A Mother's Tale.

As the mother of a life-long cross-dresser I must accept at least part of the blame. I must point out, however that everything I did was to protect him - not from life - but from school bullies. Today's Newspapers are full of stories about children and their fears of the playground bully. Let me tell you, it was far worse in the Fifties. In those days many schools were run by ex-soldiers who thought that 'boys will be boys' and a little playground fisticuffs did no harm. In fact any child who complained was immediately thought of - and named - as a Sissy. If parents such as myself interfered the child's problems seemed to multiply.

I can still remember Robin, my son, begging me not to say anything after one vicious bout of teasing and bullying. I suppose if he'd had a Father we might have managed the problem differently, but as a single parent life was very difficult in those days.

To be fair Robin was not your average boy. Perhaps living in an all female environment, (we initially shared a house with my sister and her two girls), caused him to 'imprint' our lives as the norm in his mind. Robin had never enjoyed the rough and tumble of playing in the street or park and school became an absolute nightmare with bedwetting becoming a serious problem. His idea of heaven was siting with me and my sister drinking tea and talking about fashion, and baking. He always helped with the housework and was perfectly content to stay indoors. He was very good company being a natural mimic. And yes, he loved 'dressing-up'. With my heels and a long frock he would impersonate every one he saw on TV including Shirley Bassey and Alma Cogan and his favorite Dora Bryan.

If it had not been for his terror of school our lives would have been incredibly happy. So; as the school could not or would not help, I took the law into my own hands. I moved away from the District taking Robin with me. It was a simple matter to change his name to Robyn - spelt with a Y; and the sex to female on his birth certificate. Not that this was needed. He attended school without any requirement for documentation. He attended school as a girl!

He wore a navy-blue frock with white piping and white wrist gloves. I permed his hair into soft girlish wave and I took him for a walk! Now I want you to understand clearly; at this stage in his short life Robyn had shown no sign of wanting to be a girl.

And I did not WANT him to be a girl! When I told Robin what was to happen he was distinctly uncomfortable with the idea. He showed absolutely no interest in the frocks and petticoats I purchased for his new life. He was scared of his new role, but he was terrified of returning to a life of teasing and bullying. In reality he had no choice. Other than keeping him at home permanently this was the only common sense solution. And I must tell you it worked.

Over the summer holiday period I let Robin's hair grow long. I made him wear frocks every day. I taught him how to walk and sit - and he watched television with a new perspective watching girls like Pet Clarke and Shirley Temple - so he could copy their movements, their wrist actions. Their walking and even their mannerisms. It became a game. And he was very good at it. At first he was self-conscious and uncomfortable in skirts - like most boys he was used to shoving his hands deep inside pants pockets. But slowly he got used to them. Soon he wasn't even aware of them. I think this point is important - most transvestites will tell you that clothes, not being female as such, but the frocks and panties themselves, excited them even as children. This was certainly not the case with Robin. His skirts were at best a distraction and occasionally a deep embarrassment to him.

I permed his hair into soft girlish waves, using pink slides and ribbon as well. And soon we both actually thought of his as Robyn the girl. I can still remember Robin's first day outside in skirts. It was nothing more than a short walk to the local shops. He was pale and scared and was on the verge of tears as we opened the garden gate and began that first terrifying walk along the busy pavement. I had dressed Robin in a knee length cotton frock. It was smart sleeveless creation with white piping about the square neck. He wore white cotton wrist gloves, white ankle socks and black shoes. Nobody took any notice. He looked and walked like a girl. I didn't stay out long; the only person to speak to Robin was the Butcher, a large red-faced individual who said, "And who's THIS young lady?" Robin flushed and clung to my hand like a baby - but the Butcher only laughed at her shyness.

Over the next few days I took Robin out to the Park, to the Zoo, and even to the Cinema. Her confidence grew and soon it was time for school. Her only real problem was a fear of talking to others. She thought, quite wrongly in my view, that girls talked differently than boys. In the end I decided to tell people that Robin had a small speech impediment that occasionally caused him embarrassment.

In the first week of September I reluctantly and fearfully left Robin at the gates of her new school. She was wearing the same as every other girl; a yellow check shirtwaister cotton frock, straw hat, white gloves, white ankle socks and black shoes. She looked scared - but then so did most of the girls!

