To Never Have Known free porn video

To Never Have Known By Bluedust Hi guys, Thanks for all the comments last time around; they're always a great motivation to keep going. This is a story I've had rolling around in my head a while now, and I felt it was about time to get it on the page. All the best, BD x ------------------------------------------------------------------------ It's rare when my brothers and I are on the same page, let alone all sharing the same expression, but rare moments do still happen and this is definitely one of those moments. "Well boys, what do you think?" Mom clearly hasn't seen our expressions or she'd already know. "It's...a big house," says Tyler, the eldest of the three of us. "When we were heading this far out into the sticks, I assumed we were heading for an airport or something," says Don, the second eldest. "This was the special place you booked for our vacation?" I try to sound more optimistic than I feel. "Isn't it just divine?" says Mom. "It's wonderful, dear," says Dad. To his credit, he's mastered false enthusiasm better than we have, so you never know when he's being genuine or not. "And so close to the beach!" In all fairness, it's actually a nice house; it's big, looks to have recently been renovated and, like she says, is quite close to the beach so has a kind of picturesque view. What hasn't been taken into account however, is that we're three guys and "this" isn't really our scene. Not for Tyler and Don, who are into their early twenties, and not for me, just a few years behind. "Oh well," says Don quietly, "maybe beach equals babes, right?" We get to the business of unloading the car and then look around the house. There are six bedrooms total, meaning I get a choice out of three. I opt for the floor above the others and right next to the bathroom. I need space where I can get it. And privacy. The only problem is that when I peer in to the bathroom to confirm what it is, I don't take a proper look. So once everyone else has finished looking around and seen the bathroom for themselves, a joke starts over why I chose to be in a room next to it. See, inside, right over in the far corner, is a statue. And not just any statue. It's a statue of a woman. A naked woman. Yeah. You can guess the kinds of jokes everyone is making. Mom makes a show of shutting them down, but I can see that even she's laughing. It's all just typical of my luck. Even away from home, I'm the joke, the punch-line. It's not a malicious kind of baiting, I know it's not. In a way though, that's worse, because they're not even aware of it. From Tyler and Don's point of view, I'm the short-ass, skinny younger brother who still hasn't got a girlfriend. To Dad, I'm the skinny youngest son who failed to inherit the ultra-masculine genes the Jenson men normally get, and still doesn't have a girlfriend. To Mom, I'm the most timid, shy, and retiring of her sons who never has had, and probably never will have, a girlfriend. Sorry, I must seem bitter. I am bitter, I can't lie. I've had years of this frustration and everyone laughing at me again just reminds me of what I was hoping to put to one side for a week. Less than an hour though, and it's already an issue. I laugh off the jokes as I normally do and help to finish unpacking. Then I head up to my room to try and cool my simmering temper. I open my window and take a breath of the salty air. It's nice, and helps keep my chest from feeling like it might explode. Sometimes that's all you need; to just take a breath and let it all wash over you. To tell the truth, I was rather hoping this might be a break from all girlfriend-related pressures, and be more about, I dunno, family bonding or something equally as cheesy. From the conversation between Tyler and Don on the way here though, it's clear that they're planning quite the opposite. That's fine for Don, because he's recently single and wanting to blow off some steam. As far as Tyler goes, that's just plain cheating. If I had a girlfriend, I'd never do something like that. It's as I'm thinking all this that I spy two girls in bikinis walking along the beach. From my distant view they look nice, about the right age for...well, the other two. As I watch them though, a playful thought enters my mind. Maybe...just maybe...they like...younger guys? Younger guys who casually bump into them on the beach, without their family around to humiliate him. I surprise myself with the idea, because it's not normally me at all. Maybe it's the possibility of never meeting them again beyond this point, so that any failed flirtations wouldn't reach the ears of the world. Screw it - my luck has to turn around at some point, right? Why not now? "Oh, Bill," says Mom, as I reach the bottom of the stairs. "What timing. Your brothers were just about to check out the beach. Why don't you all go together?" I can see from their expressions that they don't want me around anymore than I want to be around them. But we have this kind of unspoken pact that we all play nice in front of Mom. So we head out of the door, and we walk down to the beach, and of course, two stunning girls "just happen" to be walking by. It doesn't take long until we're sat on one of the sand dunes and chatting. Well, the four of them are. Because a car only needs