There’s My Pretty Girl

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I have always been a girl. That’s something I knew from my earliest memories. My parents really wanted a girl, so they behaved as if they had one. Dressed me as a girl at home, let me wear my hair long, told me how pretty I looked. These things were done only when we were in the confines of our four walls, but I never felt a reason to ask why I was a girl at home but had to dress differently when outside the house. What happens to a kid is “normal” if it has always been that way.

One day, my mom abruptly took all the girl clothes out of my room. The reason she gave me was that I had to “stop pretending to be a girl, and grow out of it.” As you can probably imagine, my entire world seemed to collapse. The clothes did not make me a girl. My parents did. And then they ripped my identity out from under me. My dad said nothing to me about it. He seemed to be stressed out over the situation though. I remembered hearing them argue the night before she so coldly reminded me that I wasn’t a real girl.

At night I would pray to God that I would wake up as a real girl. I felt sick and ugly. How can someone hear all their life that they’re pretty and then all of a sudden they’re not? All the attention I was getting just vanished. I used to light up the room when I came in wearing a dress, hair in a ponytail. Suddenly I was invisible. I moped and made it clear that I was hurt and mad, but my fate was sealed. They had no intentions of going back on it or even allowing me to talk about it. My mom, in her obstinance, wasn’t ever really mean about it. She just remained firm in her resolve. Little consolation, but at least I wasn’t getting yelled at.

After school days, I was typically in the house alone for an hour or so before my parents got off work. So to ease my suffering, I would go into my mom’s closet and retrieve one of my dresses. I have no idea why she kept them, but I was glad she did. I would put one on, being careful not to do anything that would stain it or make it look worn at all. Finally able to breathe and feel “normal” for a brief time seemed to sustain me.

As the years went on, those dresses became tighter and shorter than I could realistically fit in. So eventually I began putting my mom’s clothes on. Her dresses hung on my shapeless, skinny body though. Adding one of her bras helped, but it was not a good look. I simply avoided the mirror and had to be satisfied with the feeling of girl clothes against my body. I felt like a fraud in her clothes. I didn’t feel like the same girl I had been when I was younger, having to sneak around like that.

By the time I turned eighteen, I was the same height as my mom. Her dresses looked natural on me. However, her shoes were beginning to feel somewhat snug. I had to avoid wearing her heels, in fear that I would stretch them or something. It was becoming more difficult to “get my fix” from the after school habit I had formed. And having to wear flats or sandals definitely didn’t give me the “There’s my pretty girl” kind of feeling.

One night as I was walking to the bathroom, I happened to glance into my parents’ bedroom. They normally did not sleep with the door closed. Obviously it would have been closed if they were having sex, but leaving it cracked a bit like that wasn’t typical. The light was on in their bathroom, casting a glow on them as they were about to make love. Daddy was on top of Mom, kissing her, both of them completely naked. My first instinct was to get away from their door immediately. That feeling was soon dismissed, and replaced with a sort of jealousy that I couldn’t remember ever having before.

I believed I was still a girl in my mind. My mom’s failed attempt to change my identity had not worked, only made me feel bad about myself and hide that side of me. In that moment, peeping into my parents’ bedroom, I realized I wasn’t ever going to be a real, complete girl. My mother had breasts, beautifully round and firm. And she was feeling them pressed against her husband’s muscular chest. I think it might have been reasonable for me to feel fortunate that someday I would experience what he was experiencing. I didn’t feel that way though. I realized, as I watched their act of love-making that I didn’t want to do that to a girl. I wanted that girl to be me. I could feel my face getting hot and my heartbeat in my neck. I knew I was taking a huge risk by standing there and watching them. Somehow I couldn’t make myself move though. All I could think about, or see, was my dad guiding his dick into my mom. Both of them were moaning and whispering. After a short time, Daddy’s thrusts became longer and faster, to the point their bed was squeaking. My mom giggled as Daddy slowed himself back down. Daddy kissed her neck and then lifted his body off Mom and positioned himself on his knees, holding her legs up by the backs of her thighs. I was observing my parents in their most intimate act, and completely violating their privacy. But there was no way I was going to turn away queenbet g├╝venilirmi from it. Watching Daddy’s hands explore his wife’s breasts and legs brought on intense, unexpected feelings of desire to be her…and to feel him inside me. I tried walking past their room many times after that, hoping to see it all again, but it never happened. The way I looked at my dad was changed that night though. He became the object of my dreams…and daydreams. I imagined being in their bed, under him, as he kissed me and made love to me.

