Coming of Age

Preface

This fictional story is based on personal experiences. All of the characters in this story are eighteen years old or older.

Without the help and support from MissJenny54 and Lindat817, publication of this story would not have been possible. Additionally, I thank Dorothy, my mother, for her love and my life.

DDM

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Coming of Age

I gently slide the dresser drawer open. It is the entire width of the chest of drawers, the first from the top. I am careful to remember how the contents are arranged. There are two stacks of neatly folded panties on the left side, full and half-slips on the right and bras and garter belts neatly stored in the middle. The lingerie is colorful; I see pink, white, black, and red. Everything in the drawer smells like her perfume. I know the electric sensation I will get when I touch the panties and slips.

There are three small drawers in the top row of the dresser. Nylon stockings are in the center, and unopened packages of new stockings are on the bottom, covered by freshly washed pairs rolled together. One clean stocking sits near the top, its matching partner discarded because of a run. Most of the stockings are a dark shade of tan, and others are a smokey black shade. I notice how the stockings are laid out in the smaller drawer. I will make sure it will look just as I found it when I'm finished.

She is away for the weekend to Lake Tahoe for some fun. She enjoys gambling a little but goes with some of her girlfriends for the big-name entertainment at one of the larger casino resorts. I will be home alone for two nights.

I am a senior in high school and recently turned eighteen. She is not worried about me being alone since several neighbors are keeping their eyes on me. She taught me to cook and clean and knows I can care for myself. I plan on doing just that.

I don't think she has anything "special" planned for her weekend away or plans with someone special. Her remarkably sexy red lingerie ensemble is at home, and I am staring at it in the drawer. She saves this ensemble only for special occasions.

My mother is a gorgeous woman. Her measurements are 36C, 24, 36, a figure much like Marilyn Monroe. She is 5' 6" tall, with brown eyes and medium-length hair. She always dresses stylishly, and I rarely see her without makeup. Her name is Dorothy.

I have an image of her breasts firmly planted in my mind. One of my first memories was bathing with her when I was about two years old. I remember wondering when I would have such beautifully formed breasts with small pink nipples like hers. While comparing the tiny nipples on my chest, I noticed a thing between my legs that she didn't have. Instead, she had a pretty little triangle of fur. I was bewildered. I wanted a pretty little triangle of fur between my legs, just like Mommy's, and I wanted breasts, just like Mommy's. To this day, I compare the breasts of all other women to hers, which were perfect. Their shapely full curves were adorned with small pink nipples, perfectly placed to point slightly up.

Which bra should I wear tonight? I wonder. I love every one of her bras because they all have caressed her lovely breasts. Which panties should I wear? I deliberate. I love every one of her panties because they all have nuzzled her pretty little triangle of fur.

Mommy used to take me when she shopped for clothes. She would dress me in fancy clothes, and looking back at pictures of me dressed up at that age, those clothes were somewhat effeminate.

I recall one particular shopping trip when I was about five. We were in a department store changing room, and Mommy asked me to stand on the bench and unzip her dress. I climbed down as she was hanging it up. She turned to face me, and I experienced something new: a thrill. I knew this was special, a private moment we shared; I saw Mommy in her pretty lingerie. "You are beautiful, Mommy!" She wore a semi-transparent, lace-adorned white slip, her bra and panties visible underneath. I stepped forward and wanted to touch her.

"Oh, Desi. Thank you for telling me that," she said, reaching her arms down to me. She hugged me when I wrapped my arms around her waist and held me tight for a moment... which I never forgot. The side of my face was snuggled into her tummy. I smelled her perfume and felt the silky fabric of her slip and her warmth on my cheek. My hands moved down and experienced two layers of smooth material sliding across each other as my hands caused the slip to glide across her panty-clad bottom. There was no other feeling like it, and the sensation was electrifying.

Which slip should I wear tonight? I wonder. Each of them in the drawer has been wrapped around her before.

