I Am What I Am : by (c) Lady Joyce Hamilton Mm, tv.

Sometimes when I smell fresh-brewed coffee I'm twelve again.

I was twelve when my Dad left us. There was a fiction that he'd gone abroad 
to work 'In The Gulf', but years later a 'helpful' school friend told me he was 
inside for murder during a bungled bank-raid.

So you couldn't really blame Mother. She found herself suddenly transported 
from her comfortable life as a housewife in the leafy suburbs to a studio flat 
(one room, bathroom, kitchenette) above a noisy High Street. She was (still 
is) a very beautiful woman, but her posh upbringing had left her without any 
knowledge or skills to earn a living. Her parents felt disgraced by her 
husband, blamed her for marrying a working-class lad, turned criminal, and 
dropped both of us. She soon got fed up with working in the Steam Bakery, 
and found a much easier way of earning our keep.

The phone would ring, and I'd hear her negotiating the price, and then I'd be 
kicked out on the street 'to play.' Usually I'd wait and see who knocked on 
our black-painted door alongside the newsagent's.

But the best was when she came back with a guy in the evening, picked up in 
a pub or one of the clubs she frequented. Then I'd pretend to be asleep and 
watch them play. By the age of twelve I knew all about sucking, fucking, and 
all the various little complaisances that make sex so varied and exciting. I 
would lay quiet under the sheets, jerking off, watching hairy bodies, hard 
cocks and her lovely arse and tits.

In the morning she always brewed coffee for her guest and her son.

She liked her men, the ones she chose herself, big, muscular and above all 
hairy.

So did I, and still do!

                           ...............................................................................

I don't suppose I was the first twelve-year-old to slip on his mother's panties, 
nor will I be the last. But not many teenage boys pass through puberty in the 
midst of a constant parade of near-naked flesh, and tarty lingerie. My mother 
was completely shameless in showing her body to me. And of course her 
chosen profession meant she had the sexiest possible underwear, and 
cupboards full of it. So it was not just her panties, but her bra, suspender-
belt, a basque if I was lucky. I stole her fully-fashioned nylons, and at the age 
of twelve her high-heeled shoes fitted me, size five. I even borrowed one of 
her wigs for my dressing-up fantasies.

These fantasies often featured me as a girl in Mother's chosen profession! As 
soon as she went out to the club or bar where she was 'working' I would 
dress, and parade in front of the mirrors that were such a feature of our 
apartment. I liked to look at myself in profile, jutting my satin-clad arse out 
provocatively. I would stretch and bend, admiring myself, and especially my 
hard little cock under its nylon, or peeping out. There were mirrors in the 
ceiling over her king-size bed, and it was delightful to watch my body as I 
writhed, caressed myself, posed.

It all came to a head when, dressed in a red and black satin basque, stockings 
and high heeled shoes, a blonde wig, lipstick and nail-varnish, I was laying 
on her bed, my nearly naked arse in the air, my throbbing cock crushed into a 
pillow. I was pretending I was Fifi Lamotte being fucked by the manager of 
the theatre who insisted on this before giving the actress her starring role. My 
cock, released from the tiny satin thong, rubbed into the silky pillow. I knew 
I would have to turn over before coming or I would spill my cum into the 
bedclothes leaving evidence of my pleasures. But I would enjoy being fucked 
by Hymie Sheldon first! I prepared to slip my finger into my arse, always my 
final act.

I felt a hand on my buttocks, and then one on my shoulder. 'Oh, my little 
darling!'

Shock! Horror! Mother standing over the bed. But then she was turning me 
over and admiring my erection, laying beside me and kissing me, a lover's 
not a mother's kiss. She caressed me, whispering and murmuring how pretty 
I was, and how I looked like her sister when as children they had slept 
together. I was speechless, but terribly excited.

Now she was standing by the bed again still smiling and unzipping her tight 
black-silk dress. The familiar sight of her round breasts in their black lace 
cups, her tight little black lace thong, black, glossy hold-ups. Yes, and that 
lovely tanned flesh. My cock twitched, and I felt I was close to coming. I 
made to turn over again on my belly to hide my shame.

