Date: Tue, 19 May 2009 00:36:30 -0400 (EDT) From: Clark Building Subject: Fast Learner Cross-dressing was not a term I had ever heard when I got introduced to the wearing of girls clothes. It was my aunt who started my first time and then the whole family got into it and I went to 5th grade as a girl. I guess my grandparents really started it by letting my hair grow very long. I lived with them from birth. They were from Sweden and loved my long blond hair and bright blue eyes. I was frequently mistaken for a girl and secretly loved it. During the summer after the fourth grade, my grandmother died and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. Their daughter, my cousin, was about my size and they were too poor to buy me school clothes. I was starting the fifth grade, my cousin the sixth grade. My aunt dressed me up in my cousin's old clothes just for fun and I was game when someone said why not enroll me as a girl. A slight alteration to my first name was all it took. My aunt told the school that my previous school had just spelled it wrong, a typographical error. School records were more simple back then. My uncle seemed to have the hots for me and once I was dressing all the time as a girl, he made it the rule. I was to remain a girl at all times living there. He wanted the neighbors and family friends to believe in my girlhood. Nobody in the family would hint to anyone that I was really a boy. That's how it was and I was thrilled but pretended to simply obey. I thought it would be exciting and secretly longed to play the role full time. My uncle could see my desire and he had his own, I learned later. He would sit me on his lap and hug and kiss me and I could feel his dick get stiff under my ass. My aunt got so disgusted with us that she would leave the room, but my uncle was bad tempered and mean; she did not dare cross him. I also had a boy cousin, a little older, about sixteen. Both my cousins were afraid of their father because he would whip their ass with his belt if they did not behave. He was nicer to me, which just pissed them off. My aunt was too weak to say anthing about it. Maybe he spanked her too. They all walked on egg-shells trying not rouse his quick temper and raving outbursts. He worked in a steel mill and was a large, muscular brute with red hair. Strangely, no alcohol in the house, ever. Us kids had major chores to do involving feeding and cleaning the cages of about two hundred rabbits that my aunt and uncle raised for food and to sell the meat and pelts. My uncle would kill the rabbits, a few at a time, out in the garage. The garage was a place no one but my uncle was allowed into. That is, until he decided to teach me about killing, skinning and butchering the bunnies. The garage was really creepy with one light bulb hanging on a wire in the middle of the room. When it swung, the shadows moved around. He had an old couch in there and some pictures of naked women. One was two women with the face of one in the crotch of the other; I always was fascinated by it. There were little wooden racks hanging all over with rabbit skins stretched on them and a big work bench with blood stains everywhere. He showed me the way he wrung the necks of the rabbits to kill them and then hung the little corpses over shallow pans and drained the blood by cutting open their throats. After that he would go outside to the hose and rinse off the blood from his hands and wipe them on the legs of his pants. Then he would come back inside, close and latch the door and beckon me to stand before him as he sat on the couch. "Closer" he would command until I was face to face with him. He would watch my eyes as he ran his cold moist hands up the backs of my legs, up under my dress and slip, then under my panties and squeezed my little ass with his big strong hands. He pulled me to him, still watching my face for my reactions. At first just hugging me tightly, he finally kissed me on the mouth, lips only for awhile, then parting my lips and slipping in his tongue, first a little, later a lot. It's not clear to me now whether I liked it then or just tolerated it, but he made it a habit, apparently satisfied with my reactions. Then, only days later, I was instructed to fondle his stiff cock, the biggest dick I had ever seen, while he French kissed me on the mouth. My attention was mainly on using my hands while my mouth just played around with his tongue in some automatic, instinctual way. Early on, my hands were placed on his stiff cock still inside his trousers and I was instructed how to rub, squeeze and caress it for his pleasure. I know I liked doing that and soon it was out of his pants and I managed to jack it off using both hands until he trembled and then squirted. What fun! At first repulsed by the idea of tasting the cum, I was urged to take a glob on my own finger and just have a taste. Not so bad I recall. Then he would scoop up a big gob on his fat finger and thrust it into my mouth and leave his finger there for me to lick clean. I did not know it, I think, but mouthing his finger and swallowing the wad of cum were my intro to what came next, sucking on the cock itself. I remember the first time was a combination of verbal coaxing and his big hands on my head forcing it down. He kept telling me I would like it, just try it, open up my mouth and enjoy it. Saying "NO" was not really an option. When I finally opened wide and took the head in my little mouth, I was not really surprised that I did, in fact, like it, a lot. He knew I would, he told me several times. Within two weeks of learning to