Date: Tue, 13 Jul 2004 02:37:52 -0400
From: Desolation Angel <desolation_angel_722@hotmail.com>
Subject: "Mom's Secret - Chapter 1" - Transsexual, Shemale

Synopsis: This story is about a teenager named Brendan who lived with his
mother, Christine.  After a botched sexual encounter with his girlfriend,
Brendan comes home and accidentally walked in on his mother doing laundry in
the nude.  To his even greater surprise, Brendan discovers that his mother
is not what she seems.

If you enjoy this story, please eMail me at desolation_angel_722@hotmail.com
and let me know!

-1-

The sky was so gray with clouds that, when I woke up to the sound of my
alarm buzzing at 7:00 AM, I barely realized it was morning.  Groaning, I
pulled my blankets closer to me, turned over, and tried to go back to sleep.
  No 15-year-old boy likes waking up for school at seven in the morning, but
it's even worse on December 21st, two days before Christmas vacation begins.
  I had no desire to greet such an ugly day, so I decided to sleep until
Christmas.  Wearing only boxer shorts, but warm beneath my blankets, I was
content to sleep the miserable day away.

My mom, however, had other plans.

"Time to get up," she said from the doorway.  Flicking on the lights, I
whined and covered my head with the blanket.  "Come on," she said, "two more
days and you're done."

"School was cancelled," I said, my voice muffled by several layers of
covers.

"Oh really," said my mom.  The bed springs lowered slightly as she sat on
the mattress next to me.  I remained hidden.

"The news said there was a 99.999% chance of snow, so they just cancelled
it," I said, obviously lying.  "You'd better let me sleep.  Growing boys
need their sleep."

"Growing boys need to quit stalling and get out of bed," said my mom,
"because you know what'll happen if you don't . . ."

"What?" I asked.

"You'll get tickled!"  Before I knew it, my mom's fingers were digging into
my sides, hitting all my weak spots.  I'd always been very ticklish and she,
being my mother, knew all the right  buttons to push.  I was at her mercy,
giggling so hard I could barely breathe.

"No more!" I croaked.

"Are you going to get out of bed and come have breakfast?" she asked, her
fingers withdrawn but still ready to strike.

"Yeah, yeah," I finally said.

"Good," Mom replied.  She gave me a swat on the butt and rose from the bed.
She left my room and I could hear her walking down the stairs to the
kitchen.  I stretched, pulled back to the covers, and rolled out of bed to
begin my day.

Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed, I joined my mom in the kitchen.
  She was dressed for work as well, in a handsome red suit, white blouse,
and black stockings.  I guess now would be a good time to tell you about
her.  Her name is Christine, she's 39 years old, and she raise d me by
herself since I was a baby.  My dad died of cancer before my first birthday,
so I never knew him.  Mom and I got along well, though.  She had a
successful career as a producer of a local news program, so we never wanted
for money.  I'm her only child.  She's never really dated that I can
remember although sometimes I wonder if she's just waiting until I go to
college.

Watching her cook my scrambled eggs (dry with pepper, just the way I like
them) I had to admire her.  She was tall for a woman, almost six feet, with
very large breasts, and firm, muscular thighs and calves.  She had a nice,
round ass as well.  Her body was sexy enough to match the beauty of her
face: pink lips, blue eyes, perfect smile, sandy blonde hair.  As I took all
these things in, I felt a little guilty to be analyzing my mom in that way.
But, as I reminded myself, I was just stating the obvious.

"I'm going over to Ann's after school," I told her.  Ann was my girlfriend.
She was a sophomore, like me, and we'd be dating for a few weeks.

"And how will you be getting home?" my mom asked.

"Ann's brother said he'd give me a ride," I told her.

"OK," Mom replied.

With that matter resolved, my mom served me my eggs and toast, then poured
herself a bowl of Special K to eat.  I made a face at her, expressing my
disapproval of the bland cereal and my mom laughed.  We talked idly as we
ate until it was time to leave.

Mom always dropped me off on her way to work.  She pulled the car up to the
curb, working her way through the crowd of high school students converging
on the school like ants.  I said goodbye and opened the door.

"Brendan?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Forgetting something?"

I looked around for a moment, trying to remember what it was.  Then I
noticed my mom's cheek turned towards me.  I grinned, gave her a kiss on the
cheek, and stepped out of the car.  I shut the door and waved goodbye as she
drove away.

