Date: Fri, 13 May 2022 20:30:22 +0000 From: Beau Kramer Subject: Sissyboy Scenes 30 (gay adult-youth) Sissyboy Scenes 30 (gay adult-youth) By Beautiful Creamer I don't do this stuff and you shouldn't either. What you should do is get vaccinated and contribute to nifty. One - Double Dates My name is Connor Cumster and I enjoy life. I guess it's unusual for a 12-year-old boy to admit to that. I mean, I'm almost a teenager, right? And teenagers are supposed to be angry, sullen parent-haters. Not me. I love my parents. Especially Daddy. I guess that's because I'm well-adjusted. Or I have great parents. Or I'm mature for my age. Or Daddy fucks me to a screaming orgasm three or four times a week. I'm a sissyboy. A very active sissyboy. With lots of men and boys whose best time of their lives is the nice big orgasms I give them. I've been taking it up the old poop-chute since I was ten years-and-three-months old. And so has Mason, my first cousin and best friend. I'm two days older than Mason, so I was fully fucked while he had to wait out those awful 48 hours when he had to listen to me being all braggy about losing my virginity. Mason lost his virginity five minutes after midnight on his ten-years-and-three months birthday. Since then, we've been partners in a lot of our sexy sissy stuff. We often double date. Mason and me with two men whom either one of us picks out for a lovely night of you-know-what. Mason is a little more adventurous than I am. When it's his turn, we're probably going to end up in bed with two sweaty, hairy, burly construction workers that Mason met earlier that day. With their hard hats. And their hard pricks. Yum! Mason might also land us in bed with some cops he met when he was looking all flirty at the police station, or some firefighters he met at a neighborhood fire. I usually get us dates with teachers, librarians or coaches. Or Mason's Daddy, who I call Uncle Mike. Or my Daddy. Regardless, it's lots of fun for everyone. And I have no regrets. Well. Maybe one. While Mason and I have a double date once a month with my maternal grandfather and Mason's maternal grandfather, we've never shared spunk with our shared Grampa, Brandon Cumster. Does he think we're not pretty enough? There's a whole small town of men and boys who would dispute that. Is he too "hetero" to fuck his own grandsons? could that be? He's a man. He has needs. He knows Mason and I are a sure thing for satisfying those needs. So imagine our delight when, about a month before Mason's and my thirteenth birthday, Grampa's wife, our Gramma, got in touch with our mothers to arrange a double date for Mason and me with Grampa and his brother, our great-uncle Billy! I was practically cumming in my panties when Mom told me. I guess I wasn't really paying attention enough to ask questions when Mom said, "You'll be with Grampa and Uncle Billy from Friday afternoon to Monday morning. But there are conditions." Conditions, schmonditions! I didn't care. I was finally going to get Grampa Cumster's pecker up my keister. Mason and I were nervous all week and were jumping out of our skin when Gramma Cumster picked us up after school on Friday. Had she been blocking Grampa's enjoyment of his grandsons' bodies? I didn't think so. She was a sweet, 59-year-old lady who was in good shape and looked great for her age. Grampa was a year older and the best looking 60-year-old man I had ever seen. As Gramma drove, she began to explain the conditions. "Your Grampa is a bit old-fashioned, boys. He wasn't used to the idea of sexual love with his own grandchildren. Especially you two being boys. It's taken him almost two years to get over that. Partially. But he's ready now. And I want you to give him and Uncle Billy a sex weekend they'll never forget. "It won't be as easy as it seems. I'm sure you young lovers can recharge your pricks and balls every half hour or so. You'll be timing Grampa's recharges with a calendar." Mason and I nodded. We had been with the maternal grandfathers and everyone still had a great time. But there was more. Lots more. "Grampa is still not comfortable with the whole man-on-boy thing." She paused to see our reaction. I guess we looked puzzled. Did she want us to grow pussies for the weekend? Almost. "When we get to the hotel suite where you'll be fucking all weekend, I'm going to help you get dressed and made up as 12-year-old girls from Grampa's youth. You'll be wearing light makeup, cotton panties, training bras, minidresses, frilly socks, and Mary Jane shoes. That's a non-negotiable condition. Got it?" Gramma's voice had an edge to it that I hadn't heard before. Dressing like a girl was not on my bucket list. But being fucked by Grampa Cumster definitely was. I looked at Mason. He nodded. I nodded back and said, "Agreed, Gramma." No one was in the hotel suite when we entered. It had three bedrooms and a large living room. One of the bedrooms had all kinds of girlie stuff in it. Which should have told me that Mason and I would be making some costume changes. But I hadn't figured that out yet. Gramma hustled us into the dressing bedroom and had us strip to our panties. Yes, we wore panties. We're sissyboys, remember? Anyway, she started on Mason first. Sitting him down in front of one of those "vanity" things with a big mirror. Mason was facing me, not the mirror. There was all kinds of makeup stuff on the counter and Gramma went right to work on Mason's face. She put on some stuff all over his face that sort of made it brighter and pretty much flawless. Was she going to do that to me too? She used three of four different kinds