudden, he thinks I'm awesome. That night I had all kinds of dreams, some I wouldn't ever tell anyone about. The next day, just after noon, Chris ran in to give Mom a big package that was delivered from the local department store. "This is for you, William" Mom called out. I came to the living room couch as she opened the package under the wide eyes of me and my brother. "Get your chair." I did and pulled it in front of the sofa where Mom liked to work. With the sun to her back, illuminating my face, she opened the box. Inside it were tubes and bottles and small plastic cases and lots of other things. "Now sit facing me. A girl... a person... your age should learn to use makeup," she said as she covered my hair with a plastic cap, like a rain cap. "It's only makeup and you can wash it off if you don't like it." I glanced up and looked into Chris eyes. Mom did too. "Want to watch, Chris?" I gritted my teeth and stared at Mom. Chris just puckered his lips in jest. "What a bunch of dumb stuff," he said as he ran out to play. With dancing fingers Mom stuffed my curls into the cap. As she showed me each item, I recognized it. We'd all watched Mom apply her makeup and even played with it a few times. "Ouch," that hurt as she plucked stray hairs from my eyebrow. Then she shaped them with a light brown pencil. She shook a bottle, opened it, and dabbed a little on her finger. Applying some to several places on my face, she began to smooth and blend it all over my face and into my hairline. Next she applied a baby blue eye shadow with a dabber to both my eyelids, blending it very thinly to my now arched eyebrows. She had me close one eye as she applied the cold, black eyeliner, and then the other. Next came the bottom side which made my eyes water. I followed her with my eyes and then looked into hers as she rolled a brush of black mascara lightly over the top and bottom of my eyelashes. I felt my heart beat so hard, I worried that Mom might hear it. All the time she was explaining what she was doing. With her finger of rose-colored blush she brushed the cheeks of my face. Then she opened a tube of light red lipstick and lightly slid it over my lips. "William, do you think you'll be able to apply your own makeup? I expect you to look pretty when you make breakfast for the boys. I'm sure they'll appreciate it, even if they don't say so. I know Paul will." I could only nod my head. "Good." she said. "You're such a pretty boy now." Now go wash it off with this cream and come back and you try your hand at it. I returned, sat down on the floor before the coffee table and looked into the mirror Mother had placed on the table along with the cosmetics. As best I could, I redid my face with Mom adding comments: "a little more," "that's too much", and "smooth it in," and of course, her encouraging words: "You're doing wonderfully my pretty little boy." After I finished, Mom used Kleenex and some of the cosmetics to touch up my mistakes. "One last thing," Mom said. "Your nails." With that she took my soft hands and filed my uneven nails. And then applied a coat of pink polish; I instinctively held my hands out to dry. Now let's brush out you hair. I turned around to face Mom and she removed the plastic cap from my head. Mom as usual instructed me as she proceeded: "I'm brushing your hair from front to back...now very lightly brush the top layer in the direction of the set...now that we have the shape loosen the hair underneath and gently pull out pieces here and there until the form is right." I closed my eyes and soaked in one of the most pleasurable feelings I'd ever had. My mind went blank after a few seconds. I was so excited that I couldn't have told you my name if asked. I could hardly wait until Mom finished to look at myself but also wished the sensuousness of her combing my hair would go on much longer. If only I could look as pretty as I felt. "All done, sweetie. You were so good the whole time. All done." I finally heard Mom the second time. "Now, lite a cigarette and go look at yourself. If you don't like how you look, wash it off." I walked into the bathroom and stared in the mirror. A soft wave dipped by one eye and was met by a bundle of curls; the top was smooth and lifted up with more curls in back; and on the other side a tendril dangled alongside my cheek with the hair swept back into another mass of curls. It was beautiful. I was beautiful standing there with my arms by my side, right hand cocked with my first two fingers jetting straight out holding a freshly lit cigarette. I imagined myself making love to a man, not just a man, my brother, Paul. Making my penis get harder and harder. Unable to resist the urge, I shifted the cigarette to my left hand, pulled out my dick and faced the ceramic tile. Faster and faster I stroked my dick. With my forehead touching the wall and my knees bending up and down, I rubbed and pulled at my penis until I shot a load of semen on the white wall--- once, twice, three times I came, spewing out globs that stuck to the wall then dribbled down. Dropping to my knees, kneeling before the wall, I stuck out my tongue and licked the whitish liquid as it slid down and into my mouth. I lapped it up from the bottom of the wall to the top, sliding my tongue over the smooth surface and into the groves, mixing my cum with the taste of cigarette smoke and my lipstick, savoring the flavor, and tasting every delicious droplet until the wall was