Things were never the same for Cecil after his mother had come home so unexpectedly, so shockingly, and surprised him and Donna in their "wrestling game." He had sat by himself in the lonely lean – to shed the same spot that he and Blanche had enjoyed such intimate sessions and thought about what his mother had said to him. She hated him! he told himself. Not because of what he was doing with Donna, but for what he had said about her and Brad! He knew that with an instinctive intuition that was more female than male. He should have been a girl! Girls didn't get the blame for things like that. Girls were always right when boys were wrong. Girls were nice! Boys were nasty. Why hadn't he been born a girl?
Joanne had questioned Alma and Blanche. Cecil knew that! What they had said, he never knew, but Joanne wasn't taking any chances anymore. Not with Cecil! Cecil was bad! he told himself bitterly.
Alma, nineteen at that time, was sent to live with an aunt in the city on the pretext that she could take lessons in preparation for a career in business administration. Cecil knew that the real reason was to get her away from him. Him, Cecil! He wanted to laugh when he thought of it. A bitter laugh. Bitter and sad. Alma had been so wonderful. She wasn't afraid of him.
And Blanche… Blanche had been sent away to an exclusive girls' school in the east, where she would live and sleep and only come home for holidays. Blanche was safely out of his fiendish reach! Cecil told himself sourly.
Joanne kept Donna as far away from Cecil as she could. Donna slept in the same room as her mother now, and Joanne spent more time at home. At least, Cecil's activities with Donna had put a brake on her relationship with Brad!
There was another thing that Cecil had learned. Something that made his stomach twist and turn with a sick sensation of revulsion. He knew why his mother and Brad had been the way they were. Brad was married! So why did he want to stick his horrible, big prick in his mother? Cecil asked himself bitterly why?
If it hadn’t been for Beverly, Cecil's life would have been unendurable. Beverly was sixteen years old when Cecil met her. Almost exactly the same age as he was. He would never have met her if he hadn't gone to the dance that night. Gone unwillingly, but gone just the same because he did everything his mother told him.
"For God's sake, why don't you go out somewhere?" his mother had shouted as he had sat in the lounge, staring in front of him at nothing in particular.
"Where?" he had muttered, twisting his hands together, feeling unwanted, unwelcome.
"Anywhere," Joanne snapped, then she'd taken a deep breath. "There's a school dance on tonight why don't you go?" She tried to make her voice more pleasant. "It'll do you good. You never go anywhere!"
"All right," he'd said, "I’ll go." And he'd dressed desultorily, mooched down to the dance and met Beverly.
He had felt ill – at – ease. There were boys he knew at the dance: boys he didn't like and who didn't like him. He saw Joe and Louie! Cecil felt his face color. They looked across the room, noticed him, then Joe muttered to Louie and they both sniggered. The bastards! Cecil thought. The lousy bastards! He felt a strange, squirmy sensation running through his flesh as he remembered. That big brute, Joe! He tensed himself, squeezing his buttocks tightly together as though he was stopping the horrible cock from screwing into his ass. The rotten slob! But it hadn't hurt so much… The unbidden thought hammered into his mind. It didn't really hurt! He screwed his eyes shut, trying to blot out the thought. And when he opened them he saw Beverly.
She was sitting by herself: prim, quiet and proper. Cecil had known her very casually when he was much younger and she had taken art lessons in the same special class as himself.
He moved beside her, hesitantly. "Hello," he said quietly, "Remember me?"
She flinched away at the sound of his voice, then recognized him. "Hello, Cecil," she'd said, smiling, "Do you still draw?"
He'd shaken his head, trying to wonder what he did do… Trying to think of something to say…
A fellow came up, asked Beverly to dance. She shook her head, nodding towards Cecil. The fellow moved away, casting a scowl in Cecil's direction. Cecil knew him he was in his class at school.
"You didn't have to do that," he told Beverly, "You coulda danced with him."
"I'd rather just talk," she said, giving him a small smile. "I I'm not crazy about dancing."
He wondered why she came to the dance but didn't put the question into words.
"I came here because my mother was sick of looking at me," he said, the words sounding more bitter than he'd intended.
"Why, whatever do you mean, Cecil?" Beverly's voice was surprised.
He had shrugged away the question and later they had danced together. Then, because she lived near Him and there didn't seem to be a particular fellow that she was waiting for, he'd asked, then walked her to her home. He had squeezed her hand outside her house, murmured a hurried goodnight, and was turning away when she stopped him.
"Cecil," she said, looking serious yet pleased at the same time, "It's been fun."
Fun! he thought. They hadn't done anything. Hardly danced… yet… "I enjoyed it very much," he said before he walked away.
He should've kissed her goodnight, he told himself as he mooched slowly home. Pressed himself against her, like a guy was supposed to, trying to get her worked up so he could push his big prick between her prim but sweet little thighs. That's what other guys would’ve done! Maybe that's what she'd expected. But he didn't want to do that not to her. Who did he want to do that to? he asked himself. Donna? Or was that just something that happened? He didn't know. But he did know that he didn't need to worry about his big prick because he didn't have a big one. It was small, so damned small, as Alma had told him so long ago, that it hadn't even torn little Donna's virginal cunt! The blood that'd oozed onto the bed had just been from her ruptured hymen!
