Her eyes smiled at him warmly. "Me, too," she murmured, "I like it." She had leaned back and let out her breath with a sigh. "I I can relax with you more than with anyone else."
"You know a lot of boys," he'd murmured.
"Some," she admitted, then added, "but I don't like it when when" her voice trailed off and a small pink blush spread across her cheeks.
"When what?" Cecil asked quietly. She stirred uncomfortably. "You know," she murmured, "You know what I mean."
Cecil took a deep breath. "You mean when they try to squeeze you press against you probe with their hands?"
"It's not that," she cut in, "it's what would come after."
"Like push it into you?"
She turned her face away. "Yes I hate that."
"You don't want to have a big prick squeezed into your little hole," Cecil mouthed.
"Don't say it!" She turned to him, her face shocked. "I I'm surprised at you, Cecil! Are you like all – the others?"
"No," he muttered, "I'm not like them at all. I hate that, too. I I don't like to think of that at all!"
Beverly turned, stared into his face. "Are you like they say you are, Cecil? Do you like men?"
"I hate men!" He mouthed the words viciously.
Beverly seemed to hold herself very still, very tensely when she asked, "What do you like, Cecil? Tell me what you really like."
Cecil's eyes flickered to her face, then down her trim and prim little body. Her skirt was shorter than the one she'd worn at the dance, and her knees and thighs were still prim but very shapely. Cecil could see a small gleam of white at the top of her stockings. "Do you really want to know what I like?" he asked, his voice tight.
"Yes," she breathed.
"I I'd like to kiss you and suck you here." His hand flashed across her thigh, touched the hem of her skirt lightly, then stroked her flesh, before he removed his hand as quickly as he'd placed it there. "That's what I'd like," he said, "but only if you'd like it." He stopped speaking, sat very still with his hands clasped together.
Beverly lay back, her eyes half – shut as if she was thinking. "Kiss me there " she whispered, "you mean kiss me there with your lips?"
"Yes," Cecil felt a thrill run through his body, he could feel Alma throbbing in his bones, "with my mouth touch you with my tongue " his voice was as low, vibrant murmur.
"Just just touch me with your tongue?" Beverly's eyes were closed and when she stopped speaking, her lips remained parted.
"Only my tongue," he whispered.
She was quiet for a long time then she opened her eyes, smiled at Cecil and murmured so very gently, "I – I think I'd like that!"
Beverly swiveled her body until her feet swung onto the wide settee. As her knees went up, her skirt slid to her waist. Above the nylon stockings, her thighs were bare: they dazzled Cecil's eyes with their whiteness. The neat triangle was filled with lustrous hair as black as the hair on Beverly's meticulously groomed head. Cecil stared at it longingly. No needless underclothes barred his view… His eyes flickered down to the apex… then Beverly parted her thighs, slid her buttocks towards him, and her hands went down to the lips of her vagina. "Yesss, Ceciiil," she hissed softly, "Yess." Her fingers spread back the small, red lips… He saw the pink mound, its slit… then his head went down.
Oh Beverly, he moaned beneath his breath as his tongue slid out, touched the wet lips, caressed them. He drew the rising clitoris into his mouth… sucked it strongly… felt Beverly raising her buttocks, thrusting herself towards him… and heard the small, sweet sound of rapidly indrawn breath. Cecil had missed it so much! He had never realized just how much he had missed Alma and Blanche until now… He sucked, hungrily, eagerly feeling Beverly squirm, moan her high moans of delight then thrust his tongue into the wet, lovable ooziness of the palpitating vulva… until she came.
Beverly reached down, pulled Cecil's head into her crotch more deeply. She felt the small worm that was his tongue wriggle in then writhe out… She made squeals of joy, rotating her hips in tiny paroxysms of orgiastic frenzy. "Ooh Cecil " she breathed rapturously, "Oh, Cecil!"
When it was over, Beverly leaned back on the settee, met Cecil's eyes with hers, then smiled tenderly. Beverly was different! Cecil thought wonderingly. She'd had her orgasm with a quiet but passionate intensity. She came with a voluptuousness that was in some strange way still prim, still proper: as though, even in this near – ultimate act of self – abandonment, she still retained a part of her own, precious reserve. She was not like Alma, Cecil told himself, remembering the violence of his sister's orgiastic contortions. Not like Blanche, with her wild, hungry drive for satiation: her ever – ready passion and desire which was never ever really completely or finally sublimated. Blanche had always been ready for more… then more again! But Beverly… she had her moment of passion, her orgasm enveloped her neat, compact little body with sensual but controlled waves of frenzy then, when it was over, Beverly was herself again: her sensitive, quiet little self.
That's how he would be… if he was a girl! The thought impinged itself without warning on Cecil's mind. He felt a small shock, stared at the young girl beside him seeing not only her but himself as he might have been. If he was a girl… he'd want to be like Beverly! Why couldn't he be a girl like Bev!
"Cecil " Beverly reached out, took his hand in a strangely old – fashioned, almost formal, gesture, "that was wonderful." Her eyes were brighter than they had been a few moments before, and a tiny current of electricity seemed to spark from her fingers to his when they touched.
"Yes," he agreed quietly, "it was wonderful!"
Beverly gave a deep sigh, asked, "Cecil who who did you do that to? She dropped her eyes. "I I mean before."
Cecil only hesitated for a moment before he told Beverly: "My sisters."
She drew in her breath sharply. "Alma and Blanche?" she asked. Beverly knew Cecil's sisters well.
"Yes," he admitted. She squeezed his fingers, as if she was trying to show that she understood. "Did did your mother know?" she murmured.
"I I think she did," Cecil paused, then: "That's why she sent them away. I think that's why… to get them away from me." A bitter note of self – pity had crept into his voice. "My mother hates me," he muttered.
Beverly's grip on his hand tightened. "Don't say that, Cecil!"
"It's true," he muttered, "I can feel it all the time." He took a deep breath, then put the nebulous thought into words for the first time: "As soon as I finish school, I'm gonna leave home!"
"Oh, Cecil," Beverly leaned her head against his shoulder and Cecil tried to remember if any girl had ever done that before. "What're you going to do?" Beverly asked.
"I don't know," he mumbled, "I haven't really thought it all out I just want to get away."
Beverly let her lips touch his cheek very gently. "What d'you want to be, Cecil?" she asked.
He let his breath out painfully and his body slumped into the settee more deeply. "I'd like " he began, then turned his head, looked into the brown eyes so close to his face, "I'd like to be just like you, Bev," he said, "that's what I'd like!"
Beverly blushed, smiled. "That's a very sweet thing to tell a girl," she said tenderly.
"You're a very sweet girl," he told her.
She stroked the side of his face, gently. "And you're a sweet boy," she said.
But he didn't want to be a boy, Cecil whispered to himself, he wanted to be a girl! Just like Bev!
PART TWO
Chapter 10
Cecil entered the shop and stared around curiously. It was the first time he had ever been inside a theatrical supplies store and the bizarre stock of merchandise attracted his eyes like a magnet. He was fingering the material of a flimsy ballet tunic when the man's voice startled him.