Sunday, December 9, 2012

Spokane Good Girl or Spokane Bad Girl

I am not certain who was more excited when I was asked out for my first dance date -- myself or my Mom. It was a big occasion for her so she wanted me to have a new dress. Is it the dress I would have chosen for myself? Yes and no. I loved the dress and I love the look, but it seemed more appropriate as a dress to wear to a formal family dinner than out on a date with a hot boy.

And when I say hot, I mean 'hot.' Later that evening, I found myself back at his place in a guest bedroom above the family garage. Is it any wonder that this girl sucked dick on a first date.  Of course Tim would not care beans about what dress I was wearing before it was removed so I could suck his dick without getting it all cummy.  So instead of wearing a dress I might have preferrred, I wore the dress Mom picked out for me.

I do not suppose I am alone in this ongoing struggle of a young girls desire to grow up faster and a mom's desire for her to grow up slower.  Mom wanted  me to remain young and innocent and I was already well beyond innocent and doing things older girls had not yet done.

When Tim showed up at our door that night, Mom was very courteous and friendly.  However she did pull me aside and suggest to me that he was too old for me.  When I assured Mom that he was only fifteen years old, Mom looked back at him and then said to me, "Some boys are a lot older at fifteen then other boys."  And I almost replied that some girls are a lot older at my age of thirteen than other girls, But I didn't.  I fell back on the time-worn justification that it was 'just a dance' and that it was being held at a churce.  "How harmless is that."  And then I added, "And his mom is driving us."


I did keep one secret from Mom. It was indeed a church dance (which is another reason I went with this pink dress), but it was not Tim's church. It was a church near his home. Very near. Walking distance near. Sneak out of the dance and return an hour later nearness. If Mom had known that Tim had already suggest we could do just that, if she had known as I did that Tim was confident we would not be caught if we went up to their guest room, I am sure she would have had me stay home.

I like to think that being a girl open to being fucked does not necessarily make me a 'bad girl.'  However, I am sure if those who saw us return to the dance that night had know what we had just done, that each and every one of them would have seen me as a 'bad girl,' as a very bad girl. However, two years later, Tim and I would go to the same dance again and would repeat our disappearance. And I was much more of a 'bad girl' that second time.



Pink Hair Doesn't Work in Spokane

Like many girls my age and of my generation, I went through a phase where I loved to experiment with the color of my hair. It would not be entirely accurate to say that it was a complete waste of my time. I did come to enjoy the pink wig that I am wearing in this picture. However, by and large, when I went out in some of my other wigs, wigs that were not quite so understated, I seemed to attract a different kind of boy.

As I have shared elsewhere and will share again, I love to fuck.  I love getting fucked.  Throughout my teens it was one of the main reasons I ever went  to  the mall or hung around fast food restaurants.  So this may seem a bit confusing.  The boys I attracted when I wore these non-traditional wigs were more often open to fucking a tranny than the boys I attracted with more traditional hair color.

So what was the problem?  They almost always had small dicks.  Now how is this?  I simply don't know.  While I am probably more likely wrong than right, I came to decide that boys saw my weird hair colorings as compensation, as a means of getting attention, as it I was not good enough to get attention with this weirdness.  As such I was something of a kindred spirit to them as they also had to compensate by dressing weird with nose rights and tattoos and hair-colored like mine.  This boys needed a hook becasuse they could not get girls without it. Because they often had a small dick.

I am not suggesting that there is any logic to this argument.  I am merely forming a conclusion based on my experiences.

Now if this seems far-fetched, you may wonder how I ever came up with this idea.  One day as I was getting ready to go out, hopeful of meeting some guy who would fuck me, it crossed my mind -- as it often does -- that I hope should I find a guy that he has a big dick.  It occurred to me that it had been a while since I had had a big dick.  Reflecting back,  it occurred to me that most of the guys that had fucked me in recent weeks had had small dicks.  And I had been wearing these wigs for on a regular basis in recent weeks.

So I put aside the pink and green and blue wigs for a while, and over the next couple of weeks, I got fucked on three seperate occasions by guys with big dicks.  While it maybe made no sense at all, I went back to my brunette look and did quite well for myself.





Saturday, December 8, 2012

My Visits To Northtown Mall In Spokane

A commonly heard criticism of beauty pageants for toddlers and even older young girls is that the pageants objectifies young girls. These pageants are blamed for the sexualization of very young girls. I can argue with these contentioins. At a very young age, it beccame important to me to be seen and appreciated.

Each pageant I attended was different.  Some were more talent shows than beauty pageants.  Others were more about the girl and less about her appearance.  Some were local affairs attached to a county fair or seasonal festival.  Others were the early prelims of state and national competitions And yet for all their difference, they all shared a common (lets use a very broad term) sin.  They all placed me in front of judges and I was judged.

While I did generally quite well at many of these competitions, I would more often than not return home with no trophy, no sash, no ribbon, no crown.  I did not dwell on these as losses.  I came home too often with a trophy or a sash or a ribbon or a crown to   attach to much importance to the times I did not.

However that is not to say that I didn't come to love the attention I received at each and every pageant, talent show, fashion show I attended.  I came to love the applause, the admiring eyes, the attention of  the young men in  the audience.

As such, I came to seek out over venues where I would get some of that same attention.  At first it was quite innocent.  I would go to a local MacDonalds and have a burger and glance at every boy who passed by to see if they were looking at me.

