Granddaddy s Love Chapter 01 Kissing my granddaddy
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Doing It For Dad (chapter 7) free porn video
DOING IT FOR DAD
Chapter 7
It was only a short walk from the car to the main entrance of the
complex, maybe ten or eleven yards at most. The clack-clack-clack of my
heels on the path made me feel very conspicuous, and out of the corner
of my eye I caught the furtive twitch of a curtain or two. Dad's flat
was at the rear of the building, so I knew he could not be one of the
curtain twitchers. My arrival had not gone unnoticed.
At the main entrance I reached out towards the intercom buttons. I knew
it would be pointless buzzing dad; he'd only tell me that he didn't want
me to come in. I pressed for the duty warden instead, and held my
breath.
"Warden," intoned a tinny-sounding voice. It was the same man I'd spoken
to the previous weekend.
"Hello," I said. "I'm... er... I've come to visit my... er... Mr
Ellsbrough." There was a few moments of silence before the warden
answered.
"Have you buzzed his flat?"
"No," I replied. "That is, he's not answering. I was rather hoping you'd
let me in?"
Another pause, then; "Is that Mr Ellbrough's son? I didn't recognise you
at first."
I was flummoxed by this statement. Then I spotted the CCTV camera above
the door. "Come on in," continued the warden's voice.
The door unlocked with a loud click. I pushed it open and walked in. I
had only taken a few short steps across the vestibule towards the
corridor that led to dad's flat, when the warden appeared.
"Hi, Mr Ellsbrough," he said.
"Um, would you call me Carolyn, please?" I requested.
"OK, no problem." The warden grinned. "I must say," he said, "you look a
bit different from when I last met you."
"Yes," I agreed, feeling a shade embarrassed. "The thing is, you see,
I'm doing this for dad. I don't want him to feel ashamed about me seeing
him as Samantha."
"No need to explain," he assured me. "It's a really nice thing you're
doing for your dad. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."
"I hope so," I replied. "You wouldn't believe what I've been through so
far." We arrived at dad's door. "All I want is for him to be happy."
The warden quietly unlocked the door for me. "Good luck, Carolyn," he
whispered, and ambled back up the corridor.
The sound of dad's television drifted through from his living room. I
took a breath, opened the door, and walked in. My heels clacked suddenly
on the wooden floor, alerting dad to my presence. He clearly hadn't
heard the warden unlocking his front door. He spun round in his chair, a
startled expression on his face.
Dad was wearing a peach coloured cotton dress, thick tights and two inch
heels. The makeup on his face was not quite so skilfully applied as when
I had seen him last. Perhaps he was now being left to his own devices.
It struck me that I, too, ought to learn how to apply my own makeup.
Dad's mascara'd eyes were wide open, his ruby red lips pursed in an "O"
of shock. Then he visibly relaxed. It was as if he had been expecting
someone and was relieved to find it was someone else.
He looked me up and down in amazement. "Charlie?" he gasped, lifting
himself to his feet. "Is that really you?"
I laughed softly. "Yes," I said. "It's really me."
"My god, Charlie." Dad looked dumbfounded. "You... you're dressed as a
woman. You came all the way here... from home... looking like that?"
"I drove here," I replied. "It wasn't too bad. The hardest part was
leaving the house. Well, that and waiting at just about every single
traffic light." Dad turned away, leaving me standing by the open door.
There was a long, awkward silence, and I began to worry that the plan
had backfired. "Can I come in?" I asked.
"What?" replied dad. He turned back to face me, and I saw a single tear
trickling down his cheek. "Oh! Yes," he said at last. "Of course! Yes,
please come in." Those were the words I'd desperately wanted to hear. I
could feel the sting of tears forming in my own eyes. Elaine and Julie
were right, this was proving to be an emotional meeting.
Dad scrutinised me from head to toe. "Well," he said, "I have to say,
Charlie, you do make a lovely looking woman. I'd never have believed it.
How the hell are you able to walk in those heels?"
I laughed. "I've had a little bit of practice. They're not so bad once
you get used to them. Actually, I quite like them."
"Well," said dad. "Sit down, won't you? Take the weight off. Would you
like a cup of tea, Charlie?"
"I'd love one," I said. "And call me Carolyn. Is that OK?"
