I couldn't tell when it started. I was younger I know that. We'll say between when I was eleven and thirteen. I was comfortable with her and so were my parents. If I wasn't at home, I was there as they were both on the same route from school. 

At the time she was in her late twenties, early thirties. I never did ask for specifics and a precocious kids questions are easily handwaved away. It never bothered me, she cared for me like her own... Maybe I was. It doesn't change what we did and why I did it.

We weren't in love... Not exactly. It was incest without the blood as I felt she was as much my mother or older sister as could be. She used to bath me, change my clothes and when the night seemed oppressive and daunting, hold me humming deep in her chest. 

Whenever I was there, it was an intimate affair. I say intimate as at first, it was just due to how small her home was. Or, cozy as it were. She only needed one thing from her home, protection and privacy. I'm glad we had both because it was like a pot slowly bubbling over.

Eventually it came to where I would share her bed in just a long shirt for modesty. I suspect that she wore clothing for my benefit at first. Then it was just a shirt and panties. All the while she used to hold me lightly, chin resting between my ears until morning came and off to school I went.

My parents lived a very active life. It was rare all three of us were at home together. It was a nice place, large plans for a family that never bloomed. It was lonely with no siblings and despite my parents affluence, neighbours didn't want their kids left unsupervised as much as I was.

So, I was a quiet kid. The internet filter kept me innocent and naive as much as any kid could be at that time. Not that I minded, I had no interest in girls anyway. Which is odd, I'm sure. I've been talking about 'Her' and 'She' until this point and well... 

Her name was 'Jeff'. Before I fell into her care Jeff was intransition from male to female. Except, she never fully embraced it, instead identifying as female for simplicities sake while still keeping a touch of masculinity. She was a plus sized woman living in a starlet's world.

Maybe it was her who ostracised me from the others. Jenna or 'Jen' as she preferred had settled into her new identity and eventually became my de facto guardian. I loved her like family and if unfounded rumours kept the others away from us, I wasn't missing anything. 

I mentioned that her home was small. It was a one bedroom home and I suspect my parents had a large part in seeing it built. The main room was circled with everything you needed to live comfortably with a sofa, table and chair being the focal point. 

Anyone who came to visit had a deep significance in her life. The people I met came from all corners of the world and when they stayed over, it was a few days where I was forced to stay at home. These days were rough. It was only later I realised why and I had patience.

Sometimes it lasted longer, those times seemed like any other relationship. They were boyfriend and girlfriend or girlfriend and girlfriend. It never bothered me whenever I stayed over; I suspect she made sure her partners kept intimacy to a minimum. 

I think I settled her down as once I started nearing the golden age... She stopped. Her small home with large lawn eventually became our world. The landscape changed to a sort of... Zen-like garden with stonework, plants and a lovely stone pond. 

I loved it, her home was calm in physical form and her nature amplified the warmth of it so that even if the TV was off, the sole light keeping her book illuminated it never felt... Empty or alone. Even the mundane instances where I'd be left alone while dinner was prepared or groceries purchased.

I suspect that my parents careers demanded ever more time of them and with my growing age, I eventually moved in entirely. They rented the property out and set up shop in the city. It turned out for the better, weekends became a treat for me with them and I never begrudged their choice.

When we made the unconscious decision to share her room, I think I put an end to all of her romantic endeavours outside our eventual one. The comfort we felt with one another eased the awkwardness of the transition from boyhood. While I won't defend the type of relationship, we worked.

I suspect she kept herself in check for so long because of her hormones and through the long baths she sometimes took where I wasn't invited to shower with her. Granted, those stopped once I became old enough to bathe myself. It never once bothered me that while we were naked, she had breasts and I wouldn't.

Maybe it's a little too fortuitous that my parents primed me so fully towards her. Without it, I'm sure awkward questions would have come a lot sooner and at a point where we would be hard pressed to quantiy truly and defend the relationship we shared.

At it's base... It was sex. At some point she stopped wearing clothes entirely. In the morning I'd find her shirt off and tangled somewhere on the bed and other times it was her panties until we shared a smile and once the lights were out... She embraced me with only my shirt for modesty. 

Her body eventually triggered something within mine. It became harder to stifle the response until she cooed softly to me, gently lifted my shirt and took care of me in a way I never imagined she would. It remains the single most powerful moment in my life. Just after 'Yes'.

The years following the first time eventually brought her own needs into the fore. She taught me that pleasure came from every inch of the body. From ears to nose, chest to navel and the curve of the instep. Her lessons came each time one of us did.

In a way, she groomed me to be her perfect partner. Maybe if I was more assertive, I could have stopped it. But, in the end I didn't and I don't regret the perceived lack of choice be it mine or hers. But, I don't blame myself or her for what or how things came to be.

The first night I saw her naked remains vivid in my mind. A rich nut-brown, long dark hair that reached her surgically perfect breasts and her navel... The slight curve in her stomach that despite exercise and a healthy lifestyle never went away.

She guided me every step of the way. I was blind to start and still timid the morning after. I've since discovered that with hormone treatment there's often shrinkage and difficulty becoming aroused. If that's the case, she was a stud to start out with and those fires could still burn after. 

Ever my caretaker, she slowly introduced me to the wonders of her body until the night stopped me. I felt a cold dread like this was it, the fear of our taboo was finally a burden too great. It was then that she took me into her arms and with an eternity of mutual hesitation, we-- We mated. 

I lied, with how sexual a being we have become. The moment she joined with me has to be the greatest memory I have. The passion I felt was the crackle of dying embers to her freshly built fire and it was only the beginning. Each passing day brought more to the bed and us.

Is it shallow? Without comparative measure, sure. Have the brief relationships she encouraged me to pursue seem any more meaningful? No. She encouraged every facet of my development and I honestly believe that without her, I would have floundered, becoming another rich-kid.

I'm sorry if you read this expecting more graphic detail of our sex life. It's hard to put into words what we shared in a way that does it justice. Quantifying it beyond the vaguest sense leaves you to imagine the world we're living in. 

	- A.