Turnings
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Turning Handstands free porn video
TURNING HANDSTANDS
1.
CRASH!
Ian Bradford paused at his computer, glancing up at the ceiling in
growing irritation. What the hell was Aggie up to now? He had two papers
due next Monday and she'd been bumping around upstairs all afternoon.
The constant pounding was wreaking havoc with his concentration; he'd
just written the same paragraph four times. God, he wished he'd headed
down to the library this morning. His life had descended into chaos
since his precocious young cousin moved in. He turned back to the
keyboard, shaking his head in mounting annoyance.
CRASH!!
"HEY!" Ian yelled, almost leaping out of his skin. Another concussion,
loud enough to rattle the windows this time. What was going on up there?
She couldn't have been jumping around on the bed again: not even that
would've have made so much noise (unless the legs gave way, which was
entirely possible). Then again, what else could it be? Mom had told her
off about that last week, so she should have known better. Evidently,
she'd suffered a relapse. Aggie tended to act up whenever Mom wasn't
around to regulate her behavior, particularly when she was seeking
attention. Oh well, the hell with it. He had more pressing concerns than
playing hall monitor to a hyperactive twelve year old. Shifting his
chair closer to the computer desk, Ian placed his fingers on the keys
and started typing.
A third, catastrophic detonation, shaking the foundations beneath his
feet: CRASH!!!
And Ian saw finally red.
Pushing back from the desk, he stood up, saved his file and stalked out
towards the staircase. Any more of this and the roof was likely to
collapse. Aggie was - without exception - the most exasperating child in
the universe. For all her endearing qualities (and there were many), she
could be insufferably naughty when it suited her. Well, enough was
enough. Time for some direct intervention, so to speak. Ian started up
the stairs, heavy brown boots announcing his approach.
Aggie's quarters were at the far end of the first floor landing, a
spacious, skylit bedroom with a slanting attic ceiling and cedar
paneling. Ian loped down the hallway, listening for the tell-tale sounds
of tortured bedsprings. He drew in a deep breath, willing himself to be
calm. Truth be told, he didn't mind her jumping on the mattress, he just
wanted her to keep it down to an acceptable level. He strode down to her
room and stuck his head in the door.
"Aggie!" he barked, a little louder than he intended.
Framed a hazy shaft of afternoon sunlight, Aggie Preston was a pretty
young girl with rose-petal lips and curly blond hair spilling down to
her waist. Her petite figure was outlined by a red cotton sun frock, so
translucent that Ian could see the ghost of her underwear. She was
standing before a large cheval mirror (an heirloom passed down from
their mutual grandmother) with her arms raised over her head. She looked
like a high diver about to catapult from a springboard.
"What're you doing? You're making enough noise to wake the dead!"
Aggie lowered her hands and looked over at the door, her face as bright
and open as a summer morning.
"I'm practicing," she told him.
"Practicing? Practicing what?"
"Handstands."
Yeah, that'd be right, he thought ruefully, serves me right for teaching
her how to do cartwheels yesterday. He shook his head incredulously.
When would he ever learn? Next it'll be backflips and somersaults.
"Why don't you go practice down in the backyard?"
"I want to watch myself in the mirror," she replied, gesturing towards
the cheval, "only I can't because my dress keeps getting in the way."
Ian rubbed his temples in disbelief. Was that why she'd been thumping
around like a goddam elephant for the past two hours? Surely not.
"Well, put some shorts on, then."
"I want to see what I look like wearing the dress."
"Yeah, that makes a lot of sense," Ian commented wearily. The
conversation was getting loopier by the second. He couldn't believe this
was happening. Two book reports due next Monday and here he was, talking
gobbledygook with a twelve year old. No, sorry - a twelve year old who
likes turning handstands in front of the mirror. Wearing a dress.
And the loopiest thing of all? She wasn't even a girl. Not really.
Aggie was a tranzie.
2.
To quote the local press, you saw a lot of tranzies around Ridgewick
nowadays. Seemed like every second kid you met was one - although you'd
simply never have guessed, not unless you'd lived here all your life.
Half the time, you hardly noticed they were even there. Ian knew most of
the tranzies out at Ridgewick Consolidated, he'd been through the system
with them. There were two dozen in the eighth grade alone - close on two
hundred in the school, all up - a rather significant number, considering
the school's general population was somewhat less than a thousand.
Tranzies were biological transsexuals; genetic males who morphed into
anatomical females during early childhood. Nobody was completely sure
how this occurred, but the scientific literature theorized it was caused
by an alpha-five mutation, similar to the cases documented in the
Dominican Republic. Apparently, it was a little like going through
puberty - except that you changed from one sex to another. Most began to
'turn' around the age of seven, taking around three years to complete
the process. From there, they continued through a more conventional
puberty - though few - if any - ever experienced the rigors of
menstruation.
