Daughters Beth Bethany and Daddy
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Filling In For Beth Part 3 free porn video
Filling in for Beth - Part 3
"Yeah! That's what I'm talking about," the cashier said loudly, waving my
newly renewed driver's license at the older woman bagging the groceries
then at me. "Morgan! That proves my point."
"Ignore him," she said to me with a weary smile. Then, to the young man,
"Just do your job, Evelyn." She said the name slowly, grinning.
The kid might have blushed, it was hard to tell. He was maybe 22, tall and
broad in the shoulders with a strong chin. No Tom Hannover but certainly a
guy that the ladies could appreciate. Except for the acne. His face was
bright red and angry with bumps. I thought of Rachael. If we weren't
careful.
"I go by Derick," he said to me, rolling his eyes at the woman and
rereading the license closely.
The woman was almost old enough to be his mother but at one time she must
have driven the boys crazy. Her long, blonde hair was styled very nicely
for a grocery bagger and she had beautiful blue eyes with quite a bit of
makeup (I'd started to nice things like that). The store smock bulged
enticingly in front too, causing me to do a double take. She noticed and
smiled. There was a tooth missing on one side.
I'd been driving the girls to and from school in Tom's old Jeep for a
week. The freedom was glorious after so much time in hospitals and such,
then being trapped in the house for so long. Every day we needed something
from the grocery store or so I told myself on the way home from dropping
off the girls. It probably doesn't seem that exciting to most people,
sitting outside a grocery store with a cup of coffee and watching the
world go by, but it made me feel as free as the wind.
In all that time nobody said a word about my strange haircut or the
clothes. Yoga pants are so comfortable it's a crime men aren't supposed to
wear them. Beth had a stack of them in the exercise room. It requires
tucking to prevent chaffing and an unsightly bulge but that isn't
uncomfortable once you get used to it. In fact, well, I'll get into that
later. Go put on some yoga pants, you'll thank me. I always wore one of
Tom's big football shirts to cover the crotch just in case.
Derick looked up suddenly and smiled, then he glanced down, up and down,
and I realized my light jacket had flapped open. I pulled it tight.
'Fucking frozen food section,' I cursed to myself. I'd been walking around
unzipped all morning!
"Look, just forget the beer, OK." I said. "Can I just have my license back
please?" I just wanted to pay and go get my coffee before this kid started
trouble.
"Now look what you've done, Derick," the woman shouted. "Just let the poor
girl pay for her groceries."
I was dumbstruck. 'Poor girl?' Is that what they thought. I clutched the
jacket tighter. Derick at least looked embarrassed. The license said 'M'
under sex. Had he noticed?
"I'm, I'm sorry. We were only joking around about names earlier. That's
all."
He rang up the beer with a sheepish look, handed me the license with a
slight bow, then started sliding the rest of the items across the scanner.
A shocking number of cleansers went by, then small packs of tampons and
sanitary napkins (for research purposes) and a few cosmetics Rachael
wanted to try. Derick didn't seem to think anything was odd about the
items. He looked directly at me with a smile, holding out the receipt and
change a little too far away, making me reach for them.
"So why is it that everybody makes fun of a guy with a girl name but when
a chick has a dude's name, it only makes her hotter?"
Was I supposed to answer such a question? Had he just referred to me as a
'hot chick?' I took the money and stuffed it into the my fanny pack,
acutely conscious of him standing there waiting. He finally turned to the
woman putting the last item in a bag.
"Right, Taylor?"
She gave him a huge, gap-toothed smile and lowered the bag into my cart.
"If you say so, Evelyn."
+
I didn't stop for coffee. At home I dropped the bags and walked straight
to the bathroom, unzipping the jacket as I went. Yep. When it hung loose,
like in the store, there was a lump. It was there under the number '7.'
How much did Derick see? I turned slightly side to side. Damn. At the one
angle you could see a nipple pocking up and it had been much colder in the
store. Damn, Damn, Damn. I'd let it go too long.
I'd taken the pills for at least a month at the hospital and the whole
time at Tom's before it dawned on me to check the label. Sure, I'd read
the "Take 1 pill, twice a day" part. They were supposed to be testosterone
replacement pills, since my body doesn't produce that hormone anymore.
