The Next Summer Holiday

Again, I'm not sure if this is the most appropriate forum, but I've started reliving my teenage humiliations here, so I might as well continue.

I was now 16. It had been nearly three years since I had first been made to put on my mum's girdle, a year and a half since she'd been buying me my own women's underwear, and a year since the previous holiday, which I had spent completely cross-dressed. And, even after all that experience, I still loathed every second I had on women's clothes, a fact that I determinedly hid from the rest of the family. I was determined to make sure my mum never knew just how much I had hated her "punishment" of making me wear a girdle for being overweight - I wanted her to believe that it was water off a duck's back to me. Even at the price of this ridiculous escalation to full cross-dressing. (Totally irrational, I know, but there you have it. I'd rather suffer than admit defeat to her.)

We were about to leave on another holiday. I was upstairs preparing for another summer hell (three weeks this time) living as a girl. My suitcase was full of tights, stockings, panties, bras, girdles, petticoats and dresses, and I was standing in front of the mirror zipping up my skirt and looking at myself with the usual wave of nausea and self-loathing washing over me. But when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I made sure I was all smiles. I handed my case to dad (God knows what he thought about the subject anymore) and checked myself in the mirror in the front hall. My sisters had initially enjoyed my plight but, now that they had come to think that I enjoyed cross-dressing, they treated me like I was a complete pervert. One of them passed by me as I ran my hands over my smooth backside. "Sicko!" she whispered. I simply smiled and replied, "you should try a girdle yourself - your bum needs all the help it can get."

I got into the car in the garage (to avoid the neighbours seeing me), and off we went. I had no idea where we were going, but it turned out to be back at the seaside (they had NO imagination) and, this time, it was self-catering. They'd rented a house just outside town, and my heart sank like a stone when I was the car parked outside it. My mum turned round to address us, but looked straight at me, and said brightly "we're going to be sharing it with my sister (her husband had long since done a disappearing act) and your cousins." The cousins in question were two boys - one a year older than me and one two years younger. There was a deafening silence as I stared at her and my sisters stared at me. I opened my mouth to protest, but she stopped me. "We've told them about your...needs...and they were very understanding. So you've nothing to worry about Alan...I mean, Elaine." (Names have been changed, you'll be astonished to hear.)

So we got out and, while our parents were taking the luggage into the house, my sisters and I went through to the kitchen to meet our relations. And, in another humiliation to add to a huge, ever-growing list of humiliations, I stood outside the kitchen, my heart racing, shut my eyes for a few seconds while I tried to compose myself, then walked in to let my bloody obnoxious cousins get a good eyeful of me in a blouse and skirt. The youngest (who I'll call Harry) just gawped while the other (Tom) burst out sniggering, which caused him to get an earful from my right-on aunt. (I'm not sure if "right-on" was the term at the time, but she was right-on before it was right-on to be right-on! God, she was a pain. I think I preferred Tom's contempt to her attempts to be all understanding.)

And the humiliations piled on. While everyone understood that I wanted to dress like a girl, they were sure that I appreciated the fact that I really had to be in the boy's room. So bed-time came, and I stood there in my blouse and skirt as the boys lay on their beds and watched me. Tom, of course, refused to put out the light, so I had to undress in front of them. I can still see Harry's eyes bulging as I unfastened my blouse and opened and they saw my petticoat with a longline bra underneath. When I unzipped my skirt and took it off, Tom sat up, unable to believe what he thought he could see under the petticoat. "You're surely not..." he started, and I slipped the straps of my shoulders and let it drop. "You are!" He turned to his brother, hardly able to speak for laughing. "He's...he's wearing a ******* girdle!" I was crimson as I unfastened my stockings from the girdle suspenders and took the whole lot off. And I had his full attention the next morning as I put on clean panties and stockings and fastened myself back into my corsetry. Harry was just too embarrassed for words and could barely bring himself to look at me when I was fully dressed, never mind when I was down to my underwear.

The holiday was, of course, excruciating for me. Tom ridiculed me whenever he got the chance, and continually made a big play of using my real name and not my feminine one. But, in the privacy of the room, he had an increasingly funny manner about him. Unfortunately for me, he was getting turned on by the sight of me in the underwear. Even though he was completely straight, and even though it was me, his male cousin, wearing this stuff, the stockings and suspenders were winding him up. And it eventually had to pop.

Our room had an en-suite. On the third evening, he went to have a shower, but came out with just a towel around his waist. "Do you want me to keep your secret when we're out and about...Elaine?" I nodded - of course I bloody well did! "Well, there's a price." He took my hand and led me into the bathroom...where he took the towel off and put my hand on...well, you know exactly what he put my hand on. So, while he lifted up my skirt and admired my petticoat, girdle and stockings, I had to give him a hand-job.

This went on on a nightly basis until the first weekend. I had undressed down to my bra, girdle and stockings when he got up, stood in front of me, and dropped his trousers and pants. He had seemed more edgy than usual as I undressed, and I soon found out why. I reached for him, but me knocked my hand way. "No," he said, breathlessly, "not that way." Of course I know exactly what he meant. And, by this time, I had become so used to humiliation as a way of life, I didn't even protest, even though I felt sick inside at the prospect. I sank to my knees and slowly opened my mouth. He positioned himself in front of me, put himself between my lips and took a half-step forward. I remember seeing Harry out of the corner of my eye, staring in horror as his brother slid his full length into his cross-dressing cousin's mouth. I shut my eyes, pursed my lips around him and concentrated on not gagging as he put his hands behind my head and went to work. Thank God he was fairly small in that department, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to take all of him without retching.

I won't go into detail, as this isn't really the forum for that kind of explicitness. Suffice that the whole process was conducted in total silence apart from one word uttered by Tom as he neared his climax..."swallow." And I did.

Over the next two weeks, I did a lot of swallowing. And, to his mum's pleasure, he was a proper gentleman with regards to his new female cousin, and Harry was too shocked to say anything. In public, and in front of the family, he behaved perfectly...just as long as he got oral last thing at night, first thing in the morning and any other time the two of us could sneak off for a few minutes alone. Pardon the pun, but I don't know how he kept it up.

I spend those two weeks dreading that it would escalate to anal, but fortunately that never happened. (Though, unfortunately, I did finally get subjected to that final indignity the following year at the hands of two complete strangers. I've talked about it in the "I know men can be rape victims too" forum, as it isn't really right for this one.) But, as and when I ever met him from that day on, chances were that he'd find some way of getting us alone so that I could give him another blow-job as the price for his continued silence.

I rarely see Tom these days, but I did get an invite to spend New Year's Eve with him and his wife and some other guests last week. Foolishly, I went. They had, along with a few neighbours, arranged some fireworks, but his wife noticed that we had missed it. "We were reliving old times," I told her. Technically correct, and a bit kinder than saying I had seen in the New Year on my knees in an upstairs bedroom, wearing nothing but women's corsetry, staring at her husband's hairy belly and swallowing like crazy as he shot off a few New Year "fireworks" of his own.

Families, eh?

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1 Response Jan 6, 2013

Interesting family and especially how things got started with your cousin Tom and now as adults are still continuing. Amazing ... thanks for sharing Elaine.

I understand, though I would think that after all these years of wearing bras and girdles that if asked if you were you could simply say yes, with a smile. ;-) Of course the only ones who have asked me about what I'm wearing under my clothes have been women ... but I've never had anyone ask if I've given a blow job, that is something I just wouldn't talk about except with friends here on EP.