Date: Sun, 14 Dec 2008 08:07:23 -0800 (PST)
From: Fred Gingerman <gingerfred2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: The Boy Bride One ? Feminized -- transgender

The Boy Bride One -- Feminized
by Gingerfred Man

   Chapter One -- Left out

   The Day began the way most days began for me. Nothing odd about it. But
it ended so strangely that it made the rest of my life completely different
from whatever I had imagined it might be.

   It was a Friday in October. My senior year in high school. I was 17
years, 6 months and 3 days old.

Oh yeah, my name. Dylan Griffith.

   I lived with my Mom and Dad. Nice people. Decent, loving and
understanding. Especially to me, the "baby" of their eight kids.

   I had all the traits of the last in birth order. I was charming and
lovable, which came from being loved by skilled, experienced parents and
tolerated by four older sisters and three older brothers. But like many
family "babies," I was a dabbler. I had a lot of interests and was
encouraged to pursue them all. But I almost never followed through on
anything. And I can't say that I ever accomplished much.

   What did that matter when everyone in your family loved you? Even if the
chicks weren't exactly beating down my door.

   I guess my small stature had a lot to do with that. I was short and
skinny. I kept expecting to grow. Used to go to bed at night thinking that
I would probably get a growth spurt and shoot up to five foot eight or
something overnight. It never happened, but at 17, I still had some growing
years and a lot of hope.

   I also remember wishing that "something else" would grow. You know what
I mean. "Mr. Beasley," the "little gentleman" who lived between my legs.

   He was so small and pink that I worried about my eventual success with
girls. Something my entire family assured me was at least as imminent as
the WMD threat from Saddam Hussein when the Brits and Americans attacked
Iraq.

   I had some pretty good friends at school, none of whom were very
successful with girls either. We weren't nerds or anything. Well, maybe we
were. But the other kids didn't treat us like nerds.

   Remember how you would rank your friends? Like you had a best friend and
a second best friend? My best friend was a guy named Tommy Barrington and
my second best friend was Jay Bensen. They were seniors, like me. And like
me, they were nerdy and small in stature, but pretty smart in school.

   Tommy and Jay and I used to spend a lot of time together, doing what
guys do. Including talking about which girls we wanted to boink. Like Mary
Louise Cooney and Allison Hanks. Who were way out of our league. Most girls
were out of our league.

   We used to go to the mall and the movies and other exciting places like
that. But in May of my junior year, Tommy suddenly got all mysterious on
Jay and me. Suddenly, he was no longer available on Friday
nights. Ever. When Jay and I asked him, he would just say it was "family
stuff." Right. Like a teenager would spend that much time with his family.

   Tommy would disappear other days now and then too. All without
explanation.

   That drove Jay and me closer together, so I guess he moved up to the
best-friend spot. Jay was a good guy, but it bugged me to be treated so
mysteriously by Tommy. Jay and I would complain about it all the time -- to
each other and to Tommy. But Tommy divulged nothing.

   Tommy changed in other ways too. He seemed to have more confidence or
something. Maybe that's the wrong word. Maybe it was more like Tommy had a
sense of purpose. He seemed to know what he wanted from life. Besides
boinking Mary Louise Cooney, I mean.

   Imagine a teenage boy knowing what he wanted.

   Well, that was odd enough, but at the end of August, just before school,
Jay joined Tommy in going wherever it was that he went every Friday and
random other days. They claimed that their absence wasn't related, but come
on!

   Were they in a cult?

   Were they gang-boinking Mary Louise Cooney or some other girl?

   The prospect of a senior year without friends looked very real to me. I
still hung out with Tommy and Jay, but all the trust and intimacy was
gone. At least from my viewpoint. So we had no real friendship.

   Gloom.

   Then, two days before the Day, I was sitting in the lunchroom with my
former friends, wondering if I should quit school and join the Foreign
Legion. Looking up from my baloney-on-Wonder-Bread sandwich, I saw big
smiles on my companions' faces.

   Huh?

   I put my sandwich down and asked, quite cleverly, "What?"

   Tommy spoke first. "Jay and I are sorry for all the secrecy. It wasn't
our choice. But this Friday, if you join us, we can tell you a lot. Not
everything. But a lot."

   Join them?

   Satisfy months of curiosity? Definitely.

   But the problem with satisfying curiosity is that it isn't always
satisfying. What if there's a tiger behind that heavy curtain? What if
Tommy and Jay were doing something illegal....or disgusting? What if they
wanted me to do those things too?

   Curiosity consumed me.

   "What have you been doing and why am I suddenly welcome?" I asked a bit
snottily. They deserved it.

   They didn't act hurt at all. They acted like two guys with all the
answers. The answers I would need to have or burst.

   "We can't tell you much more at this point except, be at Dennis Lemont's
house at 7 on Friday night."

   Dennis Lemont? The rich kid? Tommy, Jay and I hardly knew him. And we
always kidded about what a twit he was.

   No matter what I asked, Tommy and Jay wouldn't answer one more
question. So I waited until Friday.

   At supper on Friday, when I told Mom and Dad that I was going to Dennis
Lemont's house in the rich section of our city, they looked at each other,
then me. Very strangely. Then Mom said, "That's good, dear. I think you'll
fit in very nicely with those boys."

   Those boys? What boys? Even my own Mom wouldn't tell me. What was the
conspiracy of silence all about?



   Chapter Two -- The Chapter

   It was with some dread that I drove to Dennis's house that Friday
evening. I didn't like going to the rich side of town. Even worse, I was
going to a fate unknown.

   Dennis's family had a big place, with a long driveway. The house was the
size of my elementary school. There were three cars parked in front of the
house, participants in whatever was going on in there, I guessed. I
recognized Tommy's car, but not the other two. Breathing deeply, I knocked
twice. And began a very strange journey.

   The person who answered the door was my first surprise. She was the
embodiment of every wet dream I had ever had. And more.

   A teenage babe beyond babeness! Not just beautiful. Dressed for sex.

   Pink lingerie. Lacy bra. Bikini panties. A frilly garter belt with
straps attached to silky, fully-fashioned, pink stockings. Towering, pink,
stiletto pumps. Tiny pink panties. And a face sporting perfect make-up. A
glowing, feminine face, with pouty lips and huge, liquid eyes.

   No other clothing! Good golly. Who answers the door like that?

   Was Dennis paying for girls for...you-know-what...with my friends? Did
that mean that I would be...I mean, would I be able to...? <Gulp>

   Conjecture was galloping through my mind. Would Dennis's parents let him
run a little brothel for his friends? They had to know what he was doing.

   I regained my wits just in time to see that lovely, feminine person
smile at me and say, in a sweet voice, "Welcome to my home, Dylan. I hope
you'll be joining us on a regular basis. Won't you come in?"

   I stood there, rooted. Two questions and two answers appeared in my
brain in succession.

   Did Dennis have a sister? No.

   So who was the babe?

   The answer was too horrible to admit to myself.

   I knew who it was, but I had to glance at the pretty one's crotch, just
to be sure. Yep. The panties were "pointed" by a tiny stiffie.

   The "babe" was Dennis.

   And I was terrified.

   I wanted to run away. But I also wanted more answers.

   I was repulsed to think that a boy whom I knew was dressing as a
girl. But my cock was ripping my underwear at the sight of the ersatz femme
in front of me. Not only his sight. His smell. His feminine manner. Even
his sweet, girlish voice.

   Dennis understood my every emotion. And he knew how to deal with them
all.

   "Come in, Dylan, please," he said. "Tommy and Jay are here. They would
be very disappointed if you left without seeing them. Plus, first Tommy,
then Jay felt pretty much as you do right now, I think. And now, they're
quite comfortable in our little chapter."

   They did? They were? Chapter?

   Dennis led me into the grand entranceway. Oh no! Dennis's mother and
father were there. Smiling. Were they crazy? I mean, their son was in
lingerie and make-up in their grand entranceway. And they were acting as if
Dennis and I were going to be playing video games and eating smores.

   "I'm so glad you'll be joining the chapter, Dylan," Dennis's Mom said.

   What chapter? Who said I was joining anything? And why was my cock stiff
and dripping?

   Was this the chapter of a lunatic asylum or something?

   Even worse, I didn't like the way Dennis's Dad was looking at
me. Leering would be a better word. Was he gay or something? Ickkkkkkkk!!!!

   If I had had one ounce of gumption, I would have stormed out of there in
a huff. But in addition to being disgusted (a little) and scared (a bit
more), I was very, very curious. And quite horny.

   What a buffet line of feelings.

   "Let's go to the chapter room, Dylan," that lovely doll Dennis said.

   Was I a sicko to follow him? Was I thinking about doing things with him
that some might call "homo?"

   Regardless, we went up the huge staircase, turned left and opened double
doors into a room the size of a high school classroom. It had nice couches
and chairs and homey touches like paintings and lamps. At the front of the
room was a screen and a PowerPoint projector. That was odd enough. But the
room's occupants took my breath away.

   Three other boys from my class in school were there, including Tommy and
Jay. And three whom I recognized as graduates from the previous class. And
they were all lingeried, powdered, perfumed and made-up to feminine
perfection, including Tommy and Jay. Especially Tommy and Jay.

   They were all fucking beautiful.

   I felt my curiosity waning a bit and my fear waxing a lot.

   What was this? And even worse, what was my part in all this?

   Tommy sissied up to me in his skyscraper heels and gave me a
hug. Something he would have never normally done. Oh my, he smelled
good. And his lingerie felt so nice against me. The things I was thinking
were crimes against nature.

   "We all know how you feel right now, Dylan," Tommy said. "All we ask are
two things. First, even if you decide not to join the chapter, you will
tell no one about any of this. Agreed?"

   I nodded. Who would believe me?

   Tommy smiled. "Good. Second, just keep an open mind about all this,
OK. Tonight we'll ask you to just look and listen, OK?"

   An open mind? I could do that. Yeah. Look and listen. But to what?

