Another TG Storytime immigrant. This is a sequel to the story I just posted earlier today, "Twisting My Life". You'll likely notice that a character's name changes between the beginning and the ending, that was a giant mistake, but it ends up working in the story's favor, I think.

THE PURSE AND ITS CONTENTS

My mom gave me a quick kiss as I zoomed out the door to get on the bus. I hated it when she did that. I'm not some little kid who needs to kiss his mommy goodbye, or anything. She was ready for work, ready to be Dad's secretary, which she'd done since before I was born. Dad was already gone, off at work and getting the place ready for the day's work. I think it's an accounting firm, but I've never really cared.

I sat down in my usual seat, next to Bobby Ford. We weren't friends, but we got along. We talked, some times. He told me about his folks, what they did, where they went and when he banged chicks while they were gone. I told him about my folks and how, since they were gone 98% of the day, how often I banged chicks. We laughed about it a lot.

Later, I was sitting in class, and the girl next to me tapped me on the shoulder. “What?” I asked, turning to her.

“You got a tampon in there I could have? I think my period just started.” She was pointing down at something below my seat. I reached down and found something I never would have dreamed of finding in my life: a purse. Not skipping a beat, I reached in and produced a tampon, handing it to the girl. “Thanks, girlfriend, you really saved my life.” She asked the teacher if she could be excused, and then left to go use the tampon.

When she returned, I asked if I could be excused and took the purse with me. For some reason, my actions were largely automatic, I slung the purse over my shoulder like I'd been doing it for years, and no one ever made a quip about it. It was almost as if everyone just accepted that I carried a purse.

I slipped into the restroom and slid into a stall, then I dumped the contents of the purse onto my lap. Lipstick, blush, foundation, eye shadow, eye liner, mascara, a hair scrunchie, nail polish, another tampon, some gum, a cell phone, a wallet and a coin purse. Obviously, all the feminine stuff was completely new to me, but the gum was normal. The wallet wasn't mine, but it had my cards in it, oddly enough.

The cell phone was new, too. I always carry a cell phone (what teen doesn't, these days?), but mine was a black Motorola Razor, with a skull and bones sticker on the back. This one was a pink Droid, with a Hello Kitty sticker on the back. I turned it on and found all of my settings were on it. All my contacts, all my games, all my music, all my pictures—it was like it had been my phone forever, or something.

I was scared. Where'd this purse come from, and why was it like no one cared? Things were getting strange, now.

I heard the restroom door open, and quickly started getting everything back into the purse. I heard chattering from the three new occupants of the restroom, talking about something I wasn't paying attention to. I flushed to finish the illusion that I was just using the toilet, and then I made my hasty exit. Dana, Kim and Sherry never once asked me why I, a guy, was in the girl's restroom. Nor did I even notice.

THE MAKE UP

That purse came to school and left school with me every day, and always over my shoulder, like I was just another girl carrying a purse. Mom and Dad never questioned me about it, either, but that was to be expected. Dad caught me banging a girl on the couch one day, never asked me what was going on.

I helped a couple other girls out, giving them tampons or letting them use the lipstick or the eyeliner or the nail polish. It was so weird, because nobody seemed to think it out of the ordinary for a guy—a member of the football team, no less—to be carrying a purse. Nobody thought it was strange that girls were asking me for tampons or make up. And even I didn't think it was strange that I used the girl's restroom now. Life was just getting screwed up.

So it was no surprise, one day, when I was in the girl's restroom and standing in front of the sink, fixing my make up. I was putting on a fresh coat of lipstick, which just happened to be my mom's favorite color of bubblegum pink. That same color was also covering my fingernails, and I assumed my toenails as well. I capped off the tube of lipstick and dumped it back in my purse, then stood there, looking at myself in the mirror.

