Girlybitch
- 3 years ago
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Girly free porn video
Kids are curious. That's all.
That's what started it all. I wasn't being weird. I wasn't turning gay. I
was just trying things on. I was just feeling the silk and the other
fabrics and the silk. Don't most 16 year olds try things out? Doesn't
everyone want to be pretty?
There was a blue dress that my older sister Jenny had left. A simple blue
dress, but it mesmerized me. It was a simple shift, but it fit me better
than most of her stuff. It felt sensuous. It felt delicious.
Hour after hour, I spent, figuring out the clasps and catches and tabs,
the zippers and the velcro. It was a wonderful mystery to me. It felt
heavenly against my skin. Except for a dab of lipstick, I didn't know
enough to play in her cosmetics. I wasn't really attracted by her
jewelry. Not then. But her panties. Her dresses. I could spend an
afternoon dressing. I guess it was inevitable that I would be caught.
My step-mom (no, this isn't an evil step-mom story) is named Charlotte.
She's only 10 years older than me, hardly wizened enough to raise a teen-
age boy. So when she came into my room with an armful of laundry, and I
was in the blue dress, her jaw dropped open. "Oh, my," she said.
"Oh, hi, Charlotte," I said. "I'm ...I'm just playing. You see, there is
this party..."
She grinned. She looked me up and down. I felt two inches tall. "So which
is it, Mike? Is it a party? Or are you just playing? Tell me, pretty
girl."
"It's both," I stammered. "I was just trying things on to see how they
looked. That's all."
"Uh-Huh," she said. "Well, you look cute. Can I help you at all?"
"Uh, no thank you," I said. I felt like pulling the dress off. But then
she would see I was wearing a bra and panties. "I was just going to
change and go play some hoops. I was looking for my sneakers."
"Isn't that them there?" she asked.
For some reason, that made me blush, too. I was saying everything wrong.
"You know, Mike. I have some old dresses you could have if you want. It's
okay. I know a lot of young guys are transvestites. It's normal enough."
"Um, no thanks, Charlotte," I said. "I'm not. I promise. I was just
wearing these." Wearing these? Of course you were wearing them, you
moron. What else would you do with them?
I disappeared into the bathroom. I couldn't get the dress off fast
enough. Or the panties. Or the bra. I was never going to wear them again.
I can't believe I wasn't more careful. I can't believe she saw. I hoped
she wouldn't say anything to my father. He'd kill me.
I tugged on my gym shorts. I pulled on a t-shirt.
Yeah, I was all boy again.
Wasn't I?
***
She told my dad. Of course she told my dad.
Parents talk to each other. They are sure it is them against their kids.
So they talk.
I would later find out it was that same night, when they were in bed. My
dad reached over for Char, romance on his mind. And Char said, in those
ominous words all all time, "Stephen, we have to talk."
"What's the deal?" my dad, rising off her and sitting up in the bed. What
guy wants to talk in bed?
"I'm Mikey. I'm worried."
"About?"
"Okay, don't get upset. But I think Mikey may be gay."
"What? Mikey? Why do you say that? Did he...."
"No, I didn't catch him and another boy. I just went into his room today,
and he was wearing ... a dress. I think he had on a bra, too. It was the
bra that convinced me he had done it before. He seemed very comfortable.
I think he's worn them before."
"I can't believe this. Although...Mike is a little guy, and I he's a bit
girly. He used to play with dolls. He and Jenny used to bake. But that
doesn't mean he's gay."
"Doesn't mean he's not. Look, there are a million gay kids out there. Why
wouldn't our kid be one of them? He's still a great kid, you know."
"I know. I guess every father is concerned about it, down deep. It's a
hard life, being gay. You think it was the divorce?"
"No, silly. Some people are just born gay. Our son just likes dicks. Ha.
Doesn't make him evil."
"I should go talk to him."
