Amber_Fountaine's blog post - Puberty - First Blowjob

Chapter Two
Bumbling through Puberty
Part One – First Blowjob


I’ve tried to recreate this phase of my life as accurately as possible but it was a long time ago and I could be off a year, plus or minus, because I’m not really sure. When I read back over it, I think I’ve got something out of order and change it only to come back a week or a month later to change it back. What I do know for sure is that all this happened in a period of just over three years, from the end of the 6th grade to some time in my sophomore year of high school.

I remember my first blowjob like it was yesterday even though it was 60+ years ago. That blowjob occurred in early adolescence, but the groundwork began in childhood where I first became friends with a neighborhood boy, Bobby, after we had moved to a new house and weeks later, he and his family moved in too.
In my neighborhood, in pre-school and for the first three grades of elementary school, all my after-school playmates had been girls and my mother had allowed me to wear panties and play dresses just like they did. I was around nine when we moved, and I decided I wanted to be one of the boys now that there were some around us. It was rough since I knew nothing about boy games and totally sucked at the ones I tried. However, one boy, Bobby, did his best to try to teach me and didn’t tease me as much as the others.
Then in sixth grade I had an opportunity to come to school dressed as a girl as a joke for a school carnival on the last day of the semester. At that time elementary school was grades 1-6 and the PTA wanted to have a party for the graduating 6th graders. The school said no, but . . . since the 5th and 6th grades were on one side of the school, and if we called it something besides a party, there was a way it could be done. They came up with contests between the two 6th grade and three 5th grade classes, a competition between larger, older kids, almost like a long recess, that the younger kids would never see.
Another boy and I both wanted to represent our class in the kite flying contest. My teacher, after checking with the other classes, said that if one of us wanted to dress as a girl as a joke, we could both win medals since there weren’t any girls entered in the kite flying. I jumped at the chance and the result – the change in the way the other students accepted me was startling. The same boys that had teased me for being a sissy now thought I was cool to have the guts to come to school dressed as a girl, and the girls were jealous.
Lipstick and rouge and stockings – OH my!
My teacher had envisioned me wearing an old dress of my mom’s over my male school clothes. Instead, I was dressed from the skin out in girl’s clothes and not just panties. I had on a padded bra, stockings and garter belt (a few years before pantyhose), slip, and a blouse and skirt. In addition, I was wearing makeup. The girls were not allowed to wear stockings or makeup to school but since my attire was considered a ‘costume’ it was okay. As soon as the grumbling stopped, they shifted 180 and I became one of the girls; invited to play with them at recess and again at lunch. Instead of Alan, they called me “Alice” and I for sure felt like I was in a wonderland. My teacher had put “Alice” on my nametag, and I’ll admit I wore it proudly. It reminded me so much of my happier days when I’d played with Carol and Ann and had felt so comfortable being a little girl.

This was a whole new era where girl’s clothes were concerned and the beginning of a new phase of my physical development at the same time. The times I’d worn girl’s clothes in the past had been almost environmental; sort of a when in Rome do as the Romans sort of thing. If you play in the snow, you wore snow clothes and at the beach you wore beach clothes and to play with girls you wore girl’s clothes. I hadn’t wanted to be a girl, just fit in with them, and had totally enjoyed it without ever having a thought of sexual arousal. Puberty was changing all that.
Being dressed as a young lady had my pubescent prick stiff as a stick all day. It hadn’t gotten hard when my mom had helped me dress, or when Bobby’s mom had put on the finishing touches but leaving their house and walking to school with Bobby had gotten me hard and I didn’t understand exactly why. There was a strange tingly feeling in my prick when I touched it lately, and dressing like a girl made my whole body feel the same way. Bobby teasing me about being his girlfriend seemed to add to it.
I remember wondering what he’d do if I asked him to hold hands. He’d begun when his mom decided I should wear a bit of makeup and commenting that maybe he should walk to school by himself, or everyone would think I was his girlfriend. I knew he had a crush on Heidi and wondered if he thought Heidi would be jealous of a girl that wasn’t really a girl? Didn’t make sense to me, but then at that point in my life, not much made sense and girls seemed to make the least sense of any of it. Puberty was changing them too.
