Screwed Teen In A Wild Counseling Session
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The Counseling Session free porn video
Jack and I had a wonderful ride home. I'm sorry to say that I couldn't
help but lean over a few times and suck on him. I don't know what it is
about the penis that makes it so lickable. Homo, homo, homo. I couldn't
get that out of my mind as I brought him to orgasm a couple of times. Am I
the only one ever who wanted to sit on a guy sexually while he was
driving? Kind of like jumping up and down like a little girl on her
boyfriend's engorged member. Sicko, sicko, sicko, but I wanted to do it
anyway. And the oddest thing is looking at my fingernails, all pretty and
red as they moved up and down on him. What on earth was wrong with me?
It's time for counseling. Mother had mentioned something yesterday about
an appointment. I'd have to talk to her when I got home. Jack really did
seem happy, though. I think Mother and Mrs. Johnson were right about him
breaking out of his shell, so to speak. It's funny, but here everyone
thought he was homosexual, and it's turning out that it's me. But in my
mind, I was a girl. I was doing what girls do to their guys. So here I
was, fighting in my head about whether I was gay or not. If I'm dressed
like a girl, and having sex with a guy, am I homosexual. If I'm dressed
like a girl and having sex with a girl, am I a lesbian? And who does a
girl talk to about blowjobs, anyway. I started giggling and Jack asked me
what was so funny. I told him I was thinking about the concert last night,
but didn't go into details.
The drive went much faster when there was some sexual activity going on.
We stopped at the rest stop to clean ourselves up a bit before driving
into town. Mother was hanging clothes on the line when we drove up, so she
saw me lean over and kiss Jack. I grabbed my bag and he drove off. That
was it. The third date, ended with a nice little kiss. I walked over to
Mother to help with the laundry. You know she was going to ask about the
date. I waited for her to ask.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"How was the concert?"
"Okay"
"That's it, okay?"
"Yeah, it was okay."
"Okay, out with it, young lady. What happened? I want to know all the
details."
"Mother! We went to a concert. We stayed in a nice hotel. We drove home."
"It seems to me like you're leaving out a few details, dear."
"We slept in the same room, double beds, nothing happened. I wore my
flannel nightgown."
"You didn't take the flannel nightgown, dear."
"Mother, you mentioned an appointment. When is it going to be, and who
will I be seeing?"
"Did you think you needed to see someone, dear? Are you having medical
problems I don't know about?"
"No, it's nothing like that, Mother. I was hoping that you'd made an
appointment with a psychologist or psychiatrist or something like that."
Here comes another of Mothers little deceptions. It turns out Mother has
been seeing a counselor for a long time. I didn't know this about Mother.
Apparently she and Father were having some marital problems years before
and she was upset because after I was born, she'd have no more babies.
She'd really wanted a daughter. She'd been going to a counselor on and off
ever since. When this thing with me came up, she'd gone back to Miss
Davis. And older widowed psychologist who'd been friends with Mother since
grade school.
"So, have I ever told you about my friend, 'Miss Davis?'" she asked.
"Nope"
"Well, she's a psychologist and I thought that maybe you two might get
together for a little chat."
Mother proceeded to tell me about her friend and the problems she was
having after I was born. I'm not sure why she'd kept that in all these
years and never told me. I don't think she would have had I been dressed
as a son. I'm glad I picked the skirt I was wearing today. She told me
that she'd not been able to have more children, and how she'd wanted a
daughter. She made it clear that she was extremely happy with her boys,
but there was just something missing. She started apologizing and telling
me it was all her fault that I'd become a sissy. I was kind of thinking it
was probably Miss Davis' fault, but I didn't say anything.
"So, does Miss Davis know about me?"
"Of course, dear. You've been the topic of conversation for a few months
now."
"And is she encouraging you to encourage me on this little dress-up game?"
"Game? Is that how you see this? Is this a game to you?" Mother seemed to
become a little angry. "You don't think I've tossed and turned all night
worrying about you. And this relationship with Jack. I'm not sure who's
going to be hurt in this relationship but it has catastrophe written all
over it. I know you're not gay, and I don't think he is either. I don't
know why I let Mrs. Johnson let me talk you into it. But if nothing
happened, then, okay. But don't I feel foolish, trying to get you two to
be a couple." She hugged me and I walked into the house.
Some of the boys were sitting at the table and they watched as I walked
by. One of them gave me a whistle, so I wiggled my bum a little more. I
didn't say anything but went straight to my room, lay on my bed and
quietly cried.
