Patricia is taken to Thailand for punishment
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Becoming Patricia: Chapter One - Mom And Dad's Acceptance free porn video
Becoming Patricia: Chapter One - Mom and Dad's Acceptance
By Trish Lassie
As I stood in the checkout line at DSW, I could feel my heart quicken as
I wait for the next available cashier. It is not because I cannot wait to
wear my purchase, a pair of men's Nike running shoes. It is because I am
wearing a black ladies Calvin Klein V-neck knit top with black Gloria
Vanderbilt jeans and black one and a half-inch closed-toe wedge pumps or
what look more like "flats." I am also wearing off-black hosiery to
reduce the contrast between my pale white skin and black shoes which
would otherwise scream "I am wearing ladies shoes." And then there is the
sheer, light pink nail polish on my fingers and the nude beige lipstick.
This is one of my favorite androgynous looks to wear when I go shopping.
Normally, I do not worry about discovery. People just do not pay that
close attention. Put standing here, about five people back in the que
line to check out, I am feeling more exposed. Almost everyone shopping
here is focused on shoes. So, it is only natural for the ladies and guys
around me to be more more observant of what others are wearing for
footwear. And...here I am, a guy, wearing women's wedged pumps and black
hosiery.
Sure enough, the lady about three customers behind makes me. I see her
looking at my shoes and then scan me from top to bottom. The black hose
at this point are useless, except to confirm I am wearing more than
ladies' shoes. I see her lean over to her teenage daughter and share her
discovery. Her daughter is less than subtle in giving me the once-over.
She stares so intently, I feel her penetrating vision seeing right
through my top and jeans to my black racerback bralette and matching lace
panties.
I turn away, but I can hear them talking in hushed tones behind me. I
pray for the line to move. I am sure that the teenager will not be able
to contain her enthusiasm at probably seeing her first transgendered
person. I am in luck, as the line diminishes in front of me I am next.
Just that quick, I am motioned to an open register. I set my purchase on
the counter. The clerk behind the counter, gives me a warm smile which
seems familiar. She asks me the standard "did you find what I was looking
for today?" canned line. When I say I have, she gives me a quizzical look
saying, "are you sure?" Before I can retort, she leans in and says in a
hushed tone "I would think something a bit sexier would be more
appropriate, preferably a strappy high heel?" I did not know what to say,
but I could feel a flush flow over me. "My, you face is nearly as pink as
your nails" the clerk says with a sexy smile. Is she flirting with me or
is she making fun of me? I am not sure. As I remain speechless, she
begins to ring up my purchase. I insert my credit card and notice just
how evident my nail polish is under the halogen lighting. As she hands me
a copy of the receipt to sign she asks if I remember her. I say her smile
is very familiar. She say's "it should be, she was in the biology lab I
ran at the university as a teaching assistant for her professor." I hand
her back the copy I signed, trying not to let my hand tremble at her
discovery of me. She hands me my copy, making sure I note her handwriting
on the back. She then leans in again and quietly tells me I may want to
adjust my collar as a bit of black lace is peaking out.
As I leave the store, I read her note and look back over my shoulder. She
is looking my way, as are the several ladies in line. The difference
being, she is staring me in the eyes, while the ladies are all staring at
my feminine footwear. As my feet hit the pavement outside, my heels sing
out that lovely click of women's shoes. Normally, I will try to avert the
clicking by walking on the balls of my feet, but not now, as I am more
focused on whether to call her as she requests in her note at lunchtime
or to pretend this never happened. Her name is Julia and as I think back
to my classes her face comes quickly to me as well as remembering her
stopping office a couple of times to simply say hi. I wondered then and I
am surely wondering now, is this a potential girlfriend?
I have dated very little, basically because I wear panties every day.
Truth be known, I do not own a single pair of guys undershorts. I also
regularly wear a bra or bralette, often with a cami, particularly on
cooler days. My toes are always painted, generally, a shade of red. The
closet I come to men's socks is ladies' trouser socks and opaque knee
highs. All my pants are ladies, including a suit pant which is part of a
nicely tailor women's business suit. It has a menswear appearance but
distinctly buttons from the women's side. And yes, my shirts are all
blouses and tops. So, I am dressed 24/7 as a girl, just not very overtly.
