The Most Natural Thing in the World             by: Michelle C.

 

Part 2

 

Now that we were finally naked, Mommy took me by the hand and led me to her marble walk-in shower and gave me a good scrubbing. "You may be 100% girl," she said, "but there’s still some boy gook left." She shampooed my blonde hair a couple of times and put a sweet-smelling conditioner on it and I put my hands on her strong shoulders as she washed vigorously between my legs with a washcloth and rose scented soap.

"Show me how you fix yourself, baby," she said, patting my little boy thing. I popped my ovaries in and tucked myself, holding on to her arm for support. I stood in front of her, watching as the steamy water cascaded down her gorgeous body. The water seemed to funnel to her middle, causing a clear waterfall to flow from her glorious pussy. I wanted to get on my knees and slurp it up.

She pushed me gently backwards until my bare fanny touched the cold marble, and ran her eyes over my body. She stared at my tucked little pussy. "Pretty," she said. "Not bad at all. You’ve been practicing." "Yes," I said, "every chance I get. That’s how I want it to look, Mommy, like yours." She laughed, and reached down and ran a finger between the little lips of my empty sack, my proud girl cleft. My knees almost buckled. She took her finger out and put it to my mouth. I licked it from top to bottom and then gave it a kiss.

"Devil!" She said, laughing. "Here, we can improve things a little. Stand still, Michelle." It was the first time she’d called me Michelle, and I loved that she’d done it so casually. She took her ladies razor, knelt down and delicately shaved what little pubic hair I had. "Natural blonde, too," she said, intent on her work. She washed me off, made a few more light swipes and said, "You’ll like that. Yes you will." I looked down and saw a delicate little pubic tuft. I liked that it didn’t looked shaved; it looked natural, like a very young girl just entering puberty.

She lifted my arms and ran her hands down my armpits. "Smooth as a baby," she said, and reached down and stoked my legs, "Just a little girly down. Sweet…. Now," she said, "Turn around and put your hands on the wall there. Good. Now lean back a little."

"Listen carefully to what I’m going to say, honey," she said. She reached between the cheeks of my bottom and caressed me. Her hand felt sublime and it was all I could do to concentrate on what she was saying. "This is…well, you can’t be 100% girl right now, not really. But you’re coming close, sweetie, so close. And this," her finger found my rosebud and I shuddered. "You already know, don’t you, baby. You already know how important this will be to your girl life. This is your real pussy, isn’t it?" She slipped her soapy finger into me about an inch. "Oh! Oh!" I involuntarily pushed backward, wanting more. "Hold on," she laughed, giving me one little thrust before plopping her finger out. "That’s not what we’re up to here. What we’re up to is a little mother-daughter talk about feminine hygiene." Hearing those words made me tremble. I felt like I’d taken another step into femininity of the most intimate, secret kind. I turned around and put my arms around her and hugged her and said, "Tell me Mommy. Tell me everything. I’ll listen like a good girl."

And I did, and she did, holding me tight while the water ran over our joined bodies. She told me, almost whispering in my ear, about staying fresh, about my new need to douche regularly, and what kind of scent I should use, and she told me about special enemas, and how my period would probably get in synch with her’s and Sharon’s, and different tampons for different days and pantyliners and she slid her hand to my front and took hold of my little boything and said, "And this—you really need to think about this, honey, so much of being a girl is mental—this is your clitoris. Here, turn around and feel Mommy’s." I quickly turned and fell to my knees. "Here, feel here," she said, pulling her pussy lips apart so I could see her pink little nub. I pressed it with my index finger. I could hear her gulp. "That’s right. Your’s is a little bigger than Mommy’s. You’re a big girl, you’re lucky that way." I gave it a lick before she pulled me up.

"There’s more, lots more," she said, "but…we’ll get to that when the time comes." I kissed her cheek. "Thank you Mommy. So much. For everything."

 

We got out of the shower and dried off. As we were finishing, I said, "Mommy, can I ask you a question?" "Of course, baby. I told you never to be afraid, didn’t I? Anything. Ask away." "Well…I was wondering. I mean, well, if I’m going to be a girl now, and I know there’s all kinds of stuff to decide and things like that, but…but what about Daddy? What’s he going to think? Maybe…he’ll just hate it."

"He’s coming home Monday morning, sweetheart. It’s only Saturday. Don’t worry. I…I don’t want to speak for him. This is an important thing. He’ll love you no matter what, I promise. It’ll be all right. Let’s have fun, okay? It’s too beautiful a day to worry about things we can’t do anything about."

I didn’t like her answer, but I couldn’t really expect anything more reassuring. I knew Daddy wasn’t going to hate me, and, even when I stood in the doorway after I’d been caught and mentally fended off legions of psychotherapists, I knew even then that Mommy and Daddy were broadminded and loving people. I remembered about a year before, when we’d been in the Club locker room after playing tennis and one of the men had started telling a joke about fags, and Daddy had said, "Dennis, listen to me. No jokes like that in front of my son, or in front of me. Ever." And the man had apologized and Daddy tousled my hair and said, "I hate that stuff. Always have." And I knew that my parents had gay and lesbian friends because they came over for dinner lots of times, and when the principal of my school announced he was gay, Daddy and Mommy both made a point of hugging him after a school assembly, and I knew all that, but I was still worried. This was different.

But. It was a beautiful day, too beautiful and momentous to ruin with worry. So I kissed Mommy and said, "Yes, let’s have fun."

