Milla la travestie soumise Partie1
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I'll Mka It A Date, Part Nine free porn video
I'll Make it a Date, Part Nine
Tabitha's Story, Part 2
Chapter One
Hi, it's Tabby again. Greg read my stuff and he liked it, but he said
that I needed to add more! I asked him what he meant. He said that I
needed to write about how I felt when different things happened. Like
when I dressed up as Tabby, or when we were together. He won't take no
for an answer! I've been trying to distract him (you can imagine what I
mean by that!), but he said we can't have any more fun until I write at
least a few paragraphs.
Greg wanted me to start by explaining how I knew I was a girl, inside.
How do you know you're right handed? One day you start doing things and
it just feels right to use your right hand. It's that simple. I can't say
when I knew for sure I was a girl, but it was as far back as I can
remember. Maybe I knew when I saw girls on TV. I identified with
"Tabitha," mainly. The girl from "Bewitched." Mom reminded me of
Elizabeth Montgomery and I wanted to be her Tabitha. I wanted to have
special powers, too. I really wanted to wear her little outfits and have
my hair as long as Tabitha did.
In school, at least in the early days, I was right at home with the girls
in class. Again, I can't explain it, other than to say that I knew I
belonged with them. When I looked at the boys and saw how they acted, I
really didn't want any part of it. Somebody had to be the boss and
somebody always had to challenge him. The girls had "bosses," too, but
not like that. We just got along and had our little babies (dolls) to
take care of. We shopped in imaginary stores and ate in make-believe
McDonald's. We even walked on our tippy-toes when we pretended we wore
heels like our moms. The girls never questioned why I wanted to be in on
the fun. I think the teacher did, and every now and then she would ask me
if I really wanted to play with the boys. I would start pouting, and then
crying. She gave up after a while.
Not being able to dress as I wanted really started bothering me when I
got to be about seven or so. TV had so much to with it. Television, I
mean! I watched the Brady girls and the Partridge girls and I knew -
beyond any doubt - that I wanted to be their sister or cousin or even a
female friend. I wanted to be on stage with the Partridge family and
shake a tambourine behind Keith. He was so cute! (I hated Danny!) When
daddy wasn't at home, I would ask mom why she wouldn't let me try on a
dress or a skirt. She said that boys couldn't wear girls clothes, simple
as that. I would sulk my way into my room and cry. I wasn't a boy!
Couldn't she see it? I didn't tell her that I was already handling her
things in secret, but then she caught me. That was a bad day.
I guess daddy was my first "crush." I know that sounds weird and gross,
but it wasn't. I think that all little girls want to take care of their
daddies and make them happy. There was nothing sexual about it. I just
wanted to feed him and pamper him and be the center of his world. Nothing
was better than sitting on his lap and watching a show with him, or
falling asleep with my head on his leg. Sometimes I would wake up as he
carried me to bed, and I felt just like a story book princess. He's so
strong (like Greg) and he made me feel as light as a feather.
When I came out to mom and dad I knew I was taking a huge risk. I thought
I was the only boy in the world who felt the way I did. I hoped they
wouldn't get mad, or even kick me out. I wondered if there was some sort
of prison or orphanage for boys who wanted to be girls. Then I got mad,
thinking about the girls at school who wore boy's clothes and acted like
boys. Nobody seemed to mind them! There were at least three girls in my
class who were always being mistaken for boys. Two of them were proud of
it, too. Anyway, I told mom and daddy the truth and we worked out our
arrangement. I was prepared to fight them - verbally, anyway - and I was
so surprised when they understood.
I was so much happier at home as Tabitha. I would run home from school
and have my clothes off by the time I got to my bedroom. Mom would have
an outfit ready for me, already. I insisted on wearing tights every
evening. I loved them! I would look at her catalogs and pick out
different colors and patterns of tights I wanted her to buy for me. Mom
would ask me how I intended to pay for them. I knew that a few minutes of
whining to daddy would solve that problem! He was so good to me. Pretty
soon, I had drawers full of tights and panties. Mom bought dresses for me
that she liked, and she was happy that I was willing to wear anything she
brought home. She said that a real daughter would probably just want to
wear jeans and a t-shirt. I wondered who would be so foolish?
