Sarah s StoryChapter 7 Sarah and Deedi
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There's Something About Sarah - Chapter One free porn video
Author's Note: Note carefully: Although this chapter is a coming of age
story, there are absolutely no sexual acts, I say again, absolutely no
sexual acts, consensual or otherwise involving persons below the age of
consent.
There's Something About Sarah
By
Michele Nylons
Chapter One - Sloane
Not many boys get a breast augmentation for their birthday; nor that many
girls for that matter.
I had the operation during spring break from college. I needed it. I was
a good looking woman but hopelessly flat-chested. I had the legs, I had
the ass, I had the figure and I definitely had the looks but I didn't
have the tits. Yes indeed; I was a gorgeous flat-chested teenaged girl.
Only one problem... I was a boy.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Let's start at the beginning.
"The last thing I need is another fucking mouth to feed! And a fucking
boy at that!"
That was what my Aunt Amanda said when I arrived on her doorstep.
"Well we're dirt poor and this place only has two bedrooms so it looks
like you're sharing with your cousin," were the next words out of her
mouth.
I was orphaned at age five and as I was to find out very soon and then to
be constantly reminded that the only reason my Aunt Amanda took me in was
because of the inheritance held in trust for me. She had access to a
small but regular stipend from that trust fund so long as I was her ward.
Amanda Grayson was a widow who had a single child; a girl my age. Sloane
was her mother's darling; a vivacious child, whilst I was withdrawn and
morose.
Sharing a room with Sloane I grew up surrounded by girl's accoutrements.
Twin beds with pink beadspreads which became quilted satin comforters as
we got older, teddy bears and dolls transitioned to posters of boy bands
and teen girl groups. Cute hair clips, ankle socks and sneakers gave way
to makeup, pantyhose and Mary Janes.
Aunt Amanda was content to let Sloane treat me almost as her pet. Starved
of love and affection and with no other family to show any care for me, I
doted on Sloane. I loved her and I would do anything for her, which was
the beginning of my undoing; or of my metamorphosis depending on how you
want to see it.
I'm not sure when it was that Amanda found me dressed in Sloane's
clothes; I really don't remember wearing any boy's clothes at all but I
suppose I did before I lived with Sloane. I was probably around six years
old.
Amanda found me wearing a white A-line skirt with blue poodles
embroidered on the hem, a white blouse, Bobby sox and classic black Mary
Jane's. I was sitting on the bed and Sloane was brushing my curly blonde
hair; she had even given me bangs.
"Sloane! What the fuck are you doing with Stephen!" she barked as she
entered our bedroom.
I could smell the miasma of gin and cheap perfume that constantly
surrounded my Aunt Amanda and she had the obligatory Virginia Slim or
Salem Light dangling from her red lipsticked lips.
"He's not your pet honey," she cooed.
"But I'm making him look like me Mommy. Look!" Sloane jumped up on the
bed and sat beside me.
Sloane too was wearing a matching A-line skirt, white blouse, Bobby sox
and Mary Jane's and her blonde hair, straight - not curly like mine, also
had bangs.
"See mom! We're sisters!" Sloane squealed.
Had I been older I could have sensed the wheels turning in Amanda's gin-
soaked brain.
"Why yes she is honey. She's just like your twin sister," Amanda smiled
and blew a plume of blue smoke in our direction.
Sloane pulled me too her and hugged me tight and I hugged her back.
"She sure as damn is your twin sister. What's her name?" Amanda asked.
"Sarah," I squealed excitedly.
"Sloane thought Sarah was a nice name for me," I whimpered and blushed
when Amanda's angry gaze fell on me for speaking when I wasn't spoken to.
That was one of Amanda's rules, and she had many, I was not to speak
unless I was spoken to.
"Well you seem to like being sissified and it'll be damn cheaper raising
two girls as opposed to one of each. Especially when you get to growing;
but we'll cross that bridge when it needs crossing" Amanda mused.
"You girls keep playing quiet now and stay in your room. I have a
gentleman caller arriving soon and he won't want any little girls making
a noise or getting under his feet. Understand!" Amanda smiled like an
alligator; all teeth but no emotion.