 

 

Chapter Two

We spent the rest of the day doing girl things. I asked her shyly if I could wear the panties and bra she’d played tennis in. "I want to feel you close to me, Mommy." "Sure, baby," she said, "let me help you." I tucked myself in, just like it was the most natural thing in the world, and I shivered when I felt the still moist crotch of her panties snuggle up against me. They were too large, but we kept them up with a thin elastic belt and stuffed the bra with some old panties from her hamper and I felt like I was swimming in warm Mommy-air.

She played with my hair, snipping and styling, and I ended up with a nice pageboy. She showed me how to do my makeup better. "You have naturally feminine features, honey, and your eyelashes hardly need any help at all, but…." We went down and fixed some lunch and giggled and spent the afternoon curled up on the couch, just Mommy and daughter, dressed in panties and bras on a hot summer day, watching a video of "Gone With the Wind," one of Mommy’s favorites. I rested my head on her shoulder and she put her arm around me and we agreed that Clark Gable was a very sexy man and that Vivian Leigh was a very sexy woman.

There’s a dreamy scene where Scarlett wakes up in her big satiny bed after being ravaged by Rhett. She smiles, eyes closed, remembering being taken the night before. When I saw that I lifted up and kissed Mommy on the lips, and thought, naively: I know about that.

Towards evening I began to sense that Mommy was growing a little distant. Not less loving, but somehow distracted. "She’s thinking about Daddy," I thought, "she’s worrying." I decided not to push things, not to be too clingy. I knew that I had at least one ally in the family, and the rest would have to take its course. There was no going back.

After a light dinner, just some salad and French bread, I told Mommy I was tired and was going to go to my room. "It’s been a big day, sweetie. You must be tired. Mommy’s tired, too." I wanted so much to sleep in her bed that night, but somehow I knew it was best if I didn’t ask. "Why don’t you borrow a nice nightgown from Sharon, and I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?" I gave her a hug and a chaste little kiss, and scurried upstairs.

 

 

Chapter Three

The next morning I woke with the sun streaming through the windows of my room. I could feel Sharon’s silk nightgown floating on my body and, eyes still closed, I snuggled my pillow, feeling like Scarlett, remembering lying next to Mommy, remembering my delicious little girl-spasms, remembering her intimate girl talk in the shower, remembering pressing my bottom against her and her nails scratching my arched back. But, like Scarlett, I had to open my eyes, and when I did, my dreamy feelings were replaced by anxiety about Daddy’s return.

Feeling lonely, I slipped out of bed and down the hallway to her room. The door was closed, and I debated. No, I thought, don’t push yourself on her. Let it happen naturally. So I turned around and headed to Sharon’ room. I’ll just act normally, like any girl, I thought, and casually took off my nightgown, peed and yawned and slipped in a tampon (just because….), put on a nice pair of flowered panties and bra, a favorite denim skirt and thin summer blouse, added some makeup, slipped on a pair of white sandals, and went downstairs to have breakfast.

I puttered around all morning while Mommy’s door stayed closed. I lay on the bed in my room leafing through some of Sharon’s teen magazines, intent on just being a normal 13-year old girl, kind of bored, doing girl things, comparing hair styles, wondering how I’d look in the fashions, picking up silly little hints on pleasing my boyfriend.

Sharon’s room was gloriously girly, but mine was Spartan. Since I couldn’t decorate it like I really wanted, couldn’t put up posters of dreamy guys, or ballerinas, and since I didn’t want to be staring up at sports posters or cars or anything like that, I opted for simplicity. A nice framed picture of an alpine scene, a computer, and lots of bookshelves. Reading had always been my escape. Lots of science fiction, a full set of the Encyclopedia Britannica, which I used to leaf through by the hours, soaking up information, some adventure tales when I was in one of my tomboy moods, and, on the top shelf, hidden in full sight, a copy of my favorite book, John Rechy’s "City of Night."

I’d found it in a garage sale, jumbled up with kids books and old cookbooks with garish color illustrations. Speed reading the back cover, I knew right away that I needed this book. My heart raced as I randomly scooped up a few other books, and nonchalantly paid two dollars for them and wondered if the owner, a kind of attractive older man—he was maybe in his early 30s, but then again, I had just turned twelve--was looking up at me from his folding chair with a smile because I was a cute kid, or because I was buying a book about gay hustling in Los Angeles in the 1950s.

Reaching on tiptoe to pluck it from its hiding place, I thought back to that man at the garage sale. He was wearing tight jeans and a clean white t-shirt. He had a sweet smile and the bluest eyes. I wondered what would have happened if he’d said, "I have more like this back in the house, would you like to see them?" and I’d glanced up and said, "Sure," and he’d taken me into his room and showed me his collection then put his arm around me and said, "You like this stuff, don’t you?" And I would have said, "I guess so," and he would have put his hand between my legs and felt my little clitoris and said, "More than guess, kid," and taken me in his arms and kissed me and I would have smelled his man odor and felt his big tongue in my mouth and I would have put my thin arms around his neck and….

I clutched the book to my chest and sunk to my bed. Oh.

I turned to the section I loved so much, the part where the gay hustler hangs out with a group of transvestites and goes to parties with them and describes them necking on the couch with young sailors, and gushing about their sugar daddies and wearing little babydolls like it was the most natural thing in the world, and how they fantasized about walking down the stairs in their bridal gowns and being a good little wife for some strong, caring man, and doing all the things good little wives do for their husbands.

Racing back home on my bike that day, peddling furiously out of town and down the leafy lane that led to our house, and turning into our long driveway and scampering up to my room and diving into that book and coming to the part about people like me, girls like me, not particularly happy girls--but I quickly caught on to how society pushed people like me away, and how we had to live on the margins, at least back then--and reading and thinking of myself in a flimsy babydoll, making out with a young sailor on a tatty old couch, and being oh so swishy and flirty, I knew I wasn’t alone, that there were others like me, probably lots of them, and that it was only a matter of time….

