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btraven
btraven
319 Followers

"Yeah. She's nice looking, sure. heh-heh" He looked at me and, then, added quickly, "But heh-heh not as foxy as you, of course."

"Kevin, I want the truth. Do men have a thing for ... pantyhose."

"Pantyhose? Yeah, sho'. They're nice."

"I know about things like stocking and garterbelts - but why pantyhose? Their so - so ... utilitarian!"

"Sure, they're nice, sho'. Heh-heh. Yeah, man. They can float my boat."

"But I don't wear pantyhose."

"Hey, you one foxy babe. Heh-heh. You doan hafta wear anythin' a tall!" He reached for the button on my blouse.

"Stop that." I shooed his hand away. "Would you like me to wear pantyhose?"

Kevin's eyes widdened. "You gettin' ma motor runnin', for sure, Sweetcheeks."

"But I thought you loved me the way I was?"

"Yeah, yeah. heh-heh. yeah." He shrugging his shoulders in resignation. "Listen, Dee why don't we just ... you know?"

"Do you think I look like a boy, Kevin?"

He reached for my breast. "Not where it counts, heh-heh."

I pulled away and stood up.

"Hey, where ya goin'?"

"I'm calling it a night, Kevin."

I heard his voice trailing off behind me as I walked down the stairs. "Hey, Dee, howcha doin' on dat literature paper. I gotta haf it by Friday. Professor A-Hole says dat I need an A on da paper to bring up my average to a D!" I didn't reply.

The house was dark when I got home. I checked the time. 1:35a.

A dread came over. I didn't know what to expect. What if that superdyke was still here? Or what if I found something even worse?

Quietly I tiptoed up the stairs. I could hears noises as I reached the top the stairs. No! Carefully I walked up to her open bedroom door. As I peered into the dark room I saw the sheet rise and fall in an easy rhythm with each of Mother's raspy snores. I had to take a step into the room to verify if she was alone in the bed. I stood there motionless over Mother's sleeping form for a few minutes without really feeling or thinking anything. She seemed so peaceful. Maybe dreaming.

I opened the refrigerator, looked inside, and, then, looked around the kitchen. It was was enveloped in shadows created from light of the open refrigerator door. I thought back on what had taken place here early this morning. It seemed so long ago - if it happened at all. Did I just imagine everything?

I turned on the light under the cabinets. The light was enough to make out the kitchen around her. The table was cleared of dishes from this morning. A framed message in needlepoint on the wall closest to the table read 'Marilyn's Kitchen' in an ornate script. Everything looked so normal, so usual. Could those things have actually happened here. She looked at the chair Mrs. Douglas had sat in this morning. My chair!

Had it really happened here? I looked around. An idea suddenly occurred to me; and I removed the lid to the trash basket and peered inside. I removed contents carefully, placing old coffee filters, spoiled tomatoes, and potato' shavings in the kitchen sink. Underneath were newspapers. I removed the papers and finally saw the brown fabric bunched in the corner. I reached in and held the translucent material up to the light. Pantyhose. I opened the pantyhose up. My heart jumped a beat as I saw the open crotch. The crotch was torn badly as if it had been - chewed. I searched the trash can further and saw what I was looking for under a banana peel. The white cotton crotch panel had pieces of nylon at the edges. I thought of Mother holding this piece of fabric in her mouth like a dog. I brought it up to my nose. It smelled earthy, like a litter of new puppies. The smell of a woman. The smell of a woman in heat. It was intoxicating.

I put the garbage back, being very careful to arrange the pantyhose exactly the way I found it. I discovered, though, I had forgotten to replace the moist cotton panel. My sweaty hand clenched it tightly.

I found the paddle immediately on top of the refrigerator. I ran my palm again its smooth wooden surface. It felt electric to the touch. Mother always kept it handy on top of the refrigerator - when she used to use it on me. On me!

I still clutched the smelly cotton panel in my fist as I laid the paddle down on the table and sat down -- on my chair. The clock on the wall ticked loudly as I sat in the darkness. I felt so alone in the shadows until I caught the comforting sight Mr. and Mrs. Farmer. I smiled. There, on one end of table neatly arranged around of stack of napkins, were a handpainted porcelain salt and pepper set -- a farmer and his pretty country wife. It was a present from Dad to Mother during happier times when we first moved to this house from a city apartment. 7 years old at the time, I immediately called them Mr. and Mrs. Farmer. Mother and Dad would play along with my imaginary conversations with the procelain farm family. They were a ready topic for conversation during family meals: "Mr. and Mrs. Farmer love ice cream because it comes from the milk made from their cow."