of things on Mason's eyes and, inexplicably. I got a hardon. Now a hardon is a normal thing with me, but not from watching a boy beginning to look like a girl. Maybe it was because I was thinking about swallowing Grampa's big cock when all this funny stuff was over. Maybe. Anyway, when Gramma was finished with Mason's eyes and put lipstick on him, I was near an orgasm. Apparently, I wasn't alone. When Gramma spun Mason around and he saw his girlishly beautiful self, he gasped. Then he groaned. And filled his panties with sissy cream. It was an emotional moment. And a perplexing one. I had no idea that Mason would look that good as a girl. Would I look like that? Not that I wanted to look like a girl. Other than for my Grampa. And Uncle Billy. Finished for the moment with Mason, Gramma sent him off to clean himself up and wash his panties. I took the hot seat and squirmed mentally as Gramma did her magic. Mason returned as I was being made up. He sat across from me. Naked. His panties not being refreshed. He was looking at me strangely as Gramma relocated genders with my face. And his prick was bursting. So was mine. Gramma stopped putting on my lipstick and said, "All right you two. One creamy load each. Ten minutes. No messing up your makeup. Deal?" Deal. Mason and I stood facing each other and stroked each other's tiny cocks. We wanted to kiss or suck each other off, but for the makeup promise. No problem really, though. We were both so high strung that we gave Gramma a three-minute refund on that ten-minute break. I returned to the chair and let Gramma finish. Then and only then did I look at myself in the mirror. Shazam! I was an amazing beauty. Prettier than almost all girls. By my own standards at least. It was stunning. And disappointing. Because the weekend with Grampa and Uncle Billy would be the only time I would be able to show that side of myself. And only to two men. Or so I thought. Eager to move things along, Gramma had us put on white cotton panties and [gasp] a frilly, white training bra! A bra! On me. A boy. I should have objected. But the bra's material was rubbing my nipples. and I liked my nipples rubbed. Next we put on the frilliest, sissiest, white, cotton, turn-over socks and a pair of black, patent-leather, single-strap, Mary Jane shoes. Mason was blushing. Mason never blushed. Gramma finished our dressup with pretty dresses with puffy sleeves. The kind a 12-year-old girl would have worn to a birthday party in 1965. Except the hemline was very short. Almost at testicle height. Mason's dress was yellow with white polka dots. Mine was pink with little white hearts. Oh my. We looked at each other, then at ourselves in the mirror and didn't know what to think. Gramma knew exactly what to think. She sent a text to someone, then said, "Goodbye, girls. I'll see you in a bit." Girls? In a bit? Just then we heard the door to the suite open. We heard Grampa thanking Gramma As she left. Oh! Men were about to see Mason and me dressed as girls. It was humiliating. And exhilarating. Would Grampa and Uncle Billy just rush into the dressing room and fuck us? That would be OK. But no. "Where are my granddaughters?" Grampa said in his deep voice. "And my nieces?" Uncle Billy added. "Come out, come out wherever you are." Oh my. Would they be naked? Had they taken enough Viagra? Had they brought enough Viagra? Being the more adventurous, as always, Mason led the way. I followed right behind. And saw what I didn't expect. Grampa and Uncle Billy were in their best suits and ties. Carrying flowers for us. Oh. That could turn a girl's head. But not mine. Since I wasn't a girl. What was going on? The men were smiling broadly when they saw us. We were shy little sissies. And we weren't faking that. Grampa stepped forward and handed me a bouquet. "I hope you like hydrangeas, Tiffany. It's our first date, so I had to guess." Tiffany? Uncle Billy walked toward Mason and said, "I guess I got lucky getting you daisies, Heather. Your pretty yellow dress and all." Heather? Oh my. Mason and I stood there holding our flowers. Wondering what planet we were occupying and uncertain of our next move. Grampa and Uncle Billy had that all figured. "You can leave the flowers there, ladies. The hotel staff will put them in vases while we're at dinner. We'd better go. Our reservations are in 15 minutes." Dinner? Our dates never bought us dinner. All we got to eat from them was several loads of you-know-what. Wait! The men expected us to leave the room and walk around in a public place dressed as we were? Terror!!! What if someone recognized us as boys dressed as girls? Our hair was short and we didn't know how to move as girls move. Worse, what if someone recognized us as Mason and Connor Cumster? And our reputations as sissyboys were ruined? Worst, what if a big gust of wind blew our skirts up and everyone could see out cotton, little-girl panties with our erections making a tent in them? I couldn't do it. I froze. And was about to protest when I saw Mason take Uncle Billy's arm and follow him out the hotel suite door. Well. I was a sissyboy. But I wasn't a wimp. If Mason [or Heather] could do it, so could I. Grandpa's eyes sparkled as I took his arm and followed him out. Why couldn't we just fuck? And forget all this nonsense? My attitude on that evolved as the night went on. A fresh wave of terror grabbed me when we entered the hotel dining room. The maître d' seemed to know Grampa and he was very nice to him. And didn't ask any questions about why two old guys were taking two pre-teens to dinner. Grampa must have arranged for