Rags and Chauvinism turn to Riches and Honour of the Feminine
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Not Even Rags To Riches Conclusion free porn video
Not even Rags, to Riches, an Arduous Journey Conclusion.
And then things became routine, mundane, and boring. I became Sofia and
took care of myself and my remaining family. Sofia's income provided
their comfort. How much could I moisturize and primp and decorate my
feminine body before things got boring? The twenty minutes a night
letting my boys shove their rod in and out of my lubed-up hole was
becoming ordinary. It felt nice, don't get me wrong. The aspirations of
sexual release based on how I looked were still affirming.
It was nice to be desired by so many. I enjoyed my life to an extent. At
some point, I was not playacting. Sofia was who I had become. The
beautiful tits and now curvy ass and hips were not props to be discarded
after a night's show; they were part of me. Every jiggle, every graceful
feminine movement was evidence of the fact that Oscar was long gone.
Somehow I morphed into Sofia.
I sat and pondered what I had become. Marveled at the ease, I traded my
manhood for sustenance. I never thought I was becoming the part I was
playing. It was all supposed to be temporary. Even the boob job could be
removed.
Now, as my luscious black hair cascaded down and around my shoulders,
tickling at my decollete, I take in my new form. The cleavage is as good
as I had ever admired when I dared ogle a girl. My muscles have all but
dissipated, and my waist is waif thin. My hips and bulbous ass look
feminine above sexy tan legs ending in impossibly small feet. My
testicles and penis are that of a prepubescent child and are the only
reminders of Oscar.
"You're not playing Sofia. You are Sofia," I said to the mirror across
from where I was sitting. My face collapsed into my hands. It was
terrible; I wanted to cry but was worried that my makeup would get messed
up. My body responded with something I could only describe as dry crying.
No tears came, but the contorted face and a gut-wrenching heaving were
occurring. The reflection of it made it worse as my chest wobbled with my
body's effort.
I was a very well-respected whore. A good-looking female replica that the
whole house used to ease their sexual frustrations. It is strange how the
truth of something evades you for so long and then hits you in the face.
I let my former teammate turn me into a less expensive kept whore. And I
was trapped by my success of being a very well-paid, sexy whore. My
options before I had become mostly female were extremely limited. Now, I
was an illegal transexual with nowhere to go.
There was an MG that one of my roommates brought home. He said I could
use it whenever I wanted, with the caveat of not getting into a wreck.
And it might be my ego, but I looked so cute driving around in it. I got
a lot of attention when I drove to the Ranch Market grocery store. I had
to do something else besides looking pretty.
I know it sounds conceited, but it no longer took me much time to look
pretty. Real tits and curves and my much smaller nose made looking good
almost a given. I could apply some lipstick and mascara and look
attractive. I understood that there was no going back. I'm not sure I
wanted to go back if I could. I liked Sofia.
I was so deep in thought as I walked into the grocery store that I did
not notice the construction crew wagging their tongues at me. I used to
think it funny how they whistled and gawked when I was a boy. I thought I
would rather not be a whore when their obnoxious behavior garnered my
attention. These large carpenters were intimidating. I was a frail sexy
Mexican woman with a sexy gait and a submissive aura about me. It seemed
they would have me spread out on their buffet table for lunch, surrounded
by their tantalizing dishes until they filled themselves and then wanted
dessert.
The suddenness of the confrontation scared me. I was frightened. And
then, the owner of the construction company cursed his employees. He was
fierce and scary until he turned his attention to me. His features
softened as he addressed me. Cordially and respectfully, he profusely
apologized. It was sincere. I had always been escorted en femme. This was
new territory. This burly white guy was running interference for his
employees' bad behavior.
I looked into his kind face, and he took me in. In an instant, he
understood their attraction. Ever the professional, he stepped aside and
let me on my way. There was something there. The whole time shopping, his
kind face kept interrupting my thoughts. Shopping took forever.
When I did exit the grocery store, he was there to help push my cart and
load the groceries. I told him it was not necessary, but he insisted. He
made me feel something I had never felt before. It took me a while to
understand what it was. But, as I drove home, it dawned on me.
To him, I was not a pretend good-looking woman. I was a pretty woman.
