Beauty Lessons Part Three

EAch time I caught the boy in the waiting room glancing my way I became increasingly more certain that he liked me. I was eleven years old at the time and I had just had lunch with Mom. She had stopped off to see her doctor and like the boy across the room from me, I was waiting on my Mom.

While I cannot say that I had any real first had experience with boys yet, I was no longer quite as naive about older boys.  I knew thing partially because I had two older brothers.  Partially because -- welll I had done the deed myself a few times.

I looked at him as much as he looked at me.  He was very cute.  Each time I glanced his way I wonder if he had a boner.  He was pretending to read a magazine and holding it in his lap -- which was almost a clue that he did have a boner.

I took off my shoes and curled myself up in my chair because . . . Well, I liked him and he seemed a good way to hold his attention.  Sometimes I did things as Veroncia that just came instinctively to me -- things I had probably seen on televsions shows or in movies.

I found myself  thinking that it would be boy not unlike him that would most likely be the first to teach me what I needed to really know about being a girl.

Beauty Lessons Part Two

Jeff was one of the first boys who I can honestly say I liked. And when I say 'liked' I mean in the same way that all girls my age like boys their age. He was my first crush.

Like so many boys his age Jeff was not ready to start liking girls as anything more than friends.  He actually gave me this rose because we were having lunch with his mom and mine and his Mom thought it would be a nice gesture.

His mom did not know that Yvonne was not my birth name.  She only knew Mom through their mutual membership in a service club.

As Jeff and I were the same age, and he was bigger than me, as we were sitting on the bench waiting for our table, I found myself wondering if his penis was bigger than mine.  

Now it was a weird reason why I did so.  I had such a small penis even for a little boy Mom said that it was never a problem hiding my penis when I wore a pantsuit such as this one.  I thought that if Jeff was larger 'down there' that he would have a more difficult time being a girl.  But that was okay with me.  I liked him being a boy.  I wanted him to have a really big penis so he would never be a girl like me.

It is weird how we develop such ideas as a child.  I started to think about boys with big penis as boys who were really boys -- boys I should like.  Boys who had a small penis like mine might really be a girl like me.  Okay, I know it sound silly to say it now.  But I was only seven years old and for whatever reason I wanted
Jeff to have a big penis.  Later I would learn that he would come to have a big penis.

It was something unique to me as a little girl in that I knew that having a penis is why most boys are regarded as boys.  There was something very important about having a penis and not having a penis.

I was really nervous the first time I went to a public swimming pool as Yvonne.  I was afraid some one would be able to tell I had a peepee. Mom reduced (as opposed to erased) my concerns by tapping my penis back between my legs. Truth be told, I do not think the taping really made all that big of difference as I was simply so timy down there.

Before we went to the pool, my Mom made it very clear to me that I looked just like a real little girl in my Indian style swimsuit. She told me I had to learn now to be comfortable in all sorts of places and situations as a girl. She even suggested that I was getting old enough that I should not need her to take my hand each time I went to the girls room.

Later at the pool, I had a great time. I meet this one boy named Dennis who was really cute. He was obviously a few years older than me but as I said he was really cute and he seemed to like teasing me and such.

As we were standing by the pool at one point, I started to giggle. He seemed to know right away why I was laughing and jumped into the pool.

Later when I told Mom about the boy and how his penis had started to get larger and Mom smiled. "See Yvonne, I told you that everything would be find." When I asked Mom why it had done that she replied, "For now just consider it a compliment. He liked you."

There was now another piece of the puzzle. A boy had liked me -- if I was to believe Mom. And his penis had started growing bigger. Mine never did that. (Later I would learn never say never) so I had additional clues that there was something very special about a boy's penis.

It may be a bit of an overstement to say that my fascination with cock began that day beside the pool seeing my first erection -- not that it was all that big, but it was still an erection. However, while it may not been the beginning, it had definitely planted some seeds for thought. It would not be much longer (a year or so) when I would start to hear words likd 'cocksucker' and 'fuck' and even 'faggot.' My fascination with cock did not begin that day. But it was a compelling desire that would one day become the very reason for my being.