clean. Mom's call brought me out of the bathroom. I passed by Mom who smiled at me. "Going to keep it on?" she asked. "Yeah, sure," I replied. "For a while at least." But a part of me really wanted to say "forever". I really enjoyed doing my chores that day. I gathered up the boys' clothes and the whites to do the laundry. What a mess of laundry I had ahead of me. I made a mental note to tell the boys to pick up after themselves and put the colored clothes and underwear in the proper baskets. After washing, I brought basket after basket of clothes outside to hang up on the clothesline. Now the underwear. I unraveled the socks, the T-shirts, and the jockey shorts. I could tell which ones were Paul's because they were the largest. I picked up a pair of his shorts from off the pile in the basket and felt my hand squish into a wetness. Turning it inside out, I saw globs of white liquid. It was soaked with his cum; I suddenly realized. I couldn't believe how much he had shot into his jockey shorts. Globs and globs, it seemed to me. I stared at the pair of pants. Turned it inside out. Put my face to it. Closed my eyes. In my mind I began to see Paul satisfy himself like I did. He was lying in bed on his back with his huge erection against the fingers of his hand, pumping his body, and sliding his fingers up and down against his wet, growing penis. He pulled his shorts down so it could hold the load that was about to come, trying hard not to break the movement of his body. Great squirts of gooey white semen shot into his pants, then a breath of air left his puckered lips. I opened my mouth and moved my jaws up and down. As if I was in a trance, I stuck out my tongue and brought his pants to my face and licked his cum. It tasted good, made sweet by a cherry lipstick taste. "Big brother", I thought, "May I eat your cum?" "Please, please", I whispered. Licking the pair clean, I quickly searched the pile for more but found none. I felt my penis pushing hard against my jeans and I would have loved to jerk myself off but I didn't because I wanted to keep myself hard in order to enjoy my thoughts and the feel of my hardness all day long. At the dinner table the younger boys hardly paid any attention to me. Just a "you're looking more like a girl every day", from Chris and an inquisitive look and a giggle from Logan. Paul didn't even say a word about my hairdo and makeup, just a "nice look" comment. He talked with the boys about sports, television programs, and other nonsense stuff. I was mad at Paul for ignoring me and felt like saying, "Paul, don't wet your underwear 'cause it's a lot of work to wash them", but I bit my tongue and didn't hardly say a word to him and tried not to show my anger. Of course I really didn't mind Paul messing in his shorts but just wanted to get even with him. Maybe it's better that he didn't say anything nice about me because if he had I might have cum in my pants right there and then. As usual I cleaned up the kitchen alone while my brothers watched TV and goofed off in the den, but I didn't mind as I was becoming more and more like a wife and mother and "boys will be boys", as Mom would say. Every day I became more and more feminine. Day after day Mom taught me how to take care of a house. She taught me how to iron. "Always start at the longest part first, the sleeves and pants legs", she's say. And she taught me to cook. How long to leave chicken in the oven, how to use the microwave, how make casseroles, and so many other things, including how to plan for a week of meals and make up a grocery list. She taught me how to do the laundry, about bleaches, machine cycles, permapress, and detergents. I never imagined how much work she had to do to take care of us. And I felt bad that I hadn't helped her more in the past just like nobody was helping me now. I became even more determined to do everything I could to make Mom happy. And I knew by now what made her happy. One day a UPS driver delivered a big box to our house. By the way Mom looked at me, I knew it was mine. As usual we all gathered around to see what was in it. "Now you boys, OUT of the house. It's too nice of a day to be inside", she said in a stern voice. Once they were gone, Mom opened up the box. It was full of packages. One package was of panties: white, black, red; lacy and plain; cotton and nylon. My eyes grew wider and wider as she pulled out each item to show me. "Aren't these just darling, my little sweetheart," she exclaimed. I just couldn't believe my eyes as she opened package after package: pantyhose, a slip, skirts, dresses, shoes, socks, blouses, a sweater, and even more stuff. "Geez," I said when I saw a bra come out of a package. "DaDaaaa," Mom called out as she held up a black bra by its straps for me to see. "Now, Sweetie, I know this isn't enough clothes for a teenage girl like you've become but it's a beginning." "Mom", I said "aren't we going too far with this? I'm a boy, in case you've forgotten." "Oh really?" Mom responded. "What real boy sets his hair and wears it in curls to his shoulder? What real boy wears makeup and finger nail polish? What real boy cooks, does housework, and laundry? What real boy smokes a cigarette in front of her brother with hopes that he's getting hard?" Mom's voice was much sterner than I could remember. "Anyway, you're not the only boy in the world that enjoys being a girl, I'll have you know". Then in a much softer, controlled tone she