The beginning of the school year is never something that excites me. I was so glad that I had only three years left. Since I had been bullied often, my mom had signed me up for a self-defense class, and it had since proven useful, especially since bullies are essentially cowards. To protect myself inwardly, I constructed a hard shell around me: I didn’t need any of them; I was fine by myself. And I had slowly learned that it was best to tune them out, at worst to let the comments and taunts roll off me like water off a duck. It sure didn’t do me any good to get angry.

I wasn’t precisely an outcast at school, but I sure wasn’t well-liked. Neither the guys nor the girls were very nice to me, and I was never sure why. I was the shortest boy in our class, but I don’t know why that should have made any difference; it’s not as if I was shorter on purpose. And it never used to happen before everyone else hit puberty and shot up, or blossomed.

So today I was in the cafeteria, stuck at a table with a few other kids, but minding my own business as usual, and picking at what the school termed Food. We didn’t have so many tables in our cafeteria that I could have one to myself, or that’s where I would have been. Unsurprisingly the other kids started to talk about me, trying to get a rise out of me. When it really started to get nasty I sighed to myself, and got up, disposed of my tray and uneaten food, and went to sit outside. Taunts followed me as I exited the cafeteria doors. Interesting how no lunchroom monitors were ever able to pick up on this behavior.

Going outside I sat under a tree on the school grounds and opened a book. Before too long a shadow fell over me, and a voice asked, “Why do you let them walk all over you?”

Looking up I recognized the new girl, Sharon? She was tall and beautiful.

“Fighting them accomplishes nothing,” I said. “They’re actually hoping I do want to fight.”

“Why?”

“That would give them the opportunity to try and knock the stuffing out of me. But since I started self-defense class, that hasn’t worked out very well for them,” I snickered. “Also, they really hope a teacher will somehow notice and assume that it was I who started the fight, thus getting me into trouble. And finally, responding only feeds the fire.”

“Well that really sucks,” she said. “I’m Sharon, by the way. Sharon Kensington.”

“Nice to meet you, Sharon. I’m Peter Brock.” A funny look danced across her face. “Are you sure you want to be seen talking to me? It could be bad for your reputation.”

“Let me worry about my reputation,” she said, and gracefully sat down next to me. “So what have you done, to be shunned like this?” she asked.

“I have the temerity to be short, is the only thing I can figure out. I’ve never done anything at all to any of those poor misguided souls in there. Apparently in this school district being short is a serious crime.”

She giggled, which was a nice sound.

“So what grade are you in?” she asked.

“Tenth, you?”

“Eleventh. We just moved here from Pennsylvania.”

“Man! That sucks to have to move when you’re almost done with school. But anyway, let me be the last to welcome you to Mayfield.”

“The last?”

“I’m sure most of the other kids have said hello already?”

“Actually very few have spoken to me. I had imagined it would be friendlier here, since it’s a smaller town than where I used to live. But thank you! And moving isn’t really such a big deal. We’ve moved three times in the last ten years. My dad’s work…”

“Oh believe me, Sharon, small doesn’t always equal friendly! This town is a bit on the conservative side, and you need to fit in to be accorded friendliness and acceptance. Right now you’re an unknown factor.”

The bell rang and it was time to go back inside, so we got up and I discovered she was at least five inches taller than me. That probably eliminated me as possible boyfriend material, not that I had any hopes anyway. We said goodbye to each other, and finished off the school day.

-o0o-

Walking on my way home I was thinking about her, and how pleasant she seemed, but I was also a little apprehensive that once she made friends with some of the others, she’d back off from her initial friendliness. I had to be prepared, mentally, for the rejection.

“Peter!!” I heard from somewhere behind me.

Turning around I saw Sharon hurrying to catch up to me. I stopped to wait.

“Thanks for stopping. I guess we live in the same direction,” she said. “I’m on Poplar street. I hope you don’t mind if I walk with you.”

“I’m on Sycamore,” I said. “Just three streets further on down Main. And no, I’d be glad of your company.”

Talking as we walked, we discovered we both really loved Art, but whereas I loved sketching, she was more into sculpture. We liked some of the same music and found a few other things we had in common. I smiled up at her, admiring her beauty and height. I still kept a small barrier up, though, in case she changed her mind about being friendly.

When we reached Poplar street she hesitated, and then said, “Would you like to come to my house? Like, just for a coke or something?”

“Um, sure. Sounds good,” I said. This was unexpected; I was never invited anywhere.

We turned onto her street and the house was the sixth from the corner, a nice, neat-looking blue Colonial. She unlocked the door and we entered.

“You can just leave your book bag there on the table. Come on in to the kitchen.”

She was already in the refrigerator, and pulling out a two-liter bottle of coke. She reached into the cupboard and got two glasses and poured. As she handed me my glass we had a clumsy moment, resulting in the drink splashing all over my shirt and pants.

