"Miss"-identified Boy             by: Deborah Leigh Johnson   (aka Miss Karen-Anne Brown)

 

How did it all start?

Why have I ever let this thing happen to me?

Could I have stopped it from happening?

I guess the more important question is, would I have stopped it from happening?

In the bright sunlight that was shining this hot August afternoon, I saw the reflection of the girl in the large plate glass window of the Perry Department Store, on the main drag.

I examined the reflection. Her long almost wavy hair fell in blonde cascades to her shoulders from the part in the center of her head. Some of the strands fell to the front of her, resting on her slightly protruding pert little breasts, and the rest fell in heavy folds over her back.

Her slender shoulders were accented by the ruffled puffy sleeves of her blouse. Her collar was gathered in a white lace trim that looked very pretty over the pink, white and grey plaid design of her blouse. It was not a deep neck line by any stretch of the imagination, but, it was low enough to allow the bright sun to glint prettily off the delicate locket suspended from her small neck, by a nearly invisible gold chain.

I watched as she shifted her weight from one of her small high heeled feet to the other. Her legs were slim, and looked somewhat longer than they really were, due to the short, mini-like skirt that she wore. I liked the shapeliness of her legs.

Her skirt was a light tan suede, that seemed to cling to her waist, tightly, accentuating the shape of her hips, and then to snugly taper to about two inches above her nyloned knees. I especially liked the way it seemed to accentuate her flat stomache. I could just discern where those thighs met. There was a slight crease over the area, as though she had been sitting for a long time, long enough to make a crease in her skirt.

Her purse dangled from her left shoulder. It was a tan leather that matched her shoes and her skirt. She fingered her hair, pulling it back from her eyes, lightly flinging it over her shoulder, and looked up the street, as though she were looking for something specific.

As her hands moved her hair, the sunlight glittered off the rings and delicate gold bracelets that adorned her tapered fingers and her small wrists. She nervously glanced at a delicate wristwatch on her right wrist and again, looked up the street.

She was not glamorous by any standard, but, she had something about her that was...well.. the best word is foxy. She was not ugly either, just sort of ordinary, but, something about her was very appealing, foxy. You got the impression as you watched her that she would be no easy lay, but, too, you got the distinct feeling that if you managed to get to her, that she’d be one heck of a lay.

I watched her reflection, noting the feminine grace with which she made her movements. I really liked what I was seeing. She moved about a bit, and I watched her body as she took her small steps, for indeed, that tight skirt and her high heels, would not allow her to take large strides. She was effectively hobbled, and, she looked very foxy the way her hips moved with her little lady-like steps. It made her look like she had tight buns. Her skirt rode slightly up the front of her leg as she moved foreward, then slid back down as she took a step with her other foot. The tightness of her short skirt, around her thighs, seemed to accentuate the wide expanse, the flat area at the front of her skirt. As she turned to that right, the sun glinted for a moment off the brilliant white lace of her slip, as it peaked through the 3" discrete slit in the back of her skirt, that allowed her as much limited freedom of movement as it did.

I watched her, somewhat mesmerized by the sheer feminine image that I saw. Yes, I fell in love with her, though I was watching her still, through the reflection of the department store window. I wondered if other guys would feel the same way about her. I looked around and did not see any other guys ogling her. That disappointed me a bit. I thought she was, one very foxy chick.

For a moment, I felt a wee bit of shame at my thoughts, especially about the ones concerning other guys watching my lady. Well, I guess that I had just progressed further than I thought that I had.

Her reflection made me very horny. Even though I looked like that, I still thought like a boy, even about my own reflection. I was glad of the tight spandex, false vagina panties that I had to wear, thankful that it was keeping that last six inches of boy-hood under proper control.

Thankfully, my sister’s car pulled up to the curb. I gave one last glance at the fox in the window, before watching her head disappear, into my sister’s car.

"Well, my pretty sister, how did you enjoy your experiment?"

I smiled at her. Sandra’s hand was gently caressing the nyloned part of my left leg, just below my skirt hem, which had ridden up, nearly exposing my panties, as I had slid into the car. The hot leather of the seat burned at the back of my legs, through the thin fibre of my nylon stockings.

"I loved it, No one even took a second look at me."

"Not even some handsome hunks?" she asked, with a mischievous smile playing at the corners of her lips.

I blushed. My face burned. She liked to embarrass me like that, and, she was always able to get to me. I was no queer, but, I lived as Miss Karen-Anne Brown, living with her older sister Sandra.

I leaned over, quickly kissed her cheek, and whispered into her ear. "If you do not stop that, you’ll find out that your little sister still has a bit of her old nature left in her."

Sandra smiled, and, suddenly, rammed her hand up under my skirt, with a rare strength for such a pretty and small girl.

"Well, this feels more like a pussy than anything else."

I blushed furiously. Every chance that she got, she took to remind me of my effeminated state. I knew these special panties, that she had gotten for me, felt like a pussy. I’d often run my hand over the besilked crotch of my panties, somewhat unbelievingly, knowing a guy would feel a girl’s pussy if he did the same thing as I did, there.

The pressure of her fingers, the previous excitement that I’d experienced, as I had watched my girlified form in the store window, caused me such a pain, as my little penis, that only remains of the boy, tried to get out of the tight constriction of the vagina panties. I moaned in the agony of the strangely blissful ache.

"God, you are such a female boy. You’re more than a sissy, you know. You really do belong in my clothes. I think you agree, don’t you, Karen-Anne?"

I moaned as her fingers probed my crotch.

"Yes, you’re right, Sandy...you’re always right."

It had only been a moment, though it had seemed to last many minutes. She’d again made me admit to my utter addiction to wearing her clothes and feeling like a girl. I was a prisoner to these passions. As long as she made me wear her clothes, I knew I’d wear nothing else. I had no desire to be anything but the pretty girl, she’d trained me to be.

As she put the car in gear, and left the curb, taking us home, I thought back to that very first time that she’d done it. Our parents were still alive then. We’d had a very happy family.

The air conditioning blasted up my skirt, delightfully.

As though I were in a dream state, that afternoon flooded back into my memory. I again relived that fateful day’s happenings, in my mind.

I was eight years old. Sandra was fourteen. We lived on a farm. We did not farm it, as our parents were professional people, but, they preferred the quiet of country life, so we lived on the farm.

Sandra and I had been left alone for the weekend. This was not too unusual, as, Sandy was fourteen, and they trusted her to watch me.

>From the moment that our parents left, Sandra would not talk to me. If I came into the room where she’d gone, she got up and left the room.

After an hour, I got her to tell me what the problem was. I heard again, those ringing words.

"I want a SISTER...not...not YOU."

Her words stung. We’d always gotten along very well. She had never said this before. She stood up and left the room, again, going to her bedroom. As I always did, I followed her.

When I entered into her room, she was sitting on the bed. She stared at me.

"What do YOU want?"

"I want to be with you. I don’t have anyone to play with."

"Well, if you want to play with me, you will have to become my sister."

"I’m not a girl."

"Well, you’ll have to become one...or else...go away."

I stared at her for a moment. She looked at me, waiting.

"How can I become a girl?"

"You can’t, really, but, you can look like one. If you look like one, you have to act like one. If you can not act like a girl, then, go away."

"I’ll try, Sandra," I replied, shamefully.

"Okay. I’ll let you try, but, you better be just like a real girl, or, out you go. I mean it."

"What do I have to do?"

"First things first. Go and take those horrible clothes off. When you’re undressed, take a bubblebath, then come here."

For some reason, I was kind of nerved by what she was telling me to do. I wanted to do it. I was also afraid. I had never seen her act like this before. Her attitude, excited me in some very strange way. I still do not understand, to be entirely honest.

I felt vulnerable, walking down the hall to my sister’s room, naked. I felt like something strange was going to happen. I wanted it to.

She smiled, as I embarassedly entered her room.

"Well, then, you were not just lying to me. Good. Here, put these on first." She went over to her dresser, pulled out the top drawer, and chose a pair of silk panties. They were pink, with a wide white lace trim around the waist band.

She watched as I bent over and started to pull them up my legs. Sandra started laughing, embarrassing me.

"Oohh...no, you are putting them on backwards." I made the correction, blushing at my faux pas. I noted the difference between the front back, as soon as she’d told me that I was putting them on backwards.

"Now these."

She handed me a pair of white kneesocks. I sat on the bed, marveling at how different silk panties felt from my regular shorts. I especially liked the feel of the small elastic waist band. They were so light, so cool, and, so very silky soft.

When I stood again, she asked if I liked wearing her panties. I nodded that I did. Sandra just smiled, as though she’d known along that I’d like wearing girl’s panties.

She then handed me a pair of red sandals with one inch heels. Putting them on, I sat to do up the little buckles. They were so very much nicer than my sneakers, that I had been wearing only minutes before. I especially liked the way the instep of the sandals pushed up against my own arches.

It felt...secure...somehow. I stood and moved about in them.

They were far nicer to wear than my own. These were lighter and, they felt delicate, though I knew they were strong, as I’d seen her running in them before. Still, I had the feeling that they were delicate. I liked wearing them.

She then had me raise my arms, and she lowered a loudly rustling slip over my head. The thin straps settled on my slender shoulders. As it came down, over my head, I’d looked up and seen the girlish envelope whisper prettily down, and I felt somehow, that I was being turned into a girl, as the satin swished over my skin.

I blushed recalling the event, and more so, how much I’d liked the feeling. I had loved the first sensations of being girlified. The loud rustling seemed to tell me that I was not a boy anymore. It told me to be ashamed because I had betrayed boyhood. I was ashamed. I wanted to wear this lovely slip.

I had to raise my arms again, and she lowered my dress down, over my head, adjusting the short sleeves, so that my arms slid through them as my dress settled to my shoulders. Sandra went behind me, raised the zipper, all the way up to my neck, tightly tied a big bow at the base of my back.

She then made me sit as she put a little bit of makeup on me, mascara, blush, eyeliner, and a pale pink lipstick. I stood after she had brushed my shoulder length hair, so as to look a lot like hers did. She gave me a doll to cradle in my arms.

"Do you feel like a girl, now, little brother?"

"Yes."

"You’re very pretty, you know. You’re too pretty to be a boy. I wish Mom would dress you like this all the time. Do you want to see what you look like, my pretty sister?"

"Yes."

She led me by the hand down the hall to my parent’s room. I felt my slip caress my thighs as I walked. I liked it. I heard it rustling and liked that to. The little click of the girl-shoes I wore mingled with the sense of unreality that I was feeling.

She took me to the full length mirror, and stood beside me. We could have been sisters. Sandra was taller than I. I was wearing a dress that she had outgrown two years earlier. I stared at the reflection. My long hair framed a girlified face. My light blue dress flared out falling in large folds to just above my knees, to just above my white kneesocks.

In the crook of my left arm, was a pretty doll.

"Kiss your dolly, my pretty sister." she whispered.

I did, admiring how much I looked like any other girl.

Sandra put her hand out to touch the front of my dress. I was hoping that she would not notice that my little private had gotten very, painfully hard. I had longed to be able to touch it. I swooned when I saw and felt her fingers as they explored the shape that was beginning to push out the front of my pretty dress.

I heard her whisper in my ear. "This proves that you are a girl, inside, and you should wear dresses all the time. I want you to be my little sister whenever I babysit you, okay?"