Poor little Donna! Did she mind losing her virginity at such a tender age? Was he really a bastard? And what of him… what was going to become of him? He couldn't get any pleasure from putting his prick inside a girl a normal – sized girl, he corrected himself Alma had shown him that so very, very clearly. And he hated boys! He was a mess! He understood now that a lot of the guys at school thought he was a queer! Gay a fellow that wanted boys instead of girls. But it wasn't so… he hated boys! He liked girls but he didn't want to shove his prick into the ones he met… All he really wanted was to be one!
He thought of Beverly. Too bad he couldn't be friends with Bev the way he'd been friends with Alma! Cecil missed Alma and Blanche, too. His mother had sure turned his life upside down… just because of Donna! All he really wanted with Bev was to have a friend to talk to, go places with… But she wouldn't be content with that, he told himself sadly. She'd want more than that… Maybe a guy like Joe, he thought, wincing at the idea and wondering why it should matter to him… But he was wrong because the next time he met Beverly, so very casually on the street, she was pleased to see him, and she'd said: "I'm going to see an exhibition by Mooner, and I’ve got a spare ticket, would you like to come?" Mooner was the new painter that everyone was talking about. Tickets to see his first exhibition were very rare and precious. "Well, thanks, Beverly," he'd told her, feeling surprised and pleased, "I'd like that very much."
After viewing the exhibition they'd had coffee together, then he'd taken her to her house. "I got a lot of new tapes and recordings," she'd said shyly, and Cecil had remembered that she liked the same kind of music as him, soft and sweet, "how would you like to come to the house on Friday night and play some?" She had looked at him anxiously, as if afraid she'd said the wrong thing.
Cecil swallowed. He'd like to, but… "Your parents," he began, "they won't mind if – "
"They'll be away," she cut in too quickly, "they're going away for the weekend. Ill be all alone." She dropped her eyes.
Was she blushing? Cecil wondered. Girls weren't usually so shy! "Sure," he'd muttered, his throat feeling tight, "that'd be swell, Beverly."
"Around eight," she had told him before he wended his way bank home.
Cecil had told his mother that he would be out that night and she'd sounded glad.
"What time'll you be back?" she'd asked.
He'd shrugged. "Don't know," he'd muttered.
"Be sure to phone me," she'd told him, her voice unnecessarily sharp, "let me know exactly when."
"Sure," he'd answered, realizing that she must be inviting Brad over for the evening and wanted to have him out before Cecil came home, "I'll phone," he said, then added, "and warn you." He slouched up to bed before she could answer.
"You know, Cecil," said Beverly, as they lounged in the deep settee in the den that she'd made for herself at home, "you're the first fellow I’ve ever invited to come in here."
Cecil looked pleased. "Is that so? I'm very glad, Beverly I " then he'd felt a strange hesitation in his voice, "I like being with you."
Her eyes smiled at him warmly. "Me, too," she murmured, "I like it." She had leaned back and let out her breath with a sigh. "I I can relax with you more than with anyone else."
"You know a lot of boys," he'd murmured.
"Some," she admitted, then added, "but I don't like it when when" her voice trailed off and a small pink blush spread across her cheeks.
"When what?" Cecil asked quietly. She stirred uncomfortably. "You know," she murmured, "You know what I mean."
Cecil took a deep breath. "You mean when they try to squeeze you press against you probe with their hands?"
"It's not that," she cut in, "it's what would come after."
"Like push it into you?"
She turned her face away. "Yes I hate that."
"You don't want to have a big prick squeezed into your little hole," Cecil mouthed.
"Don't say it!" She turned to him, her face shocked. "I I'm surprised at you, Cecil! Are you like all – the others?"
"No," he muttered, "I'm not like them at all. I hate that, too. I I don't like to think of that at all!"
Beverly turned, stared into his face. "Are you like they say you are, Cecil? Do you like men?"
"I hate men!" He mouthed the words viciously.
Beverly seemed to hold herself very still, very tensely when she asked, "What do you like, Cecil? Tell me what you really like."
Cecil's eyes flickered to her face, then down her trim and prim little body. Her skirt was shorter than the one she'd worn at the dance, and her knees and thighs were still prim but very shapely. Cecil could see a small gleam of white at the top of her stockings. "Do you really want to know what I like?" he asked, his voice tight.
"Yes," she breathed.
"I I'd like to kiss you and suck you here." His hand flashed across her thigh, touched the hem of her skirt lightly, then stroked her flesh, before he removed his hand as quickly as he'd placed it there. "That's what I'd like," he said, "but only if you'd like it." He stopped speaking, sat very still with his hands clasped together.
Beverly lay back, her eyes half – shut as if she was thinking. "Kiss me there " she whispered, "you mean kiss me there with your lips?"