My dad still called me Danny. I think he liked remembering me as his little girl, Dani. My mom had stopped calling me Danny over time, instead referring to me as Daniel or her son or “Your son” when talking about me to Daddy. One night, I overheard my parents talking before bedtime. That wasn’t unusual as our rooms were right next to each other. But they were both saying Danny (or Dani). I couldn’t really hear what was being said, but my name was definitely mentioned. At dinner, my mom had made it a point to let me know that she was going to be working out of town a lot for the next several months. As she was packing her suitcases and getting all of her things together, I imagined they were stressed out about what to do with me in her absence. I didn’t know what the issue would have been though, since I had become pretty self-sufficient and didn’t require much in the way of parenting. Of course every eighteen year old kid probably thinks that.

Mom left the next morning, giving me a kiss on the cheek and a tight hug. She looked as though she was about to cry and it sort of made my eyes mist too. That afternoon I was about as giddy as I could ever remember being though, as I slipped into one of her dresses. I knew I would have a lot less to worry about while she was away. I could wear her panties, bras, hosiery, anything. If I got any of it messed up, I knew I would be able to wash and dry them without my dad even noticing.

By the time Daddy came home from work, I was feeling very relaxed and carefree. I asked if we could order pizza and he gladly obliged. We ate pizza and started watching some movie he had recorded. I remembered the night before and asked him what he and mom were talking about, letting Daddy know I heard my name mentioned. Daddy told me that Mom was stressed about leaving, and then seemed to change the subject. That only made me more curious, so I pestered him to tell me why my name came up. What did I have to do with this “stress?”

Daddy exhaled hard, obviously annoyed, and swallowed his bite of pizza. “Your mom was stressed because she thinks you’ve been wearing her clothes,” he said, as he stared down at his soda can.

My face went instantly hot. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t come up with any words to say. I had no idea of where to begin with my emotions. Should I be angry at her for distrusting me? Should I be hurt that I caused my mom to be stressed out? What was HE saying to her about all of it? Finally, I just said, “Yeah, I have been. I’ve been doing it, for like, forever. She took MY clothes. And she stuffed them in HER closet. So I’m sorry that I stressed you all out!” I threw my half-eaten slice of pizza back in the box and ran out of the room. I felt angry and scared, but also like a gigantic weight had just been lifted off of me. I hated having to hide who I was. And I was either going to be allowed to stop hiding it, or I feared severe measures would probably be put in place to deny me access to her things. No matter what, I knew something was going to change.

I ran to my room and threw myself onto the bed. My mind was a mess. “What have I just done? The ONE thing I still had was my mom’s clothes. Now I have just ruined that too,” I thought, dropping a huge pity bomb on myself. I heard Daddy turn the TV off and knew he was going to come try to explain it to me about how I had to “let it go” and “stop pretending” and so on. A few seconds elapsed before I heard footsteps coming down the hall. I imagine he was trying to gather his thoughts. Daddy has always been the peacemaker.

Without knocking, Daddy slowly opened my door. I didn’t even turn to look at him. I didn’t want to see this man that I have adored and had recently been imagining sexually as he tried to convince me that I didn’t exist. What he came to tell me though, was very different from what I was expecting. “Your mom and I were arguing. She knows you have been wearing her things, and she doesn’t like it. I thought it was wrong when she took your clothes. But at the time, she and I were going through some stuff and your mom thought I was giving you more attention than I was giving her. I think she was getting jealous, but she wouldn’t call it that. It didn’t matter though. She started viewing your dressing as wrong, and she worried you would grow up being confused about your sexuality,” Daddy admitted. He came into my room and sat on the edge of the bed. It felt reassuring somehow that queenbet yeni giri┼č he at least wasn’t keeping a distance from me. “So when she brought it up about her clothes, I wasn’t mad. I think that made her even more angry – at you for wearing them – and at me for not really caring,” he said. Daddy calmly continued, “Maybe it wasn’t the best time to discuss it with her getting ready to leave for a long time. But what I was telling her is, “Instead of forcing Dani to go behind our backs, why don’t we let her be who she is?”” I felt the rush of life enter my face as he continued, “Mom was adamant. I didn’t want to have a big fight about this right before she left though, so I placated her as best I could,” Daddy said. I finally let my watery eyes meet his as he told me what I had wanted to hear for so long. “Dani, I don’t care if you want to wear your dresses. I liked when you wore them. But you mustn’t wear your mother’s things anymore.”