While I was stocking the shelves and the two run-down refrigerators, my
mind alternated between my boys and their favorite ingredients, each and
Charles. I had grown fond of my charges. I was stocking the provisions
and taking stock of who I had become.
Long polished fingernails on the ends of frail-looking fingers grasped
off-brand cans as I stocked the pantry. My perky breasts always were a
source of pride. As I squatted down, balancing on high heels, my skirt
tightened across my expansive ass. All of these things had become my
norm. The earrings and hair were comforting as I knew they had completed
the picture of who I was. And my dimestore perfume that was my scent was
the lingering tale that I was or had been there.
The relationship between my seventeen benefactors and me was varied and
treasured to varying degrees. Three of them never took me sexually. It
was a great source of relief at first. But as Sofia turned the corner and
started enjoying evening fuckings as an affirmation of her character, she
started trying to egg on her holdouts. Slowly the group as a whole
transitioned from enforcing me into being the girl to wanting to please
the girl that I had become. I had no idea when it happened, but I was
Sofia at some point along the way.
Charles was someone outside of my strange world. Clearly, he found me
attractive. It was a passing fancy of mine, but it was a pleasant
daydream that someone would save me. I had a doable life. As Philip had
proclaimed, "It is not hard work." Everyone was friendly to me,
respectable even. Sexy women do have an advantage.
I continued my life, the life Sofia provided for me. I concentrated on
the pleasant aspects of what I had become. To be always so clean and
refreshed was one of the aspects that I enjoyed. Lotioning up my supple
body could not be dismissed as unpleasant. The soft clothes were so
invigorating. In deep concentration on what was good, it dawned on me
that not much was unpleasant. The fear of discovery was removed from me
as time spent as Sofia morphed me into a sexy version of her. Sex as a
woman with something extra had become pleasant. The only negative I had
left was that I was a whore. It is a big negative.
CHAPTER SIX
I went shopping more than necessary. I was not wearing only lipstick and
mascara. I knew it was a ghost playing at my emotions, but the games we
play to keep our sanity are widespread. Sofia was a sexy wench as she
shopped for "groceries."
At first, Charles would wave. Then when my shopping ritual became
predictable, he was positioned close to where I would travel on foot.
Small platitudes turned into friendly expressions as the weeks turned
into a month. And then he could not take it anymore and invited me to
lunch. It was Sofia's first date.
When he asked me, I acted coquettish.
"I'm not dressed for a date," I told him.
"You look good to me," he answered.
The first date was lovely. Charles was ever the gentleman. It was not
much different from all my roommates' dates, but the difference could
fill a gulf. He found out that I was available most days and had
obligations in the evenings.
Most days, I ended up spending with Charles. The comfort level between us
spoke of good chemistry. It was a sorrowful day when I needed to tell him
of my background. I wanted my affectionate friend in my life. And giving
him the whole truth was a difficult conversation. What he wanted from me
had negated moving forward without revealing to him what I was.
"I need time to think about this," he said matter-of-factly.
That said, he paid the bill and took me back to the ranch Market where
the MG was parked. A small parting hug was my gift from Charles. He waved
as I drove off. The tears were a torrent as I drove back to my whore
existence. Religated to my fate, I tried and tried to stop the flow of
tears. My makeup was a mess.
One of my roommates was home early but attributed my tears to the
hormones they regularly fed me. God, I looked a fright. I needed to
invest in waterproof mascara. I steeled myself, determined to have a life
I could call my own. Could I be happy as a respected whore. It seemed I
had no choice. Somehow, I would need to reconcile my method of income and
my virtue.
Slowly I learned to accept my fate. I learned to be Sofia. Roommates
would move on, and new ones would replace the old with payments for
services rendered. I was a business unto myself. Pantyhose and high
heels, dating and putting out, was a living. This is not what was
intended those few years ago, but in a strange way, I had become
successful. I had outperformed everyone from my small village. My family
was well off from my support.
I needed to go back to the Ranch Market. I had been shopping elsewhere,
avoiding Charles, but the grocery store's prices were impossible to beat.