"Yes," he replied. "As long as you're OK with calling me Samantha. "Dad"
doesn't seem quite right, does it? And I'm certainly not your mum!" He
shuffled out to the kitchen, returning after a few minutes with two cups
of tea and a plate of custard creams.
"So, Charl-- Carolyn," dad said. "How long have you been doing this?"
"Only a week," I replied. "I got a bit upset last Saturday, when you
told me you didn't want me to visit you."
"I know," said dad. "And I'm sorry, but I didn't want you seeing your
old dad looking like this. I don't want you thinking badly of me."
"But I don't, dad-- I mean Samantha. I love you too much for something
like this to make me think badly of you. I just needed to find some way
of proving that to you. I wanted you to be comfortable with me visiting
you."
"So you decided to do that by dressing up as a woman, like me?"
"Yes. I'm doing this for you. To be honest, it was Elaine's idea. She
and Julie have helped me all the way."
"Elaine's a clever girl," said dad, smiling. And it was then that I knew
the plan had succeeded. Dad was no longer ashamed for me to see him as
Samantha.
We chatted happily for a good hour or so. I told dad about the shopping
trip to buy my dress and shoes. I told him about the sheer delight Julie
had taken in turning her dad into a woman. I told him about the evening
in Pelworth, about the car theft, and about how I'd been chatted up by
Harry in the Boar's Head before the arrival of the police.
Dad, in turn, told me about daily life in Golden Days. Every Tuesday
afternoon an old film was shown in the community room; Thursday was
bingo night; on Friday night the warden arranged for fish and chips to
be delivered. When I asked dad if he'd been outdoors yet, he admitted he
had not. "I wouldn't want anyone to see me outside, looking like this,"
he said, sadly.
Then a question occurred to me. A question so blindingly obvious that I
was amazed I hadn't thought of it until now. "Samantha," I said. "Why
not just wear your ordinary male clothing for going out? And for when I
visit, come to that? Why not simply keep your women's clothing for when
you're inside?"
Dad shook his head. "I thought I'd told you," he said. "I dress this way
all the time. They make me do it."
"They?" I asked. "You mean the other residents?"
"Yes. Right after I moved in. They said they only wanted women living
here, and that if I wanted to stay then I'd have to look like a woman
too."
Poor dad. He was still clinging to his fanciful conspiracy story as
justification for his crossdressing. I noticed a look of concern
abruptly etch itself on dad's face.
"Carolyn," he said, leaning towards me. "Did they see you come in
tonight?"
"A couple of curtains twitched when I got out of the car, but that's
all," I said. "Apart from the warden, of course, who let me in."
"Jerry, yes. He's in league with them!"
"Da-- Samantha," I said. "I spoke to Jerry last week. He was very
helpful. He said that a lot of men find it hard to adapt to living in
sheltered accommodation, where most of the residents are female. He also
explained that some men dress as women in an attempt to fit in."
"That may be so in other places," he responded. "In here, they don't
give you any choice."
"Look," I said. "I can still try to find you somewhere else to live. You
don't have to stay here."
"No," dad replied. "I know it sounds stupid, but if I move out, then
they've beaten me. And I won't be beaten. I'm staying put!"
Whichever way he tarted it up, dad's refusal to move out only seemed to
prove that he was content to live at Golden Days as Samantha. All the
other residents were aware of his transvestism, presumably tolerating
and even encouraging it. Moving to another home would mean dad having to
break that particular bit of ice all over again. He simply wasn't ready
to admit as much to me yet. His claims of forced feminisation were
merely a face-saving measure for my benefit.
I decided to let the matter drop, and steered our conversation onto more
mundane topics. We chatted about the weather (naturally), politics
(fleetingly), old holidays (nostalgically), and makeup (amusingly).
Throughout our chat I called him Samantha and he called me Carolyn. We
relished spending the time together as our female alter egos and, in
what seemed like no time at all, it was approaching eleven o'clock.
"I really ought to be going, Samantha," I said. "It's been ever so
lovely seeing you."
"I've thoroughly enjoyed it, too, Carolyn," Samantha replied, warmly.
"We must do it again sometime."
"How about next Saturday?" I offered. "Or perhaps Thursday, for the
bingo session?"
"Next Saturday would be wonderful," said Samantha. "We can leave the
bingo for another time, I think."