"Yes...I...I would like that."

"I think you look like a Karen...a Karen-Anne. That will be your girl name, okay?"

"I like it." I was leaning back against her, lost in the sensation of her fingers rubbing that girl-material of the panties into my most private part. I loved it, and did not want it to ever stop. Her hand moved, gently rubbing between my legs.

I’d never hide from her, my love of being dressed in her clothing. I exploded in the most sensational feeling that I’d ever felt. It wracked my body, making me acutely aware that I was wearing girl’s clothing, and that I was feeling like this because I was being turned into a girl. Just as I exploded, I heard her whisper, "You are a pretty girl, and you feel this way because all girls love to feel pretty and you want to do, and to feel everything that a real girl does and feels, don’t you, Karen-Anne?"

"OOOO....Yesss," I sighed, relaxing into her arms.

That summer, I spent more time as Karen-Anne than as a boy. From the moment that my parents left in the morning till five minutes before they usually returned home, I was Karen-Anne.

I was jarred back to reality by the slowing of the car as we pulled into the driveway. Sandra smiled at me.

"Well, K-A, now that you know you are entirely mistaken as a girl, when you go outside, we might as well get rid of the rest of those boy’s clothes, right?"

I looked at her smiling face. She was serious. Again, I felt the hot sun on my legs as I left the car. I looked down at the skirt hem that had ridden up to my crotch, revealing to my eye, the black lace trim of my red silk panties. Tugging at my skirt, and feeling some comfort as I got it back into place, I slung my purse over my shoulder and smiled back.

"I guess so, Sandy. You always seem to know what is best for me, anyway."

"Good Girl."

I knew my fate was sealed. At nearly fifteen years old, but, for the last four months, since burying our parents, I’d been living as my sister’s sister. Since that first day of coming to stay with her, she’d insisted that I resume my Karen-Anne identity. To be honest, she had no resistance.

Sandra had moved away from home, three years earlier, to attend college, and, the only times that I’d been to dress up were at the rare times that my parents left me alone for the night or a rarer weekend. She often bought me lingerie, and, on her weekends home, she’d find a chance to sneak it to me.

Now, I had not worn any of my boy’s clothes for over three months. Today was an experiment. Sandra had insisted that I learn, once and for all, that I was more of a girl than a boy, and she made me agree to leave the house, early in the morning and spend the day all alone, downtown, doing what girl’s do, window shopping. I’d had to take the public transit downtown.

Most of the day, I had been scared out of my wits, but, I finally began to relax. I realized that everyone thought of me as a girl, not as a boy in girl’s clothes. As that realization settled in, I really started to enjoy the sensations of wearing a short skirt on a hot day, of walking on uneven pavement in high heels, of feeling small, vulnerable, and knowing that my 5’ 4" stature did not have to compete with boys. I loved having the freedom to just wandering in and out of girl’s clothing stores. I’d always longed for the courage to do that before, and, now, I was doing it, and, I knew that if I wanted to, I could even try on dresses or a new skirt. I was too scared to, but, I knew that I had the freedom to, if I wanted to. It was now normal and expected of me, when I picked up pretty lingerie, looking like I might buy it for myself.

I was free, like I’d never been free before.

I knew, I had just told my sister that she could turn me into a girl.

I knew that I wanted her to do it.

Sandra wanted to do just that. She was always teasing me about getting a boyfriend, like a real girl would. What scared me, was, that I was beginning to wonder what it would feel like to have a boyfriend, a real boy, not one like me.

 

My parents had been killed by a drunk driver last March. I was not yet fifteen when it had happened. Sandra had already been away from home for nearly three years, and excepting for the vacations, I had not seen her.

When we were together again, on those vacations, not much changed. As usual, if we were left alone for a few hours, she would become morose if I did not return to my Karen-Anne personna.

As Sandra was twenty years old, there was no contest when she suggested to the lawyers that she become my official guardian. There was quite a bit of money in our parent’s estate, with the sale of their practices, the settlements from the insurance companies and their own life insurance and pension investment plans.

Sandra had been working as a legal secretary for nearly a year, and, she had learned enough to be able to successfully negotiate settlements, the custodial arrangements for me, and she was more than capable of making prudent investments from the estate monies, for my part as well as her own.

I was more than pleased with the arrangements. I also desperately hoped that she would make me wear her clothes all the time that I lived with her. She had always done it before, when we were alone, and, I wondered if she would do it again.

I came to share her apartment in mid-April. As the school year was nearly over, and I had had very good marks, the school had automatically promoted me, and told me that I would be able to move to my sister’s town, without the worry of enrolling in a new school for only a few weeks. Because of her position in a legal office, they also, when she suggested it, agreed to give my school records to her, as the new school that I would be attending had not yet been decided on. She explained that as she had had no need for a school, she had not learned of what schools were available. That made sense to Mr. Coleman, my principal, and, he ordered my transcripts to be sealed and gave her the envelope.

Sandra, though I did not understand it at the time, had successfully arranged to have every aspect of my life left in her hands. I did not mind that, but, it had been a long time since I had been close to her, and, so, it took a bit of time to redevelop the relationship with her.

To be entirely honest, I was too ashamed to admit to Sandra that I wanted her to dress me in her clothing, so, for the first two weeks, I said nothing about my secret desires.

One night, when she had returned from work, and we were sitting at the dinner table, Sandra looked at me, straight in the eye. I felt naked before that open, appraising gaze of her bright blue eyes. I blushed and looked at my plate, wondering what she was thinking. She could always overwhelm me, just by looking at me, with that expression in her eyes.

"Well?"

"Well what, Sandra?"

"Well, where is Karen-Anne? Has she disappeared?"

"Nnnooo...", I whispered, my cheeks burning.

"What did you say?"

"I said no."

"I have not seen her. You have been here two weeks and I have not seen her, unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Are you wearing my clothes in secret, when I am not here?"

"No."

"Have you stopped wanting to wear girl’s clothes?"

"No."

"Well, I am just not comfortable with a boy in the house."

"Oh..."

"That’s right. I want to see Karen-Anne. Go and change."

"Okay". I tried, desperately, to hide the relief in my voice, but, I knew from the knowing look on her face, that I had not deceived her. She read me like a book.

I went to my room and took off my clothes, hanging everything up in the closet, almost wishing that I would never have to wear them again. That was just not possible. There were more meetings with lawyers, and, I would have to go to school, and, there were so many things in my life that would force me to continue being a boy. I wished I could just wake up tomorrow morning, and find that God had changed me, so that I would from then on, be expected to wear lingerie and dresses.

I stood in front of the mirror, the full length mirror on the closet door. I stared at my naked body. The only part of me that looked like a boy was a flat chest and a few inches of flabby flesh that just hung there. If not for that thing...

Yet, a part of me wanted to remain a boy. I felt torn apart inside. I wanted to cry. I dreamed of just being a boy or a girl, and not this hybrid that I was. It was not Sandra’s fault, though she was the first to dress me as girl.

No, I would not have responded the way I had, if there had not been something girlish inside of me from the start. There was just two people inside of me. One is a boy and one is a girl.

I knew it was normal for everyone to have two personalities, but, usually, they were of the same sex. What was wrong with me? Everyone was whoever they were, and they also tried to act like whoever they wanted to be. I was a boy who wanted to be a girl? It made no sense. I wanted to cry.

It wasn’t my fault I was betraying boyhood.

I was a boy and a girl. My body the boy, and, my inside, the girl.

Tears welled behind my pretty eyes. With determination, I ripped myself away from the mirror and went to the bathroom. Sandra came in, just as I was about to step into the shower.

"K-A?"

"Yeah?"

"I think that since you are just about fifteen, that you should start doing things...things that older girls do."

"What do you mean, Sandra?"

"Well, for a start, it would not look right, if you wore your pretty dresses, but your body had hair all over it."

"Oh."

"That’s okay when you’re a little girl, but, not at your age. Nylons would emphasize the hairiness. It would look ugly. You don’t want to look like an ugly girl, do you, K-A?"

She knew I did not want to be ugly. I wanted to be pretty.

"This is the way we girls do it. Stand in the middle of the tub, and turn around."

I felt something being sprayed on my back, my bum and my legs. At her prompting, I turned to face her, and she completed the spraying on my chest, arms, private parts, and the front of my legs.

"Now, stand there and wait for about twenty minutes. You will like what this stuff will do. I think that since your hair is already so light, that you will only need to do this about once a week. After twenty minutes, take a shower, and scrub yourself with the facecloth, all over. When all the hair is gone, take a hot bath, with lots and lots of bubble bath in the water. You remember how I showed you how to prepare a girl’s bath? Good, girl. When you’re done, come to my room."

The tingling of my skin with a slight burning sensation that started after the first ten minutes, frustrated my waiting a bit. Combined with the fact that Sandra had mentioned nylons. I had never worn nylons before. In fact, I had only worn clothing that was suitable to younger girls, before.

My mind’s eye was filled with visions of delicate legs, with silhouette hands and arms rolling a nearly transparent garment up them, and attaching them to lacey garter straps. I wondered if I would look like that. I felt suddenly like a boy. I wanted for it to be normal for me to wear nylons.

I nearly scraped my skin with the rough washcloth. When the ordeal was over, I was as hairless as a baby. I was thankful that I had not yet had to start shaving. After rinsing the tub, I ran a bath, preparing it the way Sandra had taught me so many years ago. In the bath, I was overwhelmed by the sensuousness of the oiled water on my hairless skin. It was the most delightful thing I had ever felt. It’s no wonder women preferred baths. They are lovely.

The bath over, I removed the tight bathing cap and dried myself on the fluffy pink towel, noting how normal it seemed to me to be doing this.

I wanted to be girlified by my sister.

Anxiously, and ashamed of the boyhood asserting itself, I went to her room. She was sitting on the bed waiting for me. She looked at my erection and smiled. It was proof to her of my craving for her effeminating domination over me.

"Well, we’ll just get Mr. Dong into some silk panties, where he belongs, and we’ll all be a lot happier about him."

I unquestionably accepted the panties proffered by her right hand, and stepped into them. These were different than any I had worn before. They were a little like boxer shorts, only, they extended half way down my thigh, and were gathered with an elastic, beribboned band. They were kind of on the loose side, around my hips. I throbbed painfully with the friction of the silk, softly and girlishly caressing the underside of my cock. They were an erotic ice blue color with white trim.

She grinned at me, "Admit it, K-A, you’d rather wear panties, wouldn’t you?"

I looked at her. I could never hide my true feelings from her. "Yes..." I was ashamed of this girlish desire. I wanted to cry, not because I wanted to wear girl’s clothes, but, because it was not normal and expected of me to do so.

"Hold this." She handed me something. I could not see what it was. She went behind me, gathered it together in the back, then started lacing and tying it so tightly, that I could not breathe. She then ordered me to raise my hands as high in the air as I could, and redid the lacing.

My normal measurements, are 34"-30"-33". With a gleeful smirk, she measured my new waist.

"Beautiful. You are down to 25", like a gorgeous fashion model."

She tugged at my panties and worked the lacey garter-straps down through my panties, and had me sit on the vanity stool. She showed me how to bunch up a fresh pair of nylons, and to slowly unbunch them as I worked the lovely material up my hairless legs, so that I would not make a run. Then she pulled them off again, telling me that she forgot the toenails. She used an emery board to round out the shapes, placed cotton balls between each toe, and then painted them with bright red polish. All that I was able to do, was to sit, admiring them, as they dried. Then, I demonstrated that I had learned how to properly put on my nylons.

