The Beginning                 by: Deborah Leigh Johnson     (aka Miss Karen Anne Brown)

 

A delightful fantasy

If you asked me now, why I even agreed to it in the first place, the only thing that I can say, is that it must have been a dormant thing in me that those particular circumstances released. I do no know why I agreed to it. To be entirely honest, I do not know why I still do it, although, now, my entire life is given over to it, I still do not understand why. I just know, I love it, and I do not want it any other way.

Let me tell you about the very first time.

Stan and I were both fourteen. He was a lot bigger than I was, in fact, he was already shaving twice a week. I was still small, a late bloomer, I guess. It turns out, that I never bloomed at all.

This particular time, Stan and I were staying for a week at his parent’s cottage. It was very remote, and we had no neighbors, but, Stan had convinced his parents and my mother that he was big enough to take care of us.

The first night that we were there, Stan revealled that he had some things. One, he had stolen three bottles of liquor from his father. The other things were some playboy magazines. We started the fire and settled in, to get drunk and to look at playboy magazines.

It was in no time at all, before we were feeling pretty good, and both very horny. That was when he saw the article on transvestites, guys who wear girl’s clothes.

Something deep inside of me responded. I wondered how they could ever have the courage to wear dresses. There were some pictures of very beautiful women, who were guys.

"You know, Dougie, if you put on some of my sister’s stuff, we could have us a real party."

"Shit, Stan, I could never do anything like that."

"Why not, you’re small enough to be a girl. Besides, all the guys at school razz me a bit about hanging around with such a pretty boy, did you know that?"

"No. I didn’t." I was flushed with embarassment. To be entirely honest, though, I do not know whether it was because the guys razzed Stan about me, or because they said I was pretty.

But, we were feeling very good, because of the booze, and, no one was around to find out. After only a few minutes of his coaxing, I agreed to go and put on some of Karen’s stuff. I was to use her room anyway, so, when I had unpacked my stuff, I had pretty well learned where all of her stuff was.

I was ashamed of the fact that I was really turned on by the idea.

In her room, I located a pair of panties, a bra, slip, pantyhose, a pleated skirt of dark blue and a white blouse, with a little rounded collar. Karen was sixteen, and, her lingerie was very pretty. Her shoes fit, though they were a bit on the big side. This was the first time I wore heels of more than half an inch. It took some practice to be somewhat comfortaable in them. I liked the way the instep felt, pushing up against my arch.

There was a bit of costume jewelry there as well as a makeup kit. I did not know what I was doing, but, it suddenly dawned on me that I had always taken an interest in watching my sister’s put on their makeup. I knew what to do, though I’d not done it before.

It took three quarters of an hour, but, when I was ready, I felt like a girl. Trying to walk with a swish in my hips, I entered the room again, and went over to stand near the fire place. Stan was still on the floor. His mouth dropped as he watched me cross the floor.

"Holy shit."

"What? I look that bad?" Nervously, I flicked my shoulder length hair back over my shoulder. I was shattered. I had thought that I was kind of pretty. I had felt like a girl.

"Shit no...you look...fantastic."

A glow spread inside of me. He liked me as a girl.

"Man o man, no one would believe you were little Dougie Johnson, if they could see you now."

I flapped a limp left wrist at him, hoping he would tell me more. "Go on...You’re foolin’." My bangles jingled.

He slowly stoood up and walked over to stand in front of me. For the very first time, I was imperessed with two things. I had known Stan all of my life, but, suddenly, I was aware of his maleness. I was also aware of his tall strength. Even in my high heeled shoes, Stan was at least three inches taller than I.

I blushed when he stood in front of me. I felt so weak and vulnerable. Besides, I realized, Stan was a cute guy. I nearly kicked myself for letting that thought flow through my head.

"You blush, like a girl does."

He stood there and looked at every inch of my face and then slowly looked down my new shape. I felt so vulnerable.

"Do...do you want a cigarette?"

"Uh...yeah..."