“I can’t. They’re too small,” I said in a bit of a pout. I knew exactly where my clothes were in her closet. Suddenly I wanted to run, get them and hold them. It felt so good to not have to deny my need for them to at least one other person in the world.

“OK…,” Daddy nodded, his expression changing to his problem solving countenance. “Look, your mom has some things she never wears. I am not saying it’s OK to continue using her things in a way she doesn’t approve. But I am not going to keep denying how important it is for you,” Daddy, the Bravest told me. Finally solving the confounding problem, He went on to say, “Tonight you can wear one of her nightgowns. She didn’t bother to take any of them because nobody will care if she sleeps in flannel pajamas.”

I wanted to hug him. But we hadn’t hugged in any meaningful way since the last time he saw me as a girl, so the moment became awkward for a few agonizing seconds. My frown disappeared, however. I was hardly able to control how happy, relieved, excited I felt. I could only smile from ear to ear.

“Tomorrow we can go get you a few things, if you want,” Daddy said. “But I will have to find a box to keep them in the garage. If your mom finds out, it will be very bad,” he cautioned.

“Can I see that nightgown now? Please?” I anxiously pleaded.

Daddy laughed and said, “OK. Come on.” I think Daddy was more excited than he wanted to show. I certainly didn’t have to work very hard convincing him. Of course I could have given him a complete inventory of every bit of Mom’s clothing by now. But I let Daddy lead the way, giggling to myself as he went from drawer to drawer, finally getting to the one with her night things in it.

While Daddy clumsily rummaged through Mom’s things, I noticed her vibrator at the bottom of the drawer. It was funny how quickly his hand moved to keep that thing covered up. “Good job, Daddy. Wouldn’t want your little girl to know about Mom’s sex toys,” I thought.

Mom had quite a bit in there. Daddy seemed to have something specific in mind though, as he pulled out a pretty, satin set. Fire engine red camisole and matching little bottoms. I could not believe that was what he chose. In all my life wearing clothes to make myself feel complete, I never once considered wearing something that would make me feel sexy. And I KNEW those things were sexy. And I KNEW I was going to feel different, sexy, wearing them.

“Here,” Daddy said, handing them to me. “You’ll look pretty in them,” he continued, smiling at me.

“Ummm,” I hesitantly said, nervously biting my bottom lip. “Panties?” I embarrassingly whispered.

“Oh! Oh, oh. Yes,” Daddy said with a bit of nervous laughter. He went into her panty drawer, picked up various pairs, then put them back as if he was shopping for just the right ones. Finally, he held up a pair of pink, lace boyshorts.

“Cute!” I beamed and grabbed them from his hand. I wanted to put them on immediately, but was a bit reluctant to ask. Things were way too perfect and I didn’t want to screw it up. So I just smiled and said, “Thank you, Daddy.”

“So? Everything OK now?” he asked. When I nodded and smiled, Daddy let out a sigh of relief and asked, “Wanna finish the movie?”

I could not have cared less about finishing that movie. So instead, I replied, “I want to take a bath. Would you mind?” I hadn’t shaved my legs in two or three days. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had shaved my arms and private places. I definitely did not want to feel stubble against the soft satin of that nightgown.

“Oh alright. I know you want to change. Go ahead,” Daddy said with a beaming smile.

Within seconds, I was in the bath. I could not wait to remove the boy clothes that were hiding my true self. I normally considered shaving my legs as a routine burden, but not that night. I took my time, appreciating the new reality of who I was being allowed to live and breathe as. I sank into the bath, getting my hair wet. I washed it with Mom’s expensive shampoo, then queenbet giri┼č conditioned it. Twice. My mood could not have been more positive as I relaxed in the warm water, completely smooth, top to bottom.