When Sandra was satisfied that I’d learned how to do it right, she then had me extend my hands, one at a time, while she glued false nails to the ends of my fingers. Smilingly she told me that it was a special glue, that would not come loose in the swimming pool. The nail tips would probably stay on, she told me, till my own nails grew long enough to replace the false tips.

I was marveling, wondering how I would pass for a boy, with such long nails. She was trying to trap me, as I slowly began to realize. I also realized, she was getting no resist from me. I wanted this transvestized trap.

While I continued sitting at the vanity, Sandra slid my very first pair of high heeled shoes onto my nyloned feet.

They were court shoes, she explained. There was a kind of squarish heel of two inches, a square toe with laces on the front. The material looked like alligator skin, but was a light tan colored leather. They were delightfully soft, and the instep pushed in the most delightful fashion against the arch of my foot. I loved the way they felt.

When I stood, and felt the tautness of my first nylons, combined with the sense dainty-ness imposed by my shoes, I felt womanly. Sandra beamed when she read the emotions on my face.

"K-A, as far as I am concerned, you should have been born with a pussy. As long as I have anything to say about it, you will be a girl. I will expect you to dress like and conduct yourself as a young girl, for all the time that you live in my house, okay?"

I looked at her, my throat pained with the painful lump that was there. I was just not able to speak. Sandra knew of my consent. she read me like a book. Then she added her little barb, as she usually did.

"We’ll just have to get you a boyfirend who doesn’t mind Mr. Dong, there, in your silk panties, won’t we?"

She giggled when I burned in my cheeks. She did not know it, but, I had had an experience with a boy, and, I flushed with shame at my remembrances of that afternoon.

I thankfully received a lacey satin camisole over my head, stepped into my loudly rustling half slip, that had overlaying flounces of lace trimming. The slip and camisole were obviously a matching set.

Sandra then removed my camisole, telling me that she had forgotten something. I sat on the vanity stool again, and she went to stand behind me. She reached, causing me much pain, into the top of my corsollette, and kneaded at the fleshy part of my chest, till, I had a protrusion hanging over the top of the corsollette. I had my first bra slid up my arms. When she had hooked it, I could feel the satin cups as they held my newly created breasts. I looked down and saw the lace trimming adorn the bulges of breast. I looked like a girl there to. Something inside of me, just let go, and I gave myself over completely to that sense of girlishness that was slowly pervading my entire being.

Sandra, gently, with the palms of her hands, began to lightly massage the bra cups. It was so sensuous. My nipples got very hard, hard enough to hurt. My entire breasts seemed to be super sensitive to her gently moving hands. Her fingers rolled my nipples between them.

"Ahhhh, just like any other girl, K-A." Then she had me raise my arms again, and she dropped my camisole down over my head, back into place, only, this time, it looked more natural, as it clung to the newly rounded shape of my chest.

Sandra then handed me an off white, very pale beige long sleeved satin blouse, with full sleeves. I slid my arms into the garment, did the buttons up my back, fastened the buttons at my cuffs, and loved the luxuriously ample material that caressed my forearms. There was a high neck with a froth of lace coming from under my chin. In the mirror, I noticed how the garment hung, so very loosely, from my new breasts, over my corsetted waist, looking like it would on any other girl.

I felt strangely, as though I were a privileged person to be allowed, though a boy, to wear such lovely things. My heart swelled with thankfulness that I had a sister like Sandra. I just loved her for doing this to me.

She lowered a light brown plaid skirt with a high waist and shoulder straps, down over my head. She went behind me to do the zipper up. This made the high waist accentuate the flatness of the corsetted waist. It flared out from my hips. I did the little buckles of the straps up, just under my breasts. The full skirt fell to my knees, in large folds.

Sandra raised the suitjacket over my arms, sliding with a lovely rustling up over my satined arms. It was an eton style of jacket, the bottom hem at my waist, just where my skirt started to flare out. It came in a V, like a regular suit jacket, only the buttons were large tan brown leather ones. The lapel and the pockets were trimmed in a light tan leather, as well. This jacket was so ultra feminine. It looked like the kind of thing that would have been worn in the old black and white movies of the fifties, by the pretty stars. I sat, remembering to smooth out my skirts under me, so as to not make creases in my skirt, and submitted to Sandra as she administered the makeup and the curling iron.

This time, she did things she never did before. She showed my how to apply mascara, using the brush carefully, so as to not get it all over my cheeks, and to lift and separate my lashes. I realized they were already as long as a girl’s, naturally.

She showed me how to use a foundation, blusher, lipstick and my favorite, the eyeshadows and liners. Then came the delightfully feminine jewelry, earrings, braceletes and rings.

I knew that I was a lovely girl. Sandra, seeing me for the very first time, completely girlified, was so ecstatic at the results, that she insisted on taking pictures of me. I spent the next hour, in many poses, both in the apartment and in the local park. Sandra used up three disks just taking pictures of her sister. I felt flattered.

As Sandra had always made me go outside with her, going outside was nothing that I had to get used to. I was too terrified to ever try it alone, but, with her, I had enough confidence to go to the park and pose for her.

I felt pretty.

Over the summer, I again, got used to being a girl, of sitting with my knees or ankles together, of doing things with long nails, of dressing my face and hair every morning. I loved the life I was leading. I also found that the special pills that Sandra was giving me, was making my waist smaller, and my bust and hips bigger. I knew that she was turning my body into a girl’s, and, I wanted her to do that.

I also, as you read earlier, learned to go out on my own, as a girl, with confidence that I was a girl, to everyone who saw or dealt with me. She had made me be myself, and I loved her for it. I was willing to do anything for her, and, that included the humiliation of confessing to her that I had done something with a boy once.

That happened last night, at the dinner table. We had just eaten, and, Sandra asked if I thought at all about boys, the way that a girl thinks about them. When she saw my blush, she knew she had hit on something, and she made me tell her.

"Last October, one Saturday, when Mom and Dad left for the day, well, as I usually did, I put on some of the clothes that you left in that big green trunk. Of course, they are nothing fancy like what I wear now, but, well, I liked them, even if they were little girl styles. Well, like usual, I got dressed up. I wore a dress, slip, panties, kneesocks and a pair of your old running shoes. I went back to the old pond, you know the one?"

"Yeah? So what happened?"

"Well, later in the afternoon, when I was coming back, just as I rounded the corner of the barn, my best friend, Gerry rode into the yard on his bike."

"Nnnnoooo...." I could tell she liked the story.

"Yeah. I couldn’t hide, because he saw me."

"What happened?"

"Well, at first, he just stared at me, then, he asked me why I was wearing girl’s clothes. I lied. I told him that I was being punished, and was being made to wear them for the whole weekend. He kind of smiled at me and told me that he thought I was pretty as a girl. I knew I blushed because he told me that blushing made me very pretty to. He followed me into the house. I gave him a coke."

"Did you?"

"Well, he had cylced nearly four miles to see me, so, I felt I had to be hospitable."

"You mean, be a good hostess?"

I blushed, because, I recalled, that that was exactly the thought that had crossed my mind at the time.

"So, what happened then?"

"We went into the living room. I sat on the couch, and he sat in the easy chair. He downed his Coke and asked me to refill his glass. When I brought the fresh glass to him, he slid his hand up under my dress. I blushed furiously, because, being in girl’s clothes, in front of someone, had made me really really hard. He grabbed my hard and twisted it in the front of my panties."

"Sssoooo?"

"He told me that because I was hard for him, proved that I was a queer, and, that I really liked to wear girl’s clothes, just like a real faggot would do. He made me admit that I was not being punished. He also made me admit that I wore these clothes because I liked feeling like a girl."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"So then what happened?"

"Then he made me admit that I really feel like a girl when I wore dresses. He also made me admit that it was normal for girls to like having sex with guys, and, that since I seemed to like being a girl so much, that it would be normal for me to be like any other girl, when she was all alone with a guy that she liked, and then he twisted my panties again, to show me that he knew that I liked him, to want to have sex with her boyfriend."

"Nnnoooo!"

"I really did not know what to do. I couldn’t tell him that I did not like him, because, he was holding my hardon in his hand, and he was driving me crazy. He knew I was acting just like a fairy, and, he made me admit that I was really a fairy which, I did. I could not deny the hardon."

"Then he stood up and he kissed me. Sandra, I was helpless. I could not stop myself from putting my arms around his shoulders, and when he pushed his cock at me, I pushed mine at him. I felt completely like a girl, and, I knew that I would do anything that he told me to. He kissed me for a very long time, and, I loved it. Then, he put his hands on my shoulders and gently pushed me downward. In a minute, I was kneeling in front of him.

He asked me if I knew what he wanted. I was so ashamed that all I could do was to look up at him, and nod my head. He undid his belt, opened his pants, and told me to pull them down. I did what he told me to.

Then, I had to take his underpants down. He did not have a very big cock and it was almost hairless.

I touched it, then, opened my mouth and moved my head to it. He came almost as soon as he felt my mouth on him. I almost choked. I thought that I was going to die."

"Oh...I know the feeling..."

"Well, then, He made me lay down and he lay on top of me. He kept kissing me and driving his pelvis into me, as though I was a girl, and, he made me cum in my silk underwear. He told me that I was his special girlfriend and that I was his special boyfriend. We went together for only two weeks, because, he parents moved away.

"So, you sucked a cock..., are you sorry you did?"

"No, I am not sorry."

Sandra looked at me. she knew the truth. All I was doing was confirming my effemination. She knew that it was not a question of being sorry for sucking a cock, it was a question of feeling normal and complete. She smiled with her knowing and penetrating blue eyed gaze. I knew that nothing was hidden from her now, and that somehow made me feel free. I was myself. I was Karen-Anne.

It took me a few weeks to get over the fact that I had confessed to my sister, the most intimate thoughts and fantasies that I had had.

However, life goes on, doesn't it?

We soon settled into a routine, and, I was without a doubt, completely satisfied with my girlified estate. I no longer was hard all the time because I was wearing panties and knee length hems. It would never have seemed possible to me before, but, I had to admit, I was comfortable and felt normal, posing as a girl. I felt like a girl. I loved dressing like a girl, and, I was thankful for that bit of wisdom on Sandra’s part, that made me feel like I really did not have a choice about whether or not I was going to be a girl. I had reached a state that I had never thought would have been possible for me to reach. I’d become so used to wearing girl’s clothing and of being accepted in public as a girl, that the wearing of the clothing no longer kept me in a constant and painful state of arousal. It was now the normal thing for me to wear feminine attire. I loved this new freedom from my boyhood, to.

But, as the summer progressed, I began to fret a bit. I would have to start back to school in September, in only three weeks. I did not have any boy’s clothes, and the thought of buying some, depressed me. I did not want to return to that dog eat dog competition and hardness that I had hated, where I’d always felt like I was an actor, portraying a role. I knew how to be a boy, and a good one at that. I was always watching them to see how they acted, and I would imitate them. I hated it. I felt totally false. I hated the tight control that I had to keep on myself, to keep the guys from finding out what I was really like. I had to act every moment, and I hated the strain on my psyche. When I wore dresses, I did not have to pretend, all that I had to do was to act the way I felt. I was more normal, acting like a girl. The last few weeks had convinced me that 85% of me hated boyhood. There was a part that still wanted to be a boy, that missed the boyish life, but, it was a small part, and, I found that I easily subdued that desire.