"But Mr. and Mrs. Farmer didn't really like broccoli because they wouldn't grow something so yucky, would they?"

But Dad patted my hair, commenting gently, "But, Dee Dee, Mr. and Mrs. Farmer want you to grow up strong." "I'm a girl, Daddy. I'm not 'posed to have big mus-kills." "Dee Dee, you don't need muscles to be strong. I want you to grow up into a strong young lady who can stand up for yourself." I had visions of Dee Dee as a mighty Power Puff Girl. "Neato!" I flexed a little girl bicep to Daddy. And we both laughed together. But then I asked, "Then, why did Mr. and Mrs. Farmer make brocoli so yucky?" Daddy smiled. "We all need some yuckies in life, Dee, in order to grow stronger." "But why, Daddy, do ..." "...just eat your brocoli. It's getting cold. OK?", said Mommy impatiently.

That little 7 year girl would have many private conversations. "Mr. and Mrs. Farmer were in love with each just like you, Mommy and Daddy", I would say. And Mother and Dad would kiss affectionately in response. "And Mr. and Mrs. Farmer loved their little girl so much. Heaps and heaps and forever keeps."

And a few years later a 10 year old little girl would talk to Mr. and Mrs. Farmer: "You still love each other, don't you, Mrs. and Mrs. Farmer? Even if Mommy and Daddy argue so much? ...and you still love your little girl, don't you?"

Six months later is the worse day of my life. I grab Daddy's arm with dear life as he walks toward the front door with a suitcase in each hand. "I want to go with you, Daddy. Please. Don't leave me." "Dee Dee ..." Daddy's eyes, a steel gray, were full of pain. "... I don't want to leave but it is the best for all of us. Sometimes things are ...". His eyes searched above as if looking for an answer. "... complicated between grown-ups."

"Why can't I go with you instead of staying with Mommy?"

"Sweetie ... this is so hard for me." For the first time that I can recall I saw Daddy's eyes grow moist. "I'll explain someday. I need you to bestrong. Can you do that for do that for Daddy?" "Daddy! Please! Please don't leave me. Please! ..."

I stood there with tears streaming down my face in the open doorway, and watched as Daddy's car drive away. I must have stood there outside the door for hours hoping that I would see Daddy returning. Mother finally had to threaten me with the paddle to get me to come back inside.

I found myself back in the darkened kitchen. My eyes welled up with tears.

Both of my hands were folded tightly in my lap. I was hot, sweaty. Unconfortable. My jeans felt too tight.

I swear the next thing I knew I heard a snap and the smooth metallic sound of a zipper being undone as my fingers opened my jeans. The coolness so felt good. Blessed relief from the pressure.

I felt my abdomen for the familar water bloating but felt only usual my flat tummy. I wasn't realy surpised because I knew that I should have at least another two weeks before it was my time again. My hand felt good, though, resting on the clammy flesh. Oddly, comforting.

But there was a itching. An irritant, somewhere inside. I slipped my hand down inside the top of my panties. Everything felt normal. I moved my hand down further. My fingers encountered that soft furry feel that always reminded me of the silky touch of a pet bunny I once had. I pushed my hand further south of the border.

Normally, I did like not touch myself there unless to take care of business. I didn't even care for Kevin or my one other boyfriend from high school to play around much there. It's not a prude or anything; they were cool with it. Sex was fine but I just wasn't especially comfortable with manual stimulation of clumsy and probably unwashed hands groping around down there. Anyway, I gave them what they wanted; and I didn't have any complaints.

I suspected yet another yeast infection. I had my last outbreak about 2 months ago. When I touched my outer lips I jerked back immediately in white-hot pain!

God. It was so much worse that any prior infection. Electricity shoot down my pelvis. I gulped for air. I felt beads of sweat bead on my forehead. When had this started? My hand was covered with a sheen of moisture. And I felt my body quivering.

I put my hand back gently, tentatively. But when my hand touched the soreness again, the feeling was somehow different. There was a spreading warmth through my lower body. Oh, God. I could feel my nipples stiffen. I bit down hard on my lower lip. Is this how it felt? Was I turned on all day, or did I just become aroused.

I leaned forward on the chair. I moved my other free hand downward but discovered that the sticky piece of cotton was still balled up in my hand. I lifted it up, and held it under my nose.

