Stiff Resistance

by Gingerfred Man

  

Chapter One – The Worst

There's no doubt about the precise moment of the worst day of my life. It was March 1, 1989. Mom and Dad were about to take a well-deserved second honeymoon. Since their flight to Aruba was very early the next morning, they had taken my brother Patrick and me (Sean) to stay with our paternal grandmother, Nora Flynn, the night before.

It sounds like a benign enough situation, but I guess most tragedies start out that way. Patrick and I were getting old to be staying with our grandparents. I was 14, he was 13. But we still enjoyed it very much.

I still feel bad for her because of what she had to do that awful morning. "Sean, Patrick," she said as she hugged us with tears in her pretty eyes. "A terrible thing. Your mama and papa…"

I knew it was something horrible, Patrick was still not sure.

Gram continued. "There was a fire in your house. They…they didn't make it out."

I don't have to tell you what that did to us. We were heartbroken. Grief-stricken. And our lives were changed in ways we could only begin to imagine.

 

Chapter Two – Aunts and Cousins

Gram was wonderful to us. And our big, extended family gave us big, extended comfort. But our recovery was slow.

There was a lot of legal stuff going on. Mom and Dad's will had a big surprise in it. The first of many big surprises for us.

The will had a clause about who would take care of us if both Mom and Dad died together. Patrick and I kind of figured that it would be Gram. Or one of Dad's eleven brothers, all of whom were married and had kids. We knew them all a bit. The uncles and aunts and cousins. Every year there was a big Flynn family reunion in Sandusky, Ohio. None of that fancy-schmancy, Disney World or Vegas stuff for our reunions. We were Irish.

Anyway, Mom and Dad's will clearly and legally stated and the guardians had legally agreed that we would live until we were at least 18 with Dad's youngest brother Marty, his wife Mary, and their five daughters. Let me rephrase that. Their five red-hot, gorgeous, stacked, built, beautiful, sexy daughters. They were always the talk of the male cousins. So beautiful and such flirts. Not that anyone even made it to first base with them. The church forbids such "traffic" between cousins and we were Irish.

Still, thinking about them gave me the first erection I had had since Mom and Dad died. They were named very alphabetically and Irishly: Mary Alice was 19, Mary Beth 18, Mary Clare 17, Mary Denise 16 and Mary Ellen, who, I thought, was the dishiest of them all, was 15.

How could Patrick and I live in a house with five future "Playmates of the Month?" Patrick didn't seem worried about it, but I was.

Still, Aunt Mary and Uncle Marty were wonderful people. And I guess living somewhere with beautiful "scenery" wouldn't be all that bad.

But the transition was odd, right from the beginning.

Uncle Marty picked us up from Gram around May 1. We didn't have much stuff to put in his van since almost everything we owned had been burned in the fire. Uncle Marty was very sweet and friendly during the whole two-hour drive. Patrick and I were pretty unresponsive, since we were still depressed. But maybe things wouldn't be so bad.

Aunt Mary and our cousins also welcomed us very warmly. Oh my, they were beautiful. And the way they dressed! Always stockings and big heels. Skirts or dresses. The prettiest make-up and carefully coiffed hair. They all kissed and hugged us and my woodie was back. Being Catholic, I felt guilty about it. But that didn't unstiffen me.

Everyone was chattering and welcoming. Telling Patrick and me how welcome we were and what our accommodations would be in the long and short term.

"We only have two-and-a-half bathrooms for seven, now nine people," Mary Ellen said. "And one's just for Mom and Dad. We call that child abuse. <giggle> But Mom and Daddy are FINALLY putting an extension on the house – a new bedroom and a third full bathroom. It'll be the lap of luxury as Mom says."

She was so cute! And her breasts were so big, as were those of her sisters. And Uncle Marty didn't seem to mind her poking fun like that. It was pretty clear that this was a very loving family, which was Patrick's and my good fortune.

The sleeping arrangements in the short term were a bit of a problem. Mary Alice was away at college except in the summer, holidays and some weekends, like that one. So that year, Mary Beth had a room to herself, Mary Clare did too, except when Mary Alice was home, and Mary Denise and Mary Ellen were roomies. Until the addition was done, Patrick and I would have a room, Mary Beth and Mary Clare would share, as would Mary Denise and Mary Ellen. Mary Alice, when she was home from college, would use a sleeping bag wherever. They were all so accommodating and sweet.

Patrick and I were to be homeschooled by Aunt Mary for the rest of the year. I would be enrolling in Saint Patrick's High School across town and Patrick would be in the eighth grade at Saint Immaculata's School in our parish.

Aunt Mary, who clearly ruled that happy roost, asked if we had any questions. I was shy about asking, but I said, "Aunt Mary, we have very few clothes, only the stuff we had for a week with our grandmother. Will that be a problem?"

Aunt Mary smiled. So did everyone else. "That's an excellent question, Dear. Don't you worry about clothes. Everything will work out. But remember, we're not made of money, especially with the addition we'll be putting on."

I was horrified. Did Aunt Mary think I was being presumptuous? She got up, walked over to me on her big heels and said, "That was a very good question. Don't worry dear. It will all work out."

She was right. Just not the way I thought.

 

Chapter Three – Fitting in

The first big surprises came the first morning in our new home. Patrick seemed happy, but you never knew with him. I was happy, but I had a morning wood and had to pee very badly. I put my robe on and left our new (very girlie) room to see if by some miracle, I could get into the bathroom for a long, needed pee. The door was closed and, standing outside was a very agitated Mary Denise. She was banging on the door and saying. "You know the rules, Mary Beth. Peeing needs take priority over beauty needs. Let me in." The door opened and Mary Denise, pulling her panties down as she crossed the threshold, went in.

Did I see that correctly? That was the tiniest sheerest nightie I had ever seen. And the panties were very wispy.

Could I stand being teased like that?

The door to another bedroom opened and a similarly dressed Mary Ellen emerged. She was so hot! Even with sleepies in her eyes and bare feet, no make-up. I didn't know if I needed to pee or cum more.

She saw my distress and said, "You get nowhere around here being timid. Follow me." She led me down stairs to the half bath. Oh, the way her divine bottom wiggled. The door was closed, but Mary Ellen pounded on it. "Mary Clare, Sean has to pee! Move your lazy ass!"

Unladylike, but effective.

Thanks goodness Mary Alice had gone back to college the previous evening or we would have been fistfighting for the right to urinate.

Somehow, everyone got themselves ready for school. How they ever made themselves into goddesses while wearing the St. Patrick's High School uniform – maroon plaid jumper, white blouse, white knee socks, black and white saddle shoes – was a sacred mystery. But they were spectacular.

Patrick kind of hung back until everyone was gone. That seems like a good strategy, but he missed seeing four delicious angels in tiny nighties running hither and thither.

By 9 a.m., we were dressed, fed and ready for whatever Aunt Mary had planned for us. Or so we thought.

"Sweeties," she said, "we need to face some realities. Like the other children in our family, you fellows need to wear some hand-me-downs. If you don't, I don't see how we'll make ends meet."

Hand-me-downs? From girls to boys? What was she thinking?

"Underwear for example," she said. "If no one sees it, what does it matter whether it's boy's briefs or girl's panties?"

My face registered horror! I looked at Patrick and he looked, how shall I say it, interested. What was that all about?

Aunt Mary pressed on. "Now off with those trousers and underpants."

But she would see us naked! I hesitated, but Patrick already had his pants off and was shimmying down his boy's underpants.

Worse, Patrick's cock was stiff. Rigid even. And, like mine, quite large. It seems to be a Flynn genetic gift. A terrific gift. One I hoped to share with several girls-to-be-named-later when I was older.

Aunt Mary looked at us as if we were brushing our teeth of something. It was very embarrassing, humiliating even. But she acted as if it were no big deal for boys to be putting panties on.

Having little choice, I dropped my drawers and discovered that I was also half-erect. Aunt Mary didn't comment, though she had to see that I was beet red all over.

Silently, she handed us each pair of panties. Oh. Mine were pink and lacy. They had little white ribbons on the waistband.

I sat on the end of my bed and eased the sissyish, girlie things up my mostly hairless legs. Oh. The crotch was a bit worn. Who had…

"Sean," Aunt Mary said, "Your panties were handed down by Mary Ellen. Yours were Mary Clare's, Patrick."

I shuddered. Mary Ellen had worn the little teasers. My favorite cousin. She was so… Oh no. Please no. I was… Oh. I gasped and began to fill my panties with hot cum. A small bucketful of cum. An orgasm so hard and so lengthy that its pleasure almost equaled my humiliation.

If I had died at that moment, I would not have minded one bit.

What kind of a show was that to put on for my kid brother? But Patrick wasn't even watching. He had settled his privates and bottom into a silky, white number and was standing in front of a full-length mirror looking at himself.

Huh?

Aunt Mary looked at my messy condition, put an arm around me and took me into the kid's bathroom. "It's all right, Sean," she said. "You're a boy in his prime. Anything can happen when you're stimulated. I'll get another pair. Just clean yourself and those panties. It's all right and perfectly normal." Then she kissed my forehead.

I wanted to cry. She was so nice to me. And I was an uncooperative, ungrateful jerk. Who couldn't control his "functions."

I cleaned myself up then returned to the bedroom. I couldn't even look at Patrick as I put on a baby blue pair that were Mary Denise's.

Fully dressed again, I was feeling a little better. No one would see. The darned panties did feel pretty good, but I knew that boy's underwear would be at the top of my Christmas list.

I assumed that school was next for us. But no.

"I'm taking you to the doctor for a check-up," Aunt Mary said.

That seemed to be OK, but .. oh no!! He would see our panties!!! Meekly, without wanting to appear ungrateful, I mentioned that little fact to Aunt Mary.

She patted me on the head and said, "You worry too much, Boy-O."

So off to the doctor we went.

Dr. O'Hara had been the Flynn's family pediatrician since Mary Alice was born. He was a nice, 50-sh man who seemed absolutely delighted to meet us. He and Aunt Mary met for a few minutes alone. Then I was brought in for the first exam while Patrick sat in the waiting room.

Aunt Mary sat in for my exam, which was the second of a whole series of humiliations that day. The doctor asked me a few questions about my eating and sleeping habits. Then he said, "All right, Sean. Off with all those clothes then."

I sort of expected that. What would he say when he saw my panties? And I didn't like the idea of being fully naked in front of Aunt Mary. But I guessed she was sort of my Mom at that point.

Know what Dr. O'Hara said when he saw my panties? "Those are very nice panties, Sean. Lots of boys whom I treat wear panties."

They did? Hmmm.

I felt so vulnerable when I was down to my birthday suit. But that was the easy part.

I didn't think I heard Dr. O'Hara correctly when he told me to sit on his lap for the exam. I looked at Aunt Mary and she nodded.

What had Patrick and I gotten ourselves into?

Again with no choice, I sat on his lap. It wasn't horrible…yet. I mean, he was a doctor, right? And he was just doing his job. He checked me out very carefully, though he seemed to spend an unusual amount of time tweaking my nipples. That was when I first got another one of those humiliating erections.

Somehow it didn't surprise me that he also spent a lot of time checking out my "privates." He handled my testicles very gently, asking me questions like, "Do you like pretty girls, Sean?" and "Do you ever make a sticky mess when you think about a pretty girl?"

For some reason, the way he was handling me and all those questions were getting me very excited. I didn't answer any questions. All I could do was sort of whimper. And wiggle around on his lap. Moving my legs.

Dr. O'Hara then "examined" my penis, saying things like, "This is a very fine penis, young fellow. Long and fat. With a thick foreskin that covers the whole head except for your peehole." He was handling me the whole time. Intimately. Like he owned me. He even skinned me back, exposing my "pinkness." He said, "Oh, I think you're sensitive there, aren't you? Has a girl ever skinned you like that? You'll be very popular with the pretty girls. Goodness knows what they'll want to do with this pretty thing, but I know you'll like it and so will they. Do you like the feel of what I'm doing now?"

"Unnngghhh," I said, as for the second time that day, I embarrassed myself in the worst possible way. That time it was by cumming thick ropes when being examined by the doctor. A man, for goodness sakes.

I threw my head back and cried out in agony/ecstasy as my big balls emptied. Oh. Some of it went onto the doctor's lab coat. Would he banish me? Would he post my picture in his waiting room with a caption that said, "Warning, this little faggot cums when a male doctor examines him?" Would Aunt Mary spank me?

"A perfectly normal reaction. Quite healthy," he said to my aunt as if I weren't in the room. She nodded.

"Of course, I'll need to check the other end," he said.

"Of course," Aunt Mary agreed.