Anything to ease the tension between us at the moment.

Stan got me a cigarettte, only, this time, he lit it for me. Then he poured me another drink. I was thankful for that as what I had drunk was wearing off. I sipped, and blushed when I saw the lipstick on the glass rim. I felt feminine, and, I could not help moving like a girl. The more he looked at me, the less boyish I felt, and, the more aware I became of how masculine Stan was.

I slowly moved to the easy chair, in front of the fire, and sat, smoothing out my skirt under me as I sat. Stan went back to the blanket he was laying on and lay down. He smiled at me and picked up the article in the Playboy and began to tell me some of the things that were in it.

I was thankful that the pleated skirt flared out, as, I had a raging hard on in my panties. I felt somehow, natural, being in the feminine role with Stan, and it turned me on.

"It says here that a lot of these guys...uh, I guess you would call them girls, really, if you look at them. They do not exactly pass themselves off as guys, do they?"

"No, I guess not. I...don’t think they would feel like guys either."

He stared at me. "You mean, you do not feel like a guy, anymore?"

"Well...do I look like one?"

"No."

"How could I feel like a guy, if I do not look like one?"

"I don’t know. I...uh...I feel like I am with a chick, not with my best friend."

"Well, that is your fault, not mine."

He looked a bit flabbergasted for a moment, then he went back to the article.

"It says here that most of these guys grew up in a home with no men, like your home. It says that from early in their lives, they envied what girls wore and the way that girls acted, and, as soon as they got out on their own, they decided to live more like girls than guys. Most of them even have...boyfriends. One guy, he goes by the name of Crystal, says that his mother used to dress him up for punishment, but, when he was dressed up, she treated him so much better, that he grew up thinking that it meant people liked you more if you were a girl."

"Well, don’t girls have a nicer and softer life than guys?"

"Yeah...I guess."

I smiled. "I certtainly think their panties feel nicer than Jocky shorts."

"You’re wearing panties to?"

"You told me to dress up like a girl."

"Yeah, but, I didn’t think you would go the whole hog..."

"Well, I did."

"You like the feel of Karen’s clothes?"

"Yeah, I do...I can’t help it, I just do."

"Well, I can’t call you Dougie. How about if I call you Karen?"

"Karen is a pretty name."

"Well...you are pretty, right now."

"You think so Stan?"

"How can you doubt it?"

"I...uh...I feel pretty."

Stan got up from the floor and poured me another drink, which I also downed, nervously.

"I would be really surprised if you did not feel pretty, the way you look. Your are one foxy looking chick."

I blushed. "Thankyou."

Stan got me another cigarette and lit it for me. I noticed that he was treating very very differently. I was being treated like a girl, not a boy, and, I liked it.

He lay on the floor again, picking up the magazine.

"There is one other guy, he goes by the name of Gayle, well, he said that his sister used to make him dress up everytime she was babysitting, when her mother went away, and she used to make him go out with her, like to do the shopping and stuff, and, that when he got old enough, she would get dates for him, with guys."

"Oh, wow..."

"You...uh...you think you would like that...Karen?"

"Like what, Stan?"

"Going out with a guy, like to a dance or something?"

"Are you asking me out, as your girl firend?"

"Well, stranger things have happened, as my old man always says. Would you like to do something like that, hypothetically?

"I don’t know. I guess I might."

Stan stood up and went over to the kitchen cupboard. He rooted out an old radio. He tried the batteries and found that it worked. Stan tuned it, till he came to an easy listening station. He came back, poured me another drink, and bowed at the waist.

"May I have this dance, Milady?"

I sipped at the drink, feeling the powerful liquor from the previous ones, and decided to play along with Stan. I held out a limp wristed left hand, which he took, and he helped me to stand.

His hands went to my waist, and, he slowly pulled me closer to him.

"Girls like to dance, with their arms around their boyfriend’s shoulders, Karen."

"Is that what you are, Stan, my boyfriend?"

He smiled at me, as I slid my arms up to encircle his neck.

