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Aunt Felicia

3595 Words | 0 |1.00

This story also involves transgender (Not homosexual) themes.

Phyllis (Ft Mother Talk. FtM Flashback)

At first, I thought that he was sick. “Phil?” I knocked “Are you all right in there?”

He coughed, “Yeah mom,” and cleared his throat, but when I came in, he was getting up from in front of the toilet, with the seat up, in a training bra, and panties.

“Wh?” I just shook my head, “Where did you get those, things?”

“What?” He kicked something behind the toilet, and tried to look innocent, but didn’t cover himself up, and despite myself, I checked the bulge in the tight crotch for an erection. There wasn’t any, just his little package hanging as if in a pouch. “Aunt Lisa took me shopping.”

“Huh, come out of there,” I realized that as I said it, he wasn’t in the closet, but where that figure of speech probably came from. I went, and dropped the seat, flushed, and glanced behind the commode at the buttplug kicked back in the corner with the tub. “Now, I’m not going to judge you,” I sat down on the cold lid, and crossed my legs, “But you’re too young for my sister to be buying you sex toys.”

“Mom, is it okay for her to be a whore?”

“Huh!’ I rolled my eyes. “It’s not my place to say, she has her own life, and I gave up trying to fix her, a long time ago.” There was a time when I was even a little jealous of her. Getting a boyfriend before me, when she was a couple years young, then bragging about her first handjob, second base, and getting finger-banged in the back seat. All on the same date, but then she came back later, in tears when he broke up with her, because she put out. He got what he wanted from her, and broke her heart, but then. It didn’t take long for her to live up to her nicknames.

Felicia became Fellatia, or Feelicia. Fill Lisa… She’s always been a little nympho, and finally she made the choice to make a career out of her lifestyle. When she turned 18, she started barbacking. That’s basically bussing tables in a bar, but a topless bar, but before she was even old enough to serve alcohol, she quit to move onto better things. Then, amateur porn, until she gave up on getting her big break, and finally, she went pro. Professional prostitute.

“Huh!” He rolled his eyes, and turned away. I noticed a wet spot soaking through the seat of his underwear. Pink stretch satin, with stretch lace around the waist, and thighs. Even with his narrow hips, and skinny boyish figure. Relatively broad waist, the tight damp fabric pulled his skinny bony buttocks into a rounder shape. “Would it okay, for me?”

“What did she do to you?”

“Nothing, she just gave me a first gig.”

“You’re not talking about playing guitar in a garage band here, you’re talking about a John?”

He nodded, and twisted his hair over his shoulders, with both hands. By the ends, until it split in a part up the back of his head, and stayed curled up like pigtails. He sighed, and nodded. “Huh, it’s just,’ he turned around, and let go, so the locks twirled out, and shook them behind him. “Mom, how do you do it without throwing up?”

“Sex?” I shook my head, “I told you, you’re too young to have sex.” Especially for money, but that underwear didn’t look like it was cheap. Let alone the sex toy, the anal sex toy, and for the life of me, I thought about that stretch satin being hand-wash only.

“Oral sex.” He tilted his head. “Deep throat, to get the good slimy spit.”

“Is that what you’re doing?”

“Practicing. I didn’t throw up this time, but I still gagged.”

“Huh!” My ears burned, and the hot flush had already spread down my neck. “Now,” I pulled at my hot collar, and fanned the other side of my face with my other hand. “I understand you being gay.”

“Oh, hihn!’ She giggled, girlishly, “I’m not a lesbian.” She nodded, “I like men, and besides. Women are so much more complicated to please, orally.”

“Oh.” I blinked. “You want to have a sex change?” I guessed.

“No, but hormones are so expensive, and I know how to make a lot of money, but. I’m not very good at it yet, so I need practice.” She nodded.

“Oh!” I pulled her arm, “Come here,” and hugged her. “I was so worried that you’re becoming anorexic, or bulimic.”

“Oh, mom. No, I don’t want to throw up.” She sniffed, “I just can’t help it.”

“But you’re so skinny, and you hardly eat.” I should have seen the signs, when she started talking about becoming a vegetarian, and then playing with her food on the plate. Even though I went to the trouble to learn how to cook vegetables, and even took an online course on nutrition. At least she finally settled on Pescatarian, instead of Vegan.

