Mother's Daughter

ALL STORY LIST

"What's wrong with Mom,"  I asked dad. "Boys, she has an illness that's going to take a long time to recover from," he replied, looking around at my three brothers and me.

"Sorry  I can't stay to help out but I have a new life since your mom and I divorced. But I promise I'll take care of all of you, financially, but you have to promise to help your mom and obey her."

"I promise," we each said. And with that, he left. Our sadness wasn't for Dad leaving; we, or at least I, never knew him very well. He was just the person who came home once in a while from work and lived in our house. Except for a monthly check and gifts for all our birthdays we never heard of him again.

"Robert," Mom called a few days later. "Come here, my sweetie."

I came to her bedside. I guess I was Mom's favorite if you call it that. Being quiet and shy, I didn't have many friends and I liked to read and help around the house, like pick up my things, make dinner, and help my younger brothers with their homework. I guess Mom was my best friend. I could tell her anything and she'd never get mad at me and we'd talk about lots of things.

"I  need your help with the house and your brothers," Mom said to me. "Someone to clean, wash and iron, cook, and get your brothers off to school in the fall. And your brothers are going to need someone to look after their needs. And not just their physical needs but someone to give them the motherly care that I won't be able to give as much as I'd like."

"What about Timmy?" I asked. "He's older, he's 17"

"Timmy's now the man of the house and what this house needs now is a woman's touch to run it. And besides, even though you're only 16, you're so much more adult acting than even your older brother."

"Ah, Maaaaa, I'm no woman so how can I have a woman's touch?" I asked.

"That just means that you're gentle and caring and try hard to do a nice job and are clean and tidy. That's a  woman's touch. Men don't have that touch. And women are around to help out when someone needs them and your brothers and I need you." Gee, I thought, I must have a woman's touch cause that described me real well.

"I'll try, Ma. I'll do my best." And I meant it. Under the watchful eye of my mother, I became like the woman of the house, as she would call me. I dusted, vacuumed the rugs, washed the floors, laundered, prepared meals with Mom's help, washed dishes, and took care of my bothers: Tim, age 17, John age 11, and Jessie age 10.

Of course, I also did what I could to help Mom get better, which included helping her getting a lot of rest. In fact, I think I had more of a woman's touch than  Mom.

I worked really hard at making Mom's place and the house never looked so clean. Of course, everyone has their chores to do and my brothers helped me but I was kinda in charge, which I Several weeks after our conversation, Mom touched my hand as I passed by her on the couch. "Robert," she said, "you'd make such a pretty boy and I'm sure the boys would love to see a pretty face around the house. I used to be pretty before my illness. Let me pretty you up for all of our sakes."

"Ma," I whimpered, "I don't want to be pretty."

"But you are already with you size, delicate features, and quiet ways," she responded.

How many times Ma had said that I'd make a pretty girl! And how often I protested with a "Maaaaa, I don't want to look like a girl"

"But Maaaaa," I instinctively whined. I felt I should protest much more than I did but I knew I was never very manly, being small-boned and the quiet type. I'd even let my hair grow to my shoulders, at Mom's insistence, and had started to wear it in a ponytail, which I guess wasn't very manly to some people.

"Please dear, I think you'll like your new look," she said as she guided me to her side. Stroking my ponytail she said, "Let me fix your hair first. I always wanted a daughter to comb her hair and make her look pretty. If you don't like the look, you can undo it when school starts."

"And what about the other kids, and Timmy, Johnny, and Jessie? What will they say? They'll all laugh at me. They'll call me a sissy."

"No they won't and if you don't like your new hairdo, we'll just wash it out,"

Mom said in a sweet voice. "Just try it for one day, please sweetie. Please for your mother." Mom was so determined that I just had to give it.

I got on a chair and leaned over the kitchen sink and Mom shampooed my hair. We shampooed, rinsed, shampooed, rinsed, put on a conditioner, and rinsed. This was all fun for me. I mean I'd washed my hair before but can't remember anyone else doing it for me.  Mom's fingers felt so good massaging my scalp; like her nails caused shivers to go down my back. After wrapping a towel around my wet hair, we went to the living room and I sat down with my back to her. To her side the coffee table of bottles, a pair of scissors, and other items, like she was going to operate on me, which I guess she was. "Your hair is long enough and so full; I'm sure you're going to love your new look, "Mom said as she places a basket of pink one-inch rollers in my lap.

I was happy that my mom was happy. I felt the large tooth comb slide through my wet shoulder-length hair, hitting a snag every so often.  "Ouch... Ouch," I whined.

"My God, you're a sissy," Mom chided.                                                                                            

"Sissy." That word hurt. "Sissy," the word echoed in my mind. The comb squeezed water from my hair and  I felt the wetness trickle down my neck, missing the towel around my shoulders, and continuing down my back, causing a shudder through my body.

"Always gently comb your hair," Robert.  "Wet hair stretches and is easily broken.

It's been awhile since I went to beauty school but I was a good student," Mom said with a note of confidence.  After sectioning off an area of hair, she pinned it up. She started to cut the back underneath first. "The hair at the nape establishes the shape," she repeated, once, twice, three times as if relearning a school lesson. For days that melody repeated in my head, "The hair at the nape establishes the shape."

Damn that tune even if I didn't know exactly what it meant. I soaked in that ditty like I did every minute of my beauty treatment. Section by section she pinned and cut.

"What's happening?" asked Johnny as he and Tim and Jessie bounded into the house. They froze in their steps and stared at us.

"I'm fixing your brother's hair," Mom replied. I don't remember when she sounded so happy.

With that reply, Johnny and Jessie just squiggled up their faces and raced out but Tim hesitated.

"Want to watch, Timmy?" Mom asked.

I lowered my eyes, looking away from him. He hesitated; "Na," he said and left. After an hour or so, Mom was finally finished.

