Amber Fountaine stories contain sexually explicit descriptions of consensual sexual activity and are not suitable for reading by anyone under the age of 18, or anyone offended by reading such material. These acts include gay and bisexual activity as well as any combination of piss play, diapers, cross-dressing, sissified adults, and other fetishes and perversions that may please the author's whims. The characters in these stories are fictional, but are based on the author's true experiences, as well as the experiences of others that he has met. Every attempt to conceal these identities has been made.
These stories are placed in Nifty for the enjoyment of its readers and are not to be copied and/or distributed without the approval of the author.
This is the third in a series of short stories that are true stories as related to me over the last 35+ years that I have enjoyed meeting others that share my interests. Every time I've met or corresponded with someone I've made a point to ask how they developed their interest and I've used combinations of those stories, along with my own experiences, to create much of what I've previously written. However that was when I had more time to do so. With less time available to me, for this series I'll relate the more interesting sexual biographies as I remember them. And since I change the names anyway, what I'll do for this series is put them in alphabetical order rather than by chapter.
Charlene's Story
as told by Amber Fountaine
I think everyone is born with some sort of talent, especially those into the performing arts, like singers and musicians. Then there are those with the God-given ability to take a mental inspiration and turn it into a beautiful picture in charcoals, water-colors, or oils. Anyone can learn to fly a plane, but there are some that have a gift for it. While I didn't seem to have one of those innate abilities, for many years, through my teens at least, my gift or ability seemed to be a natural talent for pissing off my dad. I didn't even have to try; merely rolling out of bed in the morning was enough for him to find fault.
If I slept late, it was because I was lazy and would never amount to anything. If I got up early, it was like I'd done it to torment my dad by disturbing the peacefulness of his quiet morning. And whichever way it went, the rest of the day was pretty much more of the same. It wasn't until many years later that I learned my mom had decided not to have any more sex after I was born and my dad blamed it on me. And to make matters worse, I wasn't near the 'chip off the old block' that he had hoped for when he decided to make me his Junior.
My name is Charles Louise Herbert Jr. For those of you not familiar with us folks in South Louisiana, that last name is pronounced "E-bear" like we're some furry animal you'd find on the Internet.
The good thing about my relationship with my dad was that he made pretty good money, for an uneducated man, by working long hours in the oil fields, including trips to the middle-east and Alaska. I wasn't aware at the time that those long sojourns to far off work sites that kept me and my dad out of each other's hair were fueled as much by his sexual deprivation at home as it was the desire to make a lot more money. However when it came time for me to decide what I'd do after high school, that money he'd amassed came in handy when I chose to go to college.
Maybe I should explain why I was such a sore spot in my dad's life. My dad, Chuck Hebert, is about as stereo-typical, alpha-male, Mr. Macho, as you can get. He was a star football player that lost out on a scholarship to LSU because of his grades. One story he loved to tell on himself was that LSU hired some tutors to try to get him through school and the tutors quit because he was too dumb to spell 'tutor'. Actually, he wasn't that bad, and he did graduate from high school, but according to some, it was only because the wife of the high school football coach was the school principal. My dad was what some folks call, "Canny smart."
The point I need to make here is that I was everything my dad wasn't; or maybe I should say I was nothing like my dad, junior or no junior after my name. And to say he was verbally abusive is an understatement. Of course we didn't even know what 'verbally abusive' meant back then. But I heard it all. When my dad decided to quit calling me Junior because I didn't resemble him in any way, my mom began calling me, "Little Charley." Even that made my dad mad since it suggested I was connected with Big Charley. Once, when I was around six or seven, and had come in last in a foot race that my dad happened to witness, he lambasted me about running like a girl and how I was more like my mom than I'd ever be like him and how I should have been raised in dresses. Once he got started, he seemed to go off on a tangent getting louder and louder and it scared me to the point where I wet my pants. That moved him up to a higher notch of anger than any of us had seen. Normally my mom wouldn't intercede in those tirades but in this case she realized I was in danger and threw my dad out of the house.
As the result of many such incidents, and my mom always telling me to ignore his remarks, I never paid any attention to him calling me a sissy or telling me I looked like a fag. In fact, I did inherit the Hebert stubbornness and if he remarked about my hair being long like a girls (it really wasn't at the time), I'd let it grow twice as long while he was gone somewhere on a job so that he'd have something to holler about when he got home. Instead of ignoring my dad's remarks, I found new ways to provoke them.