“I know, but I have to keep my body fat down, so I don’t get too much testosterone. I need Estrogen, so I can go through the right puberty, when it’s time.” I nodded, when she backed up, and held my hands out, between them. “Mom? Say something.”

I didn’t know what to say, but looking her over, I had to admit. “Huh, you look good. Did you pick these out?”

“We kinda decided together, but Aunt Fe.”

“She has excellent taste, of course.” In clothing, and especially underwear, but not men.

I felt up to her shoulder, and the perfectly trimmed tips of her hair. Twisted up into curs, with that nervous habit of her’s. “Have you thought about what you want to be called?”

“Phyllis, of course.” She looked down, and let go, but reached for me, “And I want big fat boobs like you too.” She felt my bra-cups gently through my top. “Not implants, I want to grow them naturally.” Finding the nipples once they hardened, and poked out. “Well, as naturally as I can, with synthetic hormones.”

“Huh!” I touched the front of the panties, just to tell myself that they were real. That the penis that I’d always taken for granted was still there. “What about these?”

“I don’t know, if I want surgery. Any surgery at all, but I don’t care about his junk. He can keep them, for all the good it does.”

“You’re talking about the boy, Phillip.”

“Philly. He was always like this, imaginary friend to me. The brother I never had, while I was the sister he never had, to him.” She nodded, and looked up. “I think, does that make any sense?”

“Huh, I don’t know, but to be honest. Can you keep a secret?”

“Of course.”

“I always wanted a daughter.”

“Ihnm!” She bit her lip, and felt it, when it popped out, red from her perfectly straight teeth. Thanks to the orthodontist.

“Had I have known, I would have saved the money from your retainer, for hormones.”

She shook her head, but didn’t stop rubbing my nipples, through the front of the bra, which was having an effect on me. Arousing me, on top of catching her, practicing giving head, deep throating, and I assume using the good slippery spit to get ready for that cute pink chunk of plastic she’d kicked into the corner.

She kissed me, quickly, but still. Not the way that a son, nor daughter should kiss their mother, while fondling my breasts, with my hand in her crotch. Her testes, and the little curl of P-ness.

Well, it wasn’t exactly the first incestuous thing that I had ever done. Having a little sister, who was bicurious, and then bisexual. I sighed, and licked my lips. Tasted strawberry flavored lipgloss. “Are you wearing makeup?”

She shook her head, “No, only a little lip-gloss.” The blush was all natural.

“So, my sister showed you how to perform oral sex on her, too?” I looked down, and held out my palm, so that only my fingertips were still caressing the tight satiny pouch, but still not even a hint of swelling.

She sighed, and rolled her eyes when I looked up, biting my lip. “I tried, but I had to use my whole hand. She’s extremely hard to satisfy.”

“I know, but does that mean that she also taught you fisting?”

She nodded, and smiled. “I could use a little more practice.” Such a dirty grin, and then that light shy giggle, I always thought was a little too girly, because he got bullied for it, of course.

Not her, Phil. Silly philly. The son that I always thought she was, but you’ll have to forgive me. I never even considered that option, and she could have come to me, but I suppose it was no big surprise that she went to my sister first.

Of course, if anyone could understand, it was her.


Philly (tF Incest)

Aunt Fel always said that she could teach a course in giving head. Too bad she can’t write a book to save her life, but mom’s biggest problem was always following in her footsteps. Her little sister, so she resented it, and tried to resist becoming like her, too much.

She still made the same mistake, or one of them. She fell for a hit it, and quit it douchebag, only she went even farther. She got pregnant, dropped out of high school, and then worked her way through her GED to take night and weekend classes.

All while they took care of me, both of them. So, it was a little like having 2 moms, until Aunt Fe started making enough money to move out, and live on her own. I never really met my grandparents, since they’re disowned.

One for premarital sex, and teenage pregnancy, the other for dancing in a gentleman’s club, before she finally got enough customers to start whoring full time. She was never a hooker, street walker, or seedy motel prostitute, out by the interstate.

She was an exotic dancer, one of the few that was willing to give out her number, and go that extra mile to make more money. More than a tip, but she said it’s safer with a regular clientele. Mostly married, if not divorced, and even in her early 30s, she kept herself fit enough to at least act like a high school girl. Like most of their daughters, she could tell you stories, but they weren’t my secrets to tell. Her cheerleader uniform still fit, I can say that.

