Born to Be a Girl: M***rs' Choice - Sex Stories

Born to Be a Girl: M***rs' Choice

DISCLAIMER: This story is solely a work of fiction. Any similarities between people living or dead is purely coincidental. No a****ls were harmed in the writing of this story. Are you familiar with those stories where the f***r raises his daughter as his son, because he is desperate for at least the appearance of a male heir? This is one of those stories, only, it isn't. My m***r had already raised a son, birth to adulthood, when she became pregnant with me. She was determined to have a girl, come hell or high water. My m***r, by the way, essentially ruled our household. When I was born, she decided that, even though I did not have the anatomy of a girl, I would be her daughter. So it was that I was raised as a girl. From early c***dhood, all I knew was that I was a girl. My m***r arranged an excuse to allow me to forgo physical education classes with each school that I attended, and began giving me what she called “vitamins”, actually hormone blockers, prior to puberty. When I was old enough, my parents sat me down and had 'the talk' with me. Given my 'special situation', this had to be one of the most awkward 'birds and bees' speech ever. Shortly after that I started taking female hormones, and my body began going through feminine puberty. This soon gave me a nice, round butt, and ample breasts. As I was already thin and petite, these enhancements made me even prettier. I started dating when I was f****n, just kissing and holding hands. I was pretty enough to warrant the ...

... attention of boys and girls alike, and dated both. By the time I was f****n, I started allowing my dates to fondle my breasts. The following year I would also bring oral sex into the equation, giving only, no one was ever allowed access under my skirt. Yes, I still dated both boys and girls, and I still do. Late my junior year of high school, I met a boy. He was shy and took things slowly, kind of like most of my former girlfriends. This was somewhat refreshing. Over the winter break of our senior year, though, things changed. We were alone together one night in my bedroom, my parents had gone to their friends party and would be there most of the night. We started kissing, which led to fondling, my blouse and bra flung to the floor. We had each had a few drinks stolen from my parents liquor cabinet, and I slipped up and let my guard down. His hand reached under my skirt and felt my panties. I drew backward quickly, embarrassed, fearing the worst (insults, accusations, threats, etc.). I do not know if it was because he had never been with a woman (I assumed that he had not, I was later proven wrong), or if he was just that polite, but he apologized and said that he would go home now. Whether it was the alcohol, or his kindness, or both, I do not know, but I asked him to stay, that I could explain. He told me that there was no need for me to explain anything, that I was the prettiest girl that he had ever dated, and that what was in my panties made me even more interesting than ...