I was named after my mother, Michelle, when I was born. That may not sound odd to you, but for a male-sexed child to be named thus, it's pretty out of the ordinary. She convinced my dad that it was more an homage to one of his heroes, Michel de Nostredame, or Nostradamus, thus my dad agreed that I would be named Michel, but only if he could call me "Mikey."
Of me, Dad always said I was "femmy." I never wanted to climb trees or play in the dirt, I was not athletically inclined, and I never went on dates. Oh, sure, I hung out with girls, but we were friends and nothing more. Also, I looked a lot like Mom, I mean to the point that one could match a picture of me at a certain age she had been, and he or she would swear that we were brother and sister. Throughout the years, the resemblance has become ever-increasingly uncanny.
I was completely unaware as to what struggles they went through. Empirical observation told me that Dad drank too much—
WAY
too much—and Mom was a "keeping up with the Joneses" kind of person. They were able to keep a lot of their enmity toward one another from me in my youth, but the further I got into my teens, the more difficult it became.
My senior year of high school, Mom told me that she'd had enough. She was leaving Dad, and she wanted me to come with her to stay with Gramma and Grampa in Iowa. I told her that I wanted to finish school in Roanoke, then maybe I would. She took this as me choosing Dad over her, and I didn't hear from her again until I received a Hallmark card and one hundred dollars as a graduation gift.
I never felt right in my skin. I was attracted to guys, but I did not consider myself to be gay. I knew that I was wrongly sexed, therefore any feelings I had toward a male were legitimately heterosexual. I never really explored my sexuality. I thought about it. In fact, I had kissed just as many males as I had females—three each—but I never let it go beyond that. I mean, I was still trying to figure out who I was, so I didn't need to add anything to that equation that could have been misleading or downright confusing.
After high school, I got a job at Tex Holdem's Black Angus Steakhouse as a waiter. I loved the job, if only for the tips, which, after six weeks or working, ranged from one hundred dollars on my worst day to over four hundred on my best.
On one particular day, a woman handed me her business card and told me to call her the following day. I did, and she invited me to her studio; she was a photographer who owned a Glamour Shots franchise. She sat me in a chair, applied make-up, then took a series of pictures. Once done, she uploaded them to her computer and for the first time in my life I saw who I was supposed to be, who I truly was, and I was beautiful.
"I'm not saying that you're living a lie," she told me, "but I
can
see that you are in a lot of pain because you're not being true to yourself."
She was right. I wasn't necessarily repressing who I felt I truly was, but I hadn't allowed the woman in me to find herself, either.
She printed off four of the pictures and handed them to me as she said, "These, and the make-over, are my tip to you for yesterday." She told me that I could go in the back and wash up, but I responded that I would like to remain my true self a little while longer. I left with the envelope of pictures in hand, and once I had returned home I made no immediate move to wash the make-up away. I would have to before Dad got home, of course, but I still had about an hour before that happened.
I decided that I would take a proactive stance on the issue of my gender, but I was smart enough to understand that change had to be gradual. Therefore, I could say, "Starting today, I'm going to let my hair grow out," and while that was all well and good, I needed something that might herald the changes that were to come, so the following day I got my ears pierced. I had already begun letting my nails grow, but was content to just keeping them manicured. Eventually I would start using gloss before moving to actual colors
I really wasn't seeing much of Dad anymore. In the mornings, he would leave out early for his job as a construction site laborer while I was still asleep, and when I got in around midnight he would already be asleep in his room. I say asleep when the reality is that it was more like passed out from all the booze.
Just piecing things together from what I saw, the typical scenario was that Dad would come home drunk after working all day. He would go into his room, pop in a porno, and whatever happened after that was anyone's guess. I think he may have masturbated here and there, but for the most part he was so wasted that I'm sure he just passed out.
I was well into the third month of my transition when, on one particular night, the TV in his room was still on when I got home from work. I went to his door to see if he was still awake and what I saw was ... There was a porno playing in the DVD and Dad was passed out; he still lightly clutched at a half-empty bottle of liquor. More than that, however, was his exposed and erect penis. The shaft was a light tan color, and the head had purpled like it was straining against gravity itself to get just a little longer.
I still had not done anything sexually with anyone, so why I chose now, I'll never know. I got on my knees before him and wrapped a nervous hand around his meaty cock. A shaky breath involuntarily escaped my lungs as I reveled in the warmth and fullness my palm now enjoyed. I lowered my head, and once my quavering lips met his cock I felt a load of cum empty itself in my underwear. My moan was low but loud. I was just thankful that the fullness of him in my mouth muffled it to a degree that he did not awaken.
I began to slowly go up and down on him. My entire body was on fire, and I felt like I could have another orgasm at any minute. I took my time, however, and was surprised to find that I could deep throat him with ease. I lavished in this. Feeling his cock head stretch the back of my throat was exciting to say the least, but I wanted to feel it stretching my lips as it plopped in and out of my mouth. A few minutes of this, though, and he gave a drunken grunt as he filled my mouth with his cum, causing me to once again fill my underwear with my own. I swallowed his seed, then continued to suck him a few seconds longer before deciding I didn't want to chance getting caught. I went and got a shower, then went to bed, but I was so jazzed over what I had just done that sleep was a reluctant friend that night.
Before leaving out for work the next day, I did two things. First, I masturbated. Twice. The first time was because I kept replaying the scenario in my mind, which got me horny, and the second because I understood that I had done this to my dad, which was a taboo, which turned me on. The second was to go into his room and find his liquor bottle. I took a pen and placed a tiny "X" on the label so I could differentiate it from any other bottle he may be nursing in the future.
When I returned home that night I stealthily made my way to Dad's room. The lights were off, and a buzz saw of snoring filled the air. I turned my phone on and allowed the LED to act as a flashlight as I actively sought out the liquor bottle. Sure enough, it was empty and laying askew on the nightstand. I knew I shouldn't press my luck, but I needed to feel that cock in my mouth again, simply because when I sucked it last night, for the first time since getting those Glamour Shots I felt like a true woman.
I pulled his cock free from its polyester prison and began to service it as lovingly as I could, reveling in the sensation of every inch passing between my lips as it snaked its way down my throat. I would hold it there for as long as a minute at a time before moving my lips back to the head, then begin the process anew.
I pulled my own penis out and began to masturbate as I sucked him. The sensation to cum came upon me quickly, so I backed off until I could get Dad there as well. Another few minutes and I felt his cock spasm in my mouth. He spasmed again, as did I, and we attained mutual orgasm. My one-woman quest for hedonism seemed well on the road to fulfillment.