Cum all over, but mostly all over me. But no one mentioned it. Instead I was asked to stand and bend over the examining table. I did so and couldn't see what was happening behind me. Dr. O'Hara pulled a chair over and got comfortable for his exam of my nether regions. He parted my pink globes and gave everything a careful look and touch. Then he lubed up his fingers and said, "Now we need to check you internally."

That was what I was afraid of. He rubbed his lubed finger around my pink, wrinkled anus. I squeaked. Wasn't he supposed to be wearing gloves? Then he entered me with his middle finger. Nothing had gone in there before, ever. I groaned in confusion and erected stiffly yet again. What was wrong with me? He was running one, then two fingers in and out of my bottomhole and asking those questions again. "Do you think about sex a lot, Sean?" and "Do you think girls like it when a man puts his fingers inside her pretty bottom?"

Oh. It was agonizing, but it got worse.

Dr. O'Hara found my prostate and began to massage it unmercifully. I was panting and gasping and he didn't stop. From somewhere, the doctor produced a small beaker. With his free hand, he placed it in a strategically correct spot, rubbed my prostate a little more quickly with his other hand, then caught a very large sample of cum from my panting, gasping, frantic orgasm into his beaker.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Dr. O'Hara removed his fingers from my secret place. "Normal responses all around, Mary," he said to auntie.

I was breathing very heavily and crying from embarrassment. But Aunt Mary just smiled at me. The doctor washed his hands then carefully prepared a syringe. That time when I bent over, all I got was a needle full of "vitamins."

I was a very confused lad when I dressed and made my escape.

I had forgotten about Patrick. I wanted to warn him. To stop things from happening to him. But what could I do?

I was very edgy when I sat there listening to what I could hear as Patrick was "examined." If Patrick was being harmed, I would……

After about 15 minutes, I heard a loud squeal. Was it Patrick? It wasn't an "I'm in trouble" squeal. More of an "I really like that" squeal. Then about ten minutes later, a cry that could only be described as one of ecstasy.

Was there something about Patrick I didn't know? It certainly seemed so when he and Aunt Mary and Dr. O'Hara emerged. Patrick was smiling broadly and he even hugged Dr. O'Hara goodbye.

I was going to have to talk to that boy.

 

Chapter Four – Prom wallflowers

When Patrick and I were alone in our room that night I felt it was time to discuss things.

"What was that about today with the doctor, Patrick?"

He gave me that innocent look he does so well and said, "The exam? I thought that was nice of Aunt Mary to get us checked out, don't you think?"

Was he playing dumb? "I don't mean the exam part, knucklebrain. I mean the part where he stripped us naked and then…played with us."

That innocent look again. "I thought you were supposed to be naked for an exam."

Frustration. "Yes, but you don't sit naked on the doctor's lap and the doctor doesn't make you……cum."

Patrick blushed. "Maybe doctors do when you get older. We haven't been in a while."

He had a point. And Aunt Mary didn't act as if anything was wrong.

Seeing he had made his point, Patrick pressed his advantage. "It was very nice, wasn't it? The doctor was nice and he made me feel really good. Didn't he make you feel good, Sean?"

He did. Very good. But I wouldn't admit it. That would be gay. Was Patrick gay? No way. He was just …impressionable.

Well, the "vitamin shot," administered by Aunt Mary, became a daily ritual. Whenever Aunt Mary was ready, we would have to drop our trousers and <blush> panties and expose our bare bottoms. Even if our pretty cousins were walking around the house. That was SO embarrassing, especially since the "Marys" would giggle and tease and try to see our pricks, which we would cover with our hands. I kept expecting Aunt Mary to tell the girls to stop, but she found it as amusing as the girls. "You have to relax a little bit if you want to live in this house, children," she would say to Patrick and me.

Sometimes I wasn't so sure I wanted to live with them. I mean the girls were stunningly feminine, beautiful and sexy. But they were such teasers. Their poor Daddy, Uncle Marty! Every night after they did their homework and were ready for bed, they would come downstairs in their teeny, tiny nighties and, one-at-a-time, sit on Uncle Marty's lap. They would hug him and give him a long, sweet goodnight kiss on both his cheeks. Uncle Marty liked it very much, but he was a little, I don't know, ashamed or reluctant about it too. I ALWAYS made sure that I saw that nightly ritual. The sight of my half-naked, delicious cousins had me hard and dripping. After the "good nights," I would go to my room, get under the covers and stroke my Flynn-sized penis. I would think of one of my cousins in the skimpy gear I had just seen her in. Oh, blonde Mary Clare in that little lavender number with the white lace trim. I would imagine the dampness of her pussy. Sopping and swollen as she thought of her handsome cousin Sean. Oh. That image was guaranteed to make me spurt and moan. Any image of my cousins was guaranteed to make me spurt and moan.

And I was not alone.

Every weekend night, the girls had dates. Adoring, eager dates who treated the girls like the grand prizes in life's lotto.

A month after we arrived, we witnessed the ultimate date night – prom.

Although it was St. Patrick's High School's senior prom, each of the girls had a senior boy as their date. In fact, Mary Ellen told me that she got her first invitation when she was in the sixth grade. Though Mary Ellen, I came to learn, was not always accurate in her descriptions. Mary Ellen still seemed a bit miffed that she hadn't been able to go to the prom until that year, since Aunt Mary had a "crazy rule" that you had to actually be in high school to attend the prom.

Still, Mary Ellen had received 95 invitations to the prom, which was believed to be the Flynn family record. Like her sisters, she had selected not the hunkiest boys in school, but the nicest. And the luckiest boys on earth.

On the day of the prom, Mary Beth, Mary Clare, Mary Denise and Mary Ellen spent about six hours getting ready to eclipse every other girl who dared to attend the prom.

The others didn't have a chance.

I only caught glimpses of the preparations, but for some reasons, the girls were giving Patrick a lot more access. He spent a lot of the day in Mary Clare and Mary Beth's room, watching them fix their hair and expertly apply their make-up. The lucky duck got to sit with Mary Denise and Mary Ellen too. He was kind of like their mascot or something, I guess.

Despite all that time to prepare, the girls still kept their dates waiting. Patrick and I, the other girls called us the wallflowers, went to the living room to inspect the boys. They were in their white dinner jackets, with carnations in their boutonnieres and seemed very excited. I could even see substantial tents in the pants of two of them. But they were nice boys and my cousins were nice girls. Surely the boys didn't expect to "get lucky" that evening did they?

The boys were sort of ogling Patrick and me in a way that made me feel uncomfortable, though Patrick seemed to enjoy it. What was wrong with him?

When the girls appeared, four radiant visions of feminine perfection, no boy looked in our direction. Slinky, lovely gowns that emphasized my cousins' beauty (and their astounding titties). Slits that exposed silky stockings on the world's finest legs. Silver and gold, six-inch-stiletto sandals on perfect feet, with brightly painted nails. A mélange of perfumes and hair sprays.

When they left, I would have enough material to masturbate all night long.

But first I had to deal with more "strangeness."

Right after the girls left, Aunt Mary said to Patrick and me, "Don't fret. You can go next year, Sean, and Patrick can go the year after.

Patrick smiled broadly at that, but I was puzzled. How could she think that a senior girl would invite me when I was a freshman? I mean, how else would I go?

Then Aunt Mary said, "Follow me, boys." She led us to our bedroom, where she said, "It's time you two stopped sleeping in your underwear. As I've said, the Flynns are not made of money. You'll have to wear hand-me-downs whenever you can. Tonight Mary Ellen wore Mary Clare's gown of two years ago and Mary Denise wore Mary Alice's of three years ago."

Patrick and I looked at each other. What did all that mean to us?

Then Aunt Mary told us. "We can't be affording such luxuries as pajamas, especially with the additions we're putting on the house since you boys moved in."

Like all Catholic mothers, Aunt Mary was exceedingly skilled in the application of guilt.

No pajamas? What would we…oh, no!

Aunt Mary reached into a one of my drawers and extracted --- a nightie!!! A pink nightie with little white rosebuds along the bodice. With matching panties. Then, horror of horrors, she went to Patrick's drawer and pulled out a sweet, little yellow babydoll and panties that must have weighed four ounces. Did she expect us to wear them? She couldn't. She did.

In another, pre-emptive, motherly stroke she said, "Well, I hope you won't be big babies about this. You won't be parading down Main Street in them. Just in the family. Of course, we could buy pajamas for you two and cut back on what we spend on the other seven family members."

I was powerless under that guilt barrage. But far from enthusiastic.

Patrick was a different matter. He was smiling broadly and reached eagerly for the yellow confection that was to be his. "Oh, thank you, Aunt Mary," he said. "It's lovely."

I was going to have to have another talk with that boy.

Knowing when I was beaten, I held out my hand for the nightie and thanked Aunt Mary.

She smiled in triumph, then said, "Why don't you get into your night things then come downstairs. I'm baking those chocolate chip cookies you like and I rented that movie you've been wanting to see."

That's the kind of thing 14- and 13-year-old boys love to hear from their moms or guardians. Except for the nightie part. I wished that Aunt Mary had spent the cookie and movie money on pajamas, but that wasn't going to happen.

Patrick was practically naked by the time Aunt Mary left the room. He was dying to get into that nightie. I had to admit that wearing panties wasn't as bad as I had anticipated. But I wasn't eager to expand my girlie wardrobe. Who knew what Patrick was doing?

He slid into that wispy thing and its panties and almost ran to our mirror to see how he looked. The weird, little guy actually gasped when he saw himself. He turned left and right, admiring his form. There were no secrets in Patrick's outfit, so I could see not only his large, painfully erect penis, but his erect nipples.

Was I losing my brother to some unseen force?

Whatever it was, it had him by the testicles and was squeezing. The poor guy suddenly gasped and filled those tiny panties with globs of his sticky cream. I had to look away, pretending that I didn't see. Lessening his mortification.

But the funny thing was that he didn't seem mortified. He seemed happy. Flushed. And very excited.

Puzzled, I watched Patrick admiring himself again as I stripped and slid my own nightie over my head. It fit perfectly and the panties were comfortable. But it was so pink and girlish that I was completely humiliated. Almost completely. My cock, which had its own tiny brain, was as stiff as it had ever been. I dared to look at myself in our mirror. After I pushed Patrick out of the way gently. Oh, goodness. Why was I so excited? I looked like a boy pretending to be a girl. Why was that exciting?

I couldn't look away. Neither could Patrick. He was standing behind me and suddenly, soaking his panties again. Was it from looking at me? <Ick> Or from looking at himself? <Scary>

I was worried about Patrick, but almost as worried about myself. I was also pumping boy's cream into girl's panties.

What was happening to us?

I took the lead, guiding Patrick out of the room and into the bathroom that us seven kids shared (six when Mary Alice was at college). We skinned our panties off, then washed them. My privates were so gooey that I had to use warm water, soap and a washcloth to clean myself. Patrick watched me in fascination, then cleaned himself in like manner.

Our options were limited, so we put our wet panties back on, hoping they would dry. Then we went downstairs, hoping Aunt Mary and Uncle Marty wouldn't notice. Fat chance!

True to her word, Aunt Mary delivered on the movie and cookies, but she also asked, "Have an accident in your panties? No problem. Perfectly natural. Take them off and I'll hang them for you. Don't worry. You would have to take them off to sleep anyway."

Sitting on the couch next to Patrick. In our nighties. No panties. Eating cookies. Watching the movie. Both of us erect and "on the verge." Torture.

Especially when Uncle Marty joined us for the last hour of the movie. A man looking at us in girlie things. Our erect cocks barely concealed.

Uncle Marty seemed only interested in the movie.

When the movie was over, once again, Patrick surprised me. Bold as you please, he got up and walked over to Uncle Marty, sat on his lap and kissed him good night. Just as our five cousins did every night. Like a girl.

Uncle Marty seemed delighted by Patrick's gesture. Did he expect me to….I couldn't. I didn't. I just followed Patrick up the stairs to bed.

Lying alone between my sheets, I was almost too confused to say anything to Patrick. The darned nightie had me excited. And my thoughts were making things worse.

I had almost never even thought about my nipples, but the nightie wouldn't let me forget them. The silky material caressed my erect "points" every time I breathed. The hem of the wispy garment was rubbing against my pink, very sensitive cockhead. And my mind was playing a slideshow of stimulating images. Mary Clare's gorgeous, brown-stocking-encased leg and gold-sandaled foot escaping her gown through the slit in its left side. The look on Mary Beth's date when she first appeared, brown hair styled to perfection, titties threatening to escape from her challenged bodice. The look on Mary Denise's date when he saw me! Like he was undressing me with his eyes or something. How weird! But it was putting me into some distress. Oh. The sight of Patrick in his first nightie. The sight of me in my first nightie. The thought that I would be wearing these pretty things for the foreseeable future. The shame. The humiliation. Oh!!!!

Thick spurts of cum leaped from my cock as I cried out. The erotic agony punished me for my impure thoughts. And Patrick could hear and see and even smell everything. I could never face him again.