I could hear Mommy walking down the staircase. Finally, I thought. I straightened myself up, took a deep breath, and joined her downstairs in the kitchen.

She was in her tennis dress, standing by the counter, talking on the phone. She smiled, and motioned me to wait a second as she finished her conversation. I sat, knees together primly, until she hung up and turned to me. "You look sweet, darling. Did you sleep well?" I nodded. "I forgot to tell you, baby, I have a return match at the Club, then dinner. So…I guess I’ll be gone the rest of the day. Will you be all right here alone?" I nodded again.

"Okay then, I’ve got to get going. Give me a kiss." I did, pouting a little. "Honey, I…I’m…everything will be okay. I’m just a little…Daddy and Sharon are coming home in the morning, and let’s just kind of take things from there, okay sweetie? Everything will be all right, no matter what. You enjoy yourself, today, okay? I’ll probably get home after you’re asleep, so don’t stay up. You want to be fresh for tomorrow. There’s a nice chicken breast in the freezer and some of that potato salad you like. Will that be enough?" I nodded. She fussed with my hair, sighed, gave me a hug and wafted out.

Oh.

 

 

Chapter Four

I woke up early Monday morning, anxious from the get-go, what-ifs jostling in my brain. What if he’s disgusted? What if he pities me? What if he says, okay, but I don’t want to have to see it, it’s just not right? And Sharon, what about her? I wasn’t too worried, somehow, but still…what if she didn’t like me borrowing her things? We’d always gotten along so well, what if she what if she was embarrassed to have a…sister like me? But it was Daddy’s reaction that kept the questions and anxiety surging.

I ran into Mommy’s room practically in tears, and jumped into her bed, invited or not. I snuggled as closely as I could, feeling our nightgowns slither together. "What’s the matter, baby?" she said, drawing me even closer. I sobbed out my whole collection of what-ifs while she stroked my hair and back. When I’d calmed down a little, she kissed my forehead and pulled apart so she could look at me.

"My sweet baby," she said. "They’ll get here about ten. I talked with Daddy on the phone last night. I told him…just a little. So he won’t be too surprised." She leaned over and looked at her bedside clock. "We’ve got lots of time to get ready. You want to be as pretty as you can be for Daddy, don’t you baby?" I nodded. "Okay then, let’s get going."

We had a light breakfast, just a piece of toast and some orange juice. Not much girl chatter today. We were both keyed up, we were both on a mission, and yesterday’s distance between us had closed with a bang. "Okay, kiddo," she said, "upstairs." We went into her bathroom and slipped off our nightgowns. "Now, first things first," she said. She reached into a drawer and pulled out an enema kit. "Fresh and dainty, right?" She laughed, looking into my wide-open eyes, and began filling the bag with warm water.

I was in a state of intense awareness, adrenalin coursing through my veins. She got me on all fours on her fluffy bathmat, told me to arch my back, and lovingly filled me up twice, humming sweetly, cooing at me, watching as I sat on her toilet and let the water out with a gush, sighing and trembling, a little embarrassed, but happy to share this moment with her. And then a third bag, adding a dash or two of her favorite perfume this time, and when she saw the water was crystal clear, she showered and shampooed me and shaved a little between my bottom cheeks.

We dried off and she slathered me with rose scented lotion bent me over and rubbed some on, and into, my little entrance. "That’s the sweetest little pussy any girl ever had," she said. "You can be proud, honey. You should be proud. Fresh and pretty as a daisy." My clitty began to firm up, and she gave it a little swat, "Not now, honey," she said with a smile.

She sat me at her vanity table. Both of us were naked. It seemed so gloriously natural. I was entranced with her presence, as always, but for once I didn’t have to hold myself back from leaping into her arms and smothering her with little girl love. We had work to do.

She puffed out my page boy with a blow dryer, applied some mascara, not much, and a touch of rouge, "Not that you really need it," she said, and coated my lips with pink lipstick, "Ah, "she said, "kissable. Naturally pouty. You’re really lucky to have such full lips," and she looked at the clock and said, "Better get going," and carefully but quickly painted my finger and toenails to match my lipstick and stood back to admire her creation. "If you only knew," she said. "Okay, you stay here while your nails dry, and I’ll get something for you to wear. I know the kinds of things Daddy likes. I ought to know."

While I waited for her I swished my nails in the warm air of her bedroom, feeling like I was getting ready for a prom, or waiting for my handsome sailor to knock on the door and lift me up and plop me on the couch and have his way with me, or, the fantasies coming quickly and freely, waiting for my husband to come home from playing golf, and I’d meet him at the door in a little powder blue sundress with no panties on, already wet between the legs, and I’d leap into his arms and smell his sweat and bite his ear and lead him to the bedroom wordlessly and push him onto the bed and have my way with him….

Mommy came back with an armful of clothes from Sharon’s room. "Okay, dreamy girl, come here." She checked that my polish was dry and held out a pretty blue cotton bra and panty set. "Daddy’s got a thing about cotton panties," she said as she fastened the front snap of the bra.

"Mommy?" I said. "Yes baby, what?" "Could I not put anything in my bra? Just leave it natural? I like to feel…I like how my nipples feel without any padding." She looked at me steadily, arching her eyebrows. "Little devil," she said. "Of course, whatever makes you feel good. Okay now, tuck up." I tucked with a vengeance while she pulled the skimpy panties on. No time for half-measures, I thought, Daddy’s going to get the natural, 100% girl, like it or not. The panties were tight, just the way I liked them. I could feel them creep into the cheeks of my fresh bottom and hold me tight between the legs, giving me a beautifully curved little mons at the front.

