Prisoner Part Two
- 2 years ago
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Coconuts free porn video
I was sitting in my room doing the last of my homework when Mother
disturbed my concentration. I suspected she wanted me to spend the rest
of the evening with her. I had been looking forward to finishing the
romance novel that I had borrowed from the young adult section of the
local library. Reluctantly I wandered out to the head of the stairs where
I could understand what she was saying, and sure enough I was right.
"Jean, come on down and we can have some time together."
I noticed that she had pronounced my name with the feminine sounding "e"
rather than the "ah" used in the French version of Jehan or John.
Unfortunately, both are spelled the same in English. Why my long-gone
father ever allowed that name on my birth certificate is a mystery to
which I have never discovered the answer. For years I have been teased by
classmates about my written name, and have been misgendered by teachers
and school staff whenever they read names from a new class roll. In my
defense I had started telling the totally made up the story that I was
named after a great-grandfather who had been a hero as an officer in the
French army years before our family emigrated to the United States. It
sounded plausible, and being named for an war hero made my name seem
sufficiently manly, especially when correctly pronounced with an "ah"
vowel.
Mother's saying "some time together" sounded encouragingly vague. Maybe
she just wanted relax and listen to music or play a board game tonight.
All to often she would summon me with a more loaded phrase like "girl
time" or "mother-daughter time." I have always known that Mother would
have preferred to have produced a daughter. Picking my gender-ambiguous
name was just the start, and over the years she never passed up an
opportunity to encourage me to explore feminine things. Sometimes "girl
time" meant doing work like helping with cooking, which I had gotten
seriously good at. Other times she would ask me to help her with a sewing
project, which allowed me to be creative. Last year I successfully sewed
a pretty dress all on my own. It was fashionable and fit really well, but
I was reluctant to model it when Mother asked me to show it to my aunt.
Frequently, we would watch a chick-flick romantic movie or a ballet dance
video and talk about it afterward. My favorite time with her was just
sitting on the floor while she brushed my hair and asked me about my day
at school and about my friends.
Friends really meant the girls because I just was never comfortable
hanging out with the boys in my class or in the neighborhood. I had
little in common with them, and I was always being teased for being a
sissy. Being called a sissy was embarrassing, but really didn't bother
me. It was true.
The truth was that I really enjoyed being treated as a girl, but we all
pick up social norms at an early age and soon I became afraid of acting
too enthusiastic. When Mother asked me if I wanted to do some girly thing
I always offered mild reluctance before giving in. I am not sure what
frightened me more, having neighbors and classmates discover our dress-up
games, or Mother stopping them because I was not cooperating enough.
I remember that back in pre-school Mother had encouraged me to play with
the girls. "Learning about girl things will be good for you," she would
always say. She apparently had asked the teacher to let me be with the
girls' group - I was too young to know or care. Playing with dolls and
practicing dance moves was more fun than chasing a ball around or
engaging in mock fights anyway.
As I got older I learned that acting "boyish" at school avoided problems,
and in middle school I passed as "normal" in public. At home was a
different matter. Lately, I had been wondering how much longer Mother
would want to keep up with treating me as her daughter.
As usual, Mother looked me over carefully as I came down the stairs. "You
look nice, dear," I heard her say.
I was in "androgynous casual" mode wearing a pair of comfortable slacks
and a loose-fitting lavender shirt. The choice was definitely not
masculine, but not overly feminine either. My after school and weekend
clothes were usually purchased from the girls' section of the store.
There were always a lot of "gender-neutral" things I could buy and wear
in public without attracting too much unwanted attention. At mother's
urging I even maintained a few totally girly outfits including some
dresses, skirts, and frilly blouses, but I never wore these outside.
Well, the "never" did not include when we were out of town on vacations.
Tonight my hair was brushed back, my face clean, and my nails trimmed
like she wanted. Maintaining personal appearance was important to her and
I got a lot of instruction. I never wore nail polish or makeup during the
week because I was terrified about not getting it all off before heading
back to school in the morning. Besides, a manicure took up too much time.
Weekends, especially long weekends when we went to visit my aunt, were my
chance to look glamorous.