"Now listen to me, Robert, because I expect you to set your own hair after a few more sessions. I straightened up to concentrate. "I'm combing out a section of hair about an inch deep and half an inch shorter than the roller. Are you listening?"  I  replied with a "yes." "Now I'm combing it straight out up from your scalp,  spraying setting lotion on it, wrapping an endpaper over the hair, sliding it to the ends, and holding it... Hand me a roller, dear."

I did, gingerly picking up one and handing it to her over my shoulder.

"Now I'm placing the roller next to the endpaper," she continued as a doctor teaching his students on one of those tv medical shows.

"Maaaaa," I whined, "it's too tight."

"Such, Hon; it's not killing you," she chided as she smoothly and tautly wound the section of hair around the roller. "Now I'm attaching the first roller with a clip at the base of the roller, not the top or you'll leave a mark on the finished hairdo." Section by section she combed, sprayed, and rolled, attaching the second roller to the first one and so on and so on. Starting in the front, she then did the sides and finished with the back. I was surprised at how excited I became as she applied each roller and by the time she finished with the last roller, I'd put my hands in my laps, trying to push down on my growing bulge in my pants. Wow, I couldn't believe that I was getting a hardon at this time.

"That's it. All done," Mom exclaimed and when she sprayed the setting lotion all over my hair and especially at the roots, I felt the cold wetness on my scalp. "Why not let your hair dry naturally while you do your chores?" she suggested. As  Mom lay down on the couch and closed her eyes, I gathered up the supplies and brought them to her bathroom and enter, locking the door. In our house with so many people wandering around, the bathroom was the only place a person could find any previously. I looked at myself in the vanity mirror. What a turn-on: a row of curlers, taunt and smooth,  straight down the middle, and row after row on the sides and back. I had seen Mom this way many times and remembered the curlers being transformed into fluffy curls like caterpillars changed into butterflies.I had such an erection that I felt that I'd explode in my pants. I just had to satisfy myself.  I laid on the bathroom floor, head against the wall, I unzipped and pulled out my erect penis; with the thumb and two next fingers of my right hand, I stroked it while my left fingers pushed down on the base. I loved the feel of myself but I raced to relieve the mounting tension. Harder and harder. Faster and faster I stroked my penis became as rigid as it had ever been. I loved to play with myself and did at least once a day and sometimes two or three times a day. I held my erection tightly in my fingers savoring that last minute..."Ahhhhhh," I sighed as I leaned to one side and shot a load of semen onto the linoleum floor. Once, twice,  out spewed a stream of white liquid. Tapping my dick on the floor,  a little mound of white cream dropped from the swollen head. "Geez," I exhaled. For a moment I was about to go to sleep but regaining my strength, I cleaned up and flushed a wad of gooey toilet paper down the toilet.

I spent the rest of the day doing housework. I stopped lots of times to look in a hand mirror with my back to the wall mirror, patting my damp hair, and pushing the plastic rollers to my scalp. I asked Mom several times if I could take out the rollers but she said no and told me that under no circumstances should I remove them without her permission. At the dinner table, I still had the rollers in my hair. I felt so silly that I could hardly look at my three brothers. All during the meal my brothers looked at me and giggled or snickered.  "You look like a girl," Johnny said.

"A sissy girl," chimed in Jessie.

I guess I did look silly in my jeans and shirt and curlers in my hair. But Mom made me feel even more silly. "Now boys, Robert's not a sissy girl; he's more of a sissy boy."

"What's a sissy boy?" asked Jessie.

"That's a boy who looks like a boy but acts like a girl," Mom answered.

The boys all laughed and I felt really bad especially because it was all Mom's fault.

"Now, now boys don't get carried away. Your brother's going to be like the woman of the house and Tim is going to be the man of the house. Robert isn't very pretty now but he will be and I know you'll all be happy to see a young pretty face around the house.

"Ya said Tim, "he's going to look pretty like mom".

"Thank you, Tim," Mom said. "And I want you to listen and obey Robert just like he was your mother, just like you'd obey me. The younger boys giggled, knowing how often they were disobedient. "Now promise me, boys".

"Sure," they answered "we'll behave," the younger boys answered without giving their answer a second thought: their world was full of horseplay, computer games, sports, and boys stuff. Tim's answer was more serious. He was the oldest and wisest in our eyes. He was a man, driving a car, and going on dates with girls and we all listened to him as much if not more than mom. If he said something was ok, then it was ok with us.  That night I had a hard time sleeping in hair rollers and thinking about all that had happened that day. Finally, I went to sleep with my face on my pillow.

The next day Mom said she'd take out my hair rollers. I really didn't want them out. Maybe I was scared to take them out or something like that. What would I do if I looked really good or if I didn't like the way I looked? Just before dinner time,  I sat on the hassock in the living room. Carefully Mom removed the rollers, unwinding each one to the end of the strand before pulling it out. "All dry," Mom announced and proceeded to remove the rollers. She then ran her fingers through my hair, shaking the stiff golden curls.  "Mom," I said why not comb them out tomorrow cause I got to start dinner?" "OK, tomorrow I'll comb them out," she said and laid back down on the couch.

I raced to the vanity mirror. I saw curls, lots of uncombed curls: curls that dangled sensuously over my ears, fluttered off my cheeks, and twisted on my forehead to my eyebrows. Flat strips of hair wound like mattress coil springs, catching the light and hiding in the shadows of my face. Stiff curls that tempted one to touch them. I was excited when I felt my hair.  I hesitatingly slid my fingers into the tendrils and felt their stiffness but dare not continue for fear of spoiling the perfection. It was a bold look even for a girl, much more for a boy. I knew I'd have to be brave to carry it off, and I hoped I was able to do just that.I looked cute, really cute served Mom her dinner in bed, and returned to our big kitchen table where my younger brothers chatted about their day, paying little attention to me. Timmy didn't say much but just glanced at me every so often. I was quiet as usual. I was washing the dishes alone in the kitchen wearing a ruffled pink apron over my blue jeans when Timmy came up behind me. "I think you look kinda cute and sexy, little brother," he said as he touched my hair and bent over to smell it. He breathed deeply and exhaled a long sigh. "Smells good. Are you going to comb it out?" He stood so close to me that his blue jeans almost touched mine. Both his hands rested on the kitchen counter top as he moved so close that I felt his muscular body touch me. Many times he had pinned me to the ground in our days of roughhousing, the times we wrestled with him holding my outstretched arms on the ground, his body pressing mine and him calling me names, making me cry. I tensed up waiting for him to toss me to the floor, mess up my hair, and call me a sissy, a little sissy boy.