four wheels, if you catch my drift. The blonde is Stacey and the redhead is Kerri. I'm sat quietly by, raking my fingers thru the sand while quietly hoping this whole scene would just end, when I make the mistake of turning to look just as Stacey decides to twist and flick out her hair. I catch a glimpse of side-boob that jiggles with a sudden movement and then feel a stir down below. Suddenly my shorts feel woefully inadequate for my slowly-erecting tent pole. I draw my knees up and hope to go unnoticed. "So," says Stacey, turning to me, "you're the youngest?" "Um, yeah. Yeah, I guess." Smooth. If anyone has a rope to spare, I'll hang myself now. "Aww. I hope they don't pick on you?" "N-no, not really." Somehow I don't think I'm wooing her. Damn, her tits are massive. Her nose is beautifully curved and her eyes like blue glass. Why do women like her have to be do damn beautiful? I feel two feet tall in front of her. I don't know if my cock is about to explode or wilt. Then her hand comes to rest on my knee. A pressure begins to build. I draw my knees up tighter. "Do you have a girlfriend?" Dry words crumble in my throat. Is she for real? There's a smile on her face, not a smirk. This can't be for real. Play it cool, Bill, whatever you do, don't screw this up. Your time is surely now. "I..." "Bill's not really into girls," Tyler says. "He'd rather be one." It's my heart that wilts. Not this story. Please not now. "What do you mean?" asks Stacey. Now Kerri's suddenly interested too. "When he was younger, we caught him trying on one of Mom's bras." "Oh my gawd, are you serious?" "He stuffed it with tissue paper!" Laughter. Incredibly loud. The girls are wiping away tears. "And," adds Don, "he used to tuck his dick in-between his legs and sit that way to take a piss!" Every part of my body is red. I try desperately to deny it but my tongue doesn't know what it's doing. I mumble some excuse and get the hell out of there. I walk for ages behind the sand dunes until I'm alone, then I take out my rigid cock, still hard in spite of everything. I start to rub, holding the memory of Stacey's chest in my head and trying to hold back the taunts that soon followed it. The rush of emotions I feel aren't lust. I swallow hard to hold down my welling urges and pee instead. Then, deflated, I head back to the house. Dad's decided that we're all going out for a meal tonight. We take a short drive down to the local pier, a place lined by restaurants, nightclubs, and arcades. Compared to everywhere else around us, the place is bustling - it seems to be some sort of gathering place for everyone in the area, residents and tourists alike. Dad, being the kind of guy he is, opts for the biggest, most expensive restaurant around (not that big really, unless you're talking in terms of a 25-mile radius, in which case it's the biggest restaurant in the world). I choose the steak. I don't like steak. I pretty much hate steak. But Dad's having steak. Tyler's having steak. Don, too, is having steak. The Jenson men always have steak. The Jenson men always have big steaks. So Bill too, has to have steak. If Bill didn't have steak, he wouldn't be a Jenson man at all, and he doesn't have many points on that board to being with, so he definitely, absolutely, most certainly must have steak. Anyway, you get the idea. I'm taking particularly small bites as part of my latest strategy. See, it's not simply a case of me not like the s-word; it's that it doesn't like me either. Whenever we go to restaurants, I end up coming off badly, often laid on my side at home with Mom stroking my head. It's all go fairly well, until I start to run out of room. An urgent bathroom trip is required. I make a quiet apology and head for the restrooms. They're in a concealed part of the building, a hall that splits off according to gender. When I get there there's this guy, about Don's age. He sees me coming and steps to one side - inadvertently blocking me. Despite myself I apologise and step the other way, only to be blocked again. This happens four more times before I look up and see him grinning at me. Great, another dick. It's like I never left home. "Women's restrooms are that way," he says. "I'm not going that way," I reply. Fuck, how do I always attract these people? "You can't go the other way unless you have balls." "I have...I have balls." "You sure?" His grin widens. Emotions well up inside of me and they're not the kind of angry, throw-a-punch kind I want them to be. I lower my head, scuttling quickly away. "Everything alright, Bill?" Mom asks, as I retake my place at the table. "Y-yeah, sure." "You can't have been to the bathroom already?" I tell her what happened in a series of quiet mumbles. I don't know why. I'm normally pretty good at keeping this kind of thing quiet. But it happens anyway and Mom tells Dad. I wait for the anger, the outrage, and the stern march towards this nameless thug. I've seen it before. No-one picks on Bill Jenson without his Dad getting involved. It never comes. Dad just sits there quietly, chewing his steak with a look of disgust. It dawns on me slowly that the days of protection are over. Bill should be taking care of his own problems by now. He should be a man. He should be tough. He's not. He's a disappointment. I lower