“Peter, I’m so sorry! It was all my fault.”

“Sharon, it doesn’t matter whose fault it was. I’m not blaming you. Listen, I’m just going to go home.”

“Oh, no, no! You can’t walk home like that! You’ll be an incredibly sticky mess by the time you get there. Come with me and let’s see if there’s anything here you can wear.”

So saying, she grabbed my hand and led me upstairs, and into her room.

“I’m sure I have a t-shirt and shorts you could wear, and I’ll put your clothes in the wash,” she said, rooting around in her dresser drawers.

As she searched, I was taking in her bedroom, which was fresh and pleasant, with the requisite stuffed animals and cute comforter on the high bed. There were a couple actual paintings hung on the wall, rustic scenes, which I thought might be unusual for a girl. Not having any sisters or girl friends, I thought they all had boy-band posters on their walls. There were also a few very small ceramic sculptures of animals I guessed she had made.

“Oh! I’m sorry. I’m sure you’d like to get out of those clothes and wash the coke off yourself. The bathroom is right through that door; I’ll bring you a washcloth and towel.”

I went inside and stripped. The coke had soaked through to my skin and it was already sticky. Just then there was a knock and I cracked the door open to see her hand holding the linens.

“Thanks,” I said, and got busy washing up. When I was done I wrapped the towel around my waist and went back into her room.

“Peter, this is about all I can find,” she said, holding up a long, light-pink t-shirt, with flowers all over the front. She also had a pair of short-shorts. “Or I can get you a blouse, if you prefer.”

I didn’t really care which, and took the shirt and put it over my head. It came down to mid thigh, which made her giggle. I looked at her balefully, but then grinned.

“Um, was your underwear sticky too?” she asked.

“I’m afraid it was, yes.”

“I brought out a pair of panties, just in case,” she said. “I hope they’ll stay up.”

Sighing, I grabbed the towel through the shirt and pulled it loose, then pulled the panties on, not the easiest maneuver while wearing a long shirt and trying to remain modest. They were pretty loose, but not falling down. Then I tried the shorts, which were definitely too big. They didn’t have belt loops in them, as they were designed for a shapely girl whose hips would do the job. I didn’t really want to wander around in just a long t-shirt, but I didn’t see what choice I had.

“Let me go put your clothes in the washer. I’ll be right back.”

I pulled myself on to her bed and put my head against the wall. This was turning into a screwed-up day.

Sharon eventually reappeared, and she had some sort of pants with her. She looked embarrassed and said they were her little sister’s, and would at least stay up. She handed them to me and I put them on. They turned out to be culottes, and stuck out from under the shirt another several inches, looking, of course, just like a skirt.

“They actually look pretty good on you,” she said. “I know you probably don’t want to wear them, but it’s only until your clothes are washed and dried.”

I didn’t know what to do. I felt forced into this situation, although at least I didn’t think it was preplanned in order to humiliate me. I should just act like it was no big deal and wait until my clothes were dry.

“So what do you want to do in the meantime?” I asked. “I have a little bit of homework I could get started on.”

“Me too. Let’s get our books and sit at the dining room table.”

We set ourselves up there and started to work. Forty-five minutes later her little sister showed up. She looked about thirteen to me.

“Hi Sis,” she sang out. “Oh, who’s your friend, and why is she wearing my culottes?”

I could see Sharon’s probable dilemma. Does she pretend I’m a girl or tell the truth? The truth might mean her sister laughs at me and makes me a target. The lie means that sooner or later she will discover I’m a boy, and then things could get bad. There were no good choices. Instead I heard,

“Cindy, this is Peter, a new friend of mine. I spilled some coke on him and we had to wash his clothes. These are all I could come up with, and your culottes were all I could find around his size.”

“Oh, sorry Peter. I didn’t realize…”

“It’s fine, Cindy. Honest mistake. I hope you don’t mind that I’m wearing this.” I said.

“No, not at all. They actually look pretty good on you. Sis, is there anything for a snack?”

And just like that it was a non-issue for Cindy. I was surprised and relieved. Both girls seemed like very nice people. Still, I hoped the wash would be done before the parents arrived home!

Her comment really made me wonder, though. It was the same thing Sharon had said about the culottes. Why would a girl think such a garment would look good on a boy? I didn’t understand.

After Cindy had gone upstairs I asked Sharon about it.

“Why do you and Cindy both think this looks good on me?”

“To tell you the truth, both that and the top look pretty natural on you. You saw that Cindy thought you were a girl, and I’m afraid that’s what I thought too the first time I saw you.”

Well, I was just flabbergasted. I never saw a girl when I looked in the mirror. Yes, my hair was maybe a little bit long, but… I’d have to look again. And what could I do about it? A buzz cut?