But wait. From the bed on the other wall, I could hear little squeals and then a half-scream, followed by gasps and pants of intense pleasure. Patrick was cumming too. I was happy that I was not alone, therefore mortified, in my perversion. But why did he have to make those girlie sounds when he emptied his bag?

I was going to have to talk to that boy.

The next morning, a Sunday, the race to the bathroom was on. I zipped out of bed to beat my pretty cousins to the "can," but the house was silent.

It was 8 a.m. and the girls hadn't come home yet.

For the first time, the idea formed in my mind that my cousins weren't totally chaste daughters of the Church.

The girls rolled in by limo (Uncle Marty allowed no riding in cars with boys) around 9 a.m. and they were disheveled shells of the night before. Still 10s, but not 12s as they had been. Their lipstick was smeared and their dresses looked as if they had been "invaded." Not wanting Uncle Marty to "get any wrong ideas" Aunt Mary kept him "occupied" in their bedroom until the girls could repair themselves for 11 a.m. mass at Saint Immaculata's.

I stood there wide-eyed as they passed me, forgetting that I had a nightie on and had morning "wood." Each girl was giggling and happy. Mary Denise said, "Nice look, Sean. That was one of my favorites. Wear it in good health."

My cheeks were on fire until I realized that she wasn't making fun of me. She really did want me to enjoy wearing that nightie.

Hmmmm.

 

Chapter Five – Bad Flynn-fluences on Patrick

As school let out and summer vacation began, Patrick was drifting away from me to a place I didn't know. He spent more and more of his time with the girls, not me. That made me jealous. It also creeped me out. He seemed to be mimicking the girls in a lot of ways, not just wearing hand-me-down nighties and panties. One day I was looking for him and found him in the Mary Beth/Mary Clare room. They were treating him like a dress-up doll or something and had him in a strange outfit. He was bare-chested and wearing only something I later discovered was a garter belt; long, silky, seamed, tan stockings, and what looked like four-inch stiletto pumps. He was wiggling around the room, walking like a GIRL – my BROTHER – without shame. Which is what fuels civilization. Shame, I mean. Anyway, one of the worst parts was that his privates were exposed! His huge, Flynn cock was skinned and stiff and his massive balls were swinging pendulum-like as he pranced. The girls weren't mocking him. In fact, they were encouraging him, Mary Beth saying, "That's it, Sweetie. You've got the hang of it." And Mary Clare saying, "Good work, Mary Grace!"

Mary Grace?

Huh?

Was Patrick complicit in some evil plot? Were my cousins evil or were they just fooling around the way kids do? What were they trying to do to my brother?

At that moment, what they were doing was very pleasant for him. "You poor kid," Mary Clare said. You need some relief. Come over here."

Patrick girlishly and eagerly walked over to his cousin. No one had seen me yet, but they were so brazen, I don't think they would have stopped if they had. Mary Clare had a small tube of something that she squeezed first onto Patrick's stiff prick, then onto her hand. Was she going to…. She was!

Oh my cock was almost bursting out of my panties, but it was wrong. I should have spoken up, but I had to see what would happen. I saw.

Mary Clare massaged the creamy lubrication all over Patrick's thick pole. His eyes rolled back and he surrendered to pleasure. Mary Clare, who seemed to know her way around a penis, particularly the stiff variety, used her delicate hand in a very pleasing manner. Paying lots of attention to the sensitive head. Cuddling the often-neglected balls.

Patrick winced and moaned and then finally, squealed girlishly and pumped his cream in thick ropes. "Good girl, Mary Grace," Mary Clare said. "You needed that."

I gasped and was noticed for the first time. "Hi, Sean," Mary Beth said. "Come on in. You look as if you could use some relief as well."

For a fleeting instant I considered it. Then I turned and ran.

And stayed pure.

That night, lying in bed in a sweet, white babydoll, I asked Patrick, "What was that about today?"

Patrick had looked so cute earlier that evening in his baby blue nightie and matching panties as he had sat on Uncle Marty's lap and given him a sweet kiss. Something I refused to do!

He started out by playing dumb. "What? Oh, the lessons with Mary Beth and Mary Clare? They been showing me how they do things in the Flynn house, that's all. Shouldn't we try to adjust to their house?"

"Not that much," I whispered loudly. "They're making you girly. If you're not careful, who knows what they'll do. And Mary Clare jerked you off, you little ninny."

Patrick giggled. "You worry too much, Sean. She was just giving me 'relief.' Everyone needs relief now and then. Mary Alice told me that when she came home from college last weekend. "

He was being brainwashed. That was it. "Why were they calling you 'Mary Grace?'"

He giggled again. "If I were their sister, that would be my name. It's just play."

Just play! Hmmmph. They were doing something Twilight Zone to the poor kid and he doesn't get it. Making him girly and sissyish. Why would they do that?

I was so upset that I almost forgot to "tickle my pickle," something I had done, coincidentally, every night since we first began wearing hand-me-down lingerie to bed. I reached under my white, chiffony little delight and began to stroke my Flynn-sized big boy. I was thinking about Mary Clare. Rubbing me the way she had rubbed Patrick. In my vision I was standing there in heels, stockings and a garter belt, just as he had been. I was very excited, both in my vision and in real life. I began to wonder how stockings would feel on my smooth legs. Funny how since I had been taking those vitamin shots, I wasn't very hairy. Patrick's bottom was sticking out so invitingly when he wore those heels. How would mine look? I…. Oh, baby. My balls erupted and I pumped sweet boy's cream all over my flat, downy tummy. Unfortunately, I also squeaked a little as I did so. In a most unmanly way.

Patrick giggled as I did that. "See?" the little wise guy said. "You needed relief too. I'm going to give myself some relief, but if you want, I could get in bed with you and cuddle. You could give me relief or I could just do it myself. The girls tell me that they help each other that way sometimes."

Oh, golly. My brain said, "Noooo!!!" But my cock had hardened instantly at the thought of Patrick and me cuddling in our nighties. Getting relief together. Spurting our cream on each other.

For once, in one of the few such victories recorded in human history, my brain won. "I don't think so, Patrick," I said.

Patrick didn't seem to be fazed by the rejection. "OK," he said. "Some other time then." The pretty little guy then set about pulling his pud amidst groans and gasps and squeals until he screamed softly what sounded like "Uncle Marty!" but clearly could not have been. Then he panted through what seemed to be a cum to end all cums.

Strangely, I had a small measure of regret that I had not accepted his previous offer, but it was too late for that. I was tired and about to drift off when I suddenly remembered my alphabet. F comes between E (Ellen) and G (Grace). Were the Flynn sisters trying to make me into Mary F-Something? Even in my worst state of paranoia, I didn't believe that for a moment.

 

Chapter Six – All wet

While the Flynns would choke if anyone ever accused them of "living in the lap of luxury," they did have a swimming pool. No underwear or pajamas for their orphaned nephews, but a pool. It was a very nice pool that took up most of their smallish back yard and it was surrounded by a very high fence. I mean very high. Twelve feet at least. It seemed that neighborhood men would go to great lengths to spy on the Flynn sisters in their tiny bikinis. And I could understand why. The day Uncle Marty declared the pool open for the season, I spent the whole day in my room, looking out the window at my pretty cousins. They started out in the briefest bikinis I had ever seen, then, when Uncle Marty and Aunt Mary went grocery shopping, took their tops off to get an all-over tan.

Ladies and Gentlemen, their titties were the best I had ever seen. Before or after. In two dimensions or three. Mary Ellen's were the biggest of all her sisters -- 38-C and she was only 15 for goodness sakes. But each sister's set was spectacular. I have to admit that I had my boy's Bermuda shorts and panties down and abused myself repeatedly for a good two hours. I did notice that I was not the only observer. The next-door neighbor, who had added third and fourth floors to his house for the purpose of spying on the world's most stupendous sisters, was watching them too. With one hand holding his binoculars and the other out of sight.

If I had had Patrick's courage, I would have done what he did – put on a hand-me-down bikini bottom and joined the frolics. A vague dread kept me away. But I was more and more tempted when each of the Flynn sisters in turn, gave Patrick blessed relief. Five creamy loads in three hours, interrupted by swimming and tanning. He was obviously their pet and I was the ugly duckling. Feeling sorry for myself was something I had become good at.

The next day was a Monday. The four older girls, who were old enough to have summer jobs, therefore, by Irish-American tradition, had jobs, and Uncle Martin, were at work. Aunt Mary said that she was going to take Patrick with her to a friend's house. A friend who had a boy Patrick's age and whose brother had dated Mary Denise. Was I chopped liver?

Wait a minute. That meant I was left alone with Mary Ellen. She of the 38-Cs and the giving nature. Still, I couldn't…

Aunt Mary left me a bikini bottom that had been Mary Beth's and suggested that I wear it if I went swimming with Mary Ellen. The way my luck had been running, there would be a hurricane soon after Mary Ellen and I had the pool to ourselves.

Not that sunny day. Mary Ellen got into her bikini and went to the pool. Did I have the guts to join her? I did. Looking out my window as I stripped and pulled up my wispy bikini bottom, I noticed that the workmen who were putting the addition on the house were working as closely to the pool area as they could. A glimpse of Mary Ellen would send most men looking for a place to "relieve" their tensions. She was (and still is) that dishy. And I was going to be alone with her.

I wasn't usually self-conscious about my body. I was slim and big-cocked. You can't beat that. But I felt just about naked in that bikini bottom. I was barely able to stuff my "package" into it. Some pubes were showing. But I desperately wanted to be at the pool with Mary Ellen.

I was not disappointed. She gave me a 1,000-watt smile when I joined her. I smiled back, then dove into the pool. It was better than saying or doing something dumb. Mary Ellen just lay there in the sun. It was only about 80 degrees that day. A perfect day for sunning.

Gosh she was beautiful, I thought, as I got out of the pool and began to dry off with a towel. I was wondering if Mary Ellen would be taking her top off later. I hoped so. Rubbing my head with a towel, my eyes closed, I heard a deep male voice. Since I thought we were alone, that was very unsettling.

It was a workman from the house-addition project speaking to Mary Ellen and giving her a deep ogle. I dropped my towel and watched.

"…my hammer, Miss. Sorry I had to bother you to retrieve it. But I need it."

Carefully and oh so sexily, Mary Ellen rose to her feet. The man was almost shuddering with lust. Mary Ellen fixed him with a stern look and said, "Sir, my sisters and I value our privacy very much. If you bother us again, my Daddy will call and have you removed from the job. However, if you and the others leave us alone, at the end of each day, I, or one of my sisters will give each of you a nice kiss. Understood?"

Wow. The man thought for a second, smiled and said, "Yes, Miss. My name is Eddie. I'll tell the others. A kiss. Wow. No one will bother you. Goodbye, Miss"

I was certain of that.

Eddie broke eye contact with Mary Ellen and noticed me for the first time. He smiled at me, looked me up and down and said to me, "You too, Miss. I won't bother you either." And he left.

Miss?

What?

I mean I had a bikini bottom on, but… Yes, I was pretty hairless, but… How could he think I was a girl? Panic flashed through me. I knew I seemed to be losing some muscle tone since coming to the House of Beauty, but… Instinctively, I touched my left nipple. How could Eddie have thought… Wait. It felt just the tiniest bit fleshy there. Almost like a titty being born. No way, I thought. Then I forgot about all that nonsense because Mary Ellen had removed her top.

Oh my.

I was looking at a pair of knockers that only the most jaded heterosexual man in the world could ignore. They were real and they were spectacular.

And Mary Ellen was giving me an enigmatic smile worthy of Mona Lisa at her most ambivalent.

What should I do? Other than erect fiercely and almost rip my bikini panties, which I had already done.

Mary Ellen led the way. "Sean, Sweetie," she said, "Can you put lotion on me? I burn so easily."

I think I groaned. The only thing I know for sure is that I didn't pee my pants.

Mary Ellen lay in her lounger again and pointed at the lotion.

<Gulp>

I fetched the lotion and sat on Mary Ellen's lounger with her.

"Rub it on me, Sean, please. I hate to burn. Start with my legs and feet, OK?"

<Gulp>

I squeezed some lotion into my right palm, took a deep breath, and began to rub the soothing stuff onto Mary Ellen's right calf. She purred. Oh my. Beautiful, stacked, responsive and my cousin. Three out of four ain't bad.

Mary Ellen was whimpering softly when I rubbed lotion on her right foot. It was so smooth. Just like a baby's, almost. And her toes were in perfect, mint condition. Painted with two coats of pink lacquer. My poor Johnson was in severe distress. I repeated the welcome caresses on her left calf and tootsies. Her reaction was intense and sexually charged. What would she do when I got to her thighs?