I never wanted for better role models. My mother was more careful, and worried about the risks, while my Aunt. Well, in some ways she was lucky not to get knocked up, before she could afford to get fixed. A tubal ligation, and the scar was tiny enough, from getting it done laparoscopically, but there was still a scar. hidden in her belly button, underneath the flowery gem stud she got to cover it. She still had to take time off, and recover, and it still hurt, for weeks, but she always said it was better than getting an abortion.

So, when it came time to weigh all my options, I decided that i don’t want that. Any of that surgical stuff. I’m fine with hormones, as long as I can take them orally, I don’t even like needles, so I don’t want shots. I don’t like pain, probably why I never even seriously considered cutting.

i’m sorry, back to my first time having sex with my mother. She couldn’t be more different, though only a couple years older, she had of course gone through with her pregnancy. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been here, but she needed a C section. Her hips hadn’t grown wide enough to have me normally, even though I was pre-mature, so she kept a neat patch of pubic hair to cover up the pantyline scar.

She nursed me, something that i couldn’t remember, but by the time I followed her back to her bedroom, she already had her blouse unbuttoned. She slipped it off, then turned around in her bra. Her full bra, heavy with mammal flesh that bulged out of the C-cups. Reaching back for the clasp, she sat down, and leaned back, but I stopped her.

“Uh, mom. Mommy?” I hadn’t called her that in years, but for some reason, it felt right. I felt like a little girl, not for the first time, but she smiled, and nodded. “Can I take that off for you?”

“You like my bra.”

“I love your breasts, and everything about them, but of course, you always had such nice underwear, and I need the practice.”

She shook her head, “Of course,” turning over on her hip, and propping herself up on her elbows, but holding the cups in both hands. It’s not hard to unhook a bra from behind. “I thought you said you’re a straight girl,’ she laughed quietly to herself. Meanwhile, I pulled the sides tight, to unhook the loops, one by one. “Huh!”

“Yes, but. It turns out that girls like me. Because I have that little something extra, I also have to think about women, and huh! Can you unbutton your skirt?”

“It unzips down the side,” she rolled over, and slipped the strap down her shoulder. Smiling, and red hot, i could smell how horny she was on her sweat, without even getting down to where I could see which underwear she’d worn that day.

“Oh,” the red ones, to contrast with the green bra. They were from the same sets, only one was Clover green, with pink lace trim, while the other was deep red, Charmine if I remember from the catalog. With Artichoke lace trim, they contrasted so nicely with themselves, and each other, she could mix, and match them, to set off her emerald eyes, and bring out the highlights in her auburn hair.

Of course, she didn’t bleach it blonde, nor shave her body hair, like her little sister. Instead of slipping it off, she hiked the skirt up over her hips, which had filled out more, than Aunt-Fe’s. This wasn’t a girl, and not just any woman, but my mother. The woman I came from, and in some ways, the woman I strived to be like, as much as possible.

“How long has it been, mommy?”

“Since I had sex?” She settled in at the pillows, so I came around the side of the bed. To move her hand, and feel the dry glands, through the side of her breast. No a single stretch mark, and on her back, all the sag went out the side, until you used your hand to push it up, and over to the other one.

“Huh, I suppose the last was she looked over, and smiled, a little guiltily. “Amy.” She rolled her eyes, and turned away. “Amethyst.”

“Amyethist brown?” The only one I knew was Mrs brown, one of the other mothers, from around the block.

“Arlo, and her were going through, a rough patch. They got estranged, and single mother that I am, she came over to cry on my shoulder, and then she asked me, how I deal with it.”

“Being single?”

“Without dating, or steady boyfriends.” She sighed, but I knew full well that she avoided men, because she was afraid of risking the emotional connection. “One thing led to another, and we broke out the toys. Showed each other our favorites, and used them on each other, then we took a bath, got dressed, and went out shopping for more…”

“Husband substitutes.” I guessed.

“Yes, however it’s impossible to have any emotional intimacy with a hunk of plastic, no matter how many motors, gizmos, and settings it may have. You can’t really cuddle, and she needed a post-fuck cuddle, as much as anything.”

“She liked your underwear?”

“Oh yes, and lingerie. Of course, you wouldn’t imagine the dreadful boring uncomfortable things she used to wear. She really needed help in that department, but when Arlo came back, he really appreciated her new wardrobe. She said I saved her marriage, but we’ll see.”

