Feelings Part 1 free porn video

Feelings By Georgina Chapter 1 Beginnings. What is it that drives some of us to the opposite gender in such varied ways. In one case it is love, in another it is lust, in others it is respect, desire, even a wish to emulate them. At the other end of the scale there are those who are driven to relationships within their own gender. There are even some who straddle the boundary between heterosexuality and homosexuality, taking and giving from, and to, both. Trick cyclists, (sorry, psychiatrists.) try, with their convoluted mumbo- jumbo to analyse the process of sexuality, but frankly, my opinion is that you cannot. What we are belongs purely to the person themselves. The less we try to rip it apart and categorise it the better. Once we accept that we are what we are the happier we all shall be. We will have got rid of the angst and be content with ourselves. Accept it and live with it. My own story is a case in point. I was born in 1937, just before the war, to an aristocratic European family. My father was an official at the embassy in London at the time of the war breaking out, in fact I was born at the Royal Free Hospital, then situated near King's Cross. Technically, and then in practise, I was of dual nationality as I was born outside of the embassy itself. My father, who was with the military department, was released to lay the foundations for other countrymen, and escaped soldiers, from France and Rumania to form independent units of our army. My father then took command of a battalion of 25 pounder field guns, we called them battalions, not regiments as in The British Army, and took them to North Africa. He was killed by a shell that landed on his battalion headquarters at the first siege of Tobruk. So we, my mother and I were alone, in a strange country and with limited, at the time, finances. She had to find work, and did so, becoming a corsetiere for a bespoke firm called Spencer of Banbury. My mother was young when she married my father, barely seventeen, who was fifteen years older than her. She was the only child of a French aristocrat and because of the war, was unable to get in contact with her parents who were then in occupied France. We were lucky in one way. When father had taken us up to Scotland he had bought a small, but very nice cottage near Perth which we rented out during the war to various military families who required married accommodation. The money helped us enormously as it meant we could pay for a small two bed roomed flat in Stockwell, South London where mother had her work with the embassy, plus her sideline as a corsetiere. Being tri-lingual, French, Polish and English she was always in demand for translation purposes, the corset fitting was a sideline and more, I later found out. Mother was a beautiful woman, slim, elegant and very warm and loving. She bitterly wept for her dead husband, and the sobs echoed through the flat for years. Even to her death she mourned daddy, as I did, even though my memories were dim. All I remember was this tall, slim, laughing officer in his uniform and funny, peaked hat with corners around the brim and a big silver eagle at the front who, whenever he saw me picked me up and threw me in the air. Who always listened to my excited chatter, never hit me or chastised me and whom I worshiped. Then, he was gone, his body never found. Life went on but, at the age of about six or seven, I realised that though I was a boy, I was in some way, different. I was small for my age, painfully thin and with soft, pretty some people said, features and, though I did play sports I was only good at tennis and running. I was extremely good at school, especially history and languages. I was quiet and withdrawn, having few real friends and those of a similar nature to me. I was, as one of my more execrable acquaintances said, a self satisfied, prize prig. He was, of course, right. But my mother, and my friends, found me acceptable. But where was I different. I liked girls, as friends as well as companions, and they seemed to sense something in me that they could not sense in boys. There were no sexual thoughts at that age, but I liked playing with them, I liked how they looked and sometimes, especially if they dressed up for church or a tea party, I was envious of their garments and wished I could look like them. I don't know why, but I just felt the need to do so. Then, when the war ended, we were unable to back to Poland, where my father came from as the Bolsheviks had taken over the country. In fact my father's estate was now in what is the Ukraine and so lost for ever. The manor house was razed to the ground and the estate south of Ternopil, in the Carpathian mountains, was split up amongst the tenants of the estate. So it is to this day. My mother tried to get in contact with her parents in France and found that they had both died in the war, my grandfather in battle against the Germans, and my grandmother died of typhus in Dachau. The chateau, a very small one by the way, had been bombed into a crater by allied forces during the invasion of Southern France because it was being used by a German Regimental HQ and so had to be destroyed as it was in the way of the advance. The estate though was in good order, the small vineyards producing a quite good regional wine, the olive trees a passable oil, enough income to give us a very good living. There was also a very nice pied-a-terre in Paris, a pretty house on the outskirts so we were comfortably off. The chateau being beyond restoration mother decided to build a new, but traditional maison that would suit our needs in Provence, but we spent a lot of our time in Paris. We had a very good manager to manage the estate, more on him and his daughter later. My mother carried on with her work for Spencer, opening a new Agence de Corseterie and so bringing them to France. She used to do work with clients at home as well. I was then ten years of age and found that the pull of wanting to wear such