Really, I should have checked but I didn't even know what 'hormones' were
back then. The doctor was new, some young guy in a hurry and I was a
charity case. I was so used to taking whatever pill they handed me I just
followed the directions.
As the second month at Tom's approached I expected at least a little
mustache hair on my upper lip and there was nothing but a barely visible
wisp. In many ways I still looked like a 13 year old boy and a skinny one
at that. The scale said I'd put on a few pounds but when I looked closely
one day it all appeared to be in the wrong places. When I hopped my chest
jiggled noticeably. So I figured it out. The stupid doctor saw
"replacement hormones" and didn't even bother to look at me or, if he did,
he must have thought I was a girl. What to do now?
You know how athletes hate to mess up a winning streak? They'll wear the
same socks for a month or eat the same foods before every game, as long as
they keep winning. Hell, I'd once seen Tom pull on a shirt so stiff with
old sweat it could stand up on its own, because of a winning streak.
That's what went though my head. I felt like I was home for the first time
in my life. I loved the girls already, Tom was awesome and generous and I
had nowhere else to go anyway. It was a winning streak like none I'd ever
encountered and it would be crazy to tamper with that, wouldn't it? So I
let the prescription renew, started wearing looser shirts to hide my
swollen, red nipples and hoped the hormones had run their course. It's not
like anyone would ever see me with my shirt off anyway, right?
That's how I figured out Rachel needed a bra.
I'd started wearing white shirts under my regular clothes, the kind of
man's undershirt they call a 'wife beater.' They come in a 6-pack from
Walmart and did a good job of reducing the chaffing and hiding my swollen
nipples. My shirt selection at the the time was very limited: Old hospital
scrubs, a couple of worn T-shirts from hospital 5K races I never
participated in and Tom's castoff football shirts. The latter were rather
thin sometimes and looked like baggy dresses on me, but they did allow for
yoga pants as I have mentioned.
Anyway, I was sorting a load of laundry one day - light clothes. The tiny
blood stains on the front of a couple of my undershirts (from nipple
chaffing) needed to be sprayed to keep the stain from setting. Thank
goodness Tom and Rachael weren't doing laundry anymore, right? What would
they have thought? Then I found another shirt with a little dot of blood.
A light blue T-shirt that Rachael had worn the day before had a tiny spot
on the front that could have been tomato sauce. A quick search of the pile
revealed another T-shirt with a similar stain in the same spot.
What could that mean? At first I couldn't accept the idea that our
situations might be the same. Like I have anything in common with a 12
year old girl, right? Then, when it finally dawned on me that not only
did Rachael need help in that area but that I was going through puberty
all over again, sort of, a jolt of cold water shot though my veins. The
lumps weren't some small, temporary change anymore. Not for Rachael anyway
and the way things were going maybe not for me either. The enormity of the
situation swept over me and I actually began to cry over the pile of
laundry. Blame the hormones. That's when Tom walked in, of course. He
always sees me at my most vulnerable.
The whole story about the pills and the shirts tumbled out of my mouth in
a teary blur while he stood near the door, ready to run I think. The
menacing cloud that passed over his face when I mentioned Rachael and
nipples together didn't even stop me. I fully expected to get punched for
some reason. Surely he thought I was some kind of pervert or something,
right? I mean, I was practically laying on a pile of his daughter's
clothes when he found me.
"Let me show you something," is all he said, motioning for me to follow.
He led me through the house, up the stairs and into his room.
Tom's room was about what you'd expect in a master bedroom in a big-ass
modern house. Enough room for a king sized bed, two tall dressers and a
beautiful light maple dressing table and mirror, like something out of a
movie. Beth's. Doors opened into two walk-in closets (his and hers) and a
huge bathroom, the kind with a whirlpool tub AND a shower.
Clothes covered most of the floor, kinda like Rachael's and Susan's rooms.
Shoes, shirts and pants lay wherever he took them off apparently, mostly
near the door. The corner by the window was dedicated to the dressing
table and was completely clear of his mess. Except for the dust, the whole
corner appeared just as I imagined Beth left it a year ago.
