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Bobbi's Story 6 One, Two, Three, Kick!
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
one would at first have imagined. There had been enough already
to get she and her mother out of Estonia in 1939 before the Soviet
annexation, establish herself in Norway, flee Norway ahead of the
Nazi occupation, begin a life in England, fall in love, bear a child out
of wedlock, face the loss of her lover to the War, suffer the death of
her infant daughter, move again to the United States, and set up a
life for her and her mother all over again. If I wanted her help with
my own goals, she would not accept a lesser commitment or effort
from me!
I did have a dream that I very much wanted to see come true. It
was a modest dream, and not unlike the dream many people have.
The dream was to be able to live a simple, un-complex, and uncom-
plicated life. I did not want to change the world, be famous, or even
all that rich. I just wanted to lead a comfortable life as the woman
that I was intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually. The only think
that really complicated that was the fact that I was biologically a
male. I had, however, found a way to change that surgically. Edith
was now offering me a way to change my entire life situation, and
begin the journey down the road that I needed to follow if I wished
to make that dream come true. What she was not offering was a safe
haven in which to stagnate, or an easy means of turning back when
the going got difficult. She would move forward with me, but if I
stopped or took another direction, I would be alone.
I thought about this for a long time. She was being tough with
me, but that was what I needed then. My life had just been given
the shove it needed out of the imaginary world of the drag queen. It
was time to face up to the reality of what I wanted out of my life. I
had to learn a lot of things to get where I wanted and needed to be.
What better place for a girl to learn these things than at mother's
knee!
"I can really come and live with you?," I asked in a hesitant way,
not yet believing that it was quite true. "That's what I said," replied
Edith. "I'd like to have my daughter with me for a while. My mother
will not mind either. Just treat her gently, and call her grandmother
when you speak. She will accept you as her granddaughter, and think
you are the daughter I lost a long time ago. In a very real way, that
is what you are to me, so we will not be hurting her by saying so. All
of this will just make three women very happy to be a family again
at last." I looked questioningly at Edith, saying, "Three women?,"
trying to understand what she meant. "Yes," she answered, "my
mother, myself, and you. Welcome to being a woman all the time
for the rest of your life!"
A tiny tear of joy welled up in my eye. The way to my dream
had found me at last in every way. "Okay, mom," I said composing
myself. "Let's go!" Edith paid the check, and we went back outside
to go to the apartment to pack my things. The sun was shining, and
the first nip of autumn was in the air. After all the depression, I
actually felt alive again. Things seemed to be working out after all.
Margo was not at home when Edith and I got back to the apart-
ment. She left a note saying that she would be back soon. "Humph!,"
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I said when I read it. "She probably wanted to get out of any work
in helping us pack." Edith retorted with, "Now, Bobbi, she doesn't
seem all that bad from the talk I had with her. Why do you say
things like that? Even if it's true, you only demean yourself by say-
ing it. A lady doesn't do that." Edith was, of course, correct, but
Margo was like that. I still think of her as a friend, but she does not
do things unless they directly benefit herself. I let the matter pass.
I had three large suitcases that I dug out, and we packed my
dresses into these. We had passed by the grocery store on the way
to the apartment, and picked up some large cardboard boxes. The
rest of my things went into the boxes. It was a tight fit, but after a
little more than an hour, we were all but done. That was the perfect
cue for Margo to return, and right on schedule, she did, but she was
not alone. Carol was with her.
"Well," said Margo as she came in, and surveyed the now mostly
empty room, "is there anything left that I can help with?" Carol just
looked at me with an evil leer. I wanted to scratch her eyes out. "No,
Margo," I said half sarcastically, "we're just about done packing, but
you could help us carry these boxes down to the street." Carol put
up her hand, saying, "We've already got that covered. We got the
spic kid from the basement coming up with a hand truck to do that."
I should have expected something like that. The young man
they were talking about was the superintendent's son, and he had
a "thing" for Margo. It was probably worth a quick blow-job from
Margo to him for doing the work. She got a number of things from
him that way. "That's good, Carol," I said, and finished my packing.
