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All He Ever Asked Of Me free porn video
All He Ever Asked of Me.
By Tanya H.
When we first hatched this plan, Tamara, Casey and I, it had seemed just
a joke - something to laugh about while using words like; apoplectic,
volcanic, heart-stopping and maybe-it-will-actually-kill-him. Though
Tamara and I knew our Father too well for that - if ever he had a heart
attack it would be brought on by wading through chest deep floodwater
carrying a rescued baby and mother, or from lifting a wrecked car clear
of a cyclist. He was that kind of man, a man whose every act had to have
meaning and significance.
Father had never been one to sink into a rage, no matter the
provocation, and Tamara had pushed his buttons many times, once almost
catastrophically. All she had ever received was his signature Arctic-
calm condemnation and disappointment. In my turn I'd felt it too, though
I'd never pushed the boundaries so energetically as Tamara. My early
experiences of Father's withering frosts, as we came to call them, left
me so mentally bruised I became careful to avoid them; subsequently I
had striven towards everything he'd ever asked or expected of me.
There was probably some irony to be found in the realisation of Tamara's
wild rebellion and my quiet collaboration as she had ultimately excelled
within Father's narrow expectations while I was about to tear them up
and trample the remains.
Anticipating Siberian permafrost to be engulfing me in about fifteen
minutes I had my bags packed and loaded in Casey's car. Standing at the
top of our stairs and contemplating the distance to the living room, the
plan we had conceived and laughed about last year now seemed perfectly
selfish. I should have done this by telephone next week - I should have
let him have this moment.
Casey's fingers brushed mine. She smiled, nervously. "Okay?"
I shook my head.
"A last kiss?" she asked.
"Does it have to be? Sorry, silly question."
A little shrug. She was so lovely; elfin, petite, so full of energy and
life she often took away my breath. I'd never have a better friend.
"I couldn't have done this without you."
Another self-depreciating shrug. Typical Casey, uncomfortable when
credit came her way, no matter how well deserved.
"We'll always be friends." She leant forward, eyes closed and pressed
her lips to mine.
A discreet cough from downstairs - Tamara, my big sister, looking up and
jerking a thumb towards the living room. Its door was ajar and light
spilled through - glasses clinked. I heard voices, men and women, then
my Father's lifting in his deep, bass laughter. Might this be the last
time I ever heard him laugh?
"Everyone's here," said Tamara. "Ready?"
I nodded just as a waft of meaty, dinner smell rose from the kitchen. Mt
tummy rumbled alarmingly.
She grinned. "You don't look ready."
"I'm crapping myself!"
"Everybody does." Tamara understood fear. She'd led a section of her
sappers from under a Taliban ambush, through devastating machine gun
fire, without suffering a single, serious casualty. She knew cool
courage; they had rewarded hers with a medal.
Holding the polished bannister I took a step down, then another, feeling
too heavily the weight of many eyes upon me. The stairs and hallway
walls were crammed with pictures and paintings; almost every one with a
military theme; either Father at some point in his meteoric career or
some glorious disaster in his regiment's rich history.
"The regiment's everything, Peter." If I'd had a pound for every time
he'd said that to me I wouldn't have had to have to turn eighteen to
come into my own money and do this.
There were paintings of Thin Red Lines at Waterloo and Lucknow, khaki
clad, red-faced men at Spion Kop, burdened Tommies staggering through
barbed wire in Flanders mud, their sons wading ashore at Anzio, bush-
hatted lads winkling out terrorists in Malaya and Kenya, weary, grinning
squaddies with armoured vehicles in Iraq and Afghanistan. Father knew
the stories behind every painting, he knew the powerful citations behind
each of his regiment's Victoria Crosses, the history behind every battle
honour on the colours and he'd known the name of every soldier under his
command when leading the regiment's First Battalion. Even now, a Major
General, with the might of a Mechanised Division at his direction,
Father took a keen, paternal interest in the regiment's life; from
christenings and passing out parades, mess dinners and medal
investitures, families days and homecoming parades - Father knew the
details and if his schedule allowed he would be there.
"The regiment's everything, Peter. And one day you'll be part of it,
wrapped in it, protected by it. One day, Peter you'll stand here with
your son and you'll be explaining it with the same passion.'
There had been Clayton-Reids in the regiment since Waterloo and once I
graduated from the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst I would become
the latest in a long line of Second Lieutenant Clayton-Reids to be
commissioned into its ranks.
Except my actions this evening were going to disqualify me from serving
in the British infantry.
More laughter froze me - my foot in mid air. Only family was invited
tonight, thank God: Father, Mother, Uncle Stephen and Aunt Alice with
Cousins Harry, Imogen and Cara. Maybe Ambrose would be present too;
Father's steward who had come with him from the regiment when he'd made
Brigadier and had stayed ever since. Steward to a Major-General was a
good job, Ambrose had confided to me not long after that promotion and
our move to this grand house on the edge of Salisbury Plain. Better than
being stuck with the battalion, he'd said, but Father had always
inspired loyalty and devotion from his soldiers.
"The regiment's everything, Peter. Family. Once you're in, you're always
in and they'll never let you down."