Tom strode across the mess, yanked Beth's closet door open and disappeared
inside for a long time. Long enough for me to find a tissue and dry my
eyes. He came out with a plain, white box, dropped it on the bed where it
bounced heavily then he motioned for me to approach. When he flipped it
open I actually leaped backward and yelped in surprise. There were two
huge, realistic breasts in there, staring up at me!
It had to be a joke but strangely Tom wasn't laughing. Even when I tripped
on a loose shoe and almost fell, not even a smile. He looked kind of grim
and I began to worry.
"What is this?" I asked quietly, keeping my distance.
"This is what Rachael has in store for her." He replied with a sad sigh,
waving toward the boobs. I backed closer to the door. He seemed to finally
realize how weird the situation had gotten and smiled a little.
"I'm sorry. These were Beth's, after the, you know, the mastectomy. She
said they made her feel like 'a whole woman' again. She wore them all the
time and nobody could tell the difference, except for me of course." He
paused and studied the boobs.
"So that's probably what Rachael will, you know, have. Do you know what I
mean?" He said, looking straight at me with actual tears in his eyes.
He couldn't even say it, that his daughter was going to have breasts.
Large breasts. I felt sorry for both of them.
"Go ahead. Pick up the box. See how heavy they are," he said, stepping
back a little.
Surprisingly heavy actually. I sat them down quickly and backed away
again, nodding in agreement.
"Now imagine wearing them all day, every day. That will be Rachael soon."
It was beginning to dawn on me where he was going with this and I didn't
like it. He strode to one of the dressers and began opening and closing
drawers one after the other, searching for something. When he turned
around with a colorful tangle of bras clutched in his hand I was already
shaking my head 'no' and retreating.
"I can't do that, Tom."
"Why not?" he retorted expressionlessly, advancing with the lingerie. "I
bet they fit. And I need you to do this. Heck, Rachael needs you to do
this."
I drew myself up taller and looked him in the eye. What he wanted was
unthinkable.
"Because I'm a man, Tom." I said. He didn't even miss a beat.
"I know, but I've got all the men I need right now, thank you. I need
someone who can help Rachael and Susan and it has to be someone I can
trust, so that has to be you. You know that."
"I can't do that! I should be sorting out my own life. I need to find work
so I can move out of your spare room and pay you back for all you've done.
"Or," he said, barely allowing me to finish, "You can do this."
He stood there waiting with six bras dangling from his fist between us. If
he had smirked or laughed in the slightest I would have laughed and it
would have been over but he appeared to be dead serious. I had one last
card to play.
"That's not going to solve the problem though, is it?" I asked. "I mean,
Rachael can't wear those. She needs something for a girl."
"Yeah. So do you bitch, anyone can see that. So buy them for fuck's sake."
He snapped. "Use the credit card I gave you."
The curse words startled me, it had been a while but Tom's anger has never
truly scared me. Not enough to keep my mouth shut anyway.
"So you're asking me to buy underwear for your daughters. You understand
this right?"
He stepped closer and pushed the bras into my chest, hard.
"That's right. That's how much I trust you." He said, boring into me with
his eyes. "Do I look like I'm fucking around, cunt?"
What's with all the cussing all of a sudden, right? I let the 'cunt' slide
and concentrated on the 'trust' part. He was right in a way. He could
trust me. The problem is, a guy like Tom just couldn't seem to see
obstacles and they were everywhere. The whole situation screamed "WRONG!"
and Tom wouldn't discuss it anymore. He cut off my protests and made me
carry the bras and the box out of his room.
++
I've thought about boobs my whole life. Big, round, soft and bouncy. The
bigger the better in my opinion and obviously Tom's opinion as well. But
I'd never considered bras before. When I think of woman's clothes I think
light, soft, frail. Bras are more like chest-plates, complete with heavy
padding, a band and straps to hold it all in place.