I played with dolls, when I was alone. I wanted to experience all the girlhood that I had missed. Sandra knew that I would do that, and so, one day, she had returned home with complete Barbie doll set, with twenty changes of clothes, including lingerie. I was embarrassed to admit it to her, but, when she came home and found that I had forgotten to clean up my doll stuff, she could easily tell by the doll clothes spread out over the coffee table that I had been playing with my Barbie. Sandra really seemed to get some kind of secret thrill out of knowing that I did girl things during the day. She would always get this funny knowing smile that played with the corners of her lips, whenever I had admitted to doing something, of my own volition, that was girlish.

I had taken over most of the domestic areas of our lives together. I learned, over the summer how to cook, reasonably well. I learned how to do the laundry and the ironing. Sandra even taught my how to make a simple dress, and then, I experimented with patterns. I was not very good as a seamstress, but, I loved the way it made me feel to be making myself a skirt.

Sandra had a boyfriend, I met John about seven weeks after I had started to be Karen-Anne on a full time basis. Sandra had wanted me to develop some confidence, before I started to mix with a male, on a social level. By the time that I met him, I had become so used to being a girl, that it was only a few minutes before I was completely comfortable in my role as Sandra’s little sister.

I liked John, and I hoped that Sandra would marry him, as, I knew that she liked him very very much. I think that she was also having sex with him.

One night, we had supper together. John left early as he had a big day the next day. He’d been teasing me, as was normal, about getting me a boyfriend. He knew that I was very shy and that I did not want to meet any boys, but, he teased me about it, because, he told me, he loved the way I blushed.

Sandra went to take a bath, while I dealt with the supper dishes. I liked doing housework, especially, since there was not much else for me to do around the house, anyway.

I was sprawled out on the couch when she came back to the livingroom, wearing a floorlength pink satin robe, that I just adored. I remembered how it felt when I had worn it last, and, she did look so lovely in it. I got hard as I remembered the sensations of the material caressing my hairless legs as I had moved about the apartment, in it.

"K-A, sit up. Young ladies don’t sit like that, with their legs wide open to invite anyone who cares to look."

I quickly corrected my posture, locking my knees together and straightening my dress out under me.

"Well, young lady, I have been sensing for a few days now, that something is bothering you, deeply. Care to tell me what it is?"

I looked at her. Sandra was so very pretty, and, she wore her emotions all over her face. I could see the love and concern for me, nearly pouring out of her eyes. I was so very fortunate to have such a loving person to look after me.

I stuttered. I still felt a bit reluctant about my deepest desires to be a girl all the time. I guess I would always have a part of me that thought it was wrong for a young boy to prefer the life and deportment of young women.

"I...well, it is just...I..."

"Spit it out, girl."

"Well, I have truly enjoyed being Karen-Anne for the summer. I never thought life could be so...so very lovely. I..." I looked at her for help. Usually, she knew what was going on in my mind, and she usually helped me to voice it. This time, she just looked with a questioning in her eye.

"Well, K-A, what is it you are trying to say?"

"Well, school starts in two weeks."

"Yes?"

"I don’t have any boy’s clothes, and..." I buried my face in my hands, and began to sob as I continued, "And, I don’t want to get any either."

"You want to go to school as a girl?"

"Yes..." I wailed, my anguish at such a confession admitting some of the deepest and most misunderstood emotions that I had.

"Is that all?"

Sandra came over, sat beside me, pulled my head to her breasts and began to gently rub my long haired head. She waited till I had gotten control over myself again, then made me look at her.

"Well, Dear, we are going to have to buy you some school clothes, but, unfortunately, or...maybe not, after this little confession, they will not be boy’s clothes."

"What?" I was incredulous.

"I should have said something earlier, I suppose, but, I guess that it just did not seem too important to me, so, I guess that I just assumed that you would know that you would go to school this year, as a girl. You know that huge grey stone building over near the downtown park?"

"Yes...what about it?" I was snivelling as I dried my tears, wondering if I had made my mascara run lines on my cheeks.

"Well, that building is the Michael’s Academy for Girls. I took the liberty of enrolling you there."

"What about my school records? They are for a boy."

"Well, being in a legal office has some advantages. I have had your legal name changed to Karen-Anne Brown. I am afraid, that I falsified your school records to show that you were a female student. You are, as of now, legally, a girl, enrolled in the academy for this coming semester. I also was able to get your birth registration changed, so, legally, on all government records, you are now, a girl. If you went into a bank to cash a cheque, as a boy, you could run the risk of being arrested, for presenting false identification. By the way, you will never be able to come into your inheritance, in six years, when you turn twenty, unless you do so, as a girl, as Karen-Anne Brown. All of your dividend and interest cheques now come, addressed to Miss Karen-Anne Brown. As soon as you turn sixteen, the cheques will come to you. Right now, it is against the law for a person under the age of sixteen to cash cheques. Most banks do not enforce it, but, it is, none the less, the law at present. I have also purchased life insurance policies in your legal name of Karen-Anne Brown."

I stared at her. She wanted me to be a real girl. She wanted me to be happy being a real girl.

"You mean that I have no choice. I cannot go back to being a boy?"

"That is the long and short of it, K-A."

"You are forcing me to live as a girl?"

"Yes." She grinned at me. "I know you want to anyway."

I threw my arms around her and sobbed, this time out of sheer ecstacy. I was so overcome with emotions, knowing that my most secret desires were being forced to become the reality of my life. Happiness could know no greater depth than that which coursed through me at that moment.

I had a private, but, I was legally a girl. I had to live like a girl in order to get all that was due to me. I was pleased.

I knew now, that the special vitamins that Sandra had been making me take were actually turning me into my legal sex. She had made the decision to correct a situation that she thought was wrong. I loved her for loving me so much. I knew that she had risked a great deal for me, legally, and, yet, no price was too high, for her, to procure my happiness. I hugged her tightly.

The next morning, after our usual breakfast, as it was Saturday, Sandra told me that the day was reserved for shopping, for me. she told me that she had been accumulating my dividend and interest cheques for me, and that there was nearly $2,000.00 that we were going to spend, today, buying me my own wardrobe. She had withdrawn the money yesterday, before the banks had closed, and, we were going to go shopping as soon as I finished the dishes and did my hair.

She did tell me that there was one thing that I should be aware of. "You have been wearing my clothes for the summer, and, I do not mind that. But, you are a teenage girl. My lingerie and styles of clothes are not suitable for you. You are going to have to get used to wearing plainer clothes. As you get older, I’ll get you more suitable things, but, from now on, you wear your own clothes, unless I give you special permission. I do not want someone to get overly interested in you because of your too mature styles of dress, alright?"

"Yes, of course. Whatever you say, Sandra."

"Well, I just don’t want any arguments when you have to wear simpler things, that is all. You have to learn to dress your own age level."

"Listen, Sis, I want to be as normal a girl as I can possibly be."

"Great. One other thing that you are going to have to get used to is wearing a training bra. Any day now, your breasts are going to start to hurt like hell. Every girl goes through it, and, you will find that the only relief from the pain is to wear a training bra under all of your clothes."

"I have to wear a bra?" I knew I could not hide the grin that was spreading across my face, betraying the ultimate joy that I was feeling over my predicament. Circumstances were forcing me to do what a normal girl does. that would be very very fine with me.

"You look like the cheshire cat after swallowing a canary, K-A. Oh, before I forget it, you also have to get rid of that slight amount of facial hair that is developing. I have arranged for you to receive electrolysis treatments, starting next week. Well, let’s get our butts in gear, Girl."

I luxuriated in the front seat of the car, knowing that my fate was sealed. We were going to get me a complete teenager’s wardrobe.

I did not like the underwear that she selected, too much, but, I went along with it, knowing that my time would come to pick lingerie that really turned me on.

All the panties were brief styles, of white, light blue or pink. She picked out 15 pairs of panties for me. I was thankful that they were all of a brushed satin material, and I knew they would feel just fabulous, next to my skin. All the slips were white or beige. The only consolation was the lace trim, which was profusive. They were all pale colors, as befits modesty. She told me I would not need fancy bras, as no man was going to see them anyway. She said that luxurious lingerie was half for the men who would see them on a girl, anyway, and, since that would not happen to me, I could learn to live in modest clothes.

She selected three corsets of beige, all very very plain. The only thing that I liked about the was that the had garter straps. Sandra knew that I detested pantyhose as much as did she. We selected three dozen pairs of nylons of different shadings, and three pairs for dressing up in, with lovely delicate butterfly designs in them.

Then we went into a uniform store, and we selected three uniforms. I loved these. They were a dark plaid with a thin green and red lines. The skirts were profuse with half inch pleats. I knew that the skirt would swirl way out, if I turned fast. I was surprised to see that there was a satin underslip in the skirts, that seemed to be to small for the skirt. I asked Sandra about that. She smiled and told me that it was the school’s way of insuring that their girls learn to walk in small dainty, lady like steps. The slip was designed to hobble the wearer, enforcing small steps. The school’s main concern was to produce young ladies, not just graduates. Young ladies meant that they were delightfully feminine and graceful beings, who would bring credit to the institution over their lifetimes.

The uniform blouses were white satin, long sleeved, that had a delicate red bow tie at the peter pan collars. She took 12 blouses. There were also vests, buttoned with big brass buttons, and three jackets matching the skirts and vests, with a school crest on the pocket over the left breast, and, a little flair of white lace at the cuffs. It was a very pretty uniform, or so I thought. I fell in love with it. I fell in love with knowing that that would be my normal daily attire for months to come.

The physical education uniform consisted of a dark blue affair that looked like a shirt on the top, and shorts with big puffy legs. They were of satin however. They required white sneakers and white kneesocks. Sandra bought me a suitable supply. There was also a uniform winter coat and purse. The purse was a dark brown leather and looked kind of like a half moon, and was about three inches in depth. The top flapped over and was buttoned near the bottom.

The winter coat was dark blue with light blue satin trimming along the collar and the pockets. There was a small belt type of arrangement going across the back. The front was double breasted, no pun intended, and was fastened with large brass buttons. I loved it. There were also three brass buttons at the cuffs. The remainder of the uniform consisted of brown leather, wrist-length gloves, and a leather hat that looked like a boy’s fadora, excepting the dark blue satin ribbon hanging down the back about six inches, and the gold lettering across the front, identifying the Michael’s Academy For Young Women.

By the time the school stuff was bought, it was past noon. I had never realized that shopping could be such hard work. We loaded the stuff into the car, with all the other boxes and bags, and, then, decided to go to a big mall. She told me that I still had a lot of stuff to get.

After a light lunch, we started out on the afternoon’s procurements.

Our first stop was a jewelry store, where she insisted that I have my ears pierced. I was scared of the pain, but, let the sales lady do it anyway. She inserted the gold studs into the piercing gun, and, I soon had little gold roses adorning my ear lobes. It made me feel so feminine. I loved it.

She helped me select watches, bracelets, necklaces and earrings, all suitable to a fifteen year old, which I would be very soon.