“I, I can hardly believe it. I’ve been blocking out the nasty comments for so long maybe I had no idea what they were trying to tease me about. I thought it was just that I was short. But if they all think I’m a sissy or gay or something… It just never occurred to me.”

Sharon could see how shocked I was, and she was very sympathetic. She put a hand on my shoulder.

“Well, I don’t care what they’ve been saying. I’m glad we met.”

“Thank you. Same here, but I think I should consider cutting my hair.”

“Do you really think that will stop the comments and teasing?” she asked.

My shoulders slumped, and I replied, “No, it won’t make a damned bit of difference.”

“It’s probably not any consolation to you, but I think you’d make a very cute girl.”

Rolling my eyes, I said, “No, not really a consolation. I don’t think any guy wants to hear that.”

“What if I said that there are some girls who find guys like that very attractive?”

My eyes snapped over to her, to find her blushing.

“Um. I think I really need to go. Are my clothes ready yet?” I was very uncomfortable about this. I mean, I liked Sharon, maybe even a lot, but did I want to be defined as a girly guy, and that’s why she liked me? I’d have to think about that.

She looked a little disappointed and a bit embarrassed, but said she’d check, and went off to the laundry room. She returned with my clothes, saying they were mostly dry. I didn’t care. We went up to her room and I changed back into them, thanked her and walked home.

-o0o-

My emotions were jumping all over the place. It looked like I could probably have myself a hot girlfriend, but at the cost of being thought of as girly. Having her as my girlfriend would probably piss off my teasers and tormentors, but did I even have a reputation to protect?! Maybe everyone already thought of me as girly!

What would it mean for a relationship? Would she expect me to wear a dress?!

And then again… maybe that first reaction of mine would turn her against me and I wouldn’t have to think about it.

-o0o-

When I reached home I went straight to the bathroom to look in the mirror. My first thought was no, I did not look anything like a girl. It was hard, but I tried to pretend I was looking at a stranger, and I started to see why someone else might think I looked feminine. Obviously, no beard. My face didn’t have all those angular lines most of the guys my age had. Hairline: rounded. Maybe my eyes looked a little large—I don’t know. My lips have always been a little puffier than I would have liked had I had been in charge when I was being designed. And granted, not the widest, manliest shoulders.

But then, the big picture… longish hair, short, kind of ill-fitting clothes, which were not feminine clothes at all. I was still confused about it. How could I be so clueless?

When my mom got home and settled down, I sat down next to her on the couch and asked, “Mom, do you think I look at all like a girl?”

That got her attention fast.

“Did someone tell you that?”

“Kind of. Two people I met today thought I was a girl, and it kind of freaked me out. Short does not automatically equal girly.”

She searched for the right words… “Honey, when you were a toddler a lot of people assumed you were a girl, in spite of the fact that you were dressed as a boy. And then, when you stopped growing taller as your peers did, it made you look younger, and I’m afraid that even lately I have had people ask me if you were my daughter. You do have fine features, and combined with your long hair, that is going to make some people see you as a girl.”

She stroked my hair and said, “But you know that it’s what inside that really counts, right?”

“Of course I do. It’s just, I never ever thought of myself as the least bit feminine, and now, suddenly, two people assumed I was a girl. Do I, like, swish when I walk or something?”

She laughed and said she had never noticed a swish.

-o0o-

The next day at school I skipped the lunch room and just came outside to sit, hoping to avoid Sharon. To make that more of a sure thing, I sat behind the tree, and the lunch period passed without anyone noticing me. I still had to think about getting home unnoticed, so after classes I went to the school library to do my homework there.

I was able to keep this up for three days without running into Sharon, and then it was the weekend. I spent a lot of time wondering what I wanted to happen, and how far I was willing to go. I didn’t really come to any solid conclusions. It would be great to have a girlfriend, but would it be worth the price…

-o0o-

On Monday I again avoided seeing her at lunch, but when I came out of the building after I was done in the library at 4, she was waiting for me.

“Peter, I want to apologize if I made you uncomfortable last week,” she started.

I held up a hand. “No apology necessary, Sharon. No one can make a person feel a certain way.”

That startled her a little bit. “You mean… I can’t make you angry, or happy?”

“Right. We are all responsible for our own thoughts and emotions. How I respond or react is always going to be up to me.”

“Huh. I never thought about it like that before,” she said, looking introspective.

I started walking, and she fell in beside me.

“Do you think we could start over? I thought we mostly had a pretty nice time,” she said. “I know you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Sharon, let me tell you something about myself. I’ve been teased and bullied for so long that it’s very difficult for me to trust anyone, to let anyone in. It’s just really hard to let down my guard, and I’m always thinking if I do I’ll get sucker-punched. None of that is your fault. You did startle me with what you said, and it’s been on my mind the last five days. But if the only reason you’re interested in me is because you think I’d make an attractive girl, then I will have to say no thanks. I don’t see myself as the least bit feminine, although now I understand that others might. That was a big shock to me.”