-2-

My day at school was uneventful.  The days before a vacation always are.
The students were restless and impatient.  The teachers were powerless to do
anything about it.  I spent most of my time in class thinking about Ann and
wondering what she had in store for us that afternoon.  I knew for a fact
that her parents were away and we'd have the place to ourselves until her
brother got home from work at 6:00 PM.

Strangely, as I thought about Ann, my mom kept popping up in my thoughts.  I
thought of her body pressing against me that mourning as she'd tickled me.
I could feel her breasts against me . . .

I pushed that thought from my mind and tried to focus on Ann.  She was small
and slender with a taut, lithe body.  Her brown hair and eyes always made my
cock stir as she'd toss her head and her eyes would shine with mischief.  I
was definitely looking forward to seeing her.

Hours later, the time finally came.  Ann and I went to her house on the bus
and she immediately led me into her bedroom.  She asked me to strip down to
my boxer shorts, which I did, and sit down on the bed.  She smiled at me and
disappeared into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Ready?" I heard her call out a minute later.

"Ready," I said.

The door slowly opened and Ann emerged.  She was dressed only in a white,
nearly transparent babydoll which clearly revealed the dark circles of her
nipples.  She also wore a tiny pair of g-string panties.  She turned in a
circle, letting me see her ass with only a tiny strip of cloth wedged in her
crack.  She was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen.

It was odd, however, that instead of feeling overwhelmed with desire as I
would have expected to be, I felt a tight ball of anxiety form in my
stomach.  It only grew as Ann moved closer. When she sat down on the bed and
began to stroke my thigh, I was paralyzed.

"M-maybe we shouldn't do this," I stammered.

"Why not?" she asked.

"What if your brother comes home early?" I asked.

"He won't," she said.

"We should wait until we're sure we have privacy," I suggested.  "Don't you
think?"

"No," was her reply.

Her hand slid up my thigh and came to rest right on my cock.  There was only
a thin layer of cotton separating us.  She began to rub, trying to get a
reaction out of me.  I began to sweat, but my dick wouldn't harden one bit.
I desperately wanted to be out of there.  Her eyes suddenly became angry, as
if she'd taken my inability to get it up as a personal insult.

"What's the matter?" she asked.

"I'm just nervous?" I said.

"Why are you nervous?" she demanded.  "Don't you feel comfortable with me?
Don't you want me?"

"I do," I said, "I just don't . . ."

"Fine," she said, standing up quickly.  She grabbed a bathrobe off a hook
and quickly wrapped it around herself, covering up.

"Ann . . ." I said.

"Leave," she ordered.

"How am I gonna get home?" I asked.

"I don't care," she said.  "You've humiliated me.  You can walk home.  I
don't give a shit."

There was nothing I could say or do.  Under Ann's glaring watch, I dressed,
grabbed my coat, and left.  It was 3:00 PM.  It would take me an hour or
more to walk home.  A cold wind blew and I buttoned up my coat to my chin.
Sighing deeply, I began to walk.

-3-

Around 4:00 PM, I reached my house.  I'd had an hour to think about what'd
happened between Ann and me, but my mind was still wracked with confusion
and doubt.  I had been attracted to her, but I hadn't been sexually aroused
by her touch.  In fact, it was almost the opposite.  I asked myself a
thousand questions but the one which popped up most was: am I gay?  Could
that explain why she couldn't seduce me?  I didn't think about men in a
sexual way, but now I began to wonder.

As I walked down my driveway, I saw my mom's car parked in the garage.
Apparently, she'd come home early.  I walked into the garage and through the
door into the house.  I could heard the sound of the washing machine and the
dryer running downstairs in the basement laundry room, as well as the sound
of my mom moving around.  I walked down the carpeted stairs until I had
reached the basement floor.  I looked across the room to where Mom was
standing.

My insides froze as I saw her.  Mom was standing, with her back to me,
wearing nothing but a red bra.  My eyes followed the graceful arch of her
back to her big, firm ass, down to her strong thighs.  She didn't move.
Apparently, she couldn't hear me over the sound of the machines.  I knew I
should retreat up the stairs, as silently as I had come, but I was
transfixed on my mother's nude body.

Suddenly, as if sensing something behind her, my mom whirled around to face
me.  She had the same deer in headlights look I knew must have been on my
face.  My eyes focused immediately on her huge breasts, barely contained by
the bra.  They had to be at least double D's.  My eyes flicked down to her
crotch and I got the biggest shock of my entire life.

Nestled comfortably between my mother's thighs was an eight-inch, limp
penis, hanging over an equally enormous pair of testicles, all capped by a
bush of golden-brown pubic hair.