However it wasn't until the day I was riding the bus downtown with Melody, my cousin, that a similar remark from a complete stranger gave me reason to think about my gender.
About the only thing St. Martinville had going for it was that it was the county seat for St. Martin Parish - what we call counties in Louisiana. When the relationship between my dad and my mom soured, my dad moved us there to get away from his in-laws in Lafayette and Breaux Bridge. Whenever my dad would go out of town for months or even a year or so at a time, my mom would move us in with her sister in Lafayette. As a result of that, my cousin Melody was just about the best friend I had in the world.
In the last part of my fourteenth summer, my dad took a job in Canada for six months. My mom said that if it had been for a year or more, she'd have let me start high school with Melody. Melody was a year ahead of me and that would have been really cool to have her show me around. But since my dad was supposed to be home, maybe as early as Christmas, my mom took us to Lafayette for the last three weeks of summer vacation.
As far back as I could remember, Melody and I had worn each other's clothes. I'd even worn her panties a few times and thought nothing of it and neither did she. Hearing her say we were almost like sisters sounded good to me, unlike very similar remarks that my dad made. One day, when she and I were going downtown to see a movie, she let me borrow a t-top that I thought was cute with a big bullfrog on the front. We were both wearing shorts and sandals and the fact that we actually looked like sisters never occurred to either of us. Melody's sixth-grade chest bumps had grown significantly, but were still a year or so away from becoming the big girl boobs she'd have by the time she was out of high school. So not surprisingly considering our attire, when we were getting off the bus near the theater, the bus driver said, "You girls have fun!"
We giggled about the bus driver thinking I was a girl, yet that led to Melody and I having our first serious conversation about gender - and sex. I guess because we'd been best friends and playmates since we were old enough to walk, we'd never given each other any thought about being of the opposite gender. I was well into puberty, though I didn't have near as much to show for it as Melody. I'd caught glimpses of her naked and knew she had a pretty good bush in addition to her growing breasts. I think I had more fingers and toes than total numbers of body hair and Melody had remarked not long back that my prick was "Cute" because I was one of the few males in our family to be circumcised.
I suppose we must have had a lot of unanswered questions of each other because instead of seeing that movie, we talked for hours, beginning on a nearby park bench.
"You do look a lot like a girl," she told me, not being at all offensive about it. "Do you think you'd like to try it?" "Try it how?" I asked. "You mean go out with a boy?"
"Well maybe. Maybe not at first, but if you were to dress like a girl and act like a girl and some guy wanted to go out with you, do you think you'd like to go with him?"
I was a little nervous answering, but I can't say I'd never thought about something like that. When it was pointed out to me by one of my friends at school that I was developing a lot slower than some of the other boys in my gym class, I suddenly found myself checking out the pricks and pubes on all the other guys in the locker room. My little prick was barely an inch long when it was soft, but grew to near six inches when it was hard. I'd look at all those soft pricks and wonder if any of them that looked to be around three or four inches soft grew that same amount, making them fifteen or twenty inches when erect. It didn't seem possible, but it had certainly given me food for thought. I knew that by, "go with him," Melody meant date and possibly have sex. I also knew that guys weren't supposed to go out with guys unless they were queer, but there was an out here for me. "I would if I was a girl," I told Melody. "But not as a boy."
"Okay," she told me. "From right now until you leave for home, you're gonna be my other cousin Charlene, instead of Charley."
It's amazing sometimes how insignificant seeming things can play a huge roll in the way a person's life turns out. In this case, the fact that my mom and her whole family were Catholic played a part. First, had my folks been any other religion, they would have probably gotten divorced and no telling where I'd have been raised and what I would have done as I got older. And because my Aunt was upset over some incident with her new parish priest, she still had the clothes that Melody had outgrown stashed in boxes in the garage. Normally those clothes would have been donated to the church to be distributed to the less fortunate. It was my Aunt's token effort at protesting against the newly assigned Father of her church.