“I appreciate you telling me this, Peter. With that background it’s understandable you don’t want to be burned. It’s true I did think you were a girl at first, but I also liked the little time we spent together, and we seem to have a lot in common. It’s kind of hard to make new friends when you’re at a new school and you don’t know anyone, and that has happened to me a lot. You and I already made a start at being friends, and I would enjoy it if we could continue. It would be sad to think you’re shutting me out because of something that hasn’t even happened.”

I stopped and looked at her. She seemed completely sincere.

“Okay then, but please don’t be insulted if it takes me a while to trust you.”

She smiled then, a very nice warm smile, which I couldn’t help but return.

“Do you mind if I give you a hug?” she asked.

“Um, that would be nice.”

She put her arms around my waist, so I put mine around her neck, and she gave me a very nice, warm hug. It made me feel very good. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten a hug from anyone not family.

-o0o-

Over the next few months we would get together a lot, and many times she ate with me at school. Once when she didn’t, she was at a nearby table with a few other girls, and I heard one of them none-too-subtly ask why she was wasting her time with “that loser.”

“Why do you ask?” she said.

“He’s such a dweeb, and kind of girly,” was the reply.

“If you would take the time to actually get to know him,” she said, “you’d find that he is a very nice human being, and one who doesn’t judge people without even knowing them.” She said this all in a calm way. Then she got up from the table and came and sat next to me.

“Sorry you had to hear that,” she quietly said.

“What? Hear you defend me? That was worth hearing. Thank you! I can’t remember anyone ever sticking up for me. I just hope it doesn’t turn you into an outcast too.”

“Well, if it does, I’ll be in good company,” she smiled.

-o0o-

It wasn’t long after this that she and I were walking home, and a couple of good-sized football players accosted us. They plainly weren’t there to ask directions.

Oaf One said “Listen, Fag, we’re here to teach you a lesson, and that goes for your Fag Hag too.”

“Really? You guys teach? I’m really surprised,” I retorted. “And for the record, I’m heterosexual, if you know what that means.”

Oaf One’s face began to turn red. It seemed like he couldn’t think of a smart reply to that, so he simply decided to skip the reply, and started to throw a punch at me. I leaned back to avoid it and kicked him in the ribs. He was none too pleased with that, and started to try and circle me, looking for an opening.

I could see Oaf Two going to make a grab at Sharon. She saw it too, and kicked him in the nuts. He fell to the ground, moaning and grabbing his crotch.

Oaf One was distracted by this, so I grabbed his thumb and twisted it into an unnatural position, forcing him to his knees.

“Let me make this simple for you two,” I said. “I’m doing well in school and don’t need any lessons from you. I suggest you leave both of us alone, or next time we won’t go so easy on you. Do you agree? If not, I could continue and break this joint.”

Oaf Two was in no shape to say anything, but did let out another groan. Oaf One evidently took a little more convincing, so I put some extra pressure on the joint, until he yelped, “Yeah, fine! We’ll leave you alone.”

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but hate and bigotry is mostly due to ignorance,” I said, letting him go.

Sharon and I then continued on our way, and I complimented her on her strategic kick. She thanked me for helping the situation not get too out of control. And then she took my hand as we walked. I could tell she was shaking a little, as the encounter sank into her brain.

When we got to her house I came inside with her, and she dragged me over to the couch and just held me, trying to calm herself down. Then she moved me so that my back was against her and then wrapped her arms around me, putting her head down by my neck. After my surprise subsided I leaned back into her and patted her arm.

She held me like that for some minutes, and then said, “Peter, I was so scared that both of us were going to get beaten up. And I’ve never purposely kicked anyone like that before.”

“That’s why I take martial arts classes,” I said. “Guys like that were always waylaying me, so I needed to be able to defend myself. You wouldn’t believe how many black eyes and bruises I used to get. But I guess there are always guys who think that since I’m so small it won’t matter how much fighting I know. But see? Now that they know we’re friends, you have become a target too. I’m sorry for that.”

After some time she let go and turned me, leaned over and gave me a gentle kiss on the lips. I was very surprised; I didn’t think she had any interest in me like that. She pulled back and looked at me, and I think my surprise must have showed on my face. She leaned back in and gave me a passionate kiss, to which I responded. We continued to kiss and caress until we heard the key in the front door, and then pulled apart.

Cindy walked in and saw us on the couch, and could somehow sense the atmosphere. She grinned. “Hey, you two. Whatcha doing?”

“Just talking,” said Sharon.

“Uh huh,” said Cindy, with a knowing look. “It’s about time you two got together.” She went into the kitchen.

Sharon was smiling at me, and said, “Yes, it is; she’s right.”

I must have had a really glazed or dazed look on my face, because Sharon asked if I agreed.