I spent the day terrified of a visit from the police or social workers. I was waiting impatiently at the school gates half an hour before they opened! And what sight met my eyes - Robyn laughing and giggling with another girl as he came rushing out of the school yard! I gave both 'girls' a lift home and listened wide-eyed as my son chattered incessantly about teachers and schoolmates and lessons. As I dropped the girl off at her home and turned to Robin I saw at once that my fears had been groundless and that I had in fact taken the right course of action. Robin was positively glowing. He was like any ordinary schoolchild - full of excitement and brimming with life. I had been full of questions about his 'role' as a girl, what did they think of her manners; her walking and talking. But I never asked a single one; it was quite clear that Robin thought of himself, for all intents and purposes as a girl. I sat back and listened. No talk of bullies, although there were girls who were 'mean' and 'nasty'. I was immensely relieved.

Over the next few years Robin quite literally changed sex Mentally! There is no doubt in my mind that he was a real girl. That she was totally happy and comfortable in that state.

Yes, of course there were real problems - puberty was the most obvious. I had to get across to my son, not only the facts of life - but the basic fact that his natural tendency to like the company of females was now a sexual one. Again I can assert with absolute confidence that clothes as such did not sexually arouse Robin.

A schoolgirl called Alice had an obvious crush on him - they had already held hands and kissed one another! And he also liked one of his teachers.

I was very careful at this stage in his development to watch out for ANY signs of sexual activity. I often helped him dress and I would have seen any hint of this when helping him on with filmy nylon knickers and such like. Yes - he was thrilled when given a pretty frock or a really nice pair of shoes - but his reaction was similar to any young girl. So on the face of it I had no problems. But you must understand, I was terrified of her being thought of as a lesbian. I was scared of any sexual activity that might involve other girls. I also had a sneaking fear of men or boys being attracted to Robin, she was by this time a very pretty young girl!

Here is where I made my biggest mistake. With the very best of intentions I decided to give Robin regular sexual relief! I know this sounds bizarre - but we were already in a bizarre situation. I had already taken great risks for his sake. If we were 'found-out' Robin would be placed in care. I might never see him again.

I explained this to Robin one afternoon after he had spent the afternoon with a friend. A girl called Alice had an obvious crush on Robin. He was flattered and not a little excited by her interest. Under questioning he admitted that they had held hands and kissed! I was shattered. If he was telling Me...was she telling HER mother? I sat him down and told him the blunt truth. He was a boy in a skirt and he would have very strong urges. He would at times be incapable of refusing the advances of a fellow schoolgirl. I also pointed out that was not unusual for teachers to become attracted to their pupils. We were both in great danger. He was clearly shocked and I could see that some of my worst fears were justified - he was attracted to the girls and he had spent a lot of time wishing one particular woman teacher would notice him.

I told him what I would do for now. I was dreading the time a few years hence, when he would grow to tall to be a girl, start to have big muscles, and have to shave. It was an awkward moment, but again it has to be realised that we had both been through many traumatic first incidents together, such as his always walking in on me, when I was in the loo, and that we were not exactly living a 'normal' existence then. I told Robin that the only way to ensure that his normal sexual feelings remained quiet would be for me to, as I delicately put it, 'relieve' him each morning and each afternoon. Don't forget - this is the child I've raised, I've changed his nappies and dressed him all his life. It isn't as ridiculous as it sounds.

Anyhow, I didn't waste any time; I took him to the loo. I explained quite clearly what was involved - and as he obediently raised his skirts I put on a pair of rubber gloves as I looked at his man parts and took him in hand. His by now erect penis was about 4 inches long, and an inch thick. He had pubic hair on both sides above the shaft where it joins the body and a thin circle of hair running around the base of the shaft, as well as a little on hiss bullocks. His foreskin extended about a half inch beyond the knob. I took hold of it, between my thumb and first two fingers, slowly pulling it back as far as it would go.

The scent of his head cheese, was pungent and Manly. I told him that like most men and boys, he did not keep his penis clean, which could also lead to his being discovered as a boy. I took some hot water on a wash cloth and quickly cleaned his penis. I leaned over and sniffed it, Very good No scent,! I told Robin that I would have to clean it at least twice a day from now on, or surly some one would catch scent of him, and know the truth. Then I dibbled some spittle onto the glove, and started to move my hand back and forth over his knob with his foreskin sliding as it rolled and unrolled over his tallywhacker. It only took about five minutes for him to Grunt, smash his legs together, and thrust his hips forward, locking them there as his tallywhacker spurted Gobs of frothy stringy big boy goo in a vibrating fountain.