In time, when I was a bit older, the boys started to hit on me.  I would make out with some and later on going to the mall was me out looking for a dick to suck.  As much as I enjoyed shopping for a new dress at the mall, if I came home from  the mall with the taste of cum lingering in my mouth from a blowjob I had given in the family room, it was a great day,

As a girl sucking down a soda, or hanging out at the mall, or even one looking to suck dick in the Sears bathroom, I did not feel compelled to share my secret with the boys I meet.  It isn't like I wanted any of them to put a ring on my finger and marry me.  But once I started fucking, I had to be a more honest with the boys.

I consider it something of a testament to my life, to what I had accomplished, that occasionally we would get back to my room to fuck and the boy would be surprised that I had been telling the truth.  More rarely, this would be a deal-breaker for them.  When it wasn't a deal breaker, when he did go ahead and fuck me,  anal sex and  tranny sex almost always had a new convert.



Best Bottom in Spokane

The first time I ever showed a boy ass as in posing so he could see my ass, I did not of course yet know that it would be such an important part of my life. I could not let Andy see me from the front because even though I was pretty small down there, you could still tell that something was not quite right about how I looked in my panties. So I showed him my ass. Or as I called it at the time my bottom.

I did not ask to see 'his.'  Understanding I had no curiosity about what he had 'down there' and as for his rear end it had no appeal to me.

Over the years, things would happen.  Occasionally I would find myself with a boy (and later a man) and he would that I get on top, that I ride him.  Most of the time I would say "No" to  that.  It is not my style.  Most of the time, but not all of the time.

I do not however see the relatively few times I have gone 'top' as changing who I am.  I am a bottom.  My role is the woman's role.  Andy liked what he saw that day and being a young boy seeing his first ass, he even suggested that I probably had the 'best bottom in Spokane.'  I truly doubt if I was deserving of this honor, but over the years it became increasingly important to me  that those boys who saw my bottom saw a bottom that they wanted to fuck.

I am not discounting the importance of other physical attributes to attract and entice the boys into fucking me.  However more often than not, the first time I was with any boy, it was also his first time with a girl like me.

So much about being a woman is about  the clothes we wear, the way we look.  Men come to see panties and garter belts and thigh hi black stocking as erotice.  They are exciting sexually by these items particularly when they are worn by a sexy woman.

Not uncommonly I would be  so close to getting laid and at the last moment, he would have second thoughts.  Normally because they thought that fucking me made them queer.  They would not buy into my argument that fucking me was more like fucking a girl in the ass than fucking a dude in the ass.

So in time I began to work very hard at ensuring that if and when I got to that point with a boy that he had a choice that he would see more woman than guy before him.

While I may not have been deserving of the platitude 'the best bottom in Spokane' so many years ago, by the time I was  fucking on a regular basis, I stood a better chance of getting fucked up the ass by a newbie if the ass I presented 'the best bottom in Spokane.'

I do not know what it is about the 'male beast,' but not  did I ever give it up to a boy, a boy who had just about back out of burying his dick up my ass, that he did not thoroughly enjoy fucking my ass.  And when I say 'my ass' what I really am saying is fucking an ass.

I suspect there are no small number of wives in Spokane who do not understand why it is that her husband wants to take her anally  I may sound like I am too full of myself.  But when I find myself with a married man, not uncommonly he has contacted me because he loves anal and his wife will not agree to be used that way.




Friday, December 7, 2012

My Boobies Start To Grow

When I was eight years old, my mother took me into see a doctor, a specialist. She did not coach me on what I would be asked or how I should respond. She wanted the doctor to come to his own conclusions, make his own assessment of my gender identity. There were follow-up appointments and I spoke to a couple of other doctors. It the final analysix however it was pretty much how it would have gone if it had all been left to Mom. I was given blockers and began a hormone regimen, however, in combination was just too little to have much real impact. Mom however had money and she was able to procure the essential of a more aggressive transformation.

I was ten years old when I started to see the effects of the hormones on my body.  It would not be until I was eleven that those changes would be noticeable say in a form-fitting white t-shirt.

At eleven I was not yet to an age at which boys by age were all that interested in girls.  This is not to say that boys a couple years older had not started to take more interest in girls.  And if the girl was cute, even if she was a couple years younger, if she had 'boobies'  they would notice.  My interest in older boys and their interest in me began roughly about the time I started growing boobies.  [I hate the term 'boobies' but when they are this small I am not sure they yet deserve to be call breasts or tits.]

By this time I had been living full time as a girl for five years.  I was still being homeschooled and because of my unique circumstance I did not shower with the other girls when I had PE at a nearby school as required.  As such I had several friends who only knew me as a girl.

Because of our pool, our home was a poplular hangout on weekends. Here you see me with half a dozen of my girlfriends.  The boys, including the one filming our dance, are watching out of view.  Can you guess which of these girls I am?  Can you guess which one is attracting the bulk of the attention?  The one who wants the bulk of the attention?  One of these seven girls will be sucking dick shortly after the other six have gone home.  Can you guess which one?  The answer is the same for each. If it helps, the boy filming is the same one who ends up getting a blowjob.  And it is quite easy to tell who he likes the most in this group of seven girls.

Grant actually left the party with his girlfriend Sue -- the blonde in the turquoise floral bikini to the left of me in the video.  They were pretty serious, but she didn't suck dick, not yet.  Grant felt somewhat certain I did suck cock and so he returned to party and lingered around until it was just him and I left.