Over the years I observed that Amanda had a lot of 'gentlemen callers'.
Some only visited on and off for a few hours, some for few days, and the
rare one or two stayed a little longer. Even when one stayed with us full
time, Amanda had other callers who just came to visit for a few hours. I
was a very naive child and I was well into my teens when I realised that
Amanda was accepting payment in cash money from her gentlemen friends for
the pleasure of her company.
Sloane and I would giggle when we heard Amanda moan and wail and
sometimes even scream from behind the privacy of her bedroom door. The
caller would generally leave straight after the wailing stopped, usually
in a hurry with a sweaty forehead, tucking his shirt into his pants.
From that day on I never dressed like a boy ever again. With Amanda and
Sloane's guidance I dressed and acted just like a girl for the remainder
of my childhood. When Amanda bought Sloane new clothes I wore her cast
offs. Everything I had, had once belonged to Sloane; clothes, books,
toys, even my bed linen. Amanda had me grow out my hair and styled it
just like Sloane's. We played girls games and I thought like a girl and
dreamt like a girl.
The little boy Stephen was gone.
I was seven when Amanda called me to her bedroom and closed the door and
had me stand in front of her as she sat in a hard backed chair.
"You like living here don't you Sarah?" she asked around the cigarette
dangling from her lips.
"Yes ma'am," I answered as I had been instructed.
"And you like being a pretty little girl too? You don't wanna be boy?"
she continued.
"I'm Sarah Aunt Amanda. That's who I am!" I pouted and stamped my foot
with my hands on hips
"Well I'm going to have to send you to school soon Sarah," Amanda
announced.
I looked at her with a puzzled expression; I knew that Sloane was off to
school soon and I just presumed that I would go with her. We did
everything together after all.
"You'll be different from the other girls," she went on and I frowned.
"Why?" I asked innocently.
"Because of this stupid!" Amanda lifted my skirt, pulled down my pink
cotton panties and gripped the tiny nub that was my penis.
"It's only a little un' even for someone your age but its there and so
are these," she squeezed my tiny scrotal sac.
"So here's the thing. Listen and listen good!"
"You always make sure that the door is closed when you go to the ladies
room. You never, ever, ever let anyone see or touch you down there no
matter what the reason. Do you understand!"
I nodded.
She gripped me tight and shook me.
"Yes ma'am," I cried.
"That little pecker will sit tight inside your panties for now. But as
you get older we'll have to figure some way to hide it out the way.
There's ways of doin' that; I saw them lady-boys on the TV and I swear
you wouldn't know they was packing heat in their drawers," she laughed
and coughed out a plume of smoke.
She gripped me tight and pulled my face close until it was only an inch
from hers.
"Your name is Sarah. You are and all ways have been a little girl and
Sloane is your cousin with whom you've been living with since orphaned.
Understand?" she stared into my eyes.
"Yes ma'am. No need for me to lie. What you said is the truth," I smiled
back at my Aunt, holding back tears.
Amanda pulled me into her arms in a rare display of affection, she hugged
me and kissed my cheek.
"You're a good girl Sarah; now go and play girl," she spun me round and
spanked me playfully on the bottom, pushing towards the door.
My heart soared. I was going to school with Sloane! And Aunt Amanda
thought I was a good girl! I was smiling and crying at the same time.
At school I didn't make friends easily and those I did make tended to be
quiet and studious like me. Sloane on the other hand was immediately
befriended by the 'in crowd', even at that early age.
Although I looked, behaved and thought like a girl I was aware that I was
different. I knew I carried a very special secret and if that secret was
ever to get out the life I loved would be ruined. I took every precaution
to keep my secret. I was particularly careful when I went to the
bathroom, sitting on the seat and peeing just like a girl and I never
ever put myself in a situation where my genitals would be exposed.