My appointment with Miss Davis was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon after
school. School on Monday and Tuesday were pretty much regular, though Jack
was kind of touchy. I pulled away from him without trying to hurt his
feelings. I think both of us were going to be hurt in this relationship
thingy. My girlfriends of course all asked about the concert and my first
over-nighter with a guy. This time I stayed away from the sex stories but
did tell them that he was a perfect gentleman. When I think about it, it
was me that initiated all the sex that weekend. Oh slut that I am. I was
beginning to look forward to the counseling session.
Mother came in with me to introduce me to Miss Davis, but then left the
office. My appointment was to last one hour so Mother went to get
something to eat. This is how it went.
"Well?"
"Well, what?
"Are you going to start, or do you want me to ask you questions."
"Mother told me that you know all about this mess I'm in. So I think it
best that you ask the questions, since I'm kind of blaming you for all
this cross dressing mess I'm in."
"I don't understand. You're blaming me that you want to be a girl?"
"I don't want to be a girl. Did Mother tell you that?"
"She told me that you seem to be a hundred percent happier now that you're
pretending to be her daughter."
"It wasn't my idea. Mother asked Father for some additional help around
the house, and since I was the youngest and not as helpful as a farmhand,
I was selected to do the 'women's work.'"
"So how am I involved? What makes you think I'm responsible for your
mother selecting you to help with the 'women's work'?"
"She told me you knew that she was unable to have any more children, and
that she wanted a daughter, and I just put two and two together."
"Do you think it would be wise for a psychologist to suggest that a Mother
force her son to dress as a girl, so she can have the daughter she always
wanted?"
"I didn't think about it that way, but did you?"
"I certainly did not. Let me tell you what I think. I think that you
wanted a closer relationship with your mother so you didn't mind helping
around the house. You liked the attention but were a little uncomfortable
wearing a woman's apron. You liked it when your mother put the hair bow on
you to keep the hair out of your eyes. You liked the attention the girls
were giving you at church. Was that your first kiss? Your mother thought
it was funny, seeing you in lipstick. But she didn't encourage you. It was
you who let this whole cross dressing thing flow towards its current
condition. How was your date?"
She knew everything. I never knew Mother was seeing a counselor. She must
have been going while I was in school. I sat there in her office, trying
to think how I should respond to her question. Did I want to tell her
about our sexual encounter? Did I want to tell her how much I wanted to be
Jack's girl for the weekend? I asked her how much information she wanted.
"I don't know how to respond. If you tell Mother what I tell you ..."
"I can't do that. I won't do that. There is this thing called 'Doctor /
Patient' confidentiality which basically says that what you say here stays
here. What you tell your mother is your business. What I tell her is my
business, and I won't discuss other patients with her, just like I won't
talk to you about what she and I talk about. Do you understand?"
"Yes"
"So, how was your date? It was the third, right?"
"Yes, he took me to a concert in Chicago, an overnight trip. We had to
sleep in the same room."
"And did anything happen? Did he treat you respectfully?"
"Jack was a real gentleman. He didn't do anything that I didn't want him
to do. It was nice."
"Did you sleep together?"
"Yes"
"And"
"I don't want to talk about it. This isn't fair. I don't know what to do
here. I'm not a girl. I'm not gay. But I feel like Mother and Mrs. Johnson
forced me into this relationship and I don't know how to handle it. Who
teaches a girl how to give a blowjob?" OMG! Why did that come out of my
mouth?
"So, you did have some kind of sexual encounter with Jack. Did you like
it?"
"Yes"
"And"
"And what? I'm a homosexual, aren't I? Is there a pill or something? I
should just go and kill myself now. I can't live this down. Everyone calls
Jack a homosexual behind his back, and I'm the one giving him sexual
pleasure. What a mess."
"Are you serious about killing yourself? Did you really mean that?"
"No. I just don't want to disappoint my parents. I know my father wouldn't
like it if I were gay."
"Who told you it was your responsibility to make your parents happy? So
far you've told me you let your mother dress you up because you want to
make her happy, and you just said you'd disappoint your father if he
thought you were gay. Do you think that there happiness is all based
around your being a boy or a girl?"
Dr. Davis is one smart cookie, let me tell you. She got me to thinking. Is
it my responsibility to make my parents happy? It's not my fault that
Mother couldn't have any more children after me. They could have adopted
if they wanted a daughter. Was I putting the blame of no daughter upon
myself. And what would have made me think of that in the first place. They
asked me to help around the house. I didn't suggest it. Maybe something in
my mannerisms made Mother think of me as more of a daughter. I mean, I'm
not as strong and as big as my brothers, so maybe something inside me is a
little more feminine. I couldn't really put my finger on it.