Just a couple of years earlier they were good friends, much nicer than boys, and had welcomed me to play with them. If I happened to see their panties or they saw mine, it was no big thing. But when I’d insisted I had to wear jeans and boy underwear, I’d become an outsider to the girls and boys alike – some sort of sissy in-between the two – pretty much shunned by both.
Now a quick background on Bobby and the Collins family. Bobby’s older sister, Betty played a huge role in the things to follow. Betty was two years older than Bobby and Bobby was almost two years older than me because I’d skipped one grade and Bobby had lost one being a service brat. Bobby’s dad was Col. Robert Collins, USAF. His mom, Delphine, was a stepmom that adored the kids and they loved her. When I spent time at Bobby’s house she treated me like one of the family and I loved her too. They’d been too young to remember their mom when she’d died, and Delphine had met their dad while he was stationed in France as some sort of liaison with the French government. They had a picture of the Colonel and their stepmom flanking Charles de Gaulle who was related to her in some way.
The Colonel was in charge of some new project at Air Force Security Service and was gone a lot, much like my dad had been before we moved, but for different reasons. When Bobby’s dad was gone, I often slept over at Bobby’s house and if the Colonel had been gone for a few weeks and Delphine flew out to visit, Betty was left in charge. As luck would have it, that last Friday of school just happened to be a Friday where Delphine was headed out to the base to catch a flight about an hour after we’d left for school and was gone for at least a week. In addition, even before this idea of my teacher’s to have me and another boy dress as girls for a contest that none of the girls had entered, we’d made plans and gotten approval for me to stay at Bobby’s house the whole time Delphine was gone.
The reason I was excited about that was that on weekends, or any day she didn’t have to get ready for school, Betty would run around in little babydoll nightgowns when the Colonel wasn’t home and she was developing into a very well built young lady. Even when he wasn’t gone, the Colonel often went out to the base early on Saturday morning, so the first thing I did when I got up was look down the street to see if his car was in the driveway and if it was gone, I rushed down to Bobby’s house on the pretense of seeing if he was up yet. Betty wouldn’t think of dressing like that in front of a man, but us dumb little boys were deemed too immature to worry about.
As you can imagine in a military family, the kids had chores, and Bobby’s were mostly outside, like mine at home, and Betty’s were inside, helping her mom. Gathering dirty clothes to wash and vacuuming all the rugs were her two biggest chores. When she was done getting the wash started, she’d get out the vacuum and unless it was raining, she’d run us boys out of the house. After cleaning his room, Bobby had to cut the lawn every Saturday before we could do anything else. I had similar chores, so we’d often help each other.
For my carnival attire, my mom had supplied the blouse, skirt and a slip. The panties were mine from the previous Christmas when my sister had been given some she didn’t want, and I did.
There were seven in a package, all different colors, and each with a day of the week which appealed to my early onset, OCD type brain. I was not a neat-freak but developing a compulsion for organizing things and I thought having the day of the week on your underwear was fantastic. I was close to writing on my tighty-whities with a fountain pen when my mom stopped me. My sister didn’t like nylon underwear and had never opened the package of panties. They were a gift from an out-of-town aunt and a size too big but she couldn’t return them, so my mom had given them to me and bought my sister a package of cotton panties and we were all happy. I wore them frequently and always on the right day so that morning I was wearing the black Friday panties.
Years later when I first heard the term “Black Friday” for the Friday after Thanksgiving, my initial thought was that someone in the lingerie business had come up with the term but it was explained to me that it was from business accounting. However each year on Black Friday, I’m reminded of the Friday in May and the weekend at Bobby’s house.
When I got to Bobby’s house that morning Delphine loved the way I looked, and like others before her going back as long as I could remember, told me I should have been a girl, but insisted I needed some improvement. She dug out a bra that Betty had outgrown and some falsies she no longer needed to use that Betty said I could keep, and loaned me a pair of stockings and garter belt. In addition she insisted Betty let me borrow a pair of dress shoes that were a perfect fit to replace the sneakers I’d been wearing. She called me, “mon petit Aurelie,” for my blond hair, and some other things in French, but “Aurelie” became the first feminine name I was given. She wanted to do my nails in a color to match the lipstick she put on me, but didn’t have time, yet went as far as finding me a purse with a shoulder strap to put the lipstick in so I could touch it up after lunch when the carnival started and brushing my hair into a more feminine style.
