My New Miniskirt

by Susan J. Charles
 
A new skirt sets a whole chain of events in motion.

 © 2012, by Susan J. Charles. All rights reserved.

It finally came! My new khaki miniskirt finally arrived. I couldn’t wait to try it on, but I wanted to do it right.

Fortunately, that day my wife was pulling a 12-hour shift at the hospital. She’s a section head of nurses in the surgical wing. This usually gives her a decent schedule, but every once in a while, she has to pull a long schedule. Those days were the days I lived for, since I was sure she would be stuck there with no chance of coming home unexpectedly. That meant I could let Susan out to play.

On those days, I could live as I really wanted to–as Susan. I never have figured out exactly why, but ever since I was very little, I’ve wanted to be a girl. I was caught trying on my little sister’s slip when I was around four. I was sternly told that boys did not wear girl’s clothes. When I tried to protest that I wanted to be a girl, I was told in no uncertain terms that that was impossible and to get the idea out of my head. I was a boy–period.

That didn’t stop me. I felt this need to show myself to the world as a girl. In fourth grade, I invited my best friend over so I could show him “my disguise.” While he waited, I pulled on a pair of my sister’s pink panties and one of her dresses. Then I showed myself to him.

To his credit, he didn’t laugh. In fact he even said I looked like a girl. I was so excited by that that I kissed him on the cheek. Then I pulled back and murmured something about trying to act like a girl while in disguise. He wasn’t freaked our or anything and even asked if we could go to the movies sometime with me in disguise. I was thrilled and we made plans for me to sneak my clothes out of the house and change at his house before we walked to the theater. I wasn’t sure what I’d do about my hair since it was shorter than many girls of the time. I reasoned that girls with shorter hair were starting to appear on TV, so maybe I could comb it into a female style.

Unfortunately, the middle of the next week, he told me his father was being transferred out of town. They left the next day and I lost my best friend and never did get to experience being his girlfriend, if only for an afternoon.

I grew doing typical boy things. But always in the back of my mind was the thought that I’d rather be doing girl things. I spied on my sister as she was playing tea party with her friends and wishing I could be one of them.

As puberty approached, I became more apprehensive. I remember sitting in a class at Boy Scout camp and being appalled at the amount of bushy hair on a counselor’s legs. I was glad my own legs were smooth. I tried to ignore the hairs that sprouted on my chin when I was about 13. They finally grew so long that my father noticed. He was excited that his little boy was becoming a man and took great pleasure in showing me how to shave. I went into my room afterward and sobbed into my pillow.

Even though I grew taller and hairy, I still “borrowed” my sister’s clothes. Fortunately, I didn’t shoot up like some of my classmates. I got to about 5’8.” Wearing her dresses, I’d stare at myself in the mirror and wish I could look that way all the time. Bowing to the pressures of society, I did all the typical boy things in high school. I took girls to the dances and envied the pretty dresses they were wearing, wanting to know how they felt and what held them up.

I threw myself into activities. I earned a letter in track and was in several clubs. I found out I was considered popular, although I never felt that way. I was friendly with both girls and guys and mildly attracted to both.

One winter weekend I was in a dream come true. My parents and sister went out of town to a family wedding. I couldn’t go because of a school thing. My parents decided I was old enough to stay by myself. As soon as they left, I was in my sister’s room. I could live as a girl for the entire weekend.

I quickly pulled on a pair of panties and a bra and found the skirt and sleeveless top I’d admired for some time. I stuffed my bra with stockings. My sister’s shoes were too small for my feet, but my mother’s fit fine. I found a pair of my mother’s two-inch sandals that I really liked and slipped them on my feet. They made my legs look terrific!

Then I worked on my hair. I’d been letting it grow longer ever since I first heard about plans for the wedding almost six months ago. I’d dodged a few trips to the barbers. Fortunately, guys with long hair in bands were all the rage just then and I could argue I was just trying to look like whoever the latest superstar was.

My sister had a magazine showing how to roll hair to create hairstyles, and I’d already picked out the one I wanted. I took my top off and draped a towel over my shoulders. I then washed my hair in the bathroom sink and put conditioner on it. Carefully following the instructions in the magazine, I rolled my hair on curlers. I’m sure I took more time than girls who were used to doing such things. But at the end, my head with rows of rollers looked exactly like the illustrations.

I put my top back on and went to watch TV while my hair dried. While the program was on, I worked on my fingernails. I follow the instructions in “How To Have The Perfect Sexy Nails,” in one of my sister’s older magazines. I used an Orange Stick to push back my cuticles and carefully trimmed them. Then I filed my nails into ovals. Finally I slowly painted them with a soft pink nail polish. I really liked the way they looked when I spread my fingers apart to inspect my work. My fingers looked long and yes, a little sexy.

At last my hair was dry. I carefully unrolled the curlers, hardly daring to breath. I purposely faced away from the mirror while I took them out. I could feel the curls in my hair bouncing up and down, but I didn’t want to look until I had every last curler out. Finally, I was done. I turned around and OMG! My hair looked so good. Gone were any traces of a boy. A girl with a soft curly hairstyle looked back at me. I couldn’t believe how good I looked.

I couldn’t do much about my eyebrows, but most girls my age hadn’t started to shape them anyhow. I quickly put on the pink lipstick that matched my fingernails. That completed my transformation. I couldn’t believe how feminine I felt and how good it felt to be that way. I was the way I was supposed to be. I was a girl.

I got out one of my sister’s purses and put money in the billfold in it. I added some tissue and the lipstick. At that point, I was on automatic pilot. There simply was no way I was not going out and show the world this pretty girl.