Of course, I could never compete against his strength and often wished I was big and strong and could flip him over and make him cry "uncle."  I envied Tim because he was big and strong and handsome but I hated him for making me feel so helpless.

"Should I leave it uncombed?" I answered in a soft sexy voice. Without thinking I arched my body forward. For several minutes we stood still, our bodies touching. Tim then started to rub against me and I felt a hardness against my body. Tim moved up and down on his toes of his shoes, pushing himself against my butt. I arched my body further forward and his hands held me by my hips. I knew what was rubbing against me and felt a shiver of excitement run through my body, but I didn't say a word.

"I  I  I, think,  you look awesome, just the way you are," he stammered and then turned and walked away.

"Wow!" I thought. "A compliment from Tim, the coolest brother in the world." I was in a trance after what happened.  I finished my work and went to bed, remembering his words, "cute and sexy" and "awesome"...and remembering his jeans touching mine. So many thoughts ran through my mind that night; so many questions. And then I suddenly realized something: I had like a secret spell over my big brother, like a power. Geez, I thought, that's really cool, like all these years he hardly ever said much to me or paid any attention to me and now all of a sudden, he thinks I'm awesome. That night I all kinds of dreams, some I wouldn't ever tell anyone about.

The next day just after noon Johnny ran in to give Mom a big package that was delivered from the local department store. "This is for you, Robert" Mom called out. I came to the living room couch as she opened the package under the wide eyes of me and my brother. "Get your hassock."  I did and pulled it in front of the sofa where Mom liked to work. With the sun to her back, illuminating my face, she opened the box. Inside it were tubes and bottles and small plastic cases and lots of other things. "Now sit facing me. A girl person... your age should learn to use makeup," she said as she covered my hair with a plastic cap, like a rain cap. "It's only makeup and you can wash it off if you don't like it." I glanced up and looked into Johnny's eyes. Mom did too. "Want to watch, Johnny?" I gritted my teeth and stared at Mom. Johnny just puckered his lips in jest. "What a bunch of dumb stuff," he said as he ran out to play.

With dancing fingers Mom stuffed my curls into the cap. As she showed me each item, I recognized it. We'd all watched Mom apply her makeup and even played with it a few times. "Ouch, " that hurt as she plucked stray hairs from my eyebrow.

Then she shaped them with a light brown pencil. She shook a bottle, opened it, and dabbed a little on her finger. Applying some to several places on my face, she began to smooth and blend it all over my face and into my hairline. Next, she applied blue eye shadow with a dabber to both my eyelids, blending it very thinly to my now arched eyebrows. I followed with my eyes and then looked into hers as she rolled a brush of black mascara lightly over the top and bottom of my eyelashes. I felt my heartbeat so hard, I worried that Mom might hear it. All the time she was explaining what she was doing. With her finger of rose-colored blush, she brushed the cheeks of my face. Then she opened a tube of light red lipstick and lightly slid it over my lips.

"Bobby, do you think you'll be able to apply your own makeup. I expect you to look pretty when you make breakfast for the boys. I'm sure they'll appreciate it, even if they don't say too. I know Timmy will." I could only nod my head. "Good," she said. "You're such a pretty boy now." Now go wash it off with this cream and come back and you try your hand at it.

I returned, sat down on the floor before the coffee table, and looked into the mirror Mother had placed on the table along with the cosmetics. As best I could, I redid my face with Mom adding comments: "a little more," "that's too much", and "smooth it in," and of course, her encouraging words: "You're doing wonderfully well my pretty little boy." After I finished, Mom used Kleenex and some of the cosmetics to touch up my mistakes. "One last thing," Mom said. "Your nails." With that, she took my soft hands and filed my uneven nails. And then applied a coat of pink polish; I instinctively held my hands out to dry.

Now let's brush out your hair. I turned around to face Mom and she removed the plastic cap from my head. Mom as usual instructed me as she proceeded: "I'm brushing your hair from front to back...now very lightly brush the top layer in the direction of the set...now that we have the shape loosen the hair underneath and gently pull out pieces here and there until the form is right." I closed my eyes and soaked in one of the most pleasurable feelings I'd ever had. My mind went blank after a few minutes.  I was so excited that I couldn't have told you my name if asked.  I could hardly wait until Mom finished to look at myself but also wished the sensuousness of her combing my hair would go on much longer. If only I could look as pretty as I felt. "All done, sweetie. You were so good the whole time. All done." I finally heard Mom the second time. "Now go look at your self and if you don't like how you look, wash it off."

I walked into the bathroom and stared in the mirror and then boosted myself onto the vanity top to get a better view. A soft wave dipped by one eye and was met by a bundle of curls; the top was smooth and lifted up with more curls in back; and on the other side, a tendril dangled alongside my cheek with the hair swept back into another mass of curls. It was beautiful. It was beautiful. I imagined myself making love to myself, making my penis get harder and harder until a huge gush of cum shot from my dick. Unable to resist the urge, I pulled out my dick and faced the ceramic tile. Faster and faster I stroked my dick. With my forehead touching the wall and my knees bending up and down, I rubbed and pulled at my penis until I shot a load of semen on the white wall once, twice, three times I came, spewing out globs that stuck to the wall then dribbled down.  Kneeling before the wall, I stuck out my tongue and licked the whitish liquid as it slid down and into my mouth. I lapped it up from the bottom of the wall to the top, sliding my tongue over the smooth surface and into the groves, mixing my cum with the taste of my lipstick, savoring the flavor, and tasting every delicious droplet until the wall was clean.