When you examine closely, it will become evident.
Dating is off the list for the past three years. I cannot not pass
scrutiny sitting across from an interested female who knows anything
about the differences in mem's and women's cuts and tailoring. Just as
the ladies standing in line behind me began to surmise when they more
closely study my apparel.
For some reason, right now, I do not care. As I walk to my car, I feel
care-free. I am sure she was flirting; the note proves it. Is Julia
interested in a guy that wears women's clothing? I have dreamed of
finding such a girl. I just never thought it would ever happen to me.
At 24, I am a graduate student working toward my doctorate. Except for my
interactions at school I have lived a pretty solitary life because of my
transgender being. In some way, I guess even my major field reflects this
hidden "female self." I am working in a lab for a professor, Dr. Sarah
Wilson, that is studying human sexuality and the brain. She is
researching neuro origins and hormonal pathways associated with sexual
orientation and gender identity.
My prof knows about my inner self. When I interviewed to be one her
teaching assistants I spoke of my interest in gender studies and
neurological origins of sexual and gender identity. My slight build,
shoulder length hair, small hooped gold pierced earrings and somewhat
long manicured fingernails took it from there. As I finished the
interview she rose to walk with me to her lab for a short tour. As we
walked the hall she said that she was pleased to find a grad student with
what she presumed was a personal, if not strong personal interest, in her
research. As she said this she looked me in my eyes so intently, I was
wondering if I had not removed my mascara from last night. She then
shifted her gaze to my hair, earrings and then hands, letting me know she
was reading them to form her assessment.
In the lab, she showed me the impressive array of equipment she has
purchased with hefty grants from Uncle Sam. She showed me an area that
was being build out for an fMRI machine that would allow her and other
researchers to uninvasively image the function of the brain. After
finishing the tour, she went over lab rules, noting that when in her lab
or one of the teaching labs, we are required to wear lab coats at all
times. What we wore under them, was our own business. I thought the
latter both odd and interesting. Dr. Wilson went on to say she recommends
wearing flats or tennis shoes, as standing on the hard floors all-day is
hard on the feet, particularly in pumps, as she was wearing. No flip
flops or open-toed shoes are permitted. You will find it easier to pony
your hair when working in the lab. In class, wearing it down is fine and
open-toed shoes and heels are an option. All said so matter-of-factly.
As we headed back to office, via the lab and classroom I would be
teaching in she inquired as to how I would like her to address me. I told
her Pat would be fine and then with a kidding smile I said, "unless I am
wearing heels, then Patti would be preferred." She looked me straight on,
dead serious, and said, "I can will that." She gave me the dates for the
teaching assistant seminars for training us and then said "dress
comfortably, I have told the girls a top and shorts are fine. We will
wear lap coats to place everyone into the instructor role.
I head back to my off-campus apartment, courtesy of my mom. She
recognized that I would need my own place as opposed to living in a
residence hall. Mom has known since I was eleven that I prefer feminine
things. It was then that she caught me in my bathroom, wearing her bra
and panties while applying lipstick. Mom and dad were none too pleased.
They made quick work of getting me to a psychologist. They both seemed
quite relieved to hear I was interested in girls as opposed to boys. I
received a stern talking to about how dressing in my mom's clothing was
completely inappropriate. The interesting part was that they emphasized
"My mom's" clothes. With that said, my dad left the monitoring of my
feminine behavior to my mom.
For anyone that has traveled this path you know too well that the desire
for femininity does not go away, ever. For about five months, while I was
in therapy, I walked a straight line and everything was fine at home.