I took one of my sister’s coats from the hall closet and dropped my house keys into my purse. Then I walked out the front door. Three steps outside, I found out that sandals are not practical winter wear. I went back inside and traded the sandals for a pair of brown, low-heeled boots which came up almost to my knees. They hid my legs more than I wished, but were a lot more practical.

It was only when I was halfway down the street to the bus stop that I began to wonder if any of our neighbors might have seen me coming out of our house. By then it was too late anyway, so I continued to the bus stop. Of course, someone I knew could have been standing there, but I was lucky. The bus came and I took coins from my purse to pay the fare and found a seat. I remembered to sweep my hands under my coat and skirt as I sat down, just as I’d watched my mother and sister do many times.

The bus got more crowded as it got closer to downtown. I sat quietly with my purse in my lap. Finally, we approached the stop I wanted. It was in front of the main store of a large department store chain. As I rose to make my way to the door, I had to squeeze between some people standing. As I passed, a hand pushed in and rubbed across my rear end. I looked and a somewhat seedy looking man grinned back at me. Now that was something I’d never had happen before. I said nothing, but went down the steps and out the bus door.

As I walked toward the store, I thought about what had just happened. I was reminded in a somewhat unpleasant way that I was a girl now. As such, I was vulnerable in a way boys didn’t seem to be. I realized I’d have to keep an eye on time, because a young girl shouldn’t be out alone after dark. I’d be putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation. That was something I’d not had to worry about when I was a boy.

I really had no idea what I wanted to do in the department store. I’d just wanted to experience being out in the world, accepted as a girl. I went to the clothing section, of course. I pictured myself wearing all the nice clothes I looked at. But I was too shy to actually try anything on.

After a while, I found myself at the cosmetics counter. The clerk was a teenage girl a few years older than I was.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” she asked.

“No, I was just looking. Actually, I’m not too familiar with most of these things. My mother really doesn’t like me wearing makeup.” (Boy was that an understatement!)

“A lot of girls your age have that problem,” she replied. “Tell you what. Let me teach you. You shouldn’t look like you are wearing much anyway, but you’ll be amazed how different you can look with a few tricks.”

“It can come back off?” I asked. I didn’t want anything permanent to be done to me.

“Oh, sure. I’ll give you a few wipes so you can take it off before your mother sees you, if you want.”

And so began my makeup lesson. The clerk, Shirley, showed me how to put on foundation and mascara. The mascara really brought out my long eyelashes. Eye shadow was too old for me, I was informed. But a little mascara, foundation and blush added to my lipstick made my face look really pretty. I could hardly believe that fresh, pretty girl staring back at me in the mirror was really me.

“Oh Shirley, I love it!” I said. “But I can’t afford to buy these things.”

“These are samples the company gives us for makeovers,” she replied. “ I have to throw the rest away since a girl should never share makeup for sanitary reasons, so I’ll just give you the rest. Let me also write down the things I think should be part of your makeup kit. Then, when your mother thinks you are old enough to start wearing makeup, bring her in and let me wait on you guys so I get the commission.”

“Oh I will,” I insisted. Inside, I was wishing I could keep that promise. As I looked in the mirror again, I thought again how much I loved being a girl.

With my makeup on, I knew there was no way anyone would think I was a boy. I looked good! I decided to go back to the girls’ clothing section of the store. This time, I found two skirts that I really liked. I then searched for tops that would go with them. I’d listened to my sister and her friends enough to know the importance of skirts and tops going together.

I quickly found three tops that might work. I took them off the rack and took everything back to the dressing rooms. I’d been shopping with my mother enough to know the drill. I had to tell the attendant how many pieces I had and she gave me a tag. I then went into the dressing room and quickly shed my sister’s clothes. I pulled the first skirt on and tried a top. It didn’t look quite right in the mirror, so I tried the second top. Now we were talking! I really looked at myself and saw a cute, young teenage girl wearing a really great outfit. I couldn’t believe how good the skirt made my legs look. If I were a boy, I’d really look twice at me.

That is…if I were really the girl I was seeing in the mirror then boys would…oh heck. I was getting myself confused. Taking a breath, I focused again. I was a girl today. I had a right to think what I’d just thought. I could say, “If I were a boy” because I wasn’t one today.

That settled, I tried on the second skirt and remaining top. They were cute too. I really wished I could buy both outfits and show myself off to the world.

Reluctantly, I took off the second outfit and put my sister’s clothes on again. I returned the clothes to the attendant.

“Did you like them?” she asked.

“Very much,” I replied. “I just need to get my mother to buy them for me.”

“We’re having a sale next week, you should bring her in then.”

“I’ll try to. Thanks!”

It was starting to get late, so I went back to the bus stop. It was more crowded going back this way, but a boy got up and let me have his seat. I smiled at him in thanks. There are some advantages to being a girl, I thought.

The light was starting to fade as I got off the bus. I had to hurry. But, I realized that as the light went, I wouldn’t be as visible to the neighbors if someone did happen to look out their window.

I made it back to our house, took the keys out of my purse and let myself in. As I put my sister’s coat away, I caught sight of myself in the hall mirror. I was a babe!

As I got ready for bed later that night, I remembered to remove the makeup per Shirley’s instructions. Even with everything off, I still looked like a girl with my hair. I loved that. I pulled on one of my sister’s nightgowns and snuggled into bed. It had been quite a day. The world had seen Susan!

The rest of the weekend went by quickly. I was Susan every minute. I didn’t go outside again, but I spend a lot of time trying on my sister’s outfits, including her prom dress. It felt so heavenly! I pictured myself at the prom being held by some big guy who pressed me tight against him as we danced. I practiced my makeup skills using the samples Shirley had given me. I was pretty good by Sunday.