Aggie Preston was your typical tranzie. No, actually, she more than
that. She was your archetypal tranzie: frail and delicate, with girlish
features and slender proportions. It wasn't just her appearance, either:
it was her voice, her attitude, her overall bearing. She was literally
indistinguishable from a 'regular' girl. Always had been, as far back as
Ian could remember.
OK, she could be a little rough-and-tumble at times, scaling trees and
hurling snowballs with the best of them, no doubt about that whatsoever.
But behind all the tomboy bravado, there was an underlying softness to
Aggie's character - genuinely feminine, rather than effeminate.
Ian, who was Aggie's senior by (barely) one year, had enjoyed - or maybe
suffered - a particularly close relationship with A.G. Preston
throughout most of his childhood. As first cousins, they'd been
virtually inseparable in elementary school, blackening eyes and
fattening lips whenever trouble reared its ugly head in the playground
(escapades which landed both in the principal's office on more than one
occasion).
In that regard at least, Ian had looked on Aggie as a kid brother, one
who was always watching his back when the chips were down and the
daggers were drawn.
This had lasted all the way through to the third grade, when Aggie's
change had become apparent. Her transition had been remarkably swift,
lasting barely eighteen months. Looking back now, it seemed to have
happened in the blink of an eye, stunning even the endocrinologists who
were researching her case files. It was like watching Tom Sawyer turn
into Becky Thatcher between the space of two summers.
And quite suddenly, Ian no longer viewed Aggie Preston as his kid
brother.
No, this was an entirely different ball game, played by rules neither of
them quite understood. There had, inevitably, been a brief period where
they'd drifted apart - perhaps by only the slightest of degrees - as
Aggie had adjusted to her new social role and Ian discovered there were
plenty of others willing to watch his back (though none of them ever
accompanied him to the principal's office).
And yeah, a few awkward moments had ensued - like that trip to Lake
Ridgewick where he'd seen Aggie in a one-piece for the first time - but
they'd been amazingly few and far between, considering that she'd
undergone a complete gender reversal. The most difficult part (for Ian
at least) was adapting to the new pronouns, and that was only due to
force of habit.
There was, however, one significant difference that everybody else
seemed to notice. Ian and Aggie had somehow changed - virtually
overnight - from the closest of sibling comrades to the bitterest of
sibling rivals. It wasn't the sort of schoolyard competition you might
have expected from a couple of boys, either: it was a full-on sis vs
bro, guy vs gal, knock-em-down, drag-em-out gender-feud of Homeric
proportions.
The situation had naturally been exacerbated when Aggie had relocated to
the Bradford residence last fall (a move necessitated by her father's
unexpected business transferal to Europe). Placing the pair in such
close proximity was the equivalent of housing two scorpions in a depth
charge. And despite all appearances, it wasn't so much the constant
fights and bickering that drove Ian to the brink of insanity. It was the
incessant smart-mouthing, back-chatting and batspit crazy girl-talk!
All the same, Ian - who had only recently turned thirteen and had
inherited all of the hormonal calamities that accompanied that memorable
age - was about to learn that there were at least a few advantages to
having a transgendered cousin around the house.
Especially since she'd started to ... well, grow up.
3.
"Can you watch me to see if I'm doing it right?" she asked, oblivious to
the mayhem she'd wrought in his work schedule. That was Aggie Preston
all over. Not content with simply ruining his afternoon, she expected
him to stand around praising her gymnastic abilities to the skies. All
the same, Ian felt inclined to capitulate for the time being. She'd
probably lose interest if he indulged her whims for a few minutes. He
sat down on the bed, resigning himself to the inevitable.
"OK. Show me what you've got."
Aggie turned back toward the mirror, paused for several seconds, then
dropped over onto her palms. Her dress fluttered inside out, allowing
Ian a generous view of her fresh, white underpants. She arched her spine
for balance, feet waving precariously in mid-air. Ian noted her locked
elbows, the subtle curve of her belly. Not bad, for a beginner. She held
her legs up for about five seconds, then fell back on to her feet.
"How was I?" she asked, eyebrows raised enquiringly. Her dress was still
rucked up over one hip, holding on by a thread and a promise. A sliver
of cheeky white panty peeked out from under the scarlet hem. Ian didn't
bother pointing it out; the lesson obviously wasn't finished yet.
"Not bad," he replied fairly enough, "but you're supposed to keep your
feet together when you go up into your stance."