Sue and Grant were still dating when he and I once again found ourselves alone. By this time, like pretty much everyone else I knew, he had learned the truth about me. But that did not stop him from getting himself a piece of tight tail that afternoon.


Thursday, December 6, 2012

I Love My Legs

For beauty pageants, I was usually require to wear long gown with full skits, but given my personal preference I would always choose a skirt or dress that was short.  I am not entirely certain why this is except that of course boys usually wear long pants that conceal their legs and girls were dresses that show them off.

Mom was always telling me what pretty legs I had when I wore a short dress or skirt or even a pair of shorts so it was a constant source of positive reinforcement for me.  As I grew older, I took even greater pride in my legs.  After all I did not have  the natural facial beauty of some girls or the curves, but I did have great legs.

There was one other aspect of my love affair with my legs.  They always seem to drawn the attention of the boys and yes even some men, even when I was much to be young to be looked at by men. . . that way.  Of course one of the reasons young boys often looked at my legs was their hope that by doing so they might get a glimpse up my skirt and see my panties.

There would come a time in my life when I knew even though I did not have the tits I would have liked to have had, I always had my legs.  If my skirt was short enough, about the only thing else I needed to get noticed was a smile.  And I had learned a great deal about smiling as a pageant girl.

There was a couple years of my life when I was fairly certain some boys stayed their distance from me because they could tell I was too young.  And maybe I was.  But I had grown my faster than most girls.

While most girl still found a day at American Girl dressing their dolls up with their mother was a great way to spend an Saturday afternoon, I would spend my day at a nearby park or the local mall checking out the boys.

I had already learned that most boys my age were not yet ready to have a girl suck their dick.  I mean this both as in old enough to want it and secondly as in big enough to be worth my while.

I am not suggesting that biggger is better.  It would be more accurate to say that small was a waste of time.

Jon would be the first boy I ever sucked.  He was not terribly big so maybe it was a good first cock.  But after have gone down on him, I found that anything smaller was just not the same for me.

After I had been with a couple of older boys, then I really knew I like them bigger.

Now of course when I talk about size, whether I am talking about small or big, I am not talking big as in pornstar big.  I still had relatively small hands and I consider big to be any cock that I could grasp and hold as I sucked on the tip.

I am not going to share how old I was when I first started to suck dick on a fairly regular basis.  Suffice it to say I was too young.  And it could be added that for the better part of three years that is all I would do with boys.

Not that some didn't try to do more.  One day on the beach, I was all but ready to let a boy to further.  We found a secluded place on the beach.  We started to make out and I told him how much I enjoyed sucking on cock.  I was getting pretty horny and at one point he startd to slip his hand into my bikini bottoms.  He lost interest in 'down there' but he still had me finish him off.  As he watch me gulp down his load, he was the first boy to call me a slut.


The Whole Package Part Two

I knew at an early age that I was sexy.  Or mayube it would be more accurate to say that I knew I could become sexy.  The beauty pageants I enter taught me a great deal about how to look my best which include the use of cosmetics at an age when most parents disdain seeing their daughter even playing with lipstick.

I also learned how to dress to show off my best attributes, how to smile (and dare I say flirt with my eyes), how to move.  Yet, it could be said  that in the earliest years this was all most a charade.  It could truly be said that I was essentially at this age still just a boy pretending to be a girl.

I say this because beyond having grown my hair out long, slipping into a dress and putting on some makeup, there was not a whole lot more to be a girl contestant in one of these pageants.

Now looking back on my youngest years, as I have said before and will most likely say again, I cannot recall a  time in my life when I did not enjoy the time I spent as Veronica.  While I am sure my memories have been colored over the years, what I remember of being a boy when I was much younger were period of unhappiness and sadness.  To the best of my memory, those times when I was a boy were spent just waiting until I could be a girl again.

As I grew older, the definiton of 'girl' changed for me.  It would not be entirely incorrect to suggest that one of the first changes I noted was  that being a girl increasingly became moe about the clothes under my dress and less about the dress itself.  For instance, I hated wearing jeans and a  Tshirt as a boy and much preferred wearing a dress.   However once I started wearing bras, even bras that had no real function as I had no real boobies, wearing jeans and a Tshirt was less of an issue for me.

Another way that my defintion of 'girl' change regards boys.  Now according to Mom I was always boy crazy so my attitude towards boys did not so change so much as it evloved.  There was a time for instance when I was content to give a boy a quick peck on the cheek or to recieve a similar kiss from a boy.  Then it became about making out.

Jon was the first boy who ever put his dick in my mouth.  As I would learn later on, not that much later than this first time, nothing I had done had been done correctly.  Or maybe I should say, I would soon learn that it could be done so much better.

Needless to say he got hard as soon as I put my mouth over his dick and he came even quicker.  It was my first time so of course I spitted.  I even said 'Gross, why did you do that?"

Mom said nothing when we got back to the picnic area from our relatively short walk.As we were eating our lunch, she reached over with a napkin however and commented that I had gotten some mayonaise on my shirt.  As I grew older I tried to be more careful about getting 'mayonaise' on my shirt or other tell tale signs, but Mom knew what it meant to be a young girl and I always senses that she knew more about some of the things I did with boys than I try to pretend she didn't,



The Total Package Part One

I am not entirely certain at what age I was when I came to want the whole package.  When I speak of the whole package, I am speaking to two options.  There is one option open to boys such as myself who enjoy being girlie and their is a second option available to girls.