"No. Not yet, Steven. He was terrified of you finding out. I think we
should just educate him a little more. Leave some clothes around. Leave
some magazines. Talk about homosexuality at the dinner table. Let him
know it's okay."
"Mikey's gay?" my father repeated. "Mikey's gay. Well, gays can get
married in our state now. Maybe he'll meet someone and be a good wife.
That's all I want. Is for him to be happy."
"Me, too, baby. And pretty."
***
I later heard about the conversation, and yes I know it was filled with
misinformation. Being curious doesn't make you a transexual, and being a
transexual doesn't make you gay, and being gay certainly doesn't make you
someone's wife. But these were a pair of vanilla parents trying to do the
right thing. They loved their kid. Even now, I find something honorable
in that. For all their clumsiness, their hearts were in the right place.
And so assorted dresses started to show up in my closet. Panties. Bras.
There were transvestite magazines, some of them slick and gorgeous, some
grainy and filled with porn. A vibrator showed up on my night stand.
And, yes, I wore the clothes. I swore I would never do it again, but
there they were. There was an ivory colored nightgown. A yellow sundress.
A wig. A rainbow of lipsticks.
If I wasn't trans when I tried on Jenny's blue dress, I was becoming one
with my parents' encouragement. Charlotte knew I was dressing, and I knew
she know, and she knew I knew she knew. I didn't play basketball anymore.
I just came home and played dress up. One day, when my friend Larry was
over, I dressed for him. He laughed. "Jenny's?" "Yeah," I said. And so he
rifling through her clothes, and soon enough, he was dressed.
No, nothing ever happened. Larry did it that one time, never again. He
never acted as if I did again, either. We were just two kids playing in
cloth.
Looking back, I wonder if I wanted more. Maybe. I was awful curious.
So, too, was Char.
It was in mid-summer when Charlotte came in the front door and called to
me. I bounded down the stairs - I wasn't always dressed - to see how I
could help. Charlotte was as cheerful as ever.
"I got you something, sweetie," she said.
"Something for me?" I asked.
"For you." And she held out a lavender dress that shimmered in the light.
It may have been the prettiest thing I've ever seen. I damn near swooned.
"I don't want, Charlotte," I said. "I'm not..."
"Mikey. We know. It's okay, sweetie. I'll bet Larry will love you in
this."
"You know...what? And Larry? What the heck does Larry have to do with
it."
"Sweetheart, we know you're gay. It's okay, baby. Some people are. We've
talked about it. We joined an online group for parents of gay kids. Not
all of you wear dresses. Just use protection, okay? And if you need to
talk to someone, it's okay. We want you to be okay being gay."
So there it was. My parents believed I was gay. It didn't matter how many
times I told them I wasn't. They were so reassuring, so comfortable.
"Sweetie? Don't you think it's time we saw you dressed up? I'll help you
with your makeup. You can be the girl you want to be."
Did I want to be a girl? Honestly, I didn't think so. I just liked
wearing the clothes. But Charlotte was being so...nice. I found myself
reaching toward the dress. I saw her smile. And I surrendered.
When Daddy got home that night - and it seemed right to call him Daddy -
I was in the lavender dress with purple heels and full makeup. He saw me
and smiled widely. "Hello, princess," he said. "It's about time you said
hello."
I smiled shyly. I handed him a scotch, the way Charlotte had told me. He
kissed me on the cheek.
"Do you have a name?" he said. "A girl's game?"
"Becky," I said.
"Well, Rebecca, you're a lovely girl. I expect to see you more often."
I glanced at the floor. This was embarrassing, having Daddy see me in a
dress. The news that it would happen more often - that a page had turned
- floored me. I had thought this would be a one-time costume party, not
my entrance into womanhood.
Was I ready for this?
And did "this" care?
***
Some parents are cool. Some parents like their lifestyles of their
children no matter what they are. If their girls want to be boys, if
their boys want to be girls, if they want to be gay or play dress up or
whatever, it's okay.