"Well, to be a boyfriend, you need to be a boy, and, I only see one boy here, right?"

I blushed, confused and humiliated by the situation.

"Yes, you are right." I knew that I was confessing with my lips the total inadequacy that I had always felt about being a male. I felt free now.

I lay my head on his chest, feeling the hard muscles under my cheek. I hated myself for doing this, yet, I knew, somehow, this was a right thing for me. Inside, though I had never admitted it before, I felt like a real girl.

As Stan moved slowly, once in a while, sipping at his drink, his hands moved, caressingly over the silk bloused back. His fingers traced out the lines of the frilly straps of my slip. He explored my sides. He made me feel so very small.

We danced like that for what seemed to be hours. He was turned on, I knew, because, though he tried to hide it from me, once in a while, I would feel his erection on my ribs.

I moved my fingers, feeling the shorter hairs at the back of his neck. I liked what was happening to me. I liked Stan. I desparately hoped that I was not a fairy. I knew all about the jokes about fags. Because of my longish hair, my slim stature and girlish face, I had been the brunt of all the jokes.

We broke apart then, and had another drink. we were not talking, just, feeling each other’s presence.

Stan took my hand and led me out onto the porch. There was a full moon glittering of the tranquil lake. He turned me to face him. He took my elbows and raised my hands, so that my arms were once again around his neck.

I heard the night birds, and the gentle lapping of the lake on the sandy shore. I felt the cool breeze as it tugged at my skirt hem. I smelled the acrid smoke of the burning apple wood in the fireplace. I smelled Stan. I smelled my own perfume. I was lost in a world of the five senses. I wondered if this was where the word sensual came from.

I knew he was going to kiss me.

I waited for him, my boyfriend, to give me my first kiss.

I looked up, seeing the reflection of the nightsky’s lights in his pretty eyes. He lowered his head.

I closed my eyes and waited to feel his lips, and, the hard bristles on his cheek. This is what a girl does, I thought to myself. I am doing what a girl does.

His lips lightly touched mine. They then pressed harder. his tongue pushed into my mouth. I let it come in, and, unashamedly, I sucked it further into my body. I felt Stan’s fingers playing over the back of my skirt, and, I was overcome with a sense of rightness about what was happening to us.

Stan kissed me for a long long time. His fingers traced the outlines of my panties through my skirt, and, one of his hands, slowly went around to the front of my skirt, and roughly grapsped at the erection, grinding the girl material of my clothes into my private.

I wanted him to be hard, like a man, with me. I wanted to yield completely to him and let him do whatever he wanted to to me. I wanted him to make me do the things that girls do. I shudered in my shame at these awakedned feelings.

Stan turned me so that my bum was leaning against the railing of the porch.

"Well, Karen, I guess you know what you are, now."

"What, Stan?"

"A queer...you are a queer, a fag homo."

"And, what about you?"

"I’m no queer."

"No? Well, what about this?" I reached out and gently rubbed the front of his pants, marvelling at the hardness and the heat I felt through his jeans.

"I am responding to a sexy girl, not a guy. But, you... you dress like a girl, and get turned on by a guy. You are the only queer here, Karen."

His words hit me like a slap in the face. What he said was true. I felt on the verge of crying.

"Well, will you admit it? Are you a queer?"

"I..." my face burned and my heart was beating wildly, "I...guess...that I am, if you put it that way."

"Is there another way to put it, Karen?"

Stan was gently caressing my cheek as he said this. It was like he was trying to make me feel better about being a queer. How can anyone feel good about being a queer?

I leaned into his hand. I kissed his hand.

"No, I guess there is not."

"So, are you a fairy, or not?"

"Yes, I guess I am."

"I want to hear you say it, Karen?"

I looked up into his eyes. "I am a fairy."

"You like to wear girl’s clothes and you get turned on by being a girl with a guy?"

"I like to wear girl’s clothes, and, yes, I’ll admit it, I got really turned on when you kissed me, and treated me like a girl."

