Steve was born eight months after the wedding of Stuart Vayne and Delores Brown. So it is very likely that my Mom was pregnant on her wedding day. It is possible she knew this at the time and equally possible she did not. Either way the wedding was not a ‘shotgun wedding.’ It was a big wedding that had been months in the planning. However, when Steve was born, there were those who could do the math. As my grandmother was a lay minister at the Mission Park Methodist Church (where my parents first met and were married), Steve’s birth set off a bit of a scandal — and was the source of a lot of gossip. Throughout his life Steve was always a bit of a loner. While it would be little more than speculation, I cannot rule out the likelihood that Steve felt the disapproval of others (which to a degree came also from his grandmother) and that as a result he felt uncomfortable around others.
According to the story often shared during my early childhood, my parents had no preference regarding their first child — boy or girl. All they wanted was what all parents wants was for their child to be healthy. He was three years old when Mom became pregnant with me. I would be born a month after he turned four. Unlike their expectations during her first pregnancy, my parents wanted their second child to be born a girl — as they already had a son. He had to have known he was about to become the older brother to either a younger sister or younger brother. It seem quite unlikely — knowing the level of enthusiasm my parents must have had — that he knew they really wanted him to be the older brother to a younger sister. While I was born healthy, my birth was also the cause for some disappointment as I was born a boy, a second son.
I was three years old (or there abouts) when I first began hearing the stories about this disappointment. Stevehad been hearing them for three years. While his understanding of the differences between boys and girls would grow over these early years of his childhood, like me, Steve often hears stories of how I was suppose to have been a girl. That my parents had wanted me to be a girl. That the family my parents wanted — of a son and a daughter — had not happened. Like me I suspect Steve was puzzled as to why I had been born a son if my parents wanted a girl.
Now, I admit it is possible I am venturing into psycho analysis that I know nothing about. So now it is time to turn to something I do know for certain. When I was four years old, my grandmother began dressing me up as a girl. In time, it became commonplace for her to take her ‘granddaughter’ out shopping. She did so mostly on Saturdays when Dad usually went to the library to study all day and Mom worked at a downtown bakery. By this time I had a younger brother. When we stepped out, Grandma would always tend to the care of Brad and she would leave it to my older brother to keep me from wandering off. Steve and I would usually hold hands on these outings. He became my protector. Being the older protective brother of his younger sister, grownups often commented on this and applauded him for being such a good older brother. [Dipping back into my psycho analysis, these outings may very well had been one of the few times Steve felt accepted by others.]
I feel it is fair to say that Steve liked having a younger sister. And Grandma always made sure these outings were in some way special to him. He could get a milkshake over lunch. Or it would be his choice as to what movie we attended. Or he would get a new outfit — or better yet a desired toy. Bottom line, over our last year living in Grandma’s house, I can say with confidence that he looked forward to these Saturday outings. It was during this time that Steve and I bonded not unlike a big brother and little sister would.
I will leave it to other blog posts to explain how it happened to be that I spent seven years as a girl, seven years as my grandmother’s granddaughter. This post is about Steve and not me. When he was nine years old, our family moved to Reardan— twenty five miles away, a forty minute car ride. Steve made the move. I did not. I remained in Spokane with our grandmother. Most weekends my parents made the trip into Spokane. They even came some evenings. I saw my immediate family often during these seven years. However almost all my memories of these get togethers are of Steve and I and not so much me and my family. I ‘became’ a girl when Steve was nine. Seven years later when Steve turned sixteen I was still a girl — a girl about to turn twelve.
I cannot declare with any certainty when Steve first thought about fucking me. There are however two things I know for certain. At some time during these seven years, Steve came to understand the meaning of the word ‘fuck.’ He also started getting erections (boners) and learned how to masturbate (jerk off). Like all young boys, when he was alone at night (or anytime) in his room, he jerked off. He may have had visual aids but his fantasies were often more powerful. I take it as a given that at some point during these seven years Steve began to jerk off to the idea of fucking me. I could not prove this to be a fact. But I know it to be true.
I was eleven years old when I gave my first blowjob. I gave over two dozen boys blowjobs as a sixth grade girl (who most thought to be an older junior high girl). For reasons I will discuss elsewhere, I decided shortly after I turned twelve that I could never be the girl I wanted to be so I should simply go back to being a boy. I will not say that Steve was angry at me for making this decision — but then again maybe that is the best ways to describe his reaction. One day I asked if he wanted to play a board game we had enjoyed playing and he said “Why would I play with you? I do not even know you.” I soon became unhappy in my new life and began to cross dress in the privacy of my room. Less than three months after I had return to my life as Glen, Veronica knocked on Steve’s door. When he opened the door, I said “Hello, I miss my big brother. I miss my best friend.”
During that visit, Steve and I worked out a plan where we would use his car as my closet. We would drive into Spokane and spend time there as Steve and Veronica, brother and sister. My parents were please to see Steve and I bonding again and happy to see Steve was spending time with his younger brother — who was still adjust to his new life as a boy. However Steve and I were no longer a seven year old sister and an eleven years old brother who liked spending time together. Steve was a young man and I was already a cocksucker. Neither one of us was looking for a return to our childhood games and joys. We both wanted to explore our sexual desires and fantasies — even as we pretended for several weeks that we could be content as brother and sister.
About My Younger Siblings
I am going to keep this short, shorter than my siblings deserve. I had three younger siblings — Brad, Sharon and Kevin. They were . . . . my younger siblings, ages of ten, eight and seven when I moved to Reardan. There is really nothing else for me to say. I want to say more about them as they are my family, but truth be told so much of my time as a child was about Steve and I that I have virtually no memories of them. And nothing that I feel is important to my story.