That didn't happen just then. Mary Ellen opened her eyes and said, "I'm afraid my breasts will burn, Honey."

My cock was already burning when I rubbed more lotion onto my palm, hesitated for a beat, then touched the most beautiful right breast on the planet earth. Rubbed the huge, brown, erect nipple with my slick hand. Listened to my 100% fox of a cousin pant and gasp, then repeat the process with the other boobie. That was the single greatest moment of my life to that point. Then things improved greatly.

Mary Ellen opened her perfect blue eyes with their inch-long lashes and locked eyes with me. Then she gave the cutest squeal. And, unless I'm blind and deaf, came hard.

I had never seen girl cum before, so I couldn't be sure. But she came.

I was thrilled. And scared beyond belief. Which didn't abate when she untied my bikini bottoms and freed my huge rammer from its confinement.

What was she going to…..

Oh. Mary Ellen put lotion on her right palm, then placed her warm, tender hand on my cock. The first girlish hand that had ever been in that undiscovered region.

She rubbed my shaft up and down. "It's beautiful," she said. "Worthy of the Flynns."

I guessed that even the girls in the Flynn family knew the poorly kept secret that all the Flynn men were "ample."

Mary Ellen knew just where to rub and what felt fantastic, not merely wonderful. She skinned me back and rubbed my pink head until I was frantic with sexual heat. The dirtiness of the whole "cousin" thing added an element that brought me to a climax far earlier than I thought I would. Which was a little embarrassing. But still fantastic. Mary Ellen seemed to be fascinated by my very substantial explosion of the juices of life.

Oh, it was wonderful. Again, though, I had no idea where we were going next. But Mary Ellen did.

"It was so exciting watching you cum, Sean," my princess said. "Would you do that for me?"

I smiled. What did she mean by that? I would do anything she asked, but you can't stroke a girl's cock and make her cum. She doesn't have one of those, right?

Well…

Mary Ellen stood up. I stood up. I was naked. Mary Ellen had only her bikini panties on. The man with the binoculars was probably near hyperventilation.

A big moment was imminent. Would I be fucking my cousin? Eating her pussy? Putting my cock in her mouth?

No such luck.

Mary Ellen smiled shyly at me. She untied the bikini bottom on the left side. Then the right. Then she pulled the little garment down below her pubic hair. My erection was back.

Mary Ellen eased her panties down another smidgie and I stared in anticipation of seeing my first pussy.

Close, but no cigar.

Mary Ellen had a cock. As big as mine. Gooey from her recent cum. Expertly tucked between her thighs and back to her anus.

I screamed.

Not very manly, huh?

But my entire universe was turned 360 degrees. Girls were boys. Boys were girls. With beautiful, feminine bodies, gorgeous faces and big cocks. Yes, Mary Ellen had a Flynn slab of meat. And when she freed it, it was erect and sassy.

I flinched and actually backed off two steps, my face a mask of disbelief.

Mary Ellen held her arms open and said, "It's all right, Mary Frances. Let Mary Ellen make things right."

Mary Frances!!!???!!! I was right! It was a conspiracy. This crazy family wanted to turn me into a girl. Just like poor Mary Ellen. Oh, what had they done to the poor boy, whatever his name was? The shame. The horror. I was sick.

Still, he or she, she, I guess, was beautiful, had huge knockers, was naked and had her arms open to me. Despite my shame and confusion, like 99.9% of males faced with such a choice, I moved toward not away from the source of potential ball-draining sex.

Mary Ellen encircled me with her arms. Oh, baby. We were about the same height and her nipples were erect, like little cocks, rubbing against my bare chest. Worse, I felt her thick, sticky-with-cream cock rubbing against my own erect tosser and I was humiliatingly excited.

"There, there, Baby," Mary Ellen said. "That wasn't so difficult, was it? No one's going to hurt you or make you do things with boys or men if you don't want to. Mary Grace has never been happier. She loves being a girl."

I hated to admit it, but it was true. Patrick had just about crossed over. Well I was staying on my side of the river; that was for sure.

I began to sob. "Why did Aunt Mary and Uncle Marty do this to you Mary Ellen? And why are they trying to do things to me and Patrick?"

Mary Ellen's cockhead was oozing sticky stuff and applying it in a most pleasing fashion to my own drippy mushroom.

Mary Ellen giggled. "Oh, Sweetie. It's not just me. The hospital was wrong about all five of us. Those doctors said we were born boys, but our parents knew better. They raised us as girls from day one. And Mom found a doctor who could give us the female hormones we needed to give us delicious, female bodies. And you and Mary Grace can be too! You'll be so happy! Everyone will love you and you'll wear pretty things and men will erect when you walk down the street. Oh, Mary Frances, your popsy twitched at that. I think you're going to cum aren't you? It's OK. Let me hold you. You just spurt your creamies and I will too. Then we'll wash off in the pool."

I was such a little faggot! Naked in the arms of a half-boy. Cumming like a firehose. Taking her hot cumblast all over my body. It was awful. And awfully wonderful.

I had to think. I thanked Mary Ellen for being honest with me (FINALLY) then went to my room.

I washed myself off and got dressed as a boy – except for the purple panties, of course. They felt too nice. Then I thought about what was happening to Patrick and me. We were the victims of a conspiracy. The whole town was in on it, no doubt. Maybe the whole state of Ohio! Every boy who took out a Flynn girl found out what she had in her panties. There was no doubt of that. Those girls were too hot to trot. Were their boyfriends all gay? Was the entire senior class at St. Patrick's High School gay? Because they all asked the girls to the prom. Every year. What did the Flynn "girls" do with boys? I didn't know, but I was betting it was disgusting. So disgusting that the boys were lined up around the block to date the big-titted (and big-cocked) beauties.

What were they doing to Patrick? And to me? Patrick first. The little sissy was having the time of his life. No wonder he got along so well with the girls. He was one of them.

Surprisingly, that did not devastate me. It was nice to see Patrick so happy. Especially after the terrible tragedy that orphaned us. If he wants to live his life that way and be happy, I wouldn't stand in his way. The "Marys" sure seemed happy.

But it was not for me. Uh uh. I was a man!

Mary Ellen knocked on my door a couple of times, but I told her to go away. Men brood, you know. That's what we do. Achilles brooded in his tent in the Iliad, remember? Well, like him, heels figured in my demise.

 

Chapter Seven – Mary Grace meets a boy

Around three in the afternoon, Patrick and Aunt Mary returned.

Patrick was practically fainting with joy when he came into our room. His elation was the flipside of my despair.

"Oh, Sean," he said. "I had a wonderful day. I'm so glad that Mary Ellen told you all about their big, stiff secrets. You needed to know. And Sean. I met a boy."

I wasn't ready for what I thought he meant by, "I met a boy."

He pressed on. "His name is Miles Brady and he'll be in the eighth grade with me at Saint Immaculata's in the fall. His brother Eamon dated Mary Denise and they almost ran away together to elope they were so much in love. Until Daddy, I mean Uncle Marty stepped in."

I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the rest, but it was my duty as a big brother to do so. "What's he like?" I dared to ask.

I got the exact, wrong answer. "He's dreamy!!!!!! So handsome and very mature for his age. Aunt Mary said I would like him and she was so right."

Foolishly, I offered, "So what did you guys do, play video games and stuff?"

Patrick blushed deeply and said, "We kissed. A lot."

Game over. No going back, I guessed, for Patrick. But all I gave him was a non-judgmental, "Uh huh."

He continued. "Aunt Mary introduced me to Miles and Mrs. Brady as 'Mary Grace,' even though I was in boys' Bermudas, a button-down-the-front, boy's shirt and sandals. And panties. Of course. I wasn't even wearing my make-up."

His make-up? Had he been practicing that occult science too?

"Miles took my hand and took me to his room. He spent a lot of time telling me how sorry he was about Mom and Dad and all."

I had to admit. That was a big point in that little lothario's favor.

"Then Miles asked me if he could kiss me. Oh, Sean. I was never so excited. It's been fun with the Marys, but kissing an actual boy…the idea alone had me jumping out of my skin. I acted really shy, the way boys like, but I said it would be all right. His smile exploded and he sat next to me on his bed. Then he touched his lips to mine and I almost soaked my panties, right then."

I shifted a little as I listened to his story. Inexplicably, I had a hardon.

"I was really passive at first, Sean, but then I started to kiss him back. Then he became bolder and fed me his tongue. I gasped, but what could I do? He was the man and I was under his power."

My hardon hardened.

"Oh, Sean, we kissed and kissed and then we lay side-by-side on his bed and kissed some more. Miles unbuttoned my shirt and found my left nipple with his gentle fingers. I whimpered and he continued to torture me with nipple tickles. I had no idea my nipples were so sensitive, though I would guess that we'll both have A-cup titties in a couple of months, won't that be exciting?"

Frightening was a more precise term.

"Anyway, Miles completely unbuttoned me and removed my shirt, so I was naked from the waist up. I felt so exposed and helpless. So girlish. He started to kiss me all over my tummy and then up to my nipples. He rolled each one with his tongue and gave me some lovely licks. I guess I should have expected that he would reach into my panties and find my 'little person.' He didn't disappoint me. I had been 'on the verge' for about half an hour and when he laid his warm fingers on my stiff popsy, I squealed and came all over his hand. Oh, Sean. It was heaven. Better than anything I had ever experienced. And he didn't stop kissing me. He acted as if I were his princess or something! The way every girl loves to be treated."

This was very disturbing. Very. How did my knuckle-headed, baby brother know so much about girls' feelings? Why did he experience those feelings? And what could I do about it?

The answer to the last question appeared to be clear. Not a darned thing.

But wait. Patrick had more.

"The cum in my panties was messy, but very nice. But I wanted my new friend – I guess I could call him my 'boyfriend' – to enjoy himself as much as I did. My face was blushing hotly when I pulled down his zipper. Was I being too forward? I mean, he had just kissed my nipples and 'played with me' until I spurted. Wasn't it the right thing to make him cum as hard and as gooily as I had?"

If Patrick was looking to me for an answer, he was out of luck. He was the one with the certainty. I was completely confused. Except for my cock. Which knew what it wanted. Relief. And soon.

Patrick went on. "Miles was wearing boxers – they're so manly – and his boy thing was poking out of the flap. It was BEAUTIFUL, Sean. Moist and meaty. The prettiest pink head. An oozing slit. A foreskin in complete retreat. And I was the girl who got him into that state! Well, I couldn't leave him like that, could I? Now that I think about it, Aunt Mary and Mrs. Brady could have walked in at any time. I was stripped to my sopping panties and on my knees on the floor. Miles was sitting on the end of the bed. His trousers were down to his ankles and I was stroking his thick cock as he moaned with ecstasy. I guess we would have been grounded for life if anyone had walked in and disturbed us. I wonder why they didn't. Anyway, I decided that if I was going to be a girl, I was going to have to do the things 'good girls' like the Marys do. I was going to have to kiss and lick and suck Miles' cock until he was, you know, satisfied. Are you OK, Sean?"

Truth was, I wasn't. It was evil, but the thought of having my cock sucked by someone like Patrick, though certainly not Patrick (!) had me millimeters away from drenching my silky panties.

"I'm fine," I grunted out. Patrick wasn't totally convinced, but he continued the story.

"Anyway, I wanted to be worthy of my new name, Mary Grace, and girlish enough for it, so I crossed the line and became a cocksucker. It's a nice word, isn't it, Mary Frances? I mean, Sean. Cocksucker. It means just what it says. People use it to insult others sometimes, but I'll always thank anyone who compliments me by calling me a 'cocksucker.' I was a little cocksucker, on my knees and kissing my boyfriend's cock all over. I wished I had red, smeary lipstick on, but Miles didn't seem to mind. He kept saying things like, 'Oh, Mary Grace, that's beautiful. Right there! You're so beautiful. Unnnnnh.' You see, Sean. I think boys and men will say or do anything to make a girl keep sucking their cocks. We're in complete power at that point, you know?"

I didn't know, but I nodded. My own "boy's thing" was outrageously stiff and my balls were sending out urgent distress signals.

Patrick went on. "I took Miles' entire cockhead into my little mouth and gave it a nice bath with my tongue. He was oozing some sweet-tasting gooey stuff that I slurped up eagerly. Then I gave his balls a nice cuddle with my right hand. I remember thinking how nice it would be to have a nice manicure and painted fingernails for such girlish work. Aunt Mary says she's taking us to the salon soon and getting us totally girlied up."

Oh no! All that talk about cocksucking and what pushed me over the brink? The thought of being "forced" to go to a hair and nail salon with my apparently faggoty little brother. Forced to put on stockings and strut down the street in big heels and short dresses. With boys and men wanting to violate me. A boy! The perverts! Couldn't they see that I didn't want to be a girl? My aunt and uncle and gorgeous-but-faggoty cousins and even my team-switching brother, were MAKING me sissy up!