Finally able to move, my mom grabbed a towel to cover herself.  When her
paralysis broke, so did mine.  I immediately turned and bolted up the
stairs.  I ran into the living room but I didn't know what to do.  I had
just seen my mother naked and she was a man!  Should I leave?  Should I
stay?  I didn't know.  I ran up the stairs into my room and sat down on my
bed.  I was so confused I could barely think.  So I sat and waited.

A few minutes later, I heard an almost imperceptibly soft knock on the door.

"Brendan?" my mom whispered.  "Honey, are you OK?"

"Yeah," I said weakly.

"May I come in?" she asked.

"I guess," I replied, not sure if I should.

The door opened slowly and my mom stepped in, wearing a pair of gray sweats
and a Boston University t-shirt.  Her face was bright red and she looked as
if she were about to cry.  She was ringing her hands together nervously as
if not sure what to say.  I didn't know what to say either, but I was afraid
to speak.

"I spilled soup on my clothes," she told me.  "I went down and threw them in
the wash since I was doing a load anyway.  I didn't think you'd be home so
early."

"It's not your fault, sweetie," she said.  "May I sit down?"  I shrugged.
My mom sat down on the bed next to me and I scooted over to make room for
her.  "What are you thinking about?" she asked me.

"You have . . ." I began, but couldn't finish.

"Brendan," she said, taking a deep breath, "I am a transsexual."

The word hung in the air.  I had heard it before, but never had a real
concept of what it meant.  I thought of the movie "The Birdcage" and men
performing, dressed up like women.  But these people still looked like men.
My mother had the face and figure of a beautiful, feminine woman.

"Do you know what that is?" she asked.  I shook my head, not able to meet
her eye.  My arms were folded across my chest and my chin was almost
touching my elbows.  "A transsexual is a man or a woman who lives as a
member of the opposite sex.  He or she still has the same sex organs, unless
that's changed by surgery, but most don't do that.  For the most part,
someone like me, a person born as a man who becomes a woman, tries to be as
womanly as possible.  That's how I've lived my life."

"But why?" I asked.

"When I was a young gi- . . ." she paused.  " . . . a young boy, I knew I
was different.  People said I was a boy, but I knew they were wrong.  I knew
I was really a girl.  After high school, I decided to end the charade. I
went into counseling, took hormones, had some minor cosmetic surgery.  I
changed my name and, when I entered college after a year off, Christopher
Murray was gone and Christine Murray remained."

"But what about Dad?" I asked.  "It's obvious you didn't give birth to me.
So who did?  And how does Dad fit into all this?"

"Well," she said, "you know your father and I met in college.  I was the
co-chair of the Boston University Queer Alliance.  Gay groups were still
relatively new back then.  He joined because he was questioning his
sexuality.  I knew there was something special about him so I told him my
secret.  To my surprise, he wasn't disgusted or afraid.  He thought it was
kinda sexy.  So we started dating and then we were married after
graduation."

"Two years before I was born," I said.  I knew this part of the story
although Mom had always just said they'd met in college.

"We'd lived together for a year before we decided to have children," she
continued.  "Obviously, I couldn't become pregnant.  I wish I could have.  I
wanted so badly to carry you and feel you growing inside me.  But such is
life."

"So who did give birth to me?" I asked.

"Your Aunt Natalie," was her surprising answer.  I was stunned.  Natalie was
not my real aunt, I knew, just my mother's oldest friend.  I had no
knowledge of this, however.  "We considered adoption, but we wanted our baby
to be part of us, so we asked Natalie to be the surrogate mother and she
agreed.  Her only request was that she remain a part of the baby's life,
which she has."

"So who donated?" I asked, unable to use the word sperm in front of my
mother.

"I did," she said.  "We expected to have another child at some point and
figured we'd donate the next time around."

"Then he got cancer," I said.

"Right," my mom replied, lowering her head.  "Your father loved me very
much, but he loved you more than anything in the world.  He always thought
of you as his son and me as your mother.  He died happy because of you."

My mother's voice was a harsh whisper, choked with tears.  Seeing her, on
the verge of open weeping, I forgot my confusion and opened my arms to her.
She hugged me tightly, crying into my shoulder.  I held her, stroking her
head, beginning to cry as well.

"I'm sorry," she said.  "I wish I could have been a real mother to you."

I pulled away and looked her in the eye.  I didn't see a transsexual or a
sperm donor.  I saw the woman who kissed me goodnight, who made my lunches,
who had always shown me nothing but love and kindness my entire life.

"You are my mother," I said, "and I love you."

"I love you too, honey," she said, and held me once again.