At the end of the weekend, I carefully washed and folded all the clothes I had worn. I reluctantly washed the curl out of my hair and hid the makeup in the back of my closet.

The weekend did it. If I hadn’t been hooked before, my experiences, especially going downtown as a girl, had done it. I knew that was what I wanted.

But, I could never bring myself to tell my family about my desires. I had a few more weekends where I could totally be a girl and several nights when I had the house to myself. But I never moved beyond wearing borrowed clothes.

I had hoped to be able to buy some clothes of my own when I went away to college. But, expenses being what they were, I had to live in the dorm, a very public place. My roommate was nice enough, but I didn’t trust him enough to even want to try and hide some girl’s clothes in the room.

I did manage a couple of weekends at a motel wearing things I’d picked up at a thrift store. At the end of the weekend, they were cheap enough that I didn’t mind putting them in a Goodwill Collection Box.

Then I met Candace. She was a nursing student who was in a few of my classes. It was love at first sight. At least on my side. She took a little more convincing, before she’d go out on a date with me. But the date was fantastic. I think my experiences being a girl made me a little more attentive to her needs. We shared a lot of common interests in books, music and ideas. That’s not to say we didn’t get into some almost knockdown, drag-outs on some issues. But we had fun doing it and making up later. In no time at all, we were an item.

We were married right after we graduated. I’d started a website design and management business, so I could work at home while Candy completed her nursing degree.

Actually living with a woman taught me a lot about how women live, in a way living with my mother and sister hadn’t. I quickly learned about everything, including living through PMS and periods. I picked up a lot of shortcuts in hair styling, makeup and clothes from her.

Much as I tried, that old urge to dress didn’t go away when we got married. I’d thought and hoped that it would. It wasn’t sexual. Candy and I were very compatible and took lots of pleasure from each other when we made love or even just cuddled.

No, it was more that the more I was around Candy, the more I envied the way she could look, the clothes she could wear, the whole way she could act. She could be so free in a way that a man could never allow himself to be.

It was tearing me apart. I loved Candy so much and I wanted to be just like her.

Since I spent so much time alone at home, I was in a position to act on my desires. I was pulling in good money as I build up my client list, so I could afford to finally buy the wardrobe I wanted. I spent a lot of time on-line and roaming department stores, “buying things for my wife.”

I learned how to speak in a feminine voice from the Internet, too. After a lot of practice, I was even able to fool salespeople who called on the phone. It got to the point where whenever I was dressed, I automatically spoke with my “Susan” voice.

I felt bad about hiding things from Candy, but much of my earlier tension was gone. I could be a girl during the day. It helped a lot.

OF course, Candy, being the loving, sensitive person she was, noticed a change in me.

“You’ve been acting so much happier lately,” she said one night. “You seem, oh I don’t know, so much lighter or something.”

I was torn. Should I tell her and risk everything or lie? Candy was from a fairly fundamentalist background. But she had been exposed to a lot of different lifestyles in college and certainly saw a lot at her workplace.

In the end, I couldn’t risk it.

“It’s just the business has really taken off now and I’m happy with what I’m doing now and I’m happy with us.”

“Yes, things are really going well right now. I don’t want anything to change, except I may be up for a promotion at work.”

“A promotion? That’s great!”

“I’d be a section chief. It’s more money but the downside is more hours at work.”

“Candy, you need to do what makes you happy. You don’t even have to work now if you don’t want to.”

“Oh, I love what I’m doing. I feel like I’m making a real difference in some people’s lives.”

“Then I fully support you. Let’s hope they think as much of you as I do.”

And I did support her. I loved her and wanted only the best for her. That made my secret even harder to bear.

Then one day, I had just finished putting on my makeup. I was wearing a new blue, A-line skirt and a frilly blouse with lots of lace on the three-quarter sleeves. The outfit looked really good and my three-inch navy heels made my legs look terrific in it. I’d just finished putting on my bracelets and was picking up my purse to put my lipstick in it when the front door opened.

“Craig?” It was Candy. “Surprise! I had to rush home and tell you I got the promotion. I…” She stopped and stared at me.

“Who are you and what are you doing in my house? Where’s Craig?”

It was as if all the air had drained out of me. I truly knew what it meant when someone said they felt deflated. I’d been caught. I turned and looked into Candy’s eyes

“I prefer Susan when I’m dressed like this,” I said. I felt so bad. Not only had I been caught, but also on the day she’d received such good news. What more could go wrong?

“Craig? Oh my God. It’s you!” Candy stood there stunned. Finally she kind of shook herself and walked all the way around me.

“I can’t believe how good you look. I thought you, that is Craig, was having another woman in here.”

“ I suppose, in a sense, I have been. Maybe we’d better sit down and talk.”

We adjourned to the living room and I made some tea for us. All the time I worked, I felt Candy’s eyes on me. I brought the tea tray in and poured for both of us. Then I sat down, smoothing my skirt as I did.

“First, I love you very much, and you weren’t supposed to see me like this. “

“Obviously. How long has this been going on?”

“Since I was very young. I’ve always felt I was in some sort of an in-between space when it came to me being a boy or a girl. I thought I’d come down on the boy side when we met. I loved you so much, I thought it would be enough just being with you.”

I proceeded to tell her my whole story. Day turned into night as we talked. At some point I realized that I’d been dressed and interacting with another woman as a woman for several hours. Somewhere along the line, I’d relaxed and had quit worrying about how I was acting. I was just being me in my skirt and blouse.