garments was becoming quite strong. I loved the texture of fine fabrics, especially satin and silk, they made me feel "funny" in a nice way and so one day, when looking through her sample bags, she had quite a few, I found a really nice item that made me flush in an unknown way. It was a piece called, I found out later, guiperre. Today it would be called a strapless basque. It was in lustrous black satin and lace and was boned with what looked like metal strips. It was a small size and, when I put it around my body, it was just slightly larger than me. It was such a grown up garment and I wondered what it felt like against my skin, so I crept back to my room and laid it on my bed. Mother was at the Agence, it being a Saturday, a work day and so I was on my own in the maison. I stripped completely naked and then wrapped the garment around me. It was a revelation. The cool and lustrous satin enveloped me, bringing goose bumps to my skin. I tried to do up the hooks and eyes at the back but found it too difficult but I solved that by bringing the whole garment round so I could then do them up from the front. It was then that I spotted that, unlike the made to measure garments, which only had one line of eyes, this one had three, half an inch apart, so I could tighten the lovely garment around my body. I did and it fit me very snugly indeed. When I turned the guiperre around again so that the cups were at the front it felt empty, not right. I touched the satin cups, pushing them against my chest the material touched my nipples and I felt a frisson of excitement as they hardened under my touch. They were quite puffy and as I slid my nails over the protuberance I felt a very pleasant sensation slide down my tummy and make me shiver. I still remember to this day that first, juvenile arousal. There were no suspenders attached to the guiperrre and so I was standing there with no stockings or anything else on but what I had put on. I turned to the mirror and I still remember gasping with amazement. I looked like a young tomboy trying on her mother's lingerie, and I did look quite pretty. There was one thing out of place. I still remember seeing mummy one day as she was undressing and noticing that where I had un pepe, as we called it, she had nothing, just a vertical slit, surrounded by a delicate, trimmed pelt of fine, not coarse, auburn hair. On asking why the difference, I was only eight at the time, mummy explained that this, and breasts were the difference between men and women. When I asked why, she then told me about how men and women made love and had babies. When I asked how, she just laughed and said that when I was older I would understand how. Now though a new anomaly had appeared, or should we say, raised its tiny head, and tiny it was. My pepe had become not larger, per se, but hard and quite rigid, and I had the sensation of wanting to pee, but couldn't and an exquisite feeling shot through my body. It was truly lovely and it left me breathless. As I ran my hand over it the sensations became even more intense till suddenly I felt myself shudder and shake. It was so overwhelming this sensation that I slid down onto the bed behind me. For long minutes I lay there, basking in the feelings till at last I calmed down. I was a little bit frightened at first but, when I had calmed down and nothing had happened to me, like dying or whatever, then I was smitten by this new found experience. I loved it and soon had many, many more till, one day, I had a burst of fluid come out of the end, but that was several years in the future. I carried on like this for several years, firmly believing I was alone in the world with my little games. I also believed that I was hiding it all from my mother, that she was unaware of my little games. My twelfth birthday came, and with it the onset of puberty. First of all my pepe started to grow and was always getting quite hard, sometimes in the most unlikely places, at any time. I had also started to graduate from corsetry to satin and silk lingerie. I was very taken by what I thought was the most feminine garment in the world, the full slip. Mother was the most inveterate collector and wearer of fine clothes and lingerie and usually, in the evenings at home always wore dishabille around the house when no one was expected. I also started to be sexually interested in girls. Like a lot of boys those sexual stirrings were orientated to the most important woman of their life, the mother. I was no exception and started to have sexual feelings towards her. Mother's clothes were still too big for me but I was able to acquire a nice little collection of lingerie through various means, some not quite honest, for example, stealing from washing lines. But a lot were from cast-offs I found in my mother's friends bins. I even managed to find a very elegant party dress that the owner had grown out of. This was the first dress I had ever owned. I managed, quite successfully, I thought, to hide it all in an old suitcase in the attic of our house. I also developed real titties and found them quite a delight. Mother took me to the doctor when she found out about them but he told us not to worry as it was a well known complaint and was caused by hormone imbalances during puberty and adolescence. This condition, called gynaecomastia usually disappeared in time though in about twelve percent of boys, it didn't, but it could be reduced with a bit of surgery. Secretly, due to my, by now, well established fetish, I hoped I would be one of that twelve percent. They were very sensitive to the touch and I found that, when dressed in lingerie, especially that guiperre, I not only filled the cups quite nicely, but I could make myself orgasm just by teasing the nipples. I hid them by wearing a close fitting vest and baggy jumpers and loose shirts, but not at home. Sometimes now, because I was so addicted to wearing lingerie, I started to wear a lovely pair of cami- knickers under my male clothes. These I had found when our