Next was a cosmetics store, where we used the computer to help us select proper colorings for my own makeup kit. This took nearly an hour, but, I had a complete outfit at the end of the hour, including a home perm kit that Sandra was going to give me sometime over the next week. I learned that I was a spring. We bought a "Color My World" book, so that I could learn what colors I should wear.

Then we entered the "Casual Affairs Boutique". Here Sandra helped me select some casual skirts and blouses. I did not want to, but, she made me take two pairs of slacks, and then she selected a few pairs of shorts, with knee socks, bobby socks and a pair of pink sneakers.

Next was the "Junior’s Bazar". Here, we selected some sweaters, skirts and dresses. She made me try on all of the dresses first, before allowing me to buy them. I also selected some lounge suits, hostess suits and one pink satin pants suit, that she thought could pass for a teen’s outfit. She did not want me to get it, but, I liked it so much, that she finally agreed. Then to my surprise, she bought three pairs of panty-girdles. These, she had put into a separate bag, that she slipped into her purse.

We went to a leather store, where I selected five pairs of shoes, all court shoes, one pair of high heels, and a pair of knee high winter boots with three inch heels.

Next, we went to the "Formal Shop", where we purchased three dresses that would be suitable for dress up or for semi-formal affairs. We also bought a beautiful floor length gown of pale blue satin with full crinoline slips, just incase I got invited to a wedding or something. I fell in love with this dress, and prayed for a reason to wear it.

By this time, it was seven pm. I was exhausted. However, at home, Sandra told me that if I wanted to be a girl, I would just have to learn to suffer through it, then, she ordered me to take the scissors into my bedroom and to start removing tags, and hanging my clothes up. After half an hour, she did come in to help me. She told me that the only thing that they had forgotten was sleep wear, but, she would give me two of her own nightdresses, a robe, and the pink satin mules that I had always seemed to like so much.

Once it was all cleared away, and the boxes and bags of tissue paper were neatly stored in a closet, she took back the clothing I had worn for the day, and reminded me that there was now no need for me to wear her clothes, as, with my money, I had bought for myself all the clothes that I would ever need over the next school year.

Then, with a smile, she produced the three panty-girdles that she had bought. Actually, all they were was spandex panties. She had cut all the material out of them, excepting along the seams. They looked like a tangle of cords.

She told me that I would be able to have complete control, and yet still enjoy the sensation of my panties on my bum cheeks, if I remembered to wear these. She showed me how they were to work. I stepped into what remained of the legs holes and raised the remainder up over my leg I looked like a real girl. I felt free, really and truly free. Many many times, I had stood before a mirror, and wanted desperately to look just like I looked now. I’d be able to wear minis, shorts, tight jeans, anything at all that would normally accentuate the girl’s finer points, and, I could now wear those things without fear of discovery. I could now be really me, and, the most beautiful thing was, I was still a boy to. I had the best of both worlds.

My closet was bulging, as was my dresser, with my new wardrobe. I went to sleep that night with the strangest sensation of feeling that I was a girl now, forced by forces outside of my control. I fell asleep very satisfied with my new status in life.

 

Dear Diary;

 

It has been ages since I have written anything in you, almost a year.

But, I just wanted to try and capture some of my feelings.

It has been two weeks now, since I started at the Michael’s Academy For Young Women. Wow, it is like a dream come true. I love it. I have been so ultra busy since I started school, but, at last, I have a break.

I am in the school library right now. I have a one hour study period, so, I want to try and get some of these things onto paper.

I am wearing my uniform, as is every other girl in the school. I just adore the way the full skirt with those little half inch pleats just swirls around me at even the slightest movements. It looks a bit like the way a kilt on a highland dancer looks. It is to me, a constant reminder that it is a skirt and not pants that I am wearing, and, I just love it.

Something else I love is that my uniform skirts have a tight fitting underskirt/slip. It is impossible to walk like a boy. The skirt hobbles me, at the knees. I can not take a step bigger than eighteen inches. When I sit, I can move my knees up to six inches apart, if I really force it. You know that I don’t, however. You know how I love sitting with my knees together, as a young lady should. One thing that I do like also about the underslips, is, if I ever got in trouble, it would be almost impossible to run in them. I’d have to pull my skirt way up around my hips, if I had to run. I feel so limited and so restricted by my feminine dress. I am forced to be like a dainty and graceful girl. In all honesty, I practice walking so that my steps are not the maximum allowable. I feel like such a sissy, mincing around on high heels taking dainty little steps. God, it is so liberating. I feel so free to be myself. Sandra, I love you forever.

I can not ever describe the feelings I get of sitting in a class full of fifteen other girls, all dressed exactly the same way that I am. I am so conformed to the feminine image of my classmates. It gives me such a very very deep thrill to know that no one can pick me out from any other girl in the class, because, I belong here. We are made the same by the uniforms.

Usually, there is such a lovely delicate scent in the air, from all of our perfumes mingling. It is how I would imagine that heaven might smell.

I sit near the back on the left side, so, all I have to do is look up, and I can see most of the girls in my class. I can not even begin to count how many times a day I look up, see this vision of these beautiful teenage girls, all struggling over their school work problems, watching, as one brushes her golden hair back behind her ears, and another tugs at her skirt hem to get more comfortable, while another sqinches up her pretty eyes and chews on her pencil, lost in thought, and, I marvel, knowing that in reality, I am a boy, but, I belong here, with them. I am one of these girls. I am no different than they are.

I wear the same clothes. I study the same materials. I have the same problems with the school work. I slip my heels off my nyloned feet, and feel the cool tile on my near naked foot, then step back into my shoes and go back to work. I love the feel of the high instep as it presses against the arch of my foot. Every other girl here, is wearing shoes like mine. It is normal, and it is expected. I have pretty bows at my toes.

Here, achieving an excellent mark, is recognized as an achievement, it is not frowned on as a brown noser’s activity. The school puts a great deal of emphasis of doing the very best, of setting high expectations for oneself. I love it. I am not only enforced to live as one of these other girls, but, I am expected to compete in similar endeavors. I love the envy, when I do a good job and get a special recognition. I am competing with girls, in equal settings, and, sometimes, I can beat them. I can not tell you, Diary, how absolutely necessary those little apparatuses that Sandra made from the spandex panties are. Being in a completely feminine world, has been so exciting, that I have a constant erection, from the moment I walk in the doors in the morning, till I get to relieve myself at night. I can’t wear the vagina panties for hours at a time, as it is just too constricting for normal everyday wear. So I am thankful for Sandra’s ingenuity in making them for me.

The crotch of the thing stretches, so that even when I get really really hard, like at gym class, or something, it still makes me look like I have a girl’s crotch. I would be in some very serious trouble if it were not for those things.

What really surprises me, is that, in the girl’s room, when they talk about their boyfriends, I do not get soft. I hear them describe how some guy kissed them, and, I find I envy them. I know that as I am only fourteen, though nearly fifteen, that Sandra will not let me have a boyfirend yet, but, what amazes me, is I want to have one, just like the other girls.

It is only two weeks, but I already know how to make a guy cum in his pants, while just dancing. These girls love to be cockteasers, and they readily relate the things they are discovering and experiencing with each other. Marsha, one of the more popular girls in the class, was all excited this morning. Last week one of the girls dared her to suck off her boyfriend, and she couldn’t wait to tell us how much she loved the taste of cum, and the feel of his big hard dork ramming into her throat.

Many times I will hear how looking in a certain way will get a guy interested in you. I have to be honest, Diary. I do go home at night, and practice these facial expressions in my vanity mirror.

Because I am still pretty new, and most of these girls have been going here since grade one, together, they do not involve me too much in the private talk, but, I would never have believed that girls are so damn horny all the time. A guy, well, you know when he is horny, but, girls don’t have things sticking out of their pants to let you know. Well, heee...heee, most of the girls don’t anyway.

There are a couple of girls that some of my classmates told me to be wary of. They are suspected of being lesbians, and one of them seems to like me, though she hasn’t done anything but be friendly to me, so far.

Gad, you would not believe the pressure, the peer pressure in this school to get good marks. I’d never seen a school where all the students were aggressive go getters who were out to succeed. They are very beautiful, and so pretty and so very dainty, but, boy, do they know how to cut into each other with just a few words, sometimes. They seem to be jealous of every petty little thing. I hate to say it, Diary, but, the pettyness seems like such sissiness, that I love it. It is so unboylike. Boys like to fight out the aggressions. Girls just don’t seem to ever forget any little detail about each other. I feel like I fit right in, though, fortunately, I have not had an occasion to be snarkey to anyone, yet. I hope I don’t, but, I like this way of dealing with aggressive or jealous feelings, so very much nicer than the way guys deal with things. I belong in these circumstances. I am certain now that I should never have been a boy.

I know to that I am always hard, because, I have the privilege of experiencing a life that is so completely satisfying to me, and, yet, it is not my right to live this life. I am sure that these girls would tear me to pieces if they ever found out that I had not the right to be in their society. But, I cannot help feeling so stimulated by the circumstances that I am living in. I would trade everything, if I had to, to be allowed to grow up as a normal girl.

I hear them talk, and, I think that girls hate guys like me more than guys do. They make such catty remarks about the fairies. Like, for instance, last week, in the bathroom, I overheard Marsha. She was telling another girl, Vivian about this guy she met at a school dance over at the Tech. I happened to be in the stall at the time, and they thought that they were alone. Well, Marsha started telling her about how faggy this guy was. He was a "blueblooded limp-wristed Nancy", was her expression. They giggled as Marsha related how her boyfirend, Rod, was going to get this faggot a place on the wrestling team. Rod said that they were sure to win the trophy, because, he would win every match.

Vivian giggled and asked how it was possible for a prissy fairy to win a wrestling match.

"It’s a secret hold. None of the other guys would ever dream of using this hold."

"So, what hold is it, Marsh?"

"It’s putting a liplock on the love muscle." They just roared. Inside the stall, I smiled. I could not help but remember how helplessly my friend acted, when I had put a liplock on his love muscle. Maybe Rod was right about the school trophy. I was not going to volunteer though. I was fast learning that Sandra was rare in the world. Girls, even though dainty and pretty looking, on their insides, could be as hard as a rock. A lot of guys would have trouble matching them for hard heartedness, especailly when it came to fairies. They hated the thought of a guy sharing their world. I could understand that. Look what I was willing to sacrifice for the chance to share their world. It was worth it. If I were a real girl, I would probably feel the same way they did.

I have determined that I would not get too friendly with the girls in my class. I would have to do that, just for self preservation. Just being equal with them in all other areas seemed to be a very fulfilling and satisfying experience. I would just keep to myself, do the best I could in my school work, and continue to be hard because I was a totally effeminated boy, who could not keep himself out of girl’s panties, literally.

But, Diary, the purpose of writing to you today, is to just tell you that I love being a girl. Something inside of me, like a big bubble that rises to the surface of my psyche, just overwhelms me with a sensation of bliss, whenever I take a moment to look at the way I am dressed, in the classroom. I have half decided that I will never again try to be a boy.

I am just delighted, when I look at my school book, and see the the fingers holding my delicate thin pencil, has long painted nails, and is soft to the touch, and delicate to the eye. My handwriting has changed completely since I have been Karen-Anne. I don’t know whether it is from trying to learn how to adjust for the bracelets I wear, or because my girl self is completely taking over every area of my life. My handwriting now, is pretty, with many swirls and such. I like it. I feel free, when I am expected to conduct myself with limp wrists. I just cannot put into words, how liberated I feel, especially when I know, that I have no choice. I have to never let down my guard. I have to be dainty. I have to be delicate. I have to be as complete a sissy as it is possible for me to be. If I am not, I could get into a lot of real serious trouble. Fortunately, it is not hard for me to be feminine. It is my nature.