Stan kissed me again.

"As long as we admit that it is you who is the queer, and, not me, then, we can have fun, okay?"

"Okay, Stan."

"Now, what is the one thing that the guys in school always joke about, when they talk about queers?"

I knew what was coming. I hated it. He had trapped me into confessing something and now, I would have to confess this to. I hated it, yet, somehow, I knew that it was what girls did for their boyfriends.

I looked at the floor. Somehow, if it was possible, my hard on seemed to be getting bigger and more painful, as I thought about what he was going to make me say.

"What is it, Karen?"

"They talk...about queers being...being...cocksuckers."

"Right. Are you a queer, Karen?"

I looked up at him, pleading with my eyes for him not to humiliate me like this.

"Are you, Karen?"

"Yes."

"What does that mean you are?"

I shivered with the power of the emotions that were coursing through my effeminated body. I hated this, but, I wanted to say it to. I was so confused, and torn inside. I knew that once the words passed my lips, that I could never be the same again with Stan, never again.

"It means that I am a cocksucker..."

I flushed with deep shame when I heard the words.

His fingers held my chin so that I had to look him in the eye.

"I don’t want you to suck my cock because that is what a queer does,

Karen. I want you to suck my cock because you like me and you want to please me, the way that a girlfriend wants to please the guy she likes, understand?"

"Yes. I understand."

"Is that the way you feel, Karen?"

I almost cried. My emotions were at a jagged edge. A painful lump was in my throat. I could scarcely breathe. I had to admit the truth to him. With my voice breaking, I managed to utter those most humiliating words. I looked up into his eyes.

"Yes, that is the way that I feel, Stan."

He threw his arms around me and told me that he loved me and that I was the prettiest girl that he had ever gone out with. He gave me his class ring and asked me if I would go steady with him. I slid it onto my middle finger.

I watched then, as Stan stepped back from me, with a smile on his face, and, he slowly stripped his clothing off. He was lanky, yet, muscular. In a moment, he stood stark naked in the moonlight. I thought he was beautiful.

His cock, this was the first time that I had seen him erect, was long and thin, and was throbbing up and down, waiting...for...for my lips.

I shamefully admitted to myself, that I would feel like a complete girl, when I had my lips around him.

He stood, legs apart, fists on his hips, waiting for me to act like a girl.

I did not know what to do.

I sipped some more of the liquor, then stepped over to my naked boyfriend, and put my hands on his flat hard chest. I liked the feel of his hard little nipples.

I let my hands lower, to fondle his erection, the cock of my boyfriend, the cock that was turning me into a fairy cocksucker. I fondled it with love.

"Do you like my cock, Karen?"

I smiled at him. "You know it, Babe."

Slowly, I sank to my knees, in front of my lover boyfriend. It was right at my eye level. I slowly fondled it, exploring what it felt like, and, then, ever so slowly, ashamed of myself for betraying my sex, and becoming a girl, I began to kiss it, all over, knowing that I would never ever be a real man like Stan was. I honored it for him, kissing it, up and down the shaft, and kissing his balls.

Then, I opened my mouth as wide as I could, and moved my head foreward. I had a cock in my mouth. I was a girl, at last, doing what girls do. I licked it, lovingly, wanting to make him cum for me.

He groaned and shoved himself into me, nearly choking me.

My knees were getting sore and I noted that he seemed to be a bit wobbly.

I took him out of my mouth, with a kiss, and asked if he would rather go inside where he could lay down. He liked that idea.

He went to the easy chair where I had been sitting, and lowered himself onto the edge of it, leaning back with his eyes closed. I moved a pillow to the floor between his legs, and sank to it, wanting to feel and taste him again. I was very slow, wanting to first of all, tease him to the limit, and secondly, to prolong my cocksucking, never knowing if I would get another chance. to suck Stan, while wearing Karen’s clothes.