He was there. I was nervous to walk past him. I had no idea what he might
want to shout out in the parking lot. Embarrassment and put-downs were
what I expected, but I needed to get the groceries. Flats and minimal
flamboyance were my dress of the day. If I needed to hightail it out of
there, I could.
I kept my eyes down. I did not know what else to do. My hand clutched at
my purse strap, leaving white impressions on my skin's surface. I think
my legs were quivering, but I can't remember. And then Charles spoke.
"I've missed you, Sofia," he said in his usual friendly voice.
I was blown over. Every indication was that we were not friends any
longer. I looked up, moisture threatening to blur my vision, and Charle's
gaze met mine. He took my hand in his and placed his other on top of
mine.
"I'm so glad you have come today. I was almost giving up hope," he told
me.
The remodel was coming to an end, and I had not been back to the ranch
Market for over a month. He looked genuinely relieved I had shown up.
"We need to talk. Can you come with me to our pub?" Charles wanted to
know.
I was too emotional to speak, so I nodded. He grabbed me into a huge hug,
and my feet left the sidewalk. I felt so petite and protected all at
once. Charles knew how to make me feel like a legitimate woman.
At the pub, he laid out a plan to help me. Charles had thought this
through. He was willing to marry me so that I could get not only a green
card but citizenship. I went to object, but he had answers and rationale
that covered all my perceived issues with what he proposed.
I was scared. Life up to this point in time had not been kind to me. My
Mother and sister were being cared for by Sofia's arrangement. If Charles
were not on the up and up, I would lose what I had gained. Could I trust
Charles? This question was the biggest gamble life had thrown at me.
He said my roommates would assume that immigration had nabbed me. None of
them would come looking for me.
He saw the expression forming in my mind and cut me off at the pass.
"We will not be having sexual relations. Of course, you will need to tell
the immigration office that I enjoy your bottom end all the time," he
said as if it were no big deal.
Immigration scared me. I've spent my whole existence in the United
States, avoiding them. Now Charles is advocating we contact them as a
married couple. Married men are legal in this state, he reiterated. He
had all of the answers. I only needed to decide if I could trust him.
That day, as far as my roommates were concerned, I disappeared. Charles
was true to his word. And he was an excellent dancer. He cared for me
deeply, and I reciprocated.
I was asking him how I looked when he did it again. Charles floored me.
First, he complimented my outfit. It was one of his favorites. And then
he dropped the love bomb.
"Sofia, I love you," he told me solemnly.
It put me on pause, and then I thought I understood him.
"I love you too. All that you have done for me is miraculous. I love
dancing with you and that you treat me as a woman. Your kindness has no
equal in my life," I honestly replied.
His face then had a grimace. His eyes looked forlorn.
"No, I love you as a man loves a woman," he said as he embraced me.
"But, I'm not a woman, not really." It pained me to verbalize it.
You could be, and then we could be together," He said.
He looked worried. The way I assumed years ago that he did not want to
have anything further to do with me, I recognized in his body language.
He was worried he was asking too much of me. He was concerned that I'd
bolt. He understood my pained past. But he was wrong.
I jumped into his arms figuratively; I was already there. I wanted to be
Sofia more than anything. I wanted to be this loving man's proper wife. I
wanted a vagina so that we could and would be together forever. Charles
Made it happen for his wife. He wanted to have a big traditional wedding
to renew our vows. I was against it until I realized it was for his
psyche. He needed to wed me as a true woman.
Sometimes I got so wrapped up in what was happening to me that I failed
to consider those that were along for the ride.
The wedding was surreal. My sister was grown now and was my bridesmaid.
My Mother said that our Father would have been so proud. And then she
thought about what she said and burst into laughter.
"Oh, God, he would not have been. But the way you sacrificed yourself for
us would have burst the buttons off his dress shirt," she admitted.
The admission was a rear glimpse when my Mother would let her guard down.
My smile was torn between the awkwardness of the facts and the joy that
good things did happen from being Sofia. And then my sister and Mother
went to town on the bride's preparations. If I had known all the planning
and work involved, I might have stuck to my original thought on having a
wedding. Being a bride is underrated. I had never felt so complete a
woman as that whole tradition.
