Chapter 5

This crystal period caught its first crack weeks later. I turned twelve, and for an entire day, mother acted as if she were the kind of mother I was to my little girl. She took me out to celebrate in child style. We saw a movie and ate ice cream in a parlor and danced at a street festival and rode on roller coasters and rode our bicycles. It was my best birthday, ever. That day was the peak of our joyous new lives. My stomach was full, my legs were tired, and my head was filled with contentment. When night fell and we rested on the couch sharing a coffee table book about race cars (one of my birthday presents), mother asked if there were anything else she might do for her birthday boy before he had to go to bed.

"Yes mother, but I don't think you'll like me if I asked you." I answered meekly.

Mother was no fool. She guessed what dangerous ground I would tread upon. "Then don't ask me." She said seriously. "Just say it."

"I want my sweet little girl, my darling daughter to wish me happy birthday." I said.

She was quiet for a moment. Then she began to sniff and whimper. Her eyes doled out painful drops of water, and then she let loose a flood. Mother's adult morals still wanted to eradicate the sick alter-ego that claimed her life once a week. Although her mind had made a truce with itself, that truce was dependent upon the right day. My birthday hadn't occurred on a Saturday.

"Honey, please try to forget about her. Today was the first time I let myself be like her without being her. I know we can let her go, if only you'll help me."

If my mother had been talking to another adult, she might have convinced me, but a twelve year old boy, even one who had tasted parental responsibility, is hardly very adult. Her tears moved me, but my own youthful selfishness prevailed. I didn't say anything. I just reached for my mom and began to unbutton her dress.

She turned slightly at my touch, hoping her flinch would give me pause. I did not. Her sobs grew to shudders, although her tears lessened. I wanted my daughter's blessings on this day, and I would not be denied.

I had trouble with the small, tight buttons on her blouse, but by the third one, it's difficulty lessened. I revealed the top of her bra and I continued. Already my youthful cock responded. I had to gulp mouthfuls of drool forming under my tongue. Her blouse fell fully open and I knew again the full mounds that filled it. I reached around, beneath her top and hugged her covered breasts while I sought the clasp behind the. I had considerable more trouble unlatching it, but as I fumbled behind my mother's back, I felt her shudders take a new form. At the time I didn't know it, but my white shirt was stimulating her tits through the bra's thick material. She was helpless to fight me or her body's reactions. It was a critical moment for her. During her transition from prudish mother to innocent girl, there was a time when she was neither. It was not a true personality but an amalgam. To become innocent, she needed to unwrap the binds of her strictness, but before she reverted to a girl, she had to cross that gap of years. In the middle, I found my chance of a lifetime.

Before I knew that I had succeeded, her bra clasp unsnapped and the two cones pressing into my young chest slackened. I felt the full softness of her titties behind them. Only they were fully soft. Two hard points jabbed through the now slack material. Before I attempted to fully remove both bra and blouse, I had to see my mother's erect nipples. I drew back and lifted the cream colored breast pockets. Mother grew tense, realizing her transformation had been interrupted. Before either of her personalities could decide to rebuke me, I fell to her titty and sucked in the hard knob crowning it. At the same time, I came in my pants.

Mother's breath quickened and suddenly she was aware of feelings she had never before experienced. She had never felt the joy of breastfeeding. Her strict nature had required that I be bottle raised. These new feelings took time to examine and classify the evilness of their nature. My arms returned around her waist, and I hugged her and hugged her as I sucked on her tit. My cock spurted time and again, until she finally tore away from me and fled to her room.

I waited on the couch, for there was no where to run from her certain wrath. Yet when she did not appear, I went to her room and knocked once.

"I'm sorry mommy. Please forgive me."

"It's late Calvin. Goodnight." was all she said. I heard nothing else through her tall door. Eventually, I washed out the wetness in my groin and and went to bed.

Mother's puritan ethics returned with a vengence. For an entire month, she worked me and herself to the point of exhaustion. She never allowed either of us enough energy to escape. Only when she collapsed, hoeing our fully replanted garden did we both rest. I helped her to her bed and fell asleep beside her.

When I awoke, I was already dressed in her black clothes. My shirt and pants had been stripped prior to changing me. From the electric clock on her chest of drawers, I learned nearly a day had passed. I heard a rustling nearby and turned my head. Mother sat fully naked in her chair at her dressing table. She was brushing her long hair in the mirror. She saw me rise from the bed in its reflection.

"Oh mother, come look what I found!" She eclaimed and twisted around in her seat.

I moaned lightly and dropped my bare feet to the carpet. Stabilizing myself on the mattress, I stood. I didn't answer her, stunned by my daughter's sudden reappearance. Still sleepy headed, I walked slowly to her.

She looked up at me with a smile, her hand waved at a row of glitering things on mother's dresser. There were lipsticks, and earings, and powders, and tints, and bracelets and broaches. There was a necklace of beautiful fake diamonds and one of real perls. There were brushes and files and combs and clippers. I'd never seen such luxury before. Mother must have hidden these jewels away, unable to bear their evil influence, yet unable to destroy their beautiful pleasures. Up until that time, I'd seen only a plain hairbrush there or a damp washcloth. The rich mahogony wood came alive from so many gold and silver and black cases.

For the first time, I noticed that my naked girl had already sampled the fruits from the collection. She wore a small gold chain around her neck and had applied a light red blush to her cheeks, possibly to hide her real blush behind it.

"Mother, I want you to look beautiful for me, today." She informed me and very quickly she stood and guided me to her seat, supporting me once when I tripped on her skirt.

"You want me to wear this stuff?" I asked incredulous. I sat down before I had decided what to make of this situation.

The little girl next to me laughed and leaned closer. She raised a tube of lipstick and pressed it to my face.

Every nuance of my past assault on her was repaid three times. I fidgited, flounced, and sneezed, but before the stronger girl let me up, I was marked, hilighted, primped and dusted. I watched the mirror, dumbstruck and trapped, as my face took on unnatural colors and exaggerated lines. All in all it was a mess. My crayon drawings all looked better than my daughter's latest masterpiece. The poor results were really all my fault. If I had remained calm and still, who knows how I might have turned out? Yet for all of the nighmarish enhancement of my boyish feminity, my daughter looked extremely pleased with herself.

"There, you're perfect." She beamed and hugged me, careful not to rub any of her beautiful, pale skin against my face. I was free then, free to rush to the bathroom and scrub every streak off, but all I did was stand and return her hug. My daughter had returned to me and she had forgiven me.

We spent the rest of the day, it was a Thursday, cavorting around the house like to best friends. I remember then I began to take more seriously my duties as mother. I began to give advice when I thougt her girlish antics were too ridiculous.

"Don't take more than you can eat!" I told her at lunch. She had piled on her plate enough cookies to make both of us sick. I made her a ham sandwich and returned most of the cookies to the jar. For myself, I ate only one cookie with my sandwich and glass of milk.