Beauty Lessons Part One

One of the first lessons I learned when it came to be a girl is that little girls were suppose to be pretty while little boys were suppose to be handsome.  Another way of saying this is that one of my first needs as a little girl was to feel pretty.  I was possibly too young to know what made one girl pretty and another girl less so, but I knew that when I was out and about with my Mom I really liked it when I would heard comments such as 'Oh, what a pretty little girl."

It was a very simple leap from the desire to be pretty to the desire to have boys see me as pretty.  One does not have to spend too much time watching televisions or movies or just people in the malls to know that being pretty as a girl is all about being liked by boys.

Right behind these lessons was the realization that if I wanted boys to find me pretty I had to be even prettier than other girls.  I would have to try harder.  You see I really, really wanted boys to find me pretty.  If all of this sounds really redundant, then you maybe have some sense of just how important it was to me as a little girl to have boys like me. Maybe that is one day in the park I decided to kiss a boy.

Raising Her Daughter in Spokane Part Eleven

My mother is a very attractive woman. She is one of those women who almost seemed to get more attractive as she grew older. As has been repeated shared, she wanted a daughter and I stepped into that role as Yvonne.

I suspect my Mom is not unique as most mother go.  She wanted a daughter because she wanted someone not unlike herself to raise.  If I had been born a girl, I am quite certain that virtually everything my mother taught me about being beautiful and sexually desirable to men would have been part of my upbringing.

However I was not born a girl.  I was born a boy.  And while that I was a boy made the challenge of beauty and sexual desirability more a challenge, it also makes it more essential.

I should stress that it was not my mother's goal when I was five and six and seven years old for me to be sexually desirable.  However, Mom was a very sexual woman  -- as I would learn.  She loved men and she loved sex.  This is something that became increasingly apparent after Mom and Dad divorced and keeping her sex life secret from an older than before daughter was less necessary.

I think Mom instinctively knew that it was one thing to raise me as a a girl and it was a totally different thing to raise me as an ugly or fat or man-ish girl.   Once I was of the age where most girls start to think more about boys because most boys are thinking more about girls, it became important to my Mom that the boys liked what  they saw when they looked at me.

It is only of small importance that Mom started to focus on this aspect of Yvonne after I had already starting sucking cock for just about any boy who wanted to put his dick in my mouth.

Rasing Her Daugther in Spokane Part Ten

There most definitely came a time when I could not spend enough of my day as Yvonne.  I say that and it has a different meaning at age six than it did at age ten than it did at age thirteen then did at age sixteen.

As I grew older spending time as Yvonne became increasing more important to me admittedly.  However, just because my desire to be Yvonne was stronger at thirteen than it was at six does not mean that it felt any less important to me when I was six.

I guess the big difference for me is that at age six I felt I had to play by my Mom's rules which often meant playing by my Dad's rules.  As I grew older, dressing up became less about something I did with my Mom and more about something I could do on my own.   As I came to understand that I did not need her to dress, as I started to have more freedom as a young girl becoming a young lady, I had more control over how I could spend my time.

My Mom always wanted to be acccommodating when she could, but of course that was not always possible.  Whenever  I told her I wanted to be Yvonne, she would always include in her reply the words, "You really are my little girl."

More importantly, she always spoke the words with joy and pride.  I could tell it made my mother happy to say the words "You really are my little girl."  She would say the words with a smile and often she would give me a quick hug or a kiss on the cheek.

I like making my Mommy happy by being a girl for her.  Sometimes I suspect I asked to be Yvonne less because I wanted to be Yvonne than because I knew she wanted me to ask, she wanted to spend time with her daughter Yvonne.

One day my mother recieved a phone call from the Mom of a guy I knew. Tim had gotten hold of his parents credit card and gotten us a room so we could fuck. Mom got an alert on the card and showed up after we were done and about to leave. Tim's mom called my Mom to come and pick me up as there was no way that she was letting Tim drive me home.

Raising Her Daughter in Spokane Part Nine

One day I recieved an email from an anonymous sender. When I opened it up, I found four pictures of my Mom -- pictures a daughter much less a son do not normally see of their Mom.

The email did not as I mentioned reveal who had sent it to me and it only contained two sentences beyond the images.  It read "Your Mom loves taking big dick.  Someday you will love taking  big dick as much as she does."