Then my inner self re-emerged. Since mom's wardrobe was the only clothes
I had access to, it was back to her dresser and closet for me. While I
thought I was being extremely stealthy, mom picked up on her things being
out of place. One fateful Friday morning, mom dropped me off at school
and told me she would be working from home. I was disappointed, because
Fridays were my big dress-up days. Dad travels a lot in his work and this
holiday weekend he would not be back until late Saturday. Mom routinely
stays late at the office to get her work done so she has the weekend to
be with her "boys," that being dad and me. She said she would pick me up
right after school and I should bee line out to carpool.
She was waiting out front of school for me following dismissal. When I
got into the car, I sensed something different in her demeanor. She was
being mysterious. She asked me what I thought about flying out to meet
dad this evening. This was not unusual, as we have done this before when
dad had to stayover on Saturdays for business. I said sure. She said
good. I have packed a bag for you and taken the liberty of laying out
some clothes for you to wear on the plane. That was different.
I grabbed a glass of milk and a couple of cookies as I tossed my bookbag
on the couch and headed up to my room to change. When I got to my door
and looked in, I about spat my mouthful of cookie across the room. As I
stood frozen at the door, mom came up behind me and told me to hurry
along and get dressed. If I needed any help, to just callout, otherwise,
meet her in her bedroom when I was dressed.
On the bed, was my school's dress uniform. The twist being, is was the
girl's uniform. It consisted of a dark blue blazer, with crest and a
charcoal gray pleaded skirt. The optional white silk blouse with a
jeweled neckline. Laid out alongside the uniform was a white lace padded
push-up bra and matching panty. Hanes Silk Reflections in Barely There
was her hose selection, as it is what she wears daily and thus what I
have worn almost every Friday afternoon for the past few months. On the
floor, beside the bed, stood a pair of two and a half-inch black heels.
Those too, I have worn almost every Friday afternoon up to the time I
would hear the garage door motor whine. It then was a high heeled dash to
my room for a Supergirl-like change into my drab boy clothes. Panties,
bra, slip and hose went between the mattresses and heels into the Darth
Vader Helmut in my toy chest. Later, when she started dinner, I would
return the heels and other things to their rightful place.
Oh, how I had dreamed of wearing our girls dress uniform. I would sit in
assemblies, staring at the girls, not necessarily because I was attracted
to them, but because I was envious of their uniforms. I can tell you
every girl's name that wore the silk top and opposed the standard button-
down cotton blouse. Which wore the bobby socks and saddle shoes as
opposed to those that wore hose and low-heeled pumps. And then there was
the list of those that began wearing bras. I s wanted to wear bra to
school every day. While the girls complained of having to wear the dress
uniform on assembly days, I sore if I was a girl, I would freely wear it
every single day. I do not think I ever heard a word in assembly as I was
fantasizing clicking my way down corridors in pumps while feeling my bra
embrace my chest and hopeful budding breasts. I am and was hopefully in
love with being a girl and now a woman.
As I began to remove my clothes I was quite pleased that when I showered
last night I had played around with mom's razor and shaved what little
hair there was on my legs and underarms. Chest and facial hair was not
even an issue. I had wondered if I was more girl than my genes would
suggest. I pulled on the panties without giving it a second thought. As I
fastened the bra, it hit me. These garments were not mom's. She certainly
did not need a push-up bra. She had breast to die for. I would see here
in a bathing suit and think it was such a waste for me to have been born
a boy. If I was a girl, I would be a knock out!
I was putting on my first bra! The emphasis on "my first bra." Girls my
age were wearing training bras and I was putting on a lacy padded push-up
bra. Eat your hearts out girls, Patricia's lingerie is prettier and
sexier than yours.
I proceeded to roll the stocking legs of the pantyhose and pull them on,
smoothing them out as I had observed my mom do. As I pulled on the silk
blouse and sense the cool, smooth texture cascade down my torso, I moaned
ever so softly. That is when I sensed mom's presence in the doorway. She
said, "It feels nice, does it not." "I picked it over the button down,
thinking you needed something special for your first time fully dressed
around your dad and me, not to mention the people on the plain." "I hope
you feel like a young lady wearing it." "Finish up and join me in my
room. I will do you're your make-up and hair. I have a purse for you
there, as well, stocked with the essentials a girl of your age would
have."