As I knelt there, I realized that part of the excitement I was feeling was because I was wearing things that a real pretty girl wore before me. I felt feminine, and, wondered if this was the way Karen felt when she wore pretty clothes. I envied her because she was expected to dress like this, while, I would have to sneak around to dress like this.

She was a feminine girl, and, I felt privileged to wear her clothes. I heard the slurping as I sucked at his cock. Stan kept bucking around under my lips and hands, moaning. I knew he was very close to cumming. I desparately wanted to taste his cum, knowing that he would be giving it to his girlfriend, me, Karen.

He grasped at my head and began to drive himself up into me. I was, at the moment, his cunt. I nearly choked, wondering if I could live through this. He began to pour into me, so much, that I could not swallow it all. It was spurting out the corners of my mouth, all over my hands and onto his belly. I swallowed as much as I could, though. I wanted to feel like a girl, sucking her boyfirend’s cum into her tummy. I was now a fullfledged faggot cocksucker. I was acutely aware that every stitch I was wearing was made for a girl. I loved what I was feeling. I was a faggot now.

I kept him in my mouth till he started to go soft.

Stan got up and went to the kitchen to clean himself up. When he returned, he pulled me down to cuddle with him, in front of the fire.

"God, you are fantastic."

"You are not ashamed that your best friend has turned out to be a fairy?"

"Are you kidding. Where else can I get such a fantastic blowjob?"

He started to kiss me again. I lay passively, in his arms, and let him touch me where ever he wanted to. Then his left hand went to my knee. I knew, that to me, the most sensual experience that I could ever possibly have, was to be dressed as a girl, and let a man invade under my skirt. It was happening now, and I nearly screamed with the sheer pleasure of feeling his hand move to the front of my panties, and slowlyy worked the pantyhose down, so that he could fondle the front of my panties.

"Karen?"

"Yes?"

I was near in a dream state, his fingers on the front of my silk panties felt so wonderful, and I felt so vulnerable and invaded.

"I want you to promise me that all this week, you will only wear Karen’s stuff, okay?"

I kissed him, as I started to pump into his hands with the most glorious sensation that I had ever felt in my life.

"I promise to be your girlfriend all week, Stan, you big handsome hunk."

Then, I let go. Stan was rough with me, his strong fingers grinding the silk panties into me. I loved it. I felt small and weak, and, that was the way I liked feeling. For the first time in my entire life, I felt complete and real.

When I finally came off the pink cloud, I stood up and went back to the bedroom to clean up. I decided to put on the nightdress and robe, with the high heeled slippers.

That week was glorious. I found that I much preferred the feel of a one piece bathing suit to a guys suit. I did the laundry for us. I did all of the cooking. I also did all of the sucking. Stan was adamant that he was not a queer and he would not do queer things for me, but, he certainly expected me to do them for him, and, I found, that I wanted to be his girlfriend, anyway. He made me cum lots, but, usually by his hand, only when I was fully dressed, or by laying on top of me and having me buck up into him. I kind of preferred it that way. I somehow felt more girlish, knowing that there were certain things that the girl did and certain things that the guy did.

He made me dress up once and hike into town with him, because, he wanted to prove to me that everyone in their right minds would think that I was a girl. I was terrified at first, but, soon got used to feeling the hot sun on my legs, below my knees. I got used to having guys look at me, as though appraising my worth, like a piece of meat on a butcher shelf. I liked it after I got used to it. He made me go into a girl’s washroom, that happened to be full. I had to stand around and wait, listening to the chatter of who was going with who and the benefits of a new liquid eyeline was available at the drug store.

On our last night before his parents would come to get us, to take us home, I, for the first time was the aggressor. Stan was asleep on the hammock. I went over and lay on top of him, kissing him awake, and very very carefully so as not to tumble the both of us out onto the ground, managed to give him a blowjob. I guess that more than any other thing that happened that week convinced me that I was happiest being Stan’s girl.

At home, my sisters noticed that I was white where the one piece had covered me, and dark where it had not. They soon had me tearfully admitting that I had been dressed as a girl all week, under threat of informing our mother. Soon, in order to see what I looked like, I was dressed up in some of Carol’s clothes. She is the sister one year older than I.