said, "If you want, just wash off the makeup, get my scissors, and I'll cut your hair. I can send the clothes back. And don't worry about the house. I'm sure I can get a housekeeper or a cleaning woman to come in and take care of it and the boys". I stood speechless for several minutes, tears welling up in my eyes. I reached out to take the bra from my mother's hand. "My little girlie boy," Mom said with a sniffle in her voice as she pulled me to her and gave me a big hug. "I love it", I cried as she hugged me to her chest. "I really, really love it". And I meant it. Obeying Mom, I brought all the clothes to my room and laid them out on my bed. Mom's first instruction was to take a hot bath and use a bottle of Nair stuff on my arms, chest, legs, and everywhere else. Girls, she told me, were to be soft and anyway my clothes wouldn't feel right against body hair. Mom was in my room when I entered it from taking my bath with a towel around my waist. "First these," she said handing me a pair of white lace trimmed panties. I turned around from her as I changed into them. My penis immediately stiffened at the soft feel of the nylon and I was so embarrassed because Mom saw it. "Now the pantyhose," she said. Sitting on the bed I slipped on the beige colored hose. Mom helped me: "No like this honey." Then a brown "pencil" skirt that ended about six inches above my knees. "And then the bra, the white one". Into each cup, a B cup, Mom placed a rubber breast form. "You'll need these until you fill out, dear," she said. I stuck my arms into the straps and Mom fastened the hooks in the back and adjusted them. Finally a form fitting, tan colored, button up blouse with a collar. The only item I was familiar with was a pair of brown, strappy, platform heels that I had seen my Mother wear before. I put them on and stood for the first time in heels. As I balanced we made our way to Mom's room where I looked at myself in her full length mirror. The transformation was unbelievable. I posed, turned, and brought my fingers to my face in teasing way. I bent the knee of my right leg and looked at the calf of my other leg. Mom saw what I was doing and moved me into all kinds of other poses. Mom walked and I followed behind her. "No, this way, walk like this. Heel, toe; heel; toe. Move your hips a little more, place one foot in front of the other. You're doing wonderfully well, my beautiful daughter". For an hour I practiced walking and posing; all the time Mom complimenting me and calling out directions: "Look at me, blow me a kiss, light a cigarette, run your fingers through your curls, pucker your lips, take a drag, shake your head" --- it was all like in the movies where photographers snap lots of pictures of models. Mom and I had so much fun together, sharing cigarettes, giggling and joking. She'd say "look sad" and I'd give her my sad look; "look pouty", "look happy", "look like you're in love." "Mama," I said "that's a hard one. You do that look. Look like you're in love." Looking at me she opened her eyes real wide, puckered her lips, and glanced up at the ceiling. With that we both burst out laughing. "Now you do it, look like you're in love," Mom said. I imitated her and she laughed, saying "I think I've seen that look before on your face and it wasn't pretend." Mom touched up my makeup and my hair just before dinner time. I was preparing dinner when I saw the boys, Chris and Logan through the window walking to the house. Geez, I thought, they make a lot of work for me, but at least they're not in the house, messing it up. I wondered what they'd think of me --- the way I looked and was dressed. They'd been out playing catch, walking in the prairie down the road from our house, catching tadpoles, and climbing trees. I remember when I'd go out with my friends and we'd all goofed around, which wasn't very often. They were so cute bouncing over the lawn to the house. The boys came in the house, all tired out and dirty and instinctively went to the kitchen to see what was for dinner. "Out, out", Mom shouted. "Go get washed up." "It was about six o'clock, dinner time and everyone had to be home for dinner, Mom insisted. Everyone but Paul. He had the car and was often with his friends. I especially wondered what my big brother would say, if anything, when he saw me. Pretty soon it would be time to eat and Paul wasn't home yet. Today of all days, the day Mom and I had set the dining room table and prepared an especially nice meal, with salad and ice- cream. I thought, he has all the time in the world to be with his friends and not a minute to be with his family. What a dumb brother, I had, I said to myself. With that I heard him enter the front door. "I'm hungry" he called out as usual. I sat next to Mom. Chris and Logan just stared at me and sat down. Paul glanced over at me and quickly turned his eyes away. "Boys," Mom said. "I want you to thank Willow for this lovely dinner." The boys looked at Mom kinda funny, she never called me "Willow." "Why is he dressed in girl's clothes?" Chris giggled. "Yeah, why?" added Logan, grinning from ear to ear. "Cause he's a sissy, a queer, a transvesss... something like that," Paul said mockingly. I wished I was dead. I could only lower my head and look down at the table. Tears filled my eyes and I sniffled to hold them back. "Boys, boys," Mom scolded. "Especially you, Paul. You're old enough to know better." "He is," continued Paul. "Look at him. He looks