Digging through the boxes, Melody had no problem finding a small wardrobe for me, including a couple of training bras that she'd long since outgrown but were a perfect fit for me. We went shopping and in addition to some really pretty panties, she found some pads to put in my bras, and at the same time, taught me a few things about the feminine wiles. "If I guy wants to play with your tits," she told me. "Just tell him you're on your period and your breasts are sensitive. And that way they won't try to play with your pussy too." Then she gave me a conspiring grin and added, "But that doesn't mean you can't play with his prick."
"Have you ever . . .?"
"Yes. But I don't want to talk about it right now. I'll tell you what to do if you get that far."
Actually, I was hoping she might use me to demonstrate since my prick had been hard ever since I'd put on my new panties, but she showed no interest in easing my pain. If this story were fiction, we'd have been all over each other, just like I was beginning to fantasize, and I'd have sucked a cock or two before the summer was over. Unfortunately, all we did was talk about it.
In fact, sex is just about all we talked about if there weren't any adults around. More than once I had to excuse myself to go jack off when I was sure I was going to cum in my panties without touching myself. Melody would just tease me when I returned, never offering to help. But I learned a lot about girls and how they think and being accepted as one of the girls by Melody's friends was fun too. They knew I was really a boy, but after being hesitant at first, soon were as free as Melody with their sexual thoughts and aspirations.
Then the summer was over and most of my 'Charlene' attire went back in the boxes in the garage. However, I'd come to love the lingerie I was wearing full time, even under my regular clothes, and decided to take that back home with me. I wasn't sure when or how I'd get a chance to wear it, and what my Mom would say if she caught me wearing it again. She'd caught me once at my Aunt's house, but I was playing with Melody and we laughed it off as just fooling around because we were bored. My mom had merely shaken her head, called us silly, and laughed it off too. I knew that wouldn't happen at home, but the thought of giving up my sexy new undies and not sleeping in a nightie were unbearable. I was hooked on lingerie even if I couldn't dress up and wear makeup.
Somehow, over the next few years, I managed to keep my feminine ambitions a secret from my folks, although letting my hair grow as long as I could get away with caused additional friction with my dad. While I was growing more interested in girls by the day, it was my dad's constant remarks, when he was home, about me being a sissy that kept my thoughts alive about playing the girl's role in a sexual relationship with a boy.
I remember one time in particular, when my mom had let me use her car for a date with my girlfriend and when I'd gotten home, horny as usual, my dad had just gotten back from one of his trips. As usual, he had to make his sarcastic remarks, this time about how my boyfriend should pick me up in his car instead of me having to use my mom's. I still had a small stash of lingerie and usually didn't wear it if my dad was home. In this case, I hadn't worn it while my dad had been gone either, but that night, as a teenage show of defiance, I went to bed in panties and nightgown. And while I was thinking of my girlfriend when I took my cock in hand, my thoughts quickly shifted to what it would be like to have a boyfriend that would pick me up and take me out and how, unlike the girl I was dating, I wouldn't let that boy go home with blue-balls. That led me to thinking about what I would do and how far I would go with a boy on a date.
At first, I thought that for sure that boy would get a hand job. But as I got closer and closer to shooting off, 'Charlene' got a lot more sluttish with her fictitious date. In my mind, I was sucking that boy's cock and wondering if I should swallow his load, when my own load exploded all over the front of my nightie. Maybe the reason that particular night is memorable is because I tasted my cum for the first time, scooping it off my nightgown, and thinking if I was really a girl, I'd have no problem letting a guy cum in my mouth and swallowing all his cum. In fact, those thoughts led me to jack off a second time and this time all my thoughts were of sucking a cock.
Then I got laid. It was the right girl and the right time and while she was my first, if rumors were anywhere close to fact, I may have been the last guy in our school that Becky hadn't fucked. What was significant was that night made me a 'man' and all of the urges to be Charlene at times evaporated along with my loss of virginity. That wasn't something I could brag about to any of my buddies, but there was one person I was sure would want to know and I called Melody the next day.
She was delighted and very happy for me and insisted I go into great detail about how the night had gone. When she realized how little foreplay I'd used, she chastised me. In defense, I told her I'd have been glad to eat Becky's pussy, but I didn't know how. Maybe I was hoping that Melody would let me eat hers, but that didn't happen. Instead, she recruited one of her girlfriends and over Thanksgiving weekend, when we went to spend a few days at my Aunt's house, her friend Tanya let me feast on her hairy bush twice.