Back in my room with the door locked, I selected the plainest and managed
to strap it around my chest and get all three hooks right. It wasn't a bad
fit. The hug of the band was unfamiliar but not bad and the straps were
nothing since the cups were empty. Absurdly empty. The cups were padded
for reasons I didn't understand then and they stood out farther than
seemed possible. Two giant scoops right there under my chin. My own chest,
the bumps I'd been hiding because they were so big, looked lonely and
small in there. I looked at the other bras Tom had forced on me: all 36D
or DD. That was Beth's size and that meant that one day Rachael very soon
might be trying on one of these. Unimaginable.
The breasts (I will always think of them as Beth's breasts) were creepy
the first time I touched them. They were very lifelike sitting there in
the box. Softer than expected, almost like skin, and wiggly like flesh. An
urge to suck one of the dark nipples passed through me with a shock and I
actually glanced around the room. What would Tom think if he saw me
sucking on his wife's boob?
They slid into the cups easily and the bra took the weight, hugging the
forms to my chest, soft and cool. When I tried to move they jiggled as if
alive and threw my balance off. It was too weird and too heavy. The color
was a good match for my pale skin, but the tops of the forms stuck out of
the cups and the edge resembled a wound. I took them out and returned them
to the box. Tom gave me 6 bras to try on so I did just that. They all fit
much like the first: 2 or 3 hooks, a gentle hug around the chest and the
gaping cups out front. Most were kind of pretty and I imagined real boobs
filling the cups. It didn't seem possible for flesh to grow to fill those
things.
On the other hand, the words 'training bra' bring to mind images of
leather harnesses with buckles and straps or sleek spandex with racing
stripes that make a pair of boobs look fast, right? Or is that just me?
The images on the internet were not so sexy. Young girls that could be
Rachael or maybe even Susan modeled functional little bra and panty sets -
exactly what Rachael so obviously needed. It just felt creepy at first,
clicking on the links to order girls underwear, until I remembered that
the credit card was in Tom's name. Then it got fun. I found the very items
I needed myself there too. They were kinda like the undershirts only so
much smaller and lighter plus they hugged me up top in a gentle, secure
way I liked. Rachael reported similar satisfaction. It was kind of
difficult to reconcile the comfortable little garments with the chest-
plates still hidden in my dresser.
We placed another order and bras became a common item in the wash. I spent
a lot of time on the internet after that. A lot of packages arrived at the
house while Tom was at work. He paid the bill without remark.
+
I came awake suddenly one night when the bed shifted under me. Someone was
getting into bed with me! Someone big! I was trapped against the wall and
when I stuck out my arms to push him away he seemed to think I wanted to
hug.
"Tom, stop it!" I hissed, afraid of waking the girls for some reason. They
were all the way up stairs.
Before I could protest further he'd settled in and snuggled close while I
wrestled with one massive arm that wanted to go God knows where. It wanted
to touch me somewhere and I couldn't decide what to do with it. By the
time I gave up and let him slide it around my waist he was already pressed
close against my side. His breath tickled my ear and smelled of stale beer
and cigar. For a moment I remembered going to parties, drinking and
smoking, then he shifted closer and pressed against my thigh. If it
weren't for the big arm draped over me I might have jumped straight up in
the air. Until that moment I'd never had a dick pressed against me but I
knew what it was immediately. It was surprisingly hard.
"I've missed you so much, Beth," he slobbered in my ear softly.
What was I supposed to do? The poor guy was a complete mess. When he
bumped me with his dick again I'd had it. I pushed his face away with both
hands before it could get closer and yelled in his ear.
"Tommy. Get off me! You're drunk!"
He sprang to his feet with amazing speed and grace for such a large, drunk
man. Hovering there, next to the bed with light from the door at his back,
his face was completely hidden. "Are his eyes even open?" I wondered.
Whether he could see or not, I felt naked in just panties and the kind of
bra a 12 year old girl wears. I pulled up the covers, hugging them around
my neck.
Tom just stood there, head down, swaying slightly until I began to worry
he might topple forward. Then he sniffled. Was he crying? I shifted down
the bed, working my way around him, dragging the covers with me until I
got my feet on the floor then sort of crouched there, watching his
profile. He was definitely crying which made me want to cry too. It seemed
so stupid for both of us to stand there crying in the dark as if the other
didn't exist.