like a girl, acts like one, and talks like one. Pretty soon he'll be going out on dates with guys. Only queers do that. I bet it won't be long before he'll be doing other things that I won't mention at the table. Ah, shit," he said. "I'm not even hungry." After that outburst, Paul got up and left the table and went to his room. "Anyone else want to leave?" Mom asked looking at my brothers. Looking at each other, they said almost in unison, "Are you kidding? We're hungry." And with that they dug in to the plates of mashed potatoes, corn, and meatloaf. I just loved my little brothers. They were so accepting of me and we all talked real nice to each other at the table, Mom and me and Chris and Logan. Mom kept calling me Willow and by the end of dinner so were the boys. Still, I couldn't hide the hurt I felt over what Paul had said. After dinner and the cleanup, I put on my new lounging gown, as Mom called it and lay on the couch, alone in the family room, smoking cigarettes and watching a movie. It was late, about ten, and the boys were asleep. I heard Paul come downstairs and saw him walk pass and into the kitchen. I walked in to meet him as he was looking in the fridge. "I'll heat up some leftovers for you" I said as I exhaled the last drag from my smoke. He smiled and sat down. We didn't speak for the fifteen or so minutes that I took to prepare the meal using the microwave. "Milk, water, soda?" I asked as I placed the heaping plate of food in front of him. "God!" he exclaimed, "That's a lot of food. I'm not an elephant." "No, really?" I said. "You sure sounded like one earlier," I said in a joking way "Milk", he said. After placing a glass of cold milk in front of him, I smiled and sweetly said, "enjoy" and left to get ready for bed. "Thanks," Paul called as I pranced away. Half an hour later, Paul walked in on me through the open door of what had unofficially become "my" bathroom. I had removed my makeup, brushed my teeth, and was playing with my curls. With just cream colored panties and a matching sleeveless top on, I was embarrassed and turned my eyes away from his and looked into the large mirror over the vanity. I heard the door close and the sound of the door knob lock being pushed in. Standing behind me, he asked, "Can I touch your hair, Willow?" I stared at Paul in the mirror, shirtless in his jeans, a foot taller than me, muscular, a real good-looking guy. And then at myself, slender, blond hair below my shoulders with curls ready to be played with. Without makeup and a dress I was obviously a boy and not a girl, I thought. "Sure, I said," without looking at him. I felt his hand touch my right shoulder as his fingers touched my hair I leaned my head back and to the left side closing my eyes momentarily, savoring the luxurious sensations of my hair being lightly tugged on and played with. I felt his fingers twirl the curl and brush it up. My wet penis grew with each finger stroke until it stuck out of the side of my panties, dribbling precum on my leg. Reaching between my legs, I moved my penis into my panties. Then a light switch clicked and the bright lights above the mirror went off, leaving on only the dim ceiling light. It was so quiet that I was afraid Paul could hear my heart beating. With his strong hands I was afraid for a minute that he might put his hand down and penetrate me. I'm not sure why, but that's what I thought. I stared at my brother in the mirror, obviously a boy and not a girl, I thought. "You know, you're driving me crazy, Willow; crazy over the way you look." If my dry mouth wasn't so dry, I'd have told him he was doing the same to me. I heard his left hand on the counter, but kept my eyes closed. Paul's hands moved to my panties, on my butt, rubbing them, squeezing them, and pulling up on them so hard that I moved up on my toes. I could hear myself breathing harder and harder and periodically holding my breath and letting it out with a long sigh. His hands on my legs, sliding my panties down to my ankles but I was too weak or ignorant to step out of them; so he lifted each foot and removed them. By this time my erect penis rested on the edge of the counter. Paul gently rubbed his bare, erect penis up and down my ass crack. The sensation was exhilarating. He gently touched the head of my penis. "I'm cuming... cuming Paul," I moaned. "Don't you dare. Don't cum until I say so", he ordered. Instinctively I grabbed my penis as I ejaculated semen into my hand and on to the basin. "Ahhhh... "I sighed, supporting myself with one arm on the counter top. "I told you not to come, you fuckin bitch," Paul yelled at me. "You fuckin..." Paul went on and on, berating me. I was shocked and speechless. Throwing me away from him, he stormed out. I was stunned. I quickly cleaned everything up and went to bed. All night I thought about Paul and what I seemed to be doing to him. I was driving my big brother crazy. He was always so cool but now... I didn't know what to think. Maybe I should have felt bad about some things but everyone said I looked pretty and everyone likes pretty things; and I enjoyed my new life and I wasn't hurting anyone. Paul was friendly enough the following days and I knew he watched me whenever we were in the same room. Our encounter in the bathroom made me want to avoid letting him get too close to me. I had seen his mean streak and didn't want to provoke him again. The days passed quickly and "fall was in the air," as Mom