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When my birth mom died in a car crash while giving a blow job to a man she barely knew, I should have known that there was something in my genes, but it was only in the months that followed that I discovered that it was the slut gene.

I say birth mother because from the time that my father was single again, he insisted on becoming a mother to me. I don’t mean cooking meals and cleaning house, I mean growing mammary glands and long hair. My new mom was the same size as my birth mom, so she had a wardrobe that could only be added to, and a spousal life insurance payout to ensure that she did not need to work for a while, if ever again.

So to discover that your father is a cross-dresser – well, that is one thing. But then to come home and hear noises, to go upstairs and find my Dad-now-Mom on her back with a her friend Rob donkey deep in her ass – that is something else.

It should have shocked me to my core, but it was just that she enjoyed it so much. Konya travesti Back downstairs she kept going on about it. She said that she was a lousy lover as a man so she could not blame my birth mother for looking elsewhere while she was alive. She said that she could never get a rock-hard erection and it was bendy and slow to spit.

” Now I just lie back and it jiggles away – it doesn’t matter whether it creams or not, I am loving it,” she said. It is not what a boy wants to hear.

But the truth it is that is in my genes too. I had not had much sex and that was for a reason — just like my Dad, I was no good at it. It was embarrassing for a young guy to be so inadequate.

“Lie back and take it like a woman,” was new Mom’s solution. “You should try it.”

I was bigger than Mom, but she bought me a few outfits to try on, just to see whether I might like it. I refused at first, but if you knew my mom you would not that you cannot Konya travestileri keep on refusing her. I just dressed at home, for her, so we could hang out like mother and daughter.

I would have described myself as a guy who sometimes cross-dressed to please his mother, or at most a casual and largely disinterested cross dresser, but I have to say, I did look good in drag. By that I mean that I did not look like I was a guy in drag.

But It was only a matter of time before Rob proposed marriage to Mom. He wanted to move in and get even more sex, but she gave him the ultimatum – “No cohabitation without marriage”. The ring appeared from nowhere — he liked the sex.

“We need to make one other thing official,” she said. “I need a maid of honor, and that person has to be my daughter, Tiana.”

Actually, it may have been the other way around. It may well have been that Rob wanted me to become Tiana simply because after he moved Travesti konya in, he wanted to be the only guy in the house. Anyway whatever the reason Mom wanted me to live fulltime as a female after my stint at her wedding.

Like you may have guessed, she is a hard woman to say no to, and she just wore me down. Before I knew it, I was on hormones and coming out at work as transgender.

Whether I was or not, it was the only way to explain the breasts and my new hairstyles, following along Mom’s example, of course. But what is transgender? It is the change not the condition. You know that you belong in the body of a woman once you are in that body, and you really know that when a real man is inside you.

That happened on the night of Mom’s wedding when Rob’s young pal Brett got his way in the end, after spending the whole wedding getting me drunk and charming the panties right off of me.

It was a week later when Mom came into my room and Brett was hard at it that she had to lean on the door frame and laughed — “Déjà vu.”

I just cried out to Brett not to stop or look around, even with my slutty mother looking on. To his credit, he banged on regardless. He is my kind of man.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2022

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