Protected
A Short Story
By Maryanne Peters

Mommy was always very protective of me. She would say: “I worry about you being bullied because you are so small. Five foot three and 115 pounds is really a bit small, even for a girl. With your lack of muscle and your delicate, even feminine appearance you are a target for mean boys.”

She was right. I was not always smaller than the other guys, but when they grew up and out, and I stayed the same, I needed to find a way to stay safe.

“It is my fault,” Mommy would say. “Actually, because I so wanted a daughter, I was always praying that you would leave my womb as Stephanie rather than Stephen. But you were already a boy inside me, so my prayers could only make you girlish, but not a girl.”

“Mommy, you know I hate all the rough sports and scary things all the other boys seem to love,” I would tell her. “Instead I prefer helping you around the house where I feel safe ... and where I seem to belong.”

It was true. I was too small for sports. Even if I wanted to play, I would be exposing myself to the bullies out there. It was better to walk with the teachers to avoid being picked on, and then hurry home to the security of my mother and my room.

But you cannot dodge them forever. I decided that what I really needed at school was a bodyguard. Not a paid one, but a protector. I had no money, so I would need to use whatever I had.

That was when I decided to become a sissy.

I would not want to be a big sissy. That would be awful. But when you are little being a sissy looked like an easy thing. I could borrow my mother’s clothes, and just pull them in a bit as she was a bit bigger in the body. Her feet were the same size so I could wear her shoes. I could start by being a sissy at home, and then set about finding my protector.

I knew that Mommy would love to help, but before I even told her I decided to grow my hair. It was light colored and I hoped that one day I could be a full blonde. I think blonde sissies are best.

Then one day I just blurted it out as Mommy was trying something on that she had just bought. I said: “Oh Mommy, I long to wear pretty things like you do.”

She looked at me strangely, but then I could see that turn to a smile. She said: “I would love to see you in something pretty. Just for fun. I always liked to play dress-up when I was your age.”

“Could we Mommy?”

She said that we needed to start from the bottom, or rather from the skin, building out. That meant that the first thing that had to go was body hair. Not that there was much to start with. I was happy for that to go. I like smooth skin. Sissies do.

“Let’s get started with a nice bubble bath and a razor,” she said. “It’s good you have no nasty boyish hair on your body, and skin that is properly moisturized”.

It was like she had been waiting for years to let me experience what it would be like to be a girl. She measured me and the following Friday morning she went out to get me some stuff to put on that very afternoon.

“First you need a bra and that is something that needs to be fitted. You can’t just borrow one of my old ones. I have bought you one and also what used to be called a pair of ‘gay deceivers‘ to fill the cups”

She produced a pair of amazingly real looking girl’s boobies in latex with adhesive backing that would stick to my chest. Then she had bought me a lavender lacy bra which she nestled them into before hooking it in back. I held my gel-filled boobs in the lace and jiggled them. It was the strangest feeling, but somehow, I knew that this was the body I belonged in.

Then she said: “Go over to the dresser and in the 3rd drawer down, pick out panties you’d like to wear.”

I opened the drawer and gasped at the ultra girly-girl silky panties which filled it. Did one woman need all these panties? There were heaps in different colors, styles and fabrics. I found a lavender one to match the bra. It was lacy and small. When I put it on it made my boy bits look obvious and very ugly.

“Maybe you should start with some granny panties,” Mommy said. That will help you to put that lump away. We are looking for a camel toe. If you let me, I think we can do that.”

Mommy had not touched me there for such a long time, I could not even remember when. But she held my little thing and pulled it toward my butt hole while I pulled up the pants. Then she tucked all the other skin in from the leg holes. Suddenly I had the front bottom of a girl. It was so exciting.

She said that I could put lacy panties on over the top just to see how much prettier they look when you don’t have poking out bits, and she was right. I think I decided then, that this was how I wanted to look down there. So pretty. It was the start of my bikini dreams.

Then she took me over to her vanity and had me sit as she applied makeup to my face. Is there anything that can bring a child closer to her mother that having her do that? The tender way she applied the foundation and the blusher and the highlighter and then stood back to admire her work with such love for me in her eyes. My heart pounded with joy.

And the way that she held my little chin and she applied the eyeliner and the mascara – so gentle as if delicately grasping some small thing of exquisite beauty. That was how I felt, even before I looked at myself properly in the mirror. But before that could be done, the lipstick – a blaze of color to set everything else off. So wonderful. She called it “A girl’s best friend”. I loved the creamy feeling of it on my lips. It made me wanted to kiss somebody and leave my smooch mark.

It was just the face. So beautiful that I fell in love with the girl I could be. I knew then that I would find my protector and he would worship me.

And then Mommy pulled away the headband and let my freshly washed and blow-dried hair fall either side of my face. It was not long then, but it was full and bounced with a slight curl. I had my first ever sissy squirt, right then, thankfully held in by those thick panties. It was not to be my last.

“Oh Sweetie,” she enthused, “You are adorable. Now, just a sec …”.

She brought over a bottle of her Chanel No5 and spritzed me. It must be that this was the very smell of being a woman, or perhaps I just always associated it with her in her moments of total beauty. It seemed to me that it lifted me right off the ground, and into a girly heaven.

If I had decided to become a sissy for my own protection, I now knew that I could never be anything else.

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2020

Author's Note.
Over on Fictionmania I have a fanny who is an effusive sissy - you just need to look at a review of anything I post there. She is full of ideas but seems only able to express them in reviews. So I wrote this silly sissy story for her!