It did not take much longer to get everything packed, and Margo
went downstairs to get the helper Carol spoke of. The rest of us sat
in the living room to wait. "When are you gonna get your furniture
outt'a here?," Carol asked a little gru- y. She was not trying to be
nasty, but her constant commanding way of speaking always rubbed
me the wrong way. If I had answered, I probably would have said
something I would have regretted later, but Edith stepped in to field
the question, saying, "I'm going to call a moving man I know later
this afternoon. He should be able to get it in a day or so. We'll call
you tonight, and let you know, but it will be before the end of the
week." Carol lit a cigarette, and replied, "Good. I wouldn't want
Margo to have to charge Bobbi for storage." She added a bit of a
laugh at the end of that to soften it, but I knew what she meant.
Carol could be a real bitch when she wanted to. I did not like her at
all.
The icy mood in the room was broken when Margo returned with
her helper. He was Spanish, about six feet tall, and had a stringy
moustache. He was also built! The muscles rippled under his t-shirt,
and he surveyed all of us with a look that had only one motivation
behind it. Margo's blouse had a small smudge on the front that told
me he had already copped at least a feel of her tits on the way up in
the elevator. I would not have minded some of that treatment from
him myself. He was not overly handsome, but the sight of all those
muscles made my little penis twitch in its tuck. Margo kept this stud
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all to herself, though.
"Let's go," Carol ordered, and the boy set about loading up the
hand truck he had brought with him. He would have to make two
trips, so Edith and Carol went down with the first load to watch
things on the street. That left Margo and I alone in the apartment
for the last time.
"We've had a lot of good times here," Margo said when the others
had departed. "I'm going to miss you in some ways." There was even
the hint of a tear in her eye as she spoke, and we hugged in good-bye.
"I am going to miss you in a lot of ways," I said. We sat in silence
for a while until the boy returned for the last load. Then she kissed
me on the cheek, and we went down to the street.
Edith had already hailed a cab, and the driver was putting boxes
in the trunk and front seat. The rest were soon loaded too, and Edith
and I got into the taxi for the ride to Queens. I watched Margo,
Carol, and the building grow small and disappear as we drove away.
My new life was really beginning now. All of what went before was
gone.
After a time, I turned to face the front of the cab, and glanced
over at Edith. We were at opposite ends of the back seat with boxes
on the floor in front of us, and another on the seat between us. It
was lucky that we got a Checker cab, and not one from another
manufacturer. Checkers have a lot more room. Edith just smiled at
me. We did not need to speak. I am sure she knew something of what
I was feeling at that moment as my life changed, and I was stealing
away with my belongings rather unceremoniously packed into some
rude boxes like a refugee fleeing the invading horde. She had done
this same sort of thing a few times in her own life.
The taxi made its way east over the Queensboro Bridge, and then
turned north toward the Astoria section of the Boro of Queens where
Edith lived. The streets out here were very different from the ones
in Manhattan. It was no small town sort of setting, but it was not
the hustle and hubbub of the midtown area. There were even private
homes here. It did not take vary long at all to reach our destination,
and soon we stopped in front of a large, modern apartment building.
It was very new, and looked like the type of place that would be
beyond Edih's means as a clerical at the department store. All of the
apartments had terraces, and there was even a uniformed doorman.
"Well," said Edith as I sat in the cab trying to work this new puzzle
out, "are you coming in with me?"
I got out of the taxi, and Edith set about arranging things. She
had the driver deposit the boxes at the curb giving him an extra five
dollars on his tip for doing it. "Thomas," Edith said turning to the
doorman, "please have these boxes brought up to my apartment as
soon as possible. Oh, and I would like to introduce you to Bobbi.
She'll be staying with me from now on. Bobbi is my daughter."
Thomas looked a little surprised at Edith's introduction of me as
her daughter, but he just nodded, and held the door for us as we
entered. The lobby was all done in white marble with black accents,
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and my heels clicked deliciously on the hard floor as we went to the
elevator. Edith pushed the button for the twenty-forth floor, and
soon we were at her apartment door. Her key clicked in the lock,
and she called out, "Mom! I'm home!," as we went in.
Inside in a large, comfy chair, sat a very ancient lady. She did
not get up, and looked much too frail to do that anyway. Her eyes
were deep set in her face from the long years she had seen. Her hair
glistened in white and sliver where gold once shined. Her delicate
body appeared weak and fragile now, but deep in her countenance
a strength as powerful as Edith's still hinted. "Bobbi," Edith said
softly, "this is Sarah, your grandmother. Mom, this is Bobbi. She's
come home to us!"