It was the best day at school of any since I’d started, but with one problem. The boys, including my good friend Bobby, wouldn’t let a ‘girl’ in the ‘Boy’s’ bathroom. I tried to sneak down the hall when we all went to lunch but they were wise and waiting. After lunch I was sure I’d wet myself any minute and even gave it consideration. I looked for some place I could stand unnoticed and piss in my panties under the skirt but there wasn’t anyplace on the entire school ground.
My new girlfriends came to my rescue with a plan to use their bathroom.
The surest way to get sent home from school for a boy was to get caught sneaking into the Girl’s room. The plan they came up with was for us to walk around the corner of the building in a group and then use the outside door for the bathroom the younger kids used. It was a great plan with one flaw: No way was a teacher going to see a group of kids disappear around a corner and not go check to see what they were up to.
Now if I’d been thinking, I’d have gone in the outside door and out the inside door and down the hall to the Boy’s room, but I was letting the girls lead me and when we got inside there were just stalls with no doors. I was thinking it wouldn’t be a problem as I’d seen my sister use the toilet in a skirt. She just flipped up the back, pulled her panties down, and I never saw anything but a glimpse of her ass cheek. That was what I was about to do when my former 5th grade teacher came in and asked what was going on.
The girls had told me they’d watch for me, but no one stayed outside to do that. They’d all come inside to watch me instead.
Five girls and one boy dressed as a girl all tried to answer the teacher at the same time and it was too much. Ms. Preston was about to tell them to be quiet when they went silent on their own, looking at me. She turned to me and saw me standing in the door of the stall with piss running out from under my skirt and across the floor to the floor drain near where she was standing.
She sent the girls out as I began crying like the big sissy I was, and in between sobs, I told her what had happened and why. Elementary teachers always have hankies handy, so she dried my eyes and sent me to the school nurse.
The nurse was on the phone, the only one left in the office, since the rest of the principal and secretary were both out at the carnival. She asked what happened. I told her I’d had an accident and she wanted to know if I was bleeding. I said I wasn’t, but before I could explain what kind accident, she told me to go lie down in her office and she’d be in shortly.
When she came in she told me how cute I looked and I tried to explain that I wasn’t sick and how the boys wouldn’t let me in the boy’s room because I was dressed as a girl and I’d wet my panties.
In today’s world, doing anything that might humiliate a child would cause problems, but this was in the ‘50s. She commented that I was only the second one from my grade to have that problem this year and then followed the standard procedure which was primarily for the youngest students. She took off my wet panties as well as the garter belt and wet stockings and put me in a diaper and rubber pants. She wrapped my wet things in wax paper and put them in a lunch sack and sent me back outside.
So in one day, not only was I back to dressing as a girl, but I was wearing diapers again tool!
After school and we’d said goodbye to kids we probably wouldn’t see until after Labor Day, depending on which Jr. High they’d be going to, we headed home, planning first to go to Bobby’s and then to my house where I was to change and grab some more clothes for the weekend. Instead, we made it to Bobby’s house just as the first drops of what turned into a heavy shower fell on the area.
Betty was waiting and immediately I gave her back the shoes. When I handed her the bag with panties, garterbelt and stockings, she told me to hang on to them and she’d show me how to wash them in the morning. Bobby knew I’d been wearing panties since Christmas but Betty didn’t until I responded that I knew how to wash lingerie, my mom had shown me and I’d been washing out my panties by hand.
She looked at me with a funny smile on her face, then told me, “You must like being a little girl. You can’t go out in this rain to get some clothes, so I’ll get you something.”
When she went to the garage, I assumed she needed to get something out of the dryer. When she returned, she’d brought a handful of things and handed me some shorts and a T-top, saying, “You can keep the bra and panties on and wear these.”
Incredibly embarrassed, I had to admit the panties were in the bag, that I’d wet them at school, and that I had on a diaper and rubber pants, and that unless she had some panties for me to wear, the diaper might not fit in the shorts in her hand.
The top was pink, and the shorts were white with some frilly stuff on the hem. Betty informed me that they were some clothes, like the bra and falsies Delphine had given me earlier that morning, from a box in the garage that she had either outgrown or were for a ‘younger girl.’ In her mind she considered herself a young woman now and her body agreed with her mind.