And what about his actual family? Mum remained the dutiful army wife,
chair of a dozen committees and welfare groups around the garrison. As a
woman Tamara hadn't been able to shoulder Father's expectations in the
Army, that responsibility lay on me, but she'd done well for herself and
become an officer in the Royal Engineers. The Royal Engineers were
almost respectable, for tradesmen, and a Great Uncle had commanded an
engineer regiment on the Somme so there was a family link. Me? I'd done
everything he'd asked of me - rugby, cricket (never football), swimming,
boxing and athletics. I'd successfully captained school rugby and
cricket squads, played both sports at county level before putting them
aside to concentrate on my A-levels. Until yesterday, when I'd turned
eighteen, become an adult and been discharged, I'd been an Army Cadet. A
good cadet too, I'd worked hard enough that my promotions had been by my
own merit rather than Father's reputation.
Today, on the day of my eighteenth birthday party, I was working for me
and had the financial independence to do so. I'd already checked the
bank - Grannie's trust fund had paid up as planned. It wasn't a vast
amount, but enough to see me through the next year if I was careful.
Best of all, Father couldn't touch it.
Casey had done the most to help. Most of the preparation had been done
discreetly at her house, this morning. I'd been showered, depilated and
conditioned until my skin was soft and glowing all over. My legs were so
sleek it seemed a shame to cover them with tights, particularly when
they were so sheer you almost had to get stalker-close to realise I was
wearing any.
"They'll smooth your legs, make them look more womanly," she'd said when
I'd suggested going bare legged. "Besides, your old man probably thinks
bare-legged women are no better than prossies."
We'd had a little laugh about that, like an absence of tights would be
the tipping point to unleash the frost.
Casey had unusually taken the trouble to wear tights - we'd shared an
expensive pack of two. Away from school and their outdated uniform
policy, her legs were only usually out when the weather warmed up for
the deployment of shorts. The one dress she owned, wine coloured,
fashionably short and respectably high-necked, had been dug out from the
back of her wardrobe for this occasion. I had shared her tights in the
past, happy times when her parents were out and we dressed up together,
learning to manage a skirt and balance on stilettos. Casey's had been
too small for me, but her Mum's weren't.
She'd been amazing for me and her reward for that came today as our
relationship changed. She would no longer be my girlfriend because I had
made it impossible to be her boyfriend. It was something else we were
laughing about - turkeys voting for Christmas - and we'd always be
friends.
Tamara had transported my dress, concealed in a suit cover with her own,
when she'd driven down from her garrison this afternoon. She loved to
wear black and we often joked that if she hadn't joined the Army she'd
have been a goth or a vampire; or a gothic vampire. Tonight she was in a
little black dress with black tights and heels, black nail polish and
lots of black eye liner and mascara - hardly looking like a Royal
Engineers Captain at all. She'd always liked to take time and trouble
over her eye make up and while I was growing up she'd frequently
experimented on me - though only when Father was deployed away or on
some course, operation or exercise. Mum had caught us once. With her
classic, unflappable understatement she'd warned us not to let Father
find out and left us to it.
She'd also surprised me in Tamara's school uniform one afternoon when I
was only twelve. Even then I'd felt the skirt and blouse had suited me
better than the boring boy stuff I had to wear, but I'd had none of the
right words to express what was going on in me. Or to tell her I should
have been a girl, that I dreamed of being a girl, I fantasised about
being female, feminine, beautiful, sexual, elegant - a woman. In the
pretentious society amongst the regiment's officers' married quarters
how was I supposed to know I wasn't alone in my guilt?
Father had seen me in a skirt suit once - mid-grey, calf length; very
respectable. I'd had full make up and jewellery too. That hadn't really
bothered him, or at least he didn't mention it if it had - after all, it
was a school play. I'd been playing the part of a young woman who passes
herself as a man to get the job she wants. It had been oddly exciting to
be a boy playing a woman who dresses as a man, but the last scene had
been best. My character had appeared, in the skirt suit, to show her
bosses what fools they'd been. Like I said, Father had though the play
good, my acting commendable, though he had commented acidly on how I'd
moved too fluidly in Casey's Mum's heels.
Men were men and women were women in Father's eyes. He'd often voiced to
me his disquiet on the Army's policy for allowing homosexuals to serve
openly and allowing women to serve in more roles - even in the face of
Tamara's obvious success. In his defence, he only ever let this disquiet
show in private, never in public and he never did anything to discourage
his daughter's aspirations.
Tamara had done my make-up for tonight - even though her involvement in
this conspiracy was likely to cost her.
"I'd always wanted a sister, not a scabby brother," she'd said, head
tilted while she examined the effect she was having with the eye shadow.
"Do you think that's a tad dark? No, it's perfect. Pity I had to wait so
long to find out I had one."
"I wish I hadn't waited so long to tell you."
She brushed a fingertip along my nose. "Glad you did." We'd been having
a coffee over the kitchen table when I came out to her, one Sunday
morning when both parents were at church. One of her sappers had a
sister who was becoming a brother and the lad, from a difficult estate
in Southampton, didn't know what to do or who else to confide in. I'd
waited until she'd finished telling me of him, and the advice she'd
given, then I'd gathered all my courage and said, "Wouldn't it be
amazing, Tam if I could just swap bodies with that girl in Southampton."