next door neighbour moved out and she threw out a whole load of clothing for collection by the rubbish removers. I got there first. It was from her eighteen year old daughter and there were quite a few items that were my size, she was a tiny, and deliciously pretty, if not stunning young lady. There were a couple of slips and French knickers but the prize was a lovely, silk-satin pair of cami-knickers in sinful black. They were gorgeous and fitted me almost perfectly. I loved the feel of them on my body, they made me feel so girlish and I took great care of them. There were many times I wore them and gave myself countless orgasms but they became my downfall eventually. There were also two LBD's, little black dresses. One was in a plush velvet with a square neck, and a flowing skirt, cut so that the swell of my titties showed when I wore it with the guiperre underneath. This pushed my almost B cup breasts up to show a distinct cleavage. The other was a taffeta sheath and strapless. This dress was my favourite and I wore it with just the guiperre underneath, a satin half slip, French knickers and seamed black nylon stockings. I had also learned to walk in heels, having graduated to mother's shoes which were just a tad too large for me. My longish hair, well it was the start of the teddy boy era, I could tease into quite a feminine style. I loved the susurrations of the fabric, taffeta is especially good at producing that, and the whispers were an arousing sense to my already overheated imagination. I was a dedicated fashion freak and even to this day I still think that the fifties were, as far as feminine clothes were concerned, the most elegant of eras. I was now including mother in my fantasies and also had figured out why ladies had a slit, and boys, a penis. Let me also add that in France, incest was not a crime and the only constraint was that close relatives may not marry, but making love to a close family member was within the law. But it was illegal between adults and minors under the age of eighteen. That was under separate, child abuse laws. This has recently been changed. In my na?ve ignorance I believed mother knew nothing about my petite fetiche, or so I thought. When I was just fifteen I had my first great shock. I espied my mother and her friend in "flagrante delicto'. I had come home from school in the lunch break, sent home with a nasty cold. As I came to the house I saw that mother's car was parked in the courtyard along with another, familiar, car, Auntie Alice's Mercedes. I let myself in and went up the stairs to go to my room when I heard whispering and moans coming from mother's boudoir. I crept up to the door which was slightly ajar and peeked inside. I was stunned. Mother, beautiful in a beige silk-satin slip was lying down on the bed whilst Auntie Alice was lying on top of her, gently kissing her on the lips. Alice was also dressed in lingerie. In her case a lovely black satin slip. Auntie Alice was not a relative, I just called her that. She was a long time friend of ours, I had known since I was five, and fell in love with her as well. She was of similar build as mother, with lovely long coltish limbs and a pouty expression on her full, kissable lips that drove many men, and not a few women, into abject desire to kiss them, me included. She was thirty seven, was a single mother, as was my mother and had a young son, called Nicholas who was eighteen years of age and a good friend of mine. I knew that mother liked to have lesbian trysts, she made no secret of the fact that she loved both male and female lovers but this was the first time I had ever espied her in a tryst of any kind. As I watched the slow unfolding of their lovemaking I became hotly excited myself. This was, I later realised, the very birth of my strong voyeuristic streak that has remained with me to this day. Dry mouthed, weak kneed, I slid to my knees and gazed raptly as they slowly writhed over the satin counterpane. My body was very excited, rearing up to my belly and very, very sensitive. As I watched them elegantly pleasuring themselves I was fondling myself very gently, trying to prolong the act as much as possible. Then, they broke apart and I watched in amazement as mother pushed Alice away and then, standing up she picked up a harness to which was attached a rubber copy of an erect penis. This she strapped onto her body and then getting back onto the bed she parted Alice's thighs and couched herself deep into her. As I watched that happen I realised completely that males and females made love that way too. Remember, I was a na?ve adolescent in the fifties and there was no easy way of acquiring pornography the way you can now. It was a wonderful sight to my gloating eyes as I watched, entranced at their passionate arabesques. I wanted to be like mummy at that moment. Dressed in lingerie but, rather than having a fake male cock, I could stick my own, maybe not as large as the rubber one, cock into Aunt Alice, or even, God help me, my lovely mother. I could not take any more of this and I had to relieve myself. Quietly, I crawled away from the boudoir door and slid back downstairs. I knew that if I orgasmed by the door I would have made a lot of noise and been discovered. So I went into the downstairs cloakroom and, locking the door behind me I sat down onto the closed loo seat. Suffice to say, it took seconds from the extraction of my throbbing hardness, to a massive outpouring of spend, aided by just a few quick strokes of my hand. It was the most powerful and exquisite orgasm of my life to date and confirmed two things. Firstly I was a confirmed voyeur and, secondly, I wanted to lie with the two beauties upstairs. That was the second milestone in my life. The next came when I became sixteen. Mother was now in the habit of clearing out her wardrobes every so often and she started to commandeer some of my empty wardrobes in my room. Suddenly my room was full of articles that I desired most, and available easily to me at any