She kept her black stiletto-heeled shoes on. These, too, were so often among 
my fetish objects when I masturbated. I often wore them, and sometimes my 
cock was slipped into one of them as I came.

' Oh no, my little darling, you're so very, very pretty. And this too.' As she 
lay again beside me she held my cock lightly. 'My own little Paulie ..'

I was in her arms, my empty basque pressed against her full tits. I could feel 
her stockinged legs against mine, that never-to-be-forgotten first feel of nylon 
on nylon as we writhed and wriggled together. Our mouths were locked 
together. Bold, I felt her breasts, something I had so longed for all those 
nights watching men enjoy them, all those mornings when she walked about 
the flat in her lingerie, or even naked. I felt her intake of breath even as we 
kissed. 

Then my legs were between hers, and my cock pressed against her. Suddenly 
everything there gave way and my cock slipped and slid into her. I knew I 
was in her by the heat and wetness. Again that intake of breath. I moved as I 
had seen her lovers, raising my hips at her, pushing into her. I reached up and 
felt her tits, one in each hand. And she was coming, almost without 
movement from me. I saw her face, panting and red for me this time, not 
some nameless client. I felt her cunt grip on me, and I was coming too. How 
much more intense than even the best of my masturbations!

                                    ..........................................................................

 
Later that same year, my twelfth, one of the clients became so regular as to 
be nearly a new Dad. I called him Uncle Edgar. He was a long-distance lorry 
driver, and would be home most weekends, Friday night to Monday morning. 
In the week Mother whored as usual, but Saturday and Sunday we had a 
normal family life, visiting the zoo, walking in the park, going to the cinema. 
All those ordinary things.

I did not 'dress' when Uncle Edgar was there, but often would on weekday 
evenings.

Mother fucked him for free, and there was no doubt that her night-time 
groans and moans were real pleasure. I could tell the difference from the 
noises she made with the others. That was mostly acting. With Uncle Edgar it 
was genuine (and with me too on the rare occasions I was allowed to fuck 
her, usually when she had come home drunk, and her client of the evening 
only wanted a quickie.)                               

In the confined space of our apartment I often saw him naked, of course.  He 
was her favourite type. When his cock was not hard you could scarcely see it 
in the masses of thick black hair. When it was erect it stood out huge and 
powerful. My little cock was straight: his was curved like some grotesque 
longbow, purple veined and fierce looking. I was hypnotised by it, and by his 
broad shoulders and tiny, hard arse. He was covered in black hair, even his 
back and bottom. As he stood there toweling down after a shower, I found 
myself longing for those strong arms to enfold me, to feel those heavy calves 
against mine. He was all my fantasies of being fucked, raped even, made real.

I'll never forget the first time.

Mother had gone out (to the doctor I think. Nothing serious though). He was 
dressed in a tight, white singlet, and tight white shorts. It was hot, summer, 
and I was in my underpants, not my favourite lacy confections, which were 
still a secret just for Mother and me to enjoy but nevertheless sexy pink satin, 
and obviously feminine. I found myself looking at his crotch, knowing what 
nestled in there. He caught me looking, and smiled. 

At twelve I was a 'pretty boy'. My mother used to cut my hair, and she had 
some skill, so I had a row of golden curls along my forehead, and a child of 
the seventies there was nothing unusual about my shoulder length hair. Since 
she had caught me cross-dressing she had encouraged me to let it grow. What 
was unusual was the stylish way it had been cut, and the care I took to brush 
it till it shone like burnished gold. My skin was white (we lived in the city 
and I did not yet visit Mother's beauty salon for tanning sessions) and as 
smooth at twelve as any girl's. My only body hair would have been the 
lightest fuzz on my balls and in my armpits. And I was slender. Just as I had 
been watching Uncle Edgar's muscular body, so he had been watching my 
slim and desirable figure. I caught him looking at my crotch, where my cock 
was hardening into a little tent under my silks His cock was stiffening, and I 
could see the shape clearly now. He smiled. I smiled.