Untouched except by my rambunctious brain, my big, Flynn cock began to draw sustenance from my sore-with-lust ball sack, then heave its juices through the long tube and out the peehole, drenching my panties, filling my eyes with tears, and, when I squealed almost imperceptibly, mortifying me for life.

Patrick took me into his arms and gave me a strange look. Almost a knowing look. What did he know about me that I didn't? And what made him so smart?

He didn't finish his story about Miles, though I learned later that the little nancyboy took a big gooey load of Miles' cum in his mouth and didn't spill a drop. They kissed and made each other lots of sincere, empty promises. And they just managed to get themselves straightened out before Aunt Mary called upstairs for Patrick to come home. It was a good thing Patrick had to go! Where would Miles have wanted to put his second erection of their queer, little session?

But that wasn't the important thing at that point of this story. What was critical was what did all this mean to ME? What was that little sissy coven going to do to ME? Surely they were going to dress ME in frillies and parade ME around. Send ME to school where boys would ogle ME and want to push their big "things" into ME.

Well it wasn't going to happen, let me tell you that. Patrick may have gone over to the dark side, but I was staying on the team I was born into. I was a man and I was going to stay a man. Resistance was not futile!!!

 

Chapter Eight – The Ugly Duckling

That night, Uncle Marty and Aunt Mary sat with Patrick and me to explain the world as they saw it. The rest of the world had been deluded about us. We weren't boys. We were girls. Named Mary Frances and Mary Grace. Sweet, loving girls who would be very happy with our new sisters, since Marty and Mary had begun procedures to adopt us.

They did not raise boys, the two crazy people told us. Using crazy logic, they said that they were raising us, therefore we were girls. Patrick, who apparently couldn't wait to girlie up and suck all his classmates' wangers, bought this fractured falsehood completely. Or maybe he wasn't even listening. Just thinking about taking Tommy Smith or Billy Jones into the supply closet at school and penilely dehydrating them.

I didn't buy any of it, but what choice did I have? I would have to wear the clothes, but I was NOT having any sort of sexual relations with males. Since it was a Catholic home and S-E-X was never discussed, I knew I wouldn't have to spell that out to my crazy aunt and uncle, soon to be my crazy mom and dad. I found out later that Uncle Marty thought his girls were all virgins. Aunt Mary knew better.

Patrick looked as if he had just been given a lifetime pass to Disneyland. From his point of view, I guess he had.

Aunt Mary knew I was resistant. To "homosex" completely and forever. Not quite so resistant to the panties and nighties and <gasp> other stuff like make-up and stockings that I had not worn yet.

Though I hadn't stated them, I had drawn my lines carefully and permanently in my mind, my will and my resolve.

The next day, Aunt Mary, with Mary Alice and Mary Beth assisting, dressed us completely as girls for the first time. We were going to the salon, Aunt Mary told us, as she gave us out daily "vitamin" shots in our fleshy bottoms. We would be getting makeovers, but we were to pay attention to hair and make-up techniques, since we would be doing our own from then on. Patrick was practically flipping out of his sissy skin with joy. I was miserable. Mostly.

Who would have ever thought that my little brother would turn out to be such a little pantyboy pansy?

I have to admit that I was a little sexually aroused as I slid my first stockings over my freshly-shaven legs. OK, I gasped, lurched and came all over myself. But it would have happened to anyone. The silky, smooth tan material caressing my calves, my knees, my thighs as I admired how remarkably sexy my legs looked and felt. The dark "weal" at the top of each stocking acting as a "border" of sorts. A "no-fly zone." A "no-peeking-above-this-line zone, though the Marys' dresses were so short that I had often caught glimpses of their stocking tops. Not that I would be looking any more. Now that I knew they were really boys. Boys who looked and acted more femininely than everyone I had ever known. Or maybe who ever lived. Boys with big titties and porn-starlet bodies. Boys over whom other boys, hetero boys, wanked themselves to sleep, night after night. Nevertheless, they were boys and my plan was to do the absolute minimum required to survive in that nutty family until I was 18 and could go off and make my fortune elsewhere.

It would be a shame to leave Patrick, but he was already lost to me. Imagining himself as a girl named Mary Grace Flynn. My brother – already sucking some guy's cock and telling me the story again as we lay in bed the previous night. Telling me about how he hoped Miles would get even naughtier the next time they got together. Oh, it was disgusting. OK. So I spurted sperm into my pink babydoll while he was telling me about Miles' fat cock and heavy balls. So what? I was 14. You could read me a toothpaste label and I would be horny.

That day, Mary Alice, who was actually pretty nice for a sissy pantyboy creampuff intent on ruining my life, was very patient about teaching me to walk in two-and-a-half-inch heels. It was a wonder that I didn't destroy my ACL or something. Aunt Mary, in a show of domminess that surprised me and her "sons," wouldn't give me my panties until I learned to master the heels. So I was prancing around the bedroom I shared with Patrick (I was the only person calling him that by then), wearing only tan stockings, a white garter belt and white, 2.5-inch pumps. It was humiliating, but motivating, as Aunt Mary predicted. She did take pity on me at one point, leaving the room and directing Mary Alice to "Give poor Mary Frances some relief. Her popsy is going to poke someone's eye out."

It was true. My poker was hard as iron and leaking madly. Being almost naked, wearing brief girlie things, with four femmy people in the room, had me in sexual torment. I blushed crimson when Mary Alice's soft, practiced hand took me away from my immediate problems to a decidedly better place. A creamy, sticky place, where we all feel our best. My guilt and shame were still intact after I had cum, but as we all know, cumming triumphs over all.

My tensions relieved, I was able to gain my balance and I was soon walking somewhat smoothly in heels lower than any the cousins had worn since they were preteens. If I wanted to be a "girl" like them, which I decidedly did NOT, I had some serious catching up to do. Not so with Patrick. He was soaking up femininity as fast as the cousins could hose him down with it. I was wearing a mental raincoat.

More torment was in store for me, that day and beyond, however. Beginning with Mary Alice's fixation of a lacy, silky brassiere over what only an optimist could call, my boobs.

By that point, I had added two and two and knew that those shots we all got in our cheeky bottoms every day were strong hormone cocktails. Hormones that had helped create five feminine masterpieces from five piles of boyish mud. But my cousins had been getting their shots since they were pre-pubescent. How would they affect Patrick, six months already into male puberty, and me, a full 18 months down the road to manhood?

The answer seemed to be, profoundly.

Patrick and I had only been taking hormones for a month, but unless I was delusional, they were working. My hips and waist proportions felt slightly different. My body hair was thinning and softening slightly. But the biggest change was in my nipples.

Until the night I wore my first, humiliating-but-thrilling nightie, I hadn't thought twice about my nipples. Since then, I wasn't able to forget them. They itch. They tingle. But mostly, they ache for attention. And I give it. Nightly. Alone in my bed. Rubbing and tickling a nipple with one hand as I pull my foreskin off, then over my pink helmet, again and again. I liked to tickle my pickle in my old life, but the nipple stimulation made those old orgasms seem like sneezes versus the earthquakes I was getting. It couldn't all be the nipples, could it? I think a lot of it was <blush> the sexually-charged environment of my new home. My brother was rushing headlong toward a career as the world's tastiest jail bait. My cousins weren't boys and they weren't girls – just the sexiest, most feminine people to walk the earth since Wilma Flintstone and Betty Rubble.

Well, no matter. I wasn't going to pretend I was a girl, then suck boys' cocks and goodness-knows-what-else with the legions of male creatures who seemed to materialize whenever one of the five Marys – six now with Patrick – appeared in public.

But back to my first bra, which was showing no mercy to my puffy nipples and their fleshy, potential eruptions underneath. Since there was nothing to support, my bra straps weren't pinching or marking my flesh. Poor Mary Ellen, I thought, with those Betty Page bazongas. Toting those around all day made some parts of life challenging and other parts simplicity itself. Boys and men did things for Mary Ellen. And she was only 15. What potential! Not to suggest that boys and men avoided the other Marys. Goodness no. Boys and men worshipped all the Marys, including, it turned out, Patrick. But Mary Ellen seemed particularly gifted. She had the biggest "headlamps," widest hips, roundest bottom, shapeliest legs and <gulp> the biggest, fattest, stiffest, meatiest cock I have ever, to this day, seen.

I was such an ugly duckling compared to Mary Ellen, I thought, as I saw my uncoiffed hair and uncosmetized face. Compared to all of them, even Patrick/Mary Grace.

It was a good thing I didn't care.

Patrick selected a beautiful, summer, yellow frock with tan, seamed stockings and yellow, four-inch-stiletto sandals for his first salon visit. He looked completely delicious <the little fairy>. Clearly, he wanted to attract males to his nest of pollen. My goal was to sting males and send them home. So I selected a wraparound plaid skirt and plain, button-up, white blouse, with my 2.5-inch pumps. Mary Alice, who said I looked as if I were going to a Catholic penal school, suggested a pretty dress or two, but I chose frumpy, thank you. Frumpy and definitely not available. Unlike Patrick, who practically hung a sign on his bottom that said, "Vacancy, inquire within."

My fashion sense didn't seem to concern Aunt Mary in the least. Other than dressing as a girl, she seemed to require nothing of me. Did she think I would come to LIKE girlishness and eventually become like the rest of them? I certainly hoped that she was brighter than that, because I had made up my mind to stay macho and that was that.

I even walked macho when we got out of the Flynn family's van and strolled to the salon. That was a mistake, since it drew exactly the kind of attention that I longed to avoid. As a girl who walked and acted like a boy, I would be a target of derision. So, as any good general does, I revised my war plan. While dressed, I would take on some girlish mannerisms, but I would be Miss Plain Jane until March 17, 1993 – my 18^th birthday and liberation day.

Inside the salon, I almost choked from all the smells and femininity. Calming myself down, I said my mantra: "Plain Jane, Plain Jane."

Patrick rushed into the clutches of a beautician, probably chanting his own mantra, "Boy Toy. Boy Toy."

Aunt Mary, Mary Alice and Mary Beth left us for four horrible hours, during which our male selves were assaulted by chemicals, cosmetics, and sharp objects. We were kept away from mirrors, but I could see Patrick. There was no question about it. He was Mary Grace – Patrick no more. His face was bathed in feminine beauty. His hair, boyish length, but feminine styling, was a princess's crown.

Recognizing the inevitable, I let my brother Patrick go at that moment and began to think of him as Mary Grace, my sister.

But I held onto my own identity as Sean, AKA "Plain Jane."

Though the mirror, when they finally gave me one, said differently. As did Aunt Mary, Mary Alice, Mary Beth and Mary Grace.

They all looked stunned. "You're the prettiest of us all," Mary Beth said. And they all nodded.

Pish posh, I thought. All part of their secret plan to feminize me permanently.

But when I saw myself in the mirror, I had to admit that it was not a total lie. It may have even been true.

In facial appearance, at least, I was a world-class beauty. Who'ld a thunk it?

At first I thought I was being tricked somehow. A phony mirror or something. But I knew it was true. I was the fairest of all the Irish girls!

Winning is always fun, but upon further review, I realized that my beauty was irrelevant. When I left that salon, I would be in charge of my own appearance and I vowed to never get myself into such a babish state again.

What nonsense that family was, I thought. Boys pretending to be girls.

Imagine the things that would happen to me if I looked like I did in the mirror. My bottom and mouth would be filled with hot, creaming cocks for several hours every day. Men would lay down their wallets for me.

No thank you. Plain Jane for me, please. And hetero Sean in the process.

Much to the family's surprise, disappointment and some dismay, I seemed ready to kept my word.

I got a lot of strange looks from the ladies who filed and painted my toe- and fingernails, pierced my ears and styled my hair. Envious looks, maybe? Looks of awe at my potential, maybe. The looks from the rest of my new family when we returned home were even stranger. Mary Ellen and Uncle Marty especially. Uncle Marty looked at Mary Grace and me with true, male adoration, a fact that Mary Ellen, who had always been her Daddy's favorite, noted with some consternation. Well that big-titted beauty had nothing to worry about from Plain Jane me.

That night when we lined up in our nighties to say goodnight, Uncle Marty seemed to be expecting me to sit on his lap, like the others, and kiss him. Whatever made him think that? I said a polite, asexual goodnight and strode off resolutely to my lonely bed.

The next day was a Sunday and the Flynns, as always, attended 11 a.m. mass at Saint Immaculata's. The Flynn's arrival, particularly on a warm day, was a major event in our town. Five she-male beauty queens would alight from their Daddy's van, singeing the eyeballs of male onlookers. Until that week, Patrick and I could have worn clown outfits, juggling whirring chainsaws, and we would have been totally ignored. That week, we were noticed. Well, Mary Grace was, anyway.