a really big tip for the maître d'. I guess he didn't tip all the customers in the crowded dining room because most of them gave us a big eyeful. Grampa and Uncle Billy seemed to enjoy the general confusion we were making. They didn't grab our asses or give us tongue kisses or slide a hand into our panties or anything. But they did hold our chairs for us. And helped us order some really yummy food. I had to admit. Despite the stares, both hot and cold, we were getting from our fellow diners, I was enjoying myself. It seemed that "Heather" was also having fun. He was making eyes at Uncle Billy the whole time. The kind of eyes that say, "That's right, Mister. Let's get out of here so you can throw me on a bed, pull my panties down, extract your cock out and fill my sissy bum with it." Was I giving Grampa the same kind of look? Probably. I was very sexed up and ready for cock. Grampa seemed not to notice. He chatted on about how he had always wanted to meet the "Tiffany" that he knew was just below the surface of Connor. He was still astonished at how beautiful and sexy I was as Tiffany. And he hoped that later on in the evening, he could "take a liberty or two" with me. A liberty. He said that. He could take the whole Liberty Bell with me. But it seemed to excite me even more that he was being so chivalrous about it. Grampa and Uncle Billy were in no hurry to get us upstairs and out of our dresses. Toward the end of their entrees, both men took two little blue pills, then ordered us dessert and coffee. We even lingered in the hotel lobby for a bit after dinner. Drawing man-stares unlike any I had ever had as Connor. FINALLY, we got back to the suite. Uncle Billy and Heather sped to the rear bedroom. I thought Grampa and I would be in the master bedroom shucking our clothes right away. But he led me to the couch in the living room. Grampa sat. And beckoned me to sit on his right side. He gently touched my left shoulder with his right hand as asked, "May I kiss you, sweetheart?" I shuddered and came hard in my panties. Grampa pretended not to notice. But I know he was pleased. I had been fucked many times in my life. But this was the first time I was being romanced. And I liked it. I nodded my assent to the request for kisses and Grampa advanced on me. Kissing my lipsticked lips gently at first. Then more vigorously. I opened my mouth, inviting his tongue. He accepted. The lipstickiness of it all made the kissing even more exciting for some reason. And Grampa was a great kisser! I thought about reaching for his cock, freeing it from his pants, and sucking him to a nice, creamy cum. But that would have interfered with Grampa's plans. And he definitely had plans. "You're an amazinq kisser, Tiffany," Grampa said when he finally broke the kiss. "Would you like to stand up, let me take your panties down and sit on my lap?" Would I? Now he's talking. I practically jumped up. "Lift your skirts for me, my angel. That's it. Oh my. What's this?" Huh? What was he talking about? Had I pooped my pants or something? I didn't think so. Grampa smiled slightly, touched my erection through my panties and asked, "What's this doing in a pretty girl's panties?" Oh! I knew it was role playing. I knew it was my Grampa. But I felt like a crossdresser at the critical moment of a first date when her gentleman realizes that he's been romancing a girl with a prick. I wasn't afraid of being harmed. I felt a flash of concern that my excellent, attentive date would reject me because of my penis. It really deepened the realism of what we were doing. I stammered, "Grampa, I'm sorry. I thought you knew. I..." Grampa chuckled. "I'm just teasing you, my darling. Let's get these panties down so I can get a good look at your pretty parts." Whew! Grampa took his time making the big reveal. Thrilling me far beyond what I had expected. I was quivering with lust when he finally exposed "the trio" to his hungry gaze. It was all so different and new that I almost felt virginal. And Grampa was playing the "mature defiler" role perfectly. He stopped for several moments to admire my red, sore erection. He looked almost reverent. I was loving it. Then, finally, he said, "It's beautiful. You're beautiful. May I touch your penis and testicles?" Rather than shout, "YES! WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" I did something far more appropriate for our first date. I looked at Grampa, whimpered softly, and nodded shyly. And I wasn't acting. We were on a first date. Tiffany's first date. And Tiffany had not known men. But she was eager to gain such knowledge. Grampa surrounded the shaft of my prick with his rough, calloused hand. I gasped. And somehow managed not to cream all over him. He held my penis gently. Inspecting it as he moved his fingers up to the glans. My peehole drooled. Grampa smiled. Then he rubbed the underside of my glans (the arrowpoint), with his calloused thumb as he moved in to kiss me. And that, ladies and gentlemen, was all she wrote. I cried out and, digging deeply into my strategic reserves, spunked really, really hard. And really, really wet. How many times had I cum already? And I had only kissed my fully-clothed Grampa. What would happen when we got our clothes off? Let's just see, shall we? "I'm so happy I excite you, my Darling," Grampa said sweetly. "You're such a beautiful girl that I didn't think you would want to spend time with an old man like me." Wrong, wrong, wrong, Grampa! I turned into Grampa and kissed him hungrily. Doing my best imitation of melting into his arms. But I didn't grab his penis. I was letting my