She helped me into…oh! An airy, powder blue sun dress with tiny white flowers all over and a hint of lace at the bodice and on the hem and arms, just a stupendous—I was so excited now, awash with adrenaline and anxiety and girlish expectation and love for my sweet Mommy—just a gorgeous little dress, not too, too young but certainly not too old, just perfect. "Daddy really liked this dress when Sharon wore it the first time," she said. "Now, put these on." She handed me a pair of white patent leather shoes with a one-inch heel and a little strap across the top. "He liked these, too," she said. "Now take a look." She guided me to the full-length mirror in front of her walk-in.

Oh. Oh! Like a cover girl. Like all my dreams, but better. Not very developed up top, maybe, but, after all, she’s just 13, and, anyway, look at those long, long legs! I loved how you could see my white bra strap running along the dress’ blue spaghetti strap. This is how girls naturally look, I thought.

I struck a pose, played with my hair, smiled, laughed, twirled around, feeling my dress swirl prettily. I gave a curtsey—where had I learned that? It just came naturally!—and I lifted the skirt—it came to mid-thigh, just perfect, not too daring, not to frumpy—and peeked at my panties, and I looked at Mommy, standing naked just behind me and I thought, how…wonderful, me in my scrumptious clothes and Mommy standing naked in back of me, smiling proudly, thoughtfully, and it was all just too much and I began to cry a little with joy and I turned away from my reflection and wrapped my arms around her and kissed her warm neck and said, "Oh, Mommy. Thank you so much." And she patted my behind and said, "Don’t ruin your makeup, honey." And she kissed me on my lips lightly and said. "Daddy’s due any minute now. You know how punctual he is. Why don’t you go to your room and wait until he arrives, okay? And look at me, I’ve got to get dressed, too."

With that, some of my excitement ebbed, and anxiety flowed in. One more hug, and I scampered down the hallway into my room. I was as ready as I could be.

 

 

Chapter Five

I sat on my bed waiting, struggling with the what-ifs that had returned in full nagging force. I paged through a magazine. Oh, I thought, looking at a lingerie ad, she is so, so pretty. Am I that pretty? I pressed my knees together tightly, and squirmed. The next page was a photo-spread. "World Class Hunks at Home," or something like that. That one is cute, I thought, staring at a picture of a young guy, maybe twenty or so, lounging by the pool in a pair of Speedos. Well, he’s taking my mind off things, I thought, zeroing in on the powerful arch between his legs. Mmmm. What if he was in the market for a fresh young girlfriend? Someone with a good imagination. And no inhibitions. I almost blushed at the thought. Do I have any inhibitions? Nope. None that I can think of. I giggled and fell over on the bed. Still mooning over the picture, I reached back and ran my hand along my bottom.

Mmmm. What if I just showed up at his doorstep, all perky and blond and young (too young, yeah, but….) and gave him a big smile and said "Hi" and started to unbutton his shirt, and….my finger snuck under my panties and touched my pussy. Plup. I was moist back there, thanks to Mommy and her lotion. What if I just looked him in the eye and said, Hi there, I’m already wet, and tore his shirt off…and my finger eased into me like it had a life of its own, and what if he scooped me up and…my finger eased further, and I sighed, and it pushed deeper—oh! Not too fast, honey!—and deeper, and my eyes closed and my face dug into the bedspread—mustn’t muss up my makeup—and deeper, and it squirmed around and…what if I…I shouldn’t, I should stop, what if I can’t stop, oh! Just a little more…and my finger popped out and I sat up straight and exhaled.

I brought that naughty finger to my face. How I loved the pink shade on my short little girl nails. I put it to my nose and inhaled deeply. Sweet. Fresh. Rose…and a little of Mommy’s perfume and…a…hint…of something else. Not girly. Richer, deeper. Womanly. What if….

And then I heard Mommy’s voice from the top of the staircase. "Michelle! Daddy and Sharon are here. Come on down, honey!"

I took a moment to collect myself. I looked at my reflection in the mirror over my dresser. Makeup okay. Hair in order. I was strangely calm, like I had been a couple of days ago when Mommy first saw me as Michelle. This is another big moment, girl, I thought. Time to show your spunk. I brushed my skirt down and headed out the door.

 

 

Chapter Six

Mommy stood at the top of the stairs. I searched for clues. She was dressed in a plain pair of beige slacks and a light green tee with sleeves. Very conservative. She was smiling, but it wasn’t a big smile. I thought it was a…brave smile, maybe, just maybe with a little happiness in there. She took my hand and led me downstairs. "Daddy’s in the sunroom, honey. I’ll be in the kitchen with Sharon. Go on in. It’s okay. Don’t be afraid." With that she gave me a kiss on the forehead and I walked in to see my father, sitting casually on the sofa, leaning back with his arm up, taking a drink of what looked like ginger beer, his favorite.

I stood in the doorway, legs together, right knee bent slightly inward, fists clenched, face blank and, it must have seemed to him, scared.

"Hey, kid," he said, "come sit down." I was focused, breathing normally, my heart was quick, but not racing. I noticed the reflection of the sun on the pool outside, and heard a birdsong waft into the room. It was so bright in that room, a room I always associated with ease and informality and safety.

I walked over and sat on the sofa, about three feet from him. His outstretched hand was inches from my naked shoulder. He had on his favorite jeans and blue workshirt. At least we match, I thought. Of course, unlike Mommy and me, Daddy was dark, with longish, thick black hair. And, oh! He was so handsome. Hadn’t I ever really noticed before? Strong, masculine features, with light green eyes. High, confident cheekbones. And he was big, bigger than I remembered. About 6’2", with a thin waist. He worked out a lot, Daddy did, and carried himself loosely, athletically, with a kind of rough grace. All this going through my mind, sitting next to him with my hands folded in my lap and my knees together, searching his face for clues.