   Jay wiggled over and gave me a hug too. Oh. He was wearing a white baby
doll so tiny that I could see his panties. If he had been wearing
them. Instead, I saw his little stiffie. Which I hadn't seen since the
seventh grade when we were, you know, exploring a little.

   "We've been DYING to tell you, Dylan, but the rules are strict. No one
joins until he's 17 and a half. And no one is told anything until his first
meeting."

   My mouth was dry, but I croaked out a question, "Told what?"

   "We're inviting you to join the local chapter of the Boy Brides
Society."



   Chapter Three -- Can boys be brides?

   Wham! I felt as if I'd been conked in the head, slapped in the face and
kicked in the testicles.

   Had I fallen in with a nest of lunatics? Or worse -- a group of
"homos!?!?!?"

   Boy brides! How stupid. What planet were these guys from? And how had
they seduced my best friends into joining them?

   I was about to ask all those questions when Tommy said, "It's OK,
Dylan. We know what's going through your mind. Stay for the meeting and
we'll explain everything. After all the years you and Jay and I have been
friends, you owe us that at least. And you owe it to yourself, too."

   Had I been rational, I would have run out of the room, down the stairs,
and out the front door, then sped away in my car. Driving until I ran out
of gas, then changing my identity, washing dishes at a diner. But Tommy was
so darned pretty. And he smelled so good.

   Man's greatest challenge -- obeying the dictates of his brain, rather
than the dictates of his cock. The brain loses every time.

   Jay stood next to me and I got a good look at his femininity and a whiff
of his perfume. I knew they were boys, but my cock was hard as differential
calculus. If they affected me that way, would some man really want one of
them as his "bride?" I was beginning to think it was possible.

   The seven pantied boys seemed to know just what was going through my
mind. Or they made some accurate assumptions based on the stiffness of my
"little man."

   "Come sit with us, Dylan," Dennis said. "Our program is about to begin."

   "That's right, Dylan," Jay said. "Just like any club, we have a program
and then a social event."

   I trembled at the thought of what may happen at their "social event."

   Tommy took me by the arm, led me to a seat, then sat on my left. To my
right was a delicious little creampuff who called himself Patrick. I
vaguely remembered him from the class that had graduated the previous
year. Maybe he was in Chess Club with me or something.

   Good golly he appeared to be a hot-looking babe! He was all in black --
corset, garter belt, panties, stockings and strappy, stiletto sandals. He
had no bra, which on a boy shouldn't have been a critical omission. But
Patrick's nipples were puffy and girlish. What had he been doing to them?

   Patrick was at least 18 and a half, older than most of the "chapter
members," and he seemed different than the younger boys. More experienced,
maybe. It was pretty obvious to me. So was the fact that he was <Gasp>
flirting with me. He put his hand on my thigh as he introduced
himself. Then left it there. <Gulp>.

   "Welcome everyone," Dennis said. "Especially our potential new member,
Dylan." <Applause>

   They thought I was a "potential new member?" I shuddered from fear. And
from the fact that Patrick was rubbing my thigh with his soft hand. Oh
my. His fingernails were long and painted red. His ears were pierced and
his eyebrows plucked. Clearly, this was a boy whose guise of femininity was
a full-time thing.

   With effort, I turned my attention back to Dennis.

   "We have a very nice program tonight," Dennis said. "It's Patrick's turn
to give the presentation. Then we'll be showing the slides from Kevin's
wedding to Mr. Murphy. I know we all attended, but it'll be fun to relive
it again. Dylan, Kevin is a chapter member who was married two Saturdays
ago in a beautiful <sniffle> ceremony."

   Good gravy! Mr. Murphy, whoever he is, "married" one of these lunatics?
He took a boy wife? Wasn't that immoral or illegal or ill-something? Why
would a man want to marry a fake woman?

   I began to think about the "physical" end of marriage. Would the men who
married these pantyboys actually expect "physicality" from them? What kind
of "physicality" could that be?

   As apprehension stampeded through my brain, Dennis deepened my
misgivings: "And girls," he said, "Kevin sent along several pictures from
his honeymoon -- the good kind!"

   From the volume of squealing and giggling that naughty innuendo
engendered, it was clear that the contents of my stomach would be
challenged during that portion of the program. If I stayed.

   Why did Dennis call the boys, "girls?" They weren't girls. They were
pretty and feminine. But they weren't girls.

   Why had I stayed up to that point? Loyalty to Tommy and Jay? Rampant
curiosity? Patrick's pretty fingers rubbing the inside of my thigh? A
rampant penis?

   Since Patrick had to give the first presentation, he removed his hand
from my thigh. Thank goodness. Right?

   Patrick took control of the giggling, excited group. "Tonight, 'Ladies,'
will be the fourth in my series of presentations about your wedding
gown. This time, we'll talk about the gown's shape."

   That did it. They were all raving loonies. Seventeen and eighteen years
old and completely out of it. They're talking about getting wedding gowns
at their age? And they're not even girls.

   "Wedding dress silhouettes fall into four basic categories," Patrick
said. "Ball gown, empire, princess (also known as A-Line) and sheath. The
most traditional of all categories, the ball gown is typified by a full
bodice and a waistline that leads to a very full skirt. The hallmark of the
empire-style gown is a high waistline (right under the bust), which falls
to a slimmer skirt. An A-line or Princess shape features vertical seams
flowing from the shoulders down to a flared skirt (creating an inverted 'V'
-- or 'A' -- shape). The slim sheath silhouette closely follows the line of
the body."

   I looked around. The little sissies were enthralled.

   "Now that you've got the basic shapes down," Patrick continued,
"consider what goes with your body type. Let's say, like most of us pretty
boys, you're thin and not as busty as we would all like."

   <Giggles all around>

   "A ball gown will make you look like a beautiful ballerina, and the
sheath was made for you, but stay away from portrait, off-the-shoulder, or
halter necklines if your collarbone is too bony."

   And so on.

   The little pantywaists were hypnotized. And stupid. No man would want to
marry them, I was certain. If the man was a homo, maybe he would let them
suck his cock or something. But marry? Hah! What was that nonsense about
some boy named Kevin marrying a Mr. Murphy? They were delusional. I began
to think I would just ease my way out of there, go home, grunt at all my
parents' questions and run the other way whenever I saw one of those little
fairies.

   I just waited for a good moment to make my break. Like when Patrick
finished his "gown talk." Which was a good thing, since some of the
pantyboys looked as if they were about to swoon with excitement over the
thought of a wedding gown. Which none of them, obviously, would ever own or
wear. Patrick asked for questions and every hand shot up. I had to put an
end to that, so I called out, "Why are you telling them about something
they'll never have?"

   Everyone looked at me. They smiled at me. Sadly. As if I were the dummy
in the group.

   "A good question, Dylan," Patrick said. "We all asked ourselves that
early on. The truth is, we'll all have gowns and we'll all be married to
rich, hunky men who will adore us. For the last ten years, ever since
Dennis's older brother Gene founded our chapter, every member of our
chapter has had a beautiful wedding and a lovely marriage. When we turn 18,
we all begin shopping for our gowns in earnest because...girls?"

   "It takes nine months to get the right gown!" they chanted in unison,
then giggled uproariously.

   "And by nine months after our 18th birthday, all but the least decisive
of us has sorted through his multiple marriage proposals and is planning an
imminent wedding. My gown is ready for the second fitting and I'm marrying
a wonderful man on the day after Christmas."

   That had to be baloney. Right? Men wanted to marry women. Right?

   Dennis saw my confusion and consternation. "You poor boy, Dylan. So much
truth to absorb after a life of misinformation."

   Dennis' expression was so empathetic. And he was so effing beautiful!
Crap! Mr. Beasley was stiff again.

   Dennis placed a soft hand on my face and said, "You need relief very
badly. Who wants to give Dylan relief?"

   Instantaneously, Tommy said, "I will."

   Dennis smiled. "All right. Let's change the agenda a bit and take our
first relief break now."

   That seemed very agreeable to everyone. Except me. I didn't know what
relief was. Then I found out. The sissies paired up and started cooing and
kissing. I was about to get disgusted, but I had my own problems. My best
friend since 4th Grade was sitting next to me on my right. I remember
smelling his perfume and wondering what awful thing he was about to do. I
looked down at his stockings. Avoiding eye contact. His legs were
spectacular!! Smooth and silky and ending in the prettiest feet, encased in
stiletto sandals. I couldn't look at those legs any more so I looked at his
face. Another mistake. His eyes were hypnotically feminine. Beautifully
made up. And they seemed so sympathetic to my obvious agony.

   No male could have maintained a limp prick in Tommy's presence. It
occurred to me, even in those early hours, that Tommy was well aware of his
power over the male libido.

   My cock was at full attention in my trousers. Then, miraculously, it was
free, breathing open air.

   Tommy had pulled down my zipper and released my cock. And his warm, soft
hand was rubbing up and down the shaft. Up and down.

   Shock. Horror. Lust!!!

   I had never had my cock stroked by anyone. And Tommy seemed to be
awfully good at it. I wanted to be repulsed. But his hand was so soft and
gentle. He was so pretty and feminine. And he smelled like wildflowers.

   I looked away from Tommy's pretty eyes, but that was worse. All around
the room, boys were kissing boys and playing with each other's
privates. Worse, they didn't look like boys. They looked like girls, only
better. I thought that perhaps some girls dressed like Tommy, Jay, Dennis,
Patrick, and the as-yet unmentioned Jimmy, Billy and Eric, but none I had
seen in three dimensions.

   They were really enjoying themselves. Trying to swallow each other's
tongues as they tickled and teased and stroked each other's red, aching
penises and dangling, pink bags. The ones who were wearing panties had
shimmied them down to mid-thigh.