As mom turned back to her room, I was motionless like a deer in head
lights. I just had a conversation with my mom wearing girls clothes,
heck, standing in front of her in lace panties and pantyhose as though
this was the most natural thing in the world. Have I died and gone to
heaven?
As I collected my thoughts and emotions, I focused back on finishing
dressing. I pulled the pleaded skirt on, zipped it up the back. The
skirts are fitted through the hips and then flare out in pleats to just
below the knee. You can imagine the girls at school were not happy with
the length. This girl, however was in love with it. I sat at bed edge,
smoothing my skirt as settle down on the comforter and leaned forward to
pull on my heels. Once again, a well-practiced move I had seen my mom do
so many times.
As I stood, fully dressed for the first time, I felt so feminine, I was a
young lady. Standing in my heels, I did a spin, holding my hands out to
feel my skirt rise to meet my fingertips. I then twirled and twirled
until I made myself dizzy.
A bit woozy, I headed to mom's room where she had finished changing into
a dark blue business skirt suit, complete with a silk blouse just like
mine. She wore four-inch navy pumps, with the slightest U-shaped opening
that allowed her red polished toes to peek through.
Her face lit up as she saw me enter as her daughter for the first time.
She extended her hand to me in a very feminine manner and introduced
herself saying "hi, am Mrs. O'Hara and you are?" Oh my gosh, she was
asking me to name myself. Like lightening, through my mind shot Pat,
Patti, Patricia, Tricia, and Trish. Who am I? I took her hard, curtsied
ever so slightly and said, "I am Patricia O'Hara, but you may call be
Tricia or Trish." Mom replied, "Well Patricia, you are ever the pretty
daughter I wish to have." "If I may say, you have my legs." "Maybe we
should change to bobby socks and saddle shoes." "The boys are going to
gawk." "Are you ready for that?"
I am to dumbfound to speak. I cannot believe I am standing in front of my
mother wearing high heels and a girl's uniform, complete with padded bra
and she is referring to me as her daughter. My mom, sensing my
uneasiness, guides me to her vanity and directs me to sit down. As I sit,
I smooth my skirt which receives an affirming smile from my mom. I cross
my legs, so I am not doing the guy spread. Another affirming smile. I
cannot help but run my hand across my silky covered knee. Oh, it feels so
nice and right now, the special think about it is - it is guilt free.
This not a hidden stolen moment. I am out and I am a girl.
Mom begin to apply make-up. She pulls out foundation and begins to apply
a light coat, explaining most girls my age, at 13, would not wear
foundation yet. Noting I am a special girl, she applies a thin layer as
she instructs me in its application. Does this mean she foresees me doing
this in the future? On a regular basis? She then moves to mascara, a
light application of eye shadow using a nude palate. She follows with a
light peach colored highlighter that gives my checks the slightest sheen
and draws out my cheekbones to give my face feminine definition.
She then brushes my hair out which she refers to a bob length. She uses
her curling iron to get the hair to curl under below my chin. I no longer
look anything like a boy. As I stand, she guides be over the full-length
mirror in her walk-in closet and has me turn in front of the mirror. As I
am turning she mentions how well I move in the heels. She says I must
have had even more practice than she was aware of. I say almost every
Friday after school. She then asks me if I have walked outside. I say no,
too chicken. She then says that is about to change.
She hands me the purse she mentioned earlier. It is small leather Coach
shoulder bag, in black. She tells me to open it up and check its
contents. I find a wristlet change purse, a compact, a tube of lipstick,
a couple of pens, a small perfume bottle, a bottle of mauve nail polish
and as I get to the bottom, three feminine hygiene pads. I look up at her
as I am holding them in my hand. She tells me that is what a girl my age
would have and then points me to the bathroom. She then notes that if I
dig a little further, I will find two tampons. I look at her and she says
they are for Sunday when you have a heavier flow. Of course, if you think
you need one today, then, wear one. Off you go. Meet me in the front
hall. Our bags are already in the car. We will do you nails at the
airport once we clear security.