I hit the little lever to drain the tub and emerged into the humid bathroom feeling like a new person. Or perhaps feeling like myself for the first time in years. I wiped off the moisture from the mirror, and looked at the girl staring back at me. I watched as she whispered, “You are a very pretty girl.” Suddenly, I remembered, “Mom’s makeup is not here.” Not wanting my mood to completely collapse, I began to search the cabinets and drawers for anything my mother may have left behind. The only usable thing was some light pink lipstick. It would have to be enough. Drying my hair provided a lot of time for me to make a mental note of everything I wanted my dad to buy me tomorrow. “Makeup,” I thought, was definitely tops. “A skirt and heels,” definitely. “Stockings?” I mused. Then giggled. “At least ONE dress,” for sure, I thought. I marveled at the shiny, smooth way my hair looked and felt when I finally switched off the hair dryer. “We might need to buy more of that shampoo and conditioner,” I jokingly remarked to the girl in the mirror.

I slid my legs into the pink, lace panties, pushing the part of me that did not belong to the back of them. The satin bottoms fit me perfectly, accentuating my smooth legs. And the pretty camisole laid beautifully on my shoulders, softening their appearance dramatically. It was almost a perfect fit. Not having breasts was a limitation I would have to accept. I can’t remember spending more time putting a pair of panties, shorts and tank on. I wanted everything to look perfect. After checking myself one last time in the mirror, ‘Dani’ turned the doorknob and emerged once again.

I made my way to the living room, a bit nervously. I suddenly felt self-conscious being seen by Daddy in one of Mom’s nightie sets. “I cannot wait until I have my own pretty set,” I thought as I entered the room. My dad’s face lit up like I hadn’t seen in many years. “There’s my pretty girl!” he exclaimed. The way he was looking at me, made all the self-conscious worries fall completely silent.

“Here I am!” I exclaimed right back at him, smiling and twirling around for him to approve. “What do you think,” I asked, a bit flirtingly.

Daddy stood up and walked over to me, smiling as he said, “Perfect. Absolutely gorgeous, honey.” Then he kissed my cheek and I hugged him for the first time in a long time.

When he broke our embrace, his hands traveled across my back and to my waist before completely leaving my body. That moment lingered in the air for a second as our eyes held each other’s gaze, short-circuiting my brain. “I um…” big exhale, regaining the ability to talk, “I thought I would come finish the movie with you,” I said, finally finding the way to make thoughts into words and words into sound again.

“OK honey. But I was just about to pour myself a drink and finish watching it in the bedroom. You should join me,” Daddy replied. He reached out his hand and ran his fingers through my hair, lightly touching my face. Then Daddy said without the slightest bit of frivolity, “You’re already dressed for bed, anyway.”

I could feel the heat in my face. I knew it had to be beet red. My chest was heaving as I nodded and said, “Yes.”

I followed Daddy down the hall, like I didn’t know the way there. When we got to their bedroom, he went to his side of the bed and pulled the covers back. Following his lead, I pulled the comforter and sheet back on my side. “My side?” I thought, imagining Mom pulling those covers back as she readied herself to have sex with Daddy.

Daddy retrieved the TV remote from the nightstand and asked me to turn the light off while he started queuing up the movie he had on earlier. Suddenly nervous, I announced, “I have to pee,” excusing myself from that place where I had seen him naked. Where I had seen him fucking my mom. I got into their bathroom, sat down and felt the pressure relieved physically and tried to calm myself mentally. Feeling better inside, I still had a bit of anxiety about opening the door. So I stalled for a bit, applying a bit more vanilla scented lotion to my arms and legs and talking to the pretty girl in the mirror. “You want this,” she whispered to me. Then I opened the door to their dark bedroom, illuminated only by the glow of the television.

Daddy was under the covers, on his back, with two pillows under his head. My eyes hadn’t fully adjusted to the dark, but I could see he was watching me come to bed, instead of watching his movie. I stacked my pillows like he did and laid on top of all the covers. I had missed most of the movie, but I could tell it was starting to wrap up. We sat there in silence and watched it though, while Daddy finished his little glass of scotch. I think we were both glad when the good guys got the bad guys and the town was safe again, roll credits.

I reached for the TV remote, handed it to Daddy, and began sliding my legs under the covers. I felt beautiful, and I loved seeing my body in that satin. The room went completely dark, so I thought, “Goodnight pretty legs. See you in the morning.”

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