Oh, fuck... The musky smell overwhelm me. I heard myself moaning. Was it just biology? Pheromones? The scent of a woman in heat? I wasn't attracted to other women. Certainly not that dyke who was with Mother who I didn't like -- even before this morning. I was straight. I had boyfriends. I had a healthy sex life...

I took another whiff. God. That thick animal odor cut right through me. Ohhhh. With no apparent conscious effort my index finger entered the folds of my pussy. When I touched my button, my sweet button, I heard myself moaning loudly.

My fingers played with that little nubbin, my hot spot. Images flooded my mind ... the purple-red knob of Kevin's cock ... anonymous cocks penetrating me ... fucking me. Tongues lapping at me, Kevin somehow morphing into Matt Damon. My fingers stroked harder at my clit. My hot spot that was now the center of my existence. I could now smell that same tell-tale musk coming from me. The scent of a woman in heat. The scent of a woman in control. I saw a brief fleeting image of Daddy. No! My mind fought back and Daddy was replaced by Kevin with an impossibly long cock and a sheepish grin. I could hear my fingers making squishing sounds as they continued kneading my clit.

I hiked up my tee-shirt and slid one hand up my bra. My nipple felt raw and achy, my breasts swollen. I pinched the nipple hard as made other hand continued their frenzied teasing of my delicious button. Images flashed faster, becoming of kaleidoscope of quivering flesh. Uhhhhhh ....

In my mind I saw Mother bareassed on the floor, hungrily lapping at Mrs. Douglas's pussy. My hips jerked up and down, causing the wooden chair under me to inch forward on the ceramic tiles. In a fever-vision I now saw Mother's with her face buried in my lap. Oh ... God I could feel her now. I tried desperately to fight that vision. Replace it with something safer. God. Her tongue. She submitted to me and dominated me at the same time with the wondeful tongue. Mommy. Another image flashed. A large bald-headed man with a gold earring was mounting me. Mounting his bitch. The sweat glistened off the tar-black skin of his muscular back as he faded away ... Mother's eyes egged me on, daring me to cum as her tongue darted expertly at my sore clit. Oh, God. My sweet bitch knew just I needed -- and what she wanted. I could feel my toes curling. Oh .. oh ... No! Not yet! Oh .. oh .. ahhhh ...

My body spasmed, and I collapsed like a ragdoll and fell to the cold tile floor of that dark, still kitchen.

The next morning I awoke early to the familar whistling of a cardinal outside my opem bedroom window. The air was moist, smelling of freshly turned soil and that green, verdant smell of new life. I stood up on steady feet. I felt fully rested, so alive. Everything was right with the world.

I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. 7:03AM. That was about an hour earlier than my usual waking time. What had actually happened last night? Yesterday morning? Was it a dream? I glanced downward and was reassured that I was dressed in my usual conformable nightshirt. My fingers quickly verified that I was also wearing a pair of cotton panties. Whatever happened, it behind me now. Yesterday's news. I was now living in the here and now.

I started to make my bed. But when I fluffed my down pillow, something fell to the ground. I picked it up. The cotton panel. It looked like a rag with tattered (chewed!, a voice whispered in my head) threads of nylons at the edges. The cotton had acquired a yellowish color that I had not noticed before.

I brought it up to my face. No. I knew I had to stop. Now. I had to seize control before - before what? I moment later I breathed it in deeply. That deep rutting smell was still there but was definitely fainter. Like yesterday's fleeting memories ... But I quickly put down my hand before I could change my mind. I glanced momentarily at the wastebasket under my computer desk. No. Mother sometimes emptied it. It would be better to put it back with the kitchen garbage but there was no safe way to do that now. Mother was likely already downstairs. Finally, I slipped it inside the soft folds of my pillow. It would be safe there until I could safely dispose of it. Later.

I took cleansing shower that I ran as hot as I could bear. When I stepped out of the tub I was just a pink shadow in the mirror until I wiped down the steamed-up mirror with the end of my towel.

God. Was that really me? I cupped my right breast. I didn't get Mother's genes but they had definitely filled out this past year. My hips had also widened, I thought to myself, as I turned my bottom toward the mirror. There were still traces of that slender little girl in my outline but I had filled out enough to give me a slight hourglass figure. With facination I saw the light pink nipple start to stiffen at my touch.

Curves. When had this happened? It shouldn't be a complete surprise that I might still be growing at nineteen. I was a late bloomer, Daddy had remarked to me on my last visit at Christmas. At the time I had disregarded his comment as kindness on his part at the time but maybe I have changed some.