master of ceremonies dictate all the moves that night. Grampa got the message that I was ready to fulfil every one of his disgusting needs. But he still wasn't in a hurry. Breaking the tongue kiss, he said, "Your dress is so pretty. Let's not get `stains' on it." That's what I'm talking about! I let Grampa unzip me, then let him help me strip to my bra, panties and girlish shoes and socks. I stood there in front of Grampa. A trembling little "virgin." He paused. Drinking in my beauty. Or his own good fortune. Then he stood and, as I watched, drooling, he slowly stripped to his boxers. He had a great body! Including a very hairy chest. Mostly grey. But nice. I was hoping his underpants were coming off then, but he was sticking to his script. He sat in an easy chair and guided me to his lap. Mmmmm. I cuddled with him and played with his chest hairs. Taking our time. After a few minutes of that, Grampa asked, "Would it be all right if I removed your bra, Honey?" I didn't give it up immediately. Appearing to consider the consequences. Then I said, in my softest voice, "I guess that's OK, Grampa. Do you want to touch my nipples?" "I do, my angel. And kiss them too. Would that be all right?" That time, I nodded slightly. Like every man on earth, he had difficulty unhooking my bra. But when it was off, I felt amazingly exposed. I realized at that moment that it's more complicated for a man to "unwrap" a girl than a boy. Too bad they're nowhere near as good prickpleasers as us boys. Rather than discard my bra, he just moved it down my arms. I looked at him and saw that he was practically drooling at the sight of my nipples. I liked that. Some of my men friends had spent a moment or two kissing my nips as part of their 45 seconds of foreplay. But Grampa made a meal of them! I gasped and squirmed with sexual heat as Grampa licked and kissed and pretty much worshipped my sensitive boy-boobs. At one point, Grampa stopped and commented. "They're so delicious. I can't wait to see how they'll look when you grow a pair of double-Ds." Double Ds? As in big tits? On me? That was crazy. But astoundingly erotic to the biggest sex organ in my body -- my brain. Grampa was acting as if I was going to journey through puberty and come out on the other end as a girl. A girl with big tits. And a big cock. Oh dear. I spunked again! We were going to have to take a rehydration break soon or I was going to become a raisin. Grampa was clearly proud of himself for getting me so heated up that I multiple orgasmed before he even touched my penis. Or I touched his. I was pretty sure that mutual penis-touching was next on the agenda. It was at the top of mine. There I was. In cum-drenched panties and a bra sliding off my arms. Makeup beginning to smear from kissing. Randy as a country singer named Travis. I couldn't wait any longer. "Please Grampa," I begged. "Let me give you some relief." To this day I don't know if that was in Grampa's game plan. But he didn't hesitate to shuck his boxers, lie on his back, and await my attention. Oh! Grampa's prick was the biggest I had ever seen! Including all those construction workers and ex-convict bikers that Mason had set me up with. Gramma was so lucky! But I was the lucky one that night. We had reached the point of the evening where I was in charge. And I knew just what to do and how to do it. With some amendments from my usual. I'm not sure why I did it, but my first move was to freshen my lipstick, Taking my time about it. Watching Grampa smile with anticipation. Then I shucked my panties. Just for fun, I threw them against the wall, They stuck! Which made both Grampa and me giggle. Impossibly, I was hard again. But the moment was about Grampa's prick, not mine. And it was a delightful prick to kiss. And lick. And stroke. Grampa moaned and groaned and winced. Which made me feel powerful. And sexy. And in charge of Grampa's pleasure. An awesome responsibility. Which I fulfilled beautifully. Knowing that the interval between Grampa's orgasms would be elongated, I decided that each orgasm had to be the best possible. So I edged him. Mercilessly. Stopping short of merciful release eight times before the dam burst. Filling my mouth with senior citizen cream. Which is pretty good, once you have a taste for it. And I do. Poor Grampa. He yelled like he did one day I heard him chase kids off his lawn. But he said something situation-appropriate, like, "Oh fuck, Tiffany! Oh fuck!" Was he foreshadowing the next item on his agenda? I hoped so. When I removed my mouth from his cockhead, I melted into his body and submitted to his cum-swapping French kisses. Yum! After a nice round of post-fuckiness (kissing and rubbing and stroking), Grampa FINALLY led me into the empty bedroom. He shut the door, so that Mason and Uncle Mike wouldn't hear us fucking, I guessed. He must have still been shy about sharing details about how he was making underage, incestuous, homosexual, transgender-themed love to at least one of his grandsons. Old people sure have some funny quirks. Anyway, Grampa laid me onto my back on the bed and just looked at me. I was naked, except for my sissy shoes and socks, of course. Why did I cover my nipples with my left arm and my penis with my right hand? I don't know. It just seemed right to be a little shy. I was sure that my makeup and lipstick and all were smeared. But that didn't seem to put Grampa off one bit. I sneaked a look at his groin and he was three-quarters erect already.' Was it that blue pill? Miss Tiffany? Or just the whole filthysexiness of it all? No matter. Grampa was heading for the