Unbeknownst to me, they had arranged the timing so that I was in the kitchen when our mother came home, with no way to get back to my room, except through the livingroom.

I cannot tell you how exposed and humiliated I felt like. I walked into livingroom, with a tray of cold drinks. I was wearing a gauzy white dress with pink trimmed ruffles that adorned the off the shoulder style. A wide pink ribbon pulled the waist in tightly and the skirt flared out over the crenoline slip. I was wearing white court shoes. They had teased my hair so that it looked more like a halo of curls. I had had to let them put makeup on me, and a small white pearl necklace. I nearly died when my mother sat there, and smiled at me. My sisters giggled and ran out of the room, stopping in front of me to claim their cold drinks from my tray first.

My mother looked very cool and collected, and, beautiful.

She was wearing a light blue two piece suit that fit her snuggly, with a white silk blouse. I wondered for a fleeting moment if I would ever look that good.

I set the tray on the coffee table and sank into a chair, tears welling up. I knew it was ruining my mascara, but I was too terrified to stop the tears.

She came over and sat beside me, hugging me.

"There, there, Dear. There is nothing to get that upset about."

"But..." I pointed to my dress."

"Is there something wrong with your dress?"

"Yesss," I sobbed. "I’m not supposed to be wearing one."

"Well, yes, I suppose that that is true, and, I was hoping that growing up in a house full of females would not affect your bonding, but, I suppose, that if you grow up in a house of girls, it is only normal for you to identify with girlhood."

"You are not mad?"

"No. I just want you to be careful. I don’t want the neighbors to find out that I have four daughters in stead of three. If they find out that you prefer being a girl, they may make it very hard on you. I know it is tough enough today to be a boy, but, a boy who would rather be pretty, well, they make it very very hard on the sensitive boys. And because you are so sensitive, it would be very very hard. I want you to dress all you want to at home, just be careful, okay?"

"I promise to be careful."

"Now, you know, I do not like my girls dating before age fifteen. Tell me what happend with Stan."

When I had tearfully confessed every last detail, she sighed.

"Well, it is pretty evident to me, that, regardless of how hard I tried to raise you normally, you have obviously identified more with the female sex then the male. The feelings you have described are more girlish than a boy’s feelings. It is a very hard life for a boy who feels more like a girl. I will help you all I can, but, you will have a very very hard life, my Dear."

"I don’t know what to do, Mother?"

"Well, for starters, you had better get used to wearing only girl’s clothes around the house. You will be on your own soon, and you will need all the training that you have been missing for most of your life, so, at home, you be Karen, okay?"

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, I am, Dear. You will never be able to compete, I am convinced, in the male world. You will always feel inadequate, so, I con only do the best that I see fit, and, that is to train you in as much as you are able to adapt to the feminine role in life. At least, you can compete with girls with a great deal less trouble and heartache than you will ever be able to compete with boys."

"What about Stan?"

"Do you love him, Karen?"

"I think that I do."

"Does he love you?"

"I think so."

"Good, then he will wait. Just because you have something that your sisters do not have, does not mean that you are going to get any special privileges. You will have to wait till you are fifteen before you can date Stan. By the way, I will want to talk to him. Now, you scoot off to bed. As a matter of fact, I do not see any reason why you should not start using Tracey’s bedroom."

Tracey was my oldest sister who was already away at college. I had always loved her room, it was so femininely appointed.

Well, now that is how I got to be where I am now.

I am Stan’s wife.

In about two more years, I will go through some operations to completely change my sex, but, in the meantime, I provide a good home for him, and, to the great satisfaction of both of us, I never refuse him his piece of tail.

It is our private joke that when he says "Jump", I ask, "How high?" When He says "Fuck," I lift my skirts and bend over. I just try to be in submission to my husband, that’s all.

Bye for now, you fellow sisters.

 

End of Beginnings

 

© 1998
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