If somebody had just met me, they'd see a guy with a girl's face. I'd had the beginnings of stubble (my first beard!) yesterday, but now it was gone, and I don't ever remember shaving it off. I'd clearly used a light amount of both blush and eye shadow, plus a neat amount of eye liner. My foundation was done up perfectly for someone my age, and my lips were thick and pouty thanks to the lipstick.

At first, I was scared, but the more I looked at that face, the more it became natural. Of course I wore make up! I carry it around in my purse, why would I do that if I didn't wear it? I couldn't, for the life of me, remember when I'd ever used a tampon, but I'm sure I had, otherwise I wouldn't have any (except for those times when other girls needed them). These things were just obvious.

Taking one last look at my make up, I slung my purse over my shoulder and left the restroom to slide into the classroom just as class started. A couple of the girls were complimenting me on my look, which made me feel good about myself. I caught a couple of the guys taking peeks at me every so often, so I treated them to a smile and a few eyelash bats, compliments of my long eyelashes. The guys just smirked.

THE NEW CLOTHES

I picked through a few of my shirts and couldn't find one I wanted to wear. It was so frustrating, and I was almost ready to give up and put on a crappy one when Mom brought the laundry in and told me that she'd bought me a few new things, which she'd washed before giving to me.

I went through the clothes and found something that caught my eye. It was bright yellow, with a purple flower on the chest and the word 'Princess' on the back. I slipped it over my head and then dug into the laundry basket for some pants. I found my favorite pair of tight-fitting low riders and wiggled into them. The best part of it was the embroidered picture of a flower on the butt, where the pockets should be.

I looked myself over in the full length mirror on my closet door, standing there like some kind of model with my hands on my hips and chest thrust out. I looked absolutely sweet, and my look was accentuated by my perfect make up. My hair was brushed into an elegant pageboy style, and now fell down to the back of my neck.

To the world, I looked like a teen beauty queen, with a pink purse slung over my shoulder.

Breakfast was quick, with Mom telling me how much she liked my new look and Dad (on one of his days off) telling me not to be too flashy, which neither Mom nor I agreed with. After a couple of slices of toast, I grabbed my pink bookbag and ran out the door to catch the bus.

Bobby had saved the seat beside him for me, sweet as he was, and so I plopped down beside him. He put his arm around my shoulder and I laid my head down on his. So many people asked us if we were going steady, but Bobby always said we were just friends. I wonder just how much more “friendly” I need to be with him to get him to like me. Boys can be stupid some times.

Bobby gave me a “friendly” pat on the ass when we parted to go to our separate classes. I noticed many glances at me when I walked into the classroom. Maybe it was my cute outfit, but I'll bet most of the guys were just staring at my ass. I couldn't blame them, if I was a boy, I'd stare at me, too.

THE THINGS IN MY BRA

I was slipping on my bra, as usual, when I noticed that the cups seemed to be filled out a little. At first, I was surprised—even when I was wearing training bras this time last year, I didn't really have anything in the cups, on account of my being a late bloomer—but then I looked again and I saw them: I had breasts.

Panic slapped me in the face at first. I was a guy, guys don't have boobs! Then again, guys don't wear bras either. Or panties, or short shorts, and I was wearing all of that. But the boobs! When did 'they' start growing? I wanted to rush out into the kitchen and ask Mom what was going on with me, but the calmer, more mature side of me said no. I shouldn't just run out there, acting like a little girl all proud of herself because she was getting boobies, I was fifteen years old. I should just accept this part of my body, just like I've always done.

I slipped a tank top over my head and over my bra, noticing that my new breasts were just slightly pushing my shirt out. Anybody who looked could see the cleavage I was now sporting. Bobby would probably tease me about it, just like he did when I started growing my hair out, or when my butt started rounding out. I swear, if I didn't love that boy, I'd probably wanna smack him for all the dumb stuff he does to me.

