"I'M NOT A GIRL!" I screamed at my mother, who just stood there with that smug look on her face.

I guess I should explain something first. Okay, my name is Chris Willim; I am biologically male, contrary to what you see. It's not my fault that I grew these pecks (no, they are NOT breasts, although mom makes me wear a size 34B bra). My full name is Christian Abe Willim; I am a blond-haired, brown-eyed male. I stand five feet six and three-quarter inches tall (I’m proud of that three-quarter of an inch, thank you); fourteen years of age and desperately waiting for male puberty to hit me. So far, due to my body's weird testosterone production, instead of typical male development, I look more like a girl (sigh); so much so, that the only clothing that fits is girls' clothing.

Hence why my mom and I are in the junior ladies’ department at Sears, with me in changing room in my underwear.
What do I have on?
Oh sheesh; ok, ok, I'm wearing a white plain bra and plain *boy cut* panties (they're the only thing that fits, dammit), my boy's jeans and sweatshirt are currently not in the changing room (mom took them) and instead she is trying to get me to wear this darn pink (gods) summer dress.

"Chris, honey, you need something to wear to the family gathering that’s presentable," she said.

"Fine! I’ll wear my black pants and white shirt with a tie!"

"You know they don’t fit anymore."

" So, let’s go to the men’s department and get new ones."

"Is there a problem, miss?" the sales lady asks. I guess we were getting a little loud. Why is it so hard for mom to understand I’M NOT A GIRL?

I don’t WANT to be even near all this girl stuff, yet she is trying to get me to wear a stupid dress.

"Oh sorry! It’s just that she refuses to give up her tomboy ways (as if)! We’re trying to get her something nice to wear since she has filled out." Quite the smooth talker, my mom.

"Hey Chris, maybe this blue one will... Oh sorry!" That unfortunately, is my younger sister Sally. Mom roped her into this as well. I think they are both having WAY too much fun with this.

Like, really, here I am, a boy in a girls’ changing-room being asked to try on girl outfits. I really don’t want to wear any of them and I’m naked (ok, well, not really naked, as I still have underwear on), but here are three females having way to much fun trying to get me to look like them. I could just die.

"Yes, I can see. Clearly, there is no way she can carry the tomboy-look any longer."
Piss off saleslady!

"Chris, you’re a very pretty young woman, so you should express it to the world. Here now, I think this skirt and top combo is just darling, so you’ll have the boys drooling over you."

Totally wrong thing to say.

In case you’re wondering, I’m kinda curled up against the wall with my knees against my chest trying vainly to hide my embarrassment from these nosy females. Ladies changing-rooms seem to be so much bigger than the guys’ tiny changing cubicles. It doesn’t help that there’s a curtain instead of a door, either, so I can’t lock them out; worse luck.

The skirt is a black, knee-length thingy that flares out. The top is a kinda t-shirt thing with a *scoop* neckline (whatever the heck that means), in an off-white (cream apparently) color with poofy, tiny sleeves. Ok, so I don’t know all these girl terms for clothes - I’M A BOY.

" Oh, that is cute! You look just great in that, sis. Is there one in my size?" My sister - the clothes horse.

"We’re here for Christina, (I SO hate that name!) you can get something else another time, young lady!"

" But Mommm…"

"No buts. Now, Chris, stop pouting and put these on."

" No! Those are girls’ clothes, get me some guy clothes or give me back my sweats."

To save time writing; I’ll just tell you after much arguing, I finally did put on the stupid skirt and top, which, of course, fitted perfectly. I looked *just awesome* in the combination. I felt like a total clown. I also had to put on the silk thingy that goes under it and some stupid, black shoes that keep falling off my feet (flats are not what I would call them). Mom made me wear them out of changing-room to the counter where the sales-lady clipped off the tags and rang them through, while I stood there with my arms crossed, steaming mad.

I just know mom is gonna keep pushing for rest of day to *finish the outfit*. I very tempted to run to guys’ section and get some descent, proper clothes, but mom took my wallet, so I’m broke and have no way of getting home. I’m not even going go anywhere where someone from school might see me.

"Thank you so much for your help, Joan. I’m sure Christina (cringe) appreciates your help."

"Thank you for shopping at Sears."

At this dismissal, I started my shuffle walk towards the exit in the hope of reaching mom’s car before I got …….

"CHRIS... Chris Willim? Is that you?”

SHIT!