The older woman looked at me in a way that did not stop at
the surface, but reached deep inside of me. She would accept me for
what Edith said I was, but it was as if she still knew the truth in her
heart. It was, however, all right with her that way. The arrangement
seemed to suit all three of us for whatever diverse reasons we each
had. It would work out very well for all of us. "Welcome back," was
all Sarah said in a voice heavy laden with the accent of her Estonian
origin. The smile she added after the words, and the hug she gave
me said all else. "Thank you, grandmother," I said. "It's good to be
back!"
Edith showed me down a short hallway with four doors in it.
"First on the right is the bathroom," she said. "First on the left is
your room. Mine is the last on the left, and your grandmother's is the
other one. I'll give you the whole tour later." She opened the door to
what was to be my room. It was larger than I had with Margo, and
inside was a sofa with two end tables and lamps. "There's enough
room for your bed and dresser even with the sofa," Edith said. "You
can sleep on it until your bed gets here. When the super brings the
boxes up, have him put them in here, and give him five dollars for
his trouble. I'm going to make a phone call."
Edith phoned the moving company while the superintendent de-
livered my things. When he left, she said, "They can get your furni-
ture tomorrow at one o'clock. Call Margo, and tell her. You don't
have to go with them, but you'll need to be here to pay them when
they bring the furniture. Call Margo now. I have to get dinner for
us." "Yes, mom," I answered.
I called Margo, but I also called Helen. Margo was very happy
that my things were leaving so quickly. "Carol will be pleased," she
said. The call to Helen was a fast one because I wanted it to be,
and she did not have time to talk anyway. We made an appointment
for lunch on Thursday. I was hanging up the telephone when Edith
called us all to dinner. The three of us around the table even felt
like a family. I had come home at last!
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________145___
11 All the World is a Stage
A New Yorker's life seems to be permanently tied to the taxicab.
With taxis, The City is a horror of pollution, gridlock, and noise.
Without taxis, life of The City would cease. New Yorkers are born
in cabs, die in cabs, do business in cabs, make love in cabs, worry in
cabs, sleep in cabs, laugh in cabs, cry in cabs, and go to all the places
that New Yorkers go in cabs. New Yorkers complain about cabs, but
New Yorkers complain about everything. Whatever may be said
about taxis in New York City, without them The City would cease
to function. In midtown Manhattan you just walk out to the curb,
raise your arm, and cabs will stop to pick you up. Out in Queens
you telephone the cab company, and they send one for you. So it was
that I called a taxi that Thursday morning to go into Manhattan to
keep my luncheon appointment with Helen. I was about to become
a call-girl.
My first night in Edith's apartment had been generally quiet. The
three of us had chatted about many things over dinner. Sarah might
have had a weak and frail appearance, but her mind was still active.
She might occasionally forget small things, but she was nowhere near
senility at all. She wanted to know all about me, and where I had
been all these years. Edith told her that I had been living with an
American family, and concocted a story about how she had sent me
to America as a baby after her R.A.F. lover had been killed in the
war. She reminded Sarah about how difficult things had been for
them in England, and how they had talked of going to America.
Edith said that she had been able to send me to an orphanage in
New York. I said very little, and just nodded along with the story.
Sarah took it all in like an actress learning a script. She did not buy
it, but would play her part as grandmother as Edith was writing it.
It would harm no one to do so.
Edith offered me a glass of sherry after dinner, and Sarah had
one too. "It's a habit we picked up in England," she said. Sarah
settled down to watch television, and Edith asked me, "Shall I give
you the grand tour now?" It was as good a time as any, so I said,
"Sure," and followed along after her carrying my drink as she did.
The apartment was large and nicely decorated with each room
having its own sort of special character. The front door opened into
a tiny foyer with a coat closet. This led into the large living room
with its terrace looking to the northwest, and a distant view of the
extreme western reaches of Long Island Sound. Beyond the living
room was a large offset that was almost a room by itself. This was
the formal dining area leading into a large, modern kitchen with a
small breakfast nook affording much the same view as the terrace.
Along the left wall of the living room as you entered from the
front door was the hallway with its four doors. The bathroom had
a separate bathtub and shower stall. My room was, so far, rather
plain, but I would change that soon. Sarah's room was very old
world Victorian. Edith's room was very modern, but its most striking
feature was a life size oil painting of a blonde woman, standing in
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a very provocative pose, and totally nude. The features of the face
were so lifelike that I started to ask just as Edith stopped me, saying,
"Before you have to ask, it is me. It was painted a long time ago,
and there's a story to go with it. I'll tell you over some wine..
someday." Edith looked strangely at the portrait, but I did not press
the question. She would tell me when she was ready.