The only make up I put on today was lipstick. Well, and nail polish, but I barely ever took that off (only when I changed it). Daddy thinks it's cute that Mom and I love the same colors, but I've always thought I looked super cute and super sweet in bubblegum pink. It always brings out the blue of my eyes. I put on my pink sandals my equally pink fingerless gloves, then tied my hair back into a ponytail. I looked kinda tough in this outfit, but I looked sexy and girlish, too, and I 'loved' looking sexy and girlish.

When I got on the school bus, Bobby grabbed me around the waist and pulled me down onto his lap. I had to admit, I was enjoying the initiative he was taking, and sitting down on his hard pecker, even though it was encased in his jeans, was hardening my nipples up but good.

“If only we could do more than this here,” I said, giggling. Then I leaned in and gave the boy of my dreams one of the sexiest kisses a boy could ever get. He reached under my tank top and under my bra and started squeezing my boobs. I almost came right then and there, but luckily, I was able to contain myself. Barely.

THE FIRST TIME

I don't know what it was, but for some reason, I was wearing bras that were a cup size too small. I was wearing A cup bras when I should have been wearing B cups (and, really, the B cups were kinda tight, so maybe I should be wearing C cups). I wondered why I still had all these old A cup bras when I've been a B cup now for almost a year (it was about three months after I turned 14 that I started wearing B cups, and I was 15 now). Mom was usually good at throwing away the stuff that didn't fit me anymore.

Of course, I wasn't really worrying about bras at the moment, because I was a little more concerned about what Bobby would think about the nightie I was wearing just for him. It was pink, like most of my underthings, and just the cutest little pair of bikini panties went with it. I wasn't wearing any shoes or sandals, so Bobby could see my pretty little feet with their pink nail polish.

I was the sweetest looking birthday present a boy could have.

Mom and Dad were out celebrating some big work thing that I didn't really care about, Billy's parents were out doing something special to them (I think it's their anniversary, too, or something), so Billy was coming over to celebrate his birthday, and I felt the need to dress up for him. I was getting wet in all the right places and my boyfriend wasn't even here yet.

The doorbell rang at 5 o'clock and I rushed from the kitchen to the front door. I greeted him and we Frenched right in the doorway. He slipped a hand over my nightie-covered boob and another down onto my panty-covered ass and squeezed both of them at the same time. My nipples were so hard I was surprised they weren't poking out my nightie.

I led Billy upstairs into my cute pink bedroom and furiously started to rip his clothes off of him. He didn't object, and started doing the same to me once I was done. Once our naked bodies were exposed to one another, he held me so close to him that I don't think air could have gotten between us. We kissed one more time before taking the next step in our relationship.

I laid down on the bed with my long, sexy legs spread, while Billy crawled on top of me. He lowered his lips to mine while he lowered something else into my other lips. One of his hands grasped one boob, while one of my hands grasped the other. Both hands pinched at my nipples while Billy slowly pounded his organ into my most secret of places. I was lucky that our lips were locked together because I might have been disturbing the neighbors with all my screams. I never thought that losing my virginity would be so exciting.

I came probably three times before Billy did once, and as soon as he did, he fell asleep with his head between my boobs. I loved the feeling of my man on top of me, even if we were both really sweaty. I fell asleep probably an hour later, just feeling his breathing on my chest.

THE FINALE

Ten years later, Billy and I were married. It was a very grand day (my nineteenth birthday, actually) when we got married. The whole church was smiling and clapping when I walked down the aisle in the same pink dress my mom got married in. Mom and Dad embraced Billy into our family much like Billy's parents embraced me.

Twelve months after our wedding, I gave birth to our first child, a boy named Bill. Ironically, he was named after both his father and his grandfather. For some reason, I seemed to remember another boy named Bill while I was growing up. But, it wasn't Billy and I didn't have any brothers, I was an only child.

I do wish that my memory of Bill's birth wasn't so fuzzy. Billy said I was so out of it when I gave birth that he was surprised I was awake at all. Oh, well, I'll always love both my husband and my son, just like my husband and my parents have always loved me.