time. In my naivety I assumed that she was just using empty space to store her best items that she rarely wore. Wrong, but I only found out later. For me though it was wonderful in the extreme. Mother was very busy at this time as she was asked by Spencer to set up and train some more corsetieres in Belgium which entailed her travelling and staying for five days at a time away from home. I was deemed old enough to not be farmed out to friends of hers but I had Aunt Alice coming to see me every day to make sure I was alright and that the house was clean and tidy. So it was that I was caught, in flagrante, dressed en-femme. It was a Saturday and she had been to see me that morning. Once she had gone I prepared for a full day and a night of full primping and dressing. I was nearly seventeen and had become very good at making myself look pretty. Make-up was a doddle and, thank God, I had not lost my breasts. They were now a pert B cup with small, puffy and very arousable nipples. I loved them, especially when they were swathed in lovely silk and satin. I took a long, hot perfumed bath and then shaved what little bit of fluffy hair I had on my face and body. When made-up and dressed I did, even though I say so myself, make a very passable young lady. Genetically I was blessed by the genes I had inherited from my mother and father. Even today, a pensioner in his/her seventies I can still make myself look attractive. After the bath I went into her boudoir where I had laid out the clothes I was to wear. In the fifties ladies changed at least four times a day. There was morning dress, afternoon dress, cocktail dress and evening dress. As it was by now eleven thirty, the mandatory style was afternoon. I firstly took off the black satin peignoir I was wearing and picked up a lovely ivory satin slip and slipped it over my head, shuddering as the wonderful silk-satin fabric slithered down my willowy body. Then I lifted up the hem and placed a deep, ivory satin suspender belt around my waist. Then, sitting down onto the mink, mother had a dozen old mink coats changed into a luxurious caponierre, I deftly, yet carefully slid on a lovely pair of sheer, seamed, charcoal nylon stockings. I loved, and still do so, the feel of a pair of fully seamed and fashioned nylons. Then came a matching pair of ivory silk-satin French knickers. So, dressed in des-habille, I turned to the dressing table and made up my face. Over the last year or so I had grown my hair longer than was fashionable but no one in my circle of friends made any comment about it. Now I was able to draw it back and turn it inside of itself and make a fashionable chignon that I pinned to the back of my head of hair. Then I made up my eyes with mascara and eyeshadow, very boldly as was the fashion then. It was followed by foundation, rouge and carefully applied powder to create the classic fifties look. Finally a rich coating of Revlon, deep carmine, lipstick completed the image I wanted to present to my mirror, if not the world. I then stood up and walked back to the bed and picked up the dress I was to wear this afternoon. It was a beautiful afternoon dress from the house of Jacques Fath, one of mother's favourite designers. Made of powder blue silk taffeta, it was an elegant yet simple, shirt-waisted dress with a tight bodice and a flowing, shirring skirt. Once on, and zipped up on its left side, I then picked up a pair of three inch heeled stiletto court shoes and slipped them on my feet. Once on I stood up and faced the full length mirror on the far wall of the room. By any measure I was a very pretty young lady. Slim, svelte, high breasted, I looked delicious, and I fancied myself. Even though I was not going out I put on a little, matching chapeau. A gorgeous little clip of velvet, of a shade matching the dress, with a gauze veil that dropped almost to my chin, giving me a very seductive look. Looking at myself I truly could have fancied myself, if I had been a male witness to my feminine image. Taken as I was with the view, totally absorbed in the narcissistic image of myself, I was totally unaware of the world around me. I was aroused and my body was hard, and very, very excited. "Nice!" I heard. "Very nice indeed." I spun around, saw who was at the door to the room, blanched and then felt blackness come over me. I awoke, on the floor, cradled in the arms of Auntie Alice. She was gently rocking me whilst at the same time my head was resting against the soft swell of her taffeta covered breast. "Shhhh," she was whispering as her hands gently caressed my trembling body, flitting over the fabrics that encased it. "Shhhhhh, we know, my pretty little girl. We know. Your mother and I have known for many years. We don't mind, sweetheart. In fact we like it. I must admit," she added. "You are far more beautiful than I ever expected." My trembling ceased and I started to become excited again. Her hands were working their magic on my body as they flitted delicately over my titties, gliding over the turgid nipples. My hardness rose once more and I could feel it gliding over the soft satin of the knickers. She noticed my arousal and smiled down at me. Elegantly she stood up from the floor and, taking my hands she helped me to my feet. She guided me to the bed and sat me down on the sumptuous fur, then placed herself beside me. For long and silent minutes we gazed at each other. Aunt Alice was dressed in a gorgeous dark blue sheath dress in heavy silk taffeta with a crossover bodice and a tight, calf length skirt. The arms of the dress were three quarter length and she also wore a pair of black, kid skin gloves that reached up almost to her elbows.. On her feet was a pair of slim, stiletto heeled court shoes in black suede. The neck was a vee shape and the d?colletage was quite pronounced, exposing the slope of her creamy breasts. It was obvious she was not wearing a brassiere, but I could see a tiny hint of creamy lace of her slip as she leaned towards me and gently kissed me on