Tommy's hand was so talented! I was praying he didn't kiss me, though the
thought of doing that with someone so feminine made my heart
flutter. Someone cried out and I turned my head to see Jimmy spurting thick
globs of creamy cum all over Eric's manicured fingers. Eric kissed Jimmy
harder, then squealed and began squirting his own essence all over Jimmy's
lovely hand.

   It was so diiirrttyyy!!!!! My cock agreed. Humiliated beyond belief, I
nevertheless shuddered through a spectacular cum that almost brought me to
my knees.

   Hot shame grabbed me by the throat and shook me. What in the name of
Rush Limbaugh was I doing? What would happen to me if anyone outside that
room ever found out what I had just done? And the kinds of people I was
associating with? How would things ever be the same between me and my best
friends again?

   I looked down at my pubic region in a guilty state. Tommy's soft hand
was rubbing my cum all around my drooping cock and coating my dangling nuts
with a thin coat of manly cream.

   What was Tommy doing? Was he trying to get me hard and needy again?
Would that make things worse or better?

   It didn't seem fair that Tommy was leading me to a second cum and he
hadn't even had one. I was already far down a road I thought I would never
drive. Maybe I could just rub him up a little. Just to be fair.

   He was so pretty. It wouldn't really be gay or anything. To just use my
thumb and two fingers on his pink helmet.

   Tommy sensed my need for fairness and equitability. He pulled his
panties down with his left hand as he stroked me with his right.

   Around the room, pretty, feminine boys were gasping and sighing as their
lovers tickled and caressed the tender places where boys are told they
shouldn't touch each other.

   I held Tommy's stiff thing in the warm palm of my hand.

   Tommy shuddered with pleasure. He looked as if I had just moved him a
great distance toward ecstasy.

   His penis felt warm and, I don't know, fitted to my hand. Did it throb
or did I just imagine it?

   Tommy gasped out a "Thank you," then pouted his lips. Did he want me to
kiss him or something? That would be so gay. I mean, even gayer than
stroking his prick as he caressed mine.

   I couldn't kiss him.

   But he looked so sweet and feminine and needy. And so pretty. And his
hand was rubbing the cum from my previous climax around and around the
oh-so-tender knob of my "little gentleman."

   I could kiss him. And I did. And part of me regretted it
immediately. Five percent. Maybe ten. The other 90-95% of me was frantic
with desire as I reveled in my first erotic kiss. A kiss that was
intensified by the imparting and receiving of manual pleasure. And by the
fact that my senses had almost completely deluded me into thinking that I
was kissing and fondling a real girl.

   Tommy's lips were glossed and warm. And very soft and kissable. He
opened his mouth a half inch and I stuck my tongue into it.

   Yes, folks. I did all that. I have no excuse either. Just
horniness. Heterosexual horniness, if you please. Confused, but
heterosexual in intent. Really.

   And yes folks, I did more. I licked and sucked Tommy's girlish tongue as
I ran my fingers up and down his hot girlie pole. I cuddled Tommy's pink
ball sack as I kissed his neck, then sucked his tender earlobe. He was
perfumed and powdered and girly all over, even in the pubic region.

   Tommy was gasping and panting as I fondled that pretty sissy's tender
parts and wondered over and over why I was doing what I was doing.

   My cock was the least confused part of me. It stood stiff and
hot. Dripping that sweet goo that precedes the full spermstorm.

   The cock engages in few ambiguities. On or off. One or zero. Up or
down. If only more of life were like one's cock.

   Tommy moaned and breathed, "Kiss me again, Dylan."

   I did, sucking his wet tongue yet again as I rubbed Tommy's peehole with
my thumb.

   I remember hearing vague sounds of pretty boys in the grip of pleasure,
but my full attention was on making Tommy cum hard.

   He gave the cutest little whimper, then a sharp squeal. And hot, long
ropes of cum began to spurt from his pouting peelips. I stopped kissing him
and watched, fascinated, as cum sprang from his pretty peanuts. Cuddling
his warm, enflamed testicles in my right hand, I gently squeezed and milked
his balls until every vigorously heaved drop was expended.

   When Tommy's balls were completely drained, his beautiful eyes focused
on mine. He was looking at me with ...gratitude?...lust?...love?

   Ick!!!!

   I couldn't have any of that. My partially formed plan was to see Tommy
and Jay the next day and, through my vast powers of oratory and persuasion,
lead them from the path of faggotry that they had been misled into.

   That was a good plan and maybe I would have employed
it. Unsuccessfully. But Tommy's next move suggested to me that he was
possibly not redeemable.

   In an impulse of passion, Tommy slipped to the floor, got onto his knees
and took my cock into his warm, wet, sucking, licking mouth.

   Unnnhhhhh.

   I had never had my cock sucked. And Tommy was a GREAT cocksucker.

   Great.

   But it was wrong. Wrong to be frantic with sexual heat as my best
friend's tongue swirled around my tingling, sensitive knob.

   Wrong to feel the clutch in my gut as Tommy tickled my testicles with
the pads of his soft fingertips.

   Even more wrong to begin a motion similar to "fucking" in my best
friend's feminine mouth. I thrust my flaming shaft in and out as Tommy
licked and sucked and rolled his tongue around the sensitive helmet.

   I shouldn't have looked so eager. I shouldn't have participated so
fully.

   I should have stopped second- and third-guessing myself and just
accepted the sexual joy I was feeling at that moment.

   Guilt and shame were nowhere nearly enough to keep me from moaning
loudly, then pumping every molecule of sperm my body harbored into Tommy's
overchallenged mouth.

   When I began to cum my guts out, my eyes closed at first. But when I
glanced down, I was thrilled to see Tommy swallowing as much of my big load
as he could. Despite Tommy's heroic sperm guzzling, my hot goo was drooling
from both corners of his pretty mouth.

   No one had ever "done things" for me before. And swallowing my cum was
definitely "doing things" for me. I guess it's true that you always
remember your first.

   Before I had time to sort out my confused feelings, Dennis made a very
"Type-A" announcement.

   "Relief break is over, everyone! Let's get those popsies back in our
panties and move our program along."

   Everyone groaned a little at that. Especially Jay, who was pumping sperm
down Patrick's throat just at that moment.

   The pantyboys and I recovered our composure a bit and got back in our
chairs to look at the pictures of Kevin's wedding.

   BOR-ING.

   I mean, all those pretty creampuffs eager to suck my cock and I was
going to have to watch some slide show of a boy marrying a man.

   Once again that day, I was very wrong.

   It was more than a slide show. It was set up on a PowerPoint projector
and was narrated by Kevin, the boy bride himself.

   It was a series of incredible surprises for me.

   The first surprise was Kevin's voice -- husky, but in a girlish way. Not
a boy's voice, but not exactly a girl's either. Come to think of it,
Patrick's voice was like that too.

   The second surprise was how pretty Kevin was on his wedding day. A
series of professionally taken pictures and Kevin's sexy voice told the
story, but Kevin's face alone told the real story.

   Kevin was deliriously happy.

   And deliciously beautiful.

   I didn't know whether Kevin was so beautiful because he was so happy or
he was so happy because he was so beautiful.

   Either way, unless the whole thing was a scam to fool me, Kevin seemed
to be a very desirable bride for any man. Extremely desirable.

   The slide show began with Kevin being awakened on his wedding day by his
mother and father. Kevin was wearing a pretty, pink nightie and he looked
so cute in his girlish bed, filled with stuffed animals and frilly
stuff. His nightie was very short and he wasn't wearing any panties in bed,
so when he pulled off his sheet, his pink, rock-hard, throbbing penis and
pretty, dangling bag were exposed very cutely. I remember thinking idly
that that picture alone would drive any man who saw it into a sexual
dither.

   The first series of pictures showed Kevin stretching sleepily, then
smiling in eager anticipation of the most wonderful day in a pantyboy's
life.

   "As you can see by my 'morning wood,'" Kevin's narration said, "I was
very excited about all the wonderful things that would happen to me that
day, including <blush> losing my virginity to Mr. Murphy, my new husband."

   Omigosh! Kevin was talking about his "husband" fucking him? Would we be
seeing pictures of that? Was that disgusting or wildly exciting to me?

   And the bigger question -- how did someone as beautiful and feminine as
Kevin stay a "virgin" that long? Especially with some of the antics I had
already seen from the "chapter members."

   Looking at a picture of Kevin standing in his pretty, pink nightie, I
wondered how Mr. Murphy restrained himself. I wanted to take that pretty
boy's virginity and I didn't even know him.

   What exactly did they mean by virginity anyway?

   Dennis must have noted my puzzlement because he stopped the presentation
and said, "Let's explain to Dylan. All of us pantyboys are virgins for our
first husbands, Dylan. ["First" husbands?] We date boys our age and men
court us to be their wives. We kiss them and suck their big thingees. We
lick their hairy bags and submit to them, if we choose, in all ways but one
-- no one puts his thick rammer in our tiny bottoms until we're
married. Fingers, yes. Tongues, yes. Oh, yes! But we're virgins for our
husbands. Another reason, as if they needed any, for them to love and
cherish us. We give them the finest wedding gift they could ever
receive. Our tight, hot, virginal pussies."

   A film of perspiration formed on my upper lip and I was, once again
stiff and throbbing, which was pretty obvious, since my trousers were still
down around my ankles.

   I was equal parts repulsed and helplessly attracted to these boys and
their activities. Attraction was leading the competition, but repulsion
would regain the lead as soon as I lost my latest load of sperm. I managed
to delay that frantic emission for the moment.

   Dennis re-engaged the slide show.

   There were a few pictures of Kevin in his nightie having breakfast with
his beaming parents. You would imagine such pictures to be dull, but not
when they were taken of someone as beautiful and sexy as Kevin.

   I was beginning to fall in love with Kevin myself, and I'd only seen him
in two dimensions.

   Was I turning gay or something?

   Oddly, the activities of the past hour hadn't seemed that "homo" to
me. Having my cock sucked by my best friend, who was a flaming pantyboy,
didn't seem like a gay thing.