my head and get back to my meal, forcing the chunks down my throat. I'll throw up later when I get back to the house. It's late and I can't sleep. No matter which side I roll over to, I can't escape the sensation that keeps me awake - that itchy kind of hardness that begs me to rub it. I'm always horny, and it's ten times worse at night. It's at night, I suppose, when most guys turn over to their girlfriends or wives and vent all of that frustration on them. Soothing the itch with their lover's juices, hardening to the point that something has to burst free in order for it to ever be soft again. Dammit, I wish I had someone. I look at my phone but the net is still down, as it has been most of the time since we arrived. No access to porn, my usual release. I throw the covers off of myself and climb out of bed. The soft material of my pj's does little to hide my erection - if anything, it makes it worse. I step out of my room, check to make sure no-one's there, and skulk into the bathroom, making sure to lock the door. If I don't do this now, I know I have another 3 hours of restlessness ahead of me. At worst, a wet dream. Yes, a wet dream at my age. So pathetic I could cry. If I was a girl I would cry. I drop my pj's to the floor and take my cock in hand. Just a quick rub and it'll all be over. If only I had some motivational material though. I can't use Stacey, it's already a badly tarnished memory. That's when I find myself staring at the statue in the corner, that smooth, womanly form with immaculate breasts. I'm rubbing off to it before I've finished deciding if I should. It's sad, but this is as close to a naked woman as I've ever been. It sets something off in me, a restlessness in my tongue and a desperateness to engage physically. I tiptoe over to the statue and kiss it on the lips. It's not enough, and I slip my tongue out, kissing as I imagine it would be to kiss a real woman. The hand that isn't stroking goes to one of the breasts. I know it's not the same, but the fantasy I can concoct in the cauldron of my brain is as close as I ever- and might ever - get. It only gets worse. I bend down, taking the perfectly chiselled nipple into my mouth, licking and sucking. I feel the world laughing at me, condemning the most pathetic man ever to have lived. But I can't stop. Tears fill my eyes. I am a disgrace. But this woman, this gorgeous, immaculate woman is the only one who never turned me away. She's the only one who ever let me touch her. Without consulting with myself, I reach around with both hands and squeeze the hard buttocks, and then press my cock against her pubis. I grind against it, feeling the smooth and subtle ridge working against my shaft. I kiss her again, begging quietly for her not to tell anyone, and telling her how sorry I am. I'm on the brink of climax. My balls are as tight and as hard as her assets. My eyes burn and I choke down the urge to scream in utter self- contempt. I am so, so, fucking pathetic. The cumming is sudden and fierce. I shoot up onto her polished belly, holding her tight, my head resting against her chest until the spasms subside. My arousal drops rapidly, to be replaced by a shame that could suffocate me. I reach for a cloth and clean us both up, apologising to her again and again. Then I go back to my room and linger in darkness, wishing, more than ever, that I could die. "Billy? Billy?" The voice is Mom's. "Mmmmm....s'up?" "It's time to get up, darling. Come down for breakfast, okay?" "Sure, sure." It's only once she leaves that I realise what she's been calling me. Billy, not Bill. She hasn't called me that since I was....well, much younger. I can't feel my usual morning erection, and remember with shame the previous night, which is probably the reason. But my bladder is full regardless. I climb groggily out of bed and plant my feet. Something's strange. I have to rub my blurred eyes some more to make sure, but my feet are definitely different. They're softer-looking, and smaller. My initial thought is that this is some kind of dream in which I'm a kid again, which would make sense out of Mom calling me "Billy." Then I realise my pj's have changed as well. They're pink now, not the light blue they were before. It could still be a dream, but there's something about this I haven't yet put my finger on. I feel an itch and reach to scratch my chest, only for my fingers to reach it much sooner than I expected. I lean back and peer down. There's a definite bulge in my pj top, the material settling on top and then cascading over the edges. I reach again. My chest is swollen. On both sides. I still really need to pee so I clamp my thighs together. The fact that I can't feel my balls being squashed is something I'm more than happy to ignore for the moment. What I have to investigate is just about important enough to delay going to the bathroom for just a couple minutes more. I go to undo the buttons of my shirt only to find them on the wrong side. This jarring detail aside, I manage to unbutton them quickly and practically rip off the last two as I pull it open. Breasts. I have breasts. Two small mounds with hard pink nipples. I can't breathe. More than just them, my skin looks softer, smoother. I never had a lot of hair there before, but now it's completely vanished. The