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This story is about an 18-year-old transgender (MtF) girl and does not claim to represent every trans woman’s experience. Kindly requested by one lovely ApprehensiveSon
Was there any reason to think that Mark would be anything but supportive? At least if he didn’t understand, he would still accept me, right? That’s what I was struggling with a few weeks ago. Mark is my older brother, five years my senior, and for the eighteen years I’ve been alive, he knew me as a boy. The earliest seeds of doubt in my mind happened as soon as I hit puberty, but I pushed those thoughts down out of pure ignorance and denial. Only recently did I realize what I wanted out of my life—to live as a girl. I have no doubt in my mind now that I am a girl, but I hadn’t gotten to that point before I told Mark the truth. He helped me realize myself in more ways than one.
After submitting my community college application, I looked for names to call myself. I cycled through so many names until I went with Molly. Something about it seemed so perfectly feminine and soft, yet with an edgy flair to it. It just depends on the way someone says it, and that’s probably why I like it so much. Besides, I wanted to match the first letter with my brother. It made sense to me since we always felt close.
That was a couple of months before I came out to him, which only happened a few weeks before today. Up until that point, exploring the new dimensions of my identity involved mental and virtual experiments, and lots of stereotypical mirror gazing. Not exactly the depressing kind, but the kind that involved makeup I ordered online to avoid dealing with people in a real store. My sketchbook filled up with pages of colored pencil-lined figures. Differently shaped and dressed women, or my train of thought as I explored women’s fashion more and more to figure out what I liked. I made an online profile to get attention as my feminine self, but I never posted any pictures—just talked to other girls, asked for tips, and blocked anyone that asked me anything I didn’t have good answers for yet. Maybe I do now.
Now that I knew who I was and how my life was changing, I obsessed over my appearance. Even though I was in full boy mode in public, any looks I got from strangers made me uneasy. Might be the way I walked and moved my hands when I talked. Was I too shy to be a convincing boy? Did people think I was gay, and would that be better than people knowing I was trans? Are these all stupid fucking questions and was I just being paranoid?
Maybe I thought I could figure everything out by myself, but the nerve-wracking and obsessive secrecy drove me to tears with stress. More angry than scared, more frustrated than anything, that I couldn’t rationalize the hundreds of thoughts swirling around in my aching head. I got tired of hiding from everyone in my family and compromised with myself; I had to tell someone, at least one person.
I trusted my big brother the most.
There’s no way Mark would have the answers, but at least someone who meant something to me would be listening. We live together without our parents; he was thrown out of the house four years ago when he was nineteen, and I eventually followed him two years ago while I was still in high school. Sparing the gritty details, our parents aren’t evil, but they were never the best for us either. Mark proved his worth tenfold as a guardian once I moved in, and we’ve only grown even closer than we have been since I could remember.
One Friday evening, I stopped my brother in the middle of his pre-work routine. Mark holds down a full-time job as a loader and forklift operator at a massive hardware outlet, so it’s normal to see him in and out at odd hours, sweating in his uniform. It was the perfect chance to tell him something that might upset him, just in case. If he gets angry with me, he still has to get to work and has time to cool down and find distractions!
When I caught him in the middle of microwaving his dinner, Mark nodded in my direction to let me know he saw me. Because he didn’t bother saying anything first, I started off the conversation. “Can I tell you something real quick?”
“Real quick is good,” he said, “I got work soon. What is it?”
I hesitated a little too long and got a concerned look from him. I know now I shouldn’t have been intimidated, but it was hard not to be through the uncertainty. “It’s kind of hard to say. I don’t even know how much explaining I’m going to need to do.”
His brow furrowed and when he responded, he sounded confused. “Did someone hurt you? I know I said I got work, but I got time for this, too. You can tell me.”
“I’m trans,” I blurted out. He looked like he wasn’t processing it completely, so I tried helping him along. “I’m a girl.”
The microwave finished heating up his food and he took out the bowl carefully, setting it down on the counter with a pause before assuring me, “That’s… cool, sis. When did you figure that out?”
Dumbfounded by his casual response, it took me a illegal bahis few seconds to think about mine. “Pretty recently. I picked out a name, but I haven’t been able to use it.”