I may be making too much of the choice of words in this email.  As I read them a second and their time, they offered no clue as to the sender.

My first thought was that it was the man in the pictures.  Who was he?  Could it be my Dad?  I recognized the furniture so I knew the pictures were taken in our home.  But I also knew Mom had no qualms about having men come over to our house.

But could it have been my Dad?  He did not like the path my life was  taking and no doubt it was because he did not like the idea of me being a girl.  Or more importantly a woman.  But just because it could be my Dad sending the images, that is  not to say that it was my Dad in the photos.  In fact, having seen my Dad in shorts and swim  trunnks, I think the legs suggest it is not my Dad.  Not does he seem to have  the belly -- "spare tire" -- that my Dad has.

It seemed somewhat bold of a man  to send me the photos.  What if I were to go to my Mom and show them to her?  No doubt she would be able to put a name to the anonymous sender.  The guy would have been asking for trouble.

Then an thought occurred to me.  There was probably only one person that I knew -- that would have known my email address -- that might have had had a motivation for seding me the photos.  That person was my Mom.

I had somewhat expected for quite some time that one of the reasons I always heard my Mom screaming out during sex with other men when it was just her and I at home was because she wanted mt to know how great it felt to be a woman.  Was  this another effort on her part to teach me something of the joy of being a woman.

There is one reason this made the most sense to me.  It would have been too much of a gamble for any man with the possible excception of my Dad.  And more importantly, no one knew me better than my Mom.  And as foretold in the email, I did come to love taking big dick like she took from this guy.
    

Raising Her Daughter In Spokane Part Eight

I feel like I am over stressing how often my Mom would leave me with my Aunt Susan or send me up to my room to take a nap. However, it should be noted that I would in my adult years earn a living as a whore. Now I am not suggesting that my Mom was a whore. She was not. She was simply a woman who loved sex and loved sex with lots of different men.

As I came to an age where sex was something I did, my moral code and my values were most definitely shaped by her moral code and her values.  Mom loved spending time with me as Yvonne and yet she was quite willing to leave me with my Aunt for a couple of hours while she hooked up with some guy for some afternoon sex.

Where was my brothers at during all of this.  More often than not, Joey would be either with his Dad and brother or when he was younger already with my Aunt Susan.

Several years later when I was an adult, my mom one day sent me several videos from my chidlhood. As I was going through the videos, I cam across one of her that had to be be several years old just like most of the other videos. I do not know who she is talking to this video. I wondeded if it it was my Dad. Whoever it is, I could tell my Mom was looking forward to locking him up and keeping the key.

Raising Her Daughter In Spokane Part Five

Mom was a joiner. She was always finding clubs and organizations to join. Many of these clubs would occasionally hold functions such as tea party or book readings or . . . Well, does it really matter to you.

Most of these clubs were for women and their children.  Whenever we attended a meeting or even for one of these clubs, I always went as Yvonne.

Most of the other club members knew nothing of Glen.  To them I was just Nancy's little girl Yvonne.

One of the clubs was a service organization where the women got together once a month and discussed all the things they wanted to do -- and somehow never did.  These meeting often had themes such as when I wore this dress.  It was Spring and we were all suppose to attend in our finest Spring outfit.

The reason I choose to share this photo is that it is indicative of so many of the outfits and dresses I owned as a little girl.

Once Mom and I started down this path, it was often difficult to determine who wanted more.  Despite my feelings, I was a normal kid and often felt that my life was just too different and I wanted to be the same.  On these occasions. Mom would push me to be more of a daughter for her.  Some times Mom had doubts about the life I was leading and on these occasions I would beg Mom to let me spend more time as Yvonne.

There simply was no telling on any given day which of us would be the one who would first suggest that it be a Yvonne day.  That was truer during the early years and became less  true during the later years.  By the time of this Spring Social Mom and I were both almost always on the same page.  We were both in total agreement that if I was going to be a girl then I was going to be all girl.  This is all-girl dress.

In keeping with our evolving commitment that if I was to be a girl, I had to be all girl, Mom felt it was very important for me to learn to move as a woman does. Of course, as in so many other socialization processes, I was already learning how girls move by watching how other girls move. I most definitely was not looking to mimic the movement and mannerisms of boys. However, it was not enough my Mom suggested that I simply move like other girls do. I had to be the mistress of my body and the way it all move together. So as part of my lesson on learning how to move, she taught me how to belly dance.