For physical education classes I changed into and out of my PE gear in
the shower stalls. Quite a few of the girls were shy and did the same so
it was no big deal. Amanda had written a note to the Principal stating
that due to my religious beliefs I was never to be examined below the
waist by the school nurse without Amanda's express permission. To this
day I'm not sure how that worked or why she did it as it was almost
unheard of for that occur anyway. This was the Bible Belt and no one took
any such liberties.
One day in the fourth grade I inadvertently wandered into a pick up
baseball game that the boys were playing in the playground and I got
knocked onto my ass by a kid running to third base. I sat in the dust
crying, dazed and confused, with my legs spread wide while the boys all
stared up my dress at my pink cotton panties.
The boys all laughed and began to chant.
"I see London, I see France I see Sarah's underpants!"
Sloane raced over and dragged me to my feet smoothing out my dress.
"Be careful!" she pulled me close and hissed in my ear.
"I don't want to be the girl who has a weirdo for a sister."
I often sought out Sloane's company and spent my lunchbreaks and free
time with her and her friends until junior high school when Sloane made
it abundantly clear that my company was not wanted. And who could blame
her. She was a budding beauty, popular and engaging but she was an
academic bankrupt; she barely made her grades and was constantly required
to attend remediation tuition classes.
As I grew I became tall, lithe and slender, with long coltish legs but
with generous full-globed buttocks.
"There's many a skinny girl that would give more than's decent for an ass
like a yours honey. You ain't got any tits but you got an ass like a
twelve year old boy," Amanda used to joke and slap me on the buttocks
when she was full of gin and feeling exuberant.
It was around this time that subtle changes started. I never became
hirsute to any extent; my body and limbs remained mostly hairless but the
odd hair began to appear now and then on my face. Amanda showed me how to
pluck them out by the root using tweezers. Over the next few years after
plucking out every hair as it appeared, I no longer had any facial hair
to worry about except for the odd rouge one here and there that was
quickly dispatched.
My penis was still small as was my scrotal sac but it was getting bigger
and creating an obvious bulge in my underwear. Through experimentation
and practice I learned how to tuck.
I learned how to push my testes up inside me then push my penis back
between my legs, pulling the scrotal skin up on either side. I was now at
age where I was wearing full-cut, cotton-spandex blend panties to school
and they held my tucked parts stay in place. If I wanted to wear nice
panties, I particularly liked satin bikini panties, I would gaff with
tape. I could sit on the toilet and urinate just like a girl.
Amanda bought me padded bras as most of the girls my age now had budding
breasts but as my friends boobs got bigger, mine could never become any
bigger than a padded bra on a flat chest would allow, and I was teased
about being small chested.
But the real issue was that my voice was starting to break.
I so loved being a girl that I wanted to be one in every way but I knew
the biggest challenge was going to be my voice, as did Amanda and Sloane.
Amanda came to my rescue when she found a video tape called 'Finding Your
Female Voice'. She and Sloane made me sit in front of the small second-
hand TV and VCR that Sloane and I now had in our bedroom and practice,
practice, practice, every evening. As a result I never developed a man's
voice but I do have a lovely rich, dark-toned feminine voice that most
find quite pleasant and as I was later to find out, some men find sexy.
"You sound like me after a night of drinking gin and smoking a pack of
Salem's," Amanda quipped one day.
In fact, despite my shyness, in the eighth grade I was coaxed and coerced
into singing a rendition of Bonnie Tyler songs in the school concert.
It was during my early teens years that I became curious about sex.
Sloane and I had discovered long ago that the cries, moans and screams
coming from Amanda's bedroom were because she was having sex with her
gentlemen callers. We just weren't too sure what sex was.
Our school's policy was 'abstinence only' and provided no real sex
education but we were confused as to what we were to abstain from
exactly. That was until one day Sloane and I were walking home and took a
short cut through a small wooded area where kids went to smoke and
generally ruckus, away from the adults. Mary Sue Thompson was known to be
a wild girl; she was two grades ahead of us and at sixteen was quite
developed. There she was talking to a couple of seniors just off the path
in a small grove of willows. We wouldn't have seen them except for her
pleading.