It could have been desperately embarrassing for both of us but I made it seem as though it was just a mum's ordinary pleasant little chore. And I suppose for him, despite some shame, it was undeniably pleasurable. He was wearing a very pretty frock made of filmy white nylon over a pink satin underskirt. He held the two skirts in both hands, partially obscuring his face from what I was doing for him. It was all over very quickly. Afterwards I wiped him clean, with the same wash cloth, tugged his pink panties high into his groin, carefully rearranging his penis & bullocks so they blended in, & adjusted her skirt and petticoat and sent her out to buy some fish an Chips for our evenings meal.

The next morning just as he was ready to leave for school I deliberately pulled on a pair of bright pink washing-up gloves and took his hand. He went a little pink in the face but meekly allowed me to accompany him to the loo. Robin calmly raised the skirt of his yellow check school skirt and the white slip he was wearing. I never looked at his face during these early awkward, but necessary sessions. And he studiously avoided mine!

That same afternoon Robin entered the house and I knew at once he'd been thinking about what would happen. Instead of his usual chatter about school and the like he was pale, silent and withdrawn. In fact his face was white except of two red spots of embarrassment high on his cheekbones. I was very sad, but determined not to falter. I knew that eventually he'd accept it all. His eyes took in my rubber glove and my clear plastic apron. He walked towards the Loo without a word. He closed his eyes and raised his skirts so I could get at his panties.

So, like so many things in life it became a habit. Before he left for school each morning I'd meet him in the loo. I'd be wearing my plastic apron and rubber gloves. He would close his eyes and wait as I massaged him to relief. As he rushed in from school - I noticed that he never went anywhere else once I'd started our relief sessions. After some months, I soon abandoned using the pinny and gloves and we'd both go straight to the loo. We never raised the subject at any other time..When he was ready to go to school, and again as soon as he came home in the afternoon - he went meekly, and sometimes eagerly, to the loo and obediently raised his skirts.

And it worked. I'm afraid it worked too well. Robin became 'addicted' to these sessions. Over the next few years it was a clear success. He spent more time at home and mixed less with girls. Any desires towards them was quenched at least in part by his own mother's hand! On weekends, we had the same routine, except he did not go anywhere other then with me. He would stay in her Pink button down the front house dress, till it was time to get dressed, & go somewhere with mein the cool of spring, fall, and winter. In the warm months, he wore nothing to bed, preferring to be Starkers at night to sleep.

It only became a problem, or at least an obvious problem later. I can remember the first time I knew something had gone a spot wrong. One July weekend I was in the loo with Robin. Instead of my usual winter Flannel night dress, or my House dress, I was wearing a long white silk summer Thigh length blouse with three large pink buttons down its front. Under my sheer, mostly transparent silk summer blouse it being a slow hot morning, I was not yet wearing anything, not even my half-cup lacy satin bra, and panties.

Normally Robin simply stood there, his eyes staring blankly at me as I pumped away between his thighs. But on this occasion I was suddenly and shockingly aware of Robin's hands at my breasts! I looked up and saw that he was holding both his hands and his eyes on my breasts. At first I was too shocked and surprised to move and thus Robin was allowed free access to my 34 B cup bosom. It was only when his eager fingers flipped open the first button of my blouse that it occurred to me that I had to take action. But I didn't move! I've tried to understand why for years. In any event I was frozen.

Then he opened the second button, and slid his right hand inside to cup my Left Breast . It was as if I had a small electric shock, as his tentative fingers grasped my nipple, and gently squeezed and stroked it. Then his other hand undid the last button, and my blouse fell fully open, exposing me fully to his sight. His seeing my nakedness by it self meant nothing, as over the years his habit of just walking into the loo as I was peeing, or taking a bath, had long ago desensitized us both to nudity, as had our three years of my relieving his sex drive twice a day. However the way I was dressed, and his being Starkers as I started playing with his seven x two inch erection, plus his now being about the same size I was, as he had grown in those years till we wore each other dresses etc., had been enough for all those years of sexual repression to cause things to go wrong.

I took him to my bed! And taught him to make wild love ! I insisted that he learn all of the ways a man can please a woman without using his penis. Then when we had been making love three hours, and he was better at non-fucking love making, then any man I knew, I climbed on top of him. I took that beautiful Cock and as I held it pointing towards heaven, I slowly slipped down over it, engulfing it in my hot pussy. He went wild, thrusting screaming, and then he came, and came, and came, I counted 5 orgasms in about twenty minutes. Till he passed out.

I've been told by several experts since, that Robin's first sexual feelings were probably 'perverted' by my attempts to control his natural urges. He mentally and physically associated his sex-life with an older woman, and passive acceptance of her sex and - of course, the wearing of female clothes. Any hope of Robin one day living a normal life as a man was gone.