With this new skill in hand, I took Becky out again and she was delighted that I wanted to go down on her. I got the impression that she'd had lots of guys fuck her but that I was the first to eat her pussy and she loved it. So when she hinted that she'd like a little more of that, after we'd fucked, I didn't hesitate. By then I'd tasted my own cum several times and never gave it a second thought. Nor did I think about the possibility of Becky telling her friends what I'd done. However by Christmas I knew something was up because I couldn't walk down the school hall without some girl I hardly knew giving me a grin. Over the Christmas break, when we again went to Lafayette, I brought Melody up to date and thanked her again for her (and of course Tanya) helping me. When I turned down her offer to let me spend a day as Charlene, she laughed and told me that maybe I really had become a man. With those thoughts filling my mind, when I got home, I threw out what lingerie I had left that hadn't been worn out jacking off.
The next big - and I mean BIG - step in my evolution occurred when I was in college. I was really amazed, considering how poorly we'd gotten along, that my dad didn't hesitate to pay for my tuition at Tulane. He wasn't kidding when he said he was happy to do it to have me out of the house. Most college kids get to keep their bedroom at home but my dad turned mine into a den as soon as I moved into the dorm. When I went home, I had to sleep on the couch.
So between my Freshman and Sophomore years, instead of going home, and resisting my Aunt's offer to spend the summer with her, I stayed at Tulane and took a couple of courses. There were a handful of guys I knew doing the same thing for one reason or another and one of them that I had gotten to know fairly well was from across the river in Harvey. He invited me to a weekend party and it was there that I met Melinda.
I wouldn't say it was love at first sight, nor was it anything to do with us both being horny. It was more like we were both bored to tears. My friend Percy was busy playing `Bourre', a Cajun card game, and I didn't know anyone else there. Most of the men were older and so were the women. Melinda was one of the few my age and just as bored and when I mentioned that I wished I'd brought my car so I could leave, she offered to take me any place I wanted to go just so she'd have an excuse to leave and not come back. "I know what they're gonna want as soon as they get a little drunker," she told me, hinting that she'd be used for sex.
Away from the party and the loud crowd, I discovered she was also a student at Tulane, had an apartment she shared with another girl, and that they both worked at a club in the French Quarter. "She's working today, and I don't go in until later tonight, so we could go to my apartment if you like."
Maybe we were both hornier than I'd thought because we were barely in her apartment before we were all over each other. I'd had girls French kiss me, but Melinda seemed capable of tickling my tonsils. It was incredible how much of her tongue she could put in my mouth and I'll admit I wondered if sucking a cock was anything like sucking on her tongue. And speaking of sucking, when she pulled my pants off and went down on my cock, it was the most incredible sex I'd ever had. By then, I'd had my cock sucked a few times, including by Tanya, Melody's friend back in Lafayette, but all those girls together couldn't hold a candle to what Melinda could do by herself. Not only did she drain me dry and leave me limp as a dish rag, almost immediately, pausing only to share my cum with me in another of her tongue dueling kisses, she went right back down on me, bringing my cock back to life in record time. That's when I decided I wanted to get to know this woman a whole lot better and I'd start by showing her that I knew how to use my tongue too.
I know I was surprised when I slid my hand under her skirt, up her thigh and felt the unmistakable bulge of a hard cock in her panties. But it didn't slow me down at all. I don't think I paused - not even for a second. I recall having a flash of thought that I'd finally get to taste a cock and wouldn't have to have sex with a man to do it. I guess I thought Melinda was some sort of genetic freak. I'd heard of hermaphrodites, usually in some joking or teasing way by one of my school mates, and assumed that Melinda must be one of those. I can remember thinking two things as I took her prick in my mouth and began sucking it. The first was that if I enjoyed sucking it as much as I seemed to, then maybe I should try sucking a real one on a man, and then I wondered if a woman with a cock like Melinda could shoot cum. There were two ways to find out and I didn't bother asking. I just kept sucking and licking and doing all the things I could remember that she'd done to me and when she whimpered, "I'm gonna cum," I had my answer. A moment later, I had a mouthful of proof.
