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2. Hazel: Desire and Opportunity Develop

So William, now more or less completely transformed into Willow, joined the family business. Try as might I couldn’t think of that darling, sweet beautiful creature as my cousin’s son. And the even closer juxtaposition that ensued from a shared family and work life, the constantly recurring vision of his slender lithe body underneath the neat, feminised exterior and the memory of the cock that resided in his delicate panties, continued to fuel the desire that had been awakened the afternoon of our discovery.

By now William … Willow had secured an extensive wardrobe of feminine external clothing, in addition to the extensive array of female underwear that our grandmother had helped him to acquire. If his … her choice of external clothing was conservative and conventional, her underwear was always exquisitely feminine and delicate; lace trimmed nylon and satin sets of expensive lingerie, all in pastel shades of blue, green, yellow, lilac and grey — mostly acquired from Bravissimo in the Westgate — with matching stockings and court shoes. Equally, her make-up was always subtly understated and her thick auburn hair washed, brushed and arranged to perfection. There was no denying that William, as Willow, was a beauty; and a remarkedly self assured and composed one, at that.

Rowan told me later that she too had the same disturbing reaction to William’s … Willow’s continuous presence. In her case of course, the mental anguish that accompanied the reaction was even greater. After all Willow, as William, was her son!

[The description of Hazel and Rowan’s relationship and of William’s transformation into Willow, can be found in ‘A Story of Forbidden Love, Ch.1 … fp]

It was Rowan who suggested the holiday. After Willow had been with us for some six months, by which time I was nearly out of my mind with the frustration of our situation — the ever close proximity of such a desirable young creature, who carried an extra and so equally desirable secret in her panties, but with whom I was forbidden to seek congress by convention if not actually by law — was becoming to much for me. I’d come to the same conclusion as my cousin; the circumstances of our grandmother’s death, with the extended period of probate; the consequent dispute with the rest of the family, partially resolved by our voluntarily dividing our grandmother’s estate with them, but rekindled when they discovered that we were content to allow William to adopt and develop his alter ego, and live openly as Willow; the guiding of Willow in establishing a feminine lifestyle; had resulted in neither of us getting our accustomed ration of ‘hot cock’ for a period in excess of two years! As devoted a pair of lesbian lovers as we were, we were both ‘bi’ enough to need the services of an occasional man — without any of the emotional baggage that that can involve, thank you very much!

‘What we need is a holiday,’ Rowan told me. ‘I think we’ll go to the Algarve and see if we can’t get ourselves well and truly fucked!’

*********

My cousin doesn’t often resort to obscenity but when she does she means it. ‘Get ourselves well and truly fucked’ we did!

It started from early on. She came into our room as I was packing … or rather, beginning to pack and was contemplating my underwear draw.

‘Don’t bother to pack any knickers,’ she told me … ordered me, ‘we won’t be wearing any for the next fortnight. And get your Fanny shaved, or at least your bush trimmed. Oh! And don’t bother with bras’ either. Your tits, like mine, are still pretty firm and don’t flop about if there not supported. We’re on a mission girl. We might as well display what we’ve got to the best advantage.’

It simplified packing no end! Minimal underwear, just a few pairs of stay-ups, and a collected of short … very short skirts and skimpy tops, light shoes, a selection of swimming costumes, and a few short skirted ‘fuck me’ dresses for the evenings — plus make-up, jewellery, etc.

Even so, I blanched a bit at the prospect of travelling from Chester to the Algarve sans knickers, sans bra’, and then spending two weeks there in the same condition. My hesitation must have shown.

‘O cheer up,’ Rowan told me, ‘if we get desperate they sell female underwear in Portugal — ‘as bahis firmaları cuecas’ and ‘o soutien’; I’ve looked it up.

Still, the thought of the length of the hem lines of my skirts or lack of length, and their ability or otherwise to protect my naked quim from view, was more than a little disconcerting. ‘Oh well’ I thought, ‘in for a penny in for a pound’. But it did occur to me that the law in Portugal might take a less than tolerant view of any too public a display of nudity, at least away from the beaches. In the event, we didn’t meet with any official kind of censure or sanction, but we got a lot of admiration from a large percentage of the male portion of the population — and some of the female.

William … Willow drove us to Liverpool for our flight to Faro. The Stewardess in first class was a slender young woman, in a trim flight uniform of crisp linen blouse and tight skirt. Her pale complexion, small but perky breasts and glowing auburn hair were disconcertingly reminiscent of Willow. She busied herself addressing the needs of her passengers before settling herself in a seat to complete some paperwork.