By my senior year of high school I knew I did not want the life of a 'boy' as a woman, but rather I wanted the life of a woman. When other girls in my class would look beyond high school, they would see themselves in college, meeting the man of their dreams, starting a career, getting married, raising a family -- with lots and lots of sex.  I wanted that life.

I of course knew that I could never have children of my own, which is not to say that I could not have a family.  I also knew that being transgender even post-surgery it would probably be more difficult for me to land a husband than most girls.

However this did not seem to me to be an insurmountable hurdle.  In one respect I shared the same challenge as all women face.  It is quite easy to find a man who wants to bury his cock between your thighs,  Not so easy to find a man willing to place a ring on the finger.  (I enjoy this video of myself as you can occasionally see my tiny boobies sitting out and when I am dancing away from the camera, I like my bottom too.)

Not unlike some other gals in my class I had a reputation as a senior of being an easy piece of ass.  Unlike most of those girls I had acquire that reputation through the rumor mill and not through the boasts of those boys who had fucked me.  Virtually every guy in my high school knew I would fuck on a first date and many would do so.  Yet one could count on one hand how many guys in my school laid claim to fucking me.

I know it may come off as a bit egotistical but I am rather certain that while the list of boys who fucked me during my last two years of high school was long, the list of boys who wanted to fuck me would have been even longer.  I share this not as a boast as I could easily be wrong, but rather to spotlight that if I was to forego marriage and a family that did not mean I could not still have lots and lots of sex.

But I did want the whole package.  Now this is not to say that I wanted to be married by the time I was twenty-five or even thrity or maybe even forty.  There was however a part of me that wanted it someday.

As a child of six, being a girl meant little more than longer hair and wearing a dress.  As I grew older, being a girl, becoming a woman took on new meaning.



Wednesday, December 5, 2012

Our Neighbor Mr Davis

When I was nine years old, Mr Davis and his wife moved into the house next door.  Two days later, Mrs Davis knocked on our door.  She wanted to get some information from Mom about some of the best places to shop for groceries and similar question.

I was in my room when she arrived.  When I happened to emerge, my mother called me into the room and introduced me to our new neighbor.  By this time, I had been living full time as a girl for about three years.  In other words, I had had three years of training in all thing girly.

While most of the awards etc that I had won over the years were in my room, Mom always kept a few out for display in the living room.  Mrs Davis complimented on the trophies and added that it was quite easy to see how I was able to win or place in so many pageants.

Without doubt Mrs Davis left our home that day with out any doubt that she had met a young girl by the name of Veronica. It would not be many days later when Mom and I would meet her husband.  We were on our way to the mall and he was busy mowing their lawn, but we exchanged some pleasantries.  At one point in the conversation, Mr Davis looked at me and said, "My wife told me that our neighbor had a beautiful young daughter  and I could not agree more."

It was my first but not  my last encounter with Mr Davis.  One day about a year or so later mm Mom and I were getting ready to go out to lunch and take in a movie.  As we were heading out the door, the phone rang and as Mom was expecting a call she stepped back into the house to take the call.

As it was a beautiful day, I decided to stay outside and wait for Mom.  As I was doing so, Mr Davis stepped out his home.  It was midday and their car was not in the driveway so I pretty much knew that Mrs Davis was at work.  He pretended to act if if he was preparing to water the lawn, but as he did so it was quite apparent he was
more interested in my playing nearby than in his gardening.

A few weeks before I had been a bit stupid.  On the weekend he had a tendency to drink more than he should -- according to my Mom.  When he did so he was always a bit less obvious about the attention he would give to me when I was in my backyard.  One day, rather than pretend I did not know he was looking at me, I decided to give him a bit of a show.

The phone conversation seemed to be taking a while and Mr Davis started up an conversation.  It only took him a minute or two to invite me in for cookies.  I could not deny that his wife did make delicious cookies.  And I was quite certain I would have enjoyed these cookies.  But I was somewhat certain that Mr Davis was not inviting me inside for  cookies.

To be perfectly truthful, if the situation had been different, I might have accepted the invitation.  And not entirely because I wanted the treat of cookies.  The window of  my  upstairs bedroom was almost directly opposite the window of their upstairs bedroom. On those hot evenings when I choose to leave my window open, they often left felt the same need to leave their window open. I did not know a great deal about what they were doing, but I often found myself on thesee occasion what it would be like to be Mrs Davis.

      

It is not entirely unlikely that his invitation was totally innocent, that his wife had baked some cookies and that they were just sitting there in the kitchen tempting a young girl to eat more than she should. At the same time a part of me wondered if he wanted to do to me what he did to his wife. Could he? Would he? All I really knew is that on those nights that I was 'forced' to listen to him fucking her, those were the nights I most wanted to be a real girl.



Monday, December 3, 2012

Veronica: A Girl With A Difference

Those who know me best, who know more about my story, will often ask me "Do you see yourself as a boy or a girl?"  This is not the easiest question for one such as myself to answer.  As I have said elsewhere, maybe even repeatedly, I never saw myself as a boy.  I always felt myself to be a girl.  At the same  time, I am most definitely not like other girls.  It is impossible for me to take a shower and look in the mirror before I dress and not be reminded that I am still somewhat a boy.