I didn't spend much time prissing myself in front of the mirror or comparing myself to all the other empty-headed bimbettes out there. I already had a boyfriend. And he liked me just the way I was. But did I really know him, a voice said in my mind. Did I really know myself? Maybe I never spend much time before the mirror because I was afraid that the person looking back at me might have been someone I didn't know.

But maybe I now ready to know that person, I thought, as I picked out my clothes for the day. I slipped on a satin pair of panties and a lacy Bali bra that I worn a single time to wedding several months earlier. The dress was a peach spring dress with a scoop-neck that I hadn't worn since my cousin's graduation a year ago. The dress, though, not a mini, was on the short side when I last wore it. But I must have grown some, because the dress now barely reaches mid-thigh. I looked at myself in the mirror as I applied lip gloss. Even my bra, a 34B demi-cup, felt snugger. I had barely showed a hint of cleavage in this dress only a few months ago. I remember replying in anger at Mother's suggestion that I wear some padding. Now, I thought as I arched my back in front of the mirror, I have real boobs peeking out of the dress. I looked at myself again and an image popped into my head. With my short blond pageboy (I hated fussing with long hair) and my slim build an image popped into my head. A younger Cameron Diaz? Yeah ... right, I replied to myself.

But who was this new person? What would Kevin think? Would he like the new image, or would he morn the lost of old blue-jeaned babe? I thought he would like it, but there was so much I didn't know then.

And what would Mother think, a voice whispered in back of my mind. I let that last question hang in the air unanswered.

I rummaged for several minutes in the back of my lingerie drawer but all I could find were two old pairs of pantyhose full of runs that I hadn't worn in ages. Damn.

I knew by the smell of eggs that Mother was already downstairs preparing breakfast as I entered Mother's room and opened a dresser drawer. I sorted through several pairs of pantyhose until I found what I was looked for: offblack, seamed - and sheer to waist. Control top as well - although I hardly needed that particular feature. My hands shook as I rolled them up my legs. I barely recognized myself as I looked at myself from Mother's bedroom mirror. The pantyhose felt cool and so smooth. I couldn't get over the tingly feeling of the nylon against me. It was electric. Like a second skin that enhanced my own. My fingers glided up my legs until they lingered at the junction of my legs. Even through the double layer of the cotton panel of the stockings and my panties I could feel the inner heat within.

An idea came to me. I couldn't! No! But I found myself rolling down the pantyhose and stripping off my panties. My legs were weak as I rolled the pantyhose back on. I almost came as I felt the pantyhose pressed tightly against my bare and very wet crotch. I was flushed. Was I taking things too far now. What would Kevin say? Was I ready to present this side of myself?

Mother didn't look up as I sat down at the breakfast table.

She turned from the stove. "How do you want your e... what in the world happened to you?"

"I decided to try something new."

"Well... It's an improvement. Certainly."

"Maybe you were right, Mother. About how I dress and all."

"Aren't you going to school today?"

"Yeah, I'm going. Don't you like my new image? You've always told me I dress like a boy."

"Well, I'm just surprised. That's all. I'm take aback." Mother had a pensive look as she scooped coffee into the coffee filter. She looked up suddenly at me with a smirk. "New boyfriend, right? I knew it! I knew you'd dump that loser and find ..."

"... Kevin and I are still together."

"What then ...?"

"Oh, I've just decided to start taking control of things in my life." I smiled openly. "And I've had a good teacher."

"Who?"

"You, Mother, of course. I've seen how you take control." I grinned widely.

Mother creased her forehead in puzzlement, started to mumble something but turned around to start the coffee maker.

Throughout breakfast Mother said little but I caught her sneaking glances at me when she thought I wasn't looking.

I finally met her eyes as she glanced over as she put a forkful of eggs to her mouth. I could tell she tried to look away but she knew she was now caught in my stare.

None of us said anything. I could hear the clock on the wall now ticking loudly as Mother nervously got up to reach for the coffee pot.

Later I would re-play this scene in the kitchen over and over in my mind in order to try to understand what had taken place. It was these few pregnant moments, I had decided, that were the turning point of what was to be. I had not planned anything that morning. Honestly. Certainly, I took some glee in the mind-games I had played with Mother but I intended nothing else. Really. Maybe it was Mother's deer-caught-in-the-headlights reaction to me when I caught her staring. Maybe it was the uncharacteristic vulnerability that she exposed to me. But I believe it was more than that. Something unseen has passed between us that morning in the kitchen.

btraven
btraven
319 Followers