Natural Inclinations Pt. 01

With his heart pounding in his chest and breathing still labored, Peter put his hands on his hips to steady himself.

For the next several moments, Peter and the woman simply stood there silently staring at each other, each still recovering from their respective surprises.

Peter's attempts at piecing together just what got him there was looking more and more like the only dangers that ever existed had all been in his mind, the result of his overactive imagination. So much of his mental capacity was being used to work this out it left him completely immobilized.

The teen had now stood frozen, outside, and fully exposed, for an ample length of time to be thoroughly sized-up by this stranger. A woman he had never met before.

Finally, snapping back to reality, Peter jumped inside to hide behind the door. Shaken and utterly embarrassed by what he'd just been through, Peter was eager to close the door and put this misadventure behind him. Just the same, there were questions he needed answers to.

Leaving the door ajar just enough to ask, why had she been so impatiently knocking?

With all that had just taken place, she had almost forgotten. Choking on her words at first, she cleared her throat and responded, "I'm sorry, but... But I really need your help! Could you please come and help me?" Her words seemed sincere, but he thought he detected a smile behind those words. "I just moved in next door. I was hanging my TV, and it's only caught on one side of the bracket. Now it's stuck. I can't get it all the way on or get it off." Even though restrained laughter was more evident now, her request did seem honest and sincere. "Please help me before the TV falls down and smashes."

No matter what, it just wasn't in Peter's nature to turn his back on someone in need of help. With a sigh, he replied, "Okay. I'll be right over." Just give me a minute to put something on."

"Oh, thank you. Yes. Good idea." [chuckle] "Okay, but please hurry."

Peter dismissed her amusement as understandable and closed the door.

Walking back to her new home, Janice Kearny still couldn't get over what she had just witnessed. What a way to meet your next-door neighbor's kid for the first time -- outside, without a single stitch of clothing on. Remembering the panicked look on his face made her laugh out more loudly now. It was abundantly obvious that he had been up to some sort of mischief. "But," she muttered to herself. "What an adorable face he has."

How lucky could she be? Buying a house right next door to a perfect candidate to be her next muse? And best of all, the kid's parents will be gone for months. She mentally patted herself on the back. If she played her cards right -- or, in this case, if she played him right -- this would be a summer neither of them would ever forget.

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Chapter 2

Peter was as good as his word. Skipping a shower, he had hurriedly put on a pair of briefs, shorts, and a shirt (not the old, thinly worn ones either) and made his way next door as quickly as he could.

Upon arriving at his next-door neighbor's porch, he found the front door had been left ajar. Just as he reached for the button to ring the bell, a pleasant voice urged him to come in and lend a hand. There, wrestling with a large flat-screen TV, was the woman he had moments earlier exposed himself to. A renewed surge of embarrassment coursed through him.

As if none of that had happened, she said, "Please grab the other side of this," indicating that he should take hold of the end opposite her.

Peter obediently grasped the frame of the TV and raised his end until she could unhook her side from the wall mount.

This was not the time to think about the idiotic show he had performed, streaking naked out his front door and halfway to the street while under the delusion that the world was coming to an end.

Together they lowered the set to the floor and leaned it against the wall. "Now I know why the instructions say this is a two-person job," she said, as much to herself as she was saying it to Peter. "You lift that end, and I'll take this end and see if together we can get it onto those four pins," pointing at what she was referring to.

This was when Peter got his first opportunity to size up his new neighbor. As she bent down to pick up her end, he noticed how she was dressed. All she had on was a slate gray, form-fitting sports bra and matching yoga leggings. Both of which nicely actuated her toned and lightly tanned figure. She had short dark brown curly hair that complimented her face. By his estimation, she was 35, maybe 40 years old. Facing each other and raising the set, Peter's attention was less on what they were attempting to accomplish and more on the curvaceous body of the person he was helping. Her bra firmly held a pair of round but not overly large breasts topped with pronounced nipples. The leggings emphasized and showed off her nicely rounded ass cheeks and perfectly shaped legs. Her exposed midriff was narrow, and her tummy was taught.

As they worked together to align the TV to the wall mount, with their heads pressed against the wall to see what they were doing, Peter also noticed something mysterious about her eyes, causing strange feelings to surge through him each time their eyes met. Her eyes appeared pleasant and inviting, yet dark and mysterious, all at the same time.