I arrive at the front entry hall with a very red face. She asks, tampon
or pad? I say pad. She then pulls out her lipstick and applies it in the
front hall mirror. She motions for me to do the same. As I open the tube
she asks if I recognize it? It is the same lipstick I was applying when
she caught me a couple of years ago in her bra and panties. I apply it in
the same fashion I have just watched her apply her lipstick.
We headed into the garage together and got into the car. As mom is
backing out, she tells me we have one quick stop, Dr. Carr's office. She
is my psychologist. Mom says she and dad have been visiting with her in
between my appointments and that Dr. Carr has helped her and dad
understand my drive to dress and be a girl. This trip was planned by the
three of them at a meeting a few weeks back. Now I know why the selection
of the dress uniform I am wearing. I had shared my desire with Dr. Carr.
She was not breaching confidentiality in sharing this with my parents, as
I was still a minor and I have given my assent for her to discuss my
sessions with my parents.
A few minutes later we will pull into her office parking lot. It is then
that it hits me that I must get out of the car and walk through the lobby
of an office building that will be busy at this time of day, particularly
because it is Friday. Mom sees my hesitation in opening the car door. She
places her hand on my knee and assures me that she would not recognize me
as anything other than a girl, if she did not know otherwise.
I must say as I swing my high heeled legs out of the car they are feeling
a bit rubberish. The first few steps are mixture of sensations and
feeling. I am nervous as whole heck. What I would not give to be
shrinking Violent right now. I then focus on feeling the wind rush past
my nyloned legs and that I am standing in public in heels as a breeze
blows up my skirt. I gather my purse and place it over my shoulder as I
take my first steps into the world as a girl. Well, since I am wearing a
pad, should I say woman.
Dr. Carr is in the lobby to greet us. She approaches us with a big smile,
giving my mom a therapist hug and then turns to me as she says to my
mother, "Mrs Carr, is this your daughter? I have so longed to meet her."
Playing along, I introduce myself as Patricia O'Hara. The three of us
then click along through the lobby in our heels to catch an elevator up
to her floor. In her office, she guides to a couch where for the first
time I sit with my mom as mother and daughter.
Dr. Carr asks if she can take a picture of the two of us. We both agree.
As she pulls out her camera, she slips into therapist mode asking me how
I feel, am I apprehensive about flying and meeting my dad as his
daughter. All big questions that we spend a few minutes discussing as my
mom listens on in silence. She then asks me about my first period. I do
not know quite what to say. She turns to mom. My mom tells her that I am
wearing a pad and that I have tampons along if my flow increases.
"Patricia," Dr. Carr asks, "Do you understand why we have requested you
to wear a pad as though you are experiencing a period?" I am not quite
sure and tell her so. She goes on to say it is to affirm my girlhood or
better yet womanhood, and second, I need to experience the full range of
womanly activities, and having a period once a month is one of them. When
my mom is having her period, so will I, providing I am dressed in any
manner as a woman.
After taking several photos of mom and I and then the three of us, we all
click our way back to the lobby where she sends us off to catch our
flight and see my dad on the other end. I am to say the least
apprehensive in meeting my dad dressed as I am. Mom had the initial shock
of seeing me in panties and bra, so today she was prepared to see me
again in women's clothing. For dad, this would be the first time I would
stand before him not as his son, but as his daughter.
As we drove to the airport I asked mom if she had sent dad a picture of
us at Dr. Carr's office. She said yes. While dad was prepared mentally to
see me dressed as a daughter, Dr. Carr had recommended that dad should
see a picture of me beforehand to prepare. So she texted him a photo when
I was saying my goodbyes to Dr. Carr as she brought the car around to the
circle out front. She said Dr. Carr was going to check in with him as
well.
I asked very nervously if dad had responded. She pulled her phone out and
handed it to me. I read his reply. "We have a very beautiful daughter. I
am looking forward to meeting her. See you both in a few hours. Diner
plans are made and I have theatre tickets for the three of us on Saturday
evening."
Alessandra
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