Sloane quickly pulled me with her into a grassy dry creek bed where we
could see the proceedings without being seen ourselves.
"Ok but I want five smokes from each of yer," Mary Sue Thompson whined.
The boys nodded and then to our amazement they opened their flies and
dropped out their peckers.
Mary Sue took one Johnson in each hand and gave them boys a good tug
until their juices squirted on the ground, which didn't take long at all.
She wiped her hands on a lace handkerchief which we both hoped wouldn't
see church on Sunday and held out her hands as the boys counted out five
cigarettes each. She put the cigarettes into her backpack.
"If you give us both a blowjob we'll give you a pack each next time," one
of the boys grinned.
"If you boys wanna blowjob, you better come good with a carton," she
shrilled and skipped off down the path.
Sloane and I giggled all the way home and most of the night.
That night as we lay in our beds Sloane turned to me and asked a
question.
"Do you squirt like those boys Sarah?"
"I don't think I squirt like those boys do Sloane. But sometimes I have
funny dreams and when I wake up my panties are wet and sticky," I
blushed, even in the dark.
"Aunt Amanda said it was natural for a special girl like me and that when
I grow up I'm going to have to figure out what's what as been as I don't
have a pussy."
"I wonder what she meant by that?" Sloane asked quizzically.
We both drifted off but it wouldn't be long off before Sloane was going
to know exactly what her pussy was for.
In High School I jumped a year as I excelled at my schooling which was
inversely proportional to Sloane's decline in academic achievement.
Sloane was nearly held back a grade and we drifted further apart at
school. I tried my best to help her study but she wasn't interested.
Sloane's interests were her looks, money, and boys; in that order.
We still loved each other and looked out for each other but we were
drifting apart. I spent hours reading and studying while Sloane spent
hours flipping through teen magazines, listening to records and talking
to her friends on the phone. We seldom bought friends home; Amanda
discouraged it. I knew it was because we were poor and because Amanda
lived a life that did not garner the approval of most of the community,
most kids weren't allowed to come over to our place anyway.
"Them hypocrites would just roll over and die if they knew their husbands
were want to visit mama when they got the chance to sneak away from their
dried-up pussy bitch wives!" Sloane hissed vehemently one day when she'd
been slighted by one of her friends mother's.
As Sloane grew older she spoke and more like her mother despite my best
efforts to teach her proper diction and pronunciation.
"I don't have to speak like some stuck up cunt! I want to be a
hairdresser or cosmetician, not one of those hairy-legged, eye-glass
wearing, no-makeup, sensibly-shoed, teachers or librarians," she joked
one day.
Sloane was also using profane language as a matter of course whenever
Amanda wasn't in earshot.
When we turned sixteen our school allowed the girls to wear makeup in
moderation and to wear pantyhose in place of sox should we so desire or
in our case if we could afford to. Amanda had allowed us both to wear
makeup on special occasions before this but now we could wear it every
day and we loved it. For me it was especially exciting to preen in front
of the mirror applying lipstick, powder, a little eyeliner and shadow and
a smudge of mascara. It highlighted my feminine features and even I knew
I looked attractive with my long blonde hair and bangs.
Amanda bought pantyhose which were handed to Sloane still in the packet
and I had to make do with her cast offs when they got a hole or a runner
or if she'd just done with them. I'd repair them as best I could and
became quite adept. I soon found that if two pairs had a runner in one
leg I could cut away the ruined leg and make one good pair out of both.
Also the gussets of the pantyhose helped hold my gaff in place so I wore
my panties over the top of the gusset of my pantyhose so they looked and
felt nice. Wearing pantyhose and makeup to me was a true sign of
womanhood.
But Sloane! Sloane of course pushed everything to the limit and she piled
on the makeup, hiked up her skirts and dresses when she could get away
with it and wore high-heels that she 'borrowed' from Amanda to wear to
and from school. At school she had to tone down the makeup, lower her hem
and wear her Mary Janes just like the rest of us but she still looked
stunning.
We still looked like sisters but Sloane was Cinderella and I was plain
Jane. The boys gathered around Sloane like moths to a flame.
