The first day back at school after the break was cold and overcast, the weather mirroring the moods of the student body. Mr. Burns, the English teacher, on the other hand, walked into class with a smile on his face. “Hope you all enjoyed Twelfth Night. Does anyone know what twelfth Night is?” I knew, but I didn’t want to call attention tp myself. “Anyone?” he repeated. Reluctantly, I raised my hand.

“Mr. Evans?” he said.

“It’s the end of the Christmas Season, and involves a lot of drinking and eating.”

“Very good,” Mr. Burns responded, “which is tomorrow for those who care. Please remember that your papers are due on Wednesday, which is Epiphany. From your papers I should be able to discover who actually read the play and who only surfed the internet for easy answers.”

I felt smug. Not only had my friends and I read it together and discussed it among ourselves, but I had actually written my paper, It was entitled: ‘Twelfth Night - Successful Cross-Dressing.’ In my paper I also made references to Cheribino’s cross-dressing in Der Rosenkavalier.

The school had a course in Civics during the first semester of the year with U.S. History during the second semester. For reasons which were rather unclear, all seniors had to take the Civics course and pass periodic exams in Civics to be allowed to graduate.

Becky, Sue, Joe and I were doing a joint study session at Joe’s house. The topic was the functions of the federal, state and local governments, and how they interrelated. Joe, the cynic, expounded, “All these layers of government do is pass silly laws, tax us to death, and then spend the money foolishly.”

“Yeah,” opined Sue, “let’s say that Roy was all dressed up as Renee, which washroom would he or she be allowed to use?” She turned to me and said, “What do you do?”

“Learn to hold your water and not drink too many soft drinks.” I responded, not wanting to go into the issue too deeply.

The prior Wednesday my mother told me that she had made an appointment with a counselor for Friday afternoon, and she handed me a note to give the school excusing me from my afternoon classes.

As I left for school on Friday morning, she said, “The appointment is for 1:30, so try to be home by 1:00.”

My friends were interested in what this was all about, but I had absolutely no clue. “My mother made the appointment but didn’t tell me anything,” I explained.

“Look, if when you get wherever you’re going, and you see men in white coats with a straight jacket, run like hell,” Joe suggested.

Saturday, November 22, 2014:

I woke up at 7:00. Today was my first day at the store. I had used hair remover and taken a shower the night before. I could smell the lotion I had used. It was flowery, and I liked it. A few minutes later my Mother knocked on my door. “Are you up?” she asked. “If you need any help, just call.”

“Okay, Mom,” I replied.

I took off my nightgown and put on my favorite bra with inserts and panties. While the corset was uncomfortable, it was a necessity, and I pulled the straps under my panties. Since I was wearing the corset, I could use nylon stockings, as opposed to pantyhose. I put on a full slip, and started with my makeup. I had found a nice sleeveless blue dress with a flared skirt, which I thought was just right for my first day of work. It was then that I asked my mother for help with my hair.

Immediately after I came home from school on Monday afternoon I changed into my girl clothes, to connect with my experiences. That had been Becky’s suggestion. I then re-read my journal and started on the essay. I noted the stereotypes which were relevant to my experience, and decided to limit my essay to just those points. According to the instructions, Mrs. Benson wanted the essay to be at least one thousand words. My first draft was twice that. I set it aside to polish it over the next few days. I changed out of my girl clothes for supper, to avoid any snide comments from my sister although something in me was saddened when I did.

At that point I realized that having let my feminine side out, she wasn’t going to go away without a struggle. I decided to keep the name Renee for my feminine side.

Classes were over, and I maintained a respectable grade point. The girls had gone their separate ways and I had moved into their apartment for the summer. I found out that Frank had pulled himself out of academic probation and was eligible to play football. Sylvia had a summer job at her Dad’s company, which meant that she had to work on Monday and Tuesday, the only days I had off. I would really miss her.

Before we all went our ways for the summer, Sylvia had an astute observation, “You’re going to be dressed for five of the seven evenings of the week, so why not make if full time until college starts in the fall?”

“That’s a good idea,” I responded, “that way I can have my hair done in a really feminine style, and maybe have some highlights. That way I won’t have to change the style all summer.”

“So you’ll be Jean the whole summer?” Sylvia wanted to know.

At last I graduated, and was heading off to college, to major in French Literature with a minor in Business. I figured that I would not be cross-dressing while in college, so I left all of my feminine attire at home. I figured wrong.

Well, I had admitted that I liked being a girl at times, but that I liked being a boy when I was with Sandy. My project, or maybe my performance was no secret, and most of my friends and acquaintances thought it was funny. On the other hand, a few people thought it was perverted, and made no secret of that.

I was even hit on by a few boys who admitted that they were gay, as if my cross dressing in some way made me gay. I gently corrected their misapprehensions. What was more interesting were the number of girls who hit on me. They made it clear that they wanted me as a girlfriend, since I looked sexy as a girl, and I had my male parts. I told them that I already had a girlfriend.