I am sure that those pills that Sandra has me take all the time, have their affects to. I know of some of the affects. For one thing, my voice should be changing by now, but it isn’t. I hope it never does. I like the sound of my voice, and, it is high enough to be quite girlish. I hope it never changes.

I am looking around, at this moment, Diary. No one is looking, so I am doing something that I have started to do a lot of in the last couple of weeks. I place my left hand inside my jacket and bend over so that no one can see what I am doing. First, I rub the flat crotch of my skirt, even though I have a raging hard on, my crotch looks and feels like a girl’s. That gets me so excited, but, strangely, the excitement seems, somehow, to be far beyond sexual, although, I am very sore from the hardon in my panties, right at this moment. OOOhh, it hurts.

I can hear the slight rustle of my uniform skirt as it rubs across the satin underslip. I can feel the hem of my skirt moving against the back of my legs, as I rub my girlified crotch.

Slowly, I move my hand upwards, over the right side of my rib cage. I adore the feel of the satin uniform blouse. I pretend that it is my boyfriend’s hand, Diary. My palm opens, and I press hard as my palm covers my right tit. They are big enough now that I can feel them very easily. It feels like a girl’s developing breast. The whole tit is so ultra sensitive. If I was not wearing the training bra, the sensation of the blouse rubbing across my tits would be sheer agony. I am thankful for the bra, believe me.

My nipples are so painfully hard, like little rocks, and ache so, when I cup my tits in my hands like this. I still find it hard to believe that I really do have tits, but, they are mine, and, they are getting bigger. I am going to have to get new bras in a few weeks, if they keep growing the way they are now. I move my palm gently over the fleshyness. It fills my palm. I can feel the lace trim on my slip’s bodice. Diary, it does not seem to matter how long I have been wearing girl’s clothes, I never seem to get used to the idea, and, I get these horribly painful erections. Gad, I do not know which is hurting more, my tits or my clit. I guess this is just all part of growing up. I really hope that my breasts don’t stay sore like this. As for my clit, well, maybe, I will, someday, meet a very understanding Prince Charming, who will like to take me in his mouth, as much as I might like taking him in mine.

It seems lately, that I have been obsessed with two things. One, I seem to be becoming more acutely aware of every little sensation of my clothing on my skin. I am constantly aware of the fact that it is "GIRL’S" clothes that I am in, and, that I have to pass myself off, successfully. I wonder if it is the hormones that is making my skin so sensitive to the materials that I wear.

The other obsession that I seem to be developing, is a fascination with boys. Sometimes, when I pass a boy on the street, I sneak a look at his crotch, and try to guess how big he is. One of the girls told me that you can judge by the size of his hands. If his hands are big, she said, his cock is big. If his hands are small, his cock is small.

I sometimes find myself practicing the facial expressions that the girls told me about, to see if they really do get a reaction. I think, or am beginning to think, that a guy will do just about anything that he is able to, if he thinks that a girl likes him. It just seems that acceptance by a girl, especially a good looking one, is so utterly important to their fragile egos. I have to be careful. My practicisng has gotten me some unwanted attentions. They seem to be ultra sensitive to girls. I find that guys seem to really like just looking at a feminine face, and seem to enjoy the expressions and the emotions that are mirrored on her face. I like the way that they look at mine. I am really beginning to get a sense of what it is to be cute, and to have to relate to a world that thinks of me as cute. It so so ultra different from being nurdy, or, wimpy, the way I used to be.

I like being thought of as cute. I like watching their eyes move over my face, with that little smile that seems to be pleasure at what they see on my face. I know this, from my very limited experience in the soda shoppe after classes, or in the grocery stores, guys want to get along with me, and they like my face. It pleases them. I see their pleasure in the twinkle in their eyes when they look at me. I still have not had to shave. I don’t think I’ll have to, now, ever. That is a relief.

They really try to impress me, sometimes.

Diary, I loooove it. In skirts, I can be myself, my real self. I suppose some people would say I am as queer as a three dollar bill, but, I just adore all the sensations I get to feel, when I am Karen-Anne.

Something else that I love, is the corsets. I am the only girl in school, I think, who wears corsetry. I love the feel of those tight ungiving fingers that are laced around my waist, making it small, and quite girlish. Sandra measured me last night. I am 5’4", 115 lbs., an my measurements are 34 ½ chest, 19 inch waist and 33 inch hips. I am very girlish looking. The pills have made my waist smaller. I remember that when she first bought the corsets for me, my waist could only go down to twenty-four inches. I am also nearly twenty pounds lighter from when I came here last spring. I am getting daintier and more and more helpless in the physical sense. I know that I am losing most of my physical strength. That feels so strange, to be helpless in that sense.

I am in love with my girlishness, there is no doubt about that. I will willingly live this way forever.

My life, at present is so full. Sandra made me sign up for two extra credit courses. One is home economics, and the other is music appreciation. Besides the phys-ed classes three times a week at school, she bought me a tape called Callanetics. I have to get up at six, every morning and do the one hour stretching exercises, before I am allowed to have breakfast. Sandra also has me enrolled at the local college taking a computer programming course. I have very little time to myself.

That is good though. She is also taking extra courses and, so, she is not home a lot of the time. Because of the peer pressure to achieve excellence, I find that I do spend a great deal of the time that I do have at home, studying and reviewing my lessons.

Well, diary, I had better close now. The five minute warning bell for a change of class just went off, and, I do not want to be late for my next class. It is home economics, and, I am learning how to make a skirt. Next week, we start on lingerie.

 

"Miss Brown? How do you feel?"

"Uhhh.....What happened?"

"You had an accident. We have had a doctor in to look you over, and there is no permanent damage, just a little bump on the noggin." The comment was accompanied by a warm smile.

I looked around.

I was in the school infirmary. Then I remembered falling from the parallel bars in gym class.

Fear swept over me. Did they learn my secret?

The only person in the room was the elderly gentleman, Mr. Adams, the dean of the college.

In a moment, Sandra entered the room as well, with a very worried expression on her face. I gathered my resources as Mr. Adams explained to her what had happened. He also explained that in a school like this, such accidents were common place, as the girls were continually striving to outdo each other.

He then asked if I was feeling better.

I was.

He then asked if we would accompany him to his office. He said there were medical release forms that she would have to sign. Sandra waited as I changed from my gym slip to the uniform, and then we followed Mr. Adams to his office.

A bit light headed, I hung on to Sandra’s slim arm as we walked the long stretch of hallway, from the infirmary area to the front office area of the school.

When we entered, he was as cordial as before. He hit an intercom button on a wood box on his desk and told Miss Reynolds, his secretary, that they did not wish to be disturbed. He invited us to sit in the big comfortable leather chairs.

"Well, Miss Brown," he looked at Sandra, "We have a situation here."

"Oh?"

"I have been reviewing Karen-Anne’s file, and I find that she is indeed an excellent student, a girl who will do well for the reputation of our academy. For that reason, I wish for her to continue on. She is obviously excelling in the curriculum here, far superior to her past performance, according to these school records."

Sandra beamed at me. Her pride in me was evident and written all over her pretty face.

"I have also checked with the county registration office, and I have been able to ascertain that, in fact, she holds the legal status of a young lady."

My heart sank and my heart beat in my throat.

"I assume that that was accomplished through your knowledge of the legal ropes that govern such matters?"

"Yes?"

"Well, it has been made very evident to me, that she cannot compete with the girls in some areas, though, in some other areas, she seems to excel in competition with them."

"What are you suggesting, Mr. Adams?"

"Well, am I right in assuming that both of you, especially you, Karen-Anne, wish desperately to continue with this charade of yours?"

We, Sandra and I, looked at each other. We knew that this possibility might come up at some time.

"Mr. Adams, we are quite wealthy. If it’s money you want, let us discuss it." Sandra tried to take over the control.

"Sandra, you misinterpret me."

"Well, then, what is your point?"

"Well, she should not be allowed to continue with her phys-ed classes.

I wish to stress that there are two things we want to accomplish here. One, Karen-Anne wants to continue in this school, as a young co-ed. I have no problem with that, provided my board of governors does not find out."

"And, so Mr. Adams, what will it take to insure that they do not find out?"

"Well...uh...this is a delicate matter."

"Just spit it out, and we will decide."

"You are, aware, Sandra, that you to, could be held on criminal charges, for falsifying public records?"

"Yes. I thought that that was an acceptable risk, to see some joy and happiness finally come into my brother’s life."

"I admire your love for him...ah...her. I am an old man now. My wife died many years ago. I am very lonely, as well. I am also, a bit of a lecherous old man. Seeing the pretty girls about me all day is one of the few pleasures left to me in my life."

"Get to your point, Mr. Adams."

"Well, I would like it if Karen-Anne would consent to come to my house on occasion, say, one weekend a month, just to keep me company."

"You are a leach, aren’t you."

"Well, with all due respect, young ladies, I am not the one with something to hide, am I?"

Sandra looked at me. "Well, K-A, it is your decision. If you want to stay in school, you are going to have to go and suck off this old fart one weekend a month."

"What do you think that I should do?"

"It is up to you, Dear. Personally, I don’t think it’s such a bad deal. If we ever need his help, he is willing to help us, even if it is to his own benefit. I guess the only thing that you have to decide, is, whether or not you are girl enough yet to suck off this old geyser. Actually, the question is not whether you are girl enough to hit up this guy, it is, whether you are girl enough to want to do this thing. I know that you view yourself as a girl, but, are you also queer enough to do it?"

"I’ve sucked a cock before, Sandra."

"Well, considering how easily you took to the feminine role I wanted for you to live, I am not too surprised. You want to do this? If you don’t, we can try to find something else."

I looked over at Mr. Adams. "Will you treat me gently, like I was a real girl?"

"My Dear, when I look at you, I see a real girl."

I smiled, mischievously. "I guess that that means that you are my boyfriend, then, doesn’t it?"

He grinned back. "Well, I guess that I am, aren’t I?"

I looked over at the hopeful and very very leering face that sat behind his desk. "When do you want me to come?"

"Well, this is Thursday. Why not tomorrow night?"

"Okay, but, I want to be home on Saturday night."

"Fine. She will be here to meet you, after school hours tomorrow afternoon. Mr. Adams, you better never let me hear that you have done anything to abuse my sister, or, I guarantee, hell will freeze over before I get even with you."

"Hell hath no fury...."

"You better believe it, Mr. Adams."

That Friday, I sat outside of his office. My pink canvass tote bag rested on the floor, between my high heeled feet. My skirt was tugged modestly down over my knees. My hands were folded gently in my lap and I waited patiently. I was acutely aware of the fact that I was wearing nothing but girl’s clothing, and I had a very very painful erection in my panties.

The air conditioning was on, though it was only May, and the satin of my blouse seemed to pick up the coldness. I was thankful for the blazer of my uniform. Under my skirt, it was not cold, though.