big bottle of Spermbutt Anal Lubricant on the nightstand. And I was whimpering for a fucking. My whimpers were about to be answered. Grampa practically drenched his right hand in Spermbutt Anal Lubricant, then joined me on the bed. I guess I thought he was going to eat me out first, but that would have held up my fucking. Little did I know that my ass would be a feast for Grampa and Uncle Billy all weekend. But I hoped it would be. Anyway, Grampa tormented my prostate with slick fingers as we swapped saliva for a good (very good) 15 minutes, during which I spunked ferociously. Grampa's cock was at full stand when he gave it a good rubdown with Spermbutt Anal Lubricant. Tiffany's time, it seemed, had come. Grampa was all business. Lifting my hips with two big pillows. He had fuck flames coming out of both nostrils as he was about to mount me missionary-style. But I just had to ask, "Grampa, are you sure I won't get pregnant?" That seemed to send him further into fuck fury. He was only able to rasp out, "Maybe you will get pregnant, Baby. Your belly will get up and you can tell everyone, you're carrying Grampa's baby. Would you like that?" With fear in my eyes, I said, "Oh, yes, Grampa. Fuck me! Give me your baby." And that was that. If I had been thinking, I probably would have been amused by the notion that if Tiffany did get pregnant and have a boy, he would be both my son and my uncle. Or amused by the impossibility of me getting pregnant, whether I was being Tiffany or not. Other than that little constraint, I was feeling a lot like Tiffany as I felt Grampa's fat prick stab through my weak anal defenses. And what I was able to realize at that moment was that I liked being Tiffany. It was almost a rebirth. It was like having a secret identity. Like Clark Kent. Or Bruce Wayne. Or Barry Allen. Tiffany was reacting to being fucked the way a girl would. Screaming out her lust as her Grampa gave her ass a proper seeing-to. She dug her fingernails and the heels of her sissy Mary Jane shoes into Grampa's back as the mature lover loved her maturely. Scars that he would no doubt share with his friends over a pint as he tells them about the fun he had fucking Tiffany. And fun it was. The man was clearly experienced at fucking. And since he took the time to set the stage for our fucking with attention, affection and foreplay, I was enjoying the best fuck of my life. Way better than any shagging I had had as Connor. Even Daddy had been too much wham-bam with Connor. Well, that was over. If men wanted my pussy in the future, they would need to do the kinds of things Grampa was doing before during and after our fucks. Grampa's cock was thick and stiff. And showed no sign of an early climax. Which surprised me, since Mason and I had giggled about the lack of stamina my and his maternal grandfathers had shown us. Grampa was definitely not quick on the trigger. His bullets were staying in his magazine for a good, long time. Yum! That blue pill he took as we left the restaurant probably helped. But I believe that Tiffany was more responsible for Grampa's rigidity than any old pill. The man's kisses as we fucked were amazing. His left hand caressed my ass cheeks. His right hand skinned my knob. Back and forth. Thrillingly. Oh! Tiffany was being a bad girl again! How many times was that already? And Grampa had only cum once so far. Oops. I spoke too soon. When Grampa felt my sissy goo douse his hand, that was the little nudge that pushed him over. He gave out the cutest roar as he HEAVED his cum blast into my sweet asshole. Wet. Very wet. I leaked for almost an hour after. I even enjoyed that. Two -- Further fun Stamina. A man needs it if he's going to please his sissyboy lover. Older people like Grampa don't have much stamina. Young sissyboys do. Or so says the rule book. So why was I completely exhausted and sleeping like the dead and Grampa was in the clothes-room shower freshening up? Maybe because the sexiness of everything had me cumming every five minutes and Grandpa had only cum twice. Maybe because for the first time I could remember, my balls were completely empty. A good empty. When I awoke it was 2:13 a.m. Gramma was in my room, moving around. And Grampa wasn't! Oh no!! Was Gramma looking to have sex with me? Sex with a...female!!??!? I couldn't. I wouldn't. Imagine my relief when Gramma said, "Up and at `em, Lazy Bones. You need to freshen up for your Grampa. "Get in the shower and clean off your makeup and my husband's sperm. I have to get you cleaned and girlied up. Proper young ladies who want to be properly fucked don't sleep naked, Missy. Off you go." Huh? I knew how to take a shower, but what was the plan? Would it hurt? Somehow I knew I would like it a lot. As I soaped up in the warm shower, I wondered why Gramma was being so good about all this. So good to her husband. As most men of all ages will tell you, they don't understand women any better at that moment than when they were pre-teens. [AUTHOR'S IMPORTANT, DON'T-MISS-IT NOTE: As my small group of nifty readers know, I write fantasy stuff. Sad to say, Sissy Boy magazine, Spermbutt Anal Lubricant, sissyboy spunk parties, and a constitutional amendment reducing the age of consent for boys to ten years and three months don't exist. Yet. But they're at least plausible notions, right? I apologize for going so far off the reality track in this story by creating a female character (Gramma) who wants to make her husband happy and sex-drained. With no selfish agenda. Crazy, huh? Try to suspend disbelief and read on, OK?] Anyway -- "Your Grampa is in the other