Quite a while before this Amanda had warned us about men. She came home
one day when Sloane and I were fourteen and we were play wrestling on the
lounge room floor. We were sweating and our skirts had ridden up high
exposing our panties and our blouses were loose and unbuttoned,
displaying our training bras. But we were too busy having fun to notice.
But Amanda's gentleman caller had. He was sitting in the lounge chair
studying us with rapture, sweat beading on his upper lip which he licked
at now and then; he had a large bulge in his pants.
Amanda came through the door to find Sloane straddling my prone body, my
skirt hitched high and my blouse mostly undone as I struggled underneath
her. Sloane's skirt was also rucked up and her panty crotch was inches
from my face and she giggled as rode me like a steer in a rodeo.
Unbeknown to us girls that man now had his hands inside his pants and his
fascination was such that he wasn't aware that Amanda had come home until
she smashed him upside his head with the beer bottle that had been
sitting the table beside him. She bashed that man repeatedly so hard that
when he finally got away from her he called the police.
I heard later that when the police came around and Amanda told them
what's what they went and found that man and gave him another beating.
Sloane and I ran to our room and cried and sobbed, hugging each other and
waiting for our turn for a beating but when Amanda came in to our room
she pulled us both close and hugged us.
"You girls did nothing wrong but I suppose I'm remiss about not providing
that part of your education that you ain't gonna get at school," Amanda
said.
"What do you girls now about sex?" she asked.
"Only that we have to abstain or we will get pregnant or get a disease.
Oh and we saw Mary Sue Thompson give some boys a hand job in the willow
grove," Sloane said.
Amanda burst out laughing.
"Well I hope she was well paid for it; from what I hear that girl don't
give away what she's found she can sell," Amanda chortled.
"Well ok; serious now! Boy's are going to try to get at what you have in
your panties and that's natural and you know that abstinence is the
answer. But there's more'n just horny teenage boys trying to pop your
cherry to worry about. Some older men have a penchant for girls your age
so its best I give you all the gory details," Amanda said.
"Now it's not the same for you Sarah cause you know you're different down
there but most of it applies. You in particular are never, ever, ever, to
let anyone touch you down there. When you're older I'll tell you how your
kind do what they do but for now listen up both of you."
And so we finally received our sex education in full and in graphic
detail. I found it fascinating but Sloane squirmed and winced when
Amanda's description became too detailed.
I have to admit I was fascinated by Amanda's statement: 'When you're
older I'll tell you how your kind do what they do'. I was entering
puberty and now and then I found myself fantasising and my penis had
started to become erect when I had those fantasises. They were nothing
too lurid; I just imagined a handsome boy dancing with me or holding my
hand and stealing a kiss. I knew this was dangerous territory for me and
I kept those feelings to myself. But I was awakening at night more often
with my panties soaked with my juices and I snuck away and furtively
washed them and hung them to dry.
The age of consent in our home state is sixteen and I'd bet Sloane only
just made it before she got her cherry popped.
As Sloane pursued her own interests and me mine we grew further apart.
Our late night girls talk and secret sharing had became less frequent.
She began to see boys on a regular basis, taking on boyfriends and then
casting them aside when someone better came along.
One day I was sitting in the study hall when one of my study-buddies, a
chubby plain girl, sat close to me.
"How come you and Sloane are so different?" she asked, her eyes searching
mine.
"Whatever go you mean?" I asked, the hair on the back of my neck
bristling.
"Well you're a studious academic who seems to have no interest in boys
and your sister; well she's getting a reputation for being easy," she
whispered.
I swallowed and looked away from her.
"You know the boys call you the Ice Princess," she said.
"Pretty but unattainable," her hand gripped my knee.
"Are you? Well are you like me?" her hand began to slide up my knee.
"Like you?" I gulped, confused.
Her hand slid under the hem of my skirt and squeezed.
"Do you prefer girls?" she panted in my ear and squeezed harder.
I shot up out of my chair. I could feel the heat in my blushing face. I
was angry and confused.