"...my stance?" she asked doubtfully.
"When you're upside down," he explained, reminding himself she'd never
had any formal training. Aggie's face lit up with understanding.
"Oh, right. Like this," she said, and sailed over once more. Her skirt
fell across her face, hanging almost to the floor. Pristine cotton
panties went on open display, tightly stretched across her pudgy, round
bottom. Aggie wavered at the height of her arc for maybe two seconds
then started to topple backwards toward the bed. Ian caught her in his
arms before she hit the floor.
"That's better," he nodded, setting her back on her feet, "just don't
come crashing down that way. Feels like an earthquake."
"I want to try again," she chirped eagerly, "can you hold my legs, Ian?"
"Yeah, OK," he agreed, rising laboriously from the bed, "come over
here." His academic responsibilities were swept aside in the torrent of
Aggie's excitement. She had that effect on everybody. Reaching down, he
took her under the arms and hoisted her up to his shoulder. She wrapped
her legs around his waist, eyes glittering with innocent pleasure.
"Lean backwards and put your hands on the floor," Ian instructed,
lowering her carefully towards the carpet. Her frock began to invert,
exposing her creamy thighs as gravity snatched at the hemline. Ian
glanced down to make sure she was bracing herself properly. Her panties
were trimmed with pink lace.
"You ready down there?" he asked.
"Yeah, I'm ready," she piped back, voice shrill with expectation.
"All right, here we go."
4.
Holding her firmly by the ankles, Ian dangled Aggie upside-down facing
the mirror, then allowed her to take some of her own weight. Careful to
maintain his grip, he paused to check her stance. The reflection showed
a slim young girl standing on her hands with her legs slightly apart.
Her frock was trailing on the floor, completely covering her arms and
head and upper body. Ian floated his gaze over her smooth tummy, her
glaring white panties, her supple thighs. The dress continued inching
southward, exposing more of her ivory flesh. An impudent little belly
button pouted out of an alabaster torso. By this time, Ian was
completely engrossed; all thought of his impending assignments had
vanished from his mind.
"OK," he said, "bring your feet together. And point your toes at the
ceiling."
"Like this?"
"Yeah, that's good, almost perfect," he answered. Aggie's frock had
crept halfway down her midsection. Her full brief pants sat snug against
the delicate rose of her skin. Tiny white ripples flowed across the
fabric as she adjusted her weight from side to side. A fine lace tracery
encircled the waistband, dimpling her slightly protruding belly. She'd
never completely lost her puppy fat.
"I still can't see," Aggie twittered beneath a veil of scarlet cotton.
"Push your skirt out of the way."
"I'll fall over."
"No, you won't," Ian assured her, "I've got you."
Shifting her center of balance, Aggie raised the hemline with her right
hand, eyes widening as she glimpsed her reflection. It shouldn't have
been such a surprise; she'd seen her friends turning handstands at
school, pretty much every day. But this was different, somehow. She'd
never actually seen herself hanging upside down with her dress over her
head (even though she spent half her life on the jungle gym like most
girls her age).
"I wanna do it again!" she chortled, wriggling her hips impatiently. Her
pert, plump bottom-cheeks jostled back and forth in joyful abandon. Ian
smiled in spite of himself. She really had no idea how engaging she was.
He set her on her feet once again, mindful to cushion her descent as
much as possible. She'd weakened the floorboards sufficiently for one
day. Aggie straightened up, literally dancing with excitement. She spun
around, skirt flaring out around her calves, then cast a backward glance
over her shoulder.
"Ian, can you undo me?" she trilled, indicating the back of her sun-
frock. Ian arched an eyebrow, mildly amused by the request. He should
have seen this coming; in his experience, tranzies tended to be natural
exhibitionists.
"Why?" he asked, already knowing what the answer would be.
"So I can see what I look like without my dress." She started bouncing
wildly up and down, blonde curls whipping around her head in a platinum
cloud.
"OK then," he nodded, managing to keep a straight face. He fumbled with
the buttons for a few seconds, then sat back down on the bed while Aggie
slipped the straps off her shoulders. She shimmied her hips for a couple
of seconds, sliding the frock to the floor and unveiling her sleek
figure in a silken whisper. She stepped out of the discarded remnant and
stood up in nothing but her socks and panties. A faint rose tint began
to spread through her features, though it probably wasn't due to
embarrassment; she'd never been coy about showing off her underwear in
front of anybody (least all him).
Ian took a moment to scope her over. It was odd: he'd seen her undressed
more times than he could number, but he'd never found her quite so
..appealing. Perhaps it was the sultry flush permeating her flesh.