   Back to the slides. Kevin's professional photographer had been granted
total access. He followed Kevin to the bathroom, where he photographed the
little doll sitting to pee and <blush> poop. Next it showed Kevin stripping
naked, then posing saucily for the camera. His little pricklet was tall and
"weeping" as he blushed and showed his femmy body to the camera. His body
was exceptionally feminine, yet boyish too. I was "on the verge" as I got a
good look at Kevin's nipples. They seemed as erect as his peeny, pointed
and aching for a man's tender kisses.

   Kevin got into the shower and so did the camera. He soaped himself all
over under the hot spray, then washed his short, boyish hair with
shampoo. That was when I realized that all the younger boys in the chapter
had short hair cut in a boyish style. Most of the older ones, who didn't
seem to be dressing as boys any more, had longer hair.

   Kevin's narration said, "I was very excited and the pressure in my bag
of pearls was building so I decided to relieve some of my 'anxieties.'"

   Was Kevin going to...?

   Oh.

   I felt Tommy's warm hand grip my penis again. He had a wonderful way of
touching a "wet mushroom" that made it throb and fill with hot blood.

   The pictures showed the delicious Kevin coaxing the sperm from his cute
little bag. Tickling his own parts while smiling seductively at the
camera. Tommy stroking me. Rubbing his thumb around and around my slippery
cockhead.

   The photographer must have snapped about 100 pictures of Kevin in the
bathroom, half of which showed him bringing himself to and through
ecstasy. I witnessed Kevin's gut clutching then his pink penis hurling five
thick globs of hot, creamy, boyish goo through the air and onto Kevin's
stomach, and the shower wall and floor.

   That did it for me. My overworked prick made its own mess, all over
Tommy's hand and my thighs and pubic area. Tommy giggled when I creamed,
then licked my goo off his hand.

   I was so sexed-up and agitated that I missed some of Kevin's delicious
pictures.

   When I regained my senses, my hand had found Tommy's prick. I rubbed his
hot poker as I watched Kevin put on his bridal lingerie, surrounded by his
bridesmaids, the little creampuffs in the "chapter room" that night.

   I had missed the part where Kevin had put his makeup on, but the results
were spectacular. Big, liquid eyes. Full, pouty lips. Kissable and
completely fuckable.

   And his lingerie!!

   Silky and feminine. White, fully fashioned, seamed stockings with
reinforced heel and toe, a thick weal and prominent "keyhole." White,
four-inch-stiletto pumps that toned Kevin's legs as they pushed his bottom
out in lewd invitation. A white, silk garter belt with six straps. And
silky white panties that were lowered to mid-thigh, exposing Kevin's
once-again stiff willie.

   The bridesmaids were fully dressed and fussing with the bride's wedding
preparations. The sissy attendants were helping Kevin primp and preen. Like
bridesmaids worldwide since the beginning of time, their dresses made them
look like pale imitations of the bride. Actually, blue-aquamarine, flouncy
imitations of the bride. Clearly intentional and part of the World
Association of Brides' eternal conspiracy to outshine any bridesmaid who
would dares to attempt to outshine a bride.

   My friend Jay was performing the most necessary service of all. He was
on his knees, his mouth full of Kevin's sissy pole. "Relaxing the bride,"
Kevin called it in his narrative. There were several great pictures of
Kevin ruining Jay's pretty make-up with his thick, hot, creamy load.

   That time, it was Tommy's turn to spurt his sperm all over my hand.

   Transfixed by the illustrated, wedding narrative, I hardly noticed.

   The next series of pictures took place in the church, where everyone
seemed to be extremely happy and normal. No one seemed to be uncomfortable
with the fact that a 40-year-old man was marrying a lovely, 18-year-old
pretty boy.

   And what a 40-year-old man it was!

   He was astoundingly handsome in his tuxedo. Fit and buff. Manly as an
apartment whose telephone has the pizza man on the speed dial. And aching
with love for his boy-wife-to-be.

   Kevin's Mom, the mother of the bride, was seated and the procession
began.

   Flower girls. Or were they boys in girly dresses? A ring bearer. Then
seven spectacular bridesmaids -- the chapter members! Finally, the
delicious Kevin in a perfect, white, ballgown-style wedding gown. [See, I
learned.]

   He was the sexiest, most desirable, most feminine person I had ever
seen. And the happiest.

   Kevin's father was bursting with pride as he escorted his beautiful son
down the aisle to bond with his husband-to-be. He kissed his sissy son,
then turned him over to the groom, Mr. Murphy, who looked as if he had just
won the Super-Mega-Powerball lottery for half a billion dollars.

   Kevin beamed at Mr. Murphy, then, after a brief ceremony, a starving
Mr. Murphy consumed his new bride with a deep kiss.

   I could hear sissies moaning and smell cream spurting all over the room
as the marital bond was sealed with that loving act.

   Kevin's recorded voice said, "That was exciting, wasn't it? But wait
until you see the wedding night pictures, or, as Mr. Murphy, my HUSBAND
calls them, the 'Grand Opening!' I set eight cameras all around the bedroom
and programmed them to take pictures at random times. The results were very
pleasing. And so was the Grand Opening. Settle in, ladies, for some very
exciting pictures."

   I trembled when I heard that. Was I going to see that beautiful man,
naked and rampant, mounted on that lovely boy, in his prettiest lingerie?
Was I going to see a huge cock rip into a sweet pantyboys tiny "pussy?"

   No.

   Not yet.

   Rats.

   Dennis turned the projector off and said, "Sorry, Dylan. That sort of
naughtiness can't be shown to guests. Only to members. I'm afraid you can't
stay for the 'night-long social' part of our program either. Of course,
you're welcome to come back next Friday and join our chapter of the Boy
Brides Society. We've had our eye on you for some time and we know that you
would be very happy as a man's wife. But that's up to you. Let me walk you
to the door."

   I was being shown the door? But what would I be missing? Jay was opening
a drawer and taking out bottles of baby oil, allotting one per boy. What
would they be doing with that? And would they be doing naughty things all
night long? Without me?

   As Dennis and I walked silently downstairs and to his door, I thought,
"Good riddance to those guys. I didn't want to stay and play their faggot
games anyway. I'm ashamed I did what I did and they can just forget about
me even talking to any of them ever again. We have nothing in common. They
want some man to marry them and fuck their bottoms day and
night. Ouch. Well, not me."

   Dennis seemed to know what I was thinking. Well, so what? Then he knew
that he would never see me again. Because I was no faggot.

   Though I did let him kiss me goodbye. With tongue. Just to be polite.

   A dark, confused funk seized me when I got into my car and drove home.

   There were elements of the evening that I enjoyed very much. The
femininity I witnessed was almost blinding. Unlike any femininity I had
ever seen. The cumming was awfully good too, though I regretted letting a
boy suck my cock. I shouldn't have tossed another boy off either, but I was
caught up in the situation. Once I had time to think and evaluate, you
could bet top dollar that I wouldn't do anything that gay again. Ever.

   Mom and Dad seemed a little anxious when I got home. Mom asked some
moderately nosier-than-usual questions and, like a true teenager, I told
her virtually nothing.

   Did Mom and Dad know what went on at Dennis' house? Oh, please, no. That
would be shameful.

   I lay awake in bed for a long time that night. For some reason, I didn't
wear my usual pajamas, choosing to be naked under the sheets. My erection
was so stiff that it was painful as I guiltily recalled the disgusting
events of the evening. Boys dressed as girls. Powdered and perfumed and
made-up to feminine perfection. Lingerie and stockings chosen with care and
worn with feminine pride. Boys whose beauty and demeanor promised
undreamed-of pleasures to men, boys and <gasp> other pantyboys.

   They wanted me to be one of them. Wanted me to wear panties and silky
stockings. Prance around in high heels, with my plump bottom sticking out,
inviting male cocks to penetrate me and dominate me.

   I began to "touch myself" as I thought about being in a wedding gown
while a man, my <blush> husband and master, carried me into a bridal
suite. I thought about my impetuous "husband" pulling down my panties and,
while I was still in my gown, pushing me facedown on the bed, lifting my
skirts and unnnnnnnnnnnhhhhhhh.

   I didn't know there was any sperm left in me. There was. But it all left
my body at once as I thought about being lovingly dominated and "ravaged"
by a man.

   Unsettled, but exhausted, I fell asleep.



   Chapter Four -- Fact gathering

   That weekend, I did what teenagers do best. I brooded.

   And it wasn't just pro forma brooding. I was baffled by what had
happened to me. Pissed that my so-called friends would try to bring me into
their gay little circle. Ashamed that I has gone as far as I had with a
bunch of queer boys. And more than vaguely attracted to what the pantyboys
were inviting me to do.

   On Monday, I avoided the seven sissies completely.

   On Tuesday, I decided to take my first risk. I would talk to Jay. He was
more sensible than Tommy. Always had been. Maybe I could even convince him
to leave that "cult." And bring Tommy out too. Yeah! I would be a hero.

   I saw Jay in school that day and asked if we could talk alone. Jay
seemed delighted to do that. "Stop by my house around 4:30," he said.

   I was pleased with myself. This whole mess, I thought, was about to be
resolved.

   I showed up at Jay's that afternoon and there was a note on the
door. "Dylan. The doorbell is broken. Just go up to my room."

   OK. I opened the door and went upstairs. Knocked on Jay's door and, when
he said, "Come in," I did so.

   And watched my hopes of a simple resolution fade.

   Jay was completely, and I mean completely, in girl mode.

   First, let me tell you about his room. Pink and frills everywhere. A
three-way-mirrored vanity table strewn with every cosmetic known to
sissies.

   Now let me tell you about Jay. He was seated on a stool at his vanity,
applying red lipstick to his pouty lips. He was in the sexiest, black
lingerie on the planet -- sheer, seamed, fully-fashioned stockings with a
wide weal and large "keyhole" on the rear thigh; a lacy garter belt, with
matching bra (!!); skimpy, diaphanous panties that were barely covering his
stiff, little pricklet; and shiny, silver, five-inch-stiletto sandals that
looked both crippling and sexy as blazes.

