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Luckily I had changed out of my uniformskirt into a pair of shorts because several routines involved flips whichmight have been embarrassing if my skirt flipped up. After we all tookour chances the coach said she'd post the notice the next day to showwhich girls were picked. I went home wondering how I would get anysleep.That evening Mum and Dad asked me if I was serious about becoming acheerleader. I told them that I thought it would be a lot of fun to leadcheers at the basketball games and that I thought I'd be good a at it.Mum looked a little worried. "I'm sure you think it'll be fun dear," shesaid, "but remember you're not really a girl." Your Mum's right Kate," Dad said, "we are not so sure about youcheerleading. Don't you think you're taking being a girl a little toofar?" But you told me I could spend this school year as a girl," I said, tearscoming to my eyes. "I really love wearing pretty clothes and beingtreated like a girl. I promise to be careful, just let me have. "Maybe we should have a pretty pussy contest? But who would judge?"Mom leaned into me and kissed my cheek, "If mine makes you happy, it's pretty enough for me."One of the fringe benefits I hadn't thought of was that after a spanking, the tears made interesting patterns on her cheeks with the eyeshadow and the mascara. I had thought about piercings but it didn't do anything for me. Her pierced ears were all I would allow. Every Monday at the weigh ins I would look at an apprehensive mother getting on the scale and realize that she wasn't so much my mother as a creature of my making, But the most important change was my mother wanted me to do her, do this, do that, do anything, she was truly mine! Like when I'd be behind her in the bathroom she would just lean back and mold herself into me, she wanted me to hold and fondle her, she enjoyed the idea of her son spreading her pussy lips so the two of us could look in the mirror at the inside of her soul.One night, after a lazy Sunday, mom.
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Charlie was another story. “No way,” he said, picking the decadent drawstring pants off his bed. “This is too much.” “It’s not that radical,” Amy offered. “Trust me. You could wear those down to the club right now and no one would bat an eye. It’s mild by Troubadour standards.” “Wear it,” I scolded, “or I’m not going.” “Come on, you can’t be serious.” “Just try them on, for me, please,” I pouted playfully. He looked resigned to the task, so we left his room. I sneaked back a minute later. He had the pants on. “Let’s see.” I came up behind him. He turned around. “They look great, Charlie.” They really did. “There look, I don’t know, kind of Medieval. Very sexy.” “Bull.” “I’m serious. Here…” and I took the liberty of undoing the drawstring fly, “let’s see how it works.” I was face to face with him, and I stared into his eyes. I loosened the drawstring and got my hand inside his pants. I took hold of his hefty manhood. It was swelling. I pulled it out carefully. I looked down and.

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