Last week I stopped thinking about myself for a second or two and took the time to give a thought to you, dearest readers. It occurred to me that after reading my last column, you were most likely collapsed in absolute floods of tears for days. You poor things. There, there, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to make you sob with my tragic story, really I didn’t.
To make it up to you, I’ve thought of several lovely little episodes from those pubic years. These are heartwarming, cheery stories that will warm all your beautiful teensy heart cockles right up.
For example, there was the time I was babysitting when I was 15. I did so love the darling little tots, and spent many hours giving them kiddy makeovers. Even a very young complexion can use some attention. The tots positively screamed with delight because I was taking such good care of them. I began enhancing my own fabulousness at about eight years old. It was then I discovered what a lovely thing football field mud is for facial treatments. So invigorating!
One night after I had tucked the dear tiny ones snugly into bed, their Daddy came home. He was the hottest hunk of manliness to ever set foot in Buttfuck. We got to talking, as the tots snuggled up in their beds dreaming of beauty. One thing led to another and…Well!
I gave that single dad the blowjob of his LIFE! He couldn’t find his ass with both hands afterwards. His eyeballs are still rolling around in his head. It was so fun, I think I blew his underwear right out the window.
Oh dear, I’m not sure this is the story I meant to tell at all. Oh drat, oh oopsy. Let me see now. Oh yes, I did collect the babysitting money.
Cross-dressing was also one of my hobbies as a teen. Buttfuck Nowhere had quite a large mall, located in Upper Buttia. It was one of my biggest pubescent thrills to “borrow” Mother’s pineapple print dress and make my grand entrance through those automatic doors. I loved the sheer animal pleasure of the air conditioning hitting my stupendous cleavage. With the help of a little handy duct tape, I turned my boyish charms into jumbo unruly hooters. I discovered duct tape long before the current mania. My darlings, Mistress Rosamond has always been abreast of the times.
Of course, I had to sneak into the mall due to the inconvenient fact that my mother worked there. That made for many a tense moment. Would she spot the pineapple print stretched tightly across my luscious young butt? Would she think, “Hmm, that looks like my dress” and then begin screaming: “You get over here right this minute young man! We’re going home to have a word with your father!” then drag me out by the ear? The fear! The terror! I lived for that. In fact, that may be one of the manifold reasons I spent so much time piercing and plucking and bleaching every bit of my unfortunate boy body. I found it titillating beyond belief!
One of the things that drove me mad as a teen was sex. I developed a killing crush on my social studies teacher, the delicious aroma of his Brut after-shave would send me into fits of sensuous delight. I daydreamed that he would sweep me up in his rugged, manly arms and ravish my virgin femininity. He’d fondle my turgid nipples, caress my throbbing moistness, and just basically get carried away working my womanly charms. Oh dear, I had all the right urges and all the wrong equipment!
I was forced to find ways to use what nature had so misguidedly given me. I believe I mentioned how I discovered the joys of the job des blow at a tender age. I also got quite a lot of mileage out of the other slightly more subterranean body parts. Ah, the lovely, lively joys of the boy pussy as we used to call it.
Oh, my tiny teapots, I managed to enjoy sex regardless of my limitations. With a little ingenuity and a lot of lube, wonderful things can happen. There were still many miles to go before I made the decision to embrace my true identity and become the magnificent goddess you know and love today.
I struggled along in the wrong body for a few more years, left home, fell in love, and of course, continued my ongoing studies in the world of beauty.
More about all that next time, when we’ll chat about leaving home and running wild in the city.
Love and peace,
Your Mistress Rosamond.