My feminine side really blossomed in my pre-adolescent years. I picked up
everything like a sponge. Mom would watch me very carefully and point out
what I was doing wrong. Walking, mainly. She had me straighten my back
and carry my head high. When I sat down, I had to cross my legs or hold
my knees together to one side. It was hard, because during school hours I
had to do the opposite. I would walk around hunched over to be cool. I
must have looked ridiculous! The one thing I didn't have to change was my
hair. Boys then wore their hair as long as girls and no one cared. Thank
you, 1960s! Rock and roll changed everything for the better.
On a typical day, I would run home and start changing. First, cotton
panties. I wanted silk or at least satin, but mom said they would come
later. Still, cotton panties were panties! Then the tights. I was very
careful to keep my toenails trimmed and to pull the tights on slowly.
They felt like a second skin. Better than that, really. I guess they felt
like an angel running her fingers along my skin from my toes to my hips.
I won't lie - I always got aroused when I put them on.
Mom told me to always wear a slip under my dresses. I had several to
choose from. I'd pick one and let it fall over my shoulders. Again, I had
the angel's touch feeling. I would turn this way and that before the
mirror. I already looked like a girl, at that point. Sometimes I would
nearly forget to continue dressing!
Next, I would put on the dress that mom had chosen. They were all so
pretty, and so well-made. Mom taught me to choose quality over the lowest
price. I have no idea what she spent in filling my closet, but it must
have run into the thousands. I would carefully slip on the dress and
adjust it in front of the mirror. I took as long as I liked. I would
tease my hair and brush it this way and that. I looked at my profile and
I turned to check out my butt. I would make a million little adjustments
until I had everything right.
Then came the shoes. Mom would have selected them for me, too. Her
choices taught me all I needed to know about shoes. At that point, they
were nearly all flats or low heels. Nothing more than an inch or so. My
favorite pairs had shiny buckles or pretty bows. Putting them on always
led to another pass in front of the full length mirror. I would extend
one leg and then the other to see how the shoes looked with the rest of
my ensemble.
I was not allowed makeup then, beyond just a bit of lipstick. I didn't
really need makeup, thank heavens. Not much, anyway. Mom said that my
genes had done me a huge favor by giving perfect skin. I wanted to go
full-blown, of course, but I came to see that she was right. I still need
very little "help" to look just right. At least, that's what Greg tells
me! Still, I spent a whole lot of time fixing the lipstick and puckering
up for myself at the the makeup table. I imagined one of my school girl
crushes was on the receiving end of one of my kisses. He would kiss me
back, and have a nice little lipstick print on his cheek! I would giggle
at the metal image.
There were two boys at school I wanted desperately to marry. Pablo was
one and Kurt was the other. Pablo's mother was Mexican and his father
Irish. He was the tallest of the boys in school and by far the most
handsome. He treated me very kindly and ignored my more girlish
tendencies. A couple of times, I brought him home to play. I wanted to
steal a kiss, but he would scoot away if I moved too close. I was hurt,
but I understood. I kept my crush a secret. Kurt was a German boy whose
family had just moved to the States. His English was very good, but
everybody laughed at his "w's" and "v's." The other kids used to make him
say "Wolksvagen." I felt sorry for him, and we became friends. But just
as I felt like I might try holding his hand or even pecking him on the
cheek, his father was transferred to South Korea. I was crushed!
Back to my dressing routine: I would wait for mom to call me to dinner,
then make my grand entrance into the dining room. By then I would have
put on a necklace and clip-on ear rings. Daddy was so cute - he would say
that if he knew it was to be a formal dinner, he would have kept his suit
on! I would always curtsey to him and give him a kiss on the cheek.
Sometimes I would linger next to his face for a second to smell his
cologne. Daddy was so handsome and always clean cut. I wanted him to take
me out to go to dinner or dancing. Or both!
Mom would compliment me on how nice I looked. My heart would swell at her
words. I'm sure I blushed like a hot coal at those moments. Mom watched
my table etiquette and I didn't mind it a bit. Daddy would stay quiet
when that happened, and he really didn't have much to say about Tabby, as
far as clothes or behavior went. He would compliment me from time to time
- which meant the world and the stars to me - but otherwise he let mom do
all of the "work." When our meals were done I would help mom with the
dishes and listen to her offer me womanly advice on all sorts of topics.