She given me one of Father's direct locks, to make me feel like a very
junior soldier in her troop.
"I should have been a girl." The sentence exhausted me.
With family incisiveness she just asked me what I was going to do about
it. Then, more importantly, "What can I do to help?"
Now, with me poised at the top of the grand stairs in the Major-
General's house, Tamara looked up and grinned again. "If you're waiting
for the fanfare, dancing girls and marching band..."
"Ha ha bloody ha!"
"I could push her?" Casey suggested. She rested her hands on my
shoulders.
"When they arrest us we'll tell the police it was her shoes, she
couldn't manage the heels and fell."
Her. She. They were talking about me - all part of the plan. Once I was
fully dressed, when I stepped out of my room in dress, heels and make up
then I was female and they'd always refer to me as such.
"Okay, okay! I'm coming down." And I did, step step step, with my dress
swirling like a dream around my nylon-slick legs until I stood beside
Tamara at the bottom. We'd gone for elegant and understated with a plain
royal blue dress; three-quarter sleeves, slightly a-line skirt just
brushing my knees and a modest scoop neck. I looked like a girl from a
generation ago, but we'd thought ordinary and feminine was enough, and
besides, I didn't yet have much in the way of curves to fill out a
fashionably fitted dress. A short, cream jacket somewhat concealed my
boyish figure and smallish breast forms were standing in for the real
things until the hormone therapy's effects showed.
Casey had given me the pendant around my neck, a plain leather thong
with a heart shaped amethyst, and the plain, silver bracelet had come
from Tam. The thumb ring was one of Casey's. I hadn't been able to have
my ears pierced yet, Army Cadet appearance regulations, but I had some
clip-ons to match the pendant. Likewise my hair had been kept short
around the back and sides, but the length I'd been building up on top
had been enough for Casey to give me a short, feminine style. I looked
as womanly as I could hope to - for now.
"You look amazing," Casey said.
"Every inch the lady," said Tamara squeezing my shoulder.
Deep breath. "Let's do this. You've got he car keys, Casey?"
She jangled her little hand bag. "Ready for a quick getaway."
I loved to hear my heels clicking as I walked, but this time the plush
carpet softened them. They were as subdued as the rest of my coming out
outfit - ordinary court shoes with slim three inch heels in an easy,
nude shade. I'd been practising in them and felt confident enough to
manage the gravel driveway to Casey's car when Father threw me out in
about fifteen seconds. Why was I doing this? All the pain and upset that
was about to flow from this room because I was too selfish to bottle
myself up any more.
Face set, upper lip stiff, fists clenched, in I went as bold and
confident as if I really was an eighteen year old girl having her
birthday party. Tamara and Casey flanked me silently - just out of my
peripheral vision, but I felt their strength boosting mine.
The family chorus with the opening line of Happy Birthday to You
faltered into silence.
'Jesus!' That sounded like Uncle Stephen. I didn't need his approval.
There I was - openly me.
I glanced at Mum, her hands were over her mouth and I mouthed the word,
sorry. Then I had eyes only for my Father, sprawled casually in his
favourite easy chair by the fire, a glass of whisky in one hand. His
face with its heavy eyebrows and regimental moustache went white, then
red heat rose in his cheeks. His eyes widened.
I had a speech rehearsed. An epithet to throw into the face of this man
before he threw me out of his life for ever, but my tongue dried too
much for words.
Carefully, very carefully, he placed down his whisky.
"Kenneth!" My Mum - soothing, placatory. We'd deliberately kept her from
the plan, even though it was going to hurt her, for fear of straining
her love and loyalty in either direction. Raising a hand to gently shush
her his eyes never left me. The weight of their contempt almost drove me
from the room, but I stood my ground - with trembling knees - and held
the Major General's gaze while he straightened from his chair, squaring
his shoulders like a parade ground martinet.
"Here it comes," I thought to myself. The Antarctic gale I'd been braced
for since the three of us had hatched this plan.
"Well." His voice was calm, frigid. Then his shoulders went down, only
very slightly - you'd have to know him well to see the movement, but to
an accomplished Father watcher like me it was something new, and that
was scarier than the wintry response I had expected.
"It seems the reputation of the Clayton-Reids for impeccable planning,
seizing the initiative and bold, surprise action is in safe hands with
both my children."
Neither of us blinked. As I replayed his words I was too stunned to
think of a single thing to fill the silence. He stooped, recovered his
glass, squared his shoulders and raised it towards me. In that moment he
became the General again, but this General had given his all, done
everything he could to secure victory and now, defeated, he was offering
to save what he could, of what was important.
My Father took a breath, held it for a heartbeat and then spoke again as
confidently and in control as ever he had been. "Happy birthday...?" He
raised those intimidating eyebrows.
Magnanimous in victory, my voice only quivering slightly I told him the
name Casey, Tamara and I had chosen.
He nodded, very stiffly. "Happy birthday, Leah."
Gert
- 29.01.2023
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