I gradually became conscious that her eyes were, surreptitiously, darting towards me; more specifically towards the hemline of my skirt. I was pretty sure that, at the angle between our two seats, she had a view up my skirt to my naked quim. I could feel my nipples, already stimulated by the pull of my blouse over my bra’less breasts, burgeoning and stiffening. Glancing down I could see them quite clearly defined against the fabric that covered them. I shifted my legs as though unconsciously, by reaching for a paper affording her a better view of my shaven pussy lips. The pretty young stewardess now shifted her own legs in turn, to give me a sight up her skirt to her own panty covered labia. A tiny smile momentarily flickered across her face before she stood up to busy herself with the passengers again.

After completing her rounds she disappeared for a while and I began to think that maybe her duty period was over. But she reappeared and again made a round of her charges. Satisfied, she returned to her seat and again immersed herself in paperwork. As I watched her legs again began to move gradually widening the tunnel up her skirt until I could see, quite clearly, that during the interval she had shed her dark blue, lacy panties and her quim — like my own — was open to view. And a pretty little quim it was too; a well defined slit edged with slightly puffy lips and pointed by a trimmed auburn bush, shaped into a narrow arrow the tip of which just touched the end of her slit where, imagination or not, I thought I could define the snub of a nubbly, stiffening and growing clitty.

I became conscious of Rowan’s quizzical look in my direction; and the expression on her face confirmed that she had been witness to our mutual game of ‘fanny flash’. The imprint of her nipples, on the front of her blouse, indicated to me that she hadn’t found it to distasteful.

Before we left the aircraft at Faro the stewardess made her final round, handing out the airline’s courtesy bags that, for the female passengers, consisted of a small bottle of perfume, a cologne stick, a pack of face wipes and a small fan. Tucked into the bottom of my bag was a plastic wallet containing a pair of dark blue lacy panties with a card bearing the name Louise, and a Runcorn telephone number; Rowan’s bag contained the matching bra’ and the same number.

We picked up a car at the airport and drove to our hotel in Praia da Manta Rosa. The Portuguese equivalent of a young ‘bell boy’ escorted us to our suite and deposited our cases on the table. After asking us if we needed any other assistance he made to withdraw but was stopped by my cousin.

‘Tell me,’ she said, ‘my cousin and I are concerned that our sun-tans should be as even as possible. Is there any where within the hotel precinct that we can sunbathe … er, without clothes, ‘sem as roupas’?’

He perked up considerably, and there was the beginning of a promising stirring in the front of his rather well fitting trousers.

‘But of course senhora,’ he replied, ‘there is a discreet sunbathing area with its own pool, in a secluded part of the grounds. Should you wish, I will escort you there as soon as you are ready and kaçak iddaa I will await you in the hotel foyer.’

As good as his word, when we returned to the foyer he was there and led us to remote part of the ground, enclosed within a grove eucalyptus trees, where there was a swimming pool set in a lawn surrounded with poolside chairs. There were three people already there — two women and a man, all three completely naked; a young woman, no more than twenty, and an older man and woman of perhaps fifty or so. It transpired that they were a family and it was their practice to sunbathe naked as often as possible. All three were slender and fit, the mother could have passed for no more than forty as regards to the shape and firmness of her breasts and buttocks; a little thick around the waist perhaps but not unpleasantly so.

Our escort stood aside as we stripped off the light sundresses we had changed into and sat on two of the cushion chairs — all our assets clearly displayed.

‘Is there anything else?’ He inquired politely, before turning to depart.

‘Well,’ Rowan said, looking him full in the face, ‘should you be free later this evening, my cousin and I may well desire a little … attention in our suite; particularly if you have a friend, a male friend, who could join us, too.’

‘But of course, senhora,’ he replied for the second time. ‘And I will invite a friend of mine, if he is free. He is known as ‘o honem de ferro’ ‘the man of iron’. Which does not refer to his physical appearance; and I myself am known as ‘o honem sempre pronto’ ‘the man who is always ready’. I’m sure you will not be disappointed.’

And the ‘iron man’ and ‘the ever-ready man’ proved to be as good as was promised. Both men, of slender and fit build, were provided with magnificent cocks that were practically inexhaustible. Within no time after shooting their prodigious loads into our eager vaginas, they began to recover and were quickly ready for service again. ‘Service’ was the right expression. Like most men of that ‘cock-proud’ type, they had little finesse in copulation — in no way could it have been called ‘love making’. It was like almost as if we were a couple of prize cows being serviced by highly potent bulls. For the next two weeks our prize studs visited our suite and rammed into us with the minimum of foreplay and preparation, commensurate with us being actually lubricated enough to allow them entry. Our breasts and nipples became sore and numb from heavy usage and our clittys and cunts tender from the pounding they received.

No matter, it was what we wanted; we’d come to Portugal to get ‘well and truly fucked’ and we’d achieved that end [no pun intended]. We hoped it was sufficient to allay the feelings we’d both developed for Rowan’s son William, following his transformation into Willow.