'What you got there, Paulie?'

I blushed. He laughed. Then there was one muscular arm round my shoulder 
while the other hand reached down and grasped my cock through the satin.

'Quite a man now, eh?' His other hand caressed my arse. I know how he 
loved the feel of flesh under satin, as I had watched that gesture so often, his 
hairy paw on my mother's shapely buttocks. 'Your mother's panties?'

'Mine.' I blushed. I was sure there would be a damp spot by now, a tiny drop 
of precum giving me away.

He laughed. His hand slipped down under the waistband, into my panties, 
and lightly held my cock, which was straining now. I felt my heart beating, 
and an excited tightness in my chest. He held me to him and I could feel his, 
to me, massive cock against me. There was a clean smell of sweat about him, 
which I still find incredibly sexy. I certainly did that day. I knew this was 
going to be it, that the forbidden lusts I felt would be realised. My heart beat 
so loud I'm sure he could hear it.

Then he kissed me. I had kissed Mother of course, but this was my first man. 
I slipped my tongue into his mouth as she had taught me. It seemed to send 
him crazy and his arms were tight around me, muscles bulging, as we kissed, 
devouring each other's lips. Still kissing me he lifted me effortlessly and 
carried me through to the bed he shared with mother. We lay on it.

I felt him pull his shorts down, and then his hands on my panties as he pulled 
them down to my knees. I had had my cock sucked (by Mother), but this was 
different. Nothing tender. Rapid up and down on it, dribbling spit onto it, 
taking it deep into his throat. It only took seconds, and I felt I was coming. I 
warned him, doubting he would want me to come in his mouth. But he did! 
He gripped my hips tighter, and gobbled me even faster. I came, and he 
swallowed.

He lay beside me, tickling and pinching one of my nipples. I had been 
caressing him, but scarcely noticed in my passion. Now I was enjoying 
stroking his hard, hairy chest and belly, gripping that huge, angry, red-
helmeted  cock in my other hand.

'Now me, Paulie, do something for me.'    

I knew what he wanted, but was not sure I really could. I loved the idea, but 
... I licked the shaft tentatively. There was a drop of precum in its eye, and I 
touched it with the tip of my tongue. He gripped my head in both hands, and 
held it down on his cock. I took the knob in my mouth. It stretched it wide 
open, but went in. I immediately loved the feeling of soft smooth skin and 
the underlying steel of his erection. Like him, as he had done to me, I started 
to suck, sliding it in and out of my mouth as fast as I could. I tickled his 
huge, hairy balls with one hand and reached under him with the other. I knew 
what I liked to do, and expected he would too. So I slipped a finger into his 
arse. He groaned, but in pleasure. Then he was coming, and I felt my mouth 
fill with his slippery, almost tasteless cum. I swallowed.

As I dropped off to sleep I felt very grown-up for a twelve-year-old!

He must have slept too, because we woke up, together, to see Mother 
standing over us. He was naked, and I had my satin panties round my ankles. 
As we lay head-to-tail it was obvious what we had been doing!

He sat up. 'I can explain, Muriel.'  

'No need to, Edgar. I can see. Did you fuck him?'

'I just sucked. We sucked each other. I'm sorry, Muriel, but he was so cute in 
your panties.'

She laughed. 'They're his, not mine. And if you think he looks pretty in 
them, you should see him in his basque and high heels. That'd make your 
mickey stand all right.'

'I'm Paula, really.I mean inside me, I'm Paula, not Paul.'

'Look, Edgar, you go down to the pub for an hour or so, and when you come 
back you can meet Paula.'

                                                         .......................................................

'Time you learned! And I'm sure you want it, don't you?'

'Yes, Mother. I'm sure I do.'

'Well, let's make you real nice for him. He's a good man, and a wonderful 
fucker. And I should know. And don't think I can't see you peeking at us 
from your bed some nights! So I guess you know as well!' She laughed, and 
so did I. I knew exactly what she meant.