“Oh… yeah. It’s just that I never thought you would ever consider me boyfriend material. You’re tall and beautiful, smart, nice – you could have your pick of the guys.”

“You have a few things to learn about girls, Peter. We don’t all go for the big jocks. Sometimes we go for the guys who are also smart and nice, and have integrity, no matter their height. In fact, I was wondering how long it would be before you let down your barriers enough to allow me in.”

I didn’t know what to say. I felt bad about having kept her at arm’s length, but I had had bitter experience to draw on.

-o0o-

So we became officially a couple. She was my best friend – really, my only friend. Some idiots at school still razzed me, and some of them gave her grief, but she was very level-headed and didn’t feel the need to talk back. I, of course, ignored them, as long as they left me alone.

I felt myself growing very close to her, and—dare I say it—in love. My mom liked her; her parents liked me.

-o0o-

A few months later we were walking home from school again, and as we got to her street, the skies suddenly opened. It was the kind of rain where even five seconds in it will get you totally soaked. It wasn’t worth running, but we did anyway, and made it into her house.

We took off our shoes in the foyer and she ran to get some towels. Once we were dry enough not to drip all over the house we went upstairs. As with that first time, I stripped in the bathroom and came back out wearing the towel. She took some clothes in with her and did the same. I was a little chilly, and when she came back out I asked for a blanket. Instead she came over and started making out with me. She pushed me down on the bed and got on top of me and we continued.

Suddenly she broke off, smiled, rolled off me and sat up.

“I know we talked about this once, but I don’t really have much of a clothing choice for you, so how about wearing something of Cindy’s again? Unless you’d prefer to wear the towel until your clothes are dry?”

I could guess where this was going, and the way I cared for her now, I didn’t feel like she was trying to take advantage of me, so I just said, “Okay, what the heck.”

She left for Cindy’s room, coming back holding a girly white blouse and navy blue pleated skirt. From her own room she found a pair of panties, and handed it all to me. I went into the bathroom and put it all on. I glanced in the mirror, but still basically saw myself, wearing girls’ clothes.

She gave me a big smile when I came out, and had me sit down while she dried my hair and arranged it somehow, so that when I looked in her mirror I now saw a passable girl. I couldn’t believe how much difference that made. As I said earlier, I could kind of see how people thought I looked a little girly, but now, with the blouse and hairdo, there was almost no doubt. I felt a little faint, that with almost no effort she could make me look like a girl. Not a super-attractive one, but not too ugly either.

She was looking at me in the mirror and seemed to understand my reaction, especially since my jaw was hanging open. She leaned over and put her arms around me.

“Do you see what I mean now, about you making an attractive girl?”

“Well, um, kind of. Not ugly, anyway.”

“Peter, you’re very good looking, and I find you attractive, boy or girl. Now come back over to the bed.”

I did that, and we went back to making out, only this time I felt my senses kind of heightened. I was very aware of the fabric of the blouse, and the skirt on my legs. I was getting pretty aroused, we were both breathing pretty heavily. I pulled back. As much as I liked or loved Sharon, I wasn’t ready to make a baby. And I wasn’t a hundred percent sure I was ready to lose my virginity.

“I’m really sorry, Sharon, but I’m just not ready to go any further.”

“I wouldn’t mind, but you’re right – it’s probably not a great idea,” she answered. “And on another subject, I never put our clothes in the dryer! Come with me and we’ll do that.”

We gathered up the wet clothes and went down to the laundry room, got the dryer started, and then went to the kitchen for a snack. Of course she told me to sweep my skirt as I sat down. I was about to ask how Cindy was going to react when we heard her come in.

“Sharon? Can you get me a towel? I’m soaked through.” She called out.

“Coming, sis!” she yelled back, and left me in the kitchen. I was kind of dreading what she might say, even though I knew she was a mature and accepting person. But once she had gotten the towel from Sharon she went straight up the stairs to dry off and get out of her wet clothes. Sharon returned to the kitchen.

“What’s she going to say when she sees me, and in her clothes?”

“Cindy is a pretty laid back person, and I really don’t think she’ll make fun of you. If you want I’ll go up and tell her what happened, and why you’re wearing her things.”

That seemed like a better idea than her just walking in and discovering me, so I said yes, please.

Shortly after Sharon returned, Cindy came down, dressed very casually in a white top and shorts. She looked me over and said, “You look very pretty, Peter. But Sharon, why didn’t you just give him a pair of my pants and a tee?”

“Because I wanted to see what he’d look like girled up,” she said, with a mischievous smile.

“I can understand that,” Cindy said, knowingly. “You should have a girl name,” she added.

“Cindy, I’m just wearing these until my clothes are dry; I’m not trying to make a lifestyle change.”

“Yeah, but calling you Peter while you’re wearing those just doesn’t seem right,” she said.