When I suggested above that it was not an easy question to answer, it may be a bit misleading to say so as I always answer that I see myself as a girl.  However, even as I do so, I know it is not as simple as 'I am a girl' or  'I am a boy.'

However, conceding that I am a girl, allowing that my gender identity is more that of a girl than a boy, as is often the case in sports almanac, that label comes with an asterisk.  I am a girl, but a different kind of girl.  The question this brings to mind is 'Does being different make me better  than other girls or not as good as other girls."

Once we had arrived in Spokane, once it was decided that I would be living in Spokane full-time as a young girl, my mother went out of her way to continually impress upon me that I was no different than other girls, that I was just as good as any girl, that I was better than most girls if I was a better person than most girls.  It is not unlikely that one of the reasons she started signing me up to compete in beauty pageants was to support her belief that other girls had nothing on me.

Nothing however could change (at this point in my life) the one inescapable fact that I had boy parts between my thighs and not girl parts.  While on one level this was really inconsequential, particularly as a young girl in her preteen, it was there.  Every time I sat down on the toilet to pee, I was reminded of my boy parts.

As I have mentioned in a previous post, I started out a bit boy crazy as a young girl in Spokane and if anything I even got more boy crazy as I grew older.  Rightly or wrongly, I felt I had to try harder with the boys than most girls. And I did so because I craved their attention. I liked it when boys gave me flowers and told me I was pretty and made a big deal out of me competing in pageants.

And I loved to smile at boys and let them kiss me and flash them glimpses of my panties.  I wanted the boys to like me more than t they liked other girls.  I wanted to be the prettiest, most popular girl on the block.

In other words, at a very young age, I started seeking out the approval of boys by doing those things that I knew would most likely earn me their appreciation, those things that would get me gifts of flowers.  And compliments.  And secret kisses.  I was at the age of eight by no means a slut, but I was laying a pretty solid foundation for the life of a slut that would one day be my life.





Sunday, December 2, 2012

My Pageant Dresses

One of the advantages of being a pageant girl is that we had to often go shopping for dresses. Sometimes when we went shopping it was for the same reasons older girls go shopping -- to try on not necessarily to buy. While this may seem a bit shady, Spokane is small enough that it does not have a great many stores that sell formal dresses for girls my age.  So few stores that we visited did not also get a share of the money Mom spent on keeping me in petty dresses.

Also not uncommonly stores would ask Mom if I could wear one of their dresses in one of my pageants.  So sometimes when I did these tryons it was to find a dress that I would be borrowiing.

None of  this is really all that important for you to know about me and my dressses except that I do include -- or rather will include  -- several photos of me in these dresses and I do not want you to think that Mom was spending a fortune of these dresses. Few of these dresses every made it into my closet.

As I mentioned most of the boys I knew were from my neighborhood and they often only had a chance to play with me on weekends.  Mom and I often had to spend out weekends out of town at a pageant.  It was not unusual for one of the kids in our neighborhood to show up just as Mom and I were preparing to leave.  And not uncommonly I would already be in the dress I would be wearing and in full makeup.

Needless to say, if I was already in pageant mode I looked like a totally different girl to the other girls and like a princess to the boys.  I did not like to flaunt my sashes and crowns and titles that I won, but as everyone in the neighborhood came to know me as the 'pageant girl,' it was difficult to not share how I had down when I got back from a pageant.

As I have mentioned elsewhere, as I grew older, there were changes I underwent that made me look a bit more boyish.   This never became an issue, partially I suspect because what person in their right mind would believe that a little girl who had won so many pageant could really be a boy.


Seven Years Old And I Find Boys Cute

At the age of seven it is not very common for boys to like girls. At least, not in the same way that girls at the age of seven like boys. However, when it came to girls, boys were often of two minds at this age. Around other boys, they hated girls, girls were yucky. However, when it was just the two of us, boys would often tell me that they liked me.

I feel it is important to stress that at the time I was being home schooled.  The boys I knew were largely boys that lived around our neighborhood.  They never saw me at school but they would play with me at the nearby park and in our backyard or theirs.  I was living as a girl twenty-four seven.  They had no reason to suspect that I was not a girl.  Their parents had no reason to suspect I was not a girl.

Now as an older girl, as a young lady, whether or not boys were attracted to me was largely sexual.  Did they see me as sexually desirable?  While this might be a bit unfair to these boys, I rarely dated a boy when I was older that did not try to get into my pants the first chance he had the opportuntiy to do so.  However, at the age of seven, I liked boys who were cute and boys like girls liked the girls who were cute.  I was cute at this age, nothing more.

I do not know that I ever really thought about what it meant to have boys like me and to like boys in return.  I can however recall feeling really good whenever a boy would give me some flowers, or tell me I was cute, or ask to be my boyfriend.

I also like it when I caught a boy looking at me, particularly on those occasions when I suspect they were hoping to see my panties. And while Mom had taught me the same lessons as any mother would teach to their daughter about their panties, I really liked it when boys wanted to get a glimpse of my panties.  I might even go so far as to confess that I went out of my way to 'flash' the boys, which is not to say I knew the term 'flash' at the time.

I feel it is important to know that while it would be a few years yet before I could be appropriately labeled as a 'slut,'
I tend to believe that many of my behaviors were consistent with being a slut.