“What is it?”
I watched him mix up the slop he prepared for his dinner. It stunned me to be accepted like it was nothing, so he asked me twice before I answered, “Molly. What do you think?” His approval meant everything to me now that I knew he already saw me as his little sister.
“That’s cute!” He smiled and forked up some food, taking it to the kitchen table to sit with his meal. “Molly. Thanks for telling me. I gotta have my dinner before I go, though, so…” With that, Mark dug into what I then realized was supposed to be the three-day-old chili I made.
I left him to go to my room, my mind racing as I remembered the way Mark said my name. It rolled off the tongue so nicely, I knew it would, but the way he said it rang in a special way to me. Hard to explain, and nothing I could understand at the time since it was so alien to me. Frustration set in after the initial giddiness of being so loved and hearing my name come out of someone else’s mouth; what the hell was making me feel almost crazy with excitement? Why did that make my heart beat faster in my chest? Why did my ears feel so hot? It drove me insane, coming in waves over the several hours he was gone on his shift, with me forgetting and remembering the moment in a miserable cycle that never let my heart rest for even half an hour. I thought it was anxiety—and I still think I’m partially right—because the physical symptoms made my mind spiral out of control.
For a while toward the end of his shift that night, I forgot all about it sketching figures while the television played in the background, curled up on the couch. My last figure happened to be modeled from one of my friends online, or a girl that chatted with me once and never again since. She had great taste in underwear and only that. The lock on the front door turned at around half past midnight as my big brother came in from work, startling me a little as I shut my sketchbook and tossed it on the coffee table with my red pencil. “Shit, you scared me. How was work?”
“I’m tired, but I’m good, you know,” Mark huffed, whipping his cap off and tossing it onto the armchair near me. “Makin’ that money. Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“We’ve both been working,” I teased him, picking my sketchbook and pencil back up. My ears heated up again, so I rushed toward my room. “I should sleep now, though. Good night!”
“Love you, Molly, good night.”
There was my name again. Before my door could slam shut—it was an accident—I pushed it open again to shout back, “Love you, too!” and shut it more politely.
The real horror set in as his return home gave me the realization I needed to break through my denial. Convinced that he saw me as a girl, as his little sister, he was the only man I knew to treat me like a girl. It was such a small start, but his unconditional love meant everything to me. The heat in my ears traveled throughout my body as I broke out in the same gross sweat he came home with, the sweat that carries a strong manly musk through the door with him, the sweat that glistens on his bare, hairy arms…
The soft fabric around my crotch tightened before I fully understood what made me so horny. When I did break through my confusion, I had no time to feel guilt as I checked my lock, yanked my sweatpants down, and fell back onto my bed with my fist around my dick. Not very impressive in size, but it swelled to half hardness as I stroked myself to the thought of my big brother. My mind flipped through dozens of fantasies, snippets of tempting images, wanting a taste of Mark in every which way I could imagine—looming naked over me, jerking his cock, rubbing my nipples, playing with my hole. I couldn’t have enough of any one idea and had to keep slowing down to let it last, addicted to the peaks of my sexual awakening as I edged myself, tugging my foreskin over the head of my small dick. It hurt to pull away when I was close to orgasm, the painful throbbing in my dick enough to make me squirm and grip my sheets.
I wanted my brother to take me like his girl. I wanted him to show me love at its most intimate, in his arms with him inside of me, and make me cum.
I couldn’t take it anymore. Waiting for the intense pulsing in my dick to subside, I fumbled while pulling a box of tissues out from my bedside drawer, setting the box aside on the bed. One hand grabbed a tissue while the other flew back to my dick, masturbating myself furiously out of desperate need for relief. My nerves built their aroused tension into an unbelievable pressure. I brought the tissues to the head of my dick and clenched my teeth around a high-pitched moan, bucking my hips uncontrollably as an orgasm tore through my body. Muscles twitched as my dick jerked with each spurt of cum into the tissues, feet pressed against the mattress for purchase. My hips rose off the bed as they jolted through the rest illegal bahis siteleri of my climax. When I collapsed, completely weak, I pulled the sticky clump of used tissue off myself and let it fall to the floor. I left it for the morning and fell fast asleep, avoiding the full brunt of my embarrassment, my shame.