In the few moments I had to reflect on what had just happened, before she drove her tongue down my throat trying to retrieve some of her cum, I decided that the taste of her cum was almost exactly like mine. I guess I expected something different from a half-man, half-woman, and decided to take a closer look, and at the same time, bring her back to arousal like she'd done for me. Because I'd been in somewhat of a horny, hurried rush, I'd never pushed her panties any further down than it had taken me to free her turgid tool. Now at half its former size, I fondled it and admired it and licked at the tip when a small amount of residual cum oozed out. I'd just put it back in my mouth when I heard her tell me that most guys freak out when they discover she's really a man. "You must like girls like us," she told me.
I was a little confused as to how she could really be a man and a 'girl like us' and then I thought about 'Charlene'. "You mean you just dress like a girl?"
She giggled. "What did you think? That all girls have one of those and a pair of balls?"
I stammered and stuttered and made my ignorance obvious.
"I've been dressing like a girl since I was twelve years old and if I wasn't registered at school as Melvin, I'd go to classes in full drag."
Then I thought about how we'd met. "Does Percy know you're really a guy?"
"Who's Percy?" she asked, putting my mind at ease.
I rested my head on her thigh, admiring the swelling cock before me, and realized for the first time that I'd really sucked off another man and there was no denying that I'd enjoyed it and wanted to do it again. Since we seemed to have that in common now, as well as a similar past, I told her, "I used to dress up as a girl with my cousin when I was that age too."
Then I went on to tell her about 'Charlene' and my teenage sexual thoughts and adventures and how I'd pretty much given up thinking about sucking a cock but that I was really glad to have met her and had the opportunity and that I'd be glad to do it again any time – or anything else she wanted.
"What I want is to stay here with you all weekend," she told me, giving me a hug while she fondled my cock. "But I really need to start getting ready for work soon. Ever had a bubble bath?"
That began a relationship that lasted several years. Sharing a bubble bath with Melinda led to more sex, this time with me wearing some of her clothes. She convinced me to come to work with her and although I declined the loan of a sexy dress, I did wear lingerie under my male clothing. Not that it mattered. It turned out that the club where she worked was a drag bar and most of the women there were really men. Most were pretty obvious, but there were a few that you had to wonder if they were male or female. I decided that if I ever did it again - dress as Charlene - that I wanted to be so good at it that I was in that bunch that made you wonder. I guess I really did have some natural talent for it because with Melinda's help, I was passing as Charlene in just a few weeks and by the first of the year - New Year's Eve to be exact - I was working at the club and had become Melinda's new roommate.
The first clue I had that Melinda's main source of income wasn't from the tips she made at the club, was when we were in bed on our second day together and I commented on her wicked tongue.
"Just wait until I stick it in your Rosebud," she told me. "You'd be amazed at how many guys go crazy over that." When I expressed surprise, she added, "How do you think I got that car you think is so neat?"
I let it drop, thinking maybe it was just a gift from a grateful lover, but a few nights later, when we were supposed to meet when she got off, she called to tell me she'd been invited to a "P-party" and I should come over the following day instead. When we met and I asked about the party, and if she'd had fun, she pulled her purse out from under the bed and dumped several hundred dollars out of it. "As much as I love sucking cock," she said as I looked at her in awe, "I almost feel guilty for taking their money. But clothes ain't cheap. And as silly as it sounds, the more you charge, the more they like it."
Then she explained that if she gave some guy one of her fantastic blowjobs for free, the guy considered it a great blowjob. But if she charged the guy fifty bucks, it became a fantastic blowjob. And if she charged them a hundred, it became an incredible, awesome, hundred dollar blowjob. "Same damn blowjob," she told me, "but putting a higher value on it makes it seem better."
It was something she'd learned as a business major so while it seemed sort of silly to me, I could also see the crazy logic behind it. And since Melinda didn't have a dad paying her way through college, accepting the help of a 'sugar daddy' made sense of it all. Besides, by that time I was working at the club too, I'd already had plenty of opportunity to suck the cocks of men into women like us' and more than a few had shown their gratitude financially, so to speak.
And as I was to learn firsthand, "P-party" was one of the fetishes she catered to that I learned to enjoy too. In this case, the "P" stood for piss or pee and involved anything from peeing in our panties in front of a man, to drinking his piss or pissing on him while he jacked off. It seemed weird to me at first, but as I got used to it, I'd often ask Melinda for her piss if I'd gone too long without a p-party.