Mom Allow Me To Be Boy Crazy

My mother found herself in a difficult situation not to long after we had moved to Spokane. While I was still probably too young to know what she meant and what I could have done differently, but as I grew older she would routinely refer to me as 'boy c razy.'

Of course, for some mothers this is a pesky problem that can remain largely unchecked.  For me, this presented a totally different level of challenge for my Mom.

I cannot say how might have been the best way to handle this situation, but I feel that to the best of my understanding, Mom handled it as best she could.  First of all, she accepted that she could not allow me to be a 'girl' when it came to wearing dresses, being a daughter and competing in pageants and deny me the option to be a 'girl' when it came to boys.  Secondly she accepted that I was 'boy crazy' and decided that the best way to control the situation was by keeping the dialogue open between her and I when it came to boys.

Maybe my Mom recognized that being the girl I was that it was more important to me to be more 'girl' and as such be more interested in boys. I do not know if this was the case, but  I know that often it seemed to me that girls my age and even boys my age were less interested in the opposite gender than I was.  It was more often than not the case that older boys liked me more than younger boys.

On a trip to Seattle, we stayed at a popular hotel and there were several kids my age out at the pool.  I wore my blue bikini and a boy who had to be about three years older than me kept checking me out.   I got the same attention about a year later when we were at the beach.  I was only eleven at the time and he had to be about fourteen, but we made out on the beach that day.

I had to keep pushing his hand away as it was quite obvious that as an older boy he wanted to go farther than I wanted to go.  But although I had to tell him to 'Stop' several times, it felt great that he kept trying.  One time he didn't stop and I couldn't make him stop and he learned more about the girl he had been kissing than he wanted to learn.

I did not tell Mom about the boy on the beach that day.  Back home in Spokane it never would have happened.  But we were a long way from Spokane, and the boy was really cute and I halfway kinda wanted him to find out, to see what he would do, see what we would do.

I did not tell Mom about the boy on the beach because it was against the rules that I had allowed him to even try. She would have told me that I never should have allowed it to get so far, that I should have left the first time he tried. And she would have been right. However, it was not the first time I had broke one of Mom's rules when it came to boys nor would it be the last. But I did really appreciate that she was willing to let me talk as much about boys as I wanted to share.




Veronica Is Always Seen As A Pretty Girl

When Mom and I are enjoying our time together, our conversation often returns to a familiar topic -- my earliest years as a girl. And whenever it does so Mom would always make the same remark -- "You have always been a pretty girl. From the very first time I saw you in a dress, I knew you would always be a pretty girl. And you are just as pretty today as that first time." It was the sort of thing all mothers say to their daughter. It simply had added meaning for me.

There are a number of reasons behind my life as a pageant girl.  To a certain extent, it was a life I suspect my mother had wanted for herself and by extension wanted for a daughter.  It was a way of showing me off to the world that I think both Mom and I found satisfying.  It was something I enjoyed after I had done it once and it was  something that friends of Mom often saw as natural for a girl as pretty as myself -- "She is pretty enough to compete in beauty pageants' they would suggest.  In beauty pageants, young girls wore wigs, too much makeup, dresses inappropriate for their age.  Everything about being a young girl is taken over the top.  So when I stepped on on the stage looking overly feminized, it seemed natural and appropriate.

It was easiest to be pretty as a pageant girl.  But it was probably more fun to be simply pretty as a girl. After a day of home schooling or on the weekends it was fun to go outside and play as Veronica. Needless to say I would often play with the other boys and girls in our neighborhood. One in particular I really liked. His name was Danny.

Danny and I were both children who understood that boys like girls and girls like boys.  As I knew I had to like boys, it was satisfying to me that I liked Danny.  And as he knew he was suppose to like girls, even if he might pretend he didn't when he was around other boys,, he liked it that he liked me.

There was another boy in the neighborhood  that was also quite cute.  His name was Philip.  One day Phillip told me he wanted to be my boyfriend. He of course knew Danny and he knew that Danny liked me.  And he knew that I liked Danny.  But he still wanted to be my boyfriend.

I learned at an early age that being a girl was so much better if one was a pretty girl.  While I had to tell Phillip  that I could not be his girlfriend, I also told him that if Danny and I ever broke up -- as if we were  a couple or dating -- then he could be my boyfriend.

I would learn in the years ahead that in this world men have most of the political and economic power. And there is nothing I find more satisfying than being taken by a man with political and economic power with a cock full of power.  But ultimately, true power rest with beautiful women.  If one is sexually desireable to me, one sets the rules.

While Phillip was denied that day, several years later, long after Danny and his family had moved away, Phillip and I were still friends.  However one day, our friendship was taken in a different direction.




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I Become Veronica

Within a few months of our move to Spokane, Washington, I had become totally and completely Veronica. I am not speaking here of how I saw myself and how I saw the world, I am speaking of how the world saw me.

While Mom and I have been enjoying Veronica Time for quite sometime while living in Rosalia, in Rosalia I still lived in two worlds.  On school days I would have to dress as a boy.  When Daddy was home I had to dress as a boy.  When friends were coming over to visit I had to often go to my room and change, which was often the case when Mom had to run to the store.  When one considers all of the time I could not be Veronica, it is almost surprising that I was able to spend any time at all as Veronica.