Sharon closed her eyes for a minute and thought about it. Then she said, “How about… Gwen?”

It didn’t really matter much to me, since I wasn’t planning on making this a regular thing, although I admit I really enjoyed that make-out session.

“Sure, whatever you want.”

I could tell she wanted me to be a little more involved in the naming decision, but if it made her happy, then it was okay with me.

Crooking her finger at me, she said, “Come with me, Gwen.” And she led us back upstairs while Cindy grinned like mad.

After another lengthy and very stimulating round of kissing, etc., the dryer was finished, and I changed back into my clothes only minutes before her mom arrived home.

“Did any of you get caught in that sudden downpour? I could see it from my office window and it looked pretty heavy,” she said.

“Yes, mom. Peter and I got pretty wet, but I got him dried off,” she said, causing her mother to raise her eyebrows. Cindy kept her mouth shut.

Sharon, noting the eyebrow, just briefly said, “Blow dryer.”

I’m not sure her mother bought it, but we didn’t look too guilty. I mean, we didn’t actually do anything wrong.

-o0o-

After that whenever we made out I couldn’t stop myself from comparing it with how I felt doing it while dressed up. It was good, don’t get me wrong, but it wasn’t as intense. So though I couldn’t believe I was actually doing it, I found myself asking her to dress me up again.

“I’d be very happy to dress you up!” she said, almost too gleefully. “Any special reason for the request?”

I hemmed and hawed and finally got out that it just felt more intense.

“You’re right. It was better for me too,” she said, and went off to find something else of Cindy’s for me.

This time she returned with a dress. It had short puffy sleeves and a full skirt, which wasn’t as long as I would have liked. She pulled out a pair of panties from her drawers, and also got out a bra. That caused me to raise my eyebrows.

“This will enhance the experience, I’m sure,” she said, in explanation to my unspoken question. “Take off your shirt now so I can help you with it.”

I did, and she got it on me, using the tightest set of hooks (although they weren’t all that tight on me), and adjusted the little straps. Then she stuck a pair of tights in each cup and sent me into the bathroom to change. It was a little different this time, with these two objects kind of in my way. However, I was intelligent enough to figure out how to get my underwear off and the panties on with my limited line of sight. I dropped the dress over my head but was having trouble getting the zipper up. How did girls do that??

Coming out of the bathroom I just turned my back to her. She zipped the zipper up the rest of the way and I felt the dress tighten around me in a rather pleasant way. But it also seemed to make the, um, boobs stick out more. I turned around and Sharon was smiling. “Hi Gwen!” she said. She sat me down and did whatever it was she did to my hair to make it look like a girl’s hair, and then almost leaped on to me, pushing me on to the bed.

“You look so pretty!” she said, between kissing and nibbling. I was getting very turned on by her getting turned on, and yes, the clothes were adding to that feeling. I felt suddenly hot, my breathing sped up, and there was a definite straining down below, and before I knew it, I came, in what felt like the most spectacular way I ever had.

Sharon could easily tell, since I went limp as a rag doll.

“Sorry,” I said, feeling very embarrassed.

“Why?” she asked. “It’s a perfectly natural reaction.” She was still smiling at me, and leaned over to kiss me some more. I looked up at her and was amazed at this wonderful girl, and how kind she was to me. My eyes suddenly filled with tears as I realized how lucky I was.

“What’s the matter, Gwen?” she asked, very tenderly.

“I’m… I’m just grateful that you’re my friend. It’s been a long time, and like I said, I never had any expectations that you’d want to be anything more than friends.”

“You poor thing. You’ve had a lonely life, haven’t you.”

“I told myself I didn’t need friends, that I was fine by myself. Now look at me. Here I am, lying on the bed in a dress, making out with a wonderful girl, and needing a wash. Life can certainly be unpredictable!”

She laughed and rolled off me so I could get up and go wash myself. I glanced at the time and decided to change back to my own clothes. I looked in the mirror first, and now I was seeing a girl, one younger than I was. Shaking my head I somehow got the zipper down and was able to get the dress off and clean myself up. I was also relieved that nothing got on the dress. Actually, I was kind of hoping that Cindy never wore this dress anymore!

Sharon looked disappointed when I came back into her room in my own clothes, but I just pointed to the clock and she understood.

-o0o-

On the weekend I invited her over to my house, and she brought some girls clothes with her. Mom wasn’t home, and it wasn’t long before Sharon had me dressed up in another dress, and wearing pantyhose. We got right down to some serious necking, and enjoying ourselves. Afterwards we were just sitting on my bed talking, with our arms around each other when there was a knock and my door opened up. Mom had come home in stealth mode, it seemed. She was about to say something when she caught sight of me. I froze.

“Oh!” was her first remark.

Then, “That looks very nice on you, Peter.”

