The Best of Both Worlds – Chapter 1

It all started in a little town far, far away when a baby girl was born to a hard working man and woman who had wanted a little boy more than anything in the world. They already had eight daughters, and all of them were pretty and smart and charming. There was no question that they loved each of them most dearly, but the man wanted a boy to continue the family name, and to whom he could leave his business, and so they had done everything they could think of to insure that this child would be a boy, for the man’s wife had told him this would be their last chance – her doctor had advised her that she was simply too old to have any more children.
 
Before the woman went to bed on the night that she went into labor to deliver her ninth child, she looked up into the night sky and picked out a singularly bright star upon which to make a desperate, heart felt wish. “Please help me,” she prayed to the star. “I will be unable to bear my husband any more children after this one and it will break his heart if it is not a boy.” She clenched her hands tightly together and poured every bit of her soul into her wish that the new little person she knew was about to join them would be a boy.
 
When the midwife announced the arrival of yet another daughter early the next morning, her husband squeezed her hand understandingly, but the woman’s heart was broken to see the tears in his eyes. As the little girl, wrapped in her receiving blanket, was placed in the woman’s arms, she gave her head a kiss and told her, “Your name is Margaret, and I will love you every bit as much as all our other daughters, but had you been a boy, your name would have been Eli.” The little bundle in the woman’s arms opened her eyes briefly and looked into her mother’s eyes almost as if she understood what it was that had been said, then turned her face to root instinctively for the nipple she sensed was near.
 
Margaret grew, as children are wont do, and she was very smart, but she was never the pretty and charming girl that her eight sisters were. Rather, she had a clever face and devilish personality and preferred to play with the boys in her neighborhood rather than the other little girls.
 
“It isn’t seemly,” the matrons in the little town said to one another. “Young girls should be playing with dolls and learning to pour tea and serve at the table, but Margaret runs wild like a little boy, rolling hoops and playing stick-ball in the street, and swimming naked in the creek during the summer. “It’s perfectly scandalous. Her parents should do something about her.”
 
But her parents were not inclined to ‘do something about her’, because they didn’t see her behavior as a problem. They saw her only as their beloved Margaret, the daughter who was supposed to be a boy.

* * * *

Margaret climbed atop the tree stump and grasped the rope dangling from the ancient fir tree leaning out over the water. Her naked body was as brown as all of the naked boys already splashing in the slow moving river.

“Hey, Maggie,” Charlie yelled, pointing at Margaret’s crotch as she grasped the rope and prepared to swing out to drop into the river. “Don’t get your weinie wet.”

“Hey, Charlie,” she yelled back as she kicked off and swung toward him. “Watch out that I don’t fall on that teeny weinie of yours.”

The other boys in the water hooted and laughed at the exchange, then ducked under the water as the wave from Margaret’s cannonball washed over them. She had hit right next to Charlie’s face, and he emerged spluttering and coughing from the water he had inhaled, having miss-timed his last breath before she hit.

“Aw, did I get you wet?” Margaret teased when Charlie finally stopped gasping for breath.

Charlie made a grab for her, but all he got for the effort was a handful of air as she ducked under the water and kicked off the bottom towards the shore. Within just a few strokes, he caught up with her, grabbed her ankle and pulled her back toward him, then ran his hand up into her crotch. “What happened to your penis, Maggie?” he teased maliciously. “All the other guys have one. Where’s yours? Huh? Did it get bit off by a snapping turtle or something?”

Margaret kicked at Charlie’s crotch, hoping to hit him square in the dick, but the resistance of the water made it easy for him to dodge the blow.

“I hate you, Charlie Hodgins,” she said quietly, then turned and swam back to shore. After picking up her clothes, she walked several yards down the bank to where she could get dressed without having to see the boys as they continued to splash about in the water.

A great whoop of excitement caused her to look back towards where the others still played as she walked away from them with great tears of frustration and anger in her eyes. She wanted so much to just be one of the guys, but they wouldn’t let her be … especially Charlie. The others generally did their best to ignore the fact that she had different plumbing than they did, but Charlie went out of his way to point out as often and as loudly as he could that she didn’t have a penis; that she couldn’t hold it in her hand and piss in any direction she wanted; that, in fact, when she squatted down to take a pee in the woods with them she pissed into her shoes almost as often as she pissed onto the ground.

It seemed to Margaret that she had wished she had a penis like the other boys for her entire life. She would unconsciously reach down to explore it like the young boys she played with, then stop when she realized she was only going through the motions … there was no little appendage there to stimulate.

At night, she would lie in bed and imagine what it would be like to have a little weinie that she could play with and make stiff like Jeffrey Bartholomew did when they were alone together. He would say, “Hey, Maggie, wanna see me make it hard?” And she would nod and get down close as he fondled it until it pointed almost straight up. From her time swimming down at the creek, she knew it was much larger than the other boys his age, and she was fascinated to watch it as it stretched out and up. She would massage her own crotch as she watched him fondling it to encourage it to grow, wishing that she could have one of her own.

“Do ya wanna touch it?” Jeffrey asked once, but she just shook her head.

“Nope. I want to touch my own.”

“But you don’t have one.”

Her lips compressed with determination. “Someday I will, Jeffrey. Just wait and see.”

“Don’t be silly,” he replied. “You can’t just grow a weinie if you’re not a boy.”

“Just wait and see,” she told him. “Just wait and you’ll see.”

(Click here for Chapter 2)