“Keep the diaper on for now. I always wanted a baby sister. If these shorts don’t fit, I’ll find you some that will.”
Those cute white shorts were a snug fit and they made it clear I was wearing diaper, but we agreed they’d work for now and that I could go get some other clothes if the rain stopped.

Of course, Bobby was watching all this, laughing and cutting up until Betty turned to him. “If you can’t behave around your new girlfriend, I’ll tell Susan that you don’t need a ride in the morning. She said Kevin could take you if it’s raining. But if you’d rather ride the bus . . .”
Bobby got quiet in a hurry. The newest thing on his schedule that year was an appointment for an allergy shot late Saturday mornings. Working together, we could mow his yard and my yard, catch the bus downtown, and be back in time to have the whole afternoon to play in the woods behind my house – if we didn’t spend the day adventuring around the downtown area and eating one of the giant hot dogs from “Coney Island Hot Dogs”.
Susan was a year ahead of Bobby and me and a year behind Betty. That was close enough that they’d become best friends and Susan was often spending the night with Betty when I was spending the night with Bobby. Susan was much prettier than Betty but not nearly as well built - but she was getting there. I watched the Disney Mouseketteers show because Susan looked so much like Annette.
Susan’s older brother was Kevin and a sort of mentor to us younger guys. He was cool in a James Dean sort of way, had his own car that he worked on himself, and dated girls, making him, in our eyes, an expert in all the important areas. Plus he could be a pretty nice guy most of the time and didn’t mind giving us kids a ride someplace. Since it was three blocks to the bus stop on this end and even further from the bus to the doctor’s office downtown, a ride on a rainy day was enough to straighten Bobby almost instantly.
What got my attention was Betty picking up on Bobby’s comments about me being his girlfriend. I didn’t say anything but my mind went to my earlier feelings on the walk to school, and I went to change clothes as she’d told me, returning in a few minutes.
“You gonna wear lipstick all day too?” Bobby asked.
“It’ll wear off,” I told him sheepishly, getting a laugh from him and a smug smile from Betty. Like most girls, she seemed to recognize my femme side.
So I spent the rest of the afternoon and early evening dressed as a girl in girl’s casual wear – the teenage equivalent of ‘play clothes’ - and while Bobby just gave me a funny look sometimes, Betty’s attitude changed to treating me like a little sister, and it got better. I started wetting the diapers and knew immediately why I’d loved that feeling so much when I was younger.
When it got close to bedtime I had another clothing problem. When I slept over, I either wore my jockey briefs or pajamas and I had neither. Again Betty came to the rescue although I’ve never thought her intentions were entirely altruistic. She offered me one of her babydoll nighties and the matching bloomer style panties.
Bobby’s reaction was to make remarks like, “I can’t believe I get to sleep with my new girlfriend.”
First we had to take a shower and when Bobby was naked and I was down to my diaper and rubber pants, Bobby told me he wanted to pee in my diaper. I thought he meant put it on and wet it and I told him I’d been wetting it all afternoon and it was full. He didn’t care, what he had in mind was to pull out the waist in front and piss on my stomach, letting it run into my diaper.
At that time I had turned 12 and Bobby was 14, weeks away from 15. When we showered together it wasn’t unusual for us to fool around in the shower and one way we both enjoyed was peeing on each other. Let me explain how that started.

The previous summer, while playing in the woods behind my house, as usual we just stopped and peed when we needed instead of going home to use the toilet. We’d been in the early stages of puberty, comparing size and such, and stopping to pee usually turned into a pissing contest based either on quantity or distance. So I usually held it as long as possible to try to win either contest.
I’ve never been sure who started it. I think he did but he might have been right; maybe it was me. What happened was that one of us accidently peed on the pants leg of the other and retaliation soon ensued. Suddenly we’re jumping around with our dicks in our hands trying to piss on the other guy without being pissed on ourself. It reminded me a lot of the times in my youth when I’d wet myself on purpose so to be honest, I didn’t try that hard to make him miss.