Finally Candy stood up. “My head is whirling. I can’t believe what my eyes and ears are telling me. You’re still a little rough around the edges, but you make a very passable and pretty woman. Let’s go out and get some dinner.”

“Okay, let me get changed.”

“You look fine. I need to get to know Susan better.”

So we went out to a local restaurant. By this time, we’d been talking for so long that I was a little numb. I wasn’t thinking about being out in women’s clothing, just about continuing to talk with Candy. No one even gave me a second glance.

Dinner over, we returned home. “I’m tired and need to do a lot of thinking,” Candy said. “Do you have a nightgown?”

Since I didn’t, Candy loaned me one of hers. The implication was clear that I was to remain Susan.

“Oh, by the way,” I said, turning to give Candy a big hug, “Congratulations on your promotion. I’m so proud of you.”

“I hope my husband is too,” she replied and closed her bedroom door.

The next morning, I woke up early to take extra time with my grooming and my makeup. I chose a conservative tan dress with a scoop neck to wear. I added my gold jewelry to complete my look.

I went downstairs and began fixing breakfast. Candy came down a little later dressed in her scrubs for work. “It’s nice to have a wife to wait on you,” she said. But her voice sounded a little strained.

When she left for work, we hugged but she turned her head away from a kiss. “Not yet,” she said. “I’m still processing.”

I spent the day as Susan, working on my business. Late in the afternoon, Candy called.

“I need to see my husband tonight,” she said. “Can you do that?”

“Of course.”

I was apprehensive as she walked in the door. I’d put Susan away and was dressed in a polo shirt and jeans.

“Okay, here’s the deal. I did a lot of talking to some people at the hospital today. While I understand more about you and your desires, I’ve decided I can’t handle Susan. If we’re going to stay together, I need you to talk with Dr. Swenson.”

He was a psychologist on the hospital staff. He had his own practice too. We’d met casually as hospital social functions.

For the love of my wife, I agreed.

From the beginning, it was apparent to me that Dr. Swenson was in the “Disorder” camp of the GDS debate. He never wanted to see me dressed or meet Susan. We spent a lot of time talking about my childhood.

I did learn some valuable information. Armed with a list of questions we’d worked out, I sat down with my mother and had a long talk. It turned out that she was molested by a group of boys when she was six years old. Although she’d never admit it, it was obvious that she really didn’t like boys from that point on. She probably wouldn’t have even gotten married except my father was an overbearing man who got what he wanted. And, my grandparents told her, it was a woman’s duty to get married and please a man.

She did love me as her child, but she really did not like my gender or behavior. As much as possible, she tried to raise my sister and me the same. My father, of course, was bound and determined to make a man out of me. That included beatings with his belt when I did anything he didn’t think his son should be doing. I grew up wanting to be nothing like him, including his gender.

Once I understood all this, Dr. Swenson expected me to understand and discard all my desires to be female. He kept pointing out that I’d been born male and I had to deny any other feelings.

He finally wore me down. I purged all my Susan belongings and agreed on a routine of celebrating being a male every morning when I woke up. Candy agreed to help by being sexually available every morning.

“But, if I catch you dressing again, our relationship is over!” she emphasized.

Our morning sessions were satisfying, physically and we enjoyed them. But I had a feeling we were both going through a routine, rather than the natural, spontaneous lovemaking we’d had before. I felt like Candy was more going through the motions, and the trust we’d had was gone. I’d really messed up.

This went on for months. I gradually shut down. I was going through the motions of living, but I didn’t feel alive.

Candy had to work longer and longer hours with her new job, so I was alone a lot. I threw myself into my website business and built up an impressive list of clients. Money was no longer an issue for us. But I felt hollow inside.

One day, an ad popped up at the top of my e-mail page. It was the prettiest floral sundress. I immediately fell in love with it and started imagining how I’d look in it.

What was I doing? I quickly shut down my thoughts. I was a man. I had to celebrate being a man. It was a man’s world and I was a part of it!

I quickly shut down my computer and went to read a story by Earnest Hemmingway.

But my thoughts kept coming back to that sundress. I thought about how it would feel, how I would feel in it. I couldn’t get it out of my mind.

But I had to! My relationship with the woman I love would be over if I gave into my thoughts. I wondered if there was a 12-Step program for gender-confused people.

I held out for two weeks.

Finally, with much guilt, I went to the website the sundress was on. It’s just one dress, I rationalized. One doesn’t mean I’m totally dressing.

Someone once said something about the road to hell being a very slippery slope. Of course, once the dress was delivered, I had to have the right shoes to wear with it. And the right under things. And the right jewelry. And the right makeup.

Susan was back with a vengeance. And I realized how much I’d missed being her.

Dr. Swenson had warned me that my feelings might come back. If they did, I should come in and see him immediately. But it felt so good being Susan again. It was so right. I was…I was her. I felt so alive again. This is the way I should be living my life.

But I also loved Candy. I was right back where I was before. Only this time, I had an ultimatum from her.

All I could come up with was to be very careful. I’d only be Susan during the day and stay inside. I’d hide everything in a remote corner of the crawl space that was under part of our house.

I felt so guilty, but my time as Susan was something I had to do.

When I saw the ad on the Internet for that khaki miniskirt, I just had to have it too. It looked so cool and would give my legs such freedom of movement. Of course, I ordered it right away. I also saw and purchased a leg makeup kit. With something that short, my legs just had to look their best. I already had a casual top that would look really good with the skirt.