the cheek. She was beautiful with a slim figure but with larger breasts than mother. Her face was heart shaped with large grey eyes and high cheekbones. Her long, natural blonde hair was done up in a chignon then pinned to the back of her head on which she had a lovely little velvet chapeau, in black with a gauze veil that dropped down to just below her nose. She drew back from the kiss and I focussed on her full, encarmined lips, glossy and slightly parted, showing a hint of her pearly teeth. I noticed too that she was panting slightly and also that her eyes, visible through the delicate gauze, were humid and dewy, as were mine I believe, because I was aware that she was as aroused as I. Our thighs were touching, my taffeta to her silk, and it was natural to turn to each other. We drew together, leaning in so that our mouths met in a kiss. This was for me a revelation. The feeling of a true, sexual kiss was so powerful, so thrilling as to leave me trembling with passion. It was a gentle, soft, ethereal kiss that slowly grew in intensity as lips parted to let out flickering tongues to duel softly with each other. Hands came into play, slowly sliding up our respective bodies to touch, feel caress through the opulent fabrics that clothed us. We fell back on the bed, locked together so that breast caressed breast, nyloned limbs moved on smooth nyloned limbs. The silk and taffeta whispered and susurated, one against the other, the sound a sensual song of fetishistic desire. A new feeling, that of the arousal of one person with another. All around us there was opulence and quietness so that even each intake of breath, each tiny pant, each soft moan was loud in the silence of the boudoir. Slowly we writhed up the bed kissing, caressing, fondling sensitive titties, bellies writhing. My hardness was now pressing at her lower parts and I pulled up my skirt and slip to allow it to push against her. My hands then reached around her body and found the top of her zip, and the tiny hook and eye that held it all together. I slowly undid the hook, then slid down the long zip, my finger tracing her back, first on her velvety skin and then over the ecru lace and silk- satin of her slip. Then, with a soft pull, with her assisting me by raising her hips, I pulled the sheath dress of her body. I raised myself on my arms, breaking the kiss, and gazed down at her supine form, soft and sensuous in her lingerie. "Ohhh, Auntie Alice," I whispered, full of wonder at the sheer beauty that lay below me. "You are so beautiful, so sexy." She smiled up at me, and her hands reached up to undo the side zip of my dress. Seconds later Aunt Alice and I were back in each others arms, freed of our outer garments and now just in our slips and knickers. Our unfettered titties, for neither of us was wearing a brassiere, she had undone my guiperre and slid it off from under my slip, leaving the stockings on, they did have an elasticated welt, were touching each other and my nipples, as hard as hers, were touching her own. The feeling was now indescribable. This lovely fetish I was blessed with always made me feel sexy. I could not explain it but, whenever I wore sensuous garments like these I became, and still do, horribly excited. Dress me in everyday feminine garments of cotton, wool or any of the other materials that are used in normal female dress, then I just become a normal woman, comfortable, calm, happy and unflustered. It was then, it still is now. Put me in a glamorous gown, or sexy silk and satin lingerie and I become a hot little creature. Yes, feelings. I leaned down and slid down slightly to kiss, and then suck on her nipple through the satin of her slip. My tongue lashed it and her hands came up around my head to cuddle me even closer to her breast while at the same time her soft pants turned to low moans. I alternated from breast to breast, suckling like a little baby at the teat, then playfully nipping, very delicately, with my teeth. When I did that she bucked and her moans turned to small breathless screams. Even today these feelings are imprinted indelibly on my mind. The taste of her body still there in my memory. The feel of her body against mine as we writhed over that bed. The moment when she pulled my face away from her breasts and then her hands, fingers and long nails, lips, tongue and sharp but delicate teeth did to my titties and nipples what mine had done to hers. A revelation as new feelings swept through my body. The feelings of being made love to by another person. A dear person who I had worshiped with love and lust for years. My mother's dearest friend and long time lover. It was always very arousing to caress my own titties but the feelings that washed over me as Aunt Alice made love to me were a new high in the odyssey of my life. I just screamed as she brought me to an intense, frighteningly so, orgasm that wasn't just centred on my penis, but just washed over my entire body. I just remember that my whole body and mind were just one massive explosion of sheer ecstasy. I dimly remember that at the final moment, just as I was about to come, she left my titties and sliding down uncovered my erect body. She engulfed it in her hot mouth and sucked it deeply, the heat and slick wetness destroyed me and I just came, and came, till I knew no more and blacked out. I awoke, slowly and hazily. It was warm and cocoon like in the bed. Auntie Alice had slid both of us into bed and now I lay there nestled in her arms, my cheek resting against her lovely breasts. The sheets we were lying on were gorgeous, black glistening satin and were delicately perfumed with mother's scent. As a byword to this narrative, I think I shall stop calling her Auntie Alice. The new intimacy we had shared was certainly far more of an incentive to drop the honorific. Alice was awake and gazing down at me with hot and dewy eyes. She leaned down and kissed me softly on my lips. I melted once more in her arms but this was not a mad and passionate kiss, but a long