So I know what I did next was right. I raised up, allowing his now limp penis to slide out of me, no longer a Virgin. I opened the draw in the night stand, next to the bed, and took out a packet, placing it on the top of the night stand. I walked into the loo, I washed my hands, and went back next Robin. He was sound asleep, with a big smile on his 15 year old face. I opened the Packet, and extracted a syringe and a Vile of Morpheme. Then some different types of clamps, some needles, sutures, three scalpels an iodine based antibacterial, and assorted odds an ends. I took the syringe and a Vile pf Morpheme and injected enough of it into him to keep him asleep till the next day.

I went back to the loo, an took a hot shower, I was ambivalent about what I then knew I had to do to my son. I rolled him down to the foot of the bed, and stripped the bed down to him. Then I rolled him back to the head of the bed, took the dirty lines off, and replaced it with two plastic sheets. Then I rotated Robin so he was laying on the bed right, on his back, arms and legs spread. I then put padded cuffs on both his arms and legs, tying them to the four corners of the bed. I had to then strap down his body, shoulders, just under the rib cage, across the top of his pelvis, mid thigh, and half way between ankles and knees.

After setting up all the rest of the surgery, I started a drip for robin, and went down to make some Breakfast for myself.

When I returned from breakfast, I plugged in the wood burning tool I brought back with me. I washed off his groin with hot soapy water, rinsed it twice, and dried it with paper towels. Then I shaved him, amazed at how little I had been paying attention to his transition from Boy to man. When he was clean of all I could see, I poured on the Iodine based anti-bacterial agent, and let it stand for a minute, before I Slowly I cut through his sack, in a circle, using the burner, and glue, to stop any bleeding. Then I again used the shears to cut away that light gray membrane, and added it to the pile in the Bowl of Ice water. Then I took a scalpel, and separated the cords, suturing off the ends of those that had blood in them, and finally both Testes were free of his crotch. I threw each into the pile in the ice water.

Now cane the part that was some what dangerous, cutting out his penis. I started by making an 1 inch incision through the skin, fat, & fascia, about an inch above and on either side of it's base. Then I started the somewhat tedious task of slowly cutting a three quarter inch long incision down towards the bone where the tendons attache the root of the penis to the pelvis complex. It must be done at about a ten degree convergence to the centerline of the urethral component of the penis. Along the way I have to keep the wound tunnel open and free of blood, so I may both cut only what I wish, but so I can also see any blood vessels, which I must identify, and in most cases double suture before severing them. I use the wood burner to cauterize the smaller ones, being careful not to burn the sides of the incision which would form scar tissue, and weaken the tissue re-attachment to itself, which we call healing. When I at last get to the bone, I use the scrapers made for this, to separate the penis root from the pelvis complex.

As I retrace my path, back up, I put dissolving sutures into the wound wall, drawing the sides together every 1/4 to 1/3rd inch, as I am ascending to the surface. All the while making sure I do not leave any Clots behind. Now I incise the Foreskin, about 1/4 inch from it's attachment to the Glans, and retract it down to the skin line, where I clamp it open and about an half inch away from the structure of the penis. Then I must slowly lift the penis up an away from the inside of the body. Again after tying off the veins and arteries, I sever them, and the nerves. Till the only thing left holding the penis to the rest of the body, is the Urethra. I lay the almost severed penis on his belly, as I incise a path into the Urethra, so I may insert a catheter to allow urination, as he heals. Then a quick snip with the shears, and it too goes into the ice water.

I gently abraded the lower side of the Urethra, and a corresponding area of the muscle tissue just below where it emerges from the body. I snip a small flap of skin, to wrap around the Urethra, and attach it also to the tissue on either side. I now reshape the penial skin into The Mons Venerus & outer lips, adding part of the scrotum to make the inner lips, and more of the penial skin to form a short vagina. When I was done, I was exhausted, but I had to admit it Looked good, but it was starting to swell. I kept Robyn in a twilight state for a week, then slowly over the next week brought her to full wakefulness.

To be fair to myself Robyn has always been adamant that she never wanted to be anything other than female. She says she is quite happy now. I'll never know, perhaps he would have changed if I hadn't interfered. Today she still lives with me. As my daughter. She says she is happy, and I cannot complain. I'm sure he would have been desperately unhappy if I hadn't tried to help. She is of course unmarried; like many of you, she hopes one day to meet a woman who will let her live life as her wife. I did my best, but I'm not sure what I did was right.

L.M.D

LIVERPOOL