At last, it arrived. Fortunately that day was one of Candy’s long days, so I had the house to myself for several hours. I took great care with shaving my legs all the way up and even shaved my public hairs into a Brazilian. Not that I was planning on flashing anyone, but a girl can’t be too careful. I applied lotion and then the leg makeup. I was right, my legs looked fantastic!

I pulled on my gaff and a pair of lacy black panties, with matching black bra. I slipped my forms into my bra and pulled on a forest green top. I undid my long hair from the ponytail I usually wore it in and brushed out my hair into my usual feminine style, then slipped on some clip-on earrings I took some time doing my makeup. I wanted everything to be just right. Finally, I coated my lips with a new bright shade of lipstick I’d just bought.

Then I pulled on my new khaki miniskirt. A pair of green flats followed. A necklace and a few bracelets completed my look. Then, I moved to the full-length mirror in our bedroom.

OMG! I looked fantastic! The mini made me look a little younger than usual. I could have been back in college. But it was definitely a girl staring back at me. A pretty girl.

I transferred my wallet into my purse and went downstairs to get my cell phone. I used that cell phone for my business, so I wanted to have it near me at all times.

I had just finished slipping my cell into my purse when I heard a scream outside and then a big crash! It sounded like the entire contents of a garage had hit a concrete floor and gone rolling around.

Without thinking, I bolted out the door, still holding my purse. As I ran down the porch steps, I heard someone moaning, “Help me!”

The sound was coming from the open garage door of my next-door neighbor, Mrs. Katchum’s house. I rounded the corner and saw Mrs. Katchum lying on the floor of her garage with a tall metal shelf on top of her.

“Mrs. Katchum, what happened?” I asked. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I’d gone on automatic pilot and used my Susan voice.

“I was trying to get a box from the top shelf,” she gasped. “I climbed up the shelf to reach it, and the whole thing tipped over on me. Please get it off!”

I squatted down and tried to lift the shelf off of her. It was too heavy. While I didn’t see any blood, I knew she was hurt.

“Legs together, dear,” she said.

“Beg pardon?”

“Keep your legs together. A lady in a short skirt has to be careful.”

It was only then that I realized what I was doing and what I was wearing. I was out, in public, showing myself to my neighbor as a girl.

It was unreal. In trying to move the shelf, I’d spread my legs apart to get more leverage, and had flashed my lace panties at Mrs. Katchum. And, hurt as she was, she still had such a sense of female decorum that she had to speak up about how I was positioned.

Well, I couldn’t worry about that right now. I realized I was still holding my purse, so I opened it and pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911.

Things started happening fast after that. Soon a police car and ambulance were there. The policemen were able to lift the heavy metal shelf and move it off Mrs. Katchum. I’d identified myself as a neighbor and hoped that would be the last of it. Mrs. Katchum, however, didn’t want to be alone and insisted I ride with her to the hospital.

I couldn’t leave her. I rode with her, tugging at my skirt, which kept riding up. I could see that I was giving the EMT quite a show. He just couldn’t keep from glancing at my legs, even as he was administering an IV to Mrs. Katchum.

Soon we were at the hospital and she was wheeled into the Emergency Room. I had to stay in the waiting area. At least no one had thought I was anything other than a neighbor girl who’d been there to help at the right time.

I just couldn’t leave Mrs. Katchum until she was settled in, so I got a cup of coffee out of the machine. As I stood drinking the thin colored water that passed for coffee in such machines, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

“Excuse me Miss? I just heard that you came in with a neighbor of mine. Mrs. Katchum? How is she? What happened?”

I turned around, standing there in my new mini skirt, makeup and jewelry to answer Candy. She was wearing nurse’s scrubs and had a concerned look in her eyes.

“They are evaluating her right now,” I answered, again in my Susan voice. “A heavy metal shelf fell on her in her garage.”

Then I waited, feeling my whole world come crashing down around me just like the shelf had on Mrs. Katchum.

“How awful!” Candy said. “It’s lucky you were there.” Then she focused on me.

“And you were there because you live next door,” she said in a flat, matter--of-fact voice.

“Yes, Candy,” I said sighing. “It’s me.”

“I see.”

Her face turned cold.

“You’d better stay here until you can find out if she’s going to need anything,” Candy said. “I’ve got to get back to my duties.”

She turned to go, stopped and turned back. “I’ll be moving my things out as soon as possible. I warned you.”

Then she turned and walked down the hall into another part of the hospital.

I had an odd feeling of the world ending, coupled with a sense of relief. My life would never be the same and I had lost someone I loved dearly. But, I didn’t have to hide anymore. In fact, judging from the people around me, and the EMT in the ambulance, everyone was accepting me as a girl at face value. Later I realized that I was in a kind of shock. Everything had changed so quickly.

Much later, while I was reading a five-year old Women’s Day magazine, a nurse came up. “Miss? Are you the girl who came in with the old lady who had the accident?”

“Mrs. Ketchum?” I asked.

“That’s her. Anyway, the shelf the fell on her crushed her pelvis. She’s going to have to have a double hip replacement. We’ve got her scheduled for it tomorrow. In the meantime, we’ve got her on painkillers in room 302 and she’s been asking for you.”

I found my way up to the third floor and walked into room 302 to see Mrs. Ketchum lying in a bed. IV’s were going into both her arms and she was strapped down below her waist.

She turned as I walked into the room. “There you are my dear. I wanted to thank you for your quick thinking and help today. I should never have been so foolish as to try and climb my shelf. I made it too top heavy.”

“I’m sorry too, Mrs. Ketchum. But I’m glad I was there for you.”

“Well dear, I…oh what is your name? I didn’t think to ask.”

“You were a little busy,” I smiled. “I’m Susan.”