After dinner, I would either watch TV with daddy, or go to my room and
read magazines and fantasize about what life would be like as a full-time
girl. My dreams went all over the place. I saw myself as a model. I saw
myself as a hair stylist at a big shopping mall. Or a saleswoman. A TV
reporter. Never once did I think fireman, or cop, or soldier. I wanted to
be in heels and hose all the time! I would often fall asleep fully
dressed. Mom would wake me and have me change into a nightie. I never
had one bit of trouble sleeping.
When I was twelve, something happened that frightened me to death and
filled me with joy, all at once. I was in my room, just after getting
home from school. On the way home, I had been daydreaming about Pablo. He
was just a bit older than me, but he was already over six feet tall. He
was blonde, but he had his mother's olive skin and her dark eyes. He was
magnificent! I had to carry my book bag in front of me to hide my little
erection from mom. (I realize now that it couldn't have been THAT
noticeable!)
My hard on did not subside one bit by the time I got to my room. I had my
boy clothes off in a flash and pulled on my panties. I couldn't help it -
I fondled myself a little and gasped at the feeling. I noticed a spot
form on the panties. That concerned me a little. I had never had trouble
with my penis or bladder. Why was I peeing, all of a sudden? Then I
started sliding on my tights. This time, it felt so much better than
ever. I pulled up each leg slowly. I had the angel finger sensations
again. I finished with the tights. I rolled over onto my stomach and
pressed my tiny stiffie against the bed. Rather, against the panties and
the tights, then the bed. I humped the fabrics for a moment and saw
stars. My whole body seemed to erupt through the tip of my penis. My toes
curled in the tights. I pushed as hard as I could against the bed, to
prolong the feeling. I felt a growing wetness under my panties. I lay
there for a few minutes, delighting in the sensations, but wondering why
peeing the bed felt so damned good!
When I sat up I was really scared. As far as I knew, I had never
ejaculated before. Maybe I had at night, but I was not aware of it. This
sticky fluid all over my pubic area was entirely new to me. I was still
feeling the after shocks of the orgasm, but I honestly didn't know what
to make of it. I quickly skinned off the tights and panties and picked a
new set. I forgot to use the same color tights, though. When I was
dressed, I took the damp underthings to my bathroom and soaked them in
the sink. I quickly ran through the rest of my preparations and arrived
way too early in the kitchen. I must have looked awfully distressed to
mom.
Mom noticed my choice of leg wear right away. She frowned and asked: "Why
are you wearing white ones? I put out blue for you."
I lost it. I can't really explain why. I just felt a well of strange
emotions and I started blubbering. I put my arms around mom's waist and
sobbed into her bosom. I tried to speak, but she shushed me and led me
over to the kitchen table. Dad came in from the living room to check on
us. Mom quietly asked him to leave us alone for a bit. I was almost on
mom's lap, still crying.
"Now honey," she said in the sweetest voice, "tell me what happened."
I sniffled and cleared my throat. "I don't want to be a man!" I started
sobbing again.
Mom stroked my hair and rocked me a little. "I know, Tabby. What makes
you think that's going to happen?"
Over several rounds of crying and talking, I admitted to her what had
just happened to me in the bedroom. Mom told me that it was perfectly
natural and to be expected. That cheered me up a little, but I was still
afraid that I would instantly sprout a beard and grow a foot taller.
"Mom, doesn't it mean I'm going to be a man, now?" I had heard the basic
outlines of how babies were made from the boys at school, but I didn't
know the particulars. They said that a boy became a man when he could get
a girl pregnant.
Mom pushed me away just a little and looked into my eyes. "It means no
such thing, my darling. If you are certain you want to be a woman
someday, you will be. Now is the time that we have to start giving you
medications to make sure you change in the right ways."
My mood really brightened at that news. "What medications?"
Mom explained in general what we would have to do. She said that daddy
had access to medicines that would prevent me from growing too big, and
that they would transform my male body into a female one. She made me
swear that that was what I wanted. I did, solemnly. Mom said that I would
have to take every dose, every day. I promised I would. She then called
daddy into the room and told him it was time to start my therapy. He
agreed, and said that he would have everything ready the next day. I was
a happy girl! I helped mom fix dinner and enjoyed the rest of the
evening.