To everyone, I made it plain that my motivation to wear a dress had nothing to do with sex or my gender; I was motivated by getting an ‘A’ on my project.

“Yeah, but you seemed to be enjoying wearing a dress and acting like a girl. Way too much for just an ‘A’ it seems to me,” one of my male friends said.

“Well,” I responded, “I thought it best to act the part as well as I could. I always want to do my best.”

“Yeah,” he replied, “but you make one sexy chick. If I didn’t know better, I’d ask you out.”

“So you’re going to sing a girl’s song?” Gloria asked with a snicker.

“It’s not a girl song or a boy song,” I instructed her, “both females and males have recorded it.”

“But are you going to sing it as a girl?” Gloria asked, ignoring what I previously said.

I just gave her a dirty look in response.

However, Sandy picked up on this exchange. “Didn’t Mlle. Vert suggest that you dress up like Lucienne Boyer when you sing it?” she interjected. Now my sisters were as interested in my project as a bunch of vultures looking at a fresh kill. This conversation was quickly getting out of control.

Sarah Daniels could not be considered beautiful, or even cute. She was larger than most girls in her class, and did not have the curves associated with eighth grade girls. She looked a lot like a boy. She was physically strong and enjoyed sports.

On a warm spring afternoon after school, Sarah walked into the kitchen of her family home and dumped her book bag on the floor. “How was your day, honey?” her Mother asked.

“Okay,” Sarah replied as she walked over to the refrigerator.

“Learn anything interesting?”

“No.” she started. “Wait, Yes, In health class they talked about boys who think they are girls, and girls who think they are boys, or something like that. It got me thinking. I am more boy than girl.”

I wore a dark-green cocktail dress which emphasized the feminine curves which I was developing. My father wore an angry expression; angry that my Mother and Emma had practically forced him to be there, angry at me for the way I looked and acted, angry at Gloria, who he didn’t like, and otherwise just plain angry.

I was enjoying my new situation. The food at my Aunt’s house was a lot better than at home, and under my Aunt’s supervision I was becoming a quite good cook. The parties my Aunt threw, about one every two months, were spectacular. Aunt Beth hired kitchen staff and maids for the occasion, but still there was a lot for me to do, not that I minded it, since a side benefit was that Aunt Beth wanted me to have a new party dresses or cocktail dresses for each occasion.

My Aunt was a supporter of the arts, and there were concerts and plays to attend, along with art gallery showings. Some times I was even able to get an invitation to bring Steve along. While invitations were extended to Emma she mostly declined, because she had no interest in serious drama or classical music. Even with the social events, my Aunt made sure that I had time to study, so I kept up my grade point average. This meant that there was talk of academic scholarships, which would be necessary if I even hoped to go to college.

Finally my seventeenth birthday was just around the corner. Unfortunately for me, I share a birthday with Adolf Hitler. This caused great merriment among my classmates, who began calling me ‘Adolf’ and ‘der Fuhrer’ much to my chagrin.

After the incidents with Tom and his friend Fred, I decided that I had to be careful. I had acquired a girlfriend and, other than babysitting jobs, I did not appear outside in feminine attire. This was protective camouflage; to the outside world I was just a regular teenage boy.

Thanksgiving can be a hectic time for most families, and mine was no exception.

Author’s Note: This is a continuation of The Babysitter. All of the people who commented wanted me to continue the story. This part starts where The Babysitter ended, so you might want to read that first.

I looked for somewhere to sit, and saw a straight backed chair. I walked over to the chair, and instinctively smoothed out the shorts as if they were a skirt before sitting on the front edge of the chair, my back straight, my knees together, and my legs crossed at the ankles, exactly as my Mother had instructed me to do. This was not lost on Tom’s mother, who was closely watching me. I saw her stare, and gave her a small smile. She smiled in return, but it looked like there was a question in the smile, like why did I sit like that?

Steve and Dave have jobs at an amusement park for the summer, which go up in smoke when the park is destroyed by fire. Instead, they end up going to the Laughton Academic Achievement Camp for the summer. Both sign up for drama class not having the faintest idea what it was about, except that it wasn’t PE.

Brian finds that he will be riding side saddle in a parade

A transitioning story as told by a friend

“I don’t like the lightning and thunder,” Carl said in a frightened voice. He moved closer to me, as if I could protect him. His T-shirt was so soaked, it clung to him and was practically transparent. It was then that I noticed what looked like straps over his shoulders. I had no idea what they were.

“Hey, whatca wearing under there?” I asked, pointing to his shoulders. It was too hot to wear even a T-shirt, but wearing something under it made even less sense.

His face began to redden. “Nothing,” he replied.

“No, there’s something,” I persisted.

He just stood there, looking at me. His face was even more red. “If I tell you, you’ve got to keep it a secret. Will you do that?”

“Of course,” I said. Now I was really interested.

He pulled off his T-shirt, and there was some kind of garment there. Not having any sisters, and being rather naive about girls, I had no idea what it was. “What is that?” I asked.

“A camisole,” was his reply. I could see that it looked like something a girl would wear, but the word “camisole” meant nothing to me.