That night on the couch in my room was all right, but I felt
better the next day when my bed and dresser arrived. Edith had
gone to work, and that had left me alone with Sarah for the day. We
talked and watched television, and somewhere during the day she
said, "Wherever you have been is all right with me. My daughter
has been hurt a lot in her life, and finding you has made her again
happy. That is all that matters to me." She knew the truth, but if
acting her role in this made Edith happy, then she would play it to
the hilt. There was something about this lady that I liked quite a
lot. I enjoyed having her for a grandmother.
The cab picked me up in front of the apartment building, and
Thomas, the doorman, held the door for me as I got in. I know he
gave my legs a good look too, but that was all right with me. I did
not mind men doing that. The taxi headed for Manhattan, and my
lunch with Helen. I was about to get still another role to play in this
life.
The day was sunny, and I watched intently as the Manhattan
skyline grew bigger as we approached. I wore a dark green jersey
dress that did not conceal any feature of my body except for the one
that was safely tucked away in my panties, back between my legs. I
was wearing my best jewelry, and had talked Edith into lending me
her rabbit fur stole for the occasion. I told her I was going to a job
interview. I did not lie. I just did not tell her the sort of job it was.
I needed the stole to ward off the chill in the mid-September air. I
wanted to look my best that day. A girl like me did not get invited
to lunch at the St. Regis Hotel every day.
The cab drew up in front of the hotel, and I paid the driver.
I got quite a look from a very prosperous looking gentleman who
was lighting a cigar as I swung my legs out of the taxi, and into his
gaze. The look followed me from the cab until I had gone into the
hotel. Now other eyes picked me up as I crossed the thick carpets in
the lobby. All of the men who watched me wore business suits, and
looked as prosperous as the man outside had. This might have been
the era of the hippie, but I liked the prosperity scene a lot better.
Some girls might have enjoyed sitting in a room full of candles with a
long haired guy with dirty fingernails, but I much preferred a candle
lit dinner for two in an elegant restaurant with a well groomed man
in a three-piece suit. The ambiance of the St. Regis Hotel suited me
well.
I was about five minutes late from the approximate time we had
set. I gave Helen's name to the head waiter, and was escorted to
a table. Helen was already there going over her appointment book.
She greeted me, and we ordered a couple of glasses of white wine
before lunch. The table was actually a secluded booth to one side of
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________147___
the restaurant away from the windows. It did, however, afford us a
good view of all that was going on, and all who were in the place.
Helen had obviously been here many times before. She even spoke
to the head waiter by name, and he answered with her's.
"I'm glad you could make it today," said Helen with a smile once
we were alone. "I've spoken to a few of my clients who I thought
might be interested in what you have to offer, and there are a couple
who would like to meet you. Are you still interested in working with
me like we discussed?" "That all depends," I answered, "on what I
would have to do. We talked about a lot of things, but I would like
to know more. Who are these clients? Do they call me at home? Do
they visit me at home? I'm very interested, but I just don't know
much about this."
The waiter brought our wine, and Helen ordered a salad platter.
I did the same, and he went away again. Helen sipped her wine, and
said, "I guess we didn't get too much chance to go into detail in the
cell. All right. First, as far as anyone is concerned, I run a modeling
and escort service called Models-In-Minutes that you work for. That
way we all have a legitimate way of paying income tax, and nobody
hassles you that way. I list your fees for assignments at the basic
rate. I don't do withholding, but you can pay tax on the amount of
the fee an the schedule, and pocket the difference in cash. The real
rate you charge is one-hundred a night or twenty-five an hour. I get
ten percent of that, and you keep the rest. You keep any tip you get
too. No pun intended."
We laughed, and Helen continued, "No client ever calls you at
home, or visits you there. You go to them either at their home, or at
a hotel at their expense. Their only contact with you is through me.
You call in once a day to get your assignments. You give me a week's
notice if you have something to do on a given day, and I won't book
anything for you. If you have to give shorter notice, we'll discuss it,
but I'm not an ogre. We just try to respect each other. I won't do
anything to screw you, and if you screw me, you are just off the list.
This can be a good deal if you don't mess it up."