I had to drape the covers around me like a toga to take his arm and a cool
wave of air shivered up my own arms, raising goosebumps. Tom's arm was so
warm I wanted to hug it. Surprisingly thick too. How often do you feel a
man's arm? I fought the urge to use both hands, to give the arm a good
squeeze to test its firmness. Tom was big and strong, drunk and obviously
upset. I needed to move cautiously.
"Come with me Tommy," I said softly. He turned slowly and I moved ahead of
him toward the door, leading him by the coat-cuff.
He followed like a sleepwalker, down the hall, up the stairs and into his
room. I didn't turn on the light, afraid to see his face and afraid for
him to see me. It was time to leave when he kicked off his shoes and began
shucking off his coat. Then he coughed and mumbled.
"Will you come back again, Beth?" he said and I froze just outside the
door.
What was I supposed to say? When I peeked in the room I could see his
face at last in the hall light. It was content in a way. Not happy
exactly but less strained than usual somehow. Maybe it was just the light
or the alcohol. But if he needed to imagine Beth is here it's a small
price, right?
"Yes, I'll come back," I whispered, then added, "If you're good to the
girls," and sprinted away as quietly as a mouse, my heart beating
furiously at my own audacity. The next day we pretended nothing had
happened.
+
Naturally the new underwear required another attempt at 'dress-up day.'
It seemed easier to buy a proper dress online, appropriate for her age.
Then it would fit, like good and she could possibly wear it to a party or
something. Probably not. When she showed us what she had in mind, Tom and
I both said no. Either too expensive or too grown up or both. Google 'Prom
Dresses.' So Rachael was allowed access to her mother's closet on a trial
basis, which may have been her plan all along.
At first I was apprehensive about entering the closet. Maybe afraid of
Beth's ghost? No, but who better than her eldest daughter to take the
first items from there? My chief fear, as it so often was, was that Tom
might find me intrusive. Remember, I didn't know much about families,
except that I wanted one. This one.
I watched from the door the first few times as Rachael strolled between
the two long rows, brushing her hands one each side as if she could find
what she wanted by feel alone. Boxes crowded the shelves and the walls
under the clothing were lined with racks of shoes. So many shoes. Why
would anyone need so many shoes? I thought of the heels hidden in
Rachael's room. Dozens of such shoes maned the walls. One can't help but
wonder what all the fuss is about considering they're impossible to walk
in. Apparently Beth walked in each of these pairs at some point, so, there
must be a way.
Rachael found what she wanted and turned to me, holding it up. A block of
dark blue cloth clipped to a hanger?
"That's not a dress. Your dad said one dress."
"This is for you!" She said. Her high laugh sounded hollow in the small,
crowded room.
"I'm not taking any of your mother's things!"
She came at me with the whatever it was, kind of like her dad with the
bras except she waved it toward my waist area and she was smiling. I
backed away, just ahead of her.
"It's a skirt. You can wear it with the hose. You'll love how it feels."
The word 'love' rumbled deeply when she said it.
What did that mean? Have you ever talked to another person about how good
your clothes feel? Right, me neither. It was even odder with a young girl.
Maybe women do that sort of thing.
"We're supposed to be getting you a dress," I tried again but stopped
retreating and allowed her to hold the thing up to my waist, pressing the
hanger into my stomach.
"You're supposed to be helping me learn about all this stuff," she said,
checking the garment thoughtfully then looking up at me with those eyes.
"How are you going to do that if you won't even try on a skirt?"
She would use that argument and those eyes, off and on, for years to make
me do her bidding.
"You sound more like your dad every day," I said in resignation and took
the hanger.
While I unzipped the back and stepped into the circle of cloth she hopped
excitedly and clapped her hands like putting on clothes is the most fun
she'd ever had. It went over my shorts and I fumbled to hold it in the
back. It would probably fit without the shorts, which ain't happening with
Rachael in the room. She checked me from all angles, zipped it part way
and generally fussed, shifting the thing right and left, up and down.
"That will be a good fit tonight. Wear your Polo shirt with it."