"I'm nothing like you!" I hissed.
I accidentally kicked over my chair as I bolted from the long table and
out the door into the corridor, tears streaming down my face, feelings of
confusion, anger and frustration washed over me.
The others in the study hall looked up form their projects surprised by
my outburst.
"Keep the noise down ladies. Pick up that chair Miss Dudley," the study
hall teacher on duty ordered and followed me into corridor.
"Are you okay Sarah?" she asked, lifting my chin with her finger.
"Yes ma'am," I replied and strode off down the quiet hallway.
A week later I came home early with stomach cramps. I was in my senior
grade of High School, the youngest at sixteen, but still close to top of
my class. Sloane had dropped out of junior grade promising Amanda she
would find an apprenticeship at a beauty parlour or hair dressing salon.
Amanda was out and the house was quite. The smell of stale cigarette
smoke and alcohol pervaded the air and did nothing to settle my stomach
so I raced over to the bedroom door intending to lie down and let the
dizziness dissipate.
I flung open the door and found a tableaux that I can't forget to this
day.
Sloane was lying on her back with her legs high in the air. She'd
obviously stolen a pair of her mother's black stockings as her legs were
clad in the sheer hose, although they were a little too big for her and
wrinkled at the knees and tops of her thighs. Her feet were shod in shiny
black pumps she kept 'for special' and her skirt was hitched up around
her waist, her bosom exposed and heaving. Her head was thrown back on the
pillows her hair fanned around her face like an angel; her face was a
mask of lust and debauchery as she gasped profanities.
"Fuck me! Fuck me honey! Oh god yes fuck me!" she gasped as her nails
raked the back of the high school quarterback who lay thrusting between
her legs.
She sensed my presence and her head snapped around and she glared at me.
"Got out! Get out! Get out you freak!" she screamed.
I ran from the house sobbing and sprinted to our 'secret place'. It was
about half a mile down a track that ran from our back yard into an
overgrown paddock; an old shed once used for tack and horses, now
deserted and dilapidated. I climbed the rickety ladder to the loft,
laddering my hose on the splinters. My makeup had run; smeared by tears
and sweat. I dug around under the hay and found the secret place where
Sloane kept her stash of illicit cigarettes and tried to light one. My
hand shook but I eventually got it going and was seized by coughing fit.
I was determined to smoke the damn thing and I did and then lit another.
I'd got it half done when Sloane hiked herself up over the top of the
ladder.
"Those things 'll kill ya," she grinned down at me.
She held out her hand I offered up the cigarettes and the plastic
disposable lighter. Sloane lit up and blew out a long stream of smoke.
I noticed she was bare-legged and had replaced her 'fuck-me heels' with
sneakers.
She dropped down beside me and turned my face to hers and looked directly
into my eyes.
"You gonna tell Momma?"
I stared up the cobweb strewn ceiling; slivers of daylight penetrating
the cracks between the boards.
"Nope," I whispered; my throat hoarse from crying and the smoke.
Sloane scrunched over next to me and snuggled up to me. She held me for
what seemed like an eternity; her head resting on my chest.
"I love you Sarah. I love you like a sister," Sloane whispered.
Fresh tears streamed down my face.
"But if you tell a soul what saw. If you tell Momma. Even if you confess
to what you saw to the Pastor under the sacrosanct of confession I'll
fuck you over. I'll ruin your life."
"You're the big shot going to college now and I'm the white trash who
dropped out to go to beautician school. I reckon Momma loves you almost
as much as she loves me."
"But don't forget one thing," she raised her head from my chest and I saw
the malignancy in her eyes.
"Under all that lipstick and powder, those blouses and skirts, those hose
and heels..."
Her hand shot under my skirt and she dug her fingers viciously into my
groin until she found my penis gaffed between my legs and squeezed me
until I gasped with pain.
"Under it all you're still a boy! You walk like woman, talk like a woman,
you probably even think like one for all I know. But you're just Stephen
Grayson wearing nylons and a dress and I'll shout it from the rooftops if
you ever cross me you bitch!"
To be continued.
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