And Then John

And then John turned up. I was sitting on the porch in the dress my mother had laid out for me, with my hair pulled back in a small ponytail, and with bangs brushed down over my eyebrows. She had even put a little mascara on.

She had said that as long as I had these awful growths on my chest, she would like to take a photograph of me as a girl -- as the daughter she might have had, before I went to the specialist as to how to remove them. Gynecomastia it is called -- the curse of late developers like me. Without the rush of the expected male hormones the body develops in the wrong way.

Of course, I should have refused Mom, but she was acting weepy and sentimental and like most sons, I guess, I am sucker when it comes to what she wants.

And then John was there looking at me.

John was there to see my older brother Ned. They are close friends. He saw me sitting there, waiting for Mom to come back outside, in the dress, with my boobs on full display. He just stops and stares.

"Well, this is a surprise," he says. "A pleasant surprise too."

"Please don't tell anyone," I beg him. "It just for Mom. I don't dress like this otherwise."

"Why not," he says. "You look beautiful." And he comes up onto the porch, looking like he's thinking just that. Almost undressing me with that stare. And he walks around behind me, and I am looking at the door for Mom. And I can feel his breath on the back of my neck like he has bent over to kiss it!

Mom steps out and saw John, and she says, nodding at me: "Oh, doesn't he look adorable. He is pretending to be Nora, the daughter I never had."

"Nora," says John. And to me: "Hello Nora." He knew who I was, but he called me Nora. WTF!

"Hello," I say shyly, and sort of girlishly. God knows why!

"Ned is not back yet, John," says my mother. "He's about 15 minutes out, but I am sure Nora can keep you company."

"That would be nice," says John. "Perhaps we could go for a walk, Nora?"

"These shoes are not for walking," I said, pointing at the heels.

"We'll stay on the path," he says. He holds out a hand to me.

"That's a good idea," says Mom. "Take John's hand, Darling."

I take it and rise, and he places my hand in the crook of his arm so that we walk together closely. He says: "For support when walking on those heels".

He did not let go of my hand as we went down the steps. With still a little unsteady I was thankful for that. But then he kept hold of it as we walked down the path.

"You sure make a very pretty girl, Nora," John said.

"It's just for today," I said. "Just for Mom, I'm to be a girl today... only today."

"Then you have just one day to experience everything that a girl should experience."

"Like wearing a dress and heels?" I swung the hem of my pleated dress around, and turned my leg out to show him my shapely calf. The dress felt good in the warm early evening air. In that moment somehow the idea of wearing pants seemed constricting. In a light full dress like this I could feel free. My little penis seemed to flicker into a life.

"Like kissing a boy, under this tree here." He stopped.

"No, John, please," I said, as his body pressed me up against the trunk. I could smell him. It was dry sweat. The smell of a man. It smelt good.

"Please what?" she said. He stroked my bare shoulders and chest with the back of his hand, while looking down at my pale and undeveloped cleavage. Perhaps I might have trembled a little. Could he feel it? His eyes lifted to look into mine. "What do you want me to do?"

He must have read it in my eyes. I don't know why, but I was willing him to do it.

He kissed me. He cupped my smooth pale face in his strong hands, and he kissed me.

I lifted my arms to push him away. Not because I wanted to, but because I knew that I ought to. I was a boy being kissed by another ... by a man. It was not right. I was not gay. So why were my arms not pushing, but pulling? My arms were around his neck and I was pulling him towards me.

Our saliva and the hot breath from our noses mingled. We hungered for one another. It was the stuff of movies, of dreams, dreams that end with sticky bed sheets.

Reluctantly our lips parted. He licked my chin and up to my nose. Who does that?

"What else would you like to experience on your day as a girl?" he asked.

"Be gentle with me," I said. "I have never done this before."

What was I suggesting? I had never done it before, and I would never do it in my life. And yet I was soon lying on the grass while he slid a spaghetti strap off one shoulder so that he could lick the big pink nipple of my left breast. So much feeling where there should be none. My body was limp. I was his, and he knew it.

"I promise I will be gentle," he said. "Although you are driving me crazy with desire."

Instead of saying: "That makes two of us", I just let out a little girlish moan. A moan of submission, or invitation, or both.

I never noticed the pain of my first impalement. I felt only him. His presence, his flesh, his seed. Just a reminder of that day ... or something else?

When we got back to the house Ned had just pulled up. He saw me in the dress, with his best friend's arm around me. John was not ashamed to show it. Ned looked at John strangely, but did not have time to say anything.

"Where have you been, Dude," said John. "Luckily I had your new sister to keep me company."

Ned motioned for him to head inside, but before he did, right in front of my mother and my brother, he gave me a kiss. He lovingly pushed aside my bangs and kissed me on my forehead.

"I confess that I called John and asked him to come over," said Mom when they were inside. "Ned told me that John has said to him in the past that you would make a great looking girl. I hoped that John would be the man who you needed to help you make the decision to stay as Nora, once those breasts started to swell up. I really do want you to stay as my daughter. Would you consider doing that?"

She had a look of longing on her face that would melt the heart of any mother's child. It would be hard to refuse. But even harder to refuse John.

Could I be my mother's daughter and John's girlfriend? Could he do what he did to me again? Soon?

Should I?

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2023