Cuckoo
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Cuckoo
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters
I should explain right at the beginning why Daddy did the things that he
did to me. You see, Daddy is not my real father. That is the whole
problem, and the reason why things fell apart. He told me that he did
not want to believe that I was not his, so he ignored the fact that I did
not look anything like my two older brothers. He loved me, and now he
loves me more.
We lived as a family. Father and mother with three sons. But it was a
lie, although as children we knew nothing about it. Looking back, I can
see now, that my parents did not love one another as parents should. My
father was a good provider, and he was a good father - to my brothers
anyway. He left me mainly to my mother.
Things came to a head when Steve Hadfield, my biological father, was
killed in a car accident. My mother went to pieces. She had been
engaged in an affair with Steve for the previous 13 years - longer
because the affair had started before I was conceived. For their own
reasons she and Steve had each tried to end it more than once, but they
could not. It went on for that long, under the eyes of Daddy and Steve's
wife Rachel.
My mother never got over the loss of Steve, and she took her own life.
That is not what Daddy wanted. To say that he forgave her would not be
true. Maybe over time he would have, if she had re-committed herself to
him as her husband. But she did not do that. She could not do it. She
basically locked herself away from all of us. Maybe it was true love,
she and Steve? That just made it worse for Daddy. That would mean that
for more than 13 years he had meant nothing to the woman he loved. He
just funded her lifestyle while she enjoyed love in the arms of somebody
else. Daddy needs to be loved. He needs somebody to hold.
It was worse because Steve Hadfield had been his friend since childhood.
They did not see one another a lot but they went back a long way. It was
because of this, that Daddy said that he could see the young Steve in me,
and he could not stand it. He loved me, but he hated the person that I
looked like. His way of coping was to ensure that I would not look like
Steve - now or in the future.
That is why he did what he did.
As it turns out, Steve's wife Rachel, was a lesbian. She told me that
she enjoyed sex with Steve but that there was no attraction to him.
Maybe that is why Steve sought love with my mother. Rachel married Steve
initially to put an end to her desires and lead a normal life. But she
could not be somebody who she was not. She told me that fantasies and
occasional affairs kept her sane while she stayed Steve's wife. She told
Daddy that she did not know that Steve was banging our mother, but I am
not sure I believe her.
On the plus she was there for us, a little. She had only just buried her
husband and settled his affairs, and his other woman was dead. She felt
sorry for Daddy, and for me also. But when Daddy told her what he wanted
to do, she agreed to help him.
Maybe she could see her two-timing husband in me too, and like Daddy, she
wanted to wipe away that image. Or maybe she just did not like boys.
She always said so.
Of course, Rachel had known my mother. She said that I looked nothing
like her, even when she had me wearing her clothes, as I had to, every
day after school. That was the first thing that she and Daddy had me do.
And they had me grow out my hair. And they gave me drugs, and made sure
I took them. Both of them did not want me to look like Steve Hadfield,
or to grow up to be anything like him.
Both my brothers participated too. It turned out that they never really
thought that I was their brother. They were fair like Daddy and to a
lesser extent, my mother, where I was dark like Steve. I was really an
outsider in my own home. I was close to my mother before she died, and
it was after her death that I needed Daddy's love more than ever. And I
got it, by being who he wanted me to be.
Rachel and Daddy had a crazy idea in their head, that if I looked like a
girl, I would not look like Steve. I didn't want to be a girl - at least
I didn't when this all started - but I did want to be a part of my
family. Hell, it was all I had. I had some friends at school, but when
things started to change, most of my friends got confused and a little
scared. The only real exception was Jake Marsten.
I think that I am smart. Not book smart maybe, but I watch people and I
know what makes people feel things and do things. I know what made Daddy
love my mother, and what she did to upset him. I knew that if he was
going to love me, maybe even more than my brothers, I had to have a plan,
and follow it, no matter where it led. My plan was to go along with
things.
I might have the look of Steve, but I had my mother's wonderful green
eyes. I knew how to accent those. And her honey brown colored hair
could be found in a tube, provided that my hair was the right length. I
could not only not look like Steve, but I could look like my mother.