Helen sipped some wine, and said, "Your clients are basically
businessmen looking for a little companionship. Most are out of
towners who come to New York on business, and don't want to spend
all the time alone, but a few live here. You may also be a salesman's
entertainment for a customer. You tell me the limits of what you'll
do first, and I'll match that to the client's needs. You do whatever
the client wants to do in the time limit he's paying for. Some may
want to get you in bed right away, but some will want you to go to
dinner or dancing with them first. There are a few who only want
that with no sex involved at all. What do you think? Are you still
with me?" I nodded agreement as the waiter brought our salads. I
was almost a call-girl.
Lunch was spiced with just some small talk about things in gen-
eral. Helen was very interested in me in a lot of ways that did not
seem to relate to my working for her. She had a genuine concern for
what was going on in my personal life as well. "I like to get to know
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my girls," she said. "It helps me manage things better, and fit the
assignments to their personality. Besides, I like you as a friend. I
don't see myself as a boss. I guess some might call me a Madam,
and I don't mind that title if it's used correctly. I just like to look
after my girl's welfare. You and the others are the assets of this little
business, and I want to protect that, but I also care about you all as
people too."
Helen was kind and sincere. A lot of girls on the street wound
up working for some pimp who cared only about the money they
brought in. Prostitution is not a easy business to be alone in. Some
think it easy to just stand on a street corner to turn tricks, but that
leaves you open to everything from physical abuse, to robbery, to
arrest. A pimp can get you by some of that, but the degradations
of being a street-walker will tear you apart emotionally. Some think
that placing a commercial ad in something like "Screw" magazine is
better, but you get more crank calls than you can handle, and you
never know what sort of weirdo you may be welcoming into your
apartment that way. Those ways are dangerous, and degrading.
The call-girl stands at the top of the profession if she has a Madam
who can handle things in the proper way. The Madam takes all the
calls, and screens out the cranks, weirdos, and police as best she
can. The Madam, if she is good, will also screen the clientele, and
give you some assurance that things will go well. She is also a place
to call if you do get arrested, or in some other sort of trouble, and
has contacts with lawyers and doctors who can take care of those
problems. A good Madam will pay for those services if it is her fault
that you got into the trouble, but the girl is expected to handle the
cost any other time. Fair is fair. Helen was that sort of Madam. She
always took care of things.
I told Helen all about what had happened after I had last seen
her on the courthouse steps. She was interested in hearing all about
Margo, and said she was happy that I was out of that environment.
"It's too bad that you aren't living alone now," she said. "Your Edith
won't be a problem, will she?" I assured her that I could come and go
as I pleased, and that as long as none of my clients ever called me at
home, things would be fine. She was also anxious that I get a regular
job too. "You'll need one for a while," she said. "The money sounds
good, but you won't work every night. My contacts are building, but
they still have a little way to go."
"How many girls do you have?," I asked. "Well," she replied, "I
have two others that do the sort of assignments that we're talking
about, and I have a few special clients of my own. I also have fifteen
others that do straight modeling assignments. Models-In-Minutes
is a legitimate model agency too. That's my real bread and butter.
This is a sort of enjoyable sideline." That prompted a long discussion
of my own modeling career. I told her about the coat modeling
assignment, and the contract with the photography studio. "I know
Tom," Helen said. "I've sent some people to him, and he keeps
hitting on me for a date. I can list you as a model too, but bring me
a copy of your contract with him first. I can't list you if it violates
_Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________149___
that contract. Are you sure you can handle a model's changing room
with all the other girls watching you change?" I smiled, and said,
"I handled that cell including going to the toilet, didn't I?" Helen
laughed, saying, "Yes you did. This just might work out."
We laughed for a bit, and Helen said, "I might be taking on
five more girls and a guy next week for the nighttime assignments. I
thought you should know that. I know an older Madam who wants to
retire, and I'm meeting with her and her people on Sunday afternoon.
I used to work for her, and they want me to take things over. The
extra people won't affect you directly, but I get her client book too.
That could mean more and better assignments. She has a lot of
politicians and judges in there. They are good to have when we need
a favor, if you know what I mean." Helen ordered some coffee for us,
and asked, "So. Now that we both know a lot more about this, what
do you think? Are you ready to become a call-girl?" I nodded. I was
ready.
"When do I start?," I asked. "As soon as you fill out a job
application for my agency, and I can line up some clients for you,"
Helen answered. "As long as I keep you on just the escort service
part of it, we don't have to worry about your contract with Tom.