"Next Saturday it is, then," I replied, standing. "And Elaine and Julie
will be coming, too."
Samantha led me to his front door, where we spontaneously gave each
other a hug and a loving kiss on the cheek. It had been many years since
I had kissed my father. It's the sort of thing British men tend to grow
out of at a very young age. This, however, was far more like an
affectionate kiss between two women. It felt natural and instinctive,
though we couldn't help chuckling when we both realised what we'd just
done.
As I turned towards the door, Samantha grasped my hand. "Charlie..." he
said. "Thank you for doing this. It means a great deal to me, knowing
that I have your support and understanding. Take care."
I smiled at him, and then walked away up the corridor towards the main
door. I moved past the community room and into the vestibule, where a
woman's voice stopped me in my tracks.
"Hello, dear," said the voice in a gentle, kindly tone. "Been visiting
Samantha, have you?"
The voice belonged to an elderly woman, who I presumed to be one of the
residents. She was sitting in an armchair, tucked away in one corner of
the vestibule. She appeared to be working on some embroidery.
"Oh, hello," I responded, with a smile. "Yes, I've been to see Samantha.
The time has flown by!"
"Time either flies or drags by in here," came the reply. "May I say you
make a very attractive woman, my dear. Nice legs."
"Oh... er... thank you," I said.
"You do take after Samantha, you know," she went on. "But you know what
they say, "like father, like son". I didn't catch your name, dear."
I was tempted to say I didn't throw it. There was an undertone to this
conversation that unnerved me for some reason. "Carolyn," I replied.
"Carolyn Ellsbrough."
"Carolyn," the woman repeated, smiling. "Such a lovely name. It's a
feminine form of Charles, of course, which, I believe, is your real
name."
There were no flies on this one, I thought.
"And how is dear Samantha?" the woman asked. "Is she settling in?"
"Yes," I replied. "I think so. Look, you clearly know that my dad is a
transvestite. He's taken to dressing up as a woman in an effort to fit
in here. The warden says it's not unknown for men to do that when they
find themselves thrust into an all-female environment like this."
"So I gather," said the woman.
"Mind you," I went on light-heartedly, "dad reckons that you're all
forcing him to do it! Absurd idea, isn't it?"
"It does sound totally absurd, yes," the woman agreed, looking me up and
down. "But it doesn't explain you, though, does it?"
"I'm doing this to support my dad," I explained. "He didn't want me to
visit him, you see. He didn't want me to see him as Samantha. I decided
to dress as a woman to show him he mustn't be ashamed of how he's chosen
to live."
"I see," responded the old woman. "That's very 21st century of you. Does
your wife know? About Carolyn, I mean."
"Yes," I replied. "As a matter of fact my wife and daughter have helped
me enormously."
"That's nice. I imagine it's not the sort of thing you'd want bandied
about, though, eh?"
I shook my head in agreement. "Well, no. It'd cause all sorts of
complications for me if this ever got out at work--" I stopped short. A
fragment of a recent conversation suddenly popped into my head. "I
really ought to be going," I said, taking a step towards the door. "It's
getting late. Nice to meet you, Mrs...?"
"Wardle, dear. Celia Wardle. I'm sure you must know my grandson. His
name's Andrew. You and he both work for the same company. Andrew's a
dear boy. He came to visit me last night, you know. He told me all about
you."
An alarm bell began to ring in my brain. "Ah," I said. "Yes, Drew
mentioned you lived here. He told me he was going to visit you on
Monday. He must have changed his plans."
Celia Wardle stood up, embroidery in hand, and hobbled towards the
corridor. "It's been very nice meeting you, too, Carolyn. I've been so
looking forward to it. And now that I've met you, I'm quite sure we'll
be seeing a lot more of you."
"Mrs Wardle," I said. "Um... Drew doesn't know about me doing this for
my dad. And it really would cause no end of problems for me if it got
out at work. So, I'd appreciate it if, you know..."
"Of course, dear," she replied. "It can be our little secret for just as
long as necessary." She unlocked a door, which I guessed was to her own
flat. "Oh, by the way," she said, with a sweet smile. "You know that
absurd notion of your father's? The one where he claims we're all
forcing him to dress up as a woman? Well, it's not absurd at all. It's
the truth. Goodnight... Carolyn."
To be continued...
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