Mom's SecretbyWannabe Chick©
The sky was so gray with clouds that, when I woke up to the sound of my alarm buzzing at 7:00 AM, I barely realized it was morning. Groaning, I pulled my blankets closer to me, turned over, and tried to go back to sleep. No 18-year-old boy likes waking up for school at seven in the morning, but it’s even worse on December 21st, two days before Christmas vacation begins. I had no desire to greet such an ugly day, so I decided to sleep until Christmas. Wearing only boxer shorts, but warm beneath my blankets, I was content to sleep the miserable day away.
My mom, however, had other plans.
“Time to get up,” she said from the doorway. Flicking on the lights, I whined and covered my head with the blanket. “Come on,” she said, “two more days and you’re done.”
“School was cancelled,” I said, my voice muffled by several layers of covers.
“Oh really,” said my mom. The bed springs lowered slightly as she sat on the mattress next to me. I remained hidden.
“The news said there was a 99.999% chance of snow, so they just cancelled it,” I said, obviously lying. “You’d better let me sleep. Growing boys need their sleep.”
“Growing boys need to quit stalling and get out of bed,” said my mom, “because you know what’ll happen if you don’t . . .”
“What?” I asked.
“You’ll get tickled!” Before I knew it, my mom’s fingers were digging into my sides, hitting all my weak spots. I’d always been very ticklish and she, being my mother, knew all the right buttons to push. I was at her mercy, giggling so hard I could barely breathe.
“No more!” I croaked.
“Are you going to get out of bed and come have breakfast?” she asked, her fingers withdrawn but still ready to strike.
“Yeah, yeah,” I finally said.
“Good,” Mom replied. She gave me a swat on the butt and rose from the bed. She left my room and I could hear her walking down the stairs to the kitchen. I stretched, pulled back to the covers, and rolled out of bed to begin my day.
Fifteen minutes later, showered and dressed, I joined my mom in the kitchen. She was dressed for work as well, in a handsome red suit, white blouse, and black stockings. I guess now would be a good time to tell you about her. Her name is Christine, she’s 39 years old, and she raise d me by herself since I was a baby. My dad died of cancer before my first birthday, so I never knew him. Mom and I got along well, though. She had a successful career as a producer of a local news program, so we never wanted for money. I’m her only child. She’s never really dated that I can remember although sometimes I wonder if she’s just waiting until I go to college.
Watching her cook my scrambled eggs (dry with pepper, just the way I like them) I had to admire her. She was tall for a woman, almost six feet, with very large breasts, and firm, muscular thighs and calves. She had a nice, round ass as well. Her body was sexy enough to match the beauty of her face: pink lips, blue eyes, perfect smile, sandy blonde hair. As I took all these things in, I felt a little guilty to be analyzing my mom in that way. But, as I reminded myself, I was just stating the obvious.
“I’m going over to Ann’s after school,” I told her. Ann was my girlfriend. She was a sophomore, like me, and we’d be dating for a few weeks.
“And how will you be getting home?” my mom asked.
“Ann’s brother said he’d give me a ride,” I told her.
“OK,” Mom replied.
With that matter resolved, my mom served me my eggs and toast, then poured herself a bowl of Special K to eat. I made a face at her, expressing my disapproval of the bland cereal and my mom laughed. We talked idly as we ate until it was time to leave.
Mom always dropped me off on her way to work. She pulled the car up to the curb, working her way through the crowd of high school students converging on the school like ants. I said goodbye and opened the door.
“Brendan?” she asked.
I looked around for a moment, trying to remember what it was. Then I noticed my mom’s cheek turned towards me. I grinned, gave her a kiss on the cheek, and stepped out of the car. I shut the door and waved goodbye as she drove away.
My day at school was uneventful. The days before a vacation always are. The students were restless and impatient. The teachers were powerless to do anything about it. I spent most of my time in class thinking about Ann and wondering what she had in store for us that afternoon. I knew for a fact that her parents were away and we’d have the place to ourselves until her brother got home from work at 6:00 PM.
Strangely, as I thought about Ann, my mom kept popping up in my thoughts. I thought of her body pressing against me that mourning as she’d tickled me. I could feel her breasts against me . . .
I pushed that thought from my mind and tried to focus on Ann. She was small and slender with a taut, lithe body. Her brown hair and eyes always made my cock stir as she’d toss her head and her eyes would shine with mischief. I was definitely looking forward to seeing her.