I learned a lot from Rachel, but the time came for her to move on. As I
explained, she was just there to help after our mother gave up on her
family. That, and to start me on a pathway from male to female. Staying
on that path became much easier when I started to realize what was behind
the way my father had begun to look at me.
Before I am accused of anything, let me make it clear that my father and
I share no blood. I am the child of his wife and Steve Hadfield. I am a
biological orphan, living in my father's family, trying to make a place
for myself.
As I said, I am smart when it comes to people. I could see that when I
tried to resist Rachel's attempts to feminize me my father looked at me
in disgust. I was a not just the child of another man, but the boy in a
dress. But when I wore that dress and acted like a girl, even using some
of the mannerisms that I remembered from my mother, he looked at me in a
very different way. He saw a woman - a younger version of the wife he
had lost, and still cared deeply for, no matter what she had done. He
looked at me with desire, if not love.
When those are the options, there is powerful motivation to correct your
conduct. Every morning I would wear my mother's silk robe to have
breakfast, sometimes pinning my growing hair up. I would change for
school only after my father left for work and change back into my
mother's clothes before he got home.
I could pass as a boy at school, but as I became increasing feminine in
my behavior at home, despite doing my best to avoid it, I appeared more
effeminate in class. My brothers did nothing to help me until I came
home bruised one day.
My father was shocked. I had put some curls in my hair to look pretty
and I made sure that my eyes were wet with tears when he got home. He
saw the bruises and demanded to know what had happened. He ended up
scolding my brothers for not protecting me. When they sneered, he was
very firm in making them entirely responsible for protecting me at
school.
I thanked him with an embrace. I wanted him to smell my hair, which I
had washed and sprayed with some of my mother's preparations.
My brothers kept their promise to him, but they hated me for it. But
that did not concern me. They had never been my friends, let alone my
brothers. But now I was freed to present myself at school however I
liked. I developed a new group of friends among girls who were willing
to accept a sissy-boy as one of their own.
The only other friend was Jake Marsten, who was starting to look at me a
bit like my father did. They both desired me, and that desire was
strongest when I was girliest. Because of that, it seems a little unfair
to call them gay. But what was I?
I think that when people desire you, you feel good. You want their
desire, so you feed it, just a little. It was like I was almost drunk
with the power of it all. Did I have to choose between them?
Now, with Daddy, he was the person I most wanted to love me, but not like
this. I have to say that despite the taboo of incest, I was not opposed
to having some kind of sex with Daddy. He was an attractive man. He
could provide for me like the Jake could. But choosing him meant staying
in this house with my brothers who now hated me. The point is that I had
options.
Then it occurred to me - my real problem was my brothers. Why did I have
to leave? I should have them shown the door. And that meant using all
my power to make that happen. To dislodge them from the family nest.
It meant becoming a real sissy, and learning how to suck and pull cock,
and take it inside my properly prepared butthole. It was new to me, but
I was ready to learn.
The opportunity presented itself when Daddy came home drunk one night. I
prepared myself in every way, including wearing one of my mother's
nighties and doing my hair exactly like hers, and wearing her scent. I
helped Daddy to bed and then I hopped in with him. I told him that he
could cuddle me if he liked, and when he did, I started stroking his
cock. He started to grow big - really big. Luckily I had prepared
myself to cope with size.
He tried to stop himself. He tried to say that it was wrong. But I
suppose there is a point where the animal in a man overtakes such
thoughts, and alcohol probably plays a part. He mounted me and fucked
me. I was prepared for it to be unpleasant - I was pursuing an objective
- but I found it surprisingly tolerable, maybe even a little pleasant
when the warmth of his fluid entered me like the enema I had used to
prepare.
It was the first time but not the last. Daddy and I knew that when we
woke up in one another's arms. Daylight gave him another bout of regret
and self-recrimination, but my first of many blowjobs put paid to that.
My position was secure within a month or so, and from there my brothers'
days were numbered. It is just me and Daddy now, with a little Jake on
the side.
The End
© Maryanne Peters 2021
Nadine
- 10.05.2020
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