“Susan, thank you again. Now I need to ask you for a big favor. I’m going to have both my hips replaced. That means a long time laid up and then lots of physical therapy. While I’m not too bad off, I can’t afford the full-time care I’m going to need. Since I know you work at home, I was hoping maybe you could fit taking care of me into your schedule.”

“You…you know about me?”

“Susan, not all your windows in your house have blinds or closed curtains,” she said. “I’m not a noisy neighbor, but I’ve occasionally caught a glimpse of you. You make a very pretty girl.”

“Oh.” And here I’d thought I was being so careful.

“I suppose I could help,” I said. “I could even bring my laptop over to your house. My router is certainly strong enough to reach all the rooms in your home.”

“There is one thing, my dear.” She looked a little uncomfortable. “It would have to be Susan taking care of me. I could never have anyone other than a female change my clothes or bathe me.”

“Oh.” It made sense. As prim and proper as I’d always known Mrs. Ketchum to be, that was the only way it could work for her. And, since the cat was out of the bag with Candy, maybe it could work.

“I can’t pay much,” she continued. “But I can offer you something in return. You are a delightful girl, but you need polish. I could help you refine your image as a proper young lady.”

Now that was something I’d dreamed about but was sure would never happen. Someone to help me with all the little nuances of being a girl. It would be so fantastic to have someone actually help me. I couldn’t tell my parents, of course, so I’d never had the training that a girl is brought up with.

“I’ll need to think about it,” I told her.

“Take your time, dear. I’m going to be in here for a couple of weeks at least. My insurance will cover that much.”

I left with a lot to think about. In essence, if I agreed to take care of Mrs. Ketchum, I’d be living as a woman and caregiver almost full-time. I’d need some training. Maybe Candy…no that wouldn’t happen. I’d be lucky if Candy was even speaking to me.

I stopped at the hospital information desk and found out that they did offer caregiver classes and they were free if the person to be cared for was a patient. I signed up on the spot.

Then, I caught a bus home and again endured the stares at my legs. I couldn’t decide if I liked being stared at or not.

When I walked in the door of our house, something was different. The hall closet door was open and all of Candy’s coats were gone. Her closets in her bedroom were empty and her vanity had been cleared off. Her soaps, shampoos and moisturizers were missing from the bathroom.

On the kitchen table, I found a note.

“How dare you! I warned you! And you broke your promise to me. Please forward my mail to Judy’s where I’ll be for the foreseeable future.”

It was signed, “Candace.” Laying beside the letter was her wedding ring.

I sat down and cried. I’d been faced with two situations, which were impossible to reconcile, and I’d finally been caught. I finally roused myself enough to go upstairs and clean off my now smeared makeup. Then I fell on the bed and cried some more. My life with Candy had ended.

Judy was Candy’s best friend and a fellow nurse. She informed me that Candy would not be talking to me when I called. “After what you did, I’m surprised she didn’t set the house on fire!”

So my exile began. I still had work to do, which kept me busy during the day. I was taking Caregiver classes in the evenings, and visiting Mrs. Ketchum. Of course, for both my classes and visits, I had to be Susan. It quickly became obvious to me that there was almost no reason to ever change back to Craig. Soon I was living as Susan pretty much all the time.

Now that I had the space and time, I decided to expand my wardrobe. I become friendly with Jeannie, another Caregiver trainee in my class. We arranged to go shopping one afternoon. I never realized how much fun two women could have shopping. We looked in all the stores, tried on outfits, and just had a good time giggling at some of the fashions. I brought some skirts and dresses, but also some jeans and shorts for working with Mrs. Ketchum. I even expanded my bras and panties with some pretty matched sets and added some nightgowns, which I’d never have had when Candy was around.

Of course shoes were needed. We both purchased the recommended footwear for working with people who needed physical therapy. But I also saw some heels, sandals and boots that I just had to take home.

By the time Jeannie and I had spent a couple of Saturdays in retail therapy, Susan was pretty well set.

The nights were the worst. At night, I was alone. Yes, Candy had worked long hours and we did have separate bedrooms, but somehow or other, I always knew when she was in the house. No more. It was lonely. I missed our talks, events we went to together, just being around each other.

I called Judy and met her for lunch. It was one of the few times these days that I was Craig.

“I wanted to let you guys have the Symphony tickets. I’m going to be too busy to go for a while and there’s no sense in them going to waste.”

“I’ll give them to her.” Clearly Judy was uncomfortable. “I half expected to meet Susan for lunch today.”

“Maybe some time, if you really want to meet her.”

“I think I’d like to. I need to understand what this is all about.”

I thought for a moment. “I’m really not sure myself.”

“But you went through therapy with Dr. Simmons.”

“He wasn’t right for me. He was hostile and I couldn’t explore some issues I needed to if I’m to fully understand myself. Right now, I’m just going to drift.”

“Will you get back into therapy?”

“Not with Dr. Simmons. I need someone with an open mind, not someone who is trying to cure me.”

“Look, Craig. I’m kind of between a rock and a hard place here, but if you ever need any help, and it doesn’t hurt Candy, let me know.”

“I appreciate that, Judy. And, if Candy ever needs anything, let me know. She doesn’t have to know that I’ve helped her. I just want her to be happy.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Mrs. Ketchum had her replacements put in the next day and I was in the hospital when she woke up. As her caregiver, I worked right along with the nurses checking and changing bandages, emptying bedpans and learning how to give a sponge bath,

I was shown how to give special attention to Mrs. Ketchum’s private area and to the wounds left by the surgery. Once the nurses were satisfied that I could handle her, they made arrangements for Mrs. Ketchum to go home.