and gentle lover's kiss. Soft as thistledown, delicate as a brush of silk over a softly silk lingeried skin. Warm as the rays of the morning sun in summer, not meltingly hot as the savage heat of a desert afternoon. She stretched out and breaking the kiss threw back the covers. "Come my sweet," she said, getting out and pulling me with her. "Shower and then we will go to my home. You will stay with me tonight." We showered together, both naked of course and the first close sight I had of a woman, and the exploration of every part of her body, yes, even to that soft little nest between her thighs was a new revelation. It was so erotic that once more I started to erect. Alice laughed and pulled away. "I am so glad that you are a hot boy as well as a hot girl. It shows that the fetiche of satin is not overwhelming to the point of not being able to get sexy unless you are dressed a la femme." She then threw her head back as I started to rub her with my fingers down there. But, she stopped me. "Later ma petite, when we go home." We got out of the shower and dried ourselves off. As I tried to put on my male clothes, Alice stopped me. "No no," she laughed. "En femme. That is the only way." "But people will see, know I am not a real girl." "When I am finished with dressing you, no one will know, unless you tell them yourself. Anyway you will be in the car all the time." She was right. When we went out of the maison I was a beautiful young lady, dressed in a lovely strapless black satin cocktail dress. On my arms was a pair of long, black satin evening gloves and on my feet a pair of delightful satin stiletto heeled court shoes. Underneath of course was the usual lingerie, this time in black. I took with me a valise with a change of clothes as I would be staying the night with her. Glancing a little fearfully around me, even though the road was hidden behind a tall hedge, it was my very first time outside dressed as I was, I got into the car with Alice and we set of for her maison on the other side of Paris. I started to stop being frightened by the half way point. Whenever we slowed down due to various reasons any cars that pulled up behind us, and especially if they had young men in them, the drivers and occupants gazed with open admiration. It wasn't in any way a, I know you are not a real woman, look. It was a true look of admiration and in quite a few cases a look of lust. It was also directed at both of us. By the time we got to Alice's house, and it had taken well over an hour, I was very happy and sexy at the same time. As we pulled into the courtyard I saw a small red Austin-Healey Sprite parked in front of the main entrance. "Oh," Alice exclaimed. "Nicholas is home on leave." Nicholas, Alice's, by now nineteen year old son used to be a great friend of mine till he went to officers school at the age of sixteen. I froze in fright. "What will he say when he sees me?" I squeaked. "He will recognise me straight away." Alice just laughed softly. "Nicholas knows sweetheart. He always used to tell me that you were a good friend as a boy, but he thought you would make a very pretty girl. I used to tease him about that thought of his and one day he suddenly told me that he fancied you, as a boy or a girl. You see, cherie, he likes boys and girls." "How does he know about my feelings for dressing as a girl?" We told him one day when he started teasing your mother and I, and when he said that we were planning on changing you into a girl." She smiled. "Your mother then told him that it did not need any planning. You had done it on your own." "So what did he say to that?" I asked her. "He said that he thought that you would be far prettier than Cochinelle who he had met at a revue in Lyons a few weeks before. He said the dichotomy of a man dressed as a woman was very arousing indeed." We stopped beside the small sports car and got out. We went inside and into the drawing room. A tall young man stood up and walked towards us. I almost did not recognise him, tall, handsome, dressed in the uniform of an officer in the Infantry. "Mother," he said as he opened his arms. Alice rushed up to him and hugged him. I was amazed to see them kiss on the mouth, and it wasn't a smacker. It was a full, open mouthed, sexual kiss that was followed by a slow caress of hands. Hers all over his back, and Nicholas by placing his hands on her derri?re, pulling her in to his own body. Alice gave a soft moan and I saw her gently writhe her belly against her own son. Then they broke apart and my friend turned to me, paused for a moment, then his facial expression changed from appreciation to one of amazed recognition. "George!" he said as he came towards me. I gave the impression of a poised young lady, though inside I was all a quiver with apprehension. Yes another feeling. I had never been attracted to boys, or men, but suddenly I was faced with something new. "Not like this, not when I am en-femme." I huskily replied. "When I dress as a lady, then I am Georgina, though you, Nicholas, being an old friend, may call me Gina." As he came towards me I could see that he was slightly uncomfortable, mostly due to his embrace with his mother, but, from the look he gave me, there was lust in his eyes as he gazed at me. I could see a firm bulge in his trousers and it seemed quite large to my eyes. For the first time ever did I acknowledge the fact that I found him very handsome. Yet I had never thought that I could be attracted to a man because even when dressed all my fantasies were with women. Now I had to reassess my own sexuality. What was I? The answer was that I did not know at all. That did frighten me. By now I knew about hetero and homosexuality, and never the twain shall meet, so I was told. But I now realised that there are states of in-between. It seemed that I was right in the middle of it. A new feeling, I was having a multitude of those on this day. Overwhelming was one, inadequate, word that came to mind. Confusion was another. Nicholas came up to