Hours later, the time finally came. Ann and I went to her house on the bus and she immediately led me into her bedroom. She asked me to strip down to my boxer shorts, which I did, and sit down on the bed. She smiled at me and disappeared into her bathroom, shutting the door behind her.
“Ready?” I heard her call out a minute later.
“Ready,” I said.
The door slowly opened and Ann emerged. She was dressed only in a white, nearly transparent babydoll which clearly revealed the dark circles of her nipples. She also wore a tiny pair of g-string panties. She turned in a circle, letting me see her ass with only a tiny strip of cloth wedged in her crack. She was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.
It was odd, however, that instead of feeling overwhelmed with desire as I would have expected to be, I felt a tight ball of anxiety form in my stomach. It only grew as Ann moved closer. When she sat down on the bed and began to stroke my thigh, I was paralyzed.
“M-maybe we shouldn’t do this,” I stammered.
“Why not?” she asked.
“What if your brother comes home early?” I asked.
“He won’t,” she said.
“We should wait until we’re sure we have privacy,” I suggested. “Don’t you think?”
“No,” was her reply.
Her hand slid up my thigh and came to rest right on my cock. There was only a thin layer of cotton separating us. She began to rub, trying to get a reaction out of me. I began to sweat, but my dick wouldn’t harden one bit. I desperately wanted to be out of there. Her eyes suddenly became angry, as if she’d taken my inability to get it up as a personal insult.
“What’s the matter?” she asked.
“I’m just nervous?” I said.
“Why are you nervous?” she demanded. “Don’t you feel comfortable with me? Don’t you want me?”
“I do,” I said, “I just don’t . . .”
“Fine,” she said, standing up quickly. She grabbed a bathrobe off a hook and quickly wrapped it around herself, covering up.
“Ann . . .” I said.
“Leave,” she ordered.
“How am I gonna get home?” I asked.
“I don’t care,” she said. “You’ve humiliated me. You can walk home. I don’t give a shit.”
There was nothing I could say or do. Under Ann’s glaring watch, I dressed, grabbed my coat, and left. It was 3:00 PM. It would take me an hour or more to walk home. A cold wind blew and I buttoned up my coat to my chin. Sighing deeply, I began to walk.
Around 4:00 PM, I reached my house. I’d had an hour to think about what’d happened between Ann and me, but my mind was still wracked with confusion and doubt. I had been attracted to her, but I hadn’t been sexually aroused by her touch. In fact, it was almost the opposite. I asked myself a thousand questions but the one which popped up most was: am I gay? Could that explain why she couldn’t seduce me? I didn’t think about men in a sexual way, but now I began to wonder.
As I walked down my driveway, I saw my mom’s car parked in the garage. Apparently, she’d come home early. I walked into the garage and through the door into the house. I could heard the sound of the washing machine and the dryer running downstairs in the basement laundry room, as well as the sound of my mom moving around. I walked down the carpeted stairs until I had reached the basement floor. I looked across the room to where Mom was standing.
My insides froze as I saw her. Mom was standing, with her back to me, wearing nothing but a red bra. My eyes followed the graceful arch of her back to her big, firm ass, down to her strong thighs. She didn’t move. Apparently, she couldn’t hear me over the sound of the machines. I knew I should retreat up the stairs, as silently as I had come, but I was transfixed on my mother’s nude body.
Suddenly, as if sensing something behind her, my mom whirled around to face me. She had the same deer in headlights look I knew must have been on my face. My eyes focused immediately on her huge breasts, barely contained by the bra. They had to be at least double D’s. My eyes flicked down to her crotch and I got the biggest shock of my entire life.
Nestled comfortably between my mother’s thighs was an eight-inch, limp penis, hanging over an equally enormous pair of testicles, all capped by a bush of golden-brown pubic hair.
Finally able to move, my mom grabbed a towel to cover herself. When her paralysis broke, so did mine. I immediately turned and bolted up the stairs. I ran into the living room but I didn’t know what to do. I had just seen my mother naked and she was a man! Should I leave? Should I stay? I didn’t know. I ran up the stairs into my room and sat down on my bed. I was so confused I could barely think. So I sat and waited.
A few minutes later, I heard an almost imperceptibly soft knock on the door.
“Brendan?” my mom whispered. “Honey, are you OK?”
“Yeah,” I said weakly.