faint indent of my six-pack is gone as well, replaced by a straight flatness. I scramble to my feet to find the room is bigger, or at least I've shrunk. My hands go to my face. I've shrunk. I'm about the size of a girl now. The face my hands feel is softer, with what feels like larger lips and a smaller nose. A spasm below makes me wiggle. I desperately need the bathroom. I practically fly out of my bedroom, doing a dance on my tiptoes as I try desperately to make it in time. I grope purposefully at my crotch for something to hold onto but can't find anything. I'm acutely aware of the space between my legs and it makes my walk a strange one. I shut the door, yanking down my pants. It's not there. My hips are a little wider, my legs thicker at the top and thinner at the bottom, but between my legs there's nothing, just a small slit. I have a camel toe. I have a pussy. My world spins. Everything below burns as I try to hold it in. I kick my pants across the room in frustration and squat to about halfway, lifting the toilet seat. Taking care not to get too near with my longer nails, I place my hands on either side of my...vaginal area, and try to spread it. If I do this right, I think I can pee while standing and avoid the humiliation of sitting for a "girly wee'. The flow comes much faster than expected, and before I've even had the chance to calibrate the distance, I hear a fast pattering on the floor. Oh my gosh, I'm peeing on the floor! I waddle forwards so that I'm hovering over the toilet directly. I don't seem to be low enough though, and the rampant spraying continues. I plead quietly but I can't make it stop. I clean myself up while studying my reflection in the mirror. It's still my face, in a way, but it's been...girly-fied. My hair isn't any longer, but seems to suit the narrow build of my face. "No way..." The voice is as soft as my body. There simply doesn't seem to be any weight to it, no depth. As I pull my pants back up I see something that, somehow, manages to be the strangest thing I've seen this morning - the statue, which I studied long and hard enough yesterday to be sure of this claim, has changed somehow. It's male now, complete with thick, muscular arms, and a penis. The pose is identical to the one it held before. It's as I'm piecing things together in my head that I hear a door open. Someone's coming. I panic, flinging open the door and dash downstairs before anyone sees me. It's only halfway down this flight that I remember the mess all over the floor. Still, when everyone sees my condition, I'm sure they'll be understanding. "Morning Billy, sweetie," says Mom, as she sets breakfast on the table. "Did you sleep well?" "Like a dead man," I reply, in an oh-so-soft tone that makes me blush. "Really now, if you're going to make such crude remarks at least say them correctly." "Pardon?" "She means you should say "I slept like a dead woman" "sighs Dad, from behind his morning paper. I sit to the table, the space between my legs made obvious once again by the hard wooden seat. I scan both of them carefully. They smile warmly when we make eye contact, but there's no hint that there's some kind of trick being played, or that they're even the slightest bit aware of my change in circumstances. I'm sat eating quietly when I hear my brothers come thundering down the stairs. I get a "morning, sis," from Tyler, and a grunt from Don, but nothing more suspicious than the reception I've had from Mom and Dad. Gosh, but they do look bigger than ever. I curl my toes. "You two seem very spry this morning," says Dad. "Something to do with those two girls you were hanging around with yesterday?" "Maybe," grins Don. "You work fast." "Well, it helps to have sis here to enamour them to us, doesn't it, sis?" He gives me the biggest smile I can remember from him, along with a wink. "Honestly, the three of you," snaps Mom. "You talk like you've scored points in some game. Those girls are people, just like you. And Tyler, you should be ashamed; you have a girlfriend." "We're taking a break." "You will be if she finds out." An argument threatens to break out and in my present situation I'm not entirely comfortable in picking a side. It still feels like some elaborate prank, somehow, some warped reality TV show in which I'm the unwilling - or unwitting - star. I sneak off quietly, back to my room. My phone is now pink, with an image on the back of a cracked heart. I run through it to see what else has changed. The few guys that were on there are gone, with girls" names instead. There isn't much help as far as explanations go, though I do solve one small mystery when I spy my own name. Billie Jenson. Billie as in the girl's name then, like my aunt Billie, Mom's sister, who I would have been named after if I was a girl. I'm starting to feel uncomfortable in my pyjamas, so decide to see what my wardrobe looks like. Opening it, I suppose I should have guessed. There isn't an item here that won't leave me bare-legged, be it a pair of shorts or...a skirt. The tops are all minimalistic too, most without sleeves and just one or two that don't care to cover the shoulders. Opening my underwear drawer reveals a small mountain of white and pink. When I pick up a pair of panties, they surprise me more than they should with