"Yes," Cecil felt a thrill run through his body, he could feel Alma throbbing in his bones, "with my mouth touch you with my tongue " his voice was as low, vibrant murmur.
"Just just touch me with your tongue?" Beverly's eyes were closed and when she stopped speaking, her lips remained parted.
"Only my tongue," he whispered.
She was quiet for a long time then she opened her eyes, smiled at Cecil and murmured so very gently, "I – I think I'd like that!"
Beverly swiveled her body until her feet swung onto the wide settee. As her knees went up, her skirt slid to her waist. Above the nylon stockings, her thighs were bare: they dazzled Cecil's eyes with their whiteness. The neat triangle was filled with lustrous hair as black as the hair on Beverly's meticulously groomed head. Cecil stared at it longingly. No needless underclothes barred his view… His eyes flickered down to the apex… then Beverly parted her thighs, slid her buttocks towards him, and her hands went down to the lips of her vagina. "Yesss, Ceciiil," she hissed softly, "Yess." Her fingers spread back the small, red lips… He saw the pink mound, its slit… then his head went down.
Oh Beverly, he moaned beneath his breath as his tongue slid out, touched the wet lips, caressed them. He drew the rising clitoris into his mouth… sucked it strongly… felt Beverly raising her buttocks, thrusting herself towards him… and heard the small, sweet sound of rapidly indrawn breath. Cecil had missed it so much! He had never realized just how much he had missed Alma and Blanche until now… He sucked, hungrily, eagerly feeling Beverly squirm, moan her high moans of delight then thrust his tongue into the wet, lovable ooziness of the palpitating vulva… until she came.
Beverly reached down, pulled Cecil's head into her crotch more deeply. She felt the small worm that was his tongue wriggle in then writhe out… She made squeals of joy, rotating her hips in tiny paroxysms of orgiastic frenzy. "Ooh Cecil " she breathed rapturously, "Oh, Cecil!"
When it was over, Beverly leaned back on the settee, met Cecil's eyes with hers, then smiled tenderly. Beverly was different! Cecil thought wonderingly. She'd had her orgasm with a quiet but passionate intensity. She came with a voluptuousness that was in some strange way still prim, still proper: as though, even in this near – ultimate act of self – abandonment, she still retained a part of her own, precious reserve. She was not like Alma, Cecil told himself, remembering the violence of his sister's orgiastic contortions. Not like Blanche, with her wild, hungry drive for satiation: her ever – ready passion and desire which was never ever really completely or finally sublimated. Blanche had always been ready for more… then more again! But Beverly… she had her moment of passion, her orgasm enveloped her neat, compact little body with sensual but controlled waves of frenzy then, when it was over, Beverly was herself again: her sensitive, quiet little self.
That's how he would be… if he was a girl! The thought impinged itself without warning on Cecil's mind. He felt a small shock, stared at the young girl beside him seeing not only her but himself as he might have been. If he was a girl… he'd want to be like Beverly! Why couldn't he be a girl like Bev!
"Cecil " Beverly reached out, took his hand in a strangely old – fashioned, almost formal, gesture, "that was wonderful." Her eyes were brighter than they had been a few moments before, and a tiny current of electricity seemed to spark from her fingers to his when they touched.
"Yes," he agreed quietly, "it was wonderful!"
Beverly gave a deep sigh, asked, "Cecil who who did you do that to? She dropped her eyes. "I I mean before."
Cecil only hesitated for a moment before he told Beverly: "My sisters."
She drew in her breath sharply. "Alma and Blanche?" she asked. Beverly knew Cecil's sisters well.
"Yes," he admitted. She squeezed his fingers, as if she was trying to show that she understood. "Did did your mother know?" she murmured.
"I I think she did," Cecil paused, then: "That's why she sent them away. I think that's why… to get them away from me." A bitter note of self – pity had crept into his voice. "My mother hates me," he muttered.
Beverly's grip on his hand tightened. "Don't say that, Cecil!"
"It's true," he muttered, "I can feel it all the time." He took a deep breath, then put the nebulous thought into words for the first time: "As soon as I finish school, I'm gonna leave home!"
"Oh, Cecil," Beverly leaned her head against his shoulder and Cecil tried to remember if any girl had ever done that before. "What're you going to do?" Beverly asked.
"I don't know," he mumbled, "I haven't really thought it all out I just want to get away."
Beverly let her lips touch his cheek very gently. "What d'you want to be, Cecil?" she asked.
He let his breath out painfully and his body slumped into the settee more deeply. "I'd like " he began, then turned his head, looked into the brown eyes so close to his face, "I'd like to be just like you, Bev," he said, "that's what I'd like!"
Beverly blushed, smiled. "That's a very sweet thing to tell a girl," she said tenderly.
"You're a very sweet girl," he told her.
She stroked the side of his face, gently. "And you're a sweet boy," she said.
But he didn't want to be a boy, Cecil whispered to himself, he wanted to be a girl! Just like Bev!