Men and boys, including Father Murphy, were salivating over Mary Grace as she tottered along in her impossibly high heels, impossibly short skirt, exposing her impossibly beautiful legs with her stocking seams impossibly straight. They noticed me too -- just didn't know what to think of me.

Months later, talking to some males who were onlookers that day, I discovered that I had achieved the precise result I was after. I met the letter of Aunt Mary's and Uncle Marty's law by dressing as a girl, to include skirts, not pants, and fully-fashioned stockings. But through some well-executed efforts, I was still able to look frumpy and unattractive.

A lot of that had to do with the fact that I was in the presence of feminine royalty, thus, I would have had to achieve my full feminine potential (an awesome force, apparently) merely to appear on a male witness' "babe-ar" (radar for babes) screen.

The "girls" wore lovely, fluttering, pastel summer minidresses. I wore a white blouse and a brown skirt that extended four inches below my knees. The girls wore perfect, glowing make-up that gave them huge eyes and kissable lips. I grudgingly wore a bit of lipstick that was of the completely wrong shade. The girls wore strappy, summer, five-inch stiletto sandals that showed off their kissable toes and made their bottoms stick out in lewd invitation. I wore low, navy-blue pumps that clashed with the rest of my ensemble. I looked like the "slow" cousin from the backwoods. The ugly duckling in a lake full of swans.

And that was just fine with me, thank you.

No men were slobbering over me. No one went home and "punished Elvis" with a clear picture of me in their disgusting minds. At least I thought so at the time.

It wasn't easy being the lump of coal among the diamonds, but I managed to keep it going throughout the summer. I'll admit that my male competitiveness made me itch to show the world that I "had some game" as basketball players say. And it wasn't easy being the oddball all the time. But I knew that as soon as I babed up a bit, bad things would happen.

Of course, I wasn't able to follow my plan completely. Maybe it was the darned hormones, but things were happening to me that I could not resist.

Mary Grace welcomed all those temptations, which was good for me, because it showed me the awful fate that awaited me if I strayed from my Plain Jane resolve.

Mary Grace was a feminine prodigy. Wherever we went, males swarmed. The stories I could tell you!

For example, Mary Denise worked at an ice cream shop in our town square. The owner had employed a Flynn there every summer since Mary Alice had turned 16. He paid the Flynn girls an incredible $25 an hour to work there, not because he was "getting any" from my cousins, but because his business quadrupled when a Flynn was leaning over to scoop out ice cream and handing it to a customer. Men and boys endured lines around the block just to breathe the same air as one of my cousins. One day Mary Grace and I walked downtown to get an ice cream cone and stood in that line. Mary Grace, as always, was dressed to thrill. I felt like her bag lady cousin (which was just what I wanted, thank you). She and I joined the end of the line quietly until one of the boys in the queue turned and noticed us. He actually gasped, then said in a too-loud voice, "Omigosh, you're Mary Grace, the new Flynn girl!!"

No mention of my existence on this planet was made.

Mary Grace blushed and posed and giggled and charmed about 50 males eager to introduce themselves. I half-expected them to start doing backflips or organize a jousting competition or something, just to impress my living doll of a "sister." Younger sister, who, by the way, if I wanted to outshine in the beauty department, I could. I could have outshone all of them. Any time I wanted. Hmmpphh.

Then there was the matter of the swimming pool. I loved to swim and the days, without school or work, were long. So, even though I had to wear a miniscule, bikini bathing suit, I spent many days in the backyard pool. Mary Ellen, who at 15, was also too young to work was there with me and Mary Grace. And the workmen. Remember them? True to their word, they had left the sunbathing, topless Flynn girls alone, in exchange for some kissing from a Flynn girl when each workday ended.

I certainly had no intention of being the designated kisser. But Mary Grace had no such inhibitions. Three or four days a week, wearing only bikini bottoms, tented by her stiff peener, Mary Grace would let four rough men kiss her and give her a good, all-over-except-inside-the-bikini-bottoms feel-up. She didn't "endure" it. She adored it. And so did the men.

I avoided that disgusting daily scene as well as I could by putting on my bikini bra and jumping into the water while Mary Grace or one of our cousins was submitting to a man's probing tongue in her mouth. The bra was <blush> necessary because by the end of summer, my darned nipples had gotten so darned puffy and the flesh under them was expanding. I was at half an A-cup and Mary Grace was a bit further along than I. Jumping in the pool was necessary because the daily "payment in kisses" gave me a raging erection. Since I'm telling you everything, I'll admit that. But I thought I was fooling everyone in the family. It was such agony to be betrayed by my body like that, but those men and that kissing…. I was horny for something, darn it, but I was sure it wasn't that.

Then there was the matter of Mary Grace and her best intentions.

Mary Grace, even in those good old days when she was my brother Patrick, had always confided in her big brother. I used to really like that. But in the summer of 1989, it made my life very difficult. She and the other "girls" in the family had no qualms about giving each other some nice kisses and some manual relief when it was needed. They also had no reservations about describing the details of intimacies with their many boyfriends.

By that time, except for fully-developed boobs (which she achieved gloriously about a year later), Mary Grace was a complete Flynn girl. To include the ultimate emasculation, the surrender of her tight bottom to a manly intruder.

One night, a week before school began, Mary Grace told me all about it.

As we did every night, the Marys and I said good night to Aunt Mary and Uncle Marty. We were all wearing filmy, tiny babydolls that hid very little of the girls' perfect, voluptuous bodies. As always, the sight of Mary Alice's brown, two-inch diameter, erect nipples pushing against a diaphanous pink nightie; Mary Clare's shapely legs that began at her gorgeous bottom and ended at her impossibly high stiletto mules; and Mary Denise's huge, liquid eyes had me "in a state." As always, I said good night to Uncle Marty, but refused to sit on his lap, then hug and kiss him, an act Mary Grace performed with flair.

As always, Mary Grace and I removed our challenged panties and got into our beds on opposite sides of our room. The addition to the house would be done in a day or two, but we would be staying in the room we occupied.

Most nights, Mary Grace would reach into her nightstand and extract some baby oil, which she slathered on her big clitty and her right hand. She would then tease herself to a satisfying orgasm that, she said, helped her to sleep soundly. I did the same, without the baby oil and without all the disgusting sound effects like squeals that my girlie sister-brother issued.

After spilling our cargo, Mary Grace and I would sometimes chat dreamily until we fell asleep.

That night was different.

Mary Grace slathered up her Flynn-sized peener, all right, but then she walked over to my side of the room and got into bed with me.

That was unacceptable! I was about to protest when she said, "You seem so sad, Mary Frances. Can I cheer you up a little?"

And without waiting for my response, she placed her warm, baby-oiled hand on my stiff Flynnsickle.

It was wrong, especially her calling me "Mary Frances." But I was willing to listen to her side of things before I insisted she stop. Listen completely. To her side.

Mary Grace cuddled against me and stroked my manly cock expertly. "It's very nice, isn't it, Mary Frances? The other girls help each other like this a lot. It's just girls being loving to each other."

Good point, I thought, as an involuntary moan escaped my throat. It would have been gay if we were Patrick and Sean doing that. But as Mary Grace and Mary Frances, it was OK, I guessed. I had never had my Johnson in a wet pussy, but the feeling was probably quite similar. And quite wonderful.

Mary Grace nagged a little as she took me to heaven's suburbs. "You're missing so much, Mary Frances. You can be one of us. You can be the fairest of them all."

It was like Yoda saying, "Trust the Force, Luke." It was true. I could be a beautiful, adored girl. Or a schlumpy girl, then, at 18, a schlumpy man. Mary Grace's thumb rubbed my peehole just as I saw an image of myself as the beauty princess of Ohio, adored by men, envied by women. And my balls exploded! Spurt after spurt burst from my big boner. Thick ropes of cream, engendered by gay thoughts and a borderline incestual act. My eyes filled with tears from the intensity of my orgasm. And the depth of my shame.

I guess it was Catholic guilt or something. I saw that things were better on "the other side," but I couldn't bring myself to switch teams.

Mary Grace, bless her heart, understood. She kissed my forehead, then got back into her bed. I sobbed softly as Cum Lake dried on my belly and "breasts," then, eventually I fell asleep.

The next night, when we were alone in our room, Mary Grace changed her tactics. She stayed in her own bed, but said that she had to tell me things that she had been keeping from me. Things about Miles and her.

Oh my. It was going to be another bad night. I still don't know why, but I left my bed, padded across the room, and got into bed with her. I guess the "big-brother" (or whatever I was at that point) instinct was still strong in me. I held the little creampuff in my arms – non-sexually – and said, "Tell me what you need to tell me."

Mary Grace began to cry. Just like a girl. "Oh, thank you, Mary Frances, for being so understanding. You're the best big sister in the world!"

As she was rubbing against me, I could feel her massive hardon. Was the little nipper getting bigger than me in the penile department?

My own equipment was in a bit of a dither as well as we cuddled and I said, "What's on your mind, Mary Grace?"

She sighed and held me more tightly. "I'm not a virgin anymore," she said cautiously.

Yeah. As if I hadn't guessed that. Hundreds of males looked ready to mortgage homes and sell businesses in order to shower her with gifts. It's no wonder that one of them got past an apparently poorly guarded fortress.

"That's OK, Honey," I said. (Had I really called my former brother "Honey?)" "It happens to everyone eventually." Though not yet to me.

Mary Grace hugged me more tightly for being so understanding. I asked the obvious question. "Was it Miles?"

Mary Grace raised her head and looked at me. "We haven't spoken in a while have we?" she said. "Miles is so 'last month.' I've had two other boyfriends since him."

Oh. So my little sister got around. Always a surprise to a big brother.

Mary Grace filled me in on details. "Miles was sweet, but too young for me."

Too young?!?! They were the same age.

She continued. "I saw his brother Eamon for a bit after Miles and I broke up."

"The brother who dated Mary Denise? He's 16!!!!"

"Seventeen actually," my adventurous little sister giggled.

"That's too old," I said, in my role as big-brother-who-protects-what-remains-of-virtue. "Did he…take advantage of you?"

"You're so cute when you're protective, Mary Frances," the little adventurer said. "The answer is no. I sucked his cock a few times and he sucked mine, but we didn't go all the way."

And this was all said in the pre-Lewinsky era.

"Then who was the perpetrator?" I asked. A horrible thought flashed that it had been Uncle Marty. Or one of the Marys. Or one of the construction workers.

"The dreamiest boy in the world – Michael Daley. He's a year older than I – in your class at St. Patrick's High. Aunt Mary introduced us."

If she had been in Dodge City, Aunt Mary could have run a pretty profitable bawdy house, I imagined at that point.

"Remember that afternoon last week when Aunt Mary took me shopping and we didn't get home until late?"

I remembered. Mary Ellen had "paid off" the workmen that day and I creamed my bikini panties, even though I was standing in four feet of water at the time.

"Well," Mary Grace said, "Aunt Mary left me off at the Daleys and Michael and I spent the afternoon together in bed."

It was dark, but I felt the heat of Mary Grace's full-body blush.

"Michael was so cute and he said I was so beautiful and 'special.' My panties were off in nanoseconds and we were on his bed and kissing and before I knew it, he had two fingers in my pussy and I was cumming all over myself."

I winced at that image. Mary Grace sensed my need and began to tickle my privates as she continued her story.

"Michael was so considerate! And tidy. He pulled my skirts up and licked up all the messy cummies. But he didn't stop there! He turned me over and began kissing what he called my 'soft globes.' That's my bottom cheeks, you know."

I knew. Her story was so gay and disgusting that I was microns away from drenching my nightie.

"But Michael took me by surprise when he held my 'globes' apart with his thumbs and began to lick my 'pussy.' Are you all right, Mary Frances?"

By most definitions, I was more than all right. The thought of being so desirable to a male that he would lick your asshole was startlingly, shockingly erotic to me. So much so that I began ejaculating helplessly in thick globs.

Mary Grace pumped me nicely, then gave my balls a little squeeze that ensured that the last drops of my sperm and semen would depart their former home.

She was AWFULLY good at that, which assured me that she had had a very active summer.

The usual wave of shame did not hit me. I didn't know why then and can only guess now, but it was very pleasant to enjoy a cum throughout the calm-down period, rather than berate myself for gayness, sissiness, pantyboyhood, and other manifestations of emasculation.

I wanted to hear more.

Mary Grace gathered a large puddle of my cum in her girlish fingers and used it to massage my ball sack. That was extraordinarily nice. And arousing. As was the rest of her story.

"Oh, Mary Frances," she said, "I'm so glad that you find this so exciting. Being a girl and having men admire you 'that way' is wonderful. I hope you'll agree some day."

Doubtful, I thought, though not quite as resolutely as before.