Chapter Two
With my puberty underway, I started the hormone therapy, but at a very
low level. I believe it did have an effect on my emotions and thinking,
but it didn't change my physical appearance a whole lot. That's what we
all wanted - a petite, androgynous body for me with very little body hair
and just a bit of extra "padding." I found myself to be more placid in
general, but I did have an occasional flash of temper. I would get
extremely jealous when I saw the girls making a fuss over Pablo. I could
have torn them to pieces more than once! My girl friends commented on how
much different I was from the other guys. The girls were already fighting
off horny seventh-graders. Not that the girls weren't feeling their own
hormones! I even got to kiss a couple of them, at their request. We just
kissed on the lips, but it was fantastic! I closed my eyes and pretended
they were Pablo.
At home, mom allowed me to wear proper lingerie for the first time. What
heavenly sensations I got from it! Garter belts and real stockings
replaced my tights. Mom gave me satin panties and lacy ones. Real adult
stuff! My legs looked and felt like a million bucks. The image of myself
in the mirror was almost more than I could take. Mom had told me to
relieve myself before I put on my slip and dress (I nearly died when she
said it!), and I did, every day. I was sure to have tissues handy. Some
days, I just used my hand to catch the semen. It did not go to waste
(wink!).
I was given heels for the first time. Oh my god in heaven, what a
delight! I nearly killed myself in my first few trips around the room,
but I got the hang of them fairly quickly. That was it for me. I never
wanted to wear flats or sneakers or low-heeled boots again. The sound of
stiletto heels on a hardwood floor still excites me to no end.
When daddy first saw me in nylons and heels, he almost choked on his
drink! I winked at him and smiled devilishly. I also had been given
permission by mom to use mascara and eyeliner, so I really looked lady-
like that day. Daddy stopped letting me sit on his lap from then on. I
didn't know why.... I still kissed him, though - on the cheek - and I
still give him a kiss at least once every time I see him. It's as natural
to me as breathing.
Mom stepped up my training in the feminine "arts." I learned how to style
my shoulder length hair and how to care for my delicate underthings. I
always had nylons hanging over my shower rod, just like a real woman
would (or should!). I cared for my dresses as if they were my own
children. My movements and speech were under constant observation. When I
was at home, I was 100% a woman, unless I had a friend over or we had
other company.
I also started accumulating jewelry. Nothing fancy, but every piece was
valuable to me. I learned how to match my accessories to my clothing. Mom
gave me a purse when I turned thirteen. By then, no one who didn't know
Tim would guess that Tabitha was not born a girl.
Chapter Three
Under no circumstances will I discuss my accident. Greg wants me to, but
he knows that when I put my foot down, I mean it. All I will say is that
I like to wear the long gloves partly because they cover my scars. The
sight of the scars still makes me feel all of the pain I had for days
after the fall. The memory of that pain then opens up memories of the
emotional pain that followed. So forgive me if I end this chapter right
now. I want to get to the part where I met my the true love of my life.
Chapter Four
The first thing to catch my eye about Greg was his size. Even sitting, he
looked tall and powerful. He was easily the best looking guy I had seen
at the new school, or in town for that matter. His eyes sparkled when I
looked at them the first time. His smile just melted me. I almost tripped
over my own legs. I picked my seat so that I wouldn't be distracted every
time we had class, yet I was close enough to get a good look at him
whenever I wanted. Of course, I wanted to all day long. I would spend all
day thinking of how I could get him to like me. I hoped against hope that
he would, someday, want to come to my house and hang out with me.
Okay, I'll be totally honest: I wanted to hold that body against my own.
I knew he would be head and shoulders taller than me, even with me in
heels. I wanted to be in heels, hugging him and letting him rock me in
his arms. I dreamed of kissing his bare chest and running my hands over
his muscles. I could see that his arms were perfectly developed, so I
knew that the rest of him would be, too. I imagined what might lie
beneath his jeans....
When Greg befriended me I was filled with more joy than I can express. I
was giddy after we parted. I immediately asked one of the girls I knew
what she knew about Greg. She was a little surprised at that, but she
said she knew he was on the swim team. Guess where I went after school?
The sight of Greg in his tight shorts made my legs shake. I wanted to
dive into the pool and swim after him. When he finished his laps his wet
body glistened under the lights and steam rose off of him. I resisted the
urge to run over and towel him dry.