“Her name is Gwen, Mrs. Brock,” said Sharon, as if a mother bursting in on her cross-dressed son was an everyday occurrence. “She does look nice, doesn’t she!”

“Um, Gwen, does this have anything to do with our discussion of several months ago?”

“I think it just might, Mom. Sharon was the first person I knew who actually told me she thought I was a girl at first.”

“And obviously you have no problem with that, Sharon,” said my mom. “I’m glad, as he’s been mistaken for a girl ever since he was a toddler.”

“I’m glad to know I’m not the first one to think so, Mrs. Brock. Gwen really is a beauty.”

“I have to agree with you, Sharon. Ah, Gwen, you and I will talk tonight,” she said and left, actually closing the door. Maybe she thought two girls couldn’t get up to any mischief?

“I’m glad that’s out of the way!” said Sharon. “I was afraid there was going to be a big, unpleasant scene some day when your mom discovered you in a dress.”

“You thought this was going to happen?” I said, hardly believing it.

“It just seemed inevitable it would happen at some point,” she replied.

We talked on for a while and then decided to get a snack and a drink. There was no reason for me to hide from mom now, so we just went to the kitchen as is. Mom was sitting at the table with a coffee.

“Some refreshments, girls?”

It seemed stupid to me that I had any negative feelings about being called a girl and “she” when I was dressed as I was, and looking like a girl. But I knew mom wasn’t saying it in a condescending way.

“Don’t worry, mom, we’ll help ourselves.”

We got ourselves some cookies and drinks and sat down with her. The three of us chatted about inconsequential things for a while, until mom asked if I had been bullied lately.

“Not recently, no. The last time was a few months ago. Sharon was with me, but together we kicked their butts!”

“Peter was able to defuse the situation with a minimum of violence,” said Sharon. “I was very impressed.”

“Hey, you helped too, by kicking that other guy in the balls. He certainly would have hurt you otherwise.”

Mom looked a little horrified, but I reassured her that we had had no trouble from either one of those guys since then.

When Sharon was ready to leave, mom asked if she could leave the clothes with us for now. Sharon gave her a knowing look and said that was fine. I wasn’t sure what to make of it. She drove Sharon home, as it was getting late. I was too chicken to go outside like that, but she did ask me to stay dressed.

We fixed dinner together, which was nice, and then sat on the couch next to each other after we had finished cleaning up.

“So, how do you feel about being dressed like that?” she asked.

“Not as bad as I would have thought,” I answered. “There are some aspects of this I like.” Not that I would ever have gone into detail about my prime motivating factor with her!

“For me it’s a rare opportunity to see the daughter I never had,” she said. “And I’m grateful for that. You really are very pretty.”

“Well, um, thank you. I take after my mother.”

We both laughed at that.

“Are you thinking you might want to do it some more? Especially now that your mother is aware?”

“I really don’t know, mom, but I’m thinking probably yes.”

“Then we should probably get some of your own clothes. Those obviously aren’t Sharon’s. You told me she has a little sister, didn’t you?”

“Yes, they’re very likely Cindy’s, since we’re close to the same size, even though she’s thirteen! NOT that I’m jealous that she’ll still be growing!”

“Oh, in that case maybe you’ll get her hand-me-downs!” she teased.

“Ha Ha, mother. No, Cindy is a good sport, and a very nice person.”

“Still, when you take that dress off, let me check the size.”

We hugged, and she held me longer than usual, and then we went to prepare for bed.

“Goodnight, Gwen.”

“’Night, mom.”

-o0o-

Somehow Sharon’s parents never seemed to encounter us when I was dressed. We had progressed to the stage where I felt comfortable outside, and we’d go out sometimes to buy me some more girls clothes at a secondhand shop, so we wouldn’t have to raid Cindy’s closet. Sharon made sure I had the correct size bra, instead of using hers, and she bought me girls’ underwear.

She schooled me in the way I moved, gestures, how I talked, so that I wouldn’t stand out.

Our make-out sessions were wonderful, and I looked forward to them eagerly. When she came to our house I was always dressed, and sometimes she and mom and I would have dinner together. Mom even took us out to dinner—in the next town over—a few times. When we went out like that Sharon would change my hairdo and do full makeup on me to make sure I wasn’t easy to recognize. I really started to enjoy being Gwen.

-o0o-

I suppose it was only a matter of time before Sharon’s parents cottoned on to what was going on, practically under their noses. The two of us were in a neighboring town at the mall one day, with me as Gwen, and her mother happened to see us, though we didn’t see her. She was cool enough not to come over and say anything then, but when we got back to the Kensington’s house late that afternoon (via my house, to change), her mother was waiting for us.

“Sharon, I happened to see you and another girl today at the mall.”

Both of us had mini heart attacks on hearing that.

“Peter, the girl looked like she could be your sister.”