She continued. "Michael used the tip of his tongue to lick my 'special place.' It's all wrinkly back there and very tight. But I had adored it when he had his fingers inside me and I was hoping that he would be able to put his big cock inside me without hurting me. I knew it was big because <blush> the previous two times we had gotten together, I sucked it. Anyway, Michael got a little bolder and began to push that stiff, wet tongue of his inside me. It was so rude and dirty that I squealed and shot my stuff all over his bed sheets. What would his Mom say about that, I thought idly.

"I still had my black, fully-fashioned stockings on, and my garter belt. My skirt was up above my waist and my panties were gone. I was lying face down on Michael's bed in a pool of my own cum. And a boy, whom I had only been with twice before, was getting onto his knees to straddle me so he could put his big cock into my tight, virgin bottom. I tell you, Mary Frances, why would anyone want to be anything but a Flynn girl?"

Interesting question, I mused, as my rammer stiffened under Mary Grace's loving attentions. And her interesting account.

"I think you like my story, Mary Frances," she said. "Michael got into position, then rubbed the wet tip of his cock against my anus, making me whimper and beg him to put it in me. Men like that a lot, Mary Frances. They also like the feeling they get from putting their 'big businesses' into our tiny holes. I had only had fingers back there before and, while that was very nice, I wasn't sure I could take a big cock from a real man or boy. I was wrong. We Flynns are a special breed. Michael slipped into me like butter. I squealed a little to make him think I was overstuffed, but it felt just right. Especially the rubbing against my poor prostate. Has anyone rubbed your prostate, Mary Frances? Oh, it's heavenly. Michael kissed my neck and told me I was beautiful and fucked me until I couldn't endure the prostate friction any more. I screamed and made another huge mess in his bed. My sweet boy grunted and made a huge mess in my bottom. And look, Mary Frances, you're making another huge mess yourself!"

It was true. I was whimpering like a little girl and spurting my creamy juices all over the place.

Was I a little faggot like my cousins and brother? I didn't think so. But the thoughts I was having made me cum so hard that my ears popped and they were not conventionally heterosexual thoughts.

What a strange situation I was in.

 

Chapter Nine – Crossing the Bridge

I guess the night I listened to Mary Grace's tales of her deflowering was a turning point for me. It weakened my resolve. So did those ball-curdling orgasms I got in that sexually explosive environment called the Flynn family.

But my resolve still had some spine to it the next day when enough shame and guilt (the Irish-Catholic twin towers) came back to restore my manly heterosexuality.

Briefly.

That day, by chance, was the day that the workmen finished the addition to the Flynn house – a new bedroom and a new bath. That meant that in the following school year, with Mary Alice and Mary Beth off to college, Mary Clare and Mary Denise and Mary Ellen would have their own rooms, though Mary Denise and Mary Ellen would have to store Mary Alice's and Mary Beth's stuff in their rooms. Even better, the "girls" and I would have two-and-a-half baths for the five of us who would be there most of the year. Not great, but heavenly compared to the seven-in-one-and-a-half situation we had all summer.

The bad part was that my cousins and sister had decided to give the workmen a proper sendoff for their good work and for respecting our space all summer. I shuddered at what a "proper sendoff" meant. No matter, I thought, since I wasn't going to be involved.

As luck would have it, the girls all had off from work that day and Aunt Mary was off visiting her mother in a town 75 miles away. She had Mary Alice drive her there, so there were six of us at the pool. In our bikinis. And big stiffies.

The four workmen finished at around two p.m. that day and came to the pool to say goodbye. As usual, my big-boobed cousins were sunbathing topless, as was my "sister." I remember being strangely miffed that Mary Grace's progress in the titty department was exceeding mine. Combined with her bigger peeny, I was beginning to feel like a loser at genetic bingo. It comforted me to think back to my makeover and how much prettier I was than all of them. Not that I had looked half that good since. Why was I thinking like that?

Anyway, the workmen looked like kids at the candy counter with a handful of change. Four bra-buster babes. One little nymphet, hotter-to-trot than anyone there. And the odd card in the deck.

I was about to leave them to their faggotry when Mary Beth said, "You know, Mary Frances, you're going to be using the new bathroom and you had privacy all summer, but you never properly thanked these men once. Don't you feel guilty about that?"

Guilt.

The Irish nuclear weapon. Skillfully applied, it can rip huge holes in opponents, especially family members. Protestants appear to be immune, but Catholics and Jews understand its use and shudder at its power to affect them.

Was that sort of guilt more powerful than my various "aversions?"

Ask any Irish-American for the answer to that one.

It appeared that I was going to have to kiss some of these sweaty men with calloused hands, rippling muscles and broad shoulders. And there would be no pool to jump into to hide my stiffie. Which was lethally hard at that moment.

Mary Beth, as senior Flynn girl present, organized things. Four men. Six girls.

Two of the men would have two of us. I could have just left at that moment. But guilt was driving me. As was lust.

Mary Beth teamed with me. We picked Bruno, a short, Italian-American man who was the crew chief. Mary Beth had Bruno sit, then placed me on his left thigh. I was going to be kissing a man. Taking his rude tongue down my throat. I trembled at the idea.

Mary Beth, I thought, was going to sit on Bruno's right thigh. I was wrong.

Mary Beth knelt between Bruno's knees, unzipped his pants and took out his cock.

<Gulp>

I panicked. Was I going to be expected to… Bruno covered my mouth with his. He grunted when Mary Beth swallowed his cock. Then he began to kiss me. Rather sweetly, actually. His hands were not idle. I was the only Flynn still wearing a bra, so he remedied that anomaly, unhooking it expertly with one hand. Bruno teased my nipples with his rough fingers as he plunged his tongue into my mouth. Ohhhh. It was so disgusting!!! And frantically exciting. I let myself go just a notch, allowing myself the pleasure of the moment. Bruno seemed to sense that and, magically, my bikini panties were gone. I was naked and rampant on a rampant man's lap. While my cousin was sucking his cock, apparently very well. I was once again 'on the verge' becoming frantic with lust when, suddenly, Bruno removed his lips from my mouth and relocated them to my left nipple. No one had ever…. It was so sensitive and… It had grown and changed so much.

Helpless, consumed with erotic fever, I threw my head back and squealed, then hurled huge, sticky globs of thick creamy sperm a foot into the warm air. Oh, what the others must have thought of me. At that moment, I didn't care. I was a little, sissy, play toy for a man.

Mary Beth stopped sucking Bruno's cock and looked at me, pleased at what she saw. She smiled and said, "I'm so happy you enjoyed that. I've made a good start here, but would you like to finish?"

Bruno's insolent cock stood thick, stiff and drippy. Its knob had been thoroughly polished and its eye was looking at me. Maybe just this once, I thought.

I looked at Bruno, who smiled at me sweetly. I stood, helped Mary Beth to her feet, then replaced her, on my knees between the man's hairy legs.

I held Bruno's wet monster in my warm, manicured hand. It's just experimental, I thought. I can stop anytime I want. Anyway, when in Rome, do as they do. Just trying to get along with the family. Plus, it wasn't my fault. I was forced.

I thought about seeking further rationalizations, but decided that I had identified enough of them for the moment.

Then I kissed Bruno's cockhead. And didn't die. I kissed it again. A large, pearly drop oozed from his peehole and perched atop Mount Bruno. I licked it off. And didn't die.

It was sweet. Kind of nice. I cuddled Bruno's balls with my left hand, squeezing them gently. Bruno and Mary Beth were kissing and he was pawing her fine set of gazongas. I knew he preferred me and was determined to show that I could make Bruno cum even if Mary Beth couldn't. I kissed, licked, tickled, sucked, rubbed, scratched and swallowed that big piece of prime beef until Bruno groaned and began to cover my face with six huge spurts of manly juices.

It was so emasculating! On my knees. Naked. A man's sperm all over my face. In full view of five feminine family members and three other men.

Emasculating and thrilling! My first taste of man honey and, for that day at least, I wanted the whole hive.

My old friends Shame and Guilt were back. But they had changed. Shame looked down on his luck. Hadn't been doing well in his business. Threadbare clothes. Guilt was out of shape. Had put on pounds. Aged. Didn't pack the punch he once did.

I told them to hit the bricks. They did.

The rest of that afternoon, I sucked the other three men's big stickers and made them cum all over me. I was covered with creamy, nasty sticky stuff. As emasculated as anyone could be.

When the men left and I jumped into the pool to wash off, I felt part of my new family for the first time.

It wasn't exactly a group hug we had to celebrate my new attitude. But every girl's pink bag was completely empty by the time Aunt Mary, Uncle Marty and Mary Alice came home.

 

Chapter 10 – A New Swan

That night I sat on Uncle Marty's lap and kissed him good night. Naughtily, I wondered what would happen if I sank to my knees and sucked Uncle Marty's stiffie. That would have been part of Flynn family lore for years to come.

But part of what made the Flynn family function was that "Daddy" was oblivious to the girls' sexual adventures, while "Mom" dealt with reality in a realistic fashion.

Uncle Marty didn't seem surprised at all when I cuddled and kissed him. I guess everyone in the world but me had it figured that any young fellow who was given the opportunity to become a Flynn girl would eventually realize how wonderful that prospect was.

My stiff resistance to femininity had gone limp.

Thank goodness.

The next day was Sunday. Time to make my real debut at Saint Immaculata's as Mary Frances. The real Mary Frances.

My "sisters" and "Mom" fussed over me, getting me ready to "shock the world." That time, I paid attention to the application of my cosmetics. And my cosmetics apparently appreciated the attention. I was a knockout.

I stepped out of the house that day in tan, seamed, reinforced-heel-and-toe stockings, ruffled, white garter belt, lacy white bra, yellow minidress with pleated skirts, and strappy, yellow, five-inch-stiletto sandals. It was the first time I had unleashed all my Flynnish power and I was feeling powerful and vulnerable all at once.

Powerful because there were few men in the world who would deny me very much of anything. Vulnerable because I was a weak, helpless girl and a man could lift my skirts, pull down my panties and fuck me and I couldn't stop him.

Would I want to stop him? I guess it would depend on the man.

At that point, I didn't really know any men. Just the workmen and my new Daddy.

I had a feeling that was about to change.

In the church parking lot, Mom, Daddy, my six sisters and I alit from Daddy's minivan. Like every Sunday, a small crowd of boys and men were lolling around, pretending that they weren't waiting for a glimpse at the prettiest, sexiest girls in Ohio. For the first time since Mary Grace had debuted a few weeks earlier, a murmur went up from the crowd as we sissied by.

The murmur for me was bigger than it had been for Mary Grace. Much bigger.

I was such a hot babe! I'm 28 today and I'm actually hotter now. So are my sisters. But I'm still the hottest, thank you.

Anyway, I can only begin to imagine what the men and boys in the crowd were thinking they would like to do with my body and its various parts. Just walking around in front of men as a hot babe is a massively exciting experience.

I was pretty full of myself when we got home from church that day. And I was eager to be "full of" someone else. A male someone else.

Sucking those workmen's cocks had been fun, but I needed to be under a rutting, snorting male, giving myself to him. Surrendering to his disgusting needs.

I didn't have to wait very long.

Aunt Mary, who Mary Grace and I were now calling "Mom," was a pragmatist and a born matchmaker. She wasn't sure why I had completely accepted my feminine side, but she knew what it meant to someone with my stampeding hormones. I needed male attention. Soon. School was starting in two days. Better I should know someone before school started so I wasn't bombarded by male students at my new high school. As it turned out, that was inevitable, but at least I could cool some suitors off by saying I was seeing someone. Or so Mom thought.

The next day, a Monday, Mom greeted me at breakfast with, "There's someone I'd like you to meet, Mary Frances. Why don't you make yourself extra pretty and I'll take you to meet him?"

Mom must have been part of a network of mothers whose sons were big-cocked and beautiful. Mom's sons ended up being daughters. But the others' sons in the network were all very sexy and horny young Adonises.

And Riley Duffy was the adonist of them all.

Sixteen years old. A junior at Saint Patrick's High School. Black, curly hair. Nuclear-powered smile. And a big lump in his pants when he saw me in my skimpy white minidress, white, seamed stockings, and white, five-inch-stiletto sandals.

We were all talking, Mrs. Duffy, Mom, Riley and I and then suddenly, Riley and I were alone in the house.

Riley looked at me as if I were that shiny, red, Schwinn two-wheeler he got on his ninth birthday. I was better. You can't fuck a Schwinn.

I had no idea how long Riley and I would be alone. I had no idea whether I wanted to do sex things with a boy I had just met, though he was VERY cute! But I was very interested in kissing him and, like the very beginning, that's a very good place to start.

I was still totally new at this boy-girl stuff from the girl's end, so I just sat there looking madly feminine and totally desirable until Riley either imploded or made his move.