I knew that as the secretaries were leaving, one by one, that when they glanced at me, they were seeing a demure and modest young lady sitting here. Little could they imagine that in my mind’s eye, I was seeing myself, kneeling submissively before my college dean, and lovingly placing gentle kisses on his cock. I hated the fact, that, though I knew I was being forced into this activity, that something inside of me...wanted to do it. It astounded me that I wanted, really wanted to do this. I relished the fact that I was being forced to do it, but, still, I really desired to do this.

Mr. Adams came out of his office about half an hour after the last secretary had left. He smiled at me. I stood, and, nervously, curtsied, as I’d been taught in this school, to do, at the entrance of an authority figure into the room.

"No one in their right mind would ever ever believe that you are a boy. You are just so delightfully dainty, not to mention, pretty, that I can understand that you would have a great deal of difficulty trying to live in the harsh world of the male animal."

"Thank you, Sir." My ears rang and my soul sang at his words of praise. If this was an ensample of my days with Mr. Adams, I may very well enjoy them a great deal more than I had already fantasized that I would. He made me feel...dainty.

He came over and stood in front of me.

Mr. Adams was not a thin man, but, it did not look like he was fat either. As I looked at the three piece grey silk and wool suit that covered his body, I wondered if, even at his age, which must be in the sixties, he worked out in a gym. At my 5’ 4" I felt positively petite, standing in front of this man that must be close to 5’ 9" tall. I saw a hard on twitching in his pants.

He saw that I saw it. He smiled at me.

"That is for you, Karen-Anne. That is what you have made me feel all day, just thinking about what it would be like to put my arms around you, and squeeze you tightly, and kiss those pretty lips of yours."

He took a step towards me, and, I had to look up to see his eyes. I watched his eyes as I felt his hands slide under my blazer and encircle my waist. He gently pulled me to him. I did not resist him. I wanted him. He pressed his hard cock into my belly. I felt flattered that I could make such a dignified man act like that.

Involuntarily, my arms had slid up the front of his suit and around his neck, before I even realized what I was doing. I moved my belly, to tease at that cock, the way the girl’s I’d listened to, had said that they do it, on the dance floor.

My eyes closed and I hungrily sucked on that tongue as he slid it past my lips.

I knew I was behaving like a girl.

I knew I was behaving, in a way, that was normal for me, even if I was a boy. A tinge of guilt at my betrayal of boyhood flashed across my mind, but, just as his hands were tracing and caressing along the bra straps under my blouse, so, they caressed away those unwelcome feelings to.

Uncontrollably, I moaned. I wanted him to take me home, and to make passionate love with me.

Mr. Adams, however, wanted to tease me, first.

"Are you wearing something to hold you back between your legs, something to hide your little secret, Karen-Anne?"

"Yes."

"I want you to take it off."

"But, if I do, everyone who sees me will know that I am a boy in a girl’s school uniform."

"Let me worry about that, okay?"

"Okay, Sir," I answered dubiously.

I turned my back to him, raised my skirt, and worked the apparatus down my legs. When I stood up, an erection was jutting the front of my satin panties out, obscenely. It felt delightful to be free. It felt even nicer when I saw how he looked at me, with sheer lust in his gentle brown eyes.

I placed the tiny but strong elasticised aparatus in my left blazer hip pocket. I stood, passively, submissively, and let Mr. Adams reach out, and wrap his strong fingers around the bulge in my skirt. I nearly swooned with the ecstacy that rippled over me.

I was being accepted, as a boy, wearing girl’s clothes, behaving like a girl, and, wanting to do what girls do. This man was accepting me for just exactly who I was, and, he was making me feel so very good about my wanting to live as a girl. I just knew that he could do anything that he wanted to with me, and that I would accept it as a form of love.

He kissed my lips again, then bent down to pick up my pink canvass tote bag, put his arm around my shoulders and walked me to the front doors. I waited for him to lock the doors, then he accompanied me to his car.

He opened the passenger side for me, and smiled when he saw my skirt ride up to reveal the frothy white lace on my basic beige silk slip, as I slid across the seat. I felt so dainty, exposed and, vulnerable...and, I loved it.

Mr. Adams tossed my tote bag into the back seat, then went around to the driver’s side of the car. When he got in, he looked around furtively, realized that no one was around, and bent over to kiss my lips again, while his left hand fondled the bulge in my skirt again. He rubbed me, grinding the girl cloth into my penis, making femininely rustly noises from the friction of my undergarments sliding across each other.

"Take me to your house, Mr. Adams," I sighed.

"Why? Are you that desperate to get those pretty little lips around my cock?"

I looked at him. He was smiling. There was no point in lying to him.

He would find out soon enough anyway.

"Yes."

He laughed. "Karen-Anne, you are not only pretty and graceful, you have a delightful capacity for candor. You just delight me because of the way you are."

He decided to tease me. He drove up to a McDonalds and ordered some cheese burgers for us. We ate in the parking lot. He kept reaching over to rub the front of my skirt. I wished that I had the courage to reach over and feel that big tool of his. I wanted to, but, the intensity of the teachings of modesty in the school, prevented me from doing it. After all, this was a school that placed great pride in turning out young ladies that were a credit to the academy for their whole lives. They made their living by their reputation, and, the girls who graduated, were ladies, regardless of the way some like Marsha talked in the can, they were still ladies. Not only that, but, there was also an overwhelming attitude, that young ladies were passive, docile, and serving of men. No one ever said it, but, we, all of us girls, felt it. I had been at the school long enough that this feeling towards men had already been ingrained, and, so, I waited patiently for him. I hoped that he liked the results of his school’s training in me. It made me feel a bit more of a lady to wait for him to decide when he wanted me to suck it for him. I just wanted it to be sooner than later.

Finally, we drove off to his home.

He lived in a beautiful large house on the outskirts of the city. I was delighted to see where I would spend the weekend. It took nearly an hour for him to familiarize me with the house and its facilities. He had an indoor swimming pool and a small gym.

Finally, the time came.

"Karen-Anne, would you like to go swimming?"

"I did not bring a suit with me."

"Would you be a Dear, and indulge me. I have a little fantasy that I would like to have acted out."

"Uhh...sure, I guess so."

"Well, do you remember, on the third floor, where all the bedrooms are?"

"Yes?"

"Well, there is one room that we did not look into. Do you remember it?"

"Yes."

"Well, that was my daughter’s room. She died about thirty years ago, in the mid fifties. She was your age then. I could never bring myself to throwing her things away...."

I could see that he was experiencing great emotion and having trouble managing it. I felt tender towards him.

"Mr. Adams, would you like for me to pretend to be her for you?"

It was like I’d won a prize or something, the way he reacted. His face nearly lit up. He almost slobbered over me, as he thanked me for being so understanding. For me, it was totally selfish. I’d fantasized many many hours, of what it must be like to be a teenager in the fifties, wearing things like long crinolines under poodle skirts. Girls dressed like girls then. I nearly hit the roof at the possibility that such a fantasy could actually come true, with the real thing, clothes that a teenager had actually worn at that time in history.

I took my tote bag up the stairs to that room, wondering what I would find in there. It was a bit musty, but, it was clean. I opened a window to let the spring breezes in. Her room, Shannon had been her name, was a dream come true. It was like the room or boudoir of a fairy princess.

There were pictures of Shannon on the dresser. She was not gorgeous, but, not too many guys would turn her down either. Her hair was long on the sides and the back, with those short little bangs that girls seemed to prefer then. She wore glasses with really pointed frames.

The furniture was all in a white with a gold antique motif. Two bureaus, one with drawers and drawers of lingerie, the other full of sweaters and neatly folded shorts and halter tops. Here, I also found swimsuits and boxes of jewelry.

Off to one side were two doors. One led into a beautiful bathroom, delicately tiled in pink, white and black, with flowers painted everywhere. It had a toilette, sink, vanity, bidet, and a shower/bath.

The other door led to a huge walk in closet. There were rows and rows of full skirted dresses with crinolines, prom gowns, and ordinary school dresses. One small section had three pairs of slacks on hangers. Shannon obviously was not a girl who liked wearing pants very much. I could understand that. I have not had on a pair of pants, even girl’s pants, for over eight months, now. Of the slacks that were there, two were lame peddle-pushers, the kind that are skin tight and reached to mid-calf. I wanted to see what those felt like, to wear, but, I would wait. I’d seen pictures of girls in them, and I had always thought that they were not only sexy, but very feminine. I checked to see if they had a zipper up the back. They did. I could tell that like the pictures that I had seen, the waist was high, and would expose a large expanse of tummy at the front. They also looked like they were new, as did all of the clothing here. Shannon was a girl who knew how to care for things. Her father must really have appreciated that.

In all, there were four rows of dresses and skirts. I did not count them but, I was sure there were at least twenty outfits per rack. It was a transvestite’s dream, and, I was living it. I just knew I would be able to wear all of these delightfully feminine clothes over the next few months. Mr. Adams, if he liked me enough, might even give some of them to me, I hoped. The closet, though not used in a long time, still retained a delicate scent of perfume in the air.

The back wall of the closet had a recessed clothes rack. There must have been ten or twelve coats in various styles hanging there. Beside them, were drawers containing purses, scarves and gloves. Neatly arrayed under the coats were shoes of all descriptions, including those black and white saddle shoes that girls seemed to favor back then. There were sandals with sky high heels, loafers, running shoes and flat sandals, not to mention snow boots, some would be knee high.

I felt as though I had fallen into a treasure trove.

I took my clothing off, and hung everything up neatly in this closet, then went out to the bedroom again. The bed looked marvelous. It was fourposter, with a satin ruffled canopy, satin ruffled comforter and lace trimmed pillows, all of it in pink and white. Sitting neatly were three very pretty bride dolls. Shannon was one very well treated young lady. I envied her for a moment, till I realized, her father wanted me to take her place for a while. That, I would willingly do. I just hoped that if he decided to spank me, that it would not be too hard.

I went over to the record player, and turned it on. It worked. I put on a long play record, and let the soothing rock and roll temper my fantasy. Then, I rooted in the drawers again. First, I needed a waist nipper. I found one, and I laced it so tightly that I was not sure if I would be able to bend over in it. I selected a pink satin swimsuit. It had a white stripe going from the left shoulder strap to the right hip. It had a little skirt of about six inches, that flipped about prettily. The bra cups were lined with a rubber padding. Her clothes fit me well. My breasts looked a good deal bigger than they normally did, but, I was not unpleased. My besatined bum reflected light from its curves, prettily, also.

I found a pair of beach sandals and tied the laces about my ankles. I draped a satin beach robe over my shoulders, picked up a pink beach bag, stuffing a purse and some towels into it.

I located a bathing cap and stuffed my long hair up into it. I decided to put on some bracelets, then, walked down the stairs.

Mr. Adams was laying on a deck chair, naked, absentmindedly handling himself. He smiled when he saw me.

I dropped my bag, shimmied out of the robe, loosed my sandals, took one longing look at his erection, and dove into the water. I relished the feel of the tugging of the water at my shoulderstraps. In only seconds, he was following me. When I came up for air, I felt his arms encircle me from behind.

"Did you like what you found in Shannon’s room, Karen-Anne?"

"Mr. Adams, for a girl like me, that was like walking into a bit of heaven. I hope that I will be able to wear everything that is in there."