Behind her eyes, she was mentally kicking herself. How easily she could have grabbed the boy by his bedraggled hair while he stood before her nude and slack-jawed, dragged him from his porch, across their adjoining yards, onto her porch, and into her house. What fun it would be if right now he were doing her bidding while still completely naked.

But in that brief but serendipitous moment, her better judgment demanded restraint. Using force right then, instead of allowing him to feel that his actions were voluntary, would have ultimately denied her any future opportunities to play with, breakdown, and mold him. Experience had taught her all too well that to achieve the long-range goals she had for the lad would require time and patience.

He was wondering if she was married. Checking her hands, almost every finger had at least one ring on it. But none of them were typical for a wedding ring, so his best guess was that she was single.

Success! No sooner had they completed that mission than Janice asked -- well, more like commanded -- Peter to help her move the credenza back against the wall below the TV. Without hesitation, Peter obliged by lifting the heavier end and placed it where she directed.

Stepping back, they assessed and admired their accomplishment. Although Peter was glad to help out, there lingered a degree of discomfort with being in the same space as the person who had seen him like no other person had since he was old enough to bathe himself without supervision. Seeing that she was pleased with how things were, he saw his chance to return to the sanctity of his own home. "Okay. Ma'am," Peter spoke. "I'll leave you to unpack the rest of your things."

As he was speaking, Janice ever so subtly moved right alongside Peter. It wasn't until she spoke that he realized just how close she was to him. "Thank you so much for coming to my rescue, Peter," and pecked him on his cheek.

His heart jumped into his throat, preventing him from even noticing that somehow she knew his name. Nervously, he croaked, "My pleasure, ma'am," and began moving towards the door. That is until he felt her hand on his shoulder, freezing him in his tracks.

"Now, Peter," she said in a motherly way while turning him to face her. "There is no need to be so formal. We are neighbors, after all." Her tone was pleasant and comforting while her smoky eyes pierced deeply into his soul. "I feel we are well past such formalities. Don't you?" Timidly, Peter nodded. "My name is Janice Kearny. But you can call me Miss Janice," she said. Then her hand gently squeezed his shoulder before slipping down past the short sleeve of his shirt and touched his bare arm. "For the time being, anyway." That last part passed unnoticed as her graceful touch on his skin raised goosebumps and sent chills running up the boy's spine.

Peter stammered. "Okay, Miss Janice." His sense of what was right told him to go back home, take a shower, and try to forget the past 30 minutes ever happened. At the same time, her gentle, reassuring touch was doing great things to his ego. It was also causing some stirrings in his briefs. Somehow, she hadn't seemed bothered by the faint yet lingering aroma of dried urine that still emanated from his body.

As these mixed messages ran through his head, he stood there face to face with his new neighbor feeling far less than equal to her. She had this certain 'take charge' air about her. She also stood almost two inches taller than him. Granted, that wasn't saying all that much. In school, he had always been among the shortest boys in his class. Even now, at eighteen-years-old, he was all of 5 foot-3 inches, whereas Miss Janice dominated the room with her age, height, and demeanor.

That determination to leave seemed to rapidly evaporate. He smiled. Maybe she could use some help moving something else after all.

Inwardly, Janice was feeling quite satisfied with the progress she was having with the boy. And since he was offering to continue helping, all she needed to do was come up with additional tasks to keep him there a little longer.

But before she had a chance to give him his next assignment, his face had reddened with embarrassment. No sooner had he made the offer to stay and help when he flashed back to how he came to meet Miss Janice in the first place then recalling just what he had done. Diverting his eyes, he started for the door. "Sorry. I gotta go!" he said.

Peter's sudden change of mood and movement didn't prevent Janet from instantly taking control of the situation. Grabbing and holding his arm more firmly this time instantly forced him to abandon his exit. "Just where do you think you're going, young man?"

That quickly, Peter's mental state reverted back more than a dozen years. It turns out that when Peter was little and made any attempt to escape punishment, his mother would say those very words as she grabbed and held him the very same way Janice was doing right now. Hearing that phrase while a hand firmly held his arm, just like his mother had said and done, triggered deeply ingrained reflexes stopping him dead in his tracks. "I'll ask you again." Janice said forcefully. "Where do you think you are going?"

