Growing up, Steve and I knew each other as cousins. He lived in Dallas, Texas. His mom was my mother’s sister. He had two older siblings, both sisters. Over the years, I had had occasion to speak to my aunt and members of he family. When Grandma started me on hormones and blockers at the age of ten, it became common knowledge in the family that I was transgender. Or so I allowed everyone to believe. I had already accepted that I was not transgender. For lack of a better label, I self identified as a sissy.
When I was twelve, Mom was in an helicopter accident and medically discharged from the Army, She returned to Spokane, moving in with Grandma and myself. By this time, I was already developing breasts. She found the transition of her son, even as she had signed off on it, to be unsettling. She asked me to give her some time to adjust. As I still had to attend school as a boy, this not a difficult ask.
Shortly after she returned to Spokane, she met Charles. Charles was a farmer who lived thirty miles south of Spokane near the small community of Rosalia.. During the early days of their relationship, he only knew me as her son Glenn. Within a year, they were married and Mom and I move to live with him. By this time he knew of Veronica and had already made it clear — he could not accept Veronica under his roof. Mom and i worked out an agreement whereby I would spend summers and weekends in Spokane with Grandma. This would allow me to continue exploring my feminine identity.
One day, my Mom received a bad news phone call. Her sister and her husband had died in car accident. Steve had lost his parents. His two older sisters were already attending college, but Steve was still a minor. Shortly thereafter, Mom told me Steve was my brother. She had gotten pregnant at the age of fifteen and had Steve when she was sixteen. Mom’s sister had agreed to raise Steve as her own. The decision was made that Steve would come live with us. I was thirteen years old and Steve was seventeen.
It was awkward meeting Steve, the brother I had never known. However, we soon became more comfortable with each other . One day several weeks after his arrival, he asked me about my transition. He understood the situation with Charles and oddly wanted to know if it was difficult being transgender and compelled to live life as a boy. I made what had the feel of a spur of the moment decision. I told Steve that I was not transgender. I then went on to confide in him that I felt the label of ‘sissy’ was more accurate.
As this was not a topic he knew much about, he asked the difference. I then told him that as a sissy I was choosing a more feminine life whereas for transgender individuals it was not about choice but about their gender identity. I went on to explain that I had decided I wanted to live my life as a girl and accepting the label of ‘transgender’ allowed me to pursue my goal of life as a girl.
I will not use this space to expand upon the conversations I had with Steve over the next few weeks about why I had chosen the life of a sissy. Those are discussions I will leave for another post. However, I did let him know that one reason I had chosen the life of a sissy is because I like boys. I did not like girls. Telling Steve, I found myself wanting him to know that I like boys, mostly because he was a boy and I liked him. Upon sharing this secret, my decision to tell Steve I was a sissy felt less spur of the moment and more like something I had been wanting to share for several weeks.
As Steve had a car, it was not uncommon for him to drive me into Spokane for my time with Grandma. One Sunday he was coming to pick me up and Grandma was working at her store that day. She rarely worked weekends and almost never Sundays, but as owner of the business sometimes these shifts could not be avoided. Normally when I did not change into my Veronica clothes until after he left. I would also already be fully dressed as Glen when he came to pick me up. However on this day, I had the house to myself and I decided to change things up.
When Steve arrived, I was sunbathing on the back deck. Sunbathing was nothing more than my cover story. Actually I was waiting on his arrival. I wanted him to see me in my favorite bikini. One I have never worn when Grandma would have seen me. She would have felt it was too shocking. My hope was that a seventeen year old young man would not think it was ‘too shocking.’ That he would find it perfect.
He love the bikini. Or maybe it would be more accurate it loved what the bikini reveal of his sissy brother. Four month later my brother and I kissed for the first time. Two months after that he fucked me. Over the next three years him and I would fuck what had to be hundreds of times. So i guess my decision to tell Steve I was a sissy was not spur of the moment , but rather the first move in a plan even I did not know I had.
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