Mom's call brought me out of the bathroom.  I passed by Mom who smiled at me.

"Going to keep it on?" she asked. "Ya, sure," I replied. "For a while at least." But a part of me really wanted to say "forever".  I really enjoyed doing my chores that day. I gathered up the boys' clothes and the whites to do the laundry. What a mess of laundry I had ahead of me. I made a mental note to tell the boys to pick up after themselves and put the colored clothes and underwear in the proper baskets. After washing, I brought basket after basket of clothes outside to hang up on the clothesline. Now the underwear. I unraveled socks, T-shirts, and jockey shorts. I could tell which ones were Tim's because they were the largest. I picked up a pair of his shorts from off the pile in the basket and felt my hand squish into wetness. Turning it inside out, I saw globs of white liquid. It was soaked with his cum; I suddenly realized. I couldn't believe how much he had shot into his jockey shorts. Globs and globs, it seemed to me.  I stared at the pair of pants.

Turned it inside out. Put my face to it. Closed my eyes.  In my mind, I began to see Tim satisfy himself as I did. He was lying in bed on his stomach with his huge erection against the fingers of his hand, pumping his body, and sliding his fingers up and down against his wet, growing penis. He pulled his shorts down so it could hold the load that was about to come, trying hard not to break the movement of his body. Great squirts of gooey white semen shot into his pants, then a breath of air left his puckered lips. I opened my mouth and moved my jaws up and down.  As if I was in a trance, I stuck out my tongue and brought his pants to my face, and licked his semen. It tasted good, made sweet by a cherry lipstick taste. "Big brother," I thought.  "May I eat your cum."  Please, please, I whispered. Licking that pair clean of semen, I quickly searched the pile for more but found none. I felt my penis pushing hard against my jeans and I would have loved to jerk myself off but I didn't because I wanted to keep myself hard in order to enjoy my thoughts and the feel of my hardness all day long.

At the supper table, the younger boys hardly paid any attention to me. Just a "you're looking more like a girl every day," from John and an inquisitive look and a giggle from Jessie. Tim didn't even say a word about my hairdo and makeup, just a "nice look." He talked with the boys about sports, television programs, and other nonsense stuff. I was mad at Tim for ignoring me and felt like saying, Tim, don't wet your underwear 'cause it's a lot of work to wash them, but I bit my tongue and didn't hardly say a word to him and tried not to show my anger. Of course, I really didn't mind Tim messing in his shorts but just wanted to get even with him. Ah, maybe it's better that he didn't say something nice about me because if he had I might have come in my pants right there and then. As usual, I cleaned up the kitchen alone while my brothers watched tv and goofed off in the den, but I didn't mind as I was becoming more and more like a sister and mother, and "boys will be boys", as Mom would say.

Every day I became more and more feminine. Day after day Mom taught me how to take care of a house. She taught me how to iron. Always start at the longest part first, the sleeves and pants legs, she says. And she taught me to cook. How long to leave the chicken in the oven, how to use the microwave, how to make casseroles, and so many other things, including how to plan for a week of meals and make up a grocery list. She taught me how to do the laundry, about bleaches,  machine cycles, perm press, and detergents. I never imagined how much work she had to do to take care of us.  And I felt bad that I hadn't helped her more in the past just like nobody was helping me now. I became even more determined to do everything I could to make Mom happy. And I knew by now what did make her happy.

One day a UPS driver delivered a big box to our house. By the way, Mom looked at me, I knew it was for me. As usual, we all gathered around to see what was in it. "Now you boys, OUT of the house. It's too nice of a day to be inside," she said in a stern voice. Once they were gone, Mom opened up the box. It was full of packages. One package was of panties: white, black, red; lacy and plain; cotton and nylon. My eyes grew wider and wider as she pulled out each item to show me.

"Aren't this just darling, my little sweetheart," she exclaimed. I just couldn't believe my eyes as she opened package after package: pantyhose, a slip, skirts, dresses, shoes, socks, blouses, a sweater, and even more stuff. "Geez," I said when I saw a bra come out of a package. "DaDaaaa," Mom called out as she held up a black bra by its straps for me to see.

"Now, sweetie, I know this isn't enough clothes for a teenage girl like you've become but it's a beginning." "Mom," I said "aren't we going too far with this? I'm a boy, in case you've forgotten." "Oh  really?" Mom responded. "What real boy sets his hair and wears it in curls to his shoulder? What real boy wears makeup and finger polish? What real boy cooks, does housework, and laundry? Mom's voice was much sterner than I could remember. Anyway, you're not the only boy in the world that enjoys being a girl,

I'll have you know. Then in a much softer, controlled tone, she said, "If you want, just wash off the makeup, get my scissors, and I'll cut your hair. I can send the clothes back. And don't worry about the house. I'm sure I can get a housekeeper or a cleaning woman to come in and take care of it and you boys. I stood speechless for several minutes, tears welling up in my eyes. I reached out to take the bra from my mother's hand. "My little sissy boy," Mom said with a sniffle in her voice as she pulled me to her and gave me a big hug. "I love it," I cried as she hugged me to her chest. "I really, really love it." And I meant it. Obeying Mom, I brought all the clothes to my room and laid them out on my bed. Mom's first instruction was to take a hot bath and use a bottle of  Nair stuff on my arms, chest, legs,  and everywhere else. Girls, she told me, were to be soft, and anyway my clothes wouldn't feel right against body hair.