would say. When I got up, it was still dark outside. I got dressed, and "made myself decent." But barely decent, I thought, as I put on my usual, jean shorts and a white tank top. I didn't have to do anything with my hair. Nearly every night I gathered it at the nape and twisted it up in to a bun, using lots of bobby pins to keep it in place; it is was the one hair style I was able to do. I just can't sleep with my hair wrapping about my face and into my mouth. As usual I was really rushed: the house needed straightening up and the younger boys needed to be awakened and helped to get off to school, and there were lots of other things to do. Finally the boys were off to meet the school bus and the house was quiet. I wasn't going to school this fall. Mom told the school that I left to live with my father and gave them an old address of his. My brothers were told and retold to tell people that I was living with my father in California. And I didn't mind not going to school because I had lots to learn at home and I had so much to do around the house that I knew I'd never have time to do any homework and would probably miss too many days to be promoted. I was in the family room smoking a cigarette when Paul bounced down the stairs about 9. He had started community college, but I didn't know his schedule. "Hi, Willow." Then he moved real close to me as his body moved mine to the wall. I was standing with my back to him, hands spread high on the wall. My right holding out a cigarette and the left flat as if I were about to be arrested. This made me nervous; I hated to be controlled this way. "Nice look," he said with a smirk on his face. "How about if I wore my outfit? The skin tight one?" I whispered nervously. "Would you like that? And I'll wear my lacy bra for you... the pink one with a bow in front... and my new silk top... the polka dotted one, if you like? And I'll wear makeup and wear my hair up, if you want?" Paul just winced and wrinkled up his face. "Naaa," he said as he turned and walked away. He behaved just as I expected. I felt really alone once he left the house and felt really confused. Mom always said that women were a lot stronger than men and could make sense of things more than most men. But really I didn't feel a lot stronger than anyone. Sometimes I felt like everyone was making me do things they wanted me to do but other times I felt like I was making them do what they maybe didn't want to do. One morning Mom and I were together when she spoke to Paul as he was entering the kitchen. "Paul, dear, Willow hasn't been out of the house in months. Can't you take her out this Friday? She has several cute outfits that she hasn't had any occasion to wear." I was stunned by her request. "Are you kidding? Paul asked. "Like I'm going to be seen with my brother dressed like a girl?" "Ok," Mom said. "Wait here a minute and see if you like this look." Mom led me to her bathroom where she applied just a hint of eye shadow, mascara and eyeliner, a wisp of blush, and a trace of pale lipstick. Then she combed my hair back real tight into a high ponytail which she ran the already hot curling iron through to make a perfect wad of ringlet curls. Then Mom said to do something I thought was weird. She said to "go get into the tightest, lowest pair of jeans you have and your new pink cotton blouse. That was weird because I hadn't worn my jeans in weeks and Mom was always saying that I should be in feminine clothing and jeans weren't feminine. The kicker was my pink blouse. It was a mid-drift cut and showed lots of belly. I looked more girly than ever, but I did as she said. When Paul saw me, I knew he liked my appearance -- but I don't know why because I looked more like a girl now than ever. I looked cute. Part of me wanted to go out with Paul but part of me was afraid. Mom again asked Paul if he'd take me out tomorrow. "Where would we go?" Paul asked. God, I thought, what am I in for now. Mom suggested we go to the county fair in Monterey. Even though this was about a half hour drive each way, Paul agreed. That Friday I dressed the same way I did the day before. Mom looked me over and said I looked like a cutie pie. A second later she halted and unbuckled my jeans before I could say a word. "I see you're wearing your plain panties. Better go change into your thong." "Mom", I protested, I don't know if that's appropriate?" But Mom was very firm when she said go and change, so I did. Paul's eyes lit up when he saw me but he pretended that he was doing me and Mom a big favor by taking me out. "Isn't your little brother just darling?" Mom proclaimed not only to Paul but to my other brothers who had come to see the sendoff. Paul didn't say a word but I could tell by his smile that he was pleased. I made it clear to everyone that I was nervous about going out in public dressed so girlish. I was sure everyone would see that I was a boy trying to look like a girl but Mom and Paul and even the boys said I could pass very well as a girl. That kinda convinced me, the boys saying that I looked like a girl. Especially when Chris said that I was prettier than almost any girl in his school. I think seeing me doing girl things and talking to them like Mom would helped them see me as a female. In just a few months they were completely accepting of me as their new Mommy. All the way to the carnival Paul talked real nice to me and asked me how I liked dressing like a girl and how I did my