how small they are. Conscious enough to look around and check that no-one has magically appeared in my room to watch me, I slip them on. The soft fabric comes up high against my crotch, making sure that I know there's absolutely nothing down there. I get a strange feeling I've never had before, a kind of tingle down below. I put it down to the weird feeling I get from this and pull out the new item in my underwear drawer. The bra is small, but I still can't imagine having enough to fill the cups. I hesitate to put it on, wondering if I can get away with avoiding this humiliation. But then I get a mental picture of everyone looking at my nipples which, despite my small breasts, are very pronounced. I put it on, filling the cups better than I thought I would, and spend the next ten minutes cursing and mumbling as I try to figure out the straps. I manage to get the bra on, at which point a wave of heat smothers me. I'm turning red all over. The realisation that I'm wearing a bra makes me so self-conscious I could cry. I shouldn't be wearing it. People will stare. I'm not a girl. I hastily grab a shirt and pull it on. I realise afterwards that it's pink, but don't want to take it off and see the bra again. Then I grab a pair of denim shorts and pull them on. I get the same feeling as when I put the panties on, except this is rougher. The tingle returns. I reach down. I could swear there's a wetness down there. My touch brings alien feelings. Unable to process anymore I hurry out of the room, just in time to hear Dad giving my brothers a lecture over something. "One of you needs to sort out their aim - you've pissed all over the floor." "It wasn't me," Don protests. "Me neither," Tyler says. "Oh, and I suppose it was your Mom or your sister, was it? Very likely, I'm sure." Oops. Sorry, guys. It's groundhog day. Or if it's not, fate works in mysterious ways. We're going to the same restaurant as yesterday. Was it yesterday? I'm not sure. Some part of yesterday must have happened because Tyler and Don met those girls - as did I, apparently. I don't want to question it in case it raises a problem, and to be honest my head is too messed up at the moment to really care as much as I do about my transformation. "What would you like, dear?" asks Mom. The question throws me. I haven't been asked that question in a restaurant in years. Normally it's steak - did I mention? We end up going over the menu together and order a salad. It's not an exciting prospect for a meal, but I'm so glad not to be having another steak that I'd happily have it as my last meal right now. Plus, I have a figure to worry about, don't I? Suddenly being skinny isn't something to be ashamed of - hell, other girls my age might actually envy me. Being envied - gosh, that's a strange thought. Into the meal, I realise I need to use the bathroom. In my first day as a girl, that's happened quite a lot. Either they go more in general or I'm just not used to things down there. I excuse myself and head for the concealed area. An unpleasantly familiar face is there. We do the side-step dance. "Men's restrooms are that way," he says. "I'm not going that way," I reply. Fuck, how do I always attract these people, regardless of what gender I am? "You can't go the other way unless you have tits." "I have...I have tits." "You sure?" His grin widens as he looks down at my chest. I cover my breasts protectively; then I hurry away. My emotions are wilder than ever before. There are tears marking my cheeks by the time I make it back to the table. Mom gets to her feet. Dad erupts like a volcano in a storm. There's blood and thunder. You'd think someone had been shot. The guy turns out to be the manager's son. There's a grovelling apology from the manager himself. We get our meals for free. It's embarrassing to be the centre of attention for good or bad reasons, or it is in my case. Still, this is a weirdly...nice kind of attention. Everyone, even Tyler and Don, keep asking me if I'm okay throughout the evening. I reply that I am, and for once, I mean it. I am very okay. It's just as I'm getting comfortable with my new public image that fate decides to throw me a curveball. "Let's go swimming," she says, in the middle of breakfast. "We've been swimming, Mom," says Don. "The sea is just a few hundred yards from the house. "No, I mean swimming down at the pool. Whenever we all go to the beach we wander off in all directions. No, this will be some quality family time. I know you've all got your swimming gear with you." That was at least true before. I had this tight-fitting pair of blue swim trunks that left nothing to the imagination. I'd sworn off swimming some years ago, when my body had fallen behind everyone else's in the puberty race. A stick-thin figure like mine did nothing to impress the girls, and led to nothing but ridicule from the guys. Plus...y'know...tight-fitting and...girls in bikinis and...the obvious impending disaster in that kind of scenario. So when I was told we were going on vacation, I had no intention of swimming. When we arrived however, I realised that Mom had slipped those wretched trunks into my suitcase, giving away her obvious intentions. Dammit, if I'd known I was going to be forced into something like that, I'd have at least invested in a