me and I held out my gloved hand. Elegantly he bent down as he took it in his. Gently he kissed it, holding it for a tad too long. Then, with a laugh, he embraced me, pulling me into his hard and lean body. I tried to push him away and was unable to. His hand slid down and cupped my derriere and then pulled me into him. I froze as I felt his hardness against my belly. It pushed arrogantly against the satin and I felt the heat even through the serge of his uniform trousers and my silk and satin clothing. I felt my own body responding rising up to meet his and he felt it. He pushed back, then leaned down and his lips met mine. Another new feeling. The feeling of a hard kiss, yet sensual, with a sureness only a male can possess. The feel of skin that is not smooth and silky, but slightly marred with a sharp stubble. I moaned and tried to pull away, the new feeling of attraction to a male overwhelming and frightening me. It was to no avail. He was stronger, always stronger, than I. He and I had always been friends, but he had also always been my protector and many times he had held and hugged me when I was hurt and upset. Suddenly, a new feeling swept over me, well not new, I had felt it before when he had saved me from bullies and danger. A feeling of safety, of peace, of love. I remember when as boys we used to sleep over and shared the same bed. Several small things happened which I dimly remembered but which now burst into my memory. I was ten, already experimenting with mother's clothes and my first little finds. Those lovely little satin French knickers. I had worn them under my clothes, and forgotten about them. I was undressing in the bathroom and had taken off every thing and was just about to take them off when Nicholas had burst in saying he wanted a pee. He stopped dead when he saw me in them. Thankfully I was not wearing the little camisole that went with them, though I did have it in my valise. Nicholas stopped in his tracks and whistled. All he could see was my back and he said later that it looked really pretty. Even though he said not to I pulled them off and stuffed them in my valise, then put on my pyjamas. I did not think much about that episode, though obviously Nicholas had. I was not sexually aware then, but I was now. I was astonished that I did not feel any revulsion and in fact my apprehension went and a slow warmth infused my body. I did not know how far this would go but, thank God, Alice rescued me. She came up behind me, removed her son's hands from my body and pulled me away. Panting with shock, and a frisson of desire, I gazed at Nicholas. He seemed very disappointed but, with a wry expression on his face, he acceded to his mother's primacy in her own home. We spent a very pleasant evening, having a lovely meal of spicy Vietnamese curry with rice and a salad. We all relaxed more and had a nice drink at the end. Then it was time to go to bed. Nicholas seemed very disappointed that I was going to sleep with his mother in her boudoir. We parted at the foot of the stairs, Nicholas's room was downstairs, and he gave me another quite sexy kiss that left me aroused and trembling. This time he even managed to feel my titties and that caress was especially exciting as it was the first time a man had ever touched me there. We, Alice and I, went into her boudoir. It was the first time I had ever seen it and it was amazing. It was very large, with wardrobes, built in, on two sides. The doors were open and were full with clothes. Masses of silk, satin, velvet and lace were on show. The bed was a gorgeous four poster, with gauze curtains and a marvellous caponierre, of gorgeous sable, covered it. Part was pulled back to show the layette of satin sheets and pillow cases. Not the cheap stuff you get today but heavy silk-satin, glossy and sensual in deep, carmine red. "Have a rest on the bed, Gina," she said to me. "I am going to get ready first, you can have the bathroom after me." I lay down on the perfumed sable, my head on the satin pillow. Looking up I had a shock. There was a mirror above me, inset in the top of the bed canopy. I saw myself, lying back on that sumptuous bed, in a lovely cocktail dress of black satin with a full skirt, strapless bodice and long black satin gloves. I looked so sexy and started to get excited at my own reflection. That was an old feeling, vanity. My hands were wandering over my satin sheathed breasts, feeling my hard nipples through two layers of lovely, sexy fabric. My hardness, swathed in a mass of satin, taffeta and net petticoats, all in black, was trembling with excitement. I found myself slowly drifting off to sleep. I awoke to the feel of soft hands undressing me of my finery. Alice had come out and now sat on the side of the bed and had slid down the zip at my back. Then she slid the dress and petticoats off, leaving me in just the guiperre, my knickers, stockings, satin gloves and shoes. I had been lying on my tummy, my body, still hard, pressed into the soft fur. I rolled over and gazed up at her. She looked an absolute knock-out, gowned in a fantastic dove grey silk-satin nightgown and negligee. Her hair, normally in a fashionable chignon, now tumbled down her back in waves of shiny gold, with copper highlights showing off the lustrous beauty. Her lips smiled at me then pursed in a soft kissing motion. My hands went up to her shoulders and pulled her unresisting body to mine, she came willingly and, once more, we kissed. I love kissing, especially the soft and luscious lips of a beautiful woman. After a long period of kissing Alice moved down and started to nibble at my nipples. That always made me very excited and I started to writhe my body over the bed. My head went from side to side as I held her head in my gloved hands. My eyes were closed but, during one particularly sexy nip they flew open, just as I was facing the wall mounted mirror. The image I saw there was something I did not expect to see. Nicholas, tall, slim, naked Nicholas, stroking his hard body