She bathed me, making sure my arse was especially clean. Inside as well as 
outside! Then she shaved me, very carefully, with the lightweight razor she 
used on herself. She rubbed her cheek against me to make sure I was really 
smooth. I loved that, and my little cock was standing again as she gave it a 
little, playful kiss, a light peck. She dabbed me dry, and then rubbed scented 
body lotion into me, and especially my thighs, belly and bottom. But 
everywhere, really. Then a little dab of cold cream into my arse, which she 
worked well inside with her index finger.

'There! You'll do, Paula. Your lovely pastel blue basque.'

'And my silver high heels. And tan fully-fashioneds.'

'Will it hurt, Mother? He's awful big ...'

'Not much bigger than your black dildo!'

I blushed deep red.

'Oh, yes, I know about that too! That's why I want Edgar to have you. You 
deserve the real thing, Paula. And it may hurt for a second or two, but that 
will soon pass. Now, just put those straps through the buckles tidily and 
you'll do. '

I stood in front of the long mirror and admired myself, passing my hands 
over the smoothness of my nylon and now-feminine body. My legs looked 
good in the strappy silver heels. She laughed. 'You're very feminine, Paula. 
really vain like all us girls. But you really do look a picture. He's a lucky 
man.'

                                                  ................................................

He was exactly on time. I guessed he'd been early and waited outside.

'I'll leave you two to play... this time!' Mother laughed. 'I'll be in the 
kitchen. I expect you'll be hungry later.'

He had a great hairy hand on each of my shoulders and was looking me up 
and down. 'God, but you're beautiful, Paula.'

Then we were embracing. I could feel his hands running up and down my 
body, sliding freely over the satin of my basque, cupping my arse cheeks and 
squeezing there. As for me, I wanted to feel his naked body again, and was 
picking at the buttons of his shirt. I got them undone to his waist, and had my 
arms around him inside the shirt. I could feel the hair on his back under my 
palms, and the muscles there, and the roughness of his chest against my neck 
and chest.

As before, he lifted me easily and carried me to the bed. I watched as he 
stripped, and found my gaze fixed like that hypnotised rabbit on the great 
snake of his cock. It pointed arrogant and male at me, its single eye weeping 
a solitary drop. My heart beat!

Then he was on the bed with me, and strong hands opened my legs. I felt the 
bristles of his cheek on the soft flesh of my thighs, and then between the 
cheeks of my bottom. His tongue was seeking me out. It found what it 
wanted, and there was that sexy tickling sensation as he licked my arsehole. I 
giggled as his tongue penetrated me, and he pulled me in towards him even 
closer, so he could gain another half inch of my hole. I reached behind me 
and managed to stroke part of his body...probably just below his shoulders. I 
couldn't see, but it was lovely and hairy. He was stroking my thighs, there 
where the stocking tops met naked smooth, body-lotioned flesh. And his 
tongue was moving in and out like a miniature cock.

He stopped and turned me over so I was fully on my belly. Mother kept a 
bottle of scented oil on the bedroom table (many of her 'guests' liked to fuck 
her in the arse, and I'd often been the silent witness of their pleasure. Now I 
was going to share in it myself!) He pulled my pastel blue thong to one side, 
and parted my cheeks. Then I felt the drops of oil as he poured some into my 
crack. He stoppered the bottle, and his fingers were now where his tongue 
had opened the way.

I believe I have written earlier how I enjoyed masturbating my arsehole even 
from a very young age, and fantasised that I was being fucked there, that my 
fingers were some massive black cock, or a red-necked roustabout's great 
tool. So my groan as he slipped his index finger into me was one of pure 
pleasure. I arched my hips off the bed so he could penetrate further, and felt 
his stroking me there, deep inside, where it is the most sensitive, Then I was 
stretched as a second finger joined the first. As his fingers moved in and out 
my anus, he rotated them in a screwing motion. 

He kept his hand deep inside me and lay close to me again, his free hand 
caressing my neck, and stroking my golden hair. He had not even touched my 
cock this time, but it was hard inside the satin thong, trying to escape from it. 
He whispered in my ear. 'You're ready now, little Paula. Uncle Edgar is 
going to have you.'