There are so many emotions I had to deal with whenever I was near Greg. I
wanted to jump for joy when we first saw each other every day. I wanted
to scoot next to him when I got into his car. I wanted to give him one of
my necklaces to keep in his pocket as a good luck charm. I wanted to cook
for him, shop for him and help him pick out clothes. I wanted to stand
outside the school with my books in my arms, as a girl might do, and wave
giddily at him when he emerged from the building. I wanted to show up at
his house one day in my best dress and the highest heels I had, and allow
him to pin a corsage on me.
You see, it wasn't all sexual at all. Of course, I desired him sexually.
I imagined the things we would do to and for each other in bed. That was
all wonderful. But so many of my fantasies were simply about being with
him. I wanted him to hold me and keep me safe from a world that could
easily do me harm. I wanted to be waiting for him in the doorway of our
little house when he came home from a hard day's work. I imagined holding
hands and walking along our town's streets, or maybe walking together
down Fifth Avenue. We would travel as a couple and kiss along the banks
of the Seine. We would share a meal in Rome, or ride - hand in hand - in
a gondola in Venice. My fantasies were so romantic, above all. I wanted
to be married to him.
Sometimes, as we played games or watched TV together, I would just stare
at Greg's profile. He really is one of the most handsome men you'd ever
want to see. He won't tell you, but I will! I can't really compare him to
anyone else you'd know, but I would definitely choose him over anyone in
Hollywood, based on looks alone. I knew that most of the girls in all of
the grades wanted to date him, and it made me furious! They would talk to
me to try to find out more about him, once they knew we were friends. I
hated it! He was mine!
Once we began to have a full-blown relationship, I really knew that Greg
was going to be my life's partner. He was honestly a white knight to me.
He didn't need a horse. Greg was so sweet and kind and caring from day
one. The first date was a dream come true. The first sex we had was
better than anything I had dreamed of. Both of us were really
inexperienced, but we didn't care. I mean, he had way more experience
than me, but you know what I'm talking about. We were going forward
together into totally new territory.
My feelings when we made love were too complex for me to describe, fully.
Everything I wore felt so much better. When I pulled on my stockings
imagined I felt his fingers against me, rather than the angel's. I was
wearing bras by then, and the feel of the fabric against my soft nipples
made me imagine his lips there. Every inch of my body yearned for his
touch. I may still have been a genetic boy, but I know exactly how a
woman can be consumed by desire for her man. Everything I did when I was
in that state was much more difficult, simply because I was nearly
paralyzed with lust. Having him actually hold me was enough to send me
over the edge. I don't know how I held out any longer, at times.
Giving Greg pleasure was my privilege. His manhood was an object of
fascination for me. It didn't take me a moment to touch and fondle and
kiss it. I felt his pulse through it. It was so hot when he was aroused!
I mean, physically hot. Feverish, nearly. The friction of my hands
against it just turned up his thermostat. When he came, I tried to be
ready to receive his gift to me. I wanted to show him that I wanted every
bit of him inside me. I never had any problem eating his come. I was so
happy when he wanted to share ours as we kissed, afterward.
Losing my virginity to Greg was so special. It honestly hurt so much I
thought I would faint, at first, but then the pain eased and I felt
incredibly good. Greg could hit a spot that sent waves of pleasure all
through me. Best of all, I was able to get glimpses of him as he drove
himself into me. My head was twisting from the unspeakable pleasure of it
all, but I did see the beast-like looks on his face. To see that while I
felt him throbbing and gliding inside me was heaven on earth. I was his
woman, completely. My magnificent lover possessed my entirely. We were
one. The feel of his semen coursing inside me made me long to have his
baby. That would have been the only thing I could have wished for, that I
could not have. To have him hold and kiss me after we both came was pure
satisfaction for me. I was safe and warm and so completely happy. I had
made a nest for us, of sorts, and my mate wanted to share it with me as
much as I wanted him to feel right at home. I longed for the day when we
could find a nest, truly of our own.
Chapter Five
I hope that this part of our story gives you an idea of how much I needed
to be a girl, and a woman. How much I have always known that womanhood
was to be my destiny. I don't expect that everyone will understand me,
much less condone my choices. That's fine with me, as long as they don't
try to harm me, or make me change. I am who and what I am. Greg loves me
for it, and that is all that matters. To those of you who do understand
what I mean, I send my love and my heartfelt thanks.
Hester
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