Mom was in my room when I entered it from taking my bath with a towel around my waist. "First these," she said handing my a pair of white lace-trimmed panties. I turned around from her as I changed into them. My penis immediately stiffened at the soft feel of the nylon and I was so embarrassed because Mom saw it. "Now the pantyhose," she said. Sitting on the bed I slipped on the beige-colored hose. Mom helped me: "No like this honey." Then a knee-length brown pleated skirt. And then the bra, a white one. Into each cup, a B cup, Mom placed a foam pad. "You'll need these until you fill out, dear," she said.  I stuck my arms into the straps and  Mom fastened the hooks in the back and adjusted the straps. Finally a tan-colored blouse with a lacy collar. The only item I was familiar with was a pair of tennis shoes but they were girl's tennis shoes. We walked into Mom's room where I looked at myself in her full-length mirror. The transformation was unbelievable. I poised, turned, and brought my fingers to my face in a teasing way. Mom moved me into all kinds of posses. Mom walked and I followed behind her. "No, this way, walk like this. Heel, toe; heel; toe. Move your hips a little more. You're doing wonderfully well, my beautiful daughter. For an hour I practice walking and poising; all the time Mom complimenting me and calling out directions: "Look at me, blow me a kiss, run your fingers through your curls, pucker your lips, shake your head--- it was all like in the movies where photographers snap lots of pictures of models. Mom and I had so much fun together, giggling and joking. She'd say "look sad" and I'd give her my sad look; "look angry", "look happy", "look like you're in love." "Mama," I said "that's a hard one. You do that look, Ma, look like you're in love." Looking at me she opened her eyes real wide,  puckered her lips, and glanced up at the ceiling.

With that, we both burst out laughing. "Now you do it, look like you're in love," Mom said. I imitated her and she laughed, saying "I think I've seen that look before on your face and it wasn't pretending." Mom touched up my makeup and my hair just before dinner time. I was preparing dinner when I saw the boys, Johnny and Jessie through the window walking to the house. Geez, I thought, they make a lot of work for me, but at least they're not in the house, messing it up. I wondered what they'd think of me--- the way I looked and was dressed. They'd been out playing catch, walking in the prairie down the road from our house, catching tadpoles, and climbing trees. I remember when I'd go out with my friends and we'd all goofed around, which wasn't very often. They were so cute bouncing over the lawn to the house. The boys came in the house, all tired out and dirty, and instinctively went to the kitchen to see what was for dinner.

"Out, out, Mom shouted. "Go get washed up." "It was about six o'clock, dinner time, and everyone had to be home for dinner, Mom insisted. Everyone but Timmy.

He had the car and was often with his friends. I especially wondered what my big brother would say if anything when he saw me. Pretty soon it would be time to eat and Timmy wasn't home yet. And today of all days, the day Mom and I had set the dining room table and prepared an especially nice meal, with salad and ice-cream. I thought, he has all the time in the world to be with his friends and not a minute to be with his family. What a dumb brother, I had, I said to myself. With that, I heard him enter the front door. "I'm hungry; I'm hungry," he called out as usual.

I sat next to Mom. Johnny and  Jessie just stared at me and sat down. Timmy glanced over at me and quickly turned his eyes away. "Boys," Mom said. "I want you to thank Bobbie for this lovely dinner." The boys looked at Mom kinda funny like she never calls me "Bobbie."

"Why is he dressed in girl's clothes?" Johnny giggled.

"Ya, why?" added Jessie, grinning from ear to ear.

"Cause he's a sissy, a queer, a transverse... something like that," Timmy said mockingly.

I wished I was dead. I could only lower my head and look down at the table. Tears filled my eyes and I sniffled to hold them back.

"Boys, boys," Mom scolded. "Especially you, Timmy. You're old enough to know better."

"He is," continued Tim. "Look at him. He looks like a girl, acts like one, talks like one. Pretty soon he'll be going out on dates with guys. Only queers do that. I bet it won't be long before he'll be doing other things that I won't mention at the table.

Ah, shit," he said. "I'm not even hungry." After that outburst, Tim got up and left the table, and went to his room.

"Anyone else wants to leave?" Mom asked looking at my brothers.  Looking at each other, they said almost in unison, "are you kidding; we're hungry." And with that, they dug into the platters of mashed potatoes, corn, and meatloaf. I just loved my little brothers. They were so accepting of me and we all talked real nice to each other at the table, Mom and me and Johnny and Jessie. Mom kept calling me Bobbie and by the end of dinner so were the boys. Still,  I couldn't hide the hurt I felt over what Timmy had said.

After dinner and the cleanup, I put on my new lounging gown, as Mom called it, and lay on the couch, alone in the family room, watching a movie. It was late, about ten, and the boys were asleep. I heard Timmy come downstairs and saw him walk past and into the kitchen. I walked in to meet him as he was looking in the refrig. "I'll heat up some leftovers for you," I said. He smiled and sat down. We didn't speak for the fifteen or so minutes that I took to prepare the meal using the microwave.  "Milk, water, soda?" I asked as I placed the heaping plate of food in front of him.

"Gosh," he exclaimed, "that's a lot of food. I'm not an elephant."

"No,  really?" I said. "You sure sounded like one earlier," I said in a joking way" Water," he said.  After placing a glass of cold water in front of him, I smiled and sweetly said, "enjoy" and left to get ready for bed. "Thanks," Tim called as I walked away.

Half an hour later, Tim walked in on me through the open door of what had unofficially become my bathroom. I had removed my makeup, brushed my teeth, and was covering my hair with a hair net. With just cream-colored panties and a matching sleeveless top on, I was embarrassed and turned my eyes away from his and looked into the large mirror over the vanity. I heard the door close and the sound of the doorknob lock being push in. Standing behind me, he asked, "Can I brush your hair, Bobbie?"