"Well," he said, leaning forward. "Why don’t you and I go for a little walk? I’ll grab a blanket for us to sit on. It’ll be more private out there. Okay?" "Sure, Daddy," I said. I hadn’t called him that for years. It was Dad, hey Dad, what’s up? Now he was Daddy.

He stood up. "Go on outside, I’ll catch up with you," he said. A little numb, lost in uncertainty, nameless what-ifs buzzing, I walked outside and headed across the main lawn toward the trees. I had to remind myself: look down at your pretty, dainty feet. Such a nice pink nailpolish you’re wearing. Feel your long legs, girl’s legs…going through my ritual, in a hurry, pulling myself as far as I could go into femininity. If you’re going to do this, if you’re going to be this, do it and be it totally, girl. Don’t confuse him, or yourself.

He jogged up beside me just as I was entering our little forest. We walked silently for a while until he said, "Here, let’s put the blanket down here." I just stood and watched while he spread the blanket and sat down propped up against a beautiful old oak. A warm breeze filtered through the trees, and under my dress, caressing me. I stood stock still and looked at him look at me. Up and down. Completely. Intently.

Time seemed to sputter, bob and weave.

Then: "Take off those girls’ clothes."

Oh. What, what, what? I didn’t have the courage to think. I needed all the courage I had to slip off my shoes, relying on Michelle’s deep girl instinct to do it delicately, and I reached down and gathered the skirt of my dress and lifted it up and off, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I let it drop and stood before him in my blue panties and bra. I breathed deeply. I was almost defiant by now. Almost angry.

"Everything," he said. He was smiling, but a little thinly.

I slowly unhooked my bra and tossed it aside. I could feel my little nipples harden. I hooked my thumbs around my panties and eased them down. Keep tucked in, girl, I thought. 100% girl, and you had better believe it, Mr. Daddy with your damn little smile.

I stood motionless, hands clasped behind my back, weight shifted to one hip, waiting. I don’t mind this, I thought, this is just who I am. Go ahead, call your psychiatrists, call some stupid military school, I don’t care, I…

"You’re beautiful," he said softly.

"You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen." His face opened into a big smile.

He threw out his arms. "Come to Daddy, baby. C’mon."

I scampered, oh, did I scamper, I hopped and skipped and threw out my arms and jumped on him and landed on his strong chest, and felt his arms around me and felt him squeeze me and I wrapped my arms around him and buried my head in his shoulder and squirmed and kissed him on the neck again and again and lifted my feet and arched them and sunk into his lap and cried a little and smelled his man smell and he stroked my hair and said, "My sweet girl, my sweet, sweet girl," and I felt something happen deep inside me.

Intoxication. Total. Permanent. It just happened and I felt it happen in an instant and I knew it was true.

Like I’d been intoxicated with Mommy, since forever. But different. She was flowery and fluid and soft. Daddy—I hugged him tighter and kissed his cheek—Daddy was…earthy, hard (but so gentle, I could sense that already). And his smell…it was a jolt to my young senses, like a taste and touch and fragrance all at once, washing over me in a wave.

He lifted my face and looked into my eyes. "Everything, Daddy, everything, everything, everything," I whispered. And he kissed me and I was in love, of course, that was only the beginning, I was utterly and completely enraptured and captured and I was his, every molecule of me, forever.

His tongue entered my mouth and I welcomed it with all my heart. I played with the hair on the back of his neck. The more insistently he kissed me, the more delicately I stroked him. He ran his hand firmly down my back. I could feel his heart race and his breath quicken.

Do you like me Daddy? Do you love me? Do you love the way I feel? Do I make you happy? I asked inwardly, knowing the answer. Knowing it by the way his hand held my bottom, how it firmly stroked between my cheeks, up and down slowly, creating heat friction and making stars burst in my eyes and my little tongue lap at his, deep, deep in my mouth.

His other hand played with my nipples, twisting them gently. Starbursts. I never wanted him to stop kissing me, never, never. His finger brushed my pussy. I whimpered and sucked harder on his tongue, arching back to make it easier for him to…enter me, yes, yes, pushing against his finger, willing it in, whimpering, swallowing his saliva, gulping it, wanting more, and his finger went in deeper and I couldn’t help it, I broke away and looked him in those sparkly green eyes, and I said, yes, please, Daddy, like that, pleasepleaseplease, and I reached back and pushed his hand as hard as I could, not thinking about anything but having his finger deeper in me and it went deeper and deeper and it went as far as it could go and I whimpered and shuddered and wanted more, more, more.

Hold on, I thought, go slow. Lots of time. A whole lifetime.

I raised up, straddling him. His finger was still lodged in me. I realized that my clitty had naturally scrunched behind me, and was rubbing up against his jeans. Only my little pubic tuft in view. Good. He was smiling dreamily, looking up at me.

I reached back and pulled his hand from beneath me. I raised it to my lips. "Mine," I said, and slowly rubbed his strong man finger on my lips, coating them with the moisture of my fresh insides. I put it in my mouth and sucked it, looking him in the eyes. I let his hand drop and leaned forward and kissed him and we tasted rose, and a hint of Mommy’s perfume, and something womanly.