In the Texas summer sun, we dried quickly and since we played until dark, when we went home we’d go straight to the bathroom to shower for bed. But then winter came and at a sleepover at my house Bobby held his bladder until we went inside and then in the tub caught me by surprise, hosing me down with a golden shower. I bitched, but the sudden erection I got made a liar of me and going forward it was pretty common for one or both of us to shower the other with piss prior to the one with soap and water. It was one of those showering sessions that upgraded our sexual knowledge, but not with a great deal of accuracy.
Bobby and I had both gotten ‘the talk’ from our dads when we started sixth grade and I often wonder if maybe the school had sent some communication to parents to remind them their little boys and girls weren’t such little boys and girls any more. However it didn’t stop his dad or mine from resorting to baby talk. Instead of calling a cock a cock, my dad used the ‘pee-pee’ term I’d heard all my young life and he called the female part her ‘slit’ instead of pussy or vagina. He tossed in some stuff about eggs and sperm that totally confused me and the gist of what I got was that if the stuff that comes out of my pee-pee gets inside a girl’s slit she’ll have a baby – DON’T DO IT!”.
The Colonel’s talk to Bobby was pretty much the same thing but we’d been at an age where we knew there was more but it wasn’t something of interest and we’d figure it out for ourselves when the time came. We’d already learned as much as our dads told us from kids at school and conversations with Kevin.
So back to the eventful evening in the shower with Bobby, a few weeks later, when we were peeing on each other, and a bit louder than we should have, we were saying “I’m gonna make you pregnant.”
Betty happened to be going down the hall at the time and couldn’t help but wonder what the two dumb-ass boys were up to now. She stuck her head in the door long enough to watch us pissing on each other and called a halt, embarrassing us both. She told us something to the effect that we were dumber than dogshit, that boys couldn’t get pregnant, and that it was cum, not piss that made it happen. Then she was gone leaving us bewildered. I wanted to go to her for an explanation, but Bobby overruled me and said we sh
ould ask Kevin.
As I previously mentioned, Kevin could be a pretty cool guy when he wanted to be. If none of his friends were around, Kevin was happy to have us younger guys hanging with him. So first thing the next morning we tracked down Kevin, explained what had happened, and when he quit laughing, he told us all about cum, the other stuff, the white stuff, that came out of our dicks when we jacked off.
“Jack off” was another of the terms we’d heard but didn’t fully understand and “playing with your prick” didn’t make much sense either. We’d both played with our pricks and even played with each other when they got hard, but always stopped when the feeling got weird. When Kevin offered a demonstration, we followed him inside.
Bobby’s cock was bigger than mine as I’d expected, and I was sure, as he pulled it out that Kevin’s would be the stage bigger. I guess at the time I was 11 or 12 and Kevin was 17. To my eyes his cock looked like a small baseball bat and I was in awe of it; even more so when after stroking it he began to spurt the mysterious ‘cum’ we’d heard so much about. There was something else he did that left a lasting impression on me. He caught the spurts of cum with his free hand and when he was finished he dipped a finger in the white puddle and brought it to his mouth to taste it, telling us that some people really like the taste and offering us the opportunity. We both declined, but went away anxious to get home and begin stroking our dicks.
Less than a week later Bobby rushed over to tell me he’d done it and it was awesome. I told him I’d been trying but when I felt like I was close it felt really weird like I was going to pee all over the place and he assured me that wasn’t the case. He said to keep going that in fact he’d done it several times and it felt more awesome each time. So I asked if he’d tasted it like Kevin had done and he told me he didn’t think you were really supposed to do that so he hadn’t.

So let’s move ahead to the night I was given the nightie to wear. A lot of times wearing the panties I’d gotten from my sister the previous Christmas had been all it took to make me hard and the babydoll and bloomer panties had the same effect. It wasn’t nylon like the panties but worked as well with one problem. Wearing nylon panties, I could point my stiffie straight up and it made a small bulge. The bulky bloomer panties had room for my prick to point almost straight out and made a very noticeable bulge. Bobby laughed at me but Betty gave me a little hug and told me to ignore him, that there was nothing to be ashamed of. Then, like so many before her, she reminded me that, “You should have been a girl.”