I stared at Tim in the mirror, shirtless in his jeans, a foot taller than me, muscular, a real good-looking guy. And then at myself, slender, blond hair below my shoulders with a turned up curl at the end. Without makeup and a dress I was obviously a boy and not a girl, I thought. "Sure, I said," handing him my brush without looking at him. I felt the brush catch and pull through my hair and leaned my head back and to the sides with each brushstroke, closing my eyes momentarily, savoring the luxurious sensations. I felt his fingers twirl the curl and brush it up. My wet penis grew with each brushstroke until it stuck out of the sides of my panties,  dribbling precum on my leg. Reaching between my legs, I moved my penis into my panties. Then a light switch clicked and the bright lights about the mirror went off, leaving on only the dim ceiling light. It was so quiet that I was afraid Tim could hear my heart beating. With his strong hands, I was afraid for a minute that he might put the brush down and strangle me. I'm not sure why but that's what I thought.I stared at my brother in the mirror, shirtless in his jeans, a foot taller than me at 6'6", muscular-- a real good-looking guy. And then at myself, slender, blond hair, in cream-colored panties  and a matching undershirt; obviously a boy and not a girl,

I thought. "Sure, I said," handing him the brush over my shoulder. I closed my eyes and soaked in the sensation of the bristles penetrating my hair, instinctively relaxing my neck and rocking back with each brushstroke. "You know, you're driving me crazy, Bobbie; crazy over the way you look." If my dry mouth wasn't so dry, I'd have told him he was doing the same to me. I heard the brush click on the counter but kept my eyes closed. Tim's hands were in my panties, on my butt, rubbing them, squeezing them, pulling up on them so hard that I  moved up on my toes. I could hear myself breathing harder and harder and periodically holding my breath and letting it out with a long sigh. His hands-on my legs, sliding my panties down to my ankles but I was too weak or ignorant to step out of them; so he lifted each foot and removed them. By this time my erect penis rested on the edge of the counter.

"I'm coming... coming to Tim," I stuttered. "Don't you darn. Don't come until I say so," he ordered. Instinctively I grabbed my penis as I ejaculated semen into my hand and onto the basin. "Ahhhh... "I sighed, supporting myself with one arm on the counter top.

"I told you not to come, you fucken bitch," Tim yelled at me. "You fucken..." Tim went on and on, berating me. I was shocked and speechless. Throwing me away from him, he stormed out. I was stunned. I quickly cleaned everything up and went to bed. All night I thought about Tim and what I seemed to be doing to him. Was I driving my big brother crazy, I asked myself? He was always so cool but now... I didn't know what to think. Maybe I should have felt bad about some things but everyone said I looked pretty and everyone likes pretty things; and I enjoyed my new life and I wasn't hurting anyone.

Tim was friendly enough the following days and I knew he watched me whenever we were in the same room. But our encounter in the bathroom made me want to avoid letting him get too close to me. I had seen his mean streak and didn't want to provoke him again. The days passed quickly and "fall was in the air," as Mom would say.  When I got up, it was still dark outside. I got dressed, and "made myself decent."  But barely decent, I thought, as I put on my usual, jeans and a blouse. I didn't have to do anything with my hair. Nearly every night I gathered it at the nape and twisted it up, using lots of bobby pins to keep it in place; it is was the one hairstyle I was able to do. I just can't sleep with my hair wrapping about my face and into my mouth. As usual, I was really rushed: the house needed straightening up and the younger boys needed to be awakened and helped to get off to school, and there were lots of other things to do. Finally, the boys were off to meet the school bus and the house was quiet.

I wasn't going to school this fall. Mom told the school that I left to live with my father and gave them an old address of his. My brothers were told and retold to tell people that I was living with my father in California. And I didn't mind not going to school because I had lots to learn at home and I had so much to do around the house that I knew I'd never had time to do any homework and would probably miss too many days to be promoted.

I was in the family room when Tim bounced down the stairs at about 9. He had started community college, but I didn't know his schedule. " Hi, Bobbie."

Then he moved real close to me as his body moved mine to the wall. This made me nervous; I hated to be controlled that way. "Nice look," he said with a smirk on his face.

"How about if I wore my new dress, the flowery one" I muttered nervously, "would you like that?". "And I'll wear my lacy bra for you... the white one with a bow in front... and my new silk top... the gold one, if you like. And I'll wear makeup and wear my hair up if you want."

Tim just winced and wrinkled up his face. "Naaa," he said as he turned and walked away. He behaved just as I expected.

I felt really alone once he left the house and felt really confused. Mom always said that women were a lot stronger than men and could make sense of things more than most men. But really I didn't feel a lot stronger than anyone. Sometimes I felt like everyone was making me do things they wanted me to do but other times I felt like I was making them do what they maybe didn't want to do.

One morning Mom and I were together when she spoke to Tim as he was entering the kitchen. "Tim, dear, Bobbie hasn't been out of the house in months. Can't you take her out this Friday? She has several  cute dresses that she hasn't had any occasion  to wear." I was stunned by her request.

"Are you kidding? Tim asked. " Like I'm going to be seen with my brother dressed as a girl?" "Ok," Mom said. "What here a minute and see if you like this look."

Mom led me to her bathroom where she applied just a hint of eyeshadow, a wisp of blush, and a trace of pale lipstick. Then she combed my hair back real tight into a ponytail. Then Mom said to do something I thought was weird. She said to get into my boy's jeans and my new blue cotton blouse. That was weird because I hadn't worn my boy jeans in weeks and Mom was always saying that I should be in girl's clothing. But I did as she said.

When Tim saw me, I knew he liked my appearance-- but I don't know why because I didn't like the way I looked but I did look cute. Part of me wanted to go out with Tim but part of me was afraid. Mom again asked Tim if he'd take out tomorrow.

"Where would we go?" Tim asked. God, I thought, what am I in for now.

Mom suggested we go to the traveling carnival in Springdale. Even though this was about a 2-hour drive each way, Tim agreed. That Friday I dressed the same way I did the day before. Mom looked me over and said I looked like a cutie pie. A second later she halted and unbuckled my jeans before I could say a word. "I see you're wearing your pink panties. Better go change into your boy shorts." "Mama", I protested, I don't like them anymore." But Mom was very firm when she said go and change so I did.

Tim's eyes light up when he saw me but he pretended that he was doing me and Mom a big favor by taking me out. "Isn't your little brother just darling ?" Mom proclaimed not only to Tim but to my other brothers who had come to see the send-off. Tim didn't say a word but I could tell by his smile that he was pleased. I made it clear to everyone that I was nervous about going out in public dressed so ungirl like. I was sure everyone would see that I was a boy who was made up like a girl but Mom and Tim and even the boys said I could pass very well as a girl. That kinda convinced me, the boys saying that I looked like a girl. Especially when Johnny said that I was prettier than almost any girl in his school. I think seeing me doing girl things and talking to them like Mom would help them see me as a female. In just a few months they were completely accepting of me as their new sister.