I rose up again. He started to rise, too, but I pushed him back. Still straddling him, feeling my clitty against the rough material of his pants, I started unbuttoning his shirt. He started to say something, and I put a finger to his lips. "Let your little girl have her fun, now," I said. Finishing with the last button, I lifted him just a little and slipped off his shirt and buried my face in his soft black chest hair. "Mr. Hairy Man," I giggled, licking his big brown nipples, giving them a love bite, sucking them with all my might until I could hear him gasp. I lifted his right arm and burrowed into his armpit. It was like entering a heavenly place, where everything was man smell and wetness and pure Daddy. "Mr. Smelly Man," I said, and he started to lower his arm until I forced it back up and said, "No, no, no, I love it Daddy, I love it so much," I licked like a puppy, trying to drink him in, "I love it so much, I want it all the time."

When I had my fill, for now, I let his arms drop and kissed him, letting him taste himself. I knew there was nothing about him I didn’t want to devour, and I wanted him to feel the same about me and we would feel that way about ourselves, and everything, everything, everything.

"Baby, I…" he started to say.

"Shush," I said.

"No, wait." I waited.

"I…"

"Yes, Daddy?"

"I love you, Michelle, I love you. Everything we do is because I love you. I want you to know that. If I didn’t love you and want to take care of you…as my daughter, I couldn’t…I couldn’t do any of this."

"I know Daddy. I know." And I leaned down and snuggled him like a loving daughter and kissed his cheek and said, "Mr. Scratchy Man," and we laughed and I rose up again and said, "Now will you be still?"

He smiled.

I ran my hands down his chest and found his belt and undid it and unbuttoned the fly of his jeans and pulled them down and said, "Oh, forgot the shoes." I flipped around and started to untie his tennis shoes, and realized that my backside was arched about a foot from his face, and I was just about finishing the first tie when I felt his hands grab my hips and he pulled me to him until my bottom was molded to his face and he licked my pussy, and licked up and firmly down, and went back to my pussy and I whimpered and moaned and leaned back further, wanting to envelope him in me, and his tongue lapped at my pussy and then he probed it and I cried Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, and he probed deeper and I wanted him to lick me deep inside. I couldn’t help it, I pushed back and forth, rocking, feeling his tongue making love to me and feeling my bent, brave little clitty rubbing against his tickly stomach and he held my bottom in his strong hands and took control easily and I felt like I was sliding up and down on his tongue and the strangest thought crept into my mind. I thought, Mommy, I wish you were here to see what a good girl I am, how happy I make Daddy, I’m a good girl aren’t I, Mommy, and I wanted to see her look down on us and smile while Daddy’s tongue buried itself in me and I bucked and bucked and oh. Oh! I felt the first girl spasm, and then another, and I almost shrieked and then another and another and it felt like Daddy’s tongue and lips were inside me where they belonged and another spasm and I collapsed onto the cool grass between his legs.

Just…a little…lost.

I heard a bird chirping above us. I felt the grass under my flushed cheek. Let’s see. Butt still on Daddy’s chest. His hands stroking me idly. Wet between the legs. Mind functioning. Move the body.

I rolled over and lay sprawled out on the grass. When my breathing eased back to normal, I lifted my head just a bit, looking back at Daddy, still leaning against that old oak tree—which was getting a nice life-jolt that summer day, I thought. He smiled contentedly, like a cat fresh from a canary feast.

I jumped up. "Oh, Mr. Smug Man," I said, and knelt beside him. His belly button was pooled with my boy juice, and the black hair around it was matted. I licked as much of myself up as I could and leaned over and kissed him and squished it in his mouth. He gulped. "Serves you right," I said. We laughed and he stroked the downy blond hair on my arm. "Sweetheart," he said.

Back to work. I scooted over and successfully untied and took off his shoes. "Lay back there, now, and don’t get fresh." He did as he was told. I stripped off his socks, and bent down and licked his feet, slurping between his toes, and I sucked on them and loved them and drank more of him in greedily—everything, everything, everything, it’s just natural—and I licked some more and then I shifted over and dove toward his middle.

Jockey shorts. How did he know? Did Mommy tell him? Like she told me about his thing for cotton panties? But did I ever tell her? Did I even know myself? Seems like I always knew it. White jockeys, softly holding back his straining man thing. I put my face a millimeter above the tip of his penis. I could feel the heat from his crotch rising up in waves. Intoxicating, again, more so, even more so. I inhaled deeply, wanting to imprint his smell on my lungs, so it would be there morning, noon, and night.

A little yellow spot at the tip. I bent down and sucked at it. He stroked my flank. My skin fluttered. I sucked harder. Oh! Daddy, I could drink you, I could drink you down into my little belly, all of you. I ran my tongue along the juncture of his thighs, along the moist seam of his shorts. I whimpered, pretending to myself that I’d never get my hungry-thirsty mouth on the real thing, that the real thing was locked away forever under that white cotton and I, poor, poor girl, would just have to just lick and suck and whimper in frustration.

But. Not really. I pulled down those jockeys and sat back for a moment on my feet and brought them to my face and breathed him in and wiggled and peeked through them to see him watching me and I even blushed a little before tossing them aside and, in one easy, natural motion, lowered my mouth right onto his erect penis. He was big, but not huge, I already, well…I already knew that from the locker room. And if men’s penises were designed by committee, his were designed by a very artsy and caretaking committee. One with very good taste. Oh.

He was almost all the way into my mouth. I closed my lips tightly near the base, and took a moment to savor my man. Taste, smell, a whole world of them. He flicked a finger along my behind. My lips tightened even more and I began to tickle him with my tongue. And pressing against him with it and pressing harder and squishing him in my saliva, which was running freely, almost gushing in my love-mouth. Slowly up, tickling him all along the way. And down, wetly. Quicker now, creating a vacuum in my mouth, sucking everything out of him, saliva escaping from my mouth, wetting his pubic hairs, up and down like a good girl. Oh! It was too much. I squirmed and sucked and licked and I couldn’t take it anymore and I dove for his mouth and kissed him and squirted all my juice into his mouth and shuddered in excitement while he stroked my hair.