In the water’s buoyancy, he lifted me a bit. When I settled back down, pulled tightly against his torso, his cock was poking between my legs. I could not help myself. I lay my head back on his shoulder and moaned. His lips were nibbling at my ears, and his hands were busy. The right one was exploring my breasts while the left one was gently massaging my imprisoned cock. I squeezed my legs, wondering, at how strange it felt to have someone elses cock between my legs. I liked it. I loved what he was doing to me, and I yielded, passively, enjoying that I was being made love to.

"I want you to pretend to be my daughter, okay?"

"You want me to be Shannon?"

"No. I want you to be Karen-Anne, my daughter. I want you to wear Shannon’s clothes. If you were my daughter, I would have bought them for you anyway."

"Promise not to spank me, Daddy?" I moved my head to let him better access to my neck. I loved the way he was nipping at me with his teeth. His tongue tickled my nape. I was his.

"When you need, it, I will put you over my knee, and paddle that pretty pantied bum for you, Karen-Anne. I promise you that. Now, this is enough exercise for today. Go and get into something pretty for dinner. Take your time, as I have to drive into the city to get it."

I managed to get off his cock, and turn in his arms. I ran my arms up around his neck, and lovingly kissed him. I whispered into his ear, "Yes, Daddy."

I felt his cock on my belly, and, I wanted it. He helped me from the pool, by pushing at my bum, and gave me a playful pat as I stood.

About an hour and a half later, I descended to the dining room. I rustled loudly. My skirt bounced from all the crinolines under it, with every movement of my knees. I had found something rare, a pair of bloomers in the purest white silk, decorated at the knees with delicate white lace and woven red ribbons. The waist buttoned with dainty white pearly buttons. They were so delightful, that just feeling them sliding up over my silk stockings had nearly made me orgasm.

My dress was an off the shoulder, in royal blue satin. The bodice was a ruffle of some gauzy material. At the left hip was a large rosebud of the same color and material as my dress.

Under the dress, I was securely laced into a very tight victorian style corsolette. The padding pushed my breasts up, so that they protruded in milky white mounds from the bodice of my dress. The hem fell to nearly mid-calf length. I wore three satin crinolines under the skirt, which flared out and caressingly danced over my silk encased legs, with every step. I felt like I was in a movie, the way this lovely dress moved about with even the slightest of movements on my part.

The gown fit me, snugly, emphasizing my enhanced cleavage and the narrow waist, by its flaring skirt. I felt lovely, and, I knew I was moving about as though I were a princess. The skirt flared so much that even my engorged cock was not discernable under it. I had not tied it up, as I usually did, because, I wanted for Mr. Adams to feel it again, like he did in the foyer of his office, after he’d made me remove the gaff.

Besides that, the weight of my petticoats under the dress, ground the silk of my bloomers into my penis in the most delightful fashion. I just could not resist feeling this. It was so ultra feminine, I nearly swooned when I thought about it.

I walked daintily. I had no choice. I was perched on blue satin slippers with 4" heels, tied by a delicate strap about my ankles. The only way to keep my balance was to take tiny steps, carefully, one foot, in front of the other, sliding the sole of the shoe along the carpet, directly in front of the other foot. I noted that this way of walking also caused my skirt to not only bounce foreward, but, to swish sideways at the same time, as my hips were made to thrust foreward with each dainty step. Every step was accompanied by the rustling of my undergarments.

I’d found some old magazines that showed some pretty uses for ribbons, interwoven in the hair. I’d experimented, and was quite pleased with the results. Sandra had taught me enough of the basics of coiffuring long hair, that I was able, without too much difficulty, to accommodate some of these designs. My hair was piled from the sides onto the top, and the back tresses, bounced in large waves on my bare shoulders and back. On my head, I had pinned a blue satin pillbox hat, with a delicate net veil that reached to my nose.

I floated amidst a cloud of delicately scented perfume. I’d adorned my wrists and fingers with flashy rings, delicately jangly silver bracelets, and an ultra delicate silver wrist watch.

A very thin, almost invisible gold chain suspended a dainty heart shaped locket, just at the point where my cleavage started. I was an actress, loving her role.

I also wore Shannon’s pointed glasses, decorated with rhinestones at

the corners. I was vampy, and I loved it. This was heaven, to be able

to wear such delightfully sensuous clothing, and, to feel so pretty. I

knew by the look on his face when I made my grand entrance to the

dining room that

Mr. Adams was also as enthralled with my prettyness as I was.

He stood, pulled a chair out for me. I swooshed up my voluminous and loudly rustling skirts, and sat, daintilly, as he moved the chair back for me.

He served the salad first. As I ate, he stared at me.

"Karen-Anne, you really, I mean, really, from the depth of your soul, enjoy being such a pretty, dainty girl, don’t you?"

I looked at him. He was not making fun of me. He had a questioning look on his face, as though he were totally amazed that a boy could feel the things that I was feeling.

With a delicate jangle of my new bracelets, I put my left hand out and touched his right wrist, caressingly.

"Mr. Adams, I feel like I have died and gone to heaven."

"Uh...not Mr. Adams, okay?"

"Yes, Sir...uh...Daddy."

"Good Girl. Now, finish up, lest I be tempted to turn you over my knee and spank you, for wasting your food."

He looked at me. "You know, Karen-Anne, I just bet that you would like for me to turn you over my knee and spank you, wouldn’t you? Be honest now."

I blushed, but, managed to look him in the eye.

"Well, if it did not...hurt...too much...I might."

We ate, enjoying our roles with each other. Every sentence, I made a point of calling him Daddy, and I could see that Mr. Adams was eating up my treatment of him. I still wanted desperately for him to make love to me, but, I was very thankful that he was making the night drag out to such a delightful experience of sensuous sensation for me. I knew that I would be looking foreward to coming here again next month.

Here was a man who cared enough about me to romance me, not just use me to get his rocks off, though, admittedly, I would have accepted that role readily enough to, from him.

After we ate, I had my first sips of white wine. My heavilly boned corsetting made the idea of eating a big meal a ludicrous one. Consequently, the wine hit me hard and fast. I think it felt the best when we were dancing. He was constantly kissing my neck, my eyes, my cheeks and once in a while would bend over far enough to place his lips on the mounds sticking up out of my dress. What I loved the most though was the feeling of his thighs moving across the front of my dress, gently and romantically caressing my very very painful erection, as we danced.

Then, without warning, I was pulled down, almost rudely, across his thighs, as he went in one movement from dancing with me, to sitting on a couch.

His legs pinnioned mine, so, movement was nearly impossible.

I could hardly believe it. Daddy was actually going to spank me. My weight pressed my cock into his thighs, grinding my girl clothes into it, in a most intoxicating fashion.

I felt and heard my skirts and peticoats being raised, to expose my delicate underpants. He sighed, audibly when he saw what panties I was wearing. His fingers very gently explored my inner thighs and my protruding derriere.

I braced myself for my first spanking, as a girl. His hand came down with a near whistle, and I felt the solid smack in the form of a very sharp sting, that drove me down onto his knees.

It hurt and he was serious about spanking me.

"Oooooo", I cried. It was so sore, he was making tears come to my eyes. But I had a bigger fear. He was going to make me cum in these beautiful clothes. I desperately did not want to soil such lovely garments. I struggled to get loose, but, all it did was aggravate the grinding of my feminine underclothing into my engorged last remaining seven inches of boyhood.

I blubbered out, "Daddy...please stop...you’re going to...you’re going to make me cum...ahhhh...I can’t hold it much more...please Daddy....please...please stop...pleeeaase."

His spanking suddenly increased in intensity. He wanted me to associate the pleasure of sexual orgasm with the feeling of helpless girlishness on her father’s knee, I realized. He wanted me to identify wild sensual pleasure with firm discipline and the feelings associated with delicate pretty clothing.

I was overcome with the feelings of being helpless. This combined with the utter delightlfully sensuousness of the clothing I was wearing, and the romanticism that had preceeded this point, and, I had to admit, the eroticism of those painful slaps, overwhelmed me.

I screamed, the sensation was so intense. I loosed what felt like a gallon of sticky cum into my lovely drawers. The grinding continued as his hand continued to spank my besilked derriere. I fainted, the orgasm was so intense.

When I came to again, I was sitting on his knee, my arms around his neck, and he was kissing me, whispering about what a beautiful and feminine girl child I was.

Involuntarily, I responded. "Daddy, I love you. Thank you."

Now, it was my Daddy’s turn. Suddenly, I became aware of his engorged cock, poking at my sensitive besilked bum cheeks.

"Daddy, will you...let me...suck you...your cock?"

"Do you really, really really want to, Karen-Anne? I do not want you to do it because you have to, though you do have to. I want you to please me because, somewhere, deep inside of you, there is a girl that desperately wants to please a man in that way."

"It is all I’ve been thinking about today. All day I had a picture of myself kneeling in front of you, and making love to your cock with my lips, my tongue, and my mouth. Oh, and, now, after you have treated me like this, I want very very much to please you, and to taste you."

I got up, and stood watching him as he started to undress. I hurried to do it for him. In only a few minutes, I had my Daddy naked. He was again sitting on the couch, this time, his bum cheeks on the edge of the cushions.

His loving daughter, in a loud rustling, frou-froued her skirts and settled to her knees, dress splayed out around her, between his knees, lovingly massaging his shaft for him. He lay back and gave himself over to the sensations that I was giving him. I felt flattered at his shudderings.

I lowered my head and gently paid homage to this man of mine. I kissed and adored his real man cock. I’d never have anything like this. I did not want one. But, I wanted to pay homage to this one.

Then I licked the head and slid it into my mouth. I sucked, with love, for the sole purpose of pleasing this man, my Daddy. I was his girl/son, and his lover.

My tongue moved delicately over the shaft as I moved my head up and down, trying hard, to suck it out of him.

"Oh, Baby...can you suck a cock. You have got to be the best cocksucker that I ever met...."

I raised my head. "I want to be the best cocksucker my Daddy ever had." I smiled and quickly filled my mouth with him again.

When I finally made him cum, he grabbed my head and drove into me like I was a cunt. I could not breathe. I wanted to swallow his cum, but I could not even breathe, let alone swallow those gobs he was spewing into my mouth. I thought for a moment that I might even die, it took him so long to get it all out of him, into my mouth. But, I was servicing him, like I would, if I had been a real cunt. I was drawing his sperm out of him and into my body. I felt so very womanly at that moment. I was his cocksucking daughter, and I knew I would willingly do this for him again and again. I loved his taste.

I admitted to Sandra, that I had had a weekend that was like a dream, and, she noted the dreamy look on my face when I told her when Mr. Adams would pick me up again.

Her only comment was to give me pack of Trojans. She told me that she did not want her little sister coming home carrying some old man’s baby in her belly.

Mr. Adams told me that considering about AIDS and all that, it would be good for me to get into the habit of using condoms, regardless of whose cock I was sucking.

Mr. Adams and I increased my monthly visits to last from Friday afternoons to Monday mornings. I have worn everything in those closets, including those most delightful lame peddle-pusher pants. They are a dream, really they are.

Mr. Adams has also let me wear his wife’s clothes to.

If he is still in good health, Sandra has agreed to let me move in with him, provided that he still wants me to, in three and a half years, when I turn eighteen, if I am graduated from the Michael’s Academy for Girls.

Sandra and Mr. Adams, are even starting to like each other. I love them both.

Sandra wants me to get a boyfriend my own age though, but she is willing to let things transpire as they are, as long as I enjoy the circumstances, and, I readily assure her that I do.

END

 

© 2001
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