All the way to the carnival Tim talked real nice to me about and asked me how I liked dressing like a girl and how I did my hair and my makeup and lots and lots of things.  "You look really pretty tonight," he said several times. "Thank you," I replied nervously. "And you look very handsome." Then he put his arm over my shoulder and pulled me to him as close as possible. The road was straight and clear and he drove with one hand, the other holding me close to him. With each stroke of his fingers on my hair, my thing got harder and harder. I couldn't help it but it did.

"You're getting me really hot," he said. "Me! Me!" I exclaimed. "I'm getting you hot!. You're getting me hot. Better stop. You know what happened last time." I said, moving closer to my door, away from him. With that, his fingers grabbed for me, caught me by the neck, and pulled me to him. He was so strong that he slid me over to him like a rag doll.

"Suck me, sissy boy," he demanded as he pushed my face towards his lap. "I know you want to, don't you sissy boy?" "Stop calling me that," I shouted. "Don't  call me that !" "That's what you are, a sissy and sissy boy's love to have sex with men and eat their love juice, as Tim called it.

That made me mad and I told him I was a girl and maybe girls suck but not boys. I said if I was a girl, I'd suck him but if I was a boy I wouldn't so what did he want me to be? "Tell me, Tim," I demanded. "If I can be a girl, all-girl, then I'll do everything that a girl and guy do together but if I can't be a girl, I'm not going to suck you. At that Tim got really quiet. Suddenly he made a sharp U-turn, gunned the engine, and raced home.  I was afraid we'd get killed and then I got worried about being found by the paramedics with my hair in a ponytail and makeup on. I wondered if they'd laugh at me as they rushed me to the hospital in the ambulance.

As we sped down the highway, I became more worried about how the newspapers would write up the story than Tim's anger or the prospect of getting killed.  I could read the story in my mind. "Last Friday a 16-year-old Clarks Township sissyboy was killed in a head-on car accident. Robert Jamison was dressed in a ponytail and wearing a girl's makeup when he died. No explanation was given by the family as to why he was dressed in this way. Friends described him as quiet but shy. His older brother survived uninjured." The more I thought about it the more I began to pray that if we were in an accident, I'd be killed instead of hurt, no we'd be killed.

Geez, was I  glad to see our house and jumped out of the car as soon as it stopped. As soon as I opened the door, Mom was there. "Home so soon?" For a moment she was stunned by the sour look on my face but angered a second later when Tim brushed by her.

"Wait right there, young man, Mom called." Tim walked a few steps when we heard "Timothy, don't walk away from your mother." I felt so bad --- for myself because Tim had been mean to me, for Tim because Mom was yelling at him, and for Mom, because Tim was upsetting her that I got weepy-eyed.. Tears fell down my face as I  thought of how I'd made everyone unhappy and that it was all my fault that Mom and Tim were arguing. Tim stomped up to his room and Mom called me to her side on the couch.

"Come to your mother, my baby girl," she cooed as we sat on the living room couch. "Now tell Mommy all about what happened."

"Timmy wants me to do things that only girls do to guys," I said.

"And do you want to do them," Mom asked?I hesitated.

"Like what? What does he want you to do?"

"I can't say."

"Let me tell you what happened to me when I was about your age, no I was younger; no,  younger, I think.  My brother, Uncle Fred, I think he was about 19 at the time,  had his bedroom next to mine so he had to go through my bedroom to go to the bathroom or go downstairs. One morning he was passing through my room and this thing shot out of his pajamas. I was laying in bed when this happened and saw this big stick, which is what it looked like, between his legs and he knew I saw it. I had to rub my eyes to be sure of what I was seeing. He turned towards me and with its muscles, he moved it up and down. It was so big and firm and it waved and waved at me. When I saw it, it looked funny so I waved to it with my fingers.

Nearly every morning Uncle Fred would do that, come out of his room, take out is penis, and move it up and down in front of me. It was so comical that I had to giggle. One morning he moved to my bedside and asked me if I wanted to kiss his little man, that's what he called it, and I did. Holding it in his hand, I gave it lots of big kisses. Then one day he said to suck his little man, those were his words exactly, "suck my little man."  And I did, but not at first. At first, I sat up in bed and just stuck out my tongue and licked the precum off, that's what the wetness is called when it first gets hard. And Uncle Fred would move his penis around my face, smearing my eyes and nose with his wetness. I had to laugh cause it tickled. I did that for a long time; for many days; I  just licked and licked his penis.  I liked the taste of it and I like to see it get bigger and bigger as I licked it. Then one day I remember I sat on the edge of my bed, closed my eyes and put his little man in my mouth; and sucked and sucked until he shot a huge load of water, which is what I thought it was at the time, in my mouth.  I was startled. I didn't know that it would happen. But I knew Uncle Fred was enjoying himself. At first, I wasn't very good at it and had to pull my mouth off his penis in order to swallow but eventually, I was able to take all he shot into my mouth. From then on I satisfied Uncle Fred many, many times; it seems almost daily, in fact.

"Did you really enjoy sucking Uncle Fred's penis? And did you swallow his stuff?"

I asked her.

"Yes, I did. There's nothing like the sensation of a penis growing larger and firmer in your mouth, so fat that you can barely get it in your mouth, and the sudden spurting of hot semen against the back of your throat! Remember, Sweetie, if you want to be a girl you'll have to learn to satisfy your man wherever and whenever he wants. You're the woman of the house now and it's your job to take care of the sexual needs of the man of the house."

"But I want to be more of a girl before I do that and Tim doesn't like me as a girl, not a real girl. And besides, he can be really mean, sometimes."

"I know honey, I know that now; but Tim is Tim and well... he ... his father... your father...," she said, her voice tapering off. Mom got me so excited telling me the story that I almost went to Tim's room but I didn't. I was determined to be the person I wanted to be and not what anyone else wanted me to be.