pair of swim shorts like my brothers. Still, I'm not likely to have that same pair of trunks now, am I? And if I do, I can't wear them, I'd be arrested. I go up to my room full of curiosity, and sure enough discover a pink one-piece sitting at the bottom of my suitcase, the exact same place I'd left my trunks. The shocking pink makes me blush, but at least I have something to cover more of my body. I guess. "Billie, where are you going?" Mom calls me back just seconds before I walk into the men's changing room. I wish she hadn't shouted. Now everyone's staring and, girl or boy, I always get so, so red in these situations. "Maybe she's on the lookout for a boyfriend, and wants to see first-hand there are any that measure up!" says Tyler, with a laugh. I skip hurriedly over to my Mom's side, outside of the ladies" changing rooms. Oh my gosh, I'm going to go into the ladies" changing room! I don't have time to consider the sights or implications as Mom ushers me in with a firm hand on my bottom. People look up as we enter, but don't pay us any particular heed. A muscular blonde with strikingly round tits above a six-pack walks past me without a care in the world. Of course she doesn't care; why should any of them? The old lady in the corner has seen everything in this room a hundred times over, the little girl being fussed by her mother has no reason to think any of this is strange, and neither does my own mom. We're all female. The only awkwardness to feel is in insecurity over your own body. There are two girls at the far end of the room who are clearly a couple of years younger than me, who have each already managed to beat me in the chest department. Likewise however, there's a woman in her thirties who couldn't fill a training bra. We're all in different places, all in different bodies, but equally so we're all the same. I take a breath. This isn't so bad. Or wasn't so bad, until the very next second. I didn't see Mom take off her blouse, so when her bra comes off it catches me completely by surprise. Her tits slap out right in front of me, hanging down to just above her navel. They're loose and empty, the result of three terms of breast-feeding and the passing of years. Her areolas are dark and large, covering the bases of both breasts. "Everything alright, Billie?" she asks, tying up her hair. "Tit - um, tot-ally fine, thanks. Yes. Um. Going to. Get undressed now." The world is on its head. Tits. My mom's tits. These are my mom's tits and now she's going to see mine. What on Earth is going on? What's wrong with the world? How has my life ended up like this? My fingers work rapidly, fuelled by my nerves. I'm topless before I even realise it. My own breasts are small, perky, the nipples pink and sharp. Wearing a bra made me feel more grown up than I did when I was male, like I'd fully transitioned into adulthood at last, even if it was as a woman. In the face of this though, I feel like a child. "I'm glad I have someone to come in with me," she says suddenly. "What do you mean?" "Well, I've never told you this, but after your brothers were born I'd always hoped my third would be a girl. There was always so much testosterone, everything macho and sporty and rough n" ready. I could never have told you if you were a boy, and I would have loved you all the same, but I really am glad you were born a girl. I never liked how your father and the boys would go into one changing room and me the other, or how they had boy-things that only they understood. I feel like we're...almost on the same side, is that silly? The shapes of my former life suddenly fall into place. The strange kind of distance between Mom and the rest of us that I could never quite put my finger on, the sense that there was something about me that never quite fit in with the rest of the family, all of it suddenly fits. My transformation is more than just the transformation of my body - it's the transformation of my shape, my place in the puzzle. It all fits! I can't answer Mom's question with words. I throw my arms around her, and try to hold back the tears. I don't completely succeed. The sky has turned grey. The sand is turning the same colour. I walk carefully along the cool beach, toying with the idea of playing a silly little game. I've made the mistake of leaving the house without using the bathroom first - a big mistake to make as a girl, I've quickly learned. Of course, the sensible thing to do at this point would be to turn back. I maybe would, if the beach wasn't so vacant and inviting. Now I'm a long way from the house, so much so that I probably couldn't make it back in time. I should be horrified. A normal girl probably would be. But something about the situation makes me giddy. I mean, what a dilemma! For a guy, this would be no problem - he can go anywhere he wants to pee. For a girl though, this kind of scenario is a potential disaster of major proportions. I walk with my thighs pushed together, and when the urge rises suddenly I leap into an involuntary dance like I'm doing ballet. I need to go so badly. I giggle despite myself. This is all so stupid and yet I can't stop myself. I wonder if it's the humiliation I crave. It could be. I think it might be more though. Despite how wonderful the past few days have been I can't help but