as he looked at our bodies as they writhed over the bed. I froze and Alice sensed something was wrong. She glanced over and saw her son standing in the room. "Non, Nicholas!" she exclaimed. "Gina's virginite cette pour sa mere te prendre." "I know that mother." He smiled down at us as he came to the bed and sat down upon the luscious fur. "I do know that very well, but I would love to watch you take her." "It is not for me either to take. We are merely taking some plaisir lesbienne." "In that case, maman, I will take some plaisir de ma mere while while you two petites biches have your fun." "I do not mind, Aunt Alice," I added to the softly whispered conversation. In fact his hard erection, which normally, when I was dressed as a boy had no effect on me, strangely excited me when I was en-femme. "I would love for Nicholas to join us, he is my friend as well as your son." They both laughed and stretched out on that wondrously sensual bed, one each side of me. Then we spent the afternoon loving and kissing, without any penetration of me, as they kissed and caressed my whole body, sometimes fighting over a nipple, or lips, or my hard and throbbing penis. They brought me to the edge of a wild climax time, and time, and time again till at last, with a wild scream of pure ecstasy I exploded in a wild, interminable firestorm of pure pleasure that I had never experienced before. I did faint and blackness overcame me. I came to with the soft whisperings of lovers engaged in making love. I rolled onto my side facing the two lovers who, oblivious to the fact of my awakening, were writhing over the bed in a slow and sensuous session of foreplay. Aunt Alice and Nicholas, mother and son, indulging in a beautiful session of mutual arousement, lips and hands roving over sleek satin and naked skin, murmuring soft words of love. The knowledge that this was incestuous play was not a turn off, it was so arousing as to bring me back to full hardness as, dry mouthed, I gazed upon their beautiful bodies, and they truly were, beautiful. They turned their faces to me, both smiling softly and with love glowing in their eyes. I felt though that I was intruding and said, "I'll go to the guest room. Leave you to your privacy." Instantly they both reached out to me, stopping me from getting off the bed and leaving them. "Non!" they both replied. "Gina, you are with us, you are one of us, stay. We implore you to stay with us." Alice smiled softly at me. "Watch a mother make love to her own, beloved child. Watch as a son makes love to his own mother." I stayed. As Nicholas slid his mother's dove grey silk-satin gown off her lithe body he threw it to me and said. "Put it on Gina, it will suit you." I slid that wonderful gown, still warm and perfumed, onto my hot body, followed by the gorgeous peignoir. A wonderful feeling washed through my body as I lay back and watched two of the dearest people in my life slowly go back to exciting themselves to a fever pitch of sheer incestuous love. Another feeling, voyeuristic in its totality. Pure and hot, powerful and decidedly, exciting. By the time I had settled back down on the bed Nicholas and Alice had changed round so that their mouths were wildly kissing their respective sexes. Alice was on top of Nicholas and his face was buried between his mother's thighs and I could see as his tongue flickered over her creaming slit, parting the labia to flick at the turgidly aroused nubbin of her clitty. Every time he did that Alice gave a muffled groan as she voraciously sucked on Nicholas's erect body that seemed to have become far larger and stiffer than before. A moment later they broke apart, just as it seemed that both would climax and twisting around and up Nicholas swung his mother's body around and down so that she lay supine on the bed. He slid between her parted thighs and, supporting himself on his outstretched arms, looked down at the passion filled features of his mother. Moaning softly, Alice tried to draw her son into her by bringing her pelvis up and capturing him with her creaming slit, but he kept pulling away as he teased her unmercifully. He let her creaming labial lips just brush the head of his cock, then drew away. When he did so Alice gave a low wail of frustration, and tried again. He tried to move back away from her but this time I clasped his hard body and pulled him into his mother's. It slid in deeply and they were joined, to Alice's eternal gratitude. Mother and son were joined together in incest. Another new feeling, that of power in being able to assuage another person's frustrations. Incidentally, like anything else, incest is just another sexual activity that fascinates some people and disgusts others. In France at that time, incest was legal between consenting people as long as they were over the age of eighteen, and therefore considered adults. This has recently changed and been criminalised due to EU laws. Having both witnessed it, and indulged in it, it is, when practised without any coercion, this last is a very important phrase, without coercion, a very pleasant activity. Between these two loving people it was a beautiful thing as well. Two very beautiful people making passionate love, thrusting, caressing, kissing, loving, on a sumptuously fur caponiered bed was a symphony of sight and sound. We are what we are and I myself make no judgments as long as no one is ever even slightly hurt and all participants are consensual. Enough to say, I joined in with their passionate games and kissed and caressed them both, to their mutual approbation and enjoyment as they both reached the very pinnacle of their loving. It was wonderful to see and listen to their loving, so soft, so gentle and so intense. Their final orgasmic cries were but soft groans and mewling sounds till their spasms finished. Then they lay there body to body as they relaxed in their satiation. We fell asleep, all three of us cuddled together, having wriggled into that lovely, silk-satin sheeted, sable canopied, bed.