Just my luck; the biggest gossiper of Mount Trail Secondary School happens to spot me.
What do I do?
Gods, I wanna die, especially in something like this that leaves almost no question that I look like a girl. I know, I’ll just ignore her and walk by like it’s not me, yeah, yeah, that will work.

"CHRISTINA ABIGAIL WILLIM, YOU GET BACK HERE THIS INSTANT!"

Mother ffffudge!

Why does she have to use that stupid name here of all places?

Everyone has a name their mother calls them when they do something bad and you HAVE to listen to them. Me, I used to ignore it until she started with this one. Sigh, I’m so dead.

As I turned with my head hung down, sorta slumped over in resignation, I caught the extra wide eyes of Mel Thornston (the big gossip).

"Its not my fault mom did this IM NOT A GIRL really!"She will believe me. Please believe me. PLEASE

"Uh, it’s nice to see you finally showing that you’re really a girl, Chris."

SHIT, SHIT!

"I never got that whole tomboy look, but WOW, I didn’t know you had such a HOT body! Like wow, I’m, like, totally blown away. I gotta text Shelly about this!"

And... she’s off. By this afternoon, the pic she no doubt took will be some guy’s desktop pic, and everyone in town will call me Christina instead of Christian, yeah, mom flipped the last two letters.

Gaa, why is this happening to me? I’M A GUY for Christ sakes. I shouldn’t be a HOT BABE, well maybe, but not in the sense that I’m a female hot babe. If I could cry, I would probably be soaked with tears at this point, but since I AM A GUY and we don’t cry, guess what - no tears! Why does Mom have a huge bag for my old clothes? Oh no, she didn’t. Shit, I bet she snuck a few more feminine clothes of some sort.

"That is NOT the way a lady walks or stands. You know better young lady!" Grrrrrrrrr.
" Now come on or we will be late for your appointment."

Appointment?

What is she talking about?

I got a doctor’s appointment? Noooooo, not that I know of. I, of course, stood there, totally clueless as to what she was talking about. Which for me is a blank look; not my best look, trust me.

Instead of explaining, she grabs my hand and drags me off to who knows where. Why is she going towards the mall entrance? Wait, hold on, that’s not a place I wanna go!

I tried to hang back, but apparently these flat thingies are not really shoes. I.E., I had no grip, so just slid along behind her anyway..

Six months, just six months ago I was a normal teenage boy. Ok, well, maybe not exactly normal, but hey, I tried. I love sports, cars, dirt-bikes. (I’m still hoping I can get dad to get me that Honda 125cr...) According to doctors, it could have started earlier. But that’s when I noticed that my jean pockets were tight. I have done some reading and, honestly, there was no itching, things just started to happen. It was gradual and slow; when you see something everyday you just don’t notice things happening. It wasn’t until about May that my, uh, pecks got my mom’s attention. My dad of course freaked out. After much blood loss, scans, and many tests it was determined that I’m a freak. Sorry, but that’s what I see myself as. My testicles, yes, I have them, cannot descend. This is causing problems, as while I’m sorta producing testosterone, it’s actually closer to estrogen.

Biology is next semester, so maybe I’ll know more then. Now in most males, this would do almost nothing but give them very tiny breasts. Unfortunately, I take after my mother’s side of family, sigh. I found this out after every one of my aunts on her side had reduction surgery by the age of twenty. Gigantomastia seems to be a common problem for women; this is really large breasts. Guess what, in males it makes me look like a girl. I really don’t know all the details, just a general idea. It’s close to what some body-builders experience. I’ll never lactate or actually have ducts and stuff, as it’s really just fat build-up. However, it does look just like a woman’s breasts. I blame the bra my mom made me wear as soon as she noticed. And, yes, I didn’t like it, so I cut about five of them up into tiny pieces before she laid down the law.

When I’m older, like eighteen or twenty, I can get them cut off (YES!!), but until then I’m stuck with them. I hid it as much as possible during school. Apparently not well enough, darn that Mel. I was ok until about three days ago when my grandmother decided that the family should sit for family portraits. Ok, I admit these things are hard to hide and (sigh) may even get bigger, but the idea that I would make a better girl for pictures than a boy was just stupid. I rebelled, of course.

Ok, maybe the passing out after the fall at the skate park wasn’t a good idea, as if I had any control. My father was not impressed, neither was mom when they were told their "daughter" was in the emergency at St Bics (one day I’ll find out the full name of that hospital). Thus, although I could have got away with some stuffing and a new suit, my punishment was to be a girl for the pics. Sigh

So, here I am getting dragged to wherever in this skirt, top and these useless shoes. My mom and sister are just having way too much fun with this. Oh no.. oh hell no..