“May I come in?” she asked.
“I guess,” I replied, not sure if I should.
The door opened slowly and my mom stepped in, wearing a pair of gray sweats and a Boston University t-shirt. Her face was bright red and she looked as if she were about to cry. She was ringing her hands together nervously as if not sure what to say. I didn’t know what to say either, but I was afraid to speak.
“I spilled soup on my clothes,” she told me. “I went down and threw them in the wash since I was doing a load anyway. I didn’t think you’d be home so early.”
“It’s not your fault, sweetie,” she said. “May I sit down?” I shrugged. My mom sat down on the bed next to me and I scooted over to make room for her. “What are you thinking about?” she asked me.
“You have . . .” I began, but couldn’t finish.
“Brendan,” she said, taking a deep breath, “I am a transsexual.”
The word hung in the air. I had heard it before, but never had a real concept of what it meant. I thought of the movie “The Birdcage” and men performing, dressed up like women. But these people still looked like men. My mother had the face and figure of a beautiful, feminine woman.
“Do you know what that is?” she asked. I shook my head, not able to meet her eye. My arms were folded across my chest and my chin was almost touching my elbows. “A transsexual is a man or a woman who lives as a member of the opposite sex. He or she still has the same sex organs, unless that’s changed by surgery, but most don’t do that. For the most part, someone like me, a person born as a man who becomes a woman, tries to be as womanly as possible. That’s how I’ve lived my life.”
“But why?” I asked.
“When I was a young gi- . . .” she paused. “ . . . a young boy, I knew I was different. People said I was a boy, but I knew they were wrong. I knew I was really a girl. After high school, I decided to end the charade. I went into counseling, took hormones, had some minor cosmetic surgery. I changed my name and, when I entered college after a year off, Christopher Murray was gone and Christine Murray remained.”
“But what about Dad?” I asked. “It’s obvious you didn’t give birth to me. So who did? And how does Dad fit into all this?”
“Well,” she said, “you know your father and I met in college. I was the co-chair of the Boston University Queer Alliance. Gay groups were still relatively new back then. He joined because he was questioning his sexuality. I knew there was something special about him so I told him my secret. To my surprise, he wasn’t disgusted or afraid. He thought it was kinda sexy. So we started dating and then we were married after graduation.”
“Two years before I was born,” I said. I knew this part of the story although Mom had always just said they’d met in college.
“We’d lived together for a year before we decided to have children,” she continued. “Obviously, I couldn’t become pregnant. I wish I could have. I wanted so badly to carry you and feel you growing inside me. But such is life.”
“So who did give birth to me?” I asked.
“Your Aunt Natalie,” was her surprising answer. I was stunned. Natalie was not my real aunt, I knew, just my mother’s oldest friend. I had no knowledge of this, however. “We considered adoption, but we wanted our baby to be part of us, so we asked Natalie to be the surrogate mother and she agreed. Her only request was that she remain a part of the baby’s life, which she has.”
“So who donated?” I asked, unable to use the word sperm in front of my mother.
“I did,” she said. “We expected to have another child at some point and figured we’d donate the next time around.”
“Then he got cancer,” I said.
“Right,” my mom replied, lowering her head. “Your father loved me very much, but he loved you more than anything in the world. He always thought of you as his son and me as your mother. He died happy because of you.”
My mother’s voice was a harsh whisper, choked with tears. Seeing her, on the verge of open weeping, I forgot my confusion and opened my arms to her. She hugged me tightly, crying into my shoulder. I held her, stroking her head, beginning to cry as well.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I wish I could have been a real mother to you.”
I pulled away and looked her in the eye. I didn’t see a transsexual or a sperm donor. I saw the woman who kissed me goodnight, who made my lunches, who had always shown me nothing but love and kindness my entire life.
“You are my mother,” I said, “and I love you.”
“I love you too, honey,” she said, and held me once again.
By the time I went to bed, things had more or less returned to normal. My mother had been born a man, with the package to prove it. But she was my mother and I didn’t care about that. She and I were a team and that wouldn’t change now. As my mom kissed me goodnight, my mind was on Ann. My mom said goodnight and left the room, flicking off the lights. Alone in the dark with only my thoughts, I recalled what had transpired.