We set up a hospital bed downstairs in Mrs. Ketchum’s living room. She wouldn’t be ready for stairs for quite some time. But I was cautioned to have her on her feet as soon as possible. Apparently the muscles need weight on them to keep their tone. I also had to keep bending her legs while she was in bed to keep up the tone. This led to some shouting matches, since my work with her was painful. They had warned me that there would be days when she would absolutely hate me. They were right.

But, Mrs. Ketchum had a way to get even with me.

“Keep your stomach sucked in, Susan!” I must have heard that a hundred times a day at first. “Graceful! Move with a flow. If you’re going to be a woman, you’ve got to move like one!”

She even had me doing the classic walking with books balanced on my head. At first, I’d have bet thousands that it was impossible. But suddenly, something clicked. I started moving my body in a different way. My hips were moving, but my head was staying still. I kept the books on top, and even added a few more, as I got better.

Gradually, I did become more graceful. I could see it when I looked in the mirror. We also worked on how I talked.

“A lady always speaks softly,” Mrs. Ketchum cautioned. “When someone has to work to hear you, they pay attention.”

I learned so many things. Private things that a mother tells her daughter, but never her son. My knowledge of feminine hygiene expanded so that I not only knew what had to be done, but why. And, knowing this helped me take better care of Mrs. Ketchum.

Although she was long past menopause, Mrs. Ketchum insisted I have a period. That is, I had to pick out a starting day and then make up a calendar like all women. I had to chart a 28-day cycle and start wearing a pad the day before I was due to start on the calendar. I would periodically have to change my pad, and I learned to wrap the used pad in toilet paper and dispose of it properly. I questioned spending good money on something that I really didn’t use.

“If you want to be a woman, you’ve got to do it all the way,” she said. “You need to experience everything. That way, you’ll be able to talk about it with other women when the subject comes up.”

I also had to experience the joys of tampons. NOT! But I did learn what women go through each month. And Mrs. Ketchum made sure I carried spares in my purse.

One of Mrs. Ketchum’s friends, Vanessa Graves, owned a beauty shop and stopped by once a week to do Mrs. Ketchum’s hair. Vanessa also helped me become better at doing my hair and makeup. Sometimes, Jeannie would stop by on her breaks from her own care giving assignment. Then we’d all four sit around reading fashion magazines and commenting on the different clothes shown. Gradually, I developed an expanded sense of style and what looked good on me and what didn’t.

Once Mrs. Ketchum was on the mend, I got back to spending more time with my web business. As I thought, my wireless router did have the strength to reach Mrs. Ketchum’s house, so I was able to work on my laptop from there.

It was just as well. My house felt cold and empty without Candy there. I’d slept on Mrs. Ketchum’s couch for a while when she first got home, to be near to help her during the night. Things were a lot better now and I rigged up a baby monitor so I could hear her from my house. But one night there convinced me that I didn’t want to be alone in the house. The night was long and empty. It was a relief when I heard Mrs. Ketchum stirring. I made it over there in time to help her get to the bathroom. Afterward, I told her I’d keep staying there for a while longer.

Somewhere along the line, I realized that Susan was finding herself. Jeannie and I arranged our time off so we could do things together. I found I really liked being a women interacting with other women. And even when I was out and started to do something, I’d hear Mrs. Ketchum’s voice, “Sweep your skirt! Knees together!”

After a while, I realized I was doing all the little things that women do automatically. I was fully trained.

I arranged a luncheon date with Judy and went as Susan. She was surprised at me. “I expected to see Craig in a dress. My dear, you are not Craig.”

We talked about trivial things as we ate our salads. Then I asked the question that weighed on my mind every time I walked into my house. “How’s Candy getting along?”

“Okay, I guess. She doesn’t say much and throws herself into her work. I’m sure part of it is her new job, but I don’t think that’s all of it. She sometime sits and stares into space, like she’s lost everything. I try to cheer her up, but it doesn’t always work.”

I felt a knife twist in my chest. If only I’d been stronger, I could have resisted this and not hurt Candy!

I said as much to Judy.

“No,” she replied. “I’ve been watching you today. The way you talk, the way you move. This is who you were supposed to be. You’re so much more alive than Craig ever was.”

“But I had to lose my best friend to do it,” I replied.

“Sometimes life gives us tough decisions,” she replied.

“Is there anything I can do for Candy?” I asked.

“I don’t think so. She’s got to work through this herself, when she’s ready. But I’ll let you know if I see anything you can do.”

“Thanks, Judy, you’re a real friend.”

“To both of you girls,” she said.

As Mrs. Ketchum healed, I began to have more free time. I’d gotten my business work so streamlined, that I could do everything I’d been doing in half the time.

“You need to get yourself into the counseling you were talking about,” Mrs. Ketchum told me. “It’s getting to the time when you’ve got to make some decisions about your future. I’m almost healed and won’t need you as much. Besides, I’ve taught you everything I know.”

After doing some research, I found a therapist who was considered friendlier toward trans people than Dr. Simmons had been. Since I had already done a lot of soul searching with him, we were able to progress rapidly.

“So when do you start hormones?” Mrs. Ketchum asked when I was telling her about my latest session. “You do want to be a girl, don’t you?”

I guess I’d never completely faced the question before. I enjoyed playing the girl. But, did I want to go all the way and actually be a female?

I took a serious look at my life to this point. I remembered my outing as a girl when my family was out of town and how good I’d felt. I considered what I’d been doing these past several months. I did feel good about myself, about how I’d been helping, and that I’d been doing it as a woman. I really, really liked my life right now.