"NO WAY"

"We talked about this you will NOT embarrass the family anymore"

Guess where I got dragged to?

"We have an appointment for Christina Willim"

"Ah yes, Tilly will be right with you she is just finishing up with a dye job"

Yep, you guessed it, I’m to get a haircut. I should let you know my hair is not really all that long, but I have a natural wave to my thick and rather unruly hair. Long ago, we found out that the best solution was to grow it out tie it in pony-tail stuck down my shirt, which works for me; - brush - snap - elastic and I’m done. Ok, so I let it go a bit longer, but I’ve kinda had other things on my mind of late.

"So let’s see, ohhh, a makeover. Cools, we don’t get many of those. You are gonna have so much fun, girl!"

Huh what?

Is this some sorta of hairstyle? Wonder if anyone has written ‘Being a girl for dummies.’

"Hello, I’m Tilly and you must be Christina?" Yuck
"Oh my, what have you done with your hair and those nails? Well, don’t worry, we will fix you up."
Huh what? What’s wrong with my hair? I washed it two days ago.

"Come with me, sweetie, and we will get started."

Thus began my immersion into the woman’s world, known as the makeover. First I was tortured with sugaring. Not sure why someone would go the extreme lengths to actually want a lot of pain too ... oh hey, this feels pretty good.. Wait a min, oh never mind. Then came a facial with more hair removal, in this case my eyebrows were removed. If she had just left me some more hair on brows, I may have actually liked it. Then came the wash, repeat rinse, condition and I don’t know how many other things. It took a while then she started to trim my hair.

"So hun, what kind of style are we gonna do today?" At this point Mom actually relented somewhat.

"Something easy to care for and not too fem," I said, hoping she knew what that meant, because I surely didn’t. For most of this I was silent, because, quite simply, I was scared. Normally I go in, say trim and wait until the hair is taken off and then leave; takes about fifteen minutes. This took a lot longer with a lot of chatting back and forth between mom and Tilly.

While this was going on, my nails were filed and painted. Ok, ok, I had a manicure! Happy? (grumble)

This girl stuff is new to me. I’M A BOY - get over it. This did, however, give me plenty of time to reflect over the past few days.

I woke up in the hospital in pain. I knew that I had wiped out on skates, and it seems - blacked out. But the pain was different. Mom and Dad were upset. It was just so weird. You see, when I wiped out I wiped out big time. My hoodie got torn off, and my jeans were wrecked In other words, I was showing off my bra and panties for all to see. Had I been awake I would have been mortified. Thankfully, a passing jogger called an ambulance and covered me with his raincoat.

The hospital thought that I was transitioning, or something like that, - hence, the daughter call. I didn’t understand much at the time but I really do now. It seems when I was like three years old a cousin on my dad’s side became a girl. There is a video of an incident that they showed me the next day. It’s awful. I don’t normally cry but by the end I most certainly was, and all I could think why didn’t someone help her. I might write about that video sometime but it’s really ugly.

Anyway, after the video, my family (including grandma) sat with me and explained about how dangerous it is for someone who looks like I do. They wanted me to spend the summer as a girl. Some sort of learning experience. I agreed to a couple of days. I figured a few days being called a girl and , SIGH, Christina and that’s it..

Nope, I’m getting my hair, nails, a couple of outfits, all to learn a lesson. I’m not sure what that lesson is. I thought I was hiding it before but from what Mel said.. I guess not.. shit.

So, what makes a girl a girl, and a boy a boy? Hmm, good question, I used to think that it was just what was in your underwear.. apparently not. This is gonna take some thought, lol, that’s actually a first for m, as I’m more the impulsive type; - just do what I feel like (within reason). I don’t even have access to the internet at this time, since they took my computer (the only reason I actually agreed to this, but ssshh) OMG, I might have to go to the library and read paper stuff. My parents love us kids a lot and I know this, for they do things to teach us even if they drive me batty in the meantime. So, I’m fairly sure this has a very specific purpose.

"Tada!"

Huh, what, oh, hey who’s the babe.. Oh my.."That’s, that’s ..that’s….."

"Yes honey, that very pretty girl is you."

Oh what pretty birdies!

"Chris...Chris...CHRISTINA!!!"

Blessed blackness.

Next Chapter ehhh dont know yet wait and see.

Many thanks to Tanya Allen for a quick edit.