For My Deserving Mom

Rejection

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Being the middle child of five boys wasn't easy.

Having five boys wasn't easy on my mother either. But at the age of sixteen, I knew how much mom had sacrificed for all of us. I knew how hard it had been doing it all by herself.

We hadn't seen our dad since I was nine, but he paid child support. Well, about half the time. Even when he did pay, it wasn't enough and it was no substitute for being here with us, helping mother to raise us and being a father figure in our lives, that is if he had been a better man. But, he wasn't.

I was perceptive enough at the age of eight to know that he was more interested in himself than a family; more interested in how many women he could conquer than being with mom. I also knew that the bruises on mom's face and arms wasn't because she was clumsy like she always told us.

Another thing I knew all too well was how badly mom had always longed for a daughter. Another female around the house. Someone she could relate to, talk about girly stuff with, take shopping with her. Someone she could dress up and teach hair and makeup to. Someone that would give her a hand around the house in ways us boys couldn't . . . or well, okay, wouldn't.

I was all too keenly aware of how bad she wanted this, and I also knew that it would never happen for her, at least not naturally.

Like I said, I know my dad used to hit my mom, a lot and a couple times it was so bad he put her in the hospital. The last time is when the doctor gave her the news that devastated her; her ovaries had been so bruised and abused by his repeated beatings that she would never be able to give birth again.

Knowing how bad she wanted a daughter and seeing how it was affecting her, over the last few years I'd found myself wishing I could give her that gift, a gift for a mom that deserved to have something special happen in her life, but I didn't think it possible.

This wasn't a passing thought, but a deep desire, a longing, like it was my destiny in life, my reason for existing. I just didn't know how to go about it.

I was afraid to talk to anyone about how bad I wish I could help mom, especially my brothers, who were very much secure in their manhood and as I saw it, headed in the same direction as dad.

I'm not saying I wasn't happy being born a boy, I just knew I didn't want to be anything like my dad, didn't want to follow the same path my brothers were headed down, and so desperately wanted to see mom happy, I was willing to do anything, whatever it took.

The thing that had originally piqued my moms interest in the man who provided the seed that resulted in me and my brothers, was the image of a man's man she saw in him; a rugged, fearless, hyper-masculine, death-defying, mountain climbing, cliff diving, bear hunting outdoorsman. That's what she believed a man was supposed to be and what she desires in a husband.

Mom's idea was that the man was supposed to work hard; hunt, fish, chop down trees, operate heavy machinery... whatever it took to protect and provide everything his family needed.

She believed a home was a man's castle and the women's role was to make him king of that castle by ensuring he had a clean, well-maintained place to come home to, a gourmet meal on the table, clean clothes in the closet, well behaved and mannered children, and all of his emotional, physical and sexual needs met.

So, if mom ever saw any sign of anything less than a manly-man in us, she took it as a sign she wasn't raising us right, and she would try harder to make sure we turned out to be strong, assertive, masculine gentlemen, so I hid my feelings from her too.

Although I did hide those feelings, I knew from the way our father had treated mom before he left, that I didn't want to be anything like him. Also, the rough and tough alpha male that mom was trying to raise us to be wasn't something I aspired to.

I was a quiet, shy and gentle boy. The kind of kid that teared up when the animal abuse commercial came on TV, someone who would move a worm off the sidewalk so it didn't die or would risk getting hit by a car just to rescue a turtle from the middle of the road.

My brothers were obsessed with not only watching, but also participating in football, baseball, skateboarding, and pro wrestling. The only sports I enjoyed were ones I watched; tennis, volleyball, figure skating, and gymnastics. I didn't have interest in participating in any strenuous physical activity.

My friend Sirena was the only person that I felt comfortable enough to talk to about my feelings.

She and I would spend a great deal of time together and our conversations, at some point, always seemed to turn to the kind of person mom wanted me to be, the kind of person dad turned out to be and how I didn't want to be like either of these.

It was Sirena who first gave me, not only the idea, but also the outlet to explore femininity. I had never considered what she was suggesting even though I had confided in her how I felt like I sometimes wished I could have been born a girl, just so mom would have the daughter she so badly wanted,  so I wouldn't be under this pressure to be the kind of man mom thinks I should be,  and so there would have been no chance of me ending up like dad.

Once she began encouraging me to explore the feminine, and trying to convince me it was possible for me to give mom the daughter I knew she wanted, she introduced me to her second cousin, who was about my older brother Greg's age.

Her cousin, she told me, was a transitioning male-to-female transgender. That meant she was a girl now but had been born a boy just like me.

Sirena showed me pictures of him/her on her phone. I was impressed with her beauty and femininity, and how strikingly different she looked as a boy and then a girl.

Until I learned of Sirena's cousin, I never knew it was possible for a boy to become a beautiful girl like that.

Even better than the photos, I got to chat with her cousin online,  and on the phone a few times. That really opened my eyes to the possibilities.

Once Sirena and her cousin had convinced me that I should try it out, try dressing like a girl, we started to develop my feminine side.

Sirena's parents were very open, and as long as we weren't having sex they didn't care what we did together in her room, so behind closed doors she introduced me to all things feminine: Dresses, skirts, leggings, heels, hose, bras, hairbows, makeup, mani/pedis, mannerisms, movements, walking feminine, feminine speech patterns, and anything else she could find to teach me the finer feminine points of.

This went on for almost two months before her parents finally saw me dressed as a girl for the first time. Her mother thought I made a really pretty girl, her dad said I looked very cute. Neither of them had a problem at all with it and so it continued. Every day I could, I spent time with Sirena, dressed as a girl, perfecting femininity and creating the daughter I knew mom wanted.