"Sorry," I said. "Sorry to stop. Just too excited." He laughed. "No hurry, sweetheart," he said.

And then I was inspired. "Daddy, scoot down a little and turn over on your stomach." He did as he was told, grinning, and I gazed down at his broad back and muscley butt. I moved between his legs, leaned far over and began to trace my tongue along his spine, tasting him.

It was noon by now, and we were both dripping with sweat. I lapped at him thirstily. Down to the smooth, hard small of his back. And then a little lower to the cleft of his butt. A hint of downy hair. I parted his cheeks, loving the sight of my pink nails and little hands in control of this big animal. All of him was exposed to me, his little girl, for the first time. I pulled him apart even more. I heard him groan. I stared down at his lovely, sweaty secret place long enough for him to know I was looking at him, staring at him, making love to him with my eyes, lingering long enough that he could feel the caress of my attention.

He groaned again, an exhalation: OH, as if he felt me entering his dark brown bud with my gaze.

"Daddy?"

"What baby?"

"I love you," I said as I lowered myself to him and placed my tongue at the tip of his penis, which was—how sweet, I thought, how pretty—splayed behind him on the grass. I started licking up, along his penis, to his balls, which had their own wonderful taste and smell, and I licked into his soft valley and the smell was different here, too, and I felt like I was wandering joyfully in a warm fog of it and I licked harder up and down the tender sides of his butt, tasting, exploring, feeling his hair on my tongue, wanting to graze there forever. And then my pink tongue reached his bud like a bird landing in its nest and I felt him twitch and I licked and played and spread his cheeks even more, burrowing into him, intent on filling up on Daddy taste, the most Daddy taste of all.

Oh! Like a dream I never knew how to dream, never dared dream. Flicking, sucking, twirling my tongue, dipping in, pushing in, wanting to make love to Daddy with my tongue, making it as stiff as I could, like a good girl, dipping down and in and out, and in, and out, wanting to make him moan, and buckle and impale himself on me and love me and need me and let me lick and suck him anytime I wanted because I was Daddy’s girl and I knew I’d be thirsty and hungry for Daddy all the time.

I entered him as far as I could and I wiggled my tongue and I felt him clench me with his crinkly little muscle and he buckled and moaned and I felt sweet and good and powerful and natural.

I could feel him trembling below me. He suddenly turned over, and out I popped, my face wet with him and with me and he grabbed me under the arms and pulled me up and held my face in his strong hands and kissed me, and licked me like a big bear. I closed my eyes. I felt like a doll in his hands. "Baby, little baby, darling, darling, darling girl," he whispered.

Almost dizzy, I collapsed on his chest.

I could hear his heartbeat. A chipmunk darted along the ground near us, stopped to take a look, crooked his head, and sped off. I took his hand in mine and held it tightly. I sucked his nipple.

 

 

Chapter Seven

Lying on our blanket under the trees, cuddled close to Daddy, I let my mind wander. I knew it wasn’t going to wander far. Right then, in the throes of love and awakening, I was sure I’d never wander far from this man, my very own man.

What if, I wondered, what if…let’s say you were a girl, a young girl about 13, and you were a girl who really wanted to be a boy, just like, but opposite, like you’re a boy, sort of, who really wants to be a girl. Needs to be a girl. I licked my lips, savoring Daddy’s taste.

And you were this girl who needed to be a boy, and you loved your father, I mean really loved him, and you used to sneak around when he was gone…and you…this is really interesting, I thought, giving Daddy’s nipple a good lick. And you used to sneak around and wear his clothes when he was gone. Like take his jockey shorts out of his dirty clothes hamper and put them on and put on his socks and shoes and shirt and everything and feel him close to you and dream you were a boy and really need to be a boy.

And what if, you knew your Dad was…that he liked men and boys. Liked to make love to them. And he didn’t try to hide that or anything, it was just the way he was, and he liked it.

And you wished and wished until you were almost sick that you’d wake up a boy so you could be Dad’s boy for him and one day you woke up and felt between your thighs and you were a boy. You felt your boy things and they were really yours. Like a miracle. Like the answer to your prayers. And it felt so wonderful to stomp around, and pee standing up, and you put on a rough old shirt and dirty jeans, and you sauntered into Dad’s room one bright summer morning, and said, hey Dad, check this out….

Hmmmm.

Well, I thought, there is that tomboy side to you, dear Michelle. Let’s have some fun.

And so I felt between my legs, and there, like a miracle, were boy things down there, like, oh, I’d been praying for them so long, and now I could be Dad’s boy. I giggled.

He looked down at me, questioning.

I leapt up and stood over him, cockily, like a boy.

"Hey Dad," I said in as low a voice as I could muster. "Check it out!" And I flapped my boy things like it was the most natural thing in the world. And he looked at me like I was crazy (I was secretly glad to see).

"No, really, look." And I squatted down and grabbed his penis and rubbed it against mine. "You’re really built, Dad, I hope I get as big as you," I said, shushing the little voice that said, no way!

"What…" he began.

"Hey, don’t sweat it, Dad. Be cool." I gave him a wink, and he settled back with a grin.

I straddled him and inched my way up his body clumsily. I got right in front of him, my penis—Oh! It was hard. Gulp—inches from his face. "C’mon Dad. Here, have a taste of your boy." And with that I shoved myself past his lips and into his mouth. Good sport that he was (or probably, I thought a little ruefully, all-around enthusiast), he began sucking my…dick. "Yeah," I said, "great, great," and began pumping. "You’re great, Dad. Just like I thought."