Perhaps it was her simple, innocence, her unconscious femininity. He
noted in vague surprise that she was plump and curved in all the places
a real girl would have been. More than he would have expected, as a
matter of fact.
She ran over to the bed, grabbing his arm and and trying to haul him to
his feet.
"Help me turn upside down again! I wanna stand on my hands like before!"
"All right, all right," he said, sounding mildly harassed. Reaching
forward, he planted her on his lap, sitting face-to-face so that her
tummy was pressed against his. His fingertips stroked her bare ribs,
raising gooseflesh in their wake. Ian breathed in her natural scent, a
combination of apples and honey and warm, fresh cream. Her heart was
racing like a miniature trip-hammer, he could feel it pounding against
his chest.
"Ready?"
"Yeah."
5.
Laying hold of her midriff, Ian tilted Aggie back, allowing her to drop
onto her down-stretched palms. She swung her legs up at the same time,
remembering to aim her feet at the roof. She could feel Ian's hands
gliding over her belly, adjusting her position whenever she started
losing balance. Her body was a shining arabesque in the mirror.
Ian transferred his grip to Aggie's ankles, then unwound himself to his
full height (which was not inconsiderable, at just thirteen he was
regarded as a 'jock' by most of his friends at school), hefting her off
the floor by several inches. Aggie shrieked in happy protest as he
walked her closer to the cheval. Lowering her gingerly to the rug, Ian
fine-tuned her posture and leaned in for a closer look.
Aggie hung topsy-turvey with her arms braced and her blond tresses
sweeping the carpet. Her panties shimmered in the mid-afternoon haze;
Ian noticed for the first time they had a little tag on the front, just
below the waistband. So fine, so translucent he could see her milky
flesh-tones through the material. Catching her reflection in the mirror,
Aggie giggled in sheer delight. High, silvery laughter tinkled around
the room.
Ian knelt down on one knee, encircling her waist with both hands. One of
his fingers brushed her belly button; Aggie squirmed with ticklish
rapture. She kicked her feet in mid air, lacy white socks flashing in
the mirror.
"Hey, don't! I'm gonna fall!"
"No, you won't," Ian said, making himself more comfortable, "now -
pretend your legs are like a pair of scissors. Understand? Open them as
wide as they'll go. Then I'll show you how to dismount."
"How to what?" she gasped, breathless with laughter.
"Don't worry, you'll see," he replied. Aggie was giggling so hard that
her eyes were overflowing with liquid mirth. Watching herself in the
cheval, she began to part her legs - hesitantly at first, then with
increasing confidence when she realized Ian was holding her up.
"That's right," he encouraged, "straighten your legs out. And don't
forget to point your toes." He found that she was surprisingly limber.
Her legs were splayed into a classic aerial splits, stretching her
panties tight between the thighs. The gusset was framed on each side by
a dainty lace trim, and if she'd ever been a boy at any point of her
life, there was absolutely no sign of it now. Ian returned his attention
to the business at hand.
"All right, you ready to come down now?" he asked.
"Yeah, OK." She replied, still giggling. Tears of laughter trickled down
her face, running into her hairline. Moving with an almost professional
ease, Ian tilted the girl to the right, allowing her to overbalance into
a half-cartwheel. Taken completely unawares, Aggie gave a little shriek
as she went over, flailing her legs in surprise. What was he doing?! He
said he wouldn't let her fall!
6.
"IIIIIAAAAN!!" she screamed.
But Ian was already there.
He scooped her up in his arms the instant before she struck the floor,
sweeping her onto his shoulder with a rakish laugh. She clung to his
neck, squealing with both fright and pleasure, a beautiful young girl in
cotton panties and frilly white socks. Ian dropped backward onto the
carpet with a resounding THUMP, shaking the floorboards himself this
time.
Seized by a sudden but utterly irresistible impulse, Ian ran his fingers
over her midsection, tickling her ribs and back and tummy. Her reaction
was as violent as it was immediate: Aggie thrashed and kicked in his
grasp, desperate to evade those merciless, probing digits.
"Hey! Cut it out!" she screamed in helpless mirth, "stop it!"
"Make me," Ian challenged in devilish mockery.
After a time (or maybe two), she managed to fight him off with open
handed slaps of her palms, screaming with indignant laughter as he tried
to pin her to the floor. Ian never really stood a chance on this
occasion: it wasn't the first time he'd subjected her to the Torture of
a Thousand Tickles, and she'd always been one heck of a little scrapper,
dating all the way back to their playground years.