   My first impulse was to run. My second impulse was to throw him on his
back, lift his legs, pull out my stiff prick and ram it into his saucy,
dick-teasing bottom.

   My third impulse, the one I obeyed, was to stand there, frozen and
indecisive.

   Jay finished his cosmetic procedures and turned his face toward me. Oh,
he was beautiful! Big eyes and lips. Rosy cheeks. The make-up of a femme
who cared about a man's visual pleasure.

   Then he stood. In those heels, he towered over me. With his
two-inch-diameter, gold-hoop earrings, Jay looked like a different species
than the dull, scared creature that I was that day.

   Naturally, Jay spoke first. "I'm so happy you wanted to talk, Dylan,"
the living doll said in what seemed to be a feminine voice. "What's on your
mind?"

   I had to ask. "Do you dress that way every day when you're home?"

   Jay giggled. A sweet, feminine sound. "Of course not, silly. I have a
date at seven tonight. I just got ready early."

   My questions got stupider, but I couldn't help it. I was stunned. "A
date?" I said. "With a boy?"

   The giggling again. Not mean or a putdown. Just girlish amusement. "Yes,
a boy, Dylan. You don't think I'm a lesbian do you?"

   At that point, I was willing to think most anything.

   "Kenny Adams, our classmate, is taking me to the movies. When the lights
go down, he'll be very naughty, kissing me and feeling me up. And when he
brings me home, he'll want to fuck me. But he won't. I'm saving myself for
my husband. He'll just have to be satisfied with shooting one big load of
his cream down my throat and another on my face. If he behaves himself and
is nice to me, that is."

   Who was this person? This wasn't the Jay I grew up with and knew all my
life. What had drawn him to the sissy side?

   And Kenny Adams? I knew him all my life too. A nice guy, though not one
of our circle. Was he gay? He must have been if he was dating a boy, right?

   Jay seemed to know exactly what I was thinking.

   "Look, Sweetie," Jay said. [He called me "Sweetie?!?!"] "Let me show you
some things that should make you feel better."

   I was eager to feel better.

   "Sit on the bed," Jay said, "and take your trousers off."

   That may not have been the best way to feel better in the long term. But
I did it anyway.

   Jay fussed in his drawer a bit, then extracted two long, tan, silky
stockings that he rolled into "doughnuts." Jay eyed me down and said, "You
have very nice legs and they're not hairy at all."

   I blushed at the compliment and trembled at the thought of what he might
do to me.

   "Point your toe on your left foot," he said.

   Docilely, I complied. Then, slowly, Jay began to roll on a silky,
seamed, fully-fashioned, tan stocking. Up my calf. Past my knee. Over my
thigh to a point just below my balls.

   I held my breath as he did it. I didn't know what I was supposed to do
or feel, but I was not optimistic. I should have been.

   When the toes of my right foot touched the second stocking, a
pre-orgasmic pang clutched my gut. The second pang hit me when Jay inched
the sweet treasure along my thigh. My eyes were watering with the effort to
avoid cumming. I didn't want Jay to think that this stockinged faggotry
excited me.

   Stupid, eh?

   Anyway, he wasn't buying it and neither was "Mr. Beasley." When Jay
removed my boxers, then slid the white, ruffled garter belt around my waist
and hooked the first strap to my left stocking, I whimpered, then spurted
my sperm so hard that I almost fainted.

   Wearing stockings and a garter belt is incredibly exciting. Especially
when someone beautiful is in the room, touching you, and sharing the
experience.

   I felt humiliated, helpless, and completely confused. And I had
surrendered quite a bit more of my fate to Jay than I had ever intended.

   Lucky for me.

   Jay slid my shirt and undershirt over my head and off, leaving me
dressed only in stockings, garter belt and a thin layer of drying cum. Then
he retrieved a tube of lipstick from his vanity table and applied it to my
lips. Docilely, I let him sissy me up even more by hooking me into a white
training bra.

   Jay stepped back to admire his work.

   "The make-up needs work and we need to shave you all over, but you have
outstanding potential."

   I did? Did he mean I was pretty?

   I soon found out when Jay had me stand and led me to his mirror.

   I looked in the mirror. I appeared scared and not very happy.

   But I also looked pretty good.

   Jay was right. I had great legs. And a fine ass that looked good framed
by panties and a garter belt. Heels and full make-up and I would be a dish,
I decided.

   Not that I wanted that. Oh no. I was just smelling the air. Looking
around. Humoring my lunatic friends. Acting cooperative.

   Jay told me later that the look in my eyes when I admired myself in the
mirror at that moment convinced him that I would be a man's eager,
submissive bride some day.

   I'll admit. It was surprising. I almost didn't want to break away from
my self-adoration when Jay took me by the hand and led me to his double
bed.

   Jay lay on the bed first, then held his arms open for me to lie next to
him on his right.

   In for a lot more than a pound, I joined Jay on the bed.

   We could have just lay there, I guess, talking about stuff. But Jay
started to kiss me. Lipstick on lipstick. Tongue on tongue. It was very
nice. Not at all like I thought it would be to kiss another boy.

   Then he did a very odd thing. He reached under my bra and, as he was
kissing my mouth, he toyed with my right nipple with his fingers.

   Wow! What was that about?!?!

   I didn't know my nipples were good for anything at all. But Jay
did. When I squirmed in obvious pleasure. Jay stopped kissing me and moved
his mouth to my right nipple and his fingers to my sore, throbbing stiffie.

   Forget the space shuttle. I saw all the planets and all their moons at
that lovely moment. In living color.

   Cum jetted from by peehole as I whimpered in erotic agony. Good gravy.

   Who knew my nipples would be little cum triggers?

   Jay seemed very pleased that I had reacted to his attentions. We
entwined in some deep kissing and at one point, relieved of our bras,
rubbed our nipples against each other's little nubbers. We rubbed cocks,
"arrow point" to "arrow point," as we kissed, spurting all over each other
in helpless ecstasy.

   I was about to ask if Jay was saving any cream for his date that
evening. But the little doll taught me something new again. He began to
lick all the cum from my stomach and privates, which Tommy had done to my
shamed delight the previous Friday night. But when he took my
once-again-rampant cock into his wet mouth, Jay introduced his middle
finger to my anus. Jay sucked my cock as he rubbed the pad of his fingertip
around my wrinkled hole. Then he entered my bottom, just to the first
knuckle of the middle finger.

   I squealed. Like a girl. Then I pumped sperm into Jay's eager mouth.

   I guessed I was sensitive "back there" as well as in the nippular
regions.

   The squealing disconcerted me a lot. But the enjoyment I had felt that
afternoon was undeniable. From that moment on, I knew what I liked and I
knew how to get it. A powerful combination.

   If Jay hadn't said he had to freshen up for his date, I probably would
have sucked his cock. Not that it would have mattered that much that
much. I was pretty far down the road to becoming "one of them" already.

   Was that a bad thing?



   Chapter Five -- Intermezzo at school

   That night, alone in my bed, I regretted every disgustingly gay thing I
had done over the past few days and vowed to treat those seven sissy
sisters like the pariahs they were.

   I couldn't help noticing the way Mom and Dad were looking at me and
treating me since the Day. I could have been imaging it. Or it could have
been the fact that instead of eight kids at home, they now had one, so they
applied the full force of their parenting to me. But I noticed that they
had stopped haranguing me about getting off my sorry butt and applying to
colleges, like my seven older sibs. They acted, I don't know, peaceful or
something. As if they knew my life decisions were settled and they didn't
have to nag any more. Did they really think I was going to join that
faggoty band and get on my back for some man?

   Well I was most definitely not!

   I kept my resolve on Wednesday, barely nodding at Jay, Tommy and Dennis
when I saw them at school. They seemed amused at that. Smug even. As if
they would "recruit" me in the end.

   Facing temptation one day at a time, I backslid a bit on
Thursday. During a mid-morning change of classes, Jay walked up and strode
alongside me.

   "I'm wearing those black stockings and garter belt you like and my peeny
is 'pointing' my pink, bikini panties. Want to see?"

   <Gulp>

   I didn't want to see. My brain at least. But my cock was desperate for a
"private" viewing. So I followed Jay into a stall in the boys' room. We
waited until the hubbub in the halls had quieted and everyone except us was
in class. Then Jay very sexily removed his shoes and then his trousers,
hanging them on a hook.

   His stocking-encased legs were spectacular and the front of his lacy
pink panties was stained with the sticky juices of his girlish excitement.

   I was a cock-driven idiot.

   First I kissed him, sucking his tongue until he whimpered with
lust. Then I sat on the toilet and held Jay's pantied bottom in my hands. I
eased his pink teasers down to expose his pretty privates. Then, for the
first time, I took a cock into my mouth. And licked all the sweet juices it
was emitting. And sucked the knob. And cuddled the pretty danglers in the
pink bag.

   I was scared out of my mind that I, we actually, would be caught and
shamed for life. But that only quadrupled my excitement. And apparently
Jay's. He was gasping and panting as if he were having a seizure. I must
have been a pretty good cocksucker.

   Jay tried to grunt out a warning that he was cumming, but I didn't
care. I capped his mushroom with my mouth and sucked away, then gave his
little pearls a gentle milking as he squealed his way through a massive,
five-spurter of a cum. I gagged a bit at first as the scalding jets hit my
pallet, but then I swallowed every drop of his hot, girlish juices.

   The little sissy looked totally spent when I licked his balls as a
finishing act of my raging lust.

   But not too spent to sit on my lap and kiss me within an inch of my
life.

   The next thing I knew, my pants were down to the floor, and I was
standing facing Jay, who was sitting on the toilet seat, licking my
drooling knob.