My parents went further.
They wen't just accepting, they were assisting.
Charlotte bought clothes galore. My dad introduced me to one of his
junior execs, a guy who flirted with him endlessly. They joined pro-LGBT
parental organizations and other support groups, They put rainbow
stickers on their car for all the neighbors to see.
One night, they were talking to another couple of parents.
"And what kind of girl is Rebecca?" Charlotte asked.
"What kind? What do you mean?"
"Oh, baby, there are so many kinds. Lesbian. Tops. Bottoms. Dommes.
Sissies. Tomboys. Girly girls."
"Um, she's not a lesbian. She had a boyfriend. Larry. What were the
others?"
"Well, there are domination games. Mistresses and sissies, for instance.
There are tomboys and girly-girls."
"Well, she's pretty girly. Stephen, is she a mistress?"
"Oh, I wouldn't think so, hon. She's sweet and quiet, a little shy. She
likes to cook and clean. Does that mean anything?"
"Well, she could be a sissy," the other parent said. "Does she like
maid's dresses?"
"I don't know. I've never bought one for her. Do you think I should?"
"Maybe. A lot of girls like that. You say she cooks? Sissies love to
cook. They like being told what to do."
"Rebecca likes being told, too," Charlotte said, thinking pensively.
"Last week, Steven brought home a boyfriend for her. Taylor. She didn't
even kiss him. I'll bet she was waiting to be told to."
"And maybe more."
And everyone laughed. I seemed to be quite the amusement these days.
I didn't know what to think when I saw the maid's outfit. I thought
Charlotte was having more fun, I guess. There she went, jumping to
conclusions again. Just because I had baked as a kid didn't mean I was a
maid. Of course, it didn't mean I wasn't, either.
It was Saturday, and I was up early. Already, I had on a sundress (all I
wore were girl's clothes these days). My hair had grown out, and it
draped my face.
I padded into the kitchen to take my morning pills (yeah, my parents'
idea), and there it was, a black ball of lace draped over the back of the
chair. It was beautiful. It had white lace trimming, and an apron, and
heavy petticoats. There was a small hat.
I held it up against my body. It was so soft, so light. I felt a stirring
in my groin. For all the dresses Charlotte had bought me, for all the
times she had taken me shopping, clothing had never affected me like
this.
I unzipped the sundress.
I had to wear this.
***
Charlotte found me in mid-morning in the kitchen. I had a pot of tea on,
and I was baking croissants. I had rearranged my hair to wear it was up
in a bun.
"Ooh-la-la," a voice from behind me said. I turned, and it was Charlotte.
"You like?" she said.
"I like," I said.
"Is it asking too much for my maid to pour me some tea?" she said.
And so another page turned. I was still short of my 17th birthday, but my
father offered me a job as the house maid. I took it. I washed dishes. I
did laundry. I vacuumed. I made beds.
I was no longer that fumbling teenager of a few months ago, dabbling in
femininity. This completed me. This was what I wanted. I no longer had to
define if I was trans or gay or playing around. I was a sissy. I didn't
care who knew it.
In the days to come, everyone would know. Neighbors drop by. Support
groups meet. Teachers have conferences. My parents couldn't tell everyone
fast enough about their girl.
Maybe this was good. It was embarrassing, but maybe people deserved to
know. Maybe I deserved the laughter.Hey, everyone doesn't go to college
and become a lawyer. Some of us are destined to wait on him.
And so my life went. Taylor, the junior executive, asked me on a date.
Yes, I went. Modesty prevents me from saying if anything happened, but I
did learn how to get sperm stains out of a dress. Ha. Taylor had a
beautiful body, hard and sweet. My was was softer. My breasts had
developed into the perfect sissy's.
Looking back, my parents were too eager. They made too many assumptions.
They pushed too hard.
But you know, they were mostly right. They enabled all of this.
I loved them.
I loved me.
I loved life.
Gert
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