Chapter 6 – The Fitting
“Now, what’s this?” his mother demanded as she entered the kitchen.

Corey was at the kitchen counter, mixing a batch of pancake mix for their breakfast; he wore a lacy, pink apron to protect the blouse and skirt he wore. He had tied his long hair with a blue ribbon in a haphazard knot to keep it clear of his face while he prepared breakfast.

“Amy loves me as Corrine,” he replied, smiling.

‘She does?” his mother said. “What kind of girl is she?”

Corey could see his mother was displeased with his feminine appearance; she had reluctantly acknowledged it when he was fourteen and had begun showing continual interest in her clothing and how she applied makeup. She admitted to herself that when she later indulged his desire by allowing him to buy his own girl outfits, which steadily had created a closetful of attire.

“Mother, she’s all girl,” Corey said to reassure his mother.

“And she likes you like this?”

Corey smiled. “She really does, mother.”

His mother shook her head. “I should never have let you get started in this dressing up and I should have had a man around as you grew up. What have I created?”

Corey and his mother had had these discussions before, and most of them ended with Debbie Sullivan acknowledging that she was at fault for not stifling his desire to be dressed as a girl. She also faulted herself for allowing him to begin working at her beauty salon, even though he had become a big help to her and now was on the verge of becoming a talented hairdresser.

When Amy walked into the kitchen just moments after the mother-son discussion ended, Corey could see the girl looked radiant. She was smiling and a fresh scent followed her in the room.

"Good morning, Mrs. Sullivan," Amy said, largely ignoring Corey.

"And good morning to you, Amy," Debbie said, smiling. Corey was happy to see that his mother's earlier displeasure and apparent concern about Amy's own sexual preferences was gone. She appeared to greet the girl with warmth and pleasure. The two hugged.

"Thank you for taking me in, Mrs. Sullivan," Amy said.

"It’s Debbie to you. If you call me Missus one more time, dear, I'll toss you out in the snow."

They all laughed and Amy finally acknowledged Corey's presence, heading over to the stove where Corey was putting margarine into the frypan, preparing to