For the next week or so neither Mom or Tim said much to me. Tim was always out anyway and Mom was in bed a lot that week so I didn't get to talk to her very much. And I had more time to think with everyone out of the house most of the day. I thought and thought: What did everyone want of me, who did they want me to be? I even had bad dreams. One time I dreamt that I was being cooked in a big pot and everyone was having me for dinner, yea everyone, Mom, Tim, and my other brothers. The funny thing was that I was there too, eating myself. Boy!! I thought. What a silly dream. Another dream was of me having sex with everyone, Mom and Tim, and my brothers. Geez, did I wake up with a hardon?

One night I found myself awake about 2 in the morning and the pieces began to fall in place. Tim wanted to have sex with boys but didn't want to admit that so he wanted me to look kinda like a girl. That was pretty clear to me now. My brothers, they sort of ignored me, even took advantage of me; I was just their sister who was the housekeeper, it seems. Mom, now she was a big question. I began to doubt her story about Uncle Fred; it sounded all too convenient, her telling me it when she did. Whatever her problem was, I was pretty sure it had to do with my father and not me. She said she wanted a daughter but I wasn't sure. Now, what should I be: a maid, a daughter, or a sissy boy? Oh shit!! I didn't want to be any of those things. I knew I could go back as a boy; but did I want to? I wasn't sure. Or I could go further as a girl, but could I? I thought about that until my head ached.

For a long time, I just moped around the house. "Honey, Why don't you try setting your hair. It's looking really limp, you know."  I knew she was right. All I can say is that I tried. I remembered all Mom told me, at least I think so, but I just couldn't roll my hair very well. It had been weeks, months since Mom first set my hair and I was surprised at how long it had grown. Sure the top was fairly easy, but how was a guy, a girl, to see in the back of her head? With aching arms, I put the last roller in place. Looking into a hand mirror I could see that it was a wreck: loose hair, dangling rollers, and twisted rows. Just walking to Mom's side, caused two rollers to fall out. Mom laughed and called me "droopy curls". "Come here, Droopy Curls," she said and started to re-roll and re-pin some rollers. "Don't try to roll so wide a strand of hair and use your fingers to wind the hair tight on the roller," she admonished me. On and on she went. I must not have done anything right cause I think she had to re-do every roller. But I didn't mind because I really enjoyed having my hair fixed by someone else; in fact, I love the touch of fingers in my hair. This beauty treatment really picked up my spirits and helped me remember that being a girl could be a lot of fun. Finally, she slides a hairnet on. "This will hold everything together," she said.

For some reason,  I felt more girls like in rollers than at any other time. Sure it was uncomfortable; painful the way Mom rolled them so tightly. But the feelings were a constant reminder of who I was; I mean, I felt like a girl in hair rollers and I knew how pretty I looked with my hair combed out. Mom combed it out just before the boys got home from school and exclaimed that I looked lovely. As I headed to the mirror, my hair bounced off my shoulders and back. I swished and swished my head in order to feel strands of hair glide off my face. Geez, I did look cute with billows of blonde hair peeking over my shoulder. Just before the boys got home from school, I felt that I wanted to dress up. So without telling Mom, I put on the clothes she'd bought we months ago but had never worn. I put on my padded bra, the gold one with elastic on all the edges, and the lace between the cups so that it stretched to fit just right. Then I put on my blue dress with tiny white spots. It had sleeves that went to the wrist and had enough of a neckline for me to wear one of Mom's necklaces.

"Very, very nice," Mom said. "But you need some makeup." With that, we went to her room where she applied lots of things to my face, eyebrows, eyes, checks, and lips. As usual, she explained what she was doing but I was too excited to really listen to her.  All I heard were words like mascara, blush, eye shadow, eyeliner, lip gloss, and eyebrow pencil. "I'm only giving you a little of everything. After all,  you're not going out for night on the town," Mom said.  I was anxious to see how I looked but scared at the same time. Looking in the mirror, I asked myself, Who is this girl? Was it really me? Sure it was. For the first time that I can remember, I felt really confident in myself.

"Go show the boys," Mom urged. When I walked into the den,  I could see them stare at me, especially Johnny who was now twelve. He quickly turned away from me but I caught him looking at me, from the corner of my eye. I made myself even more conspicuous by swishing my head back and forth. "Johnny, dear, is your homework done, " I said to him in my often practiced girlish voice. "No," he answered. "Why not go do it now and after dinner, look it over," I cooed. I was surprised when he followed my suggestion.

All during dinner Johnny and Jessie behaved themselves instead of playing with their food and bickering. As we were finishing dinner, Johnny said that he had done his homework and would I go over it with him. Sure I said. Mom said she'd help me do the dishes, which was really unusual.

It was so nice, Mom and me doing the dishes together. "Ordinarily I wouldn't let you wear a new dress that the one you have on for dinner, seeing you might stain it, but it  seems to have made a good impression on your brothers." "Thanks, Mom." "One more little touch." With that, she took out of her purse a bottle and sprayed sprits of perfume on my neck. Ah, what a nice smell, like flowers. "It'll take away the kitchen smell, she said."

Johnny and I moved over to the couch so I could look over his math work. Your hair's really gotten along," he said. "I know. You like it long ?" "Ya, it smells good, too," he said as he moved his face close to mine. "You can touch my hair if you want." Johnny hesitated, his hand mid-way in the air. I gathered a handful of hair and brought it to one side. "Go ahead and touch it, it won't bite." His fingers played with the ends as if trying to unravel the strands. Oh God, I thought, if only he knew how turned I was getting. "See how long it is in the back?" I said as I turned my back to him, sitting on just the edge of the couch. "Would you like to comb it for me one day?" "Uh-huh," Johnny answered. "Well, if you're good boy," I'll let you. "Will you be a good boy and do what your big sister says? Will you?"

"Uh-huh," Johnny softly answered.

End.