“You have your doubts.”

“It doesn’t fix any of their problems, but at least they’re back together, and making love again. We’ll see how long it lasts.”

“Huh! I love this.”

“My breast?”

“Well, of course, but what I was referring to was the girl talk. I never got enough of it as a little, kid. Not having a sister, or any girl friends to talk to.”

“They avoided you, because they thought you’re a boy, too.”

“I didn’t.” I shook my head, and felt the curls roll over my shoulder. Twisted them back together, just happy to be able to. I always had to hide that nervous habit, but it always made me feel more secure, in my femininity, if alone with it. I got into metal music, just for an excuse to grow it out, and have something to play with. Well, whatever you call Marilyn Manon, and The Spooky Kids. I never really cared for his solo work, but electro-punk? Not quite industrial, like Throbbing Gristle.

“No, but I did, and I’m sorry, I treated you that way.” She felt my face, and I nuzzled her caressing hand. Tenderly, she felt back, running her fingers through my hair, and guiding me down to kiss her. Like we never kissed before, and I suppose that a mother shouldn’t kiss her daughter that way either, but I hate to admit this.

About my own mother, she’s not a very good kisser. Mostly from lack of experience, she really is oddly virginal in a way. A strange thing to think about your mother, but she lost her cherry, and got pregnant all in 1 go. Then, he left her, heart broken, and alone, for so long, but there was so much emotion in that kiss.

The overwhelming majority of it was relief. Being accepted for the girl I am, only for the second time, I hope that I never get over this feeling. Maybe I should take my time, instead of coming out to everyone at once, or in batches. There’s always something more intimate about doing it individually, and there’s a much better chance of it leading to physical intimacy, like this.

Then, there was the girl talk, the mother daughter talk, even about her last sexual experience, with a neighbor. Like aunt Fe, in a way. She told me a similar story about when she turned 18, and took her big sister out shopping, at the adult stores where they could finally buy porn, and toys, together. One thing led to another, and they went home to experiment with them. With each other, but being sisters, they always experimented, and practiced with each other.

Learned to kiss, masturbate, and even practiced oral sex on each other. From what little I know about boys, and men, that rarely happens, because of their issues with homosexuality. The most common homophobia is the fear that you’ll like it so much that you’ll turn around, 180° to 100% flaming gay, drag queens, and anal.

“Huh, smooch! I don’t think that I like anal.”

She made a face, blinking, and shook her head. “Of course not.”

“You neither?”

“It’s disgusting, but.” She rolled her eyes, and sighed. “I saw that, butt plug your aunt got you, as a professional expense?” She guessed, so I nodded.

“I need to loosen up, and practice, but I liked her tongue a lot more that sticking anything else, inside there.”

“Huh!” She sat up, and let go, so her chest heaved, and sagged apart in front of her.

Maybe not, quite so big. Somewhere between those girly little bumps, Felicia practically starved herself, and worked out to keep modest, and perky. Barely even domed out on the bottom, but looking down, they were still like cones, with hard pinkish tips. Not like the large dark areolae, with the firm, yet soft rubbery nipples in the center.

I kissed her cheek, the side of her neck, shoulder, then down her chest. “huh!’ She fell back, and ran her fingers through my hair, to hold my face to her chest, but I kissed across the deep valley to the other peak. Kissed her nails, so she spread them, and pressed down, to make the nipple stand out, to lap up.

Like a clitorus. I’m a little torn, when it comes to that. Vagina, and all the other parts, I’m never going to have, but there’s also the challenge. The mystery, and the fascinating puzzle that is figuring out, how to pleasure a woman.

Well, my mom isn’t going to eat herself out, so I followed my hand down her slowly breathing tummy. Licking, and kissing my way down, I stopped to feel the tiny not at the bottom, then picked a tiny puff of lint out, before swirling the tip of my tongue around. It’s not unlike a sphincter, only it doesn’t open, and of course you don’t have to worry about anything too disgusting within.

“Ihmehauh!” I kissed it when her tummy stopped spasming with her laughter. “Smooch, that tickle?”

“She laughed, and shook her head. Holding it up, to joke. “No, but it’s like a navel assault.”

“Uh!” I rolled my eyes, “Mom jokes.” I never had a dad to tell dad jokes, but I never really missed him.


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