   I guess I should have been thinking about the long-term implications of
my actions. You know, like teenagers always do. But all I could think of
were Jay's talented tongue, his beautiful eyes locked with mine as he
sucked me, and the cumstorm busily brewing in my gut.

   Like Jay, I was whimpering with pleasure. Oh. I was such a disgusting
little sissy. If a teacher had come into the boys' room and caught us then,
he would have had every right to call us dirty little faggots. Then throw
us over his lap and blister our bare bottoms. Then stand us up and fuck us
from behind. First Jay. Then <gasp> me.

   That would have been horrible!

   It didn't happen.

   But the thought that it might, had me even more hot and bothered.

   And the thought of such humiliation and complete and shameful
emasculation had me pumping the biggest, creamiest load of my young life
into Jay's eager, sucking mouth.

   I squealed when I came. Just like Jay. Just like the simpering little
nancyboy I was becoming.

   Jay swallowed my big load, then licked his pretty lips with great
relish.

   There were about 15 minutes left until the next change of classes and I
was ready to call it quits. But Jay wasn't. He got off the toilet seat
again, turned and kissed me as he maneuvered me to a sitting position. Did
he want me to suck his cock again? It had gotten quite stiff, but I wasn't
sure I wanted to...

   Jay pressed his body against the stall door, and used his hands to part
the cheeks of his bottom, showing me the loveliness of his perfect little
rosebud of an anus. Why was he doing that?

   I found out. Jay was breathing very heavily. He was totally sexed
up. Hot and very bothered.

   "My pussy," he grunted. "Lick my pussy. Eat it. Please."

   WHAT????

   I couldn't.

   But he began to beg and almost cry. "Please, Dylan. I need it. Please."

   Well, he was a good friend. And friends help friends. And I was a bit
over the top in sexual excitement too.

   The little sphincter WAS cute!

   I replaced his hands with my thumbs and held his bottomcheeks apart. Why
did he call it his pussy?

   No matter. I kissed it tenderly. He gasped. I wasn't struck down for
flaming homosexuality. I gave it a tiny lick. He cried out in ecstasy.

   I must have been a pretty good "pussy" licker. I decided to see how
good.

   My tongue "went to town" on Jay's delicious pussy. I excavated as I
licked, making Jay moan and cry so loudly that I was sure the "fantasy
teacher" would be coming at any minute to humiliate, spank and fuck us --
in that order.

   You can't find a "fantasy teacher" or administrator when you want one,
however. No one interrupted us and I ate my first pussy to a very
satisfying conclusion. Jay cried out and his popsy pumped four thick
strands of creamy goo all over the stall door.

   Would I have replaced my tongue with my cock? Would the
sworn-to-remain-virginal, future boy-bride have allowed it?

   We'll never know. The bell rang and classes rotated again. Jay and I
scurried to clean up and cover up. The little teaser gave me a wet kiss and
told me to come to his house at four that afternoon so we could continue
our adventures.

   I know what you're thinking. That I went.

   Well, I didn't. Mr. Guilt and Mr. Shame grabbed me again. I had licked
out a sissy boy's asshole. In a stall of the boys' room. And sucked his
sissy cock. And swallowed his sticky juices.

   Was I crazy?

   Not any more. I quit sissy jazzing at that very moment. Cold
turkey. Stood Jay up, I did. Served him right. And I wasn't going to see
any of them ever.

   When I checked my email before I went to bed that Thursday night, there
was a note from Jay "Wasn't it wonderful this morning? You're fantastic!
I'm half in love with you already. Don't feel bad about this afternoon. I
know you're wrestling with things. Please come to Dennis' around six
tomorrow night. You'll need an hour to girlie up before the meeting begins
at seven. I'll help you get ready. Plan to stay overnight and tell your
parents so they don't worry. Wet, girlie kisses!"

   Yeah. Fat chance. No way.



   Chapter Six -- Membership has its privileges

   I actually arrived at Dennis' around 5:30 that second Friday night. I
figured I would need more time to get ready than the old pros and I was
right.

   When I told Mom and Dad that I was staying overnight at Dennis', they
seemed very happy. As if they had finally found the right-shaped-hole for
their last-child-peg.

   Did all the adults in my town know about the Boy Brides Society? And
most of the kids.

   Had I been walking around in a fog or something?

   Things that night were crystal clear, however.

   Dennis greeted me with a warm, tonguey kiss and led me to a room
adjacent to the meeting room. Oddly, Dennis' mother and father did not seem
to be around. The room was filled with mirrors and lights and stools and
cosmetics and ribbons and lace and boys. Pretty boys. Pretty, naked boys,
giggling and teasing each other as they prettied up with make-up and the
loveliest lingerie in the world.

   They all seemed so relaxed and comfortable in their femininity. I was
trembling like a leaf in a hurricane.

   As promised, Jay helped me strip naked, then put my make-up on. He was a
master of the art and I was astounded at how beautiful he looked. From the
way he was looking at me, I must have looked pretty good with my make-up on
too. I was about to check myself out in the mirror, when all the other
members of our little sissy coven seemed to notice me at once.

   "Dylan!" Jimmy squealed. "Look at Dylan, girls! He's beautiful."

   That seemed to be the consensus. They all squealed and screamed and
complimented me on my beauty. Jimmy, the boy who, with Jay and Tommy was my
classmate, was especially enthusiastic. He had done his make-up already and
he was completely dishy. His naked body was making me very erect. I didn't
know Jimmy that well, though he had been in a couple of my classes. But I
liked what I saw that night.

   Jimmy grabbed my hand and led me to a full-length mirror. His hand was
very warm and his little penis was astonishingly erect. <Blush> So was
I. His lips were red and full and his blue eyes were mascaraed, shadowed
and lined.

   When I finally looked into the mirror, I saw someone a lot prettier than
Jimmy. Or Dennis or Tommy or Jay. Or any of the Boy Brides in that room.

   I was effing beautiful.

   If I needed any confirmation of that fact, I was getting it from Jimmy,
who was as naked as I, standing behind me. I was very caught up in my
self-admiration. Stunned, in fact. But I sort of noticed when I felt
Jimmy's stiff cock rubbing in the small of my back, his lips kissing my
neck, his left hand tickling my peanuts as his right hand caressed my
oozing penis.

   "You haven't been milked all day, have you, Dylan?" Jimmy said. "A
pretty boy like you should be milked several times a day. Men and boys will
go crazy for you, Dylan. You'll make them hard as rocks and weak as
puppies. You'll have your pick of the suitors. You'll probably get a
hundred marriage proposals. But I have you now, Dylan. I'm milking you
now. Do you like being milked, Dylan, Honey?"

   I LOVED being "milked," if that was what it was called. I watched my
pretty self in the mirror being expertly masturbated by a lovely sissy. I
began to think about being popular and desired and the center of the
universe for lots of people. Rather than a schlump, which was what I was as
a boy.

   I was on total sensual overload.

   I dared to think about dressing like a girl, in a tiny miniskirt,
stockings and big heels. Walking down the street, swaying my plump
bottom. Men and boys watching me. Pulling out their thick pricks and
stroking them as I batted my eyes at them. I gasped and let out a tiny
squeal. Then my toes exploded and I began to spurt my girlish cream. In
thick globs. At the mirror. And all over Jimmy's hand.

   It was only 6:32 p.m. and a long night of such sissiness awaited.

   How would I make it through a whole night of that?

   Maybe if I just surrendered and allowed myself to enjoy what was
happening?

   Naaahhhh. That would have been too easy.

   After I drained my balls, I felt guilty and ashamed. But not nearly as
much as I had before.

   And I was quite curious about what would happen next.

   Jimmy was saying something. "That's it baby. Let it all out. Get all
those masculine toxins out of you. Let us make you more girlish than you
ever thought possible. You're so beautiful. And you need to empty your
pretty bag several times a day. Let me dress you for our Friday evening
together,"

   A very nice offer, which I was more than willing to accept.

   Having been raised properly, however, I realized that some form of
reciprocation was in order. Poor Jimmy was naked and rampant. His pretty
pickle was almost purple with blood and throbbing noticeably. Jimmy's
"little man" had something I had never seen before. A thick hood of
skin. So long that it covered the entire knob and formed a little funnel
over the peelips. Even though Jimmy was fearfully erect, his foreskin still
covered the "business" end of his pretty penis. I thought someone should
move that skin back to expose the sensitive head of his doodle. Exposing it
to the "elements" and such. Baring it for pleasure.

   Should I....?

   Jimmy seemed to read my mind. "Let's get our girlie things on,
Dylan. Then you can suck my doodle if you like. You can "skin" me with your
mouth and the pink prize will be all yours. I hope you do. I have a nice,
big, creamy load I've been saving for you all day. I didn't even cum once
today. Except <blush> when Daddy milked me when I woke up with my morning
stiffie."

   Jimmy's Daddy milks him? Jimmy was saving a big, creamy load just for
<gulp> me? He wanted me to suck his doodle?

   Strangely, I wanted nothing more.

   Especially when we started dressing in the pretty lingerie Dennis'
family provided.

   Jimmy selected my outfit -- tan, seamed, reinforced-heel-and-toe,
fully-fashioned stockings and the tiniest, wispiest, pink babydoll
nightie. A ruffled, pink garter belt. Skimpy, pink, bikini panties. Pink
slingbacks with two-inch-stiletto heels. I slid the stockings up my nearly
hairless legs and it had the same effect as the first time I wore them. I
was erect and gasping for breath.

   Things got a lot more "urgent" when I put on the whole outfit and looked
at myself in the full-length mirror. I was hot as the equator of the sun on
the 4th of July.

   Tearing my eyes away from my beautiful reflection, I saw something that
excited me even more. Jimmy, in full sissy splendor. Black stockings,
babydoll, panties and five-inch stiletto sandals.

   I accepted Jimmy's tacit invitation greedily.

   I got on my knees, right there in the dressing room, pulled Jimmy's
panties down and took his little pricklet into my mouth. Mmmmm. It was
delicious. Sticky and sweet. Tasty leakages.