"Do I have to? Your dad already approved the dress. What's the point?"
Her look said, "How can you be so stupid?" Her mouth said, "So we can be
twins dummy! We'll both have skirts and hose and," she pulled out her T-
shirt and looked in then back at me with a laugh, "you know."
"Don't do that! And they are called bras or brassieres." I said,
attempting to sound stern. She wasn't having it.
"Then we'll both wear 'bras or brassieres' tonight," she mocked, poking my
ribs playfully.
"Just go get your stupid dress," I said, pushing her away, playing it
stern to hide my grin.
+
After a shower and shave and the whole hair and makeup process again, only
more so, I laid out everything out on the bed and began to get ready. The
hose were as wonderful as always. Tucked and without the shorts, my legs
feel free and secure at the same time. The bra was like a little hug. If
you've ever worried about your buddy laughing at you nipples you'll
understand how secure I felt with the proper underwear.
Then the skirt. Cool and smooth. Rachael was right. It slipped my grasp
the first two times I attempted to reach the zipper in back and I relished
the slick lining on my legs each and every time. I pulled it up again and
fought the zipper up a few inches, adjusted around much like Rachael had
then slid it the rest of the way. When the zipper slammed shut I knew what
Rachael was talking about and could never go back. Everything hugged me
yet slid and slipped so effortlessly. Everything from the waist down felt
naked and secure at the same time.
In the mirror I saw a woman that I'd somehow missed before. In profile,
the skirt lay flat and smooth in front with just enough roundness in back
to hold the pinched waist in place. I ran my hand down the back and sides
the way I've seen countless women smooth a skirt and shivered. Does
everyone know how good this feels? Have all those women in offices around
the world been secretly enjoying themselves while the men wear scratchy
pants? Then I ran my hand down the front and nearly leaped backward. I
hadn't realized that the area was so sensitive and exposed.
It's difficult to explain. In shorts or slacks I feel free to stick my
hand down there and make adjustments as needed, even tucked. Especially
tucked. It's a guy thing. Tom's hand probably spends a quarter of the day
in his pants. That's not possible in a skirt I quickly realized. Best to
keep hands away from the super sensitive area all together.
"WHEN ARE WE GOING TO EAT?" Tom bellowed from the living room. "We're
starving.
I'd been enjoying a new way of sitting, standing, and walking around my
room for too long. Already late, I realized I needed to pee before dinner
which of course took longer than expected.
Rachael was already in the living room, resplendent in a burgundy sheath
dress and almost matching heels. It turns out she had plenty of shoes
with heels, it's just that they were all blocky and short in comparison to
what she wanted to try. And they were all too small of course, since she'd
grown in the last year. Her hair was piled on top in a wobbly bun that
forced her to walk with perfect posture all evening
The dress covered her chest and shoulders but left her thin arms bare.
She'd chosen more wisely this time and it hadn't needed much adjustment to
fit well although it was still too long and loose. A slit in the bottom
revealed a knee when she walked but that was all. Unfortunately there was
still a lot of loose fabric up top which only made her appear larger
there. The beginnings of an hourglass figure were disturbingly visible.
Tom took it in stride, complimenting her profusely and in surprising
detail. He turned on a bit of his charm and Rachael ate it up. She
giggled and preened all through dinner while sitting stiffly in the chair.
After dinner Tom spun his daughter around the kitchen until her hairdo
finally toppled and we had to take it down in the bathroom. It had served
it's purpose.
Susan wolfed down dinner and rushed out to watch some program but she was
wearing a dress and white shoes for an hour or so. It was another fun
evening altogether.
Later, Tom grumbled under his breath about the tightness of Rachael's
dress but that was his only complaint that I heard. It wasn't tight by any
means, let me assure you. That would be a fight for another day.
Not one word about my clothes. I shivered and slinked all night, or so it
felt, smoothing the skirt constantly because it feels so damned good and
crossing and uncrossing my legs for the same reason. Surely he noticed.
The movement made him look sometimes anyway. Not a word.
Back in my room I unzipped the skirt and let it slide down my thighs like
warm water. I missed it already. Things would never be the same.
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