On another shopping trip with Mommy, we were in the changing room alone, and I unzipped her dress like before. Standing before her this time, I watched as she removed her dress. She was wearing a pink half-slip, which she pulled down, stepped out of and over. My eyes were adorned with an amazing sight, another image etched forever in my mind: as she bent over to pick up her half-slip, her pink lacy bra was struggling to contain her breasts, her cleavage on full display for me.

It was stunning to see her full brief, sheer pink panties with delicate white lace along the leg openings. I could see her pink garter belt beneath, with the garter straps extending down and attached to her sheer tan stockings. Her slender legs disappeared into a pair of pink high-heeled shoes. I gazed in wonderment and wanted to have underwear just like Mommy's. Although I was much too young to realize it then, my feminine sexual persona and gender fluidity were cemented at that moment.

Which garter belt should I wear tonight? I ask. I know I'll wear dark tan stockings with her lingerie. I want to be just like my sexy and beautiful mother.

As a child, I had household chores to perform. Most nights, Mommy and I would clean the dinner dishes and the kitchen. We alternated who would wash and who would dry. Mommy would let me wear her long yellow rubber gloves when it was my turn to wash. "Always wear gloves to protect your hands and fingernails, Desi. And remember to put some hand cream on afterwards," she would say with concern to protect my soft skin.

Every Friday evening, she would give me a manicure and pedicure. Sometimes, she would put light pink colored nail polish on my toenails. We would giggle together, like a mother and the daughter she never had. On Saturdays, I helped her with the laundry. She would ensure my fingernails were smooth and tell me, "Ragged nails can easily snag and ruin my underwear and stockings, Desi. Please be careful." I was also responsible for folding and putting away clean clothes. Her lingerie was my specialty. I learned how she expected them to look on hangers or dresser drawers.

There was always the latest copy of several department store catalogs around the house. I would often gaze upon the cute models in the lingerie section. I had my favorites, of models and sexy apparel.

We lived in a suburban neighborhood with a community swimming pool. I learned to swim there and was on the swim team when I was older. When I turned sixteen, I worked there part-time as a lifeguard after school and on Saturdays. Before swim meets, Dorothy would help me shave all over below my shoulders, a practice I continue. I seemed to live in Speedos while growing up, but Dorothy didn't mind. Although I rinsed off before leaving work at the swimming pool earlier in the afternoon, I took another shower and thoroughly shaved when I got home. I dried my stylishly long hair and sprayed a bit of Dorothy's perfume on my neck.

In her bedroom, I start dressing and decide on red. The sensation of her pretty red panties sliding up my legs sends a shiver between them, and my cock tingles. Gliding them up to my waist, the silkiness encases and arouses me. I become rigid and push against the fabric, forming a tent in the undies. The lacy red bra I picked goes on next. I stuff each cup with a rolled-up pair of stockings to fill them out. I attach the red garter belt around my waist, pull the briefs over the top, then reach in and feed the garter straps through the leg openings.

I sit on the bed, gently slipping my foot into a stocking and adjusting the end seam to align with my toes. The silky stocking feels fantastic as I drag it evenly up my leg and attach it to the garter straps. I repeat the process for the stocking on my other leg.

My reflection in the mirror is pleasing as I sit at Dorothy's cosmetics table. It is not Desi I see before me; the person applying her makeup and brushing her hair is named Debbie.

Debbie selects a phenomenal red slip from the lingerie drawer and steps into it. The body is satiny, adorned with eight inches of translucent red chiffon along the hem, and the bodice is trimmed with red lace. She views her image in the full-length mirror while placing the straps over her shoulders. Debbie sees a beautiful young woman staring back at her.

The phone rings, and I rush to the living room to answer it.

"Hi, Sweetie... it's Mom. We made it to our hotel, and traffic wasn't too bad getting here. Is everything OK?"

"Yes, Mom. It's all good here. Have you won any money yet?" I ask.

"I haven't played any slot machines yet. I will later. We just checked in, and I wanted to let you know we arrived safely."

"OK, Mom. Thanks for letting me know."

"Are you going out with Nicole tonight?" She asks.