And just like all those years ago, he was unable to look anywhere but the floor as he meekly gave his time-honored reply, "Nowhere, Ma'am."

Janice instantly picked up on the boy's sudden exhibit of submissiveness. She knew she needed to take full advantage of the moment before it passed. "Don't tell me that, young man," She snapped, giving his arm a shake. "And I told you, my name is Miss Janice. You were about to go hide from Miss Janice, weren't you?"

This was all too real for Peter. Guilt over what he'd done rapidly consumed the boy. He was in trouble, and he knew it. "I'm sorry, ma'am, I mean Miss Janice." his voice quivered. "I didn't mean to do it."

"Just saying 'I'm sorry' isn't good enough, mister. You'll need to do better than that." Forcibly turning Peter so he would again be facing her, she said. "Tell me what you are sorry for."

Peter's face turned a deeper shade of red. Still unable to look into the eyes of the authority figure restraining him, he found himself staring at her chest and her heaving breasts. He remembered after being forced to acknowledge his wrongdoings, he would receive punishment for those misdeeds. Then with tears running down his cheeks, she would pull him close to her, hugging him so tightly that his face would be nuzzled between her soft, warm breasts until he could stop crying. "Please don't spank me." And sure enough, no sooner had those words escaped him did he begin sobbing just like he had done as a child.

For Janice, this was too good to let it pass. "After what you did, don't you think you deserve to get spanked?" She followed that question with a swift yet not too forceful slap on his backside. A split second later, she worried that she may have taken this a little too far. After all, she had only just met the boy less than an hour earlier. They were not related, and besides, he was an adult. She had no legal authority over him, yet she had just physically struck him. He would have every right to have her charged with assault.

However, when Peter squeaked, "Yes. I do," those three words instantly erased all of her concerns. She had just been served a soft lob to her side of the net, setting her up for a full-court press.

"So you agree that you deserve to be spanked." Peter reluctantly gave a quick nod. "But didn't you just beg not to be spanked?" Again the boy sheepishly nodded. "So, let's get this straight. You know you were bad. Bad enough to warrant a solid spanking, But you still begged not to be spanked. Is that right?" The longer this went on, the tighter her grip got, the more his guilt built and the stronger his regrets became. Janice actually shook the youth from his contemplative state. "You are going to tell me everything. You need to think about what you did, and the best way is for you to say it out loud, so even you can hear just how bad you were. Maybe then you will realize what you have to be sorry for."

Just the thought of speaking about his misdeeds caused him to tremble and sob even more. With tears running down his cheeks, Peter plaintively said, "But I said I was sorry." Janice wasn't about to let the kid get off that easy and told him so by repeating her demand that he explain what he had done. Maybe, he thought, it would be better to just ask to get the spanking over with rather than recite what he'd done.

"Now, mister! Tell me. Tell us what it was that you did wrong, and then we'll see if there is any reason why you shouldn't be spanked."

Every fiber of his being told him to resist going through all that he had done. It was bad enough that he didn't want to think about it. He really didn't want to hear it spoken aloud. To have his own voice echoing off the walls of this stranger's house as he uttered his transgressions. But when he received another, more forceful slap on his backside, his mouth shifted into overdrive.

Without further prodding, Peter spilled everything, holding nothing back. Between whimpers, sobs, and plenty of tears, he replayed everything. Janice heard it all. Play-by-play, moment-by-moment. Although she had not asked for, nor expected him to go that far back, she didn't stop his rambling. As a result, Peter ended up rattling off everything he had done -- and thought -- from the minute he returned home from the airport, right up to arriving at her front door.

Janice patiently listened. Through it all, she somehow managed to maintain the same firm and controlling demeanor. However, inside she was both amazed and amused by the depths of detail Peter divulged.

Carefully, she made mental notes of all the boy revealed. Every bit of this information only solidified her belief that she had truly struck gold.

There were obvious special inclinations within the lad that others had only begun expose. Now it was her turn to finish developing (and exploiting) the traits that nature had provided him.

This young man didn't know it, but she had some life-changing plans for him.

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Be Advised: This is a non-sexual chapter. It is a character background "flash-back" involving parent and child.