shower, Tiffany," Gramma said. "He'll be clean, naked and as horny as the symphony playing Wagner when I bring you back to him. I can sissygirl you up one of two ways. I can make you young and still innocent, even after, what was it, five spurties, or I can slutty you up big time. Grampa's preference is to stay with innocent. Are you OK with that?" I eagerly gave my constitutionally-protected consent. Innocent was working out VERY well so far! "OK. A big advantage here is that it won't take us long to do that and you'll be back in your Grampa's loving arms shortly. I have a pink, cotton, shortie nightgown that a girl would wear to bed on a warm night, and a small bit of blush and lipstick. No panties, since girls don't wear panties to bed. Are you having a good time so far, Sweetie?" My radiant smile was genuine. As was my response. "Oh, yes, yes, yes, Gramma! This has been the best time of my life. Thank you so much, Gramma, for sharing Grampa with me. I'm totally in love with him." Gramma smiled as she slid the pretty nightgown over my head. "I love him too, Tiffany. He's been taking care of ALL my needs for 35 years. So whenever I can help him, I do. And of course, I'll share him with you now and then. But you must promise me you won't be greedy about him. Or kill him with overfuckiness." I smiled and hugged her. "Grampa has already taught me what I should demand from my dates from now on. Including Daddy. I'm not just some little faggy fuck toy." "Good for you, Tiffany. Now let me get your makeup on, blow dry your hair and shove you back into the arena, where the lion is waiting to devour you with love." All innocent-sissied up, I took a deep breath, and was ready to leave the bathroom when Gramma said, "Hold this in your left arm when you see Grampa. It will make him extra voracious for that pretty little ass of yours." It was a floppy, stuffed bunny. Perfect! I gave Gramma a sweet kiss, then opened the door to face my fate. In all its fit, hairy, smiling, quivering-with-lust, fully-erect glory. Was it the bunny? The outfit? Or just me? No matter. Grampa was a bit more impatient than he had been. If you can call kissing me briefly (only ten minutes worth), then flopping me onto my stomach and eating me out for a screaming, heaving 18 minutes of crazed lust patient. Grampa was an exceptional ass eater! Had he honed his skills with Gramma? Had Grampa been bumfucking Gramma throughout their marriage? [Remember, this is a fantasy.] Probably. Gramma was right about the possibly fatal nature of Grampa's and my relationship. But it was probably going to be me on a slab in the coroner's office, not Grampa! He made me cum three times from the kissing and ass-eating. That made eight for me and two for Grampa. But number three would arrive on the next train. Fully prepared for Grampa's large bumpleaser. In it slid. Like butter. I don't care if I had already cum eight times. The raw pleasure of taking Grampa's magnificent manhood made me scream and drizzle yet again. Three -- The morning after the night before Is there a better feeling than awakening after a night of unparalleled love than to a fresh fucking? It was 9:17 on Saturday morning. I'm sure you know that old people wake up early. Even after a previous marathon of love. Grampa told me later that he had awakened at 6:15, but with regard for my health, had let me sleep. He had arisen, cleaned himself up, consumed hotel-room coffee (Yum} and read several newspapers on his phone. He had taken a little blue pill at 8:15 and had a ferocious hardon just for me at 9:10. So, he had stripped naked and, ignoring the cummy sheets from the two delicious, middle-of-the-night fucks we had enjoyed, spooned up behind me and kissed me awake. As I fluttered my eyes, Grampa said, "Good morning, my little angel. I hope you slept well because I see a big day coming up. I am so grateful to you for being so kind and generous to your old grandfather. You're a good girl and I love you so much. May I please fuck you now?" "Please, Grampa. Please fuck me. I want your baby in me, Grampa!" You'll remember I had said that before and it had stirred Grampa's libido. Libido stirring is a good thing. Grampa and I both knew that Tiffany wasn't going to get pregnant. But we needed to keep trying. A lot. Grampa was a gentleman again. Complying with the request of a lady, Tiffany, for a furious, balls-to-the-wall, knock-down-drag-out fuck. Sexagenarian edition. It was not a life-threatening a fuck as I had had with some younger men and boys, but it was deliciously magnificent. Afterwards, Gramma magically reappeared and dragged me off to the shower. Where she gave me the full treatment yet again. That time I was wearing a baby-blue sundress with spaghetti straps that showed my pretty bare shoulders. And two-inch-heel, strappy sandals that exposed my pretty toes to the world as Tiffany. She even painted my toenails a sissy pink. The big thrill for me that time was my first stockings and garter belt! Tan stockings. Caressing my legs. Swishing when I rubbed my legs together. The garter belt tugging as I walked. Wow! Then Gramma disappeared again. And Grampa reappeared. Wearing khakis and a kelly-green golf shirt. He looked scrumptious. But it didn't appear that we would be going back to bed just yet. Which was probably a good thing, since my testicles ached with the opposite of blue balls. Overusage! Had I been sensible, I would have said, "Grampa, my tee tees hurt. Can you take me home, put me in a warm bath and let me rest until school on Monday?" Right. Instead, I said, "Where are we going, Grampa? Are