If you can bring that contract and your photo portfolio to my office
on Monday morning at ten, we'll see what we can do with you as a
model." I was going to the photo studio later that day to pick up the
pictures, so I told her that I would bring them. "Now," said Helen,
"we have one more part of this interview to do, but not here. I have
a room upstairs in the hotel for that. We'll go up there after coffee.
All right?" I nodded. What was this about?
We finished the coffee, and Helen signed the bill. "Shall we go?,"
she said. I rose, and slipped my stole around my shoulders. Helen led
the way out of the restaurant. We crossed the lobby to the elevators,
and all male eyes followed our progress. I could imagine what they
were thinking as they watched us. I liked that, but what I could not
imagine was what Helen wanted of me in her hotel room. I was soon
to find out, but I still wondered anyway.
There was a man with us in the elevator, and his eyes kept shifting
between the two of us as we rode up. I let the front of my stole drop
to give him a little show of the bit of cleavage that I had, and his
eyes riveted to my chest. Helen smiled discretely at me in obvious
pleasure at my teasing of him that way. He looked quite disappointed
when we got out at the eleventh floor to go to Helen's room.
The room was actually a two room suite with a small bar. Helen
fixed a drink for herself, and asked what I wanted. I took a Gin &
Tonic. "I know you're wondering what I wanted you to come up here
for," she said. "I thought it might be easier for us to discuss the more
personal aspects of the job in a more private setting, and I would also
like to get a photo or two of you here. I have a little catalog of my
girls that I show to some clients, and we couldn't do that in the
restaurant. Is that all right with you?" I agreed. It sounded like a
good idea.
"Put on your stole, and stand by the sofa, please," Helen asked.
150____Bobbi's_Story___________________________________________________________
I did, and she produced a 35MM camera. I struck a pose, and the
strobe flashed. I was in her catalog. "Sit down on the sofa, and
hold your drink," Helen said, and the strobe flashed a second time.
"Now we need a few that may be a little more intimate," Helen said.
"Would you take off your dress?" I thought for a moment, but it
seemed reasonable that her clients would like to see what they were
getting, so I agreed, and reached for the zipper. "Not here," said
Helen. "We'll do these in the bedroom." She followed me to the bed.
I stripped to just my bra, panties, garter-belt, hose, and heels,
and Helen asked me to sit on the bed. The covers were already turned
down, so I struck a few sexy poses there. Helen photographed all of
them.
"I have one personal request of you," Helen said. "I'd like to
see you nude. I don't show nudes to the clients, but I'd like some
pictures of you that way for my personal album. Would that be all
right?" This I had not expected, but I did not see the harm in it.
I liked being photographed dressed or undressed, so I agreed, and
started removing my stockings. Helen snapped a few pictures of me
as I stripped, but she seemed more intent on watching me undress
for her. That was fine with me too, and soon I was lying nude on my
back on the bed with my little penis still carefully in its tuck. Helen
took four pictures of me that way.
"Could I see your cock?," Helen asked. I had sort of expected
that. Almost everyone who saw me nude also wanted to see my
penis. Some liked looking at it for its own sake, and some needed to
see it to satisfy themselves that I really was not a girl. Whatever the
reason, if I had gone that far, I always complied, even if it was never
my favorite thing to do. I flexed my thighs, and let my little penis
out for Helen to see.
Helen just stared at it for a while. Knowing her line of work,
this was not a sight that was unfamiliar to her, but she looked at
my little penis as if it were the first time she had ever seen one. "It
doesn't look right at all," she said. "What doesn't?," I asked. "That
on you," she replied. "Every other detail of your body, even when
you're nude, is that of a small breasted girl. You just don't look
right with a cock." I nodded, saying, "I just don't feel right with
one either. That's why I'm having it cut off as soon as the doctor
says I'm ready." Helen sat on the bed next to where I was lying.
"When will that be?," she asked. "I see my doctor later today," I
answered. "He's setting things up with a psychologist, so I can get
it all started. I have to live and work as a woman for a year before
surgery can begin."
Helen continued staring at my little penis, and also running her
eyes over the rest of my naked body. "You'll make a very nice girl,"
she said. "You're very beautiful as one already, and your skin is so
soft." She ran her fingers over my chest as she spoke, and my nipples
stiffened in excitement. "I know quite a number of women who would
like to be as pretty as you," she said as her hand moved lower on my
body, and came to rest on my now stiffening penis.
I felt both surprise and pleasure as Helen's hand held my little
SIZE LIMIT (48K) EXCEEDED!!!
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