feel there's another level I need to reach to drive home to myself that I'm female now. Everything about this shows the absence of my penis, practically screams it at me, and then there's the need for female modesty. My hand goes between my legs. I'm close now. My face goes hot and in that instant a thought occurs: I think I might actually be addicted to feeling like a girl. The thought is as dizzyingly exciting as it is terrifying. How far will I go? Look how far I've come! I mean, these are hardly the actions of a sane person...are they? The urge turns painful so I look to the sand dunes in the hopes of finding a safe spot. Not that there's anyone around, but you never know... And then it happens. The growing warmth down below suddenly spreads down my thighs. I'm peeing. Oh my gosh, I'm peeing myself! I wince in dismay. I can't stop it. With nothing else to do I squat down, pulling my panties across to allow for the stream. It seems to go on forever. With the relief my initial excitement subsides, to be replaced by the horror I should have felt in the first place. I've wet my panties. I look around in horror. Can I get home like this? No! What if my brothers saw me? What if ANYONE saw me? There's nothing else for it - I hurry to the sea. The water is icy and makes me squeal. Every part of my sensitive body shouts at me to get the hell out of there, but I need to go lower. I wade further in, letting the water rise to my waist. Cold shoots up my body. My spine goes rigid. My nipples feel like they're going to explode. My jaw stretches as wide as it will go and I can't stop screaming. It's so COLD. Enough's enough. I try to head back to the beach but can't feel my legs. Are my feet even touching the bottom? I look around, trying to get my bearings, and when I look back the beach is further away. I scream again, this time in fear. I start swimming back but my puny arms can't seem to get me in that direction. I scream for help. The beach is still empty. Then I feel tired and the water covers the rest of me. What's left of my thoughts tells me I'm an idiot, that none of this was worth dying for. I try to reply that at least I'll die as a girl but somehow that doesn't satisfy like it should. Everything turns dark. I'm floating in the air, not the sea. Everything comes back in painful spasms and I can feel my body again. I'm on my back staring at the sky. Something is holding me up - arms? Am I being carried? I manage the strength to lift my head and catch sight of a young man. He's bronzed, with blonde curly hair. He looks at me warmly and carries us back to shore. I can't move properly, so it's down to him to strip off my soaked clothes. I don't care that I'm naked - I just care about being warm. He helps me to my feet, then brings a towel and rubs me hard all over until I stop shivering. "Feeling better?" I nod. It's dark but the fire is warm, so much so that I don't need the towel. But my clothes are still wet and it's the only thing to protect my modesty. I didn't see him collect the wood for the fire, it almost seemed to appear as I was trying to warm myself. "Pretty crazy to go out into the sea alone," he says. "Yeah, well, I guess I'm a crazy person." "Really?" "Well, these days anyway." He nods as if he can somehow understand what I mean. As if he could! But I guess he's just being sweet so I smile at him. "I guess I just needed to feel alive," I say. "Even if it meant dying?" "I hadn't planned on that part. I dunno, you ever had a dream, and then realised you're in a dream? Then you want to do whatever it is you wish you could do in real life, but you have to hurry because you might wake up at any moment?" "And is that why you...?" "Maybe. I dunno. Like I said, I'm a crazy person these days." "Or maybe you're just confusing crazy with passion?" "I..." I don't know what I'm about to say. Every word from his perfect lips seems to take the breath from me. The gentle flame reveals his perfectly-formed jawline, while his eyes glow like the gentle embers bouncing around the fire. "No-one's...ever called me passionate before..." "Maybe no-one was looking at the real you." My eyes travel from his face. His body is chiselled, but smooth. I see the strong biceps that allowed him to lift me with such ease, and the sturdy torso that makes mine look like a rose stem. I look further and have to catch my breath. Was he naked before? In the struggle I never noticed. His bare thighs cover his modesty, and I find myself shamefully curious. I bite my nail. The tingling is back. "And what....'me'...do you see?" I ask quietly. "I see a flower, fighting its hardest to bloom." I don't know which of us moves first. Quite possibly, we move at the same time. All I do know is that I never imagined my first kiss would be anything like this. His mouth is strong. I go back to it twice more before allowing his tongue inside. We wrestle gently on the only level our strength is equal. His hands move up my bare back. We stand. A hand caresses my buttocks. Something brushes my belly and I look down to see his hardness, a tower of ridges, aching, longing... Our hands flail wildly, reaching for everything before them. I drag my nails across his muscles and make him gasp, he grabs my breast and makes me moan, then he leans down and takes