"I see you did not put on a bra after you came home from school. You know
how cute a padded bra makes you look. Remember how excited you were when
I first bought a few starter bras for you and encouraged you to see how
they looked and felt, and ..."
"Mom, you know I am a boy. Boys don't ..."
She cut me off before I could finish. We both had that bad habit of
interrupting. "Yes, and that is unfortunate, Jean. But, those bras are
just one of our little girl games together. Other girls your age always
wear a bra you know."
I tensed. There was the long "e" in my name again, and that "other girls"
language. Was she planning another intense conversation or some
femininity training? I enjoyed my time with Mother but she clearly had an
agenda. I expectedthat her encouragement of feminine behavior would taper
off as I got closer to my teen years, but mother persisted and seemed to
be getting even more serious about it.
"You have been getting a bit careless about your at-home dressing again.
You know I want you to look like a real girl whenever you can. Your tops
will fit much better if you have 'something' underneath."
A shudder ran down my spine. Mom kept bring up clothes, body image,
identity, puberty, relationships, and more. Usually those talks ended
with me being confused and upset, especially when Mother wanted to talk
about breasts. I had overheard boys in my class bragging about making out
with girls, and I did not like the crude language they used. I was jelous
of how the girls in my class were blossoming. In private I would
sometimes think that I knew what I wanted, but I was never sure enough to
tell Mom, and after a few days I would reconsider and change my mind
again.
"Jean, let's snuggle on the couch and watch a video. I picked one that
will give us a lot to talk about."
Momentarily that sounded good, and then I thought about how unusual it
was for a boy my age to snuggle with his mom.
"So, who did you sit with at lunch today?" Mother asked as we sat down.
"Just my usual friends, Pam, Tammy, Mary Beth, Claire and a few other
girls. They are all watching their weight and were talking about their
figures. I tried to set a good example by eating only half of what was on
my tray, and was able to say a few things that showed empathy with their
body issues. But when they started comparing notes on their periods I
decided it was best to shut up and politely listen to the conversation. I
mean ..."
"Very thoughtful of you. Your ability to be one of the girls is something
that makes you so special, dear."
That remark was confusing. Mom looked me over again. Her eyes focused on
my chest. "Jean, Why don't you go back upstairs and put on one of your
padded bras and a bit of makeup. It will help put you in the right mood
for enjoying the video"
As I marched back to my room I wondered what sort of mood I was supposed
to be in. Jerking open my so-called "lingerie drawer" I saw a couple of
sports bras on top. Those were not what Mom had in mind so I moved them
aside and found my most heavily padded underwire push-up bra and slipped
in my gel inserts for the full effect. I leaned forward as I had been
taught and reached behind to fasten the clasp. Standing straight I made a
few adjustments to the cups. I grabbed a bright red lipstick and then
touched up my brows with an eye pencil. Looking in the mirror I started
to calm down like I usually did when in girl mode. Maybe Mom was right
when suggesting I dress up for the evening.
"Much better, now come sit down," Mom smiled as a entered the living room
with a feminine walk.
"OK," I said as I sat down with my legs folded under me. It was not the
most comfortable position, but Mother liked to see me sit that way rather
than leaning back with my feet on the the floor and my legs wide apart.
"So, what are we watching?"
"I chose a short YouTube music video by a pop singer named Kim Petras. I
think you will enjoy the stage dancing and song. You can tell me what you
think while we watch."
After sitting through the mandatory advertising which I always ignored
the screen burst into a colorful display of the stage as the title song
"Coconuts" began. The lead singer, Kim, was wearing a red top above tight
blue shorts She was surrounded by four backup dancers in blue costumes
and identical long platinum-blond wigs. The backup dancers wore very
high-cut thong leotards to display the shape of their bottoms and thighs.
Kim's form fitting top was very low-cut with push-up cups accenting her
breasts. Accenting was not the right word; her cleavage was enormous and
her "twins" were spilling out from the top of her outfit.
The loud singing and energetic choreography was exciting, but the lyrics
were awfully explicit. "My coconuts ... give them a shake .. watch them
bounce up and down." As I enjoyed the eye candy I wondered why in the
world Mom was asking me to watch this video with her.