   I used my tongue and the roof of my mouth to sort of ease the thick
foreskin off his pink jewel and expose its girlish beauty. Jimmy gasped and
moaned as I licked his tender parts.

   His prickie was so cute! The shaft was dark and his dangling "purse" was
sort of a brownish pink. But his knoblet was a bright pink! I giggled when
I saw it. Then I got back to sucking and rolling my tongue around and
around. It was wonderful to hear him emit noises of pleasure.

   There was a lot of similar activity around the room. Girly boys kissing,
licking and sucking each other with skill and ardor.

   I stepped up my efforts a bit when I began to hear sissy squeals that
had to signify little ball bags emptying their juices into eager sissy
mouths.

   I guess I was afraid that Type-A Dennis was going to call the meeting to
order and leave poor Jimmy in a very painful condition.

   So I was extra naughty. Jay had begun my initiation to the sublime
pleasures of the anus. I applied the principle to Jimmy.

   I stopped licking Jimmy's pulsating peener for 3.2 seconds -- long
enough for him to whimper like a needy brat and for me to apply my
plentiful saliva to two fingers on my right hand. I then resumed sucking
and did what I needed to do to bring things to a hasty, yet satisfying
climax for Jimmy.

   I licked his peelips with the broad center of my tongue as I entered
Jimmy's tight hole with my middle finger. I didn't know my way around an
anus in those days, but Jimmy didn't seem to mind. I wiggled my wet finger
around in Jimmy's pussy for about 20 seconds. Didn't even have the
opportunity to slip that second finger in there before Jimmy gave me that
big, creamy load the little teaser promised me.

   It was as promised.

   I gagged, then almost choked as Jimmy spurted hot glob after hot glob
into my willing mouth.

   Sucking a sissy's cock and making him happy had made me very happy.

   Of course I could not and would not ever do that with a man or boy. That
was my new plan. Play along and have lots of sex with the girly boys. Who
weren't really boys, so I wasn't really gay. Get it?

   Lying to yourself is amazingly easy, isn't it?

   And necessary, the moment after you were on your knees swallowing a huge
hot load of semen and sperm.

   Jimmy looked at me the way Jay did when I sucked the creamy filling out
of his sissy pole. As if he were almost in love with me or something. Maybe
that's what people mean when they say "male bonding."

   Anyway, Jimmy lifted me to my feet and began to kiss my cum-flecked lips
as he stroked my outrageously stiff doodle. A few minutes of that and I
would be giving Jimmy the same as what I got.

   But no. It was seven o'clock and our host(ess), Dennis, was breaking up
clinches all around the room. "Plenty of time for that this evening, night
and morning, ladies," he said in a sweet, but firm way. "Let's get to our
program. Tonight it's Jimmy's turn to tell us about lingerie selection for
the bride-to-be's trousseau. Jimmy..."

   I was actually sad to have Jimmy leave me, but I have to admit that it
was exciting to be sitting next to the lovely Eric, a pantyboy whose
acquaintance I had barely made. Eric was eighteen and nearly four months,
so by the rules of the Chapter, he had been dating men who were all eager
to marry him since his latest birthday. He seemed so sophisticated and so
experienced. Of course he was completely gay. Letting those men handle him
and do the kinds of things men expected of a pantyboy. Disgusting
things. Moist things. Very moist.

   Jimmy was doing a slide show about corsets and basques and teddies and
Eric was sneaking kisses from me as he tickled my very agitated privates. I
liked it, but wasn't I Jimmy's date for that night? Or Jay's? Or Tommy's?
What about Patrick, Dennis and Billy? Eric was so insistent and masterful,
though, and I discovered that I liked that. I also discovered that the
concept scared the poopy out of me. If I was going to preserve my
heterosexuality, what would I do if a man, seeing me dressed as I was,
began to dominate me the way Eric was? Only in a much more manly
fashion. Lots of hair all over him and muscles. And a five-o'clock shadow
brushing my face as he kissed me and tried to turn me onto my stomach or my
back so he could sweet talk me into taking his big thing inside of me. Well
it wasn't going to happen.

   Uh uh.

   Which is what I said when I began to spurt my juices in response to
Eric's naughty kisses and tickles. Actually, what I said was
"Unnnnnnhhhhh!!!!!" and it was in a really squeally, sissyish voice.

   It felt oh so good and Eric gave me the deepest, tonguiest sissy kiss
when I "emptied my purse," but I was ashamed. I mean, did I cum because of
what Eric was doing to me (perfectly legitimate and non-gay) or because of
what I was thinking? You know, about a man's thing in my bottom. Dominating
me. Making me his possession. (That was in the dark, dark red portion of
the gay spectrum).

   What to do?

   Before I could be overcome with self-analysis, Jimmy finished his
presentation and sat with Patrick. Eric got up and left me and there I
was. The Old Maid in the card game of the same name. All
alone. Pouting. Until 18-years-and-seven-months-old Billy sat next to me,
kissed me and began to fondle my limp, wet tinkler. A favor that I
immediately returned.

   Eric said to the group, "It's wonderful to have such a beautiful and
sexy new member with us tonight. I hope that by the night is out, we'll all
get to 'spend' some time with Dylan. He's perfect angel of a pantyboy and
he cums in gushers. <giggles all around>. We weren't able to show you
Kevin's narrated wedding night pictures last Friday, Dylan, but now that
you're a member, we decided we would rerun them for you. Would you little
panty princesses like to see them again? <squeals all around>

   "OK," Eric went on. "Get comfortable everyone. I'll start the show."

   Getting comfortable apparently meant doubling up in one of the four
double-wide easy chairs set up in the front of the room. Billy grabbed me
by the waist and firmly led me to a chair where he would have me all to
himself. Sissies were marking their territory over me!

   Billy and I were hugging and kissing and before we knew it, we were
rubbing peenies. The friction was delicious and so was Billy's tongue. Then
they began the slide show. I remember thinking, why do they have those dumb
programs at these chapter meetings anyway? Why didn't we just empty each
other's peanut bags over and over?

   Then I found out why.

   In the first picture, Mr. Murphy was carrying the still-wedding-begowned
Kevin into the bridal suite at our town's ritziest hotel. I remembered that
Kevin had set up several cameras around the room, each programmed to take
photos at random intervals.

   I also remembered that Kevin looked spectacularly beautiful in his
gown. What I didn't remember was how "beautiful" Mr. Murphy was.

   He was tall, with black hair, wide shoulders, a slim waist, and had
rugged, manly looks. He appeared to be totally and lustfully in love with
Kevin. He was looking at Kevin as if he were the best Christmas present he
ever had. And he was about to unwrap the little creampuff.

   Dennis and Jay had said that members of the Boy Brides were virgins
"back there," so it appeared that there was about to be a "grand opening"
that evening.

   Billy was still kissing my neck and face, but I wiggled into a position
where I could see the man and his sissyboy "doing the nasty." Billy
understood what I was doing and, very sweetly, moved downwards, taking my
aching stiffie into his mouth.

   On the screen, Mr. Murphy laid his new wife on the bed and began to
slowly undress his beloved. Punctuating his movements with soft kisses. It
was very exciting to me. Too exciting. Since it was so gay.

   When Mr. Murphy had "Mrs. Murphy" down to his panties, garters and
stockings, Kevin's voice said, "Steven was almost fainting with lust when
he saw me on the bed, totally at his mercy. His possession."

   Steven? So Mr. Murphy had a name. Did Billy step up the dickie-licking
or did that little phraseology stir something in me? I felt the "sweet
pressure" in my gut thinking about being a man's love object.

   I was almost "there." You know where I mean. "There." My journey there
was hastened considerably when I saw Mr. Murphy in his natural
state. Nude. Hairy. Muscular. And with the biggest, stiffest, drippiest
cock I had ever seen. His ball sack was the size of a grocery bag. His
balls the size of oranges. And, I swear, steam was coming out of his
nostrils when he turned Kevin onto his stomach, spread Kevin's legs,
mounted him and pushed that monster into Kevin's miniscule "pussy."

   No warm-ups or foreplay. This was a man who for some time had obviously
thought of little other than putting his flesh-and-blood buttplugger into
his new wife at the earliest opportunity. And the earliest opportunity had
arrived.

   There was no audio with the pictures, but plenty from the room's eight
pantied occupants. The pretty boys were looking at their fate. And we, I
mean they, were eager for it.

   The close-ups of Kevin's beautiful face, as he was first in painful
agony, then in total, lust-laced ecstasy while his husband gloriously and
completely fucked him. The testosterone-driven Mr. Murphy frantically
pushed his battering ram in and out of his wife's beautiful anus.

   When the man inseminated his wife's bottom with a quart of scalding
cream, you didn't need audio to hear Kevin's scream of total surrender and
complete emasculation. Oddly, I gave one very similar as I emptied my
exhausted bag into Billy's skilled mouth.

   Dennis turned the slide show off and we all retired to a large room with
six double beds for the "free play" portion of the evening. And the
night. And most of the morning.



   Chapter Seven -- Some big changes for Dylan

   It would take too many words to tell you the whole story about that
night. Let me summarize. I got to know each of the seven little creampuffs
intimately. My cock was very sore. My balls actually ached. A good ache. I
swallowed a quart of sissy cream. I came ten times, only during six of
which, was I possessed of an erection. Until that night, I didn't know you
could cum without an erection. I was pretty dumb. For four of the cums,
including the one right after I awoke, I produced a nice, creamy load. Four
others could best be characterized as watery dribbles. Two were almost bone
dry, though they were the two cums that took me outside the solar system.

   All in all, quite a Friday night. How did they do it every week?

   Even worse, all of them, except me, had boyfriends. Plural. The ones
over 18 had men wooing them and making hot, steamy (though not
anal-penetrating) love to them whenever possible.

   They were so gay. It was sad. They were the only gay people I knew, I
guess. Though there were rumors about the man who ran the flower store
downtown. And one or two local male hairdressers and flight attendants.