"No, Mom. She's going to a slumber party at Carol's house. Nicole and I are going to a movie tomorrow night," I reply. Nicole is my new girlfriend, and Carol is Nicole's best friend.

"Sounds good, Desi. Tell her "Hi" for me."

"Have fun in Tahoe, Mom. Bye."

"Bye-bye, Sweetie." The call ends with a click.

****************

There is a pair of Dorothy's black strappy high-heel sandals that I can still wear, and I put them on. I browse Dorothy's closet and select a burgundy plaid skirt and a gray cashmere V-neck sweater. From a jewelry box, I borrow a pearl necklace and clip-on earrings with a pearl finish. I grab a small cream-colored purse and put a tube of lipstick inside after applying more on my lips. I brush and fluff my hair and add the brush to the purse with my wallet. I borrow a wide-brimmed floppy hat and put it on. I'm finished dressing and ready to go.

I don't see any neighbors when I start the car and drive away, buzzing with excitement. It is about a 10-minute drive to my go-to fast food outlet with a drive-up window. I hope I'm not recognized, but while waiting in line for my order, I adjust the rear-view mirror and apply more lipstick. Thankfully, I arrive home without incident. It was thrilling enough to go out as a woman.

In a ladylike manner, I enjoy my meal. I cross my legs and feel the swish of the stockings. With my erect feminine posture, I arch my back slightly and push my chest out to display my breasts with each breath and eat with dainty movements.

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I pull back the covers on Dorothy's bed, sit on the edge, cross my legs femininely and look across the room to my reflection in the full-length mirror. I uncross my legs, spread them apart slightly, and partially lift the hem of the skirt. I watch in the mirror while my hand slides up my leg and caresses my bare thigh above my stockings. Fingertips lightly trace around my hard cock. I've wanted to do this for a long time, since I first started getting hard-ons in junior high school, to feel and arouse myself in these sexy red panties used for special occasions, and this is my most special one.

I unbuckle the ankle straps, kick off the sandals, take the cashmere sweater off and stand. I step out of the skirt and run my hands down the front below my bust and brush against my erection, causing my dick to throb. I slide my hands across my bottom and feel the silkiness of the slip moving across the panties, reminding me of being in the changing room with Dorothy so many years ago, and I'm ecstatic.

I lay on the bed and dream I'm about to be fucked. Raising the hem of the slip to my waist, I spread my legs apart and raise my knees. My hands glide from my thighs to my waist repeatedly. My cock twitches with each encounter, and I move my hips up and down. I spread the index and middle finger on both hands and persistently stroke my stiff prick between my fingers, alternating hands. I twitch whenever they brush against the head as they slide up.

I feel my orgasm building. With my panty-covered stiff member gripped sensitively in my hand, up and down strokes bring me to a climax. The cum blasts out, and euphoric, I briefly lose conscious thought.

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Saturday morning finds me cleaning up the mess I made last night; my head is still reeling from the experience. I didn't expect it to be anywhere near as satisfying. I wash the lingerie by hand and drape the delicate items to dry in the bathroom. Except for the lingerie drying, I put everything back in order, ensuring nothing was out of place.

I put on my Speedos, lifeguard tank top, sweatshirt, and sweatpants and walk to the swimming pool for my work shift. The weather is fine, and nothing remarkable happens during my shift. Returning home, I have a quick bite for dinner, then shower, shave, and dress for my date with Nicole.

"Where are you taking my daughter tonight, Desi?" Nicole's father asked.

"There is a new movie playing at the Palo Alto Theater. It's called Love Story. Nicole really wants to see it," I explain. "We should be back by eleven. Is that OK?"

"That's fine, Desi. Drive carefully," Mr. Edwards said.

We get in my car and drive away. We stop a few blocks from her house and make-out. "Do you know anything about the movie, Nicole?" I ask when we come up for air. "We might need to tell your parents about it when I take you home."

"Carol saw it and said it's about a young couple in love, but she gets sick and dies. Ryan O'Neal and Ali MacGraw play the couple," Nicole said.