Had I known at the time what a lesbian was, I gladly would have agreed with her, since I had a huge crush on her. I was filled with thoughts, fantasies, and emotions that all seemed to be in confliction with each other. When Bobby asked if I liked being a girl, I’d told him no, that I was just enjoying being silly and acting like one. However when I got the same question from Betty, I admitted I did like it. Adding things like, I’d like to be a girl if I could be as pretty as her, didn’t hurt, and when she asked if I’d like to be her little sister, I gladly accepted.
That began the following morning. I usually went with Bobby. At that age riding the bus downtown and running around the strange streets and tall buildings was an adventure. But when Betty suggested over breakfast that I should stay behind to help her clean house, I jumped at the chance and it set a precedent; one that dovetailed nicely with my sexual adventures with both of the Collin’s teens.
With Betty, it began in a way with doing the laundry as soon as Bobby had gone. Betty instructed me to gather all the lingerie, including the panties and bra, slip and garter belt and stockings I’d worn the previous day. I began with the clothes hamper in the bathroom and knowing the panties I pulled out of the hamper had to be hers, the ones she’d worn the day before, I smelled them.
The story among the guys that were supposed to know these things, like Kevin and his pals, was that pussy stunk. If a girl let a guy get his hands in her panties, it was called, “Getting some stinky finger.” Another one I’d heard in reference to eating pussy was that, “If you can get past the stink you got it licked.” Bobby didn’t particularly like Kevin but he fascinated me. When Kevin’s friends were around, Kevin teased us but I’d had that going on for years so it didn’t bother me like it did Bobby. There was a benefit to enduring the teasing when his friends were around - instead of asking dumb questions I could just listen to the older guys talk about girls and sex and learn a lot.
I’m not sure if I got myself caught on purpose or if it was really an accident, but I had my eyes closed and the crotch of Betty’s panties pressed to my nose when I heard her ask what was I doing. So I told her about the stories I’d heard and told her I didn’t think it was true, that her panties smelled real nice.
That began a progression over the next year or two of my sniffing her panties, then smelling them with her in them, then smelling her without the panties, to licking her pussy. She loved for me to lick her and I loved doing it but she made it very clear that if she ever suspected I’d told Bobby or anyone else, even wild animals wouldn’t want to chew on what was left of my mutilated body! So Bobby never knew what I’d started doing with Betty and for all I know, never did find out. However she did find out, thanks to a slipup I made, that I’d been having sex with Bobby but I never told her how much or how long.
By the time of the 6th grade carnival, Bobby and I, in our sexual adventure with each other had gotten to where we fondled each other, rubbed our pricks together under the guise of comparing size, and more recently had jacked each other off. Kevin and his friends had once called me, “pussy lips,” and I’d ignored it. I did think my lips were bigger than other boys so that was just one more name to add to the list of things I’d been called. When Bobby had seen me with lipstick, one of the first things he’d said on the way to school was that if Kevin saw me wearing lipstick he’d think I was a pussy lips for sure. What I didn’t know and Bobby did and didn’t explain for some time was that calling me pussy lips wasn’t about the size of my lips. They were teasing me about being a cocksucker. It was that fall, as new 7th graders, that I earned the name.
Once again Delphine was gone for the weekend and I was staying at Bobby’s house while she was gone. We had orders to have the house spotless as the Colonel was probably coming back too and she’d call Betty when she knew for sure.
We all worked to make the place as clean as possible and Betty damn near became a tyrant. Susan was spending the weekend and knew about my helping Betty and she was made to help too. Betty sounded more like the Colonel than the Colonel did. Then when she was satisfied we’d achieved near perfection, and Bobby was back from his allergy shot trip, she threw both of us out of the house!
We’d both gotten new bikes at Christmas so we took off for the area where the Medical Center is today and played around one of the stock tanks all afternoon. We didn’t go skinnydipping like we sometimes did but did manage to get pretty muddy in the soft gooey mud around the edge of the tank and when we got back, Betty made us undress in the garage and go straight to the bathtub and that’s where our old fondness for occasional pee play made it happen.