Once she'd managed to roll beyond his immediate reach, they lay panting
and breathless on the rug, choking back on their laughter and struggling
to draw breath. Ian made a few half-hearted attempts to catch her by the
wrist, which she fended off with the ease of long practice.
"You can be a real bastard sometimes," she finally gasped, "you know
that, Ian Bradford?"
They both erupted into fresh peals of laughter, Ian cracking up so hard
that tears wavered in his peripheral vision. Aggie kicked him once - no,
twice - in the right leg to emphasize her point, though nowhere near
hard enough to cause any real pain. They lay grinning at each other for
another four or five minutes until their heart-rates dropped to
something approaching a brisk canter.
"That was fun," Ian mused, propping himself up on one elbow, "want to
try it again?"
"Shut up," she replied offhand, and began to rise strenuously to her
feet. Between the kamikaze acrobatics and the battle of the bedroom
floor, she felt fit to drop. Glancing carelessly about the room, she
walked over to the bed in her prim white underwear, heedless of her
cousin's wandering gaze.
"What do you want to do now?" he asked, knowing that another skin-tight
wrestling match was probably out of the question (but still holding out
for considerably more in the meantime).
"I dunno," she answered, stepping indifferently back into her dress,
"you wanna go downtown?"
Ian considered the question for a few moments before raising his
eyebrows in a comic-book expression of inspiration.
"Baskin Robbins?"
Aggie started to nod her agreement, then gave her lip a rueful nip.
"Can't," she replied glumly, "I'm skint." She started working the frock
down over her hips, covering her lace-trimmed panties from his view. Ian
felt a jolt of genuine disappointment as the hemline slipped to her mid-
thighs, surprising himself in the process.
"That's OK, I've still got that tenner from last week."
"That enough for both of us?"
"Enough for one of us. We can share."
"You sure about that?" she asked skeptically, "this isn't just another
one of your gigantic lies?"
"No, no, swear to jeezus," Ian promised on the Holy Name, and for once,
his fingers weren't crossed firmly behind his back. At that moment, he
would've offered her the sun, the moon and every star in the frigging
galaxy for a chance to go another two rounds on the carpet with her. He
also would have sold his mother's soul, his father's manhood and every
last drop of his adolescent blood if need be.
"OK then," she shrugged without further debate, then started tugging
with the buttons at the back of her dress, "come over and help me with
this."
Ian clambered unsteadily up from the carpet - he was close to depleted
himself - and stepped over to his cousin, reaching eagerly out for the
back of her sunfrock. He briefly considered jamming his fingers into her
undefended ribs, but Aggie was already miles ahead of him in that
particular respect.
"Don't even think about it," she warned in a tone that threatened the
direst of consequences.
"OK, OK!" he exclaimed in mock innocence, "I wasn't gonna try anything."
A complete lie, of course. Under normal circumstances, he would have
tried anything he could get away with, but the circumstances were
anything but normal, and he was well aware that Aggie Preston could
throw a mean right hook when she had her Irish up.
He slid the last button into place, silently reflecting on how much had
changed in the space of single afternoon. He no longer saw Aggie as a
rival sibling or an annoying brat. He didn't even see her as his cousin
anymore, not exactly. He just saw her as...a girl. A girl near his own
age, a girl who was bright and funny and as free as a wooddland nymph. A
girl who'd started out as a boy, true enough; no sense in denying the
obvious, but one who was at least as pretty as any he knew from school.
No, the hell with that - she was the hands down the prettiest girl he'd
ever known (and the fact that she wasn't adverse to stripping to her
panties right in front him tended to add a little spice to the mixture).
"You sure about that tenner?" she demanded, smoothing out the front of
her dress without looking up.
"Right here," Ian replied, scraping around in his back pocket. Flipping
open a scuffed and faded vinyl wallet, he produced the required
evidence, laying all suspicion immediately to rest.
"Okay, let's get going," Aggie nodded, casting her doubts to the wind as
she turned toward the bedroom door.
They trotted down the stairs together, Ian clutching the banknote in his
right hand like a talisman. They both felt tired, but their eyelids
drooped in kind of blissful exhaustion. Out in the study, the computer
sat unattended, its monitor flickering into standby mode. Ian didn't
spare it a second thought. The final reports could wait, he could always
get an extension. Well, probably not, but who cares? Like any other boy
of thirteen, he had more important things to do now.
Pocketing his wallet, Ian followed his cousin through the front door and
down the porch steps. Aggie's laughter receded down the sidewalk as they
walked off into a perfect summer afternoon.
It was going to be a wonderful day.
The End
Lynne
- 11.05.2020
- 21
- 0