you sure you want to go out? The bed is right over there." Grampa smiled. "I know, Tiffany, Honey. But pretty little girls need to eat. We're going to brunch with Heather and Uncle Billy." Holey moley! Had I completely forgotten about Heather (Mason) and Uncle Billy (Uncle Billy)? Well, I hoped Heather had as good a time as I had. But I didn't see how she could. Grampa was like the world's best lover. That time I didn't even blink when I appeared in public as Tiffany. Gramma had made me look scrumptious and... Oh! There was Uncle Billy walking toward us with... Was that my cousin and BFF, Heather, AKA Mason? It was! What a doll she was. Though not dollier than me. She was walking funny and smiling like a boy pretending to be a girl whose hunky older relative had fucked her all night long! Just like me. Now that I think of it, I was walking funny too. Maybe it was just the two-inch heels Gramma put us in. Anyway, Heather and I were all huggy and giggly and kissy. Which we would have never done in public as boys. Or in private. I liked that. What fun we had together after our carnal-extravaganza weekend dishing about everything. Grampa said a wolf was eating his stomach and he had to eat. So he lightly held Heather's upper arm and led her into the restaurant. Uncle Billy did the same for me. That's right. Grampa and Uncle Billy were signaling that they were switching partners for Saturday! Switching! Without our consent. Well. They could just forget about that. Grampa was mine and I was his. Not Uncle Billy's. I just wouldn't consent and that would ne that. I would be back with Grampa and that little tramp Heather would... "Oh, Tiffany," Heather said as we looked at the menus. "Uncle Billy was amazing! He's so handsome and polite and chivalrous and he has the biggest cock I've ever seen! And I've seen a bunch. He fucked me seven times and I must have spunked 20 times. You will really love your time with him." I would? Maybe I was being too hasty about a Saturday with Uncle Billy. Well, my obvious first priority was to defend Grampa. "Heather, Grampa made cum-drenched love to me so many times I lost count. I felt like I was cumming the whole time we were together. He's an awesome lover." The men smiled broadly as we played "Topper." "Thank you, girls. You're so sweet to say those things. I hope you're OK with us giving you a well-rounded experience this weekend. And remember, it's not a competition." Like hell it wasn't. But Heather and I said, "Thank you, Grampa" and ordered brunch. I guess you know what happened next. But you would be wrong. Grampa held Heather's hand and Uncle Billy held mine as we strolled through the park. They bought us ice cream and red balloons. With each step we felt the breeze up our skirts and the tug of our garters. And we felt the delight of being lust-ogled by every man in the park that day. By 2:30, Heather and I were more than a little randy. When I whispered in Uncle Billy's ear that I really needed him to fuck me, walkies time was over, We got into our suite and Heather and Grampa scurried off to the room where she and Uncle Billy had been. Uncle Billy and I had the living room. And there I was. In the room with Uncle Billy. Who was going to undress me, lubricate me, dilate me, penetrate me and fornicate me. But not just yet. We sat on the couch and started off with some sweet cuddling. Uncle Billy complimented not just my facial beauty, but the beauty of my body. Especially my stockinged legs. I was really hoping he would say I was miles prettier than Heather, but the man wasn't burning any bridges. Before we even kissed, he asked if he could be allowed one of those liberty things. A small one. "I've been admiring your lovely neck and bare shoulders since I first saw you this morning," the randy senior citizen said. "May I please kiss them?" I LOVE the style of these old guys! "I guess that would be all right. If you're gentle," I replied, sort of mildly post-virginally. Flames were beginning to spark in all four of our nostrils as Uncle Billy worshipped my neck and shoulders with his soft kisses. It was almost painfully erotic! Where had men like Grampa and Uncle Billy been all my life? I moved the agenda along by saying, "You can kiss me if you like, Uncle Billy." He liked. Our lips met. Then our tongues as we dug in for some really great kissing. Almost as good as...OK, just as good as Grampa's. My first sploogee with Uncle Billy was, just like with Grampa, non-penis related. As we swapped saliva, Uncle Billy slipped his right hand up my skirts and began to rub, very gently, the bare thigh above the stocking top on my right leg. I heard a Sousa march in my head as the fireworks went off. The whole thing was just so naughty. Like we were teens on my parents' couch. And I wasn't even a teen yet. We were kissing noiselessly so that "Daddy" wouldn't come down and defenestrate my date. My date had just taken a naughty liberty and I had to decide if I was going to scream for Daddy or enjoy it. I chose door number two. The cum monster was behind that door. He caught me and wouldn't let go. Just from kissing and the lightest of what they used to call "petting." Uncle Billy, the liberty-taking rogue was very pleased with himself. When I had reentered the earth's atmosphere, he asked, "Oh my goodness, Honey. You made such a mess. A good mess, but a mess. Would you like me to help you clean up?" That sounded really good. So I stood, wiggled down my panties, lifted my skirts and watched Uncle Billy's eyes fill with tears of joy. I guess Tiffany has that effect on men. "Tiffany, Honey, your