There was no Louise on the flight back; only a very pleasant and solicitous male steward, whose carnal interests were directed towards one of the male passengers — whom, I’m glad to say, appeared to be responding ‘in kind’.

‘And the best of luck to them both’, I thought. And I meant it.

It only took me one look at Willow, as he … she stood there in the arrival lounge, to convince me that the experiment in satiation had been a failure.

*********

Rowan and I settled back into running the perfumery after our holiday. It was obvious that the intricacies of the business were admirably suited to Willow’s particular talents.

In our absence the business had been run by our most senior manager, Marjorie, who reported that William … Willow had more than adequately assisted her and had come up with a few suggested solutions to the inevitable problems that arose that had saved both time and resource in settling those minor difficulties.

Marjorie was the only member of our staff who was aware of Willow’s true identity.

‘I think you’ll find that he … she will be a major asset before very much longer. The long term future of the business, as a continued family concern, is beginning to look pretty secure to me,’ was her verdict.

It was nice to know; and it was that that gave me the opportunity to pursue the plan that had been germinating in my mind for a while.

Following our experiences in the Algarve, and the acknowledgement that kaçak bahis it hadn’t really solved very much, Rowan and I had taken up the offer made by our air hostess and had rung the Runcorn number and arranged a date.

Louise’s pretty little quim tasted as sweet as it looked; so did her pretty little pink tipped breasts; both of us we certainly took our pleasure there and, judging by Louise’s reactions, gave equal pleasure in so doing. And her tongue was a revelation — reaching far down inside our eager and salivating snatches and creating havoc with our clittys. The careful and delicate caresses she bestowed on our breasts and nipples and the rest of our bodies, told their own story of experience and of a desire to give as much pleasure as she received. It was the start of an occasional relationship that has continued ever since, to our mutual delight and satisfaction.

But it still wasn’t enough to dispel the demons. The main problem being that, her absence of a cock and her possession of a pair of natural breasts apart, her similarity to William … Willow was even more remarkable when she was unclothed — as we all were most of the time we were together.

I was rapidly coming to the conclusion that you can only ignore an itch for so long. Eventually, the only way to eradicate it is to scratch it!

The opportunity to ‘scratch the itch’ came sooner than I expected. A meeting was required with one of our associated companies in Mont-de-Marsan on the southern edge of the Gironde/Landes. It was something that normally either Rowan or I would handle by our selves. This time it was my turn. My tentative suggestion that perhaps Willow should accompany me met with my cousin’s approval.

‘After all,’ I said, ‘we did have that holiday; William … Willow hasn’t had a break yet. We could extend the trip for a couple of extra days. And anyway, it won’t do him … her any harm to start getting the feel of the continental side of the business.’

We were both still a more than a bit undecided in how we thought of him … her at that time. Sometimes he was William, at others she was definitely Willow.

Two mornings before our departure, early, Rowan and I lay wrapped in each other after a night a love making when I asked her the question that had been at the forefront of my mind, more-or-less since our return from Portugal. And I was deliberately blunt in the way I phrased it.

‘What would you feel if I seduced your son?’

Rowan’s answer was a long time coming, but at least she didn’t pull away from me, or explode, as I’d feared she might.

‘I think I’d be both jealous and relieved,’ she said. ‘Jealous, because I really want it to be me that has him first; relieved, because if he succumbs to your seduction, it will make it easier for me to take him to me afterwards. I know you’ve been struggling with this for ages’, she continued, after another lengthy pause, ‘so have I. Ever since I first saw that beautiful cock restrained within those pretty, delicate panties I’ve longed to feel it inside me. I’ve resisted it of course. Seeing him dressed and acting like the dainty creature he’s … she’s become, hasn’t helped. It made it worse, by removing him … her from the past. In defiance of all convention the conclusion to this is becoming inevitable, and I think it’s perhaps best if you’re the one to initiate it!’

From that time on, probably subconsciously in defence of our intended actions, my cousin’s child became permanently ‘Willow’ in both our minds and her change in gender became established; having said that, almost immediately Willow had to revert to William for the flight to Bordeaux in order to conform with his passport.

But we hadn’t travelled far into the Gironde in our hired car before he stopped me and asked me to pull into a secluded parking area where, going round to the boot and opening his case, he quickly shed his jeans for a light skirt and his tee-shirt for a bra’, padded out with breast forms, and a blouse. Before settling back in the car he applied make-up and released his glorious cascade of hair from the pony tail into which he’d twisted it for the flight. Willow was back, she’d already been wearing panties, suspender-belt and stockings under her masculine exterior. If Rowan and I felt more comfortable with her femininity, Willow obviously did so to.

At the hotel half way between Mont-de-Marsan and Dax, the hotel concierge showed us into the double bedded room that comprised our suite. I’d made the booking in advance to ensure the double.

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