Chapter 3

There was one thing Janice knew all too well; these things take time. Plenty of time and patience. Along with the many other lessons, this was learned at an early age. While observing her mother, young Janice would absorb numerous methods in which to achieve certain goals. Janice was soon practicing what she had learned to attain her own desired objectives, first from boys and later, men. One could even say that she had a flair for subtle manipulation. Especially when it came to submissive males.

So successful at mastering this art, it wasn't long before Janice would become an instructor and mentor to other like-minded girls, then women. Women who had a dominant streak and desired subservience from the males in their life.

At the age of 7, she studiously watched as her mother slowly but forcefully broke her little brother of all his emerging macho male tendencies until he no longer thought of himself as a boy but instead as a sweet, prissy little girl. But this transition didn't occur overnight. It was a long, gradual process that took close to a full year.

Oh, little 5-year-old Mark had gotten used to wearing girls' panties fairly quickly and without all that much fuss. At his young age, he really didn't know much better. From there, he readily adjusted to wearing free-flowing, knee-length sundresses and frocks around the house. So much so that he soon thought nothing about wearing the same when playing outside, even delighting in the way the hem would float around his bare legs when running, jumping, or on the big tire swing with the other kids. Whether playing or simply sitting cross-legged on the floor, it never seemed to bother him if his pretty panties were plainly visible.

Early on, during this time, when the family went shopping or doing other errands, his wardrobe generally consisted of gender-neutral attire. And as far back as anyone can remember, whenever his mother, Donna, and big sister went to the beauty salon, Mark had always shown an interest in watching what went on. So that summer, when long overdue for a haircut, he was giddy to find out that he would no longer just be an observer, but now he too would be a participant. That was all it took. From then on, every few weeks, all three would all go to the beauty parlor for the full treatment, including manicures and pedicures. No longer would he have to feel pangs of jealousy when his sister was the only one with pretty painted nails. Now he and his sister could have fun comparing styles and colors. (Mark showed no hesitancy in choosing wild colors either. Even once school had resumed in the fall, he enjoyed the extra attention he got from his classmates.) While at the salon, all three received highlights, cuts, and perms. Mark loved having soft, lazy curls -- not too long but not too short -- that matched his otherwise youthful and androgynous facial features.

From the time Mark was an infant, his crib and then youth bed always had a full complement of colorful stuffed animals to keep him company. Now, in a full-sized twin bed, each night, he slept in pastel-colored bedding and nightgowns.

During the day while attending school, Mark dressed in his usual colorful yet androgynously styled clothing. But his mother insisted that as soon as he returned home, he was to change into his "at-home clothes." To be honest, these clothes were definitely more effeminate -- with ruffles and/or lace trim. And all so soft. Even more so than those summer frocks he'd worn. However, it didn't take very long before he actually seemed to prefer wearing these "at-home clothes." What Mark had been unaware of was that his mother had been adding starch to his daytime clothes and extra softener to everything else to promote those preferences.

Although Janice was still quite young herself, she quickly picked up how she, too, could manipulate her brother into more girlish mannerisms. And to play games and with toys more commonly associated with being a girl. All the while reinforcing what their mother expected from him.

A significant part of those expectations was helping with chores -- "Woman's Work," as they used to call it. A phrase that Donna would every so often slip into her instructions. With a youngster on either side, their mother gave lessons in cooking, dusting, and vacuuming. Then there was doing laundry. The hows and whys for separating whites from colors, heavy blankets from delicate blouses and lingerie. Even ironing and folding.

Janice did her fair share, but all of this menial labor was not something she relished doing, no matter how much praise their mother heaped on her children for doing a good job. Oddly though, Mark took to these tasks with delight. He just couldn't seem to do enough to please his mother. Well, you can guess what slowly began to take place. The longer this went on, the less Janice would do, leaving Mark to do more and more. And the thing was, their mother also saw what was going on. She would only mildly chastise her daughter for not doing her share -- only to give the girl a little wink -- and then turn her attention to her son, telling him how proud she was of him. "You are so sweet. My sweet boy. You do that so much better than your sister." She would wrap her arms around the boy and say, "You always do that so well." To reinforce all her mother had just said, Janice would agree that he was doing it better than she could, giving her brother a double boost.