By the time I got my engineering degree, taking five years since I studied both Petroleum and Mechanical engineering, 'Charlene' had become fairly well known in the French Quarter for her ability in the French arts - or should I just be honest and say I was a well known cocksucker. I don't think I ever became Melinda's equal but trying to made me just as well admired. More than once we were offered a thousand dollars (or more) each to attend a party together and at one I set my all-time personal best record of sixteen cocks in one night. In addition, we received numerous tips and between us, Melinda and I took home close to five-thousand dollars for the eighteen hours we serviced all those men.
After I got my degree, I assumed that all that wild New Orleans life was behind me. I gave almost all my 'Charlene' clothes to some of the other girls at the club when I was hired right out of school by an oil production company in Texas. Ironically, my Aunt from Lafayette had moved to a farm not more than a hundred miles from where I worked in an oil field. Her husband had inherited a small farm outside Victoria, Texas, and since Melody had grown, married and moved off, he'd insisted that there'd been no reason for her to stay in Lafayette. It was a lot further for my mom to visit, but they still managed a couple of times a year and aside from the pine trees being replaced by Mesquite and other thorny brush, those little family get-togethers were nearly the same in Texas as they had been back in Louisiana.
Then a few things happened that brought out 'Charlene' for the third time and this time it looks like it will be for good. Not long after I started working offshore, my Uncle died and my Aunt wanted to move back to Lafayette. My Uncle had made her promise to keep the farm in the family and since Melody had no desire whatsoever to live there, my Aunt pursueded me to help look after the place when I was home for two weeks out of six. The four weeks I was gone, there was a neighbor that leased the arable acreage that watched over the farm until I returned. Not only was I living rent free, my Aunt let me keep any money I made off the farm after paying taxes. It wasn't much, but if I hadn't had to give the neighbor that watched the place a discount on his lease, I might have been able to live on it in an emergency.
With two weeks to my own devices, and all the privacy in the world, it wasn't long before Charlene was back to stay.
There were a few contact magazines back in those days before the internet and I'd picked up one at an adult bookstore in Victoria that seemed to specialize in cross-dressing and other fetishes for men in Texas, Louisiana, Oklahoma, and Arkansas. It would have been too much to hope that there'd be another guy like me in Victoria. However San Antonio wasn't that far and there were several ads in there from TV's in San Antonio - and Corpus Christi was even closer and there were two ads from that area. It was a start that led to me having a small circle of `girls' to visit or invite to spend a day or two with me.
The Honda that had served me well through college and the start of my career was replaced by my Uncle's pickup. At the time, since all the guys I worked with drove trucks, buying my Uncle's truck when he had a stroke seemed like the right thing to do. But when Charlene went out dressed to the nines like a lady, that truck seemed out of place. So I invested some of the money I'd set aside since I'd been working in a snazzy little yellow sports car for Charlene. It became a habit for Charley to drive in from Corpus after four weeks on the rig, change clothes, and hit the road again in the little yellow convertible I called, "Tweety Bird," to meet up with other sissified males, or couples, or men that enjoyed spending time with 'girls' like Charlene. As a friend from San Antonio once said about her sissy husband, "Once a cocksucker - always a cocksucker. It's a good thing we like to share." I often thought about her words and knew it was true. I had sucked quite a few cocks in my days as Charlene in New Orleans and knew there was no way I'd ever give that up. It made my four weeks out at the rig, surrounded by men, almost unbearable at times, but then I was fortunate enough to run into an old hand named 'Doc' that made my life on the rig much more pleasant.
"Doc's" real name was Ron. He got his nickname while a medic in the Navy and had continued his education, becoming an RN and then hiring on with a company in New Orleans. While there, he discovered the club where I'd worked with Melinda and he was a frequent customer and a good friend to all the `girls'. Bisexual since his teens, he'd developed a fascination with girly-boys after visiting a club in Singapore during his Navy days, enjoyed dressing as Rhonda when he could, and while he'd since gotten married, he couldn't keep away from sucking an occasional cock or two and was happiest with "chicks with dicks."