"Do you like the video, Jean?"
"Yes," I said quickly, unwilling to comment right now on the provocative
lyrics and costuming.
"Can you say a bit more?
"It's fun to watch the way the girls use their arms and hands," I
answered trying not to sound too enthusiastic. Meanwhile, I was thinking
how absolutely fabulous it would be if I could be on stage doing those
sexy moves.
She must have sensed what I was thinking. "You could learn to dance like
that if you really wanted to."
I took a deep breath and sighed a non-committal, "Yeah."
The lyrics kept coming back to the theme of "my coconuts - you can put
them in your mouth - right now" mixed in with things like "just give them
a squeeze" and "whipped cream and cherry on top." Those last suggestive
phases reminded me of the dream I had the other night. My friend Tammy,
who everyone always accuses of being a lesbian, was slipping her hand up
under my shirt and feeling me up. Then she started to unbutton my shirt
and was licking her luscious lips...
My recollection of the dream were interrupted by another question. "What
else do you have to say?"
"Nothing right now, I am just thinking."
Mother was not going to let me get off so easy. "What do you think about
Kim's breasts?"
What could I say? Her prominent "coconuts" were bouncing with every step
and she never missed an opportunity to give them a shake from side to
side.
"I wish ..." The words were almost out of my mouth before I realized what
I was about to say to my mother.
Mother pressed on with her questioning. "What are you thinking right now?
Are you thinking about what boys do with girls? Do you wish you were on
stage being one of those girls? Do you identify with Kim?"
That last question caught me off guard and I blurted out an answer. "Kim
has an awesome body. I love the way she moves, she make me jealous and
..." Again, I hesitated.
Mom seized the opportunity. "Do you know that Kim Petras was born a boy?
At your age she was still a boy - just like you. She first became famous
by going on talk shows and describing all the details about her
transition at a young age. Her treatment started before her voice changed
so she sings as an alto."
I took another look at the beautiful woman on the stage and tried to
image her journey to get there. If a boy could grow up to look, sing, and
dance like her then anything was possible. I took a deep breath and I
finally said what was on my mind, "Mom, I wish I could have a body like
her. Totally."
Suddenly I was crying in her arms. A whirlwind of thoughts were rushing
through my mind. Had I just made the worst mistake in my life? Will she
think I am a freak for saying something like that? Why had Mother chosen
to show me that video and then tell me about Kim?
"Jean, you have reached an age when gender identity and sexual
orientation are a big part of your thoughts. I decided to show you a
video of a beautiful transwoman to see how you would react. Instead of
being "turned on" and responding like a male you told me you wanted to
become female - just like her."
Mother held me close. "What you have just told me is exactly what I have
been hoping you would eventually say. Your telling me that you want to
become a woman was the bravest possible thing to do. If your really mean
what you said I will help you transition into the beautiful girl I always
hoped you could become." She looked into my moist eyes. "We are going to
have a great future together."
"Mom, being a girl is something I have thought about for years, but was
always afraid to tell you. Even when you and I had girl time together I
pretended to resist and acted like it was just a silly game and nothing
serious."
"It will not be a game anymore. Ever when you were a toddler I could see
you had feminine tendencies and suspected you were truly a girl inside. I
sought professional advice I was advised to only drop hints and give you
opportunities for self-discovery. Meanwhile I waited and waited until you
thought you were ready. Tonight I took a chance."
I had stopped crying and had taken a sip of the diet soft drink that Mom
had placed on the end table. I put my hands under the cups and lifted
like Kim did. "Yummy. Feels good." Jean looked for Mother's reaction. "I
think you made a great suggestion having me wear a bra and makeup
tonight."
Mom looked at my chest. "Yes, wearing your make-believe breasts put you
in the mood, didn't it?"
Suddenly we were both laughing.
"Now, let's talk about the special pills that I offered to get for you.
The reason Kim looks so beautiful is because she started transitioning
before entering male puberty. We do not have any time to spare."
That one spontaneous remark while watching the Kim Petras "Coconuts"
music video was life changing. Mother started working on her plan, and in
only a few months I was already filling an unpadded A-cup. There was no
going back.
Jane
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