"That's perfect."

Driving to my house, Nicole crouches down as we go through my neighborhood. I park in the garage; no one is watching as I close the garage door.

Nicole and I are virgins, but not for much longer. We'd explored each other in a parked car before, but she was uncomfortable. We both celebrated our eighteenth birthday recently, and this is our first chance to be alone indoors.

"Let's go to your room, Desi. That's where we should do it." She said. I take her hand and lead her down the hallway to my room. We embrace each other and kiss deeply; our tongues intertwine, and her perfume fills my nostrils. Our breathing is heavy. "Desi, I need to use the bathroom first," she says. It's important."

"Sure, it's just down the hall. My mom and I share it. Make yourself at home," I reply.

I remove my shoes, socks, and shirt and wait. Nicole returns wearing Dorothy's sexy red slip. "Your mother would want me to wear this tonight, I think," Nicole says with a comely look on her pretty face. She is irresistible. She unfastens my belt and lowers my zipper. "I want to see all of you, Desi. I want to make love with you," she purrs. My pants and shorts were soon part of the past. After staring at my rock-hard cock, she reaches for it, and it throbs in her hands. She is the only other person to caress me like this."Desi, it's beautiful. I want him inside me. I want him to make me a real woman," Nicole says.

When I draw her into a close embrace, my hands explore her through the red slip, and she does not let go of my erection. I move a shoulder strap down her arm, exposing one of her pretty, perky breasts, which I fondle. It was another new experience for me. I do the same to her other side. I bend down and kiss both nipples, one at a time. She shudders and releases me. The red slip falls to the floor with a little help from me. We stand naked, looking at each other.

We kiss deeply once more, and I move my hand down her body and feel her mound of Venus. My index finger finds her pussy lips and wanders there, then slides partway inside her wet and slick pussy. Nicole nudges me on top of her, and we lay on my bed. She spreads her legs and raises her knees, and I move in between them, rubbing my dick across her swelling lips. She lifts her hips and guides me into her. My dick slides halfway in, but the pathway is blocked. I withdraw and push back in with more force; we are no longer virgins. Nicole meets me as I thrust into her. I twitch, and she responds with a clench. It is like we were made for each other; it was heavenly.

It doesn't take long before I cum. What a wonderful feeling as I fill her with my seed! She continues to grip me until I soften and slide out. Side-by-side, we kiss deeply, arms enveloping each other.

"Desi, I'm lying in a wet spot," she tells me. "Ewwww, it's all bloody!"

"I'm sorry, babe. We should have known this would happen," I respond. "We better take care of it." We strip the sheets off the bed, and I carry them to the laundry room and start the washer. I'm still naked when I return and find Nicole in the bathroom.

"We should wash this, too," she says, holding the red slip. A few minutes later, it is hanging to dry.

Soon, we are in the shower, sensually washing each other. Nicole's long, dirty-blonde hair is stuffed into Dorothy's shower cap. We dry each other and put our clothes back on.

We drive to A&W, where many of our friends hang out on Saturday nights, and we know a few car hops from school. We have some burgers and root beer.

"Well, Desi, now that we've done it, how do you feel?" She asks.

"Oh, Nicole, It's better than I expected. Did I hurt you when... you know, when your membrane broke?"

"It hurt a little at first, but I forgot about it when you slid into me. I could feel you cumming, and I loved that sensation. I love you, Desi."

"I love you, too, Nicole."

I drive her home. We were early, but it looks like nobody is waiting for us to return. We kiss goodnight, and she disappears inside.

****************

I wake up in the middle of the night, conflicted. I can't go back to sleep with a jumble of thoughts running in circles around my brain. I am upset because of how I feel about myself and my sexual experiences during the last two nights. I loved them both, being a woman and a man. These thoughts continued until morning.

Thinking about it later, I realized I could be both and be happy. Maybe I was born to be both, and Dorothy helped make it happen. I'm Desi and Debbie, "DeeDee," but I better not tell anyone. I don't think anyone else would understand.