As fate would have it, we were both transferred to a new rig at the same time and I recognized him immediately. While he'd probably seen me dressed as a male a few times back then, his memories were of Charlene and not Charley so it was sort of fun to know who he was and him not recognize me until I dropped a hint that made his jaw drop. It wasn't long before I was seeing the medic at least once a week for one phony reason or another and those visits usually were fairly short, but long enough for us to both part with a smile - and a load of cum in our bellies!
Over the next few years Doc and I stayed with the same company and tried, usually successfully, to get assigned to the same platforms and rotations. In addition, we were able to develop a small and very discreet group of men, half of whom were bisexual like Doc and I, and half that had no interest in sucking a cock themselves, but were very happy that guys like us were available to them when they needed to drop a load in a warm, willing mouth. It would have been ten times more enjoyable to me if I could have dressed as Charlene, or at least have worn lingerie and lipstick – I'd come to associate the taste of lipstick and cum. However that wasn't a good idea at all. Privacy on an offshore oil rig is just about non-existant. One time Doc had tried hiding some lingerie for me to wear when I visited him and we'd almost gotten caught. After that close call, we'd decided the extra stimulation wasn't worth it.
Then, about the time I'd turned thirty, the internet had entered just about everyone's lives and Charlene's was no different. In fact, it was because of the internet that I met my wife. No, not some online dating service – it was through a friend I made because I'd joined an internet cross-dressing group.
The rig where I was working at the time had a few computers available that guys could use to send an email to their friends or family back home. However more often than not, we used them to look at porn sites and such. I discovered there were e-groups for people with similar interests in just about anything imaginable, including sexual fetishes, and several for guys that loved to dress as women. Through one of them, I made contact with several cross-dressers, including one named Brandi and as luck would have it, Brandi turned worked on the same rig that I did.
It turned out that Brandon, or Brandi, was a lot more computer savy than a lot of the guys and discovered that someone had been on the internet looking at sites about she-males and was a member of the cross-dressing e-group I mentioned. So he joined the same e-group and began a conversation with me. Then one day he surprised the hell out of me by handing me a package containing a pair of pretty pink panties. I didn't dare wear them out at the rig, but it led to me getting to know Brandon, and Brandi, much better, and by that I mean he moved in with me. It was hell pretending, except to a very few, very close, friends at work that we were straight guys for four weeks, but when we were home for two, we spent all our time as Brandi and Charlene and entertained other girls and couples with cross-dressing males.
Then Brandi introduced me to a woman that had once been his babysitter and had been the one to get him into diapers and pee-play. He'd seen her wet her panties when they'd been kids and he'd begun by wearing and wetting her panties too. Years later he ran into her brother right after she'd divorced and moved back home and decided she might like to meet me and some of our girly-boy friends. I didn't think it was such a good idea at first, but that shows how dumb my reactions can be at times. When I met Kathy it was love at first sight.
What happened was that Kathy and I stayed up half the night telling each other about our past experiences and around daybreak, had gotten so turned on telling each other of our sexual exploits that we jumped in bed together. We made so much noise that it woke Brandi and he came in just in time to lick my cum out of his old babysitter.
Diapers are something I can enjoy occasionally, but those two were really into it, with one or both of them in diapers all the time. When Kathy and I got married, she insisted that we both wear diapers and if we could have found someone to perform the ceremony with me and my best man both dressed as Charlene and Brandi, we'd have done that too. As it was, Brandon was wearing a light grey lady's pantsuit – that was as close to masculine as he was willing to become while on shore - and his diaper was so wet you could see dark spots on the pants legs. The JP that married us was snickering with his deputy constable buddy but we didn't care.
As to what you'd call our relationship today, I don't know and we don't care about that either. Brandi quit the company and opened up a computer business with Kathy. The three of us live together although I'm still working off shore rigs. Sometimes, since Kathy is my wife, I think she and I share Brandi. Other times, since they work and live together all the time and I'm only home for two weeks out of six, I think they share me. And yet other times, when Kathy is sitting back watching Brandi and Charlene having sissy sex, I think we share Kathy. What I do know is that we're tremendously happy together, even if it is an unusual relationship.
One of these days I'll have to post some pictures of Kathy and Brandi, taking turns on the tractor, plowing the fields wearing a straw hat, t-shirt, and diapers. Or of me, dressed as a cowgirl sitting on the grey gelding Kathy bought me. Not your average Texas farmers, but then, nothing about us had been average since the day we were born.
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