Still sucking—and it did feel great, I must admit—he reached back and poked his finger roughly into my…what would boys call it? Sigh: asshole. Dad started to finger my asshole and I pumped harder on his mouth, and said, "Yeah, fuck me Dad, fuck me hard. Give it to me." And I squirmed on his finger and pushed down on it and pumped away and grabbed him by the hair and pumped some more and then I had a…boy spasm, and. It. Was. Hmmmm.

Maybe there’s something to this tomboy thing, I thought. But, hey, dreams have to end, sweetie, and I felt myself melt back to Michelle. I daintily removed his finger from my bottom, gave it a kiss, wiggled girlishly on his chest and said, "Mr. Cocksucking Man."

He sputtered with laughter and pulled me to him and kissed me and pushed my…boy juice into my mouth. "Serves you right," he said, and we both got the giggles.

We lay still, giggling every once in awhile, feeling the summer warmth on our bodies, caressing each other lazily.

Time dusted itself off and got back in the swing of things. One more thing to do. A necessary thing.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, honey."

I started grazing down his chest, talking as I went. "Will you…will you make love to me like you make love to Mommy? Really make love." I licked his belly button. "Really. You know, like that?" Now I had him in my mouth again, slowly moving up and down, playing with his balls, slowly sucking my man. "Please?" I wetted him as much as I could.

He laughed. "Of course, honey. We should, we really should do that." He slid away, and got up and moved around me. "You know, this is going to hurt, honey. Especially at first. You know that don’t you?" He began to position me on my hands and knees.

"No, no, Daddy, not like that. I want to look at you. I want to do it this way." I flipped onto my back, feeling the blanket on my skin. I spread my legs. He was looming over me, blocking out the dappled sunlight. "And I don’t care if it hurts. I truly, truly don’t care. You can’t really hurt me anyway, not really."

He put his hand to his mouth and spit in it and rubbed his spit into my bottom and spit some more and made me wet, and I was ready anyway, I knew it, and he put one, then two, then three fingers into me, and told me to relax, and push out, and let my middle float, and not to tighten it up, and he moved his fingers around inside me and I loved it and I whimpered and said, "Now. Please."

I wrapped my slender legs around his back and reached down instinctively and held his penis and guided it to me. I felt a slight pressure against my little pussy.

"I love you so much, Daddy, I want to make you happy," and I felt him enter and it wasn’t so bad and then it was, like an electric shock, and I bit my lip and he felt me stiffen and he pulled back. I pulled him closer with my legs, "Oh! Don’t stop, Daddy, don’t stop," and he pushed harder, and it made me want to cry, but I wouldn’t, ever, and I scratched his back with my pink nails, and he pushed harder and it hurt even more, and I said, "Please Daddy, please, please, please, more, I want you all inside me, please," and he pushed and I arched and pulled him to me with my arms and legs and he was all inside me and it hurt so bad and I loved it anyway, Daddy couldn’t really hurt me, not really, and the hurt began to fade, and I held him motionless and I whimpered and then the pain went away and I felt full of him, like I was born to be full of him, like it was the most wonderful, natural, necessary thing in the world.

Daddy made love to me, there on the blanket under the old oak, sunlight streaming through its branches, birds flitting and cooing, afternoon clouds beginning to form. Oh. I was so in love and he was so gentle and strong and he kissed me and moved in and out of me and I wanted to squeeze him with my pussy and never let him go, and he moved in and out of me and told me he loved me and that I was his little girl forever and we were both wet with sweat and love and I felt like such a little thing under him, holding him with my legs, urging him on.

I was dreaming awake, visions whipping through me, all the time feeling him deep in me, loving me, claiming me forever.

Visions of: The Palomino. Bareback. Naked. Mommy lying on the bed in her cotton panties. My sailor. My husband. Lean over, lift skirt. Wet already. Tampon. Mommy. Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.

I felt him tense.

"Oh, Michelle, oh, oh, almost, honey, almost."

I held him tighter, and squeezed my pussy around him and he went deeper and pulled my hips closer and. Then.

I felt him gush inside me. It was like…nothing could be. Nothing could be like this, this love shooting into me and I had his babies in my belly and the sweet warmth spread to my head and my fingers and my toes and I was full of Daddy at last and clung to him and climbed up to him and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed and licked his ear and shouted to the sky: Mine, mine, mine.

 

 

Chapter Eight

We lay on the blanket until I stopped shuddering. The sun was lower now, but the heat was still thick.

We turned and pressed our bodies together. And kissed and whispered to each other.

I fussed with his hair like a little wife and said, "Just look at you, messy man, what will Mommy and Sharon think you’ve been up to! You need to be cleaned up." And I slid down to clean my man with my tongue, licking him like a mother cat.

My mouth tingly with love-taste, and I sat back.

"Daddy?"

He sat up and embraced me. "Yes, baby?"

"This…it’ll be all right, won’t it? I mean…Mommy, and…."

He kissed my forehead. "Yes. Yes. You’ll see, honey. Don’t worry. It’ll be just fine."

I trusted Daddy, of course, of course, and I kissed him and loved him until he helped me up and I stood close to him, a little uneasy on my feet.

"Let’s go back and see Mommy now," he said.

"Okay."

He picked up my sundress and underwear and held them out to me.

"No. You hold them. I…." And I picked his blue workshirt off the grass and put it on and quickly tucked myself and said, "You better put some pants on, Mr. Man," and I stood there in heaven while he pulled on his jeans and gathered up our clothes and the blanket and I put my arm around his waist and he put his arm around my shoulder and we walked proudly home.

 

 

 

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© 2001 by Michelle C. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.