   I was pretty relieved that I wouldn't be gay like them. I mean, I would
be back the next Friday. Who wouldn't? Miss the opportunity for a complete
and thorough ball-draining performed by the most feminine people in our
town? I don't think so.

   But no boyfriends for me, I thought, as I got back into my male clothes
for the drive home. Oh. That would have to wait. Tommy was looking at me
that way he did. Waggling his penis at me. It was a three-quarter stiffie
and it looked delicious. I couldn't disappoint my best friend, so I got to
my knees and took his sissypole between my lips.

   Parting was difficult because by the time Tommy had made a creamy
deposit in my mouth, I was fully stiff and he had to return the
favor. Several kisses and sweet goodbyes later, I drove home at noon.

   Was my story straight? We smoked cigars and played poker all night. We
had a few beers too. "I know that's wrong, Dad," I was ready to say, "but
we didn't drive". But I wouldn't admit to the non-existent beers unless my
story needed depth.

   Beer! Hah! Who needs beer and cigars when you can have all the sex you
want?

   I entered my house in good humor, but that faded fast when I saw Mom and
Dad.

   They were smiling. And happy.

   Huh?

   No lecture about staying out all night with bad company?

   Worse.

   Mom said, "Did you and your pantyboy friends have a nice night, Dear?"
Mom asked.

   "You look exhausted, Dylan," Dad said. "I'll bet you're running on
empty. Do you need a testicular IV?" Dad chuckled.

   Huh, huh?

   I guess my confused, panicked, mortified and terrified look made them
take pity on me.

   "Dennis' parents were here last night, Dylan," Mom said. "They told us
everything and gave us some great advice too. Not that we didn't know what
was going on over there on Fridays. Everyone in town knows."

   Everyone but me. Was I a moron?

   My expression didn't change. They told Mom and Dad everything?

   Again, I got parental compassion

   "It's OK, Dylan," Dad said. Then he hugged me.

   Mom hugged me too and said, "Of course it's OK, Sweetie. You are who you
are. We've suspected for a long time that you're a pantyboy."

   Horror!

   They had it all wrong. I wasn't a pantyboy! I was just playing
along. Something to do on Friday nights. Nothing good on TV anyway. I
didn't want to date boys and men and marry a man. Didn't want to dress in
pretty clothes and be adored and treasured.

   None of that.

   But no one was listening.

   "The Lemonts told us that we should do three things right away," Mom
said. "Get you some nice girlie stuff for your room, especially a vanity
table and big mirror. Teach you how to use cosmetics. Get you some lingerie
and pretty street clothes, since you'll only be dressing as a boy at
school. And then, only for a while."

   Aliens had taken over Mom and Dad. That was it. Wasn't there a
U.S. Government hotline to call for that or something?

   "You're so tired today," Dad said, "we can't go clothes shopping. Why
don't you take a nap? At four we'll wake you and Mom will give you a
cosmetics lesson at your new vanity!"

   I had a vanity already? I would be dressing as a girl most of the time?

   Aaaaaaggggghhhh.

   The only thing that sounded really good was the nap. So I decided to
take it. I wanted to brood and panic, but I was too tired. I noticed that
Mom and Dad had redone my room in 21st Century "Girlie."

   Mom or Dad had laid out a pretty blue nightie for me to take my nap and,
more submissively than I believed I was capable of being, I put it on. I
remember the delicious sensations of girlishness I felt as I wiggled into
my pretty nightie in my pretty room.

   Then I fell into a deep sleep. And I dreamed. Strangely.

   I was in some beauty contest. Like Miss America or something, but I was
wearing lingerie and very high heels. I was walking down some long runway
and men were cheering. Calling out my name. My chest was heavy and when I
looked down I saw why. I had titties. Nice ones. Not too big or too
small. Enough to jiggle, but not enough to flop. I was very excited to be
so adored. And the object of such raw, male lust. Somewhere down the
runway, I tripped and fell into the lap of a very lucky male spectator. He
was startled at first, but then delighted. He reached into my panties and
began to "milk" my little knob, all the time praising my beauty and
femininity. It was very exciting, but just a dream. And then it wasn't.

   My eyes opened and there, at the side of my bed, my father was
sitting. He had lifted my nightie and he was slowly and, might I add, quite
skillfully, tossing me off. Had he gone insane? What would Mom do to him
when she caught him?

   Apparently nothing, as she was whistling happily, moving back and forth
across the room as she set up my cosmetics table. While her husband was
wanking her sissy son.

   It was precisely four p.m.

   I opened my mouth to protest, but luckily I realized that not only did I
enjoy what Dad was doing, I needed it. The "chapter girls" talked about the
need for a milking every four to six waking hours, but I didn't believe
it. But with Dad applying that erotic friction, I knew I was addicted to
cumming.

   There are worse situations.

   I liked it VERY much, but I was also horribly humiliated. I hid my face
and said, "Dad???"

   Dad stepped up his very nice movements. I was getting close and Dad knew
it. He had put some Vaseline on his fingers or something and it was a
delicious experience.

   "Hang on, Sweetie," Dad said. "I'm doing the best I can. Mr. and
Mrs. Lemont said that a sissy could suffer injury if he isn't milked every
four to six waking hours. Preferably, a man should do it. A boy is next in
preference, followed by a sissy. If worst comes to worst, Mom can help out,
but when you start dating boys and men, you won't need either of us, we
know that. Oh, you're dripping nicely. I think you're very
close. There. That's it, Baby. Let it all out."

   I was crying from three parts humiliation and one part lust. And cumming
from the same mixture. Despite my notion of earlier that day that I would
never again produce and expel a molecule of either sperm or semen, I was
flinging out three thick ropes of creamy ejaculate. Helplessly. Whimpering
in full surrender to the first man who had ever possessed me during an
orgasm.

   I was relieved that the agony/ecstasy was over, then shocked when Dad
re-lubricated three fingers of his right hand. He asked me to turn onto my
stomach, which I did with a measure of dread and frantic sexual need. Dad
entered me with his full, slippery middle finger. Then he added his index
finger. Followed by his ring finger.

The first time I had been so invaded.

   I howled.

   Did Dad laugh? He better not have. I started to squirm to get away. What
was he doing? I had just cum. I didn't need a milking. What was he doing in
my.......

   Oh.

   Dad found my prostate.

   He knew just where it was and he went for it. How did he know that? What
was he doing? He rubbed it -- massaged it.

   I screamed and, without even getting hard, produced a rope, a glob and
several watery dribbles of cum over five wracking, sobbing, heaving,
tearful, intense, wonderful minutes.

   Dad withdrew his fingers and kissed my neck. "Mr. Lemont says that a cum
like that right after a normal cum is the way to get you fully milked. Just
taking care of my sissy boy's needs."

   Would my "future husband" do that for me someday? I mean, if I were a
sissy.

   My attitude was evolving.

   I was allowed to rest for a few minutes. Then Mom said, "Those sheets
are drenched, Dylan. Get up and go clean yourself. Daddy will get the
sheets. Then you and I will do some make-up lessons, followed by teaching
you how to walk in very high heels. Tomorrow, Daddy and I will take you to
a wonderful store where we'll buy you all the girlish things you could ever
want. We'll walk home and men will whistle at you. When they're in the
shower later, the men will think about the pretty girl they saw and maybe
they'll pour out a tribute to your beauty. Monday you can start dealing
with all the boys who will want to date you, even though you'll be in boy's
gear in school. The word will be out, you see. It's up to you, of course,
if you want to date boys, but I think you do. Am I right?'

   I looked at Mom. I looked inside myself. And I said, "Yes, Mom."

Part Two and Three to follow.

 Please tell me what you think at gingerfred2005@yahoo.com.

My other stories on nifty:

"Acting Up" transgender -- control
"Panty Pleasures" transgender -- young friends
"Woodville" transgender -- tv
"Mothered" transgender -- control
"Panty Town" transgender -- teen
"Tradition" transgender -- teen
"Punished" transgender -- high school
"Panty Paradise" transgender -- teen
"Kevin and Molly Go to Camp" -- transgender -- teen
"Lovelife" -- transgender -- high school
"My Three Sissies" -- transgender -- tv
"Acting Out" -- transgender -- high school
"Explorers" -- transgender -- high school
"Pantied" -- transgender -- young friends
"Rebuilding" -- transgender -- teen
"The Au Pair" -- transgender -- surgery
"Birthday Girl" -- transgender -- teen
"Genes" -- transgender -- high school
"Brothers in Panties" -- transgender -- teen
"Coach" -- transgender -- control
"Intervention" -- transgender -- high school
"Winners" -- transgender -- teen
"Teased" transgender -- high school
"Irish Girls" transgender -- teen
"Finished" -- transgender -- teen
"Role Model" -- transgender -- high school
"Freedom" -- transgender -- high school
"Panty Fiesta" -- transgender -- control
"Experiments" -- transgender college
"One Fine Day" -- transgender -- teen
"Stiff Resistance" -- transgender -- teen
"Poker" -- transgender -- tv
"Panty Sabbatical" -- transgender -- high school
"Published" -- transgender -- tv
"Stripped" -- transgender -- high school
"Trained" -- transgender -- control
"Something Better" -- transgender - tv
"Fulfilled" -- transgender -- tv
"Private Matters" -- transgender -- high school
"Hard Times" -- transgender -- tv
"Girl Nights" -- transgender -- control
"Geography" -- transgender -- tv
"Somewhere" -- transgender -- high school
"Next Door Bride" -- transgender -- chemical (though I don't think it has chemicals)
"Service" -- transgender -- tv
"Test Driven" -- transgender -- tv
"Sissy Stepmother" -- transgender -- tv
"Slacker Moms" -- transgender -- tv
"Sissies and the City" -- transgender -- tv
"Paid in Full" -- transgender -- tv
"Alternative Education" -- transgender -- control