'Please be careful, Uncle. I'm afraid it will hurt.'

He made no reply, but I felt his weight on my thighs as he moved on top of 
me. Still his finger were in me. 

'Kneel, Paula. It's best that way first time.'

I knelt, and felt his fingers leave me. His knob was between my cheeks, and I 
suppose I was open, because it slipped into me without his using his hands, 
which were holding my hips. I gave a little squeak as for an instant it hurt, 
but that soon passed and he had the full length up me, his hairy thighs 
pressed against my buttocks.

He was murmuring to himself, 'Lovely! Lovely! Lovely!' His cock stayed 
still, filling me; his hands caressed my satin-covered hips. He playfully 
tweaked a suspender and I wriggled and squealed as it snapped against my 
thigh. He laughed, and was fucking me with long, slow sweeps.

I wish I could say it was wonderful! But to be honest that first time it was 
not, really. His tongue and fingers had been much better. But I was hardly 
aware of what was happening to me. I remember thinking to myself, over and 
over again, 'I'm being fucked! At last I've got a big cock up me! At last I'm 
a real girl, being fucked by a huge, muscular man! Oh! I love Uncle Edgar so 
much, and now he's enjoying me!' So, my pleasure in him was at least as 
much psychological as physical. I saw it, I now know looking back, as a rite 
of passage between childhood and womanhood. Before that evening I had 
been a little boy, Paulie, fantasising being raped. After that evening I was a 
full-grown woman, Paula, who could take men on equally in the struggle of 
sex.

For the rest, it was a bit boring as he laboured away at my arse. It got better 
towards the end as he speeded up, and was slapping my arse with both hands. 
Then he came in me, and collapsed, his weight on my back now.

My arse gave a little contraction, and he slipped out.

'Didn't hurt you, Paula? Was it good?'

'It was lovely!' I lied. But it was nicer still when you were sucking me.'

'Then I'll suck you again. Hey! You're still stiff!' He handled my cock, 
squeezing it through my thong, for the first time that evening. Men! Only 
think of their own pleasure. But to be fair he did give me that pleasure a 
second time in the day. 'Kneel over me, and I'll suck you off.'

I did just that, and was amused that he reached up to squeeze my silicon tits. 
Mother had paid a lot for them at the boutique in Soho she bought a lot of her 
tarty lingerie, and they were quite convincing. (Later, when I was a full-time 
working-girl I had a charge account there!) Those first tits were  proper-
feeling, nipples and all. So I was kneeling on his hairy chest, my cock in his 
mouth, his head propped on a pillow to get the angle right. I was feeling his 
hairy chest, and tweaking his nipples, almost hidden in that black mat, as I 
fucked him in the mouth. Finally I grasped his head, a hand each side, and 
shagged it hard, as he sucked and gobbled. It did not take long, and I was 
coming in his mouth again. And that really WAS better than being fucked.

                                      ......................................................................

That had been Sunday night, and Uncle Edgar went off to take his truck to 
Hamburg or somewhere, early Monday morning. 

It was Wednesday that I found out Mother had not been entirely altruistic in 
having me seduced. It was about ten, and I had got ready for bed. Nice hot 
bath, and my long black nylon nightie, when the phone rang.

'Paula, darling. Are you still up?'

Daft question, I thought.

'Good. I've met two lovely guys, They're Scottish, businessmen down on a 
sales conference. Alisdair fancies me, and he's coming home with me 
tonight. But his friend Murdo would like a tranny. Says he's never had one. 
You'll like him. He's a rugby player, and built like an ox. Alisdair says he's 
hung like one too! How about it? Would you like him? I'll make him pay all 
right.'

So for the first time, I was a whore. First of many over the years. And it's 
been a good life! 

Well, I slipped on a white basque with blue trimmings, tan fully fashioned 
nylons, and gold high heels. I oiled my arse,lit one of Mother's joints, and sat 
down, watching the television, waiting for Murdo ...

                                                              FIN