    

Later in life I would take what I had learned about dancing and movement and use in for pole dancing.

Raising Her Daughter Part Four

My Dad did not approve of the life path I had chosen. Nor did he approve of Mom's willingness to encourage that life path. As such Mom and I kept a lot of secrets from my Dad. Generally speaking, it was a given that anything we did as Mother and daughter had to be our secret unless Mom choose to share it.

I am not saying that Dad did not know about Yvonne and did not know that if Mom and I were spending a day together that I would not be spending that day as Yvonne.  It was simply something that we did not discuss.

However not all of our secrets were about me.  Mr Larsen was a secret we kept that was more about Mom.  He was, according to Mom, an longtime friend and we would often go out to lunch with Mr Larsen.

Often when we got home, Mom would suggest that I go up to my room and entertain myself as Mr Larsen and her wanted  to get 'caught up' on boring stuff of no interest to me.

Just as I knew we were keeping secrets from my Dad, I knew that once I was told to go upstairs  that I was not permitted to come back downstairs until Mom called me downstairs.  Usually this would be an hour or so.  And for me that hour was always spent the same way -- wondering what they were doing and wondering why it had the house shaking.



I was not always an obedient child on these occasions. After a couple of times hearing the noises coming from downstairs, I would crept downstairs where I could hear better. I did not know exactly what was happening. But I knew it had to be sex. We were not allowed to disturb Mom and Dad when their bedroom door was locked and Mom locked the door when she was alone with Mr Larsen. I would be less than honest if I did not admit that I found myself wanting to be in the room with Mom and Mr Larsen and getting done to me as he was doing to mom. In time I would come to know what it was like to bet fucked by Mr Larsen.

Raising Her Daughter In Spokane Part Three

Mom would often share with me over the years that while she had been reluctant to be overly encouraging of my desire to be Yvonne that it became quite evident there was much more to my desire once she noticed that I started liking boys.

According to her it was soon apparent to her that I liked dressing in pretty dresses because I wanted the boys to think I was pretty.

"Boys!  Boys! Boys!  Sometimes that is all you would talk about.  I almost hated to send you outside to play because I knew you would come bakc in with some new crush on one of the neighbor boys."

Just as I have no way of knowing with any certainty how I came to prefer life as a girl, I cannot explain why or how I came to like boys more than girls.  Did I want to be a girl partially because I knew as a girl I would be allowed to like boys?  Or did I like boys because I knew as a girl I was suppose to like boys.

Mon has a favorite picture of me posing with my older brother Ryan. While she did not discuss it as such when I was younger, when I was older and dating boys, she would point it out as a prefect example of how early my interest in boys started.

I am not saying that she really felt as though I was looking at Ryan's crotch.  It simply was one interpretation of the photo that made it a bit more interesting.

While this is not the time when I will be discussing my relationship with Ryan and my other two brothers, it might be relevant at this point to share that several years later I would often get to see exactly what Ryan had in his pants.  And what he had often ended up in my ass or my mouth.

When I Grow Up Mommy I Want To Be A Girl

Mom wanted me to be a girl. She wanted a daughter. I may repeat this time and time again over the next several posts. But what was she to say to me when I first told her of my desire to be a girl.

Should she had told me that it could never be.  That I could not be the person I wanted to be.  Should she had been realistic and imposed boundaries on what I could and could not do with my life.

Now some may say that it is one thing to discourage me if I had aspirations of being president of the United States.  Many would see that as wrong for a Mom who wanted nothing but the best for her children.  Is it not just as wrong to tell a child you can never be a girl because you are a boy?  Many would say yes. But it would still be a lie.  In my early years, if I am to believe what I heard from her lips, she tried not to be too encouraging but she also did not want to be discouraging.

The point I am trying to make is that it was a very fine line for my mother.  Her son wanted to be a girl.  She wanted a girl.  She wanted a daughter.  As I grew older, I became more demanding when it came to spending time as Yvonne, being Yvonne.  However, in this never-ending circle that is my life, I would not have been so demanding if I had not come to know a life as Yvonne.