pretty parts are awesomely beautiful. I could die happy if you just let me clean them with my tongue. Would that be all right? Please tell me if that makes you uncomfortable and I'll get a washcloth and towel." Tongue vs. Towel? Hmmm. I eagerly selected tongue. And Uncle Billy eagerly lapped up every stray molecule of creamy spermies. Once again, Uncle Billy took his time doing it. And slow fellation is trilling fellation. He must have spent ten minutes just making sure that the sensitive parts under my foreskin were sparkling clean until, oops, everything was messy again. That time I had to lick my creamy goodness off Uncle Billy's face. By mutual agreement we determined that foreplay was over for now. Giggling, I raced Uncle Billy to the bedroom. I was naked except for my frilly bra, garter belt and tan stockings. He took his time getting nude. It was worth the wait. Uncle Billy was a widower and hadn't dated a woman since Aunt Millie died four years earlier. But he had enjoyed more than his share of neighborhood's sissyboys. I could see why. He was two years younger than Grampa and his body, including his XXL penis, was almost identical. He knew how to romance and make love to his partners, which to a sissyboy nearing the end of his prime years, age 12 and 11 months for instance, means more than penile prowess. His bumwrecker was pointing north as I lay on my back facing him. My cummy panties were draped around my left ankle (a nice touch) my stockinged legs were up and spread and my toes were pointed (another nice touch). Were his balls bigger than Grampa's? I didn't know and I didn't care. All I wanted to know was could he eat ass as well as... Wow! No standing on ceremony for the ass-eating. Uncle Billy went off the high board and landed with barely a splash. The man must have dazzled a sissyboy or two with that analingus enthusiasm. The man could pootie dive! I did what I seemed to be doing that weekend. I spunked so hard I wondered if the cardiac paddles were nearby. It wasn't my fault, OK? The men were too hunky. Too romantic. Too loving. Too caring. I wanted to reward Uncle Billy the only way I could at that moment. I rolled over, showed Uncle Billy my pretty wrinkle, and whimpered to be fucked. Being a gentleman, the man complied. Vigorously. But not overly. Which made it all last longer and build and build until my back arched, I mumbled something that I hoped he would hear as "I love you, Uncle Billy," and spurted the two remaining cum atoms in my boyish innards. Feeling my ass muscles succumbing to cum triggered Uncle Billy's first cum together. And all was well with the world. I was in a field of pretty hydrangeas. Just like the ones Grampa got me. The sun was shining. My Daddy, Heather's Daddy. Grampa, Uncle Billy and Heather were all there. Naked. I think I was naked too. All I could hear was, "Oh, Tiffany. You're the prettiest girl in the world and Heather is the second prettiest. We all want to kiss you and make love to you." Well, Duh. I knew that already. But then I woke up. Uncle Billy was flat on his back, chest heaving. I was cuddled up to him. Teasing his chest hairs. Could I have been happier? Yes! Because at that inappropriate moment, my brain started functioning again. And I started crying. Hard. Uncle Billy was aghast! He did his best to comfort me. Even another good, stiff fucking (pretty much a panacea) wouldn't have helped. Finally, I was able to communicate through my sobs. "I love being a sissyboy, Uncle Billy. You and Grampa made me happier than I've ever been. But I'm getting old. I'll be 13 next month and you know how older sissyboys are treated these days. I might only be fucked once a day. Some days I could even be celibate! It'll even be worse when I'm 16 or 17." Unlike most men, Uncle Billy didn't try to downplay my fears. He recognized them and empathized. Another reason why he was getting a Galaxy-class blowjob when our talk was over. But then he locked in universe-class for life. "You're right, Sweetheart. The Sissyboy Revolution allowed so-called hetero men who were disappointed with women to fuck boys who exhibit the kind of femininity that they always wanted but never got from women. When a sissyboy gets older, he starts looking like a man and the so-called heteros don't want to think they're fucking another man. "The main reason your Grampa and I set up this reason wasn't to empty our balls into those amazing asses. OK, that was a strong second. A One-A. But the main reason was to show you another path." I was gently playing with Uncle Billy's pubic hair as I asked him to go on. "We know a way you can have all the hetero men you want until you're in your sixties. Maybe longer. You need to become who you've been this weekend. A pantyboy!" This was VERY interesting. I began to stroke Uncle Billy's half-stiffie. "I'm sure you saw those stares you got from men this weekend. They think of you as feminine beauties. The kind they wish the women in their lives could be with a little effort. Even better, until you're 18, men can fuck you and not girls that age. Learn to girlie up, Tiffany, Gramma will help, and you'll be well-fucked and happy. You can even marry a man if you want. Adopt babies. Live in a house with a white picket fence. "You can live full time as Tiffany or part-Connor, part-Tiffany. It's all up to you. How does that sound?" "It sounds wonderful, Uncle Billy. Thank you . Thank you . Thank you ." I sat up, straddled Uncle Billy, sat on his cock, and rode him to my future. Please tell me what you think at bc20002015@hotmail.com or beautifulcreamer@yahoo.com.