snuff rabbits, I was officially a killer cocksucker in drag at the age of ten. I was happy and proud of myself for the secret knowledge that I possessed. I wouldn't dream of telling anyone and I knew that my uncle could get into a lot of trouble if I slipped up and hinted about it to anyone. I can't say that I loved my uncle, but we had a special relationship. He was mostly tender and loving with me, but sometimes he was demanding and downright mean. In those instances, he might typically get me into the garage and just stand there over me and command, "Suck it, boy." I would obediently drop to my knees on the cold floor (remember I always wore a dress) and unzip his fly. He would not help at all, just stand there waiting for me to get it out, get it stiff, suck it, lick it, love it, till I got a mouthful. Never said anything like "Thank you" or "good job." He would just smile his acknowledgement and I would be grateful, somehow. Who am I kidding; I loved it all. My Uncle told me once that he knew I would like being a cocksucker because "it runs in your family." "What do you mean?" I curiously asked. He told me a story, maybe true, maybe not, about the times he double dated with my father who was dating my mother while he, my uncle, dated my aunt, who was my mother's sister. They were all in Bell High School together. Supposedly after they took the girls home, my uncle complained to my dad that his balls ached from prolonged kissing and heavy petting with my aunt. If his story is true, he got my father to suck him off by just taking out his dick and demanding my father go down on it. Said he had a hunch my dad would do it if he just insisted. Said the main thing my dad wanted was for Uncle Jim not to tell anyone. Said it happened several times after that, even after they both married, until my dad divorced my mother and left the state. I never asked my father about it, naturally. He would have lied anyway, like everything else he said. He was like that. Later in life I learned about my father's relationship with a pedophile photographer, a guy he left me with for a week. After that, I was certain that Uncle Jim was probably truthful about my father sucking his dick. Uncle Jim also told me that my mother would suck his dick any time he could get her alone, even though they were both married to others, that she loved it and had never ever refused. His wife, my aunt, never knew it, he said. So, my uncle reasoned, why would I be any different. Everybody in my family sucked cocks. Me too, I realized. My boy cousin, about sixteen, was always watching me. He would stand on the Gas meter on the side of the house and watch me through the bathroom window. He knew I peed sitting down like a girl and wiped myself afterward, also like a girl. I had my reasons, mostly being neat. He watched me shower and dry myself off. He liked seeing me naked and I liked being watched, so I let it happen. Never told anyone. He apparently knew what his father was doing with me in the garage, either from his own childhood experience, or from watching through the cracks in the garage door. I learned about his knowledge of my new skills when he began finding ways to get me alone and used that familiar phrase, "Suck it, boy." I wound up sucking him off on a regular basis when he could get me alone. He actually tried sucking me, but at ten, I was not even getting aroused by it, so he quit trying that. A few times he came into my bed during the night and straddled my head and fucked my face. We both knew the danger of discovery by my uncle, so that nightly visit was seldom. When he got a part time job cleaning our church on Sunday evenings, I was sent with him to help. We were alone there, just us two. After that I sucked him off once or twice every Sunday at church. There was a low kneeling stool next to a low wall that separated the altar area from the pews. He would sit me on that low stool, lean on the top of that short wall, and, with my head against the wall, he would slowly fuck my face, then faster as ejaculation came. I loved it. His jizz was much sweeter than his dad and I liked to think it was more nutritionally rich. Odd thing to consider. My uncle died in a boating accident two years later when I was living with my Mother and my boy cousin was caught sticking up gas stations in Kansas with a sawed-off shotgun. He went to prison there for about five years and I would suppose he became someone's girl friend while incarcerated. I never saw him again. He was just seventeen or eighteen at that time. When I went to live with my mother, she actually gave me the choice of whether to dress as a girl or a boy. I chose the latter, but my mom was convinced that I was a queer as a three dollar bill. I still cross-dressed secretly, but I think she knew. She was really slutty when she drank and once brought home two men from a bar. When she finally decided which one to fuck and went into her bedroom with him, I had the other guy in my room for a friendly blow job. White trash hospitality. The guy gave me five dollars, like the money would make it OK, but I took it and said "thanks." I was thankful that he didn't get sick and throw-up in my bed. My mother pretended not to know, but on another occasion later that year she told some guy to bring a horny friend for me to "service." She said it right in front of me and just smiled when I gave her a dirty look. Her drinking got worse and I went to live with my father in Santa Monica, where I met other fags under the pier. Some good stories happen there, you can bet. I was just starting seventh grade.