I was about seven years old when Mom bought me a dress that came to be my favorite dress.  It was fuschia and had a sash with a little flower instead of a belt.  I always felt so pretty in that dress.  I love the way the straps felt resting across my shoulder and the flow of the dress as I walked.

Every time I wore the dress Mom would almost tear up.  She felt I was so pretty in the dress.  It made me happy to make my Mom so happy that she would cry.  When did it become important to me to be a girl for my Mom so she could be happy (or happier)?  I simply cannot say.  All I know for sure is that wearing my fuschia dress was my most favorite thing to do at the age of seven.

Most of my earliest memories are those of me as a girl, of me being a girl for my Mommy. I came to know how to make my Mom smile. All I had to say is "My name is Yvonne" and Mom would beam. I was very happy with my life. I will never look back on those early years and judge myself or Mom for the decisions we made. It is totally irrelevant to me whether I first asked Mom if I could be a girl or if she first asked me to be a girl for her.

And just as I can not recall (nor do I care) where my interest in boys first arose, I cannot recall a time when being pretty as a little girl was not mostly about being pretty for boys. Once again, maybe it was not so much that boys would find me pretty as it was that Mom seemed to take pleasure in thinking boys found me pretty.

Mommy. Makeup. Pretty

When I delve back into my most distant memories, one of my first memories (I could say one of my first joys) was sitting on the bathroom counter watching my Mom put on her makeup.

I do not want to make too much of this but I do feel it is relevant to my life as it would turn out to be.

My Mom and I traveled a path rather unique for mother and (dare I say) son.  Some may fault her for the way she raised me.  However was it her choice or mine that I would come to live my life as first a girl and later as a woman.  Am I a whore today because my mother chose to raise me as a girl?  Did Mom imposie her desire to have a daughter on me or did she allow me the freedom to become the person of my choosing?

In this photos I am dressed as a little girl.  Did Mom dress me up as a girl at this age?  Yes, she did.  Did that impact my choices later in life?  I cannot see how it did not. At the same time, I did not mind her doing so.

Okay, so maybe I was too young here to argue that point, but as I grew older I liked looking like a girl. I liked wearing their clothes. And as you can see, going from boy to girl was quite easy for me.

As I may have mentioned elsewhere on this blog, my mother routinely shared with friends and guests to our home that given a choie, Dad and her would have loved to have had a daughter.  Whenever she did so, she usually spoke to their third child.  After having two sons they really wanted a daughter.  Their third son was me.  After having three sons, they had somewhat expectant of having a fourth when she got pregnant again.  So I was the one who should have been a girl.  And I am the one  that came to live my life as a girl.

It's You -- Meaning you are the girl not the man.

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The Transformation is Real and the Transformation is Complete

When you are young, every significant event in your life feels like a turning point. What child does not look forward to turning twelve and becoming a teenage, as if that really means anything. For me the summer I turned thirteen was the single most important summer of my childhood. It defined me. And I am saying this fully aware that it is too easy for many teenagers to attach too mcu importance to their personal turning points.

This was the summer when it all became real to me, when being a girl became about more than just the clothes I wore or the name I preferred.

It was the summer I starting sucking cock.  It began with Jon.  He was my first.  He was the first to put his dick in my mouth.  He was the first to dump me after he got what he had wanted.

This is the summer I would learn that I was not a boy anymore.  Okay maybe you had heard this before.  At the age of eight I decided I would never be a boy.  At ten I got fucked by my brother and had so many questions answered about who I was.

However this was t he summer I started sucking dick.  This was the summer when it ceased to be about what I wanted and became about what the boys wanted.  I had always wanted to be a girl.  Now the boys wanted me  to be a girl.  And as was often the case this summer, they wanted me to be a girl for them even when they did not know I was really a boy.  They just wanted me to suck their dick.

Now of course an argument could be made that I was not yet there yet. That I would not truly become a woman or leave behind being a boy until I started taking dick up the ass regularly. There is no question that being with boys would change once I started fucking as can be seen on this video of me and Paul taken about three summers later. However to a certain extent whether I was just sucking dick or 'going all the way' it was still about what the boys wanted and what I was doing for the boys that most other girls my age would not.

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