my nipple, which is as hard as his cock, into his mouth and my eyes are forced closed. I'm dripping. I'm open. I'm his. I slide to my knees, and run my tongue up the length of his shaft. His hand comes down firmly but gently on my head. I run the length again. He kneels down, guiding me onto my back at the same time. I want him as soon as possible. I part my thighs. He takes his time, kissing me more and caressing the full length of my body. Then he asks quietly if I'm ready. I let the look in my eye answer his question. He fills me more than I expect and I have to move further onto my back, pushing my thighs upwards, in turn granting him more control. No, complete control. Just the way I want it. His pushes are gentle but determined, his cock sliding in and out of me like it was always meant to be. I watch as he comes closer and closer to the edge, but he never loses himself. Instead, the warm glow I feel down below is allowed to spread and spread, until it fills me and makes me feel like I'm about to pass out. The roar of the waves drowns out my cries. When he comes, I cling to him like I could never let go. His juice fills me, then seeps out when he finally withdraws. But not before we hold each other waiting for the tremors to subside. Time rolls on and I have to go back. He helps me to dress but doesn't seem to have anything to wear himself. I feel incredibly weak, and ache below. He helps me take the journey back to the house. My eyes are closing slowly throughout the walk. I ask him questions about himself, but seem to forget the answers as soon as he gives them. We reach the door. When I look back he's gone, which seems impossible when I feel so absolutely sure he kissed the back of my neck in the same instant. I'm too tired to question things anymore. When I step through the door there are questions about where I've been. I give answers that I think make sense and am allowed to go up to bed. I stop off at the bathroom and when I finally, finally climb into my bed I find myself wondering if I saw the statue in the corner of the room or not. Sleep comes before the answer. "Bill? Bill, honey?" Mom is standing directly over me. "Time to get up, hon. We're leaving today." "Leaving?" My voice is coarse, like its being dragged up my throat. "Come down and get some breakfast." She leaves me alone. I lay on my back in bed, feeling the awful truth but not daring to look. There's no weight on my chest. Down below is a deep ache that presses the inside of my pyjama pants. I rub my face. The hand is large, and catches the short stubble around my jaw. It wasn't a dream. The fact we're leaving tells me it wasn't a dream. It's over, I feel as sure as if a voice were screaming at me. I run my hand through my hair. I want to cry but the tears feel locked away somehow. Instead I feel anger, a sense of loss, and an even greater sense of shame. I reach down and feel my cock. It's hard, aching, a protruding admission of what I am. I don't want it. I squeeze it out of frustration and feel my balls draw tight. My body feels good. My mind doesn't. I throw off the sheets and pull down my pants. Full of a black emotion that fogs my mind, I climb up onto my knees. I rub my cock. It throbs and grows larger. I rub harder, more aggressively, as if by some miracle I could just pull it off. It only grows harder, sending stronger waves of pleasure. I feel like I'm going to throw up. On my feet now I continue to rub, my balls slapping painfully back and forth. I think of my other body, the slenderness, the smoothness, the purity of it. My pyjama top comes off and I look down at the muscles visible under my thicker skin, the thin lines of hair. It reminds me slightly of the person from last night. He was handsome but modest, strong but gentle, with the power to dominate but choosing to protect. This ugly body could never draw him to me. The thought makes me dizzy. Without thinking, I go to the bathroom. The statue is gone, a space where it should be as empty as the feeling inside of me. I climb into the shower and turn it on. The water comes down fast, pounding my bruised cock which is still fully erect. It bobs, straining. I decide that I don't want to cum like this ever again. I reach down and try to strangle it. It only bobs faster, shooting thin spurts of cum high into the air, proclaiming my masculinity as if it were shouting from the highest tower. I slump to my knees, broken, but still unable to find the tears buried deep inside. From the car window I watch the gray clouds hanging over the beach. Raindrops are pounding the sea. It's all moving away from me. Silently I beg for it to stay, but it doesn't listen. In the mirror, Mom and I catch each other's eyes. She smiles warmly. It's a nice smile, but different to the one before. I return my attention to the beach, hoping I might get to see a silent figure, looking back. There's nothing and the sky is just as gray. I remember somewhere in the back of my mind, many years ago wishing that I could have just one day as a girl, and that I would hold the memory forever and use it to carry me through my remaining male life. I've had that and more. But now, seeing gray sky as far as I can see, I can't help but wonder if it would have been better simply to dream, and to never have known.