hair and my makeup and lots and lots of things. Finally I asked Paul if he minded if I had a cigarette. He said he didn't care so I lit a cigarette. "You look real pretty tonight," he said. "Thank you," I replied nervously. "And you look very handsome." Then he put his arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him as close as possible. At first I thought this was strange 'cause I thought the smoke was annoying him. The road was straight and clear and he drove with one hand, the other holding me close to him. I would coyly take puffs of my cigarette as I could see Paul watching me in the rear view mirror. Eventually his hand slid to my neck as he messaged the area where my hair met my bare shin. "Play with my curls Pauliewog" I whispered. With each stroke of his fingers on my hair, my thing got harder and harder. I couldn't help it but it did. "You're getting me really hot" he said. "Me! Me!" I exclaimed. "I'm getting you hot"! You're getting me hot. Better stop. You know what happened last time." I said, moving closer to my door, away from him. With that, his fingers grabbed for me, caught me by the neck, and pulled me to him. He was so strong that he slid me over to him like a rag doll. "Suck me, girlie boy," he demanded as he pushed my face towards his lap. "I know you want to, don't you girlie boy?" "Stop calling me that," I shouted. "Don't call me that!" "That's what you are, a sissy and girlie boy's love to have sex with men and eat their love juice", as he called it. That made me mad and I told him I was a girl and maybe girls suck dick but not boys. I said if I was a girl, I'd suck him but if I was a boy I wouldn't so what did he want me to be? "Tell me, Pauliewog," I demanded. "If I can be a girl, all girl, then I'll do everything that a girl and guy do together but if I can't be a girl, I'm not going to suck you. At that point Paul got really quiet. He turned to me and almost silently mouthed "You're a girl"... "All girl?" I snapped back. "That's the problem Willow. I love that you look like a girl but what I'm after is a girl with a little something extra". I yanked the still smoldering cigarette to my lips as my cheeks hollow and the cherry glows bright. Shaking my head, knowing that my curls are bouncing I exhale away from Paul's face as sexy as I can. "Are you saying that as long as I admit I have a penis you'll accept me as a girl?" Small wisps of smoke leave my mouth as I talk. Paul just nods his head up and down without saying a word. In one natural movement my left hand slides up to Paul's now swelling cock. I take another drag and roll my eyes up to the right corner hoping that my perfect eyeliner has Paul's attention. Unknowingly scratching Paul's member I grin as I realize that Paul's attention has nothing to do with me smoking. A slight swerve brings Paul back to reality. "Sucking you off will make me hard as a rock. Is that what you want Pauliewog?" Again he shakes his head. I know what to do as these are the unspeakable dreams I've been having. I snap the button of his pants and barely have to flick the zipper for it to open. His large member straining against the same pair of underwear that he had soiled days earlier. Barely having to tug on his shorts, his penis pops out and I am greeted with what I have hoped to see for a while now. It's beautiful but larger than I had expected. I'm more than happy to take it in my mouth but fear the day it enters me in other areas. I hold it at the base with my right hand and gently squeeze. This thrills me. On hands and knees I arch forward to take my big brothers cock inside of my mouth. I slide my lips over the head until they reach the edge of the helmet. I hear the engine rev and know I have Paul right where I want him. I'm in full control when I hear the motor revving higher. I was afraid we'd get killed and then I got worried about being found by the paramedics with my hair curled with ringlets in a ponytail and makeup on. My brothers severed penis still inside of my mouth. I wondered if they'd laugh at me as they rushed me to the hospital in the ambulance. As we sped down the highway, I became more worried about how the newspapers would write up the story than Paul's euphoria or the prospect of getting killed. I could read the story in my mind. "Last Friday a 14 year old Prunedale girly-boy was killed in a head on car accident. William Vierra was dressed in a curled ponytail and wearing girl's makeup when he died. No explanation was given by the family as to why he was dressed this way. Friends described him as quiet but shy. His older brother survived severely injured." The more I thought about it the more I began to pray that if we were in an accident, I'd be killed instead of hurt, no we'd be killed. I started to ease up and the RPM's immediately dropped. Good I thought and concentrated on the head of my boyfriend's penis. I knew there'd be other times and exploration would come another day. I bobbed up and down with the fantasy of my curls bouncing like a dropped box of springs. Paul moaned as his right hands grip became a little harder. I knew he was close and I wanted to taste what my brother tasted like fresh. His thing began to swell and it felt like the temperature went up as he started to convulse. It felt like he was trying to hold me down but there was nothing more I wanted than to taste his load. My mouth filled with the warm goo as I lingered near the eye. He was finished