I would get to all of that in the morning.
For days after that, I avoided masturbating at all after I tried to without thinking of Mark—to no avail, of course. Nothing about my budding female sexuality let me enjoy myself without reminding me that my crush existed, so I had to stop touching myself entirely. It hurt some days to let my uncomfortable erection sit, especially when I had to hide it from my brother. Easy enough, but I had some close calls. How am I supposed to be modest when he comes out to eat in nothing but his basketball shorts? Sibling banter can only do so much to hide my humiliating secret.
He obviously tolerates me being trans. I’d even argue he loves me just the same. He should, as my brother, but how would he ever even begin to tolerate me being attracted to him? I was miserable all over again, pining over Mark like no other boy that has caught my eye before. I’ve always been shy and slow to act, if I ever acted at all, and the start of my crush on my brother was no different. My newfound desires compelled me to rare action, though, as I resolved to find some way to drop hints.
What did I even think I would get out of that, awkward acknowledgement? Anger? Disgust? I just wanted him to see me. I know I was thinking like hormonal teenager, and I hoped every day that as soon as I started estrogen, my feelings would go away. I’ve heard that a lot of ladies stop getting hard and get horny less, but it was no guarantee. This whole incest fantasy unfolded before I ever started on hormones, anyway, so I had no saving grace. I had to do something.
One day, he was helping me pick out my classes after my application was accepted. I declared an Art major, but I wanted to get my general education over with as fast as possible first. I rested my laptop on my thighs—covering up my crotch just in case—as Mark sat next to me on the couch. He was no college counselor, but he had been through the system before and understood the basic requirements. It nearly killed me to be sitting so close to my taller, bigger brother, who was in a tank top and sweatpants while I was so casually under-dressed, too. Evidently, he wasn’t picking up on my discomfort as he pointed at courses listed on my screen.
“You don’t want to take him.” He shifted in his seat into a more comfortable position. “His grading’s fucked up. I’d take this one, instead, but you’d need to switch up your other class to fit your schedule.”
“I’m not trying to go to class more than twice a week.” I copied down some course numbers with their meeting times.
“You want to finish early, right? And you don’t want to exhaust yourself.” He rested an arm over the backrest of the couch. This brought him even closer to me, making my heart race.
By the grace of my unpredictable hormones, I was somehow too nervous to get an erection even though I was horribly horny, but I noticed something else—my brother’s bulge, outlined in his sweatpants. Whether this is lucky or unlucky, I don’t remember ever seeing it bare before, so I couldn’t tell if he was getting hard or if it was just a show-er. Either way, my ears warmed up at the sight, and I consciously fixed my eyes to the screen again to avoid looking suspicious. “That’s probably wise, yeah. Can’t I take English over the winter, though?”
“Yeah, but it would be a fast class, you know? Not everyone can handle that. I guess you never had any problems writing, Molly.”
I smiled at that and, in a flash of bravery, mumbled, “Even if… I have no problems writing, I have other problems I probably need to solve in college.” Already, I was regretting opening my mouth because I had just dug the muddiest, most awkward hole.
“Like what, your math?”
“No, my…” I paused to consider the mess I made for myself. “I’m not your typical college girl. I haven’t unlocked my youthful sexual freedom yet, and I guess you’re supposed to in college.”
Mark laughed at that, which made me even more nervous. I stole another glance at his dick; it had shifted since I last looked, so he may have moved it. “Maybe after you transfer, you might. Should I even know about this or what?”
“Know about what, me being a virgin? Is that so bad?”
“I guess not, but it doesn’t surprise me, sis.”
If my face wasn’t red before, it flushed to its absolute limit then. Mark must have noticed, but he didn’t say anything, continuing the conversation about my classes like nothing weird happened.
Later that day, he left for work, giving me the privacy I needed to process my embarrassment. Even the suggestion he made about me discovering my sexuality in college turned me on. When I settled down on the bathroom floor in black panties, I put my mind to canlı bahis siteleri work; I pictured him stroking me over my panties as the real me did the same. My fingers curved around my soft bulge, especially around the head of my dick, pressing and rubbing up and down. The other hand went to my nipple, pinching and kneading in the way I wanted my brother to treat my chest. I imagined having swollen little breasts for him to play with and suck on while dry humping the crotch of my panties with his exposed cock, my legs spread to give him full access to my body. The fantasy progressed to him fucking my ass, so I wasted no time in prepping myself to keep up.