Once we were in Spokane, everything changed.  The decision had been made that Mom would home school me so I never had to dress for school as a boy.  While I had loved my father and I missed him dearly, he totally disapproved of Mom dressing me as a girl and as such he totally disapproved of Veronica, which to my mind meant he disapproved of me.  One day I was talking to Mom about Dad and how much I missed him.  She replied, "Well everything happens for a reason."  And then changing the subject she said, "Now step back I want to see how pretty you look in your new purple dress."

While Mom still had some friends from Rosalia, they mostly spoke on the phone.  Her closest friends, the one who came to Spokane to visit and who welcomed us in their homes when we visited Rosalia, came to know Veronica.  Not uncommonly Mom would come to understand that one of her old friends disapproved of our choices and their friendship would become a thing of the past.  Mom and I made new friends and the new friends knew nothing of Glen.

Whenever we went out shopping or to our favorite restaurants, I was Veronica to those who recognize us.  As I have mentioned elsewhere, as a result of the death of both Grandpapa and Dad, Mom no longer had to count her pennies.  When we went out to the best clothing stores in Spokane to buy clothes for neither herself or me, the best salespeople made a point of being just ass happy to see Veronica as they were to seee Mom.

This was possibly most relevant to this blog when it comes to boys.  Aaron was the son of one of Mom's new friends and for our first Halloween in Spokane I dressed up as a princess and he dressed up as a fireman.  We posed together before a party Mom's friend was hosting.  He did not make fun of me for dressing up as a girl for Halloween.  To him I was a girl dressed as a princess.  And at the party later that is how I was seen by all the other children andtheir parents.

Were there ever adults who saw too much boy in my Mom's litte girl?  If so, it was not something that they shared with Mom.  What friend or even most casual acquaintance would ever suggest to a Mom that her little girl looks a lot like a boy in a dress.  That would have been rude.  In Rosalia, most of the  townspeople would have been shocked to see Mom walking out on a walk with a little girl.  The same came to be true of Spokane, simply in reverse.  In time, those who came to know Mom and I  would all know us as mother and daughter.

Now I am not saying that Mom and I did not have to  make adjustments as I grew older.  For instance many parents felt that Mom allowed me to wear too much makeup for my age.  But it would become increasingly difficult as months and years of knowing Veronica to even suspect that she might actually be a boy.

After all could a boy truly be this pretty?  And could a boy come home from pageant after pageant with sashes and crowns?  Would a boy have photo albums filled with pictures of himself in gowns and dresses and swimsuits modeling for judges.

With out questin I had become Veronica.







Saturday, December 1, 2012

Age Six -- Am I A Boy or A Girl?

When Mom and I made the decision that I could live my life as Veronica, did we do so because I knew myself to be a girl?  At the age of six, was I a boy or a girl?

Let's skip ahead about ten years when I would be sixteen.  By this time in my lifem whether or not I am a boy or a girl is less about the clothes I wear and more about social relationships.  Now to a great extent when I say 'social' I  am of course talking about sex.  By this age, I have known for quite some time that if I am to be a boy, I will fuck girls.  If I am to be a girl, I will be fucked by boys.  However, I may yet be of the age where this directly impacts my life.  In other words, while I know as a girl I will someday be fucked, getting fucked is not yet a defining choice I make.

So to be consistent let's skip ahead another ten years.  Am I a man or am I a woman?  While it is overly simplistic and definitely politically incorrect, if I am a woman, I am getting fucked by men.  If I am a man, I am fucking women.

What does any of this have to do with the original questions posed by the six-year-old Glen or the six-year-old Veronica?  At the age of six, whether or not  I was a boy or a girl was largely a question of whether or not I could wear dresses or not.

Of course, being a girl was not simply about the dresses for me.  It was about the name Veronica.  It was about the way I liked boys.  It was about being a daughter instead of being a son.  It was about being 'pretty' and not 'handsome.'  It was about my preference for dolls over Tonka trucks.  However every child, myself included, learns through a socialization process.  We learn to conform to the expectations of others.

Once I began seeing myself as a girl, I began to fulfill the expectations of others by being more 'girl.'  Was this a conscious choice?  A deliberate decision?  Not at all.  I was too young to truly make a decision this momentous. I cannot recall a time in my childhood when I did not know more happiness as a girl than as a boy.

If  there was any decision made by me as I grew older, it was the decision to continue life as a girl and not become a boy.  This is an important distinction because as I grew older I will come to learn that there was much more to being a girl  than dolls and dresses, makeup and cute boys.

Imagine if you will the first time I learned that as a girl, one without the pussy that most girls had, boys who fucked me would be fucking my up the ass.  To say the least this was not the 'glamour' of being a girl.  Now while it was scary.  It was also exciting.  At the time I learned of anal sex, I already knew something about sex and knew that the way a boy and a girl had sex was not an option for me.

So while it was a bit scary and I may have even had considered it gross and disgusting, I suspect my feelings were not substantial different from a girl learning for the first time boys will want to put their dicks up their pussy.

The first time I heard the term 'cocksucker' it was slung as an insult -- not at me that time.  For quite some time I saw the label 'cocksucker' as derogatory.  Why would anyone -- boy or girl -- suck a man's cock.  Not only did I cum to love sucking dick, love being called a 'cocksucker,' I was happiest when sucking cock also meant swallowing his load.