I was expecting something to happen from the look in Bobby’s eyes. We were standing in the tub facing each other, our cocks getting hard, when the drain stopper slipped off the edge of the tub, bounced a couple of times, and landed in the drain – a million to one shot. Since I was on that end of the tub, I dropped to my knees and reached behind me to retrieve the plug and that’s when Bobby stepped as close as he could and began to pee in my face. I had a bar of soap in one hand and the plug in the other and didn’t want it in my eyes, and without a second thought opened my mouth and closed it over the end of his dick. I probably swallowed some but let most of it run out of my mouth but we both knew a line had been crossed. I’d had his cock in my mouth and kept it there for maybe a minute, long enough for him to stop peeing and get a full erection. Then I stopped, got to my feet, and tried to laugh it off while he teased me about ‘Aurelie’ liking his dick and drinking his pee and how I should do it some more so I could taste his cum. For a brief second I considered it and then we both laughed it off.

At the time, Bobby had bunk beds and he could never decide which he liked better. He’d sleep in the top bunk for a few days or few months and then suddenly move to the bottom. After a bit, he’d be back on top. When we’d started jacking off, we’d be in the bunks and neither could see the other but then when we decided it would be more fun if we could watch what the other was doing we’d sit together of lie together in the bottom bunk and being that close it was almost inevitable that we’d want to try jacking each other. Holding his cock for the first time had been so exciting I nearly shot off and he barely had to pump mine to make it happen.
So after pissing in my mouth in the tub, and my keeping his cock in my mouth after he stopped pissing, I was sure it would be what we’d talk about when the lights went out. Previously, we’d sort of danced around the idea of what it might be like to try sucking each other – not cumming because we knew that was bad – but just seeing what it felt like. Now I’d done it and Bobby wanted to know all about how it had felt and if I’d like to do it again and maybe more and then Bobby again brought up my dressing as Aurelie and being his girlfriend and one of us, quite possibly me, suggested that if we pretended to be a girl for the other guy then it wouldn’t be like we were two queer boys.
That is the sort of logic that makes total sense to boys, anxious to experiment in puberty and to some grown men if they’re horny and had a few drinks. Within minutes I’d gathered up my nightgown, panties, and the lipstick that was still in the old purse in the back of Bobby’s closet and I’m sure it was more the heat of the moment than any natural ability at sucking his cock that made Bobby cum almost instantly. Then it was my turn and he put on the nightgown and panties and sucked me.
Another of the stories we’d heard from Kevin and his friends was something like, bad girls would suck a dick but good girls swallowed. In my mind, if I was going to be a girl, I wanted to be a good one so hadn’t hesitated to swallow Bobby’s cum. I remember my thought was that it didn’t taste good. It didn’t taste bad either. It just tasted like nothing I’d ever tasted before. Since I’d swallowed the cum without a second thought, Bobby had done the same.
The second time, that same night, we convinced ourselves that Bobby didn’t really need to wear the nightie. We’d heard that there was a thing in a girl’s pussy that was almost like a small dick and since I had a small dick in my panties I could just stay dressed as the girl and Bobby would pretend he was eating my pussy. That saved a lot of time and trouble passing the nightie back and forth and it also left me to be the girl when we woke up the next day and like a good girl, not only did I suck my boyfriend’s dick for him, I swallowed!
We continued that charade for a few weeks but our pretense for it all was getting weak. I was a lot more enthusiastic to suck Bobby and he was beginning to think we were getting a little too queer. We needed advice and of course there was only one person to ask.
Without seeming to be too curious, or give away our reason for asking, we asked Kevin exactly what it was that queers did when they had sex and his explaination, flawed as usual, was enough to put us at ease. According to Kevin, queers butt fucked and swallowed each other’s cum.
Using the same logic that had made it not being queer since I was being a pretend girl, we determined that as long as we didn’t butt fuck or swallow cum, then what we were doing, especially if I continued to be a pretend girl, was okay. So from that day forward we kept a trash can next to our beds and if we were in my bedroom or his, when we were rewarded with a mouthful of cum, we’d go spit it out.
What Bobby never knew was that I’d reached a conclusion of my own. I thought it was more important to be considered a ‘good girl’ in my mind and as long as no one knew, I’d swallow the cum and then pretend to spit it out.
When Delphine returned the following Saturday, I’d again spent the night wearing the babydoll nightie and was busy helping Betty clean house and do laundry and Delphine was so proud of her “Aurelie” and seemed to agree with Betty that I made a perfect little sister for her.
And that opened the door for what was to follow with Betty.