“Okay mom, stop toying with us. You obviously know it was Peter, except that en femme her name is Gwen. It’s a little game we play that started by accident when I spilled a coke on him the first day we met. We both liked it, and have been doing it ever since.”

I was really impressed with Sharon for that speech. She let her mother know we didn’t feel guilty, that it was not a big deal, that it wasn’t a sex thing, and that no one was being forced, and she did it in a calm, relaxed way.

“Why didn’t you let us know?”

“Why was it necessary to tell you? We aren’t doing anything illegal, and are just enjoying ourselves.”

“That’s a good point, Sharon. Peter—I mean Gwen, you looked very pretty, and I had no idea you were anything other than how you presented yourself.”

“Thanks, Mrs. K, but I’m in Peter mode now. Sharon has been a good teacher. My mom told me that ever since I was little people have been mistaking me for a girl. I really had no clue until I met Sharon.”

She took a longer look at me.

“Yes, I guess I can see how people might make that mistake.”

“Mom, how do you think Dad would react to Gwen?”

She thought for a bit, and said, “I’m really not sure. He’s never shown any homophobic behavior, to my knowledge. Should we watch Mrs. Doubtfire and see how he reacts?”

“Maybe it would be best to just let it alone for now. Dad doesn’t really have to know,” said Sharon.

“It would be safer,” said her mother, “and I agree that it’s not such an important issue.”

-o0o-

Well, the best-laid plans, and all that… Sharon and Gwen were walking about a block away from my house when a car slowed to a halt near us. Yes, it was her dad. He called out to Sharon, offering us a ride.

“We’re just going to Peter’s house, Dad, but thanks.”

“Hop in and I’ll take you there.”

If Sharon started arguing about it that would just probably raise a red flag, so we got in, with me in the back seat.

He turned in his seat to introduce himself, but after I saw a few expressions flit across his face I could tell he had figured out who I was.

“I’m Mark Kensington, Sharon’s father, obviously. What’s your name?”

Sighing, I said, “Gwen Brock, Mr. K.”

“Peter’s twin sister, I presume?”

“Even closer than that, Mr. K.”

Sharon was looking very nervous, which her dad noticed.

He started to laugh, and said, “Relax, honey, I’m not going to suddenly throw a fit and start yelling. Some day I need to show you my college yearbook, with the Powder Puff game photos.”

“YOU, Dad?”

Mr. K was a big, manly man. It was next to impossible to picture him in any sort of feminine garb.

“Yes, me. I was just as tall, but not quite as bulked out as I am now. And I didn’t make nearly as good an impression as Gwen here. Women and children screamed in horror when they saw me at the game.”

“I kind of doubt that, Dad, since they came to the game expecting to see sights exactly like you!”

“Okay, you got me, but it was a close thing. Were you two really heading to Peter’s house, or was this just a move to put me off the scent?”

“No, we really were. Thanks for the lift. I’m invited to have dinner there tonight, so don’t expect home me for a while,” said Sharon.

“Okay, honey. Call if you need a ride. Bye Gwen, nice to meet you.”

“See you, Mr. K. Thanks for the lift.”

He let us off at my driveway and took off.

“Guess we were worried for nothing, eh Sharon?”

“It was the best outcome, Gwen!”

-o0o-

A few years later Sharon and I had both graduated from high school. She had gone to the local community college until I was done with twelfth grade, so we could go off to university together. We were very close, as both girlfriends and girlfriend and boyfriend. And no, I never did get any taller, or bulk out, or sound manly. Nothing was wrong with me—my mom found an old photo of her grandfather, and it turned out he was also a real shrimp, though he did have muscles! She told me that part of his job was hauling 50 lb. sacks of potatoes around, draped over his shoulder.

Cindy did indeed outgrow her clothes, and Sharon took many of them for my wardrobe, although I didn’t think they were really what a girl my age would wear.

At college we lived in a small apartment off-campus, so our dress-up games continued. Many of the people we went to college with were, fortunately, far more mature than at our high school, so I wasn’t ostracized. But I did continue to get a lot of people thinking I was a girl.

After two years I still couldn’t decide what I wanted to put my energy into, so I dropped out and went to work in an office, putting the business classes I had taken to some use.

Sharon got a degree in social work. After a few years of that she went on to get a second Master’s degree in Counseling. When she opened her own office, I became her office manager/secretary/bookkeeper, as Gwen, and was accepted at face value by all.

I was now always Gwen, and didn’t really miss Peter, so I legally changed my name to make life easier. My mom loved having a daughter, and the Kensingtons liked me either way. The whole family was really great, not uptight at all, and they had raised their daughters very well. But I always felt like a midget when we visited them, Cindy having grown into a tall, lovely young woman, just like her sister.

We married, but decided not to have kids. The only thing I did to become more feminine was to get breast implants, which both of us enjoyed. I was a long way from the bullied short kid I’d started out as.

The End.