Date: Tue, 9 Sep 2008 10:54:39 -0700 (PDT)
From: Fred Gingerman <gingerfred2005@yahoo.com>
Subject: Stiff Resistance -- transgender

Stiff Resistance
by Gingerfred Man


Chapter One -- The Worst

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

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

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

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

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

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



   Chapter Two -- Aunts and Cousins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   But the transition was odd, right from the beginning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   She was right. Just not the way I thought.



   Chapter Three -- Fitting in

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

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

   Could I stand being teased like that?

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

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

   Unladylike, but effective.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   So off to the doctor we went.

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

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

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

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

   They did? Hmmm.

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

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

   What had Patrick and I gotten ourselves into?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Of course," Aunt Mary agreed.

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

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

   Oh. It was agonizing, but it got worse.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I was going to have to talk to that boy.



   Chapter Four -- Prom wallflowers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   And I was not alone.

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

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

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

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

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

   The others didn't have a chance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   No pajamas? What would we...oh, no!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Was I losing my brother to some unseen force?

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

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

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

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

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

   What was happening to us?

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

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

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

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

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

   Uncle Marty seemed only interested in the movie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I was going to have to talk to that boy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Hmmmm.



   Chapter Five -- Bad Flynn-fluences on Patrick

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

   Mary Grace?

   Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   And stayed pure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



   Chapter Six -- All wet

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I was certain of that.

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

   Miss?

   What?

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

   Oh my.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   <Gulp>

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

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

   <Gulp>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   What was she going to...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Well...

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

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

   No such luck.

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

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

   Close, but no cigar.

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

   I screamed.

   Not very manly, huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



   Chapter Seven -- Mary Grace meets a boy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   My hardon hardened.

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

   Frightening was a more precise term.

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

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

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

   But wait. Patrick had more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



   Chapter Eight -- The Ugly Duckling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   The answer seemed to be, profoundly.

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

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

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

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

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

   It was a good thing I didn't care.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   And that was just fine with me, thank you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   No mention of my existence on this planet was made.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   That night was different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Seventeen actually," my adventurous little sister giggled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I wanted to hear more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   What a strange situation I was in.



   Chapter Nine -- Crossing the Bridge

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

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

   Briefly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Guilt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   <Gulp>

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I told them to hit the bricks. They did.

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

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

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



   Chapter 10 -- A New Swan

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

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

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

   My stiff resistance to femininity had gone limp.

   Thank goodness.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I had a feeling that was about to change.

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

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

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

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

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

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

   I didn't have to wait very long.

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

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

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

   And Riley Duffy was the adonist of them all.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   My mouth hung on that one. Cute AND considerate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



   Chapter 11 -- Final Farewell to Masculinity

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   It was time for the real thing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Riley was equal to the task.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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" -- gay college (though it's really transgender)
"One Fine Day" -- transgender -- teen