All except for Candy. I’d lost my best friend. But she was gone and I had to get on with my life and who I am.

Taking a deep breath, I finally said it. “Yes, I do want to be a girl for the rest of my life.”

“Good,” Mrs. Ketchum said. “Because you are so much better at being Susan than you ever were as a man.”

My therapist agreed. In fact, she had been waiting for me to bring the subject of hormones up. After an exam by an Endocrinologist, I was given my first shot and a prescription for pills. For some reason, they were pink.

Of course, now that I’d made my decision, I was impatient for things to happen. But they didn’t. It took almost six months for me to notice my skin was getting softer. Sometime after that, my nipples started to itch. I was on my way.

Mrs. Ketchum was almost completely healed by now. Reluctantly, I moved back to my house, but I still came by to fix her meals several times a week and just to talk, woman-to-woman.

Jeannie wasn’t as lucky as I was. Her patient was finally moved into Hospice care and passed away soon after. We mourned together and I attended the funeral with her wearing my new black dress.

Sitting at the funeral and hearing how this man had made so much difference in his life, made me start thinking. What was I going to do with my new life as a woman? I’d already decided I would get the surgery. What male equipment I had left hadn’t seen the light of day in a long time and didn’t even work anymore. More than that, however, it just felt right to want to be complete.

Sometime during the wake following the funeral, I reached a decision. I’d enjoyed being a caregiver. I had made a difference in someone’s life and felt fulfilled doing so. I had proven to myself that I could keep my business going. It was doing even better with me doing it on a part-time basis than it had been doing with me working at it full time.

As Jeannie walked up with punch for both of us, I turned to her. “Guess what? I’m going to go back to school and become a Practical Nurse.”

“Oh, that’s so great. You’ll be so good at it!”

Of course it wasn’t that easy. There was paperwork to fill out, and evaluations and tests. And, I needed recommendations. Of course, I could get Mrs. Ketchum and Jeannie, but I needed a third. Finally, I thought of calling Judy. I told her of my plans and that I needed a third recommendation.

“Tell you what. Let’s meet for dinner after my shift tomorrow and we can go over everything,” she suggested.

We arranged to meet at a good restaurant near the hospital.

I wasn’t sure why, but I just wanted to get a little extra dressed up for my dinner with Judy. I just wanted everything to be perfect. I shaved my legs and underarms. My facial hair was now a thing of the past. I fixed my hair and makeup as Vanessa had shown me and put on a new, red off-the-shoulder dress that I’d been saving for a special occasion. My new red heels completed my outfit. I even dabbed a little perfume in the appropriate places. I know I was just meeting with Judy, but it was a nice restaurant, and who knows who might see me there.

As I walked in, I felt really good. For some reason, my mind flashed to the time I was a girl on the bus, hoping no one could see that I was really a boy. No chance of that tonight, I thought. Even my breasts were filling in nicely and really made the dress fit.

I gave my name to the hostess and she led me to a secluded booth near the back. With the high bench backs, no one could tell who was sitting there.

“Hope I’m not late, Judy,” I said, as I turned sideways to sit down and slide across my side of the bench. “I want to tell you how much I appreciate…”

I stopped dead. Instead of Judy, Candy was sitting across from me.

“Oh, geeze, I’m sorry. I must have the wrong table,” I said starting to slide back out.

“No you don’t,” Candy said, laying a hand on my arm. “Please don’t leave.”

I didn’t know what to say. I know I was blushing so much that even the tops of my breasts were turning red.

“Let me look at you,” Candy said. “So this is the new Susan. I’ve heard so much about you. For some reason, I didn’t expect you to be this beautiful.”

“What…what are you doing here, Candy?” I stammered.

“Meeting you, of course. Someone told me you needed a recommendation for nursing school and I thought who better to give one than a Director of Nursing for a major metropolitan hospital.”

“You’re the Director now? Oh Candy, that’s so wonderful. Congratulations! I’m so happy for you.”

“It took a lot of work and much burning of the midnight oil,” she replied. “I wouldn’t have been able to have done it if I’d had a home life.”

“Well, I’m glad something positive came out of all this for you.”

“It did. It was rough, but it did, “Candy replied. “But, it’s not enough. I’ve missed my best friend.”

“I’m sorry, he’s not around any more,” I said, looking down.

“But she is,” she said.

I looked up.

“After months of talking, Judy finally got through to me. You are my soul mate, someone I connected with in a way I’ve never connected with anyone else. She made me realize that it didn’t matter what sort of package my best friend was in. What is important is the person inside that I’ve always resonated with. We share so many interests. I’ve had so many times when I’ve wanted to share something with you and looked up and you weren’t there. I’ve missed you so much that I could almost burst.

“And Judy tells me that Susan is even better than Craig ever was. I’m looking forward to really meeting her, if you’ll let me.” It was her turn to look down.

I almost didn’t know what to say. Candy was saying exactly what I’d been feeling all this time. “I’ve missed you too. So much. But, as you say, I’m not Craig any more. I’m Susan and will soon be her all the way. I can’t go back.”

“And I don’t want you to go back,” Candy replied. “What I want to do is help you, in whatever way I can, become the best possible woman you can be. And my best possible friend.”

She reached out and took my hand and I felt the reestablishment of some deep connection that I never thought I’d feel again. Somehow, in spite of gender mix-ups, guilt and mistrust, we’d found one another again. I was accepted for who I was and who I was becoming. Candy wanted me to become the best person I could be, no matter who it was.

She even insisted on being the presiding nurse when I became a real woman. And was the speaker at my graduation from Nursing School. And once again shared our house. And we were whole.