This same thing played out almost daily until one day, Donna added something new to the mix. After giving her usual remarks on what a fine job Mark had done and while her son was returning her hug, she added, "You really look so cute with a ruffled apron tied around your at-home clothes. And your hair is always so lovely to look at. You know how much I enjoy brushing it for you. I swear, sometimes I think you should have been born a girl and not a boy." As usual, Mark just ate up the praise without really comprehending the full meaning behind her words.

Still hugging her son, she turned to Janice and asked, "Don't you agree. Both of my children are so pretty and pleasant. It's just like I have two daughters. Two lovely little girls."

Janice quickly keyed in on what her mother was getting at and added her own two cents. "That's right, mommy. It is like you have two daughters. Remember when you told me you were having a baby, and I said I wanted a sister? You said that you were hoping for another little girl." Her mother gave Mark a squeeze while nodding and humming her agreement. "Well, you wanted a daughter, and I wanted a sister."

Of course, that mother/daughter conversation never really took place. But Janice got a wink from her mother. Her daughter had just provided what was needed to take things to the next level. "That's right, sweetie," She lifted Mark, so they were face to face, planted a wet kiss on his forehead before pulling him in for another big hug. "You like being mommy's sweet little girl, don't you baby?"

So caught up in all this love, affection (and mostly due to the extra attention), Mark readily said, "Yes, Mommy. I like being your little girl." Hearing her son say those few words made Donna beam from ear to ear.

Captivated by what she was seeing and hearing, Janice found herself just as delighted to hear her brother's confession. "Oh, Mark!" she said excitedly. "Will you be my sister? I always wanted one. We can play dress-up and house and all that stuff. Please, Mark, say you'll be my sister." Now Mark loved his sister just as much as his mother, and all he ever wanted to do was please them both.

His cheeks glowed bright red as his bashful little voice said, "okay."

Janice was overcome with excitement. She began jumping up and down, making joyful sounds. Likewise, their mother could hardly contain her delight, letting out a gleeful chirp while burying her face in his luxurious locks of hair while nuzzling her son's neck. "Oh, my sweet little princess. You've made your sister and me so happy."

Janice suddenly had an idea. "Mommy? What about that box of clothes that don't fit me anymore? I bet that stuff would fit Mark perfectly."

"What a Great idea! Would you like that, Mark? I bet you'd look so precious in your sister's clothes." New things to wear!!! What youngster doesn't like new clothes. Mark's face lit up even brighter. Seeing her son's willingness to submit to dressing in girls' clothes only intensified Donna's delight. "Mommy is so proud of you. Mark is going to be my very special, extraordinary little girl."

Just then, something occurred to her. She gazed at the child she held in her arms, and her smile faded. "Hmmm... I don't know..." The sudden concern in his mother's expression worried him. Had she suddenly had a change of heart. Maybe he wouldn't be getting that box of clothes after all. Was going to the beauty salon a thing of the past?!

Even Janice was taken aback by her mother's abrupt change of mood. Playing up her brother's weakness for doing and acting girlie had been so much fun. Was that all coming to an end?

What neither of Donna's precious youngsters knew was this was just one more ploy to intensify her young boy's suggestibility.

The child looked crestfallen. "I just don't know. After all, Mark isn't much of a girl's name. I mean, I don't think it will work to be calling my daughter by that name." Looking him dead in the eye, she asked, "What do you think, sweetie? Do you think we should come up with a new name? A GIRLS name."

Everything was happening so fast that being asked if he had a name in mind, he was so completely caught off guard all he managed was to shrug his shoulders.

Seeing an opportunity to resurrect their plan, Janice shouted out, "I've got it!" Mother and son both jumped at the outburst. "And he only needs to change one letter of his name. Instead of the "K" in Mark, a "Y" makes it Mary." She excitedly put her arm around her little brother and said, "My new little sister's name could be Mary."

For Donna, this couldn't have gone better. In not much more than the blink of the eye, she had shed a son and gained a daughter. (Deep down, she knew that her son's total transition, both mentally and physically, would take additional time. But for now, this stage had successfully been completed. And even sooner than she'd expected.) Pulling both of her children close, she gushed, "Mommy loves both of her little girls. Family hug."

Now with everyone in one big bear hug, mom proclaimed, "Girl power!"