Squirting some water-based lube onto my fingers, I pulled my panties down with my other hand and then cupped my dick and balls. I pressed down on my perineum, moving two of my slicked fingertips in small circles. The sensation sent a little jolt through my dick and encouraged me to slide a finger down to my hole. It puckered at my touch, clenching and relaxing on nothing as I eased it to my circular stimulation. Pouring some more lube onto my fingers, I kept going, thinking of my brother pressing the head of his fat cock to my asshole and stretching me wide. That thought is what made pushing my finger in so easy.
I wanted to be filled up.
I needed my brother’s cock.
I fingered myself as my other hand returned to my nipple, tugging and squeezing harder and harder. It made my nipple swell to be played with so roughly, making it look bigger and turning me on even more. Because I was home alone, I was free to whine and moan as much as I wanted, thrusting my two fingers into my hole faster. I bumped my prostate with each pump of my fingers inward, making my hips jerk until I cried out with my orgasm, cum spewing from my dick as I rode out the waves with my fingers hooked inside of me.
The mental fog cleared in my post-climactic clarity. How pathetic it was to touch myself while I had my brother in mind, let alone demand his cock. I couldn’t help what I wanted, which made me feel even worse. Instead of reaching out to anyone about it—who would I even tell?—I teared up while rinsing myself off before taking a long bath.
A couple of days later, abstaining the entire time, Mark drove me to campus to pick up a discount bus pass. I didn’t want to rely on him for rides due to his work schedule, so I figured I should hold on to some shred of independence now that I’m an adult. To practice being my true self in public, I figured this would be a perfect time to show the campus just how cute I could be. It would be a first for me, but I reasoned that I shouldn’t be afraid anymore. After all, I wouldn’t be alone, so I wouldn’t have to worry for my safety in broad daylight.
Yes, I used to be that paranoid. I know I had reason to be, and I’m glad now that I hardly think about it now.
I dressed in a new, long black pleated skirt, a white snap-buttoned blouse with short puffy sleeves tucked into my waistband, and three-inch heeled booties. Mark told me I looked like an old-fashioned librarian without her glasses. Even though he was right, the act of dressing more authentically made me content, even if a little nervous. Strangely enough, there was some eroticism to being in feminine clothes. Maybe it was because my crush would be seeing me in something pretty, or maybe it was because being authentic made it easier to be horny? Could be anything, but it wasn’t enough to disturb me. Just made things a little more fun.
He parked in a neighboring suburb to avoid paying or getting towed and walked me to the ticket office, talking along the way. “Don’t those shoes hurt?”
“No.” I narrowly avoided rolling my ankle on the uneven sidewalk. “It would be worth it, anyway.”
“I agree. They look good on you.”
Flustered, I looked away at the trees on the other side of the street, catching a smug look on his face in my periphery. “I forgot how much the pass costs.”
“I think it was ninety. I’ll pay for it.”
“That’s not that bad. I can pay, Mark, you don’t have to get everything for me. That’s what financial aid is for.”
“Molly, just take the favor.” He pulled his credit card out of his jeans pocket and flashed it, asserting his point. “And let me know if you ever need a ride home, okay? You don’t need to be taking the bus late at night more than you have to.”
My heart quickened, and my love for him brimmed to the point of a confusing mix of familial and erotic tenderness. I took too long to respond, so he waved his hand to get my attention and got a timid “thanks” from me. He didn’t bug me about being quiet and rambled on and on about his time on campus, all to demand that I stay in school. I didn’t need the lecture, but I appreciated his enthusiasm.
When we got home, I kicked off my booties and pulled my socks off to rest my feet, lying down on the couch to think back on our outing. I survived my first day out in girl mode! Nobody said anything, and if anybody gave any funny looks, I didn’t notice. In fact, the girl at the ticket office smiled at me… more positivity than what I was expecting. Mark moved my carelessly discarded shoes to the rack near the front door and ruffled my hair before taking a seat in the armchair.
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