Riley told me later that he couldn't believe his good fortune – to be with not only a Flynn girl, but the prettiest of them all. And a virgin! Implosion was definitely on his short list of alternative actions. Instead, he began to tell me how pretty I was and how happy he was to be with me.

I don't know if that works with all girls, but it certainly melted Mary Frances Flynn's butter.

I thanked him and mentioned the fact that he was sitting several inches away from me and perhaps he would like to move closer. I mentally reviewed that I had applied the "kissproof" lipgloss that day. Check!

Riley was telling me that he was sorry about our parents, but he was glad that I was going to his school and the next thing you knew, we were kissing. My first real kissing with a boy. That stuff with the workmen was like the Twilight Zone. Sitting on the Duffy's couch kissing the Duffy lad, that was real. And very nice. Warm and sexy. Very sexy. In fact. My ears were turning red and my pretty skirts were tenting a bit.

But I was very disturbed when Riley stopped kissing me and left the room. Did I have bad breath? Was he inviting his friends over for a gang bang?

Moments later, Riley returned with two dishtowels. He sat with me again, put his arm around me and said. "We're both getting so excited. I didn't want any stains on that pretty dress."

My mouth hung on that one. Cute AND considerate.

Back to the kissing, though even more enthusiasm on my part. I looked very girlish and by giving myself to a nice boy, I felt so girlish. Riley opened his mouth and I followed his lead. Our tongues danced and we both gasped and panted with pleasure. Somehow, and this has happened to me VERY frequently, my panties were down to my mid-thighs. Was it a problem with the elastic waistband? Oh, well. They were down and Riley's fly was open.

There was an obvious, though implicit agreement that I would show Riley mine if he would show me his. Riley carefully lifted my skirts, placed the towel over my most likely "splashdown" area, then another towel on his own lap. The kissing resumed as did some exquisite, mutual fondling. He was so patient and gentle. Was he going to fuck me? I had mixed feelings about that, since I didn't want to appear too trampy. Even if I was. I was fairly certain that a nice, hard piece of boy meat, like the one I was skinning as we kissed, would have felt very good in my "naughty place."

I was nearing the verge when Riley stopped kissing me. Something good was going to happen, I just knew it. Unless the door flung open and the Mother Superior Saint Immaculata's Church convent happened to come into the room looking for our mothers.

Even my luck wasn't that bad. Riley asked me to stand and face him as he sat on the couch. What was he… Then he asked me to lift my skirts. I did so, noticing idly that my panties had retreated to my pretty ankles. My large girlie stick was straight and angry looking, though it looked curiously feminine, framed as it was by garter straps, stocking tops and my pretty dress.

My brief reverie ended when I realized that Riley had my pink testicles in his mouth. Sucking and licking them in a very pleasing manner. I had never had a blowjob, so clearly, it was also my first experience with a "ball bath." I responded in a sissified manner appropriate to the occasion. I whimpered. Only by intense concentration was I able to avoid pumping my juices halfway to Pennsylvania. When Riley took my skinned, pink clittyhead into his warm, wet mouth and began to lick it and roll his tongue around it, Superman, after three relaxing weeks vacation with Lois Lane, could not have held back my spermy blasts.

I shuddered, squealed and pumped six creamy globs down Riley's throat. He ate it all, as if it were his finest meal. I didn't need that dishtowel after all.

Until that moment, I didn't realize that men would want to suck me off as much as I would want to swallow their spermy goo. Seasoned sissies know that the progression men make with their pantied partners is: "May I see it?" "May I touch it?" and the favorite for both parties, "May I suck it?" A man gets to strum that instinctual string without the after-shame of having sucked his best friend Stanley's peeny when they were 13. Though if the truth be told, being with Stanley was probably a lot of fun too.

Well when my eyes uncrossed, I knew I had a keeper in Riley. But you have to keep your keeper happy too. So I thanked my new friend, kissed his cummy lips, then sank to my knees between his legs and held his Johnson in my femmy hand.

It was a nice instrument. Long (though my Flynn stick was longer), and thick (mine was thicker, but who's counting?) and nicely veined. His balls were enormous and very hairy. My unscientific conclusion was that I was going to get a huge mouthful of babycream.

Time was an issue, since we didn't know when the Moms would return. My notion was, however, that they would make sure we had enough warning to avoid four-way embarrassment. Still, I wanted my young man "cleansed" before they came back.

So I began by looking Riley straight in the eyes and saying, "Oh Riley. Your penis is so big and hot and hard. I'm afraid I might choke on it!" I followed that with the most coquettish smile I could muster at that point in my early feminine life. Riley was in a trance. He was about to get deep, wet, satisfying, oral sex from a beautiful, teasing girl who acted as if his cock was the center of her universe. A girl who maintained total eye contact with him as she slurped and kissed and licked his privates from dangling, lowest-hanging testicle to pearl-drop peehole.

Oh, I loved sucking that nice boy's cock. And a cock or two since that day. Riley just seemed so … grateful and… happy. If people have the capacity to make each other happy like that, it's kind of silly when they don't, I think. I made him gasp and pant and moan. I could have made him dance the Hokey Pokey if I had wanted to. A good fellatrix is a powerful force. And I, apparently, had "the gift" as the Irish say, for fellatio.

I was right about that "gusher" he had stored in those huge balls. I hadn't swallowed any of the workmen's goo. But I tried to swallow all of Riley's, as he had done for me. I did not succeed, but Riley hardly noticed. He was too busy trying to crawl back to the land of the living from "the other side." When his vitality returned, Riley kissed me and told me how wonderful I was. Then he asked me to next year's prom, since he was only a junior! Those Saint Patrick's boys had to think ahead if they wanted a Flynn girl. I turned him down of course. It was way too early and I was sure I would be getting lots more invitations. Plus I wanted to remain eligible for the Flynn family championship for most prom invitations.

Riley and I tidied up. I even pulled up my panties! Grudgingly. Strangely, the elastic seemed to have been restored! Then how did my panties always seem to be falling down? As Sister Perpetua, my fourth-grade nun would have said, "It's a sacred mystery."

Anyway, we got ourselves back in order just in time, leaving us only a few moments for kissing and "promises" before the Moms returned. My pooper remained unpenetrated, but that was OK. I was pretty sure that there were lots of men out their eager to "split my buns."

 

Chapter 11 – Final Farewell to Masculinity

Yes, the applicants for "bun splitter" seemed to be everywhere during my first days in high school. Even though my St. Patrick's High School uniform of maroon plaid jumper, white blouse, white knee socks, black and white saddle shoes was a bit dowdier than what we Flynn girls wore every day, it didn't seem to deter the boys one bit. Many have told me that only a Flynn girl could look desirable in that get-up.

I made some girlfriends in those early high school days too. My sisters all had girlfriends and they claimed girls hung around the Flynns for three reasons: 1) it was where the boys were 2) they could learn from us Flynns (the standard of general femininity in our town was higher than any town in America, except for Fromage and Shady Rest Wisconsin and Sissiton, Maryland, of course. We had raised the bar and many girls accepted our challenge to meet our standards) and 3) girls loved having sex with us Flynns. I don't completely understand it, even today. We were sweet and feminine, with girlish feelings and attributes, but with big cocks and a relentless sex drive. My older sisters had had lots of female sex partners over the years and said they enjoyed then very much. I made several mental notes to explore that side of the street at my earliest opportunity.

Opportunities for sex were everywhere. But location was difficult for a 14-year-old pantyboy living with her parents and six sisters. I knew that men – with their mature bodies, advanced love techniques, cars and apartments, were an option for me of I wanted my pooper filled properly. The older girls had all had a man or two.

That hunky Mr. Pierce, the guidance counselor who spoke to me for an hour and a half in his office on the third day of school was a candidate. As was that screwy Doctor O'Hara who had Mary Grace and me sit naked on his lap to examine us, way back when we were boys. He was good-looking and would probably fuck my little behind right there in the examining room.

Truth be told, at that time, I wasn't interested in men all that much. Or girls. I wanted my first "anal" experience to be with a nice boy near my age. Like Riley.

Of course, that didn't stop me from fantasizing about men when Mary Grace and I hugged each other to sleep each night. Just to make sure we slept properly, my sister and I would kiss a little and stroke each other's baby-oiled peenies a lot. As she stroked and kissed me, I sometimes imagined a scenario where Dr. O'Hara and I were in his examining room alone. I'm dressed girlie, bent over his examining table, panties down, skirts up. Big heels and seamed stockings. He's "examining" me with three Vaselined fingers and I'm moaning with pleasure as he torments my prostate. Then he withdraws fingers and I whimper. Until he replaces them with his ridiculously large cock.

Now remember, at that point, I didn't know how a cock would feel in my tight bottom, but just the thought of that happening made me cry out and cum all over Mary Grace's pretty fingers.

It was time for the real thing.

The opportunity came at the sixth annual Flynn Girl High School Clam Bake. The second Saturday after school started, whichever Flynn girls happened to be in high school and their lucky dates would have a party at a cabin and private beach on a nearby lake that the greater Flynn family had owned for some time. It involved swimming, sunbathing, a wonderful cookout and, unbeknownst to the parents, lots of fucking.

Since we Flynn girls had to go to confession every Saturday afternoon at 2 p.m., and told Father Murphy bone-raising tales until about 3:30, the boys had to do all the picnic set up.

Daddy drove Mary Clare, Mary Denise, Mary Ellen and me to the lake, checked out our modest bathing attire (ick), ensured the cooking was going well, then lectured the boys on propriety. After which he threatened the boys with the removal of all their stomach organs if they dared to violate one of his virginal daughters in any way. He meant it. And the boys believed him.

But no mere, though substantial threats of imminent disembowelment were enough to keep boys away from the forbidden Flynn fruit.

Daddy left and I gave a shy nod to Riley, my date. He had a worried look on his face, perhaps picturing Daddy standing over his body, holding a bloody gutting knife and laughing maniacally.

But when, like the other girls, I removed my clunky bathing suit and stood before him in the bikini bottoms I had concealed underneath, all thoughts of blood and guts dissolved.

I was a bit jealous of my sisters' racks, especially big-knockered Mary Ellen. But Riley didn't look in the other girls' direction once. I knew I had picked the right boy for a man's job. Dropping a spunky load in my tight hindquarters. Removing the last shred of my masculinity.

Riley was equal to the task.

It was a good thing Daddy didn't come back to give one last lecture to the boys, because what he would have seen would have made him get out a chainsaw and go Freddy or Jason on the boys. Since it was one of the few opportunities of the year for some serious, undetected fucking, my sisters were wasting no time. Mary Clare's friend Adam and she were in a fine-looking sixty-nine. Jack was on his back and Mary Denise was on top of him riding his very substantial cock to a better place. Mary Ellen and Robbie were lying on their right sides. Robbie's cock was deeply inside her bottom and she was turning her head for some sweet kissing.

Riley and I were eager to catch up. Riley was on his back and I had sat on his face, allowing him to eat my pussy most deliciously. Oh, my. I was trembling with lust and squarely "on the verge" when he decided that I was wet and loose enough.

My lover put me on my back. He hoisted my calves onto his shoulders, leaned over to kiss me, then he said, "Say goodbye to Sean forever."

He rubbed my anus with a glob of his pre-goo, then pushed his pink helmet into me. I screamed. It didn't really hurt that much – not as much as the volume of the scream. It was a scream of release. I was releasing myself from my old life.

My considerate partner, of course, stopped his activities. "Are you all right, Sweetheart?" he asked.

I nodded and croaked out, "I'll be a lot better when you put the rest of it in. Please."

All a fine young man like Riley needed was encouragement. One slow, direct thrust and I was gorged with cock. Ohh. It wasn't exactly as I had imagined. It was way better. It was intimate and dirty. I had a full feeling, but not too full, though I would have loved to have pooped right then. I felt as if we shared a body and a soul at that moment. That's what really good sex does for you. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, Mary Frances Flynn was truly born on that beach at 4:47 p.m. that September Saturday afternoon. With three of her sisters in attendance. And four young men, one of whom was more involved than others.

It was a glorious fuck. I loved feeling Riley's heat and passion. It multiplied my own. What he and I lacked in experience, we made up in awe and wonder at the pleasures people could bring each other if they are willing to cut through the muck and just fuck.

He was a sweet boy and I was a sweet girl.

I wasn't born that way, but I thank my Mom and Daddy in heaven for making sure that their children would have the wonderful life we did if they died young.

The chronicles of our family could fill a supercomputer. Mary Ellen tells me that she wrote a memoir about the summer of 1987, two years before Mary Grace and I joined the family. It's called "Irish Girls" and perhaps you'll read it at

http://www2.storysite.org/story/irishgirls~01.html

 

Would you like to read more about the Flynns or do you have a comment on this story? Please write me at

gingerfred99@yahoo.com

  

  

  

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