So to return to the question -- Age six, am I a boy or a girl?, allow me  to suggest that it is a moot question.  At the age of six I was still a child.  All I really wanted out of life was to have my way and at the time 'having it my way' meant being a girl, being able to wear dresses.  As I grew older, as I learned more about what it truly meant to be a girl, what it would truly mean to be a woman, I did not disavow my 'girlness.'  I did not decide to become a boy again.  I was content as a girl and I came to appreciate that being a girl is much more than simply wearing a dress.  In fact,  that is not even the best part about being a girl.






Saturday, November 24, 2012

Dressing For A Date With Rick


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Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Being Accepted As Veronica

Without question, with only the rarest of exception, at the time of our birth, we are all tagged as neither 'boy' or 'girl.' "He's a boy" or "She's a girl" are proclaimed by the doctor and not "He's a male" or "She's a female." However this tag, whichever it may be, is not entirely accurate. We are not born boys or girls. We are born males and females. What is the distinction? "Boy' and 'girl' are socially defined and 'male' and 'female' are physical distinctions.

Now admittedly throughout most of human history, this distinction between 'girl' and 'female' would have been inconsequential.  However,  the world is changing and so are gender rolels.  Whether one approves or not, an ever-increasing number of 'boys' are discarding their gender identity and adopting the life of being a girl.

We can argue about why this is and why some boys identify as girls, but going past the argument it is the way it is for some boys, for some girls.  As I have mentioned elsewhere, I cannot recall a time in my life when I saw myself as a boy.  I identified as a girl.  As I was growing up, I did not mimic the mannerisms and habits of boys.

 I learned how to be a girl by watching other girls.  As a young 'boy' of say five, it was just as easy for me to learn how to be a 'girl' as it was for me to learn how to be a 'boy.'  It is often suggested that the hardest skills for a crossdresser to learn are those of walking (movement) and talking.  I never learned how a boy should walk, how a boy talks.  I learned how a girl walks and a girl talks.

From day one in Spokane, I was Veronica.  I would be Veronica all but full time for the next five years of my life.  I saw myself as a girl.  To Mom, I was her daughter, her little girl.  And the world saw what the world expected to see when they saw me.  While I do not like to think of it as 'fooling' others, as a young girl of six, no one saw me as a boy.

And by the time I was older, many who knew me had known me for years. I had always been Veronica to them and they saw few clues if any that I was not entirely as I seen.  Being a girl had become some natural to me that as I grew older, the charade simply ceased to be a charade.

Maybe all of this goes without saying.  A boy raised as a girl is not all that uncommon I suppose.  I did however feel it was important to stress that as I saw myself as a girl, it was natural for others to see me as a girl.  This is particuarly -- and to my life story -- most relevant when it came to boys.  Young boys saw me as a young girl.  So they acted towards me as young boys act towards young girls.  And I acted towards them as a young girl.

As we -- the boys I knew in my Spokane neighborhood and I -- grew older, they had always known me as a girl and as their feeling towards girls changed so did their feelings towards me.  Eric and I 'dated' for a few weeks.  He was I guess my first boyfriend, but we never did anything more than kiss and make out a little.

Why am I reluctant to tag him as a 'boyfriend?'  Eric would take me out to movies and for lunch.  He was very sweet to me. Incredibly sweet.  I was already sucking cock as one of my favorite pleasures and I could not get him to sum up the courage to feel me up.  And when I touched him, he would pull away.   And he would do so even if I had noticed that he had an erection,  I wish he had let me go further.   From all indications, he had a big dick for a boy his age.








Monday, November 19, 2012

Our Move To Spokane

It was February and I was in the first grade when my father was killed in an automobile accident. He had been a high school teacher and the basketball coach so he was quite well known in Rosalia. I will not speak about my dad on these pages. Not only are my memories blurred when it comes to my father, but as far as my life as Veronica unfolded he had no real role.

Within a few months, my mother's grandfather also passed after a lenghty bout with cancer. Between insurance settlements from the accident and the inheritance Mom got from her grandfather's estate, Mom describe our financial situation as 'comfortable.' She would not say we were rich, but on occasion she would add 'Very comfortable' with a smile.

It was to my understanding somewhat commonly know around Rosalia that Mom could never have another child -- such is life in a small community.  Between this tradegy and those that had befallen her in recent weeks, Mom felt as though every treated her with too much sympathy and compassion, verging on pity.  So one day she suggested that  we should sell our home and move into Spokane where she already had the dance studio business.

My mother had always kept my hair longer than most boys as was also my preference. After the accident, Mom had a lot that had to be handled including the deteriorating health issues of her grandfather. Getting me a haircut was never became a priority for her and by the time school was out my hair was quite long.

Once school was out, I pretty much spent all of my time as Veronica, including our trips into Spokane to shop.  I also had time to work on some dancing and made a few videos to post on YouTube.

On the day we were to move into our new home, as we were approaching Spokane, I asked my Mom a question.  "Now that we will be living in Spokane all the time, does that mean that I can be Veronica all the time?"  Over the last two or three years, Mom and I had made dozens of trips into Spokane and more often than not I had gone as Veronica so being in Spokane and being Veronica seemed interlocked.

Mom however shook her head and said that it would be not possible.  She then began very silent and after glancing my way several times she said, "You know Veronica.  There is one option we could consider."  While Mom was willing to homeschool me, she stressed that there may come a time when she would feel it was best for me to go to public school -- "As a boy."  She made me promise to respect that condition and then we started making plans for her and Veronica.

With the exception of a few family get-togethers I would spend the next five years of my life living a life of a girl.