And after all the salon treatments, spa trips, and a dress that was more
than a thousand dollars, I felt like a princess. I know it is corny, but
I did. Charles was not marrying me to help me. He was marrying me because
he chose me to be his wife.
And that night when he took me, in a biblical sense, I was a virgin. I
can tell you I was also nervous as a virgin bride. I hoped against all
hopes that I had dilated properly. I was afraid that Charles would be
disappointed. So much of his hard-earned money went into completing my
transformation. The wedding was quite expensive, and I wanted my husband
to enjoy making love to me.
It was uncomfortable. I tried hard to relax. When his gentle kisses left
my face and attacked my pert wanton breasts, I started to enjoy the mixed
feelings I was experiencing. And then he pushed a little more, and my
nicely sculpted nether lips parted, and I received the first part of his
glorious penis.
I sucked in air at the anticipation of becoming a real woman. And then,
"Hughhh, mmmm, ahhhh, oh my God, mmm, mmmm, ohhhh." Words were no longer
possible. He was a monster, and my vagina liked his monster.
He lasted much longer than what I had become used to from my roommates. I
didn't know if it was because he was older or if he was trying to please
me. It is strange where your mind goes while..."hughhh, mmm, oh oh oh
mmm." It was so comforting to snuggle again. He liked to hold me close
and trace his index finger around and across my nipples. He loved that
they reacted strongly to his ministrations.
Charles was wonderful. He loved dancing well into the nights when he took
me out on the weekends. I could not have asked for anyone kinder or more
attentive. He had become my soul mate. And then, many years later, he
died of a massive coronary. The best part of me was ripped asunder.
It was a week after we celebrated my naturalization as a U.S. citizen.
That night we went dancing. Charles seemed overly tired. He did not want
to spoil my special night. It wasn't easy to rouse him in the morning,
but his charming smile greeted me when he opened his eyes. I told him he
needed to see the doctor.
"Nag, nag, nag," he responded. He loved Clint Eastwood movies. Again the
woman of the house was brushed aside. It was in good humor, but I was
serious that he at least needed a vitamin b shot. You get a lot of
platitudes as a woman. Some, you grin and bear, but this one, I should
have brought down the house in protest.
The funeral was, only Charle's friends and business associates in
attendance. It had never crossed my mind that he did not have a family.
The subject was never broached, and I let the topic go. I assumed he had
his reasons and did not want to dwell on the possibilities. There was no
will, and I was the surviving spouse.
The house with a small guest house was no consolation prize. I wanted to
always be with Charley. Why didn't he listen to me?
*Present time*
"Wait, hold on, your story doesn't add up. There are so many holes I
could drive a tractor-trailer through it," said the reader of this story
( insert your name ).
"You know, you are the only other person I have relayed my story too. You
are the only person who will hear the whole story if you are patient
enough to listen to it. What are your issues?"
"First, you said this was a rags-to-riches story. You had a cheap wedding
dress and inherited a brownstone with a studio guest house. That is not
riches," you argue.
"What happened with Victor?" you inquire.
"Why is your hair blonde now?"
"Did your roommates ever come looking for you?"
"I was getting to Victor. And Riches are subjective. Charles was correct
about my roommates. And don't you know, when you change your man, women
change their hair?"
"So, you are with Victor. And he is rich?" asks the reader.
"No, Victor and I called it quits. It was excruciating," I respond. And
then, I ask the pertinent question.
"Do you want me to finish my story?"
If you are among the few still reading this, you say, "of course, I want
to hear the rest."
"Ok then." I steal myself to finish my life's strange story.
*Back to the tail*
I married Charles, and he paved the way for me to become a true woman. He
completed me. It was the biggest gamble of my life. I risked it all and
found true love and acceptance. The hole in my soul could never be
filled. I could not see being with anyone ever again. I was mad at him
for leaving me. I know it wasn't rational, but I was.
I promised myself that I would never be with anyone again. My depression
was wrenching. If my logic was clouded, so be it. The problem was that at
thirty-two years old and a widow, it would be a long lonely existence if
I lived an average timespan.
I was reading the paper one day and noticed a dance club advertisement in
the local paper. We loved to dance, Charles and me. It would not be
cheating on my soul mate if I danced. It could have been a homage to what
we once had.