"I'd like you to think about something else as well, Jamie. May I call you
Jamie? You're dressed that way, so I'm making an assumption. When you shop
with your mother, does she pick out the clothes, or do you. When you
picked out the dress to wear for your date with Jack, did you pick out the
lingerie, or did your mother? I know she helped you with the black dress,
but you didn't argue with her about the undies, did you?"
I told her about the lingerie I'd selected. I used terms like 'cute,' and
'adorable.' I told her about the little hat I wore with the purple gingham
dress, and how the rhumba panties made my bum look a little bigger. I told
her how the long-line bra made me look like I had more of a waist. I told
her I'd selected lingerie that made me look younger so that maybe it'd
make Jack think of me as a little girl so he wouldn't move so fast on me
like if I were wearing the black lingerie, he'd really want to have sex
with me. Hmmm. Maybe she was right. She stood up, walked to her bookshelf
and pulled out a pink girl's journal. The kind with a little lock on it.
"This is for you. It's a journal. Have you ever kept a journal before?"
I shook my head, "No."
"You now have an assignment. You are to write in your journal, every night
for a week. You'll be reading your journal entries to me, and I don't want
you to write anything that you'd be uncomfortable reading to me. If you
don't want me to hear you reading profanity, then don't write profanity.
If you don't want me to hear you reading about your sexual thoughts, then
don't write your sexual thoughts. Do you understand your assignment?"
"How long are the journal entries to be?"
"One page minimum, but as long as you'd like over one page."
Our session was just about ended. Mother arrived and I shook Dr. Davis'
hand and we left. If you've ever been to a transgender counseling session,
then you've probably been given that assignment. The journal writing can
be very therapeutic. Just going to a counseling session can be very
productive. I went in there ready to blame Miss Davis for everything and
left thinking of her as Dr. Davis making me think about the decisions I
made about dressing as a girl and helping Mother around the house. The
clothing I selected for my dates with Jack were my selections. I mean,
Mother helped, but I picked those rhumba panties and the petti-pants. I'm
the one that initiated the sex with Jack.
When we got home, I did the same thing I'd done before. I went straight to
my bedroom and cried.
There was a message on my answer machine. Jack was inviting me out again.
I didn't want to talk to him, but I didn't want to seem rude so I called
and declined on the date. I told him I needed some time. I hoped he
understood. I felt like such a slut. I felt like I was tricked into an
overnight trip with him and didn't know how I wanted to proceed. This
homosexual thing was like a punch in the gut. I looked around my room and
became even more depressed. It was all pink and girlish. I've kept telling
myself that I'm not a girl, yet here I was, wearing a skirt and blouse,
crying on my bed in a room totally decorated like any girl my age would
have decorated. And I like the color. I real boy would never dream of
living in a girl's room. I liked the pink waste basket, and the pink
stapler. What on earth was I crying about? No clue. I was feeling kind of
dirty now. What had I done? I encouraged Jack in a relationship that I
wasn't interested in pursuing. I did that for my own sexual pleasure. And
now, a real psychologist, who knows what she's talking about has given me
assignments to explore this life I've gotten myself into. I can't blame
Mother for forcing me into it. I can't blame Mrs. Davis or Mother for
tricking me into the date when I know that down deep inside, I wanted to
go.
So here I am, dear reader, writing in my journal at a major turning point,
writing to you, to Dr. Davis, to the world, asking for advice. Not that
I'd expect it because you can't possibly know the answers. Nobody knows
the answers. I don't think there are any answers. I can just accept the
fact that I'm a girl, trapped in a guy's body and that I should pursue the
obvious. It's sad in a way, because James will just fade away, and Jamie
will blossom. One of us has to leave. I can't live in two different modes
all the time. I can't keep fighting about not being gay. I wouldn't have
to do that if I were a woman. If I just started taking pills and change my
sex, then I could marry Jack and everything would be normal. Mrs. Johnson
would be happy, I'm sure. And I know Jack would like that. But there's
this guy, James, you see. He's just standing here looking at me. Really
sad, really, because he's feeling 'not important,' 'not wanted,' not even
by his own mother. She wanted a daughter, you see. Poor boy. He's crying
now, you know that, don't you. He's got to go away. He doesn't know where
to go. He's afraid and he's frightened. Poor boy. I wonder where will he
go? Don't you? I'll have Jack. Who will he have?
Blaze
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