Suddenly, I had a small epiphany. If I was concerned that I might be gay, I should talk to someone who had been through the same experience. And I had just such a person under the same roof! Surely my mom had dealt with these same feelings at some point. It would be awkward talking to her about this sort of thing but nowhere near as awkward as it had been for her to talk to me about her life.
Finally, I threw back the covers and climbed out of bed. Dressed in my t-shirt and boxer shorts, I crept out of my room and down the hall to my mom’s room. Her light was still on, so I knocked.
“Mom?” I called.
“Just a sec!” she called back. I heard shuffling in the room, then she said, “Come in.”
I walked into the room, ringing my hands together as I shuffled towards her. She was in bed, with her blankets pulled up to her stomach. She wore a white, flannel nightgown embroidered with pink and purple flowers. She was sitting up as if she’d been watching TV but nothing was on the screen.
“Hi,” I said.
“What’s up?” she asked. I moved closer.
“I need to talk to you about something?” I said.
“Sure, kiddo,” she said, patting the spot on the bed next to her. “What’s on your mind?”
“Well,” I said, sitting beside her, “I was over at Ann’s today and . . . I feel weird talking about this . . . but we started to get kind of physical.” Mom raised her eyebrows. “But, I didn’t feel anything. Anything except nervous, anyway. I think . . . I think I might be gay.”
My mom thought about it for a moment, then responded.
“I know how that feels,” she said. “I had been attracted to other boys as long as I could remember but, when I was about your age, I started looking at other girls differently.”
“Really?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah,” she said. “The important thing to remember is that sexuality is a very broad thing. Just because you feel sexually attracted to one man or you have sex with one, it doesn’t mean you’re gay. Or, if you aren’t turned on by one particular woman, that doesn’t mean you’re gay either.”
“So how do I know?” I asked.
“You just need to experiment until you find what you like,” she said.
“Oh,” I said, a little disappointed. My mom looked at me and smiled. I smiled back weakly. I was hoping Mom would have some more answers. Shrugging, I figured I could try looking at some gay porn and see if I liked it. It was worth a shot.
“Wait, I have an idea,” my mom finally said. I looked over at her, sitting on the bed beside me in her nightgown. “I have a video you could watch.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“An . . . adult video,” she said, blushing. My mom had porn! I was stunned for the millionth time today. “Want to watch it? I’ll turn it off if you don’t like it.”
“Alright,” I said nervously. I had trouble comprehending the idea of watching gay porn with my mom. Of course, I had managed to comprehend the idea of my mom having a penis, so I supposed I could handle anything.
My mom reached for the DVD remote on the night table to the right of the bed. She pointed it at the television, pressed a button, and the television turned on. She pressed another button and a DVD began to play, beginning with a title screen which read: “Twink Farmboys #3”. She fast-forwarded through the credits to the first scene, which opened with a picturesque scene of a country farm, then cut to the inside of a barn.
There was a brown-haired, teenage boy with blue eyes wearing nothing but jeans and a cowboy hat, moving some wooden crates. I found myself admiring his flat stomach and muscular arms and wondering wha the would look like naked. Just then, another teenage boy who had blonde hair and was wearing overalls, stepped into the frame. He walked over to the first boy and they greeted one another.
“My pa is out fo rthe day,” said the blonde.
“I’m just about finished anyway,” said the brunette.
“You look like you could use a drink,” the blonde remarked. “Or maybe a blowjob.”
The brunette, apparently caught unaware by this proposal, backed away but found only a wall behind him. The blonde moved in, pressing his hands against the brunette’s firm chest and kissing his neck. His fingers moved down to the brunette’s jeans and he unbuttoned the fly as the brunette gave into his urges. Once the jeans were open, the blonde pulled out his friend’s seven-inch, hard, uncircumcised cock and began to suck eagerly.
Meanwhile, my own dick was rock hard. I was so caught up in the video that I didn’t notice the tent I’d pitched in my boxers. My mom, however, did notice. She looked over at me, smiled, then looked down at my crotch. I blushed madly.
“You like it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said. “Those guys are cute.”
“Why don’t you get under the covers?” she suggested. “Get warm.”
“OK,” I replied.
Mom pulled down the blankets past her knees, making room for me to swing my legs under the covers. Looking over at her, I suddenly noticed that I wasn’t the only one who had pitched a tent. There was an unmistakable rise in the fabric of her nightgown which pulled the hem of the garment tantalizingly close to the place where her legs met. I looked at her and smiled, still blushing. She smiled back.