and I wrung my right hand up the length of his shaft as if it were an emptied tooth paste container. I wanted every last drop and that's what I would get. I swallowed a large gulp of my brother's load. I smiled and he exhaled a large breathe of air. "Did you like that?" I asked. "Loved it." he said smiling. I bounced up and kinda rearranged his underwear. "Your gonna have to get that. Sorry". He understood and repositioned himself to get the job done. I immediately reached for my pack of smokes. Lighting one in a hurry Paul said "You have no idea how sexy you are when you smoke Little Girl." "Little Girl?" I said back through a smokey smile. "Yeah. I can't call you little sister after that, so isn't it little girl?" "I don't know how to take that? I was hoping I looked older than 14?" I could tell he felt bad and wasn't sure if he was backpedaling or if he was being sincere. "No, No. You misunderstood me. You look like you're my age. I just didn't know what else to call you." "How about your girlfriend? But to be honest with you, now that I've heard your explanation, I'm okay with your little girl." He smiled and I knew that made him happy. I finished my cigarette while being cradled by Paul's right arm as we pulled up to the fair. I had great time at the fair and know Paul did too. At one point Paul "introduced" me as his new girlfriend to a couple of his best friends. These are guys that know me as Will but Paul introduced me as Macy. I like it. My brother, my new boyfriend just named me. I understood why. If I were introduced as Willow, clues may be put together. Besides, Macy had a nice ring to it, a pet name. Just like being his "little girl". We walked through the fair hand in hand, snuggling at times. At one point, I saw some of the girls Paul's age watching us. I happened to be smoking and I know their leer wasn't because of that. Who's the new girl hanging on Paul? The trip home was uneventful for the most part. I sat close to Paul as he massaged my neck and played with my curls while I smoked. At one point Paul pulled over. He explained that he wouldn't be able to give me a good night kiss in front of the house and wanted to do it there. Of course I let him. It was a long, deep, passionate kiss and I enjoyed every minute of it. We walked in and it was fairly late but nothing out of the ordinary. Mom was lying on the couch and both Paul and I were in good spirits. "Wait right there young man, Mom called." Paul walked a few steps when we heard "Paul Timothy, don't walk away from your mother." I felt so bad --- for Paul. I'm assuming he's about to get chewed out for what my Mom might think was a bad night for me. His previous attitude has led to this but he doesn't deserve what he's about to get. "Why were you two out so late?" Mom barked. Paul just stood and stared. I jumped in. "Mom! It's not that late. Besides, we make grown up decisions around here all the time. I had a great time tonight and it was mostly because of the way Paul acted around me." I stopped and waited for the wrath to be brought down upon me. "I'm sorry" Mom blurted. "I assumed the worst." Paul turned and stomped off towards his room. Tears fell down my face as I thought of how I'd made everyone unhappy and that it was all my fault that Mom and Paul were arguing. Mom called me to her side of the couch. "Come to your mother, my baby girl," she cooed as we sat on the living room couch. "Now tell Mommy all about what happened." "Nothing really. It was the fair. We walked around, played the games and went on a few rides. It was fun." I said. "Did Paul try anything?" Mom asked. I hesitated. "Like what? What would he try?" "I can't say." "Mom!" I said motioning to her to hand me her cigarette. She had me pinned in a corner and this time I knew what was coming. "Let me tell you what happened to me when I was about your age, no I was younger; no, younger, I think. My brother, Uncle Mark, I think he was about 19 at the time, had his bedroom next to mine so he had to go through my bedroom to go to the bathroom or go downstairs. One morning he was passing through my room and this thing shot out of his pajamas. I was lying in bed when this happened and saw this big stick, which is what it looked like, between his legs and he knew I saw it. I had to rub my eyes to be sure of what I was seeing. He turned towards me and with its muscles he moved it up and down. It was so big and firm and it waved and waved at me. When I saw it, it looked funny so I waved to it with my fingers. Nearly every morning Uncle Fred would do that, come out of his room, and take out is penis and move it up and down in front of me. It was so comical that I had to giggle. One morning he moved to my bedside and asked me if I wanted to kiss his little man, that's what he called it, and I did. Holding it in his hand, I gave it lots of big kisses. Then one day he said to suck his little man, those were his words exactly, "suck my little man." And I did, but not at first. At first I sat up in bed and just stuck out my tongue and licked the precum off, that's what the wetness is called when it first gets hard. And Uncle Mark would move his penis around my face, smearing my eyes and nose with his wetness. I had to laugh 'cause it tickled. I did that for a long time; for many days; I just licked and licked his penis. I liked the taste of it and I like to see it get bigger and bigger as I licked it. Then one day I remember I sat on