With a detached anatomic preparation, I readied myself to go dancing. The
first night all the usual meatheads descended on me. I was being treated
like a piece of meat to be conquered, and it felt utterly wrong. As I was
headed for the door, Victor walked in, and I bumped into him. He
apologized for not having the aptitude to make way. We danced together
ever since.
It filled a spot in my heart where anger had taken over. And then things
came to a head. That night that, I told Victor my story, we made love. It
was glorious. It was not planned, but as a woman, I needed sex. I had not
realized how vital a good rogering was. Victor was similar to a dance
partner and a lover to my Charles.
And the next morning, he was gone. Not just had he left, but he never
contacted me again. Of course, I called him. My message went unanswered.
That fucker treated me like my old roommates. He took what he wanted and
then went off for himself. I was devastated. Victor's betrayal had awoken
in me my sexual need. And the loss of someone I thought was a friend.
"That fucking bastard," the reader intones.
"Yes, it was harkening back to every doubt about myself that had ever
been," I answer.
It was three years later. Victor saw me at a posh restaurant. He was with
a woman he intended to propose to. He did not handle the reunion well.
I heard a woman say, "You used to date her?"
Gossip, every woman loves to gossip. I turned to see and received a
shock. Victor, the bastard himself, was there. We locked eyes. He turned
red as he knew he had behaved badly.
"You were with that sexual being? A fucking Goddess. Sex on wheels? And
look who she is with," his intended said out loud so the whole restaurant
could hear. She was dubious. Victor's night was not going to go as
planned.
I put my hand on Johnathan's arm. "I need to say hello to an old friend,"
I told my current husband.
"If he is your friend, introduce us," Johnathan offered.
"He is not that good of a friend," I countered.
I got up gracefully as any actress might have. The whole restaurant was
curious about the encounter. I was not nervous. All of my uncertainties
and doubts no longer affected me in any way. My designer dress and Jimmy
Choo shoes spoke volumes. I had arrived. I was a sexually pleasing woman
with no baggage to be carried with me.
Victor's fiance called attention to me, and I was going to clear the air.
I sauntered to their table.
"Hello, Victor; who is your charming companion?" I quired.
Victor could not talk. Instead, he gawked at me most tellingly. Jennifer,
I think it was, had to take over a most unpleasant interlude.
"So, you used to know my Victor?" She asked.
I placed my manicured palm on my silk thighs and pulled it up along my
designer dress for effect as I answered that we used to be quite
intimate. I so enjoyed making Victor squirm. I was twice the woman he
settled for. No one at the table doubted it.
Victor found his voice. His bumbling at his attraction to me was put
aside for the moment.
"Is mister Crosus your new dance partner?" Victor asked.
"No, that was something that the chemistry worked between us," I said.
Jennifer was becoming insanely uncomfortable. But Victor's curiosity was
at the forefront.
"With Johnathan, it is horseback riding. He loves to see me on top of one
of his thoroughbreds, taking the reigns and bouncing along in my tight
outfit. There is something so invigorating about straddling powerful
horseflesh and controlling a magnificent animal. I don't know how I look
being jostled about, but Johnathan loves watching me ride."
"I'll bet he does," Jennifer sarcastically answered.
She could picture my ripe breasts bouncing with each stride as my ass
slid back and forth in the custom saddle as the prized horse galops
along. Johnathan had paid for lessons so that I could ride as all the
proper rich women did.
I loved Blaze. A black stallion that rocked me most than any horse
Johnathan owned. His black hair shined against my outfit. Johnathan
especially liked it when I wore my white peasant dress and rode him
bareback. I could always count on a lovemaking session afterward.
"So, you put Victor in his place and now are loaded with the rich
Johnathan Crosus's money?" the reader asks.
"No, I signed a prenup. My riches are stored in my love for my husband,"
I informed my reader. I love him, and I love Blaze. I do miss Charles,
but life has a way of throwing you curves.
"Well, thanks for sharing your story with me. It gives me hope for my
future," my reader shared with me.
The End.
Thanks for reading what I thought was an interesting story.
The next one will be about Billy, a spoiled little Moma's boy.
Mckenna
- 01.03.2023
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