the edge of my bed, closed my eyes and put his little man in my mouth; and sucked and sucked until he shot a huge load of water, which is what I thought it was at the time, in my mouth. I was startled. I didn't know that it would happen. But I knew Uncle Mark was enjoying himself. At first I wasn't very good at it and had to pull my mouth off his penis in order to swallow but eventually I was able to take all he shot into my mouth. From then on I satisfied Uncle Mark many, many times; it seems almost daily, in fact. "Did you really enjoy sucking Uncle Mark's penis? And did you swallow his stuff?" I asked her. "Yes, I did. There's nothing like the sensation of a penis growing larger and firmer in your mouth, so fat that you can barely get it in your mouth, and the sudden spurting of hot semen against the back of your throat! Remember, Sweetie, if you want to be a girl you'll have to learn to satisfy your man wherever and whenever he wants. You're the woman of the house now and it's your job to take care of the sexual needs of the man of the house." I wasn't about to tell my Mother what happened earlier in the night. Even though she was confiding in me now, it wasn't the right time. I held it in as I passed her cigarette back to her. "What if I wanted to do these things to my big brother? Is it like you and Uncle Mark?" Mom stayed quiet and just looked at me. She got me so excited telling me the story of Uncle Mark that I almost went to Paul's room but I didn't. I was determined to be the person I wanted to be and was unsure who would understand me at this point. For the next week or so neither Mom nor Paul said much to me. Paul was always out anyway and Mom was in bed a lot that week so I didn't get to talk to her very much. And I had more time to think with everyone out of the house most of the day. I thought and thought: What did everyone want of me, who did they want me to be? I even had bad dreams. One time I dreamt that I was being cooked in a big pot and everyone was having me for dinner, yea everyone, Mom, Paul, and my other brothers. The funny thing was that I was there too, eating myself. Boy!! I thought. What a silly dream. Another dream was of me having sex with everyone, Mom and Paul and my brothers. Geez, did I wake up with a hard-on. One night I found myself awake about 2 in the morning and the pieces began to fall in place. Paul wanted to be with me but didn't want to admit to our Mom and brothers that he wanted me to look like a girl and have the benefits of a boy. That was pretty clear to me now. My brothers, they sort of ignored me, even took advantage of me; I was just their sister who was the housekeeper, it seems. Mom, now she was a big question. I began to doubt her story about Uncle Mark; it sounded all too convenient, her telling me it when she did. Whatever her problem was, I was pretty sure it had to do with my father and not me. She said she wanted a daughter but I wasn't sure. Now what should I be: a maid, a daughter, a wife, a Mother or a girly boy? Ah shit!! I didn't want to be any of those things. I knew I could go back as a boy; but did I want to? I wasn't sure. Or I could go further as a girl; but could I? I thought about that until my head ached. For a long time I just moped around the house. "Honey, why don't you try setting your hair? It's looking really limp, you know." I knew she was right. All I can say is that I tried. I remembered all Mom told me, at least I think so, but I just couldn't roll my hair very well. It had been weeks, months, since Mom first set my hair and I was surprised at how long it had grown. Sure the top was fairly easy, but how was a guy, a girl, to see in back of her head? With aching arms I put the last roller in place. Looking into a hand mirror I could see that it was a wreck: loose hair, dangling rollers, and twisted rows. Just walking to Mom's side, caused two rollers to fall out. Mom laughed and called me "droopy curls". "Come here, Droopy Curls," she said and started to re-roll and re-pin some rollers. "Don't try to roll so wide a strand of hair and use your fingers to wind the hair tight on the roller," she admonished me. On and on she went. I must not have done anything right 'cause I think she had to re-do every roller. But I didn't mind because I really enjoyed having my hair fixed by someone else; in fact, I love the touch of fingers in my hair. This beauty treatment really picked up my spirits and helped me remember that being a girl could be a lot of fun. Finally she slide a hairnet on. "This will hold everything together," she said. For some reason, I felt more girl like in rollers than at any other time. Sure it was uncomfortable; painful the way Mom rolled them so tight. But the feelings were a constant reminder of who I was; I mean, I felt like a girl in hair rollers and I knew how pretty I looked with my hair combed out. Mom combed it out just before the boys got home from school and exclaimed that I looked lovely. As I headed to the mirror, my hair bounced off my shoulders and back. I swished and swished my head in order to feel strands of hair glide off my face. Geez, I did look cute with billows of blonde hair peaking over my shoulder. Just before the boys got home from school, I felt that I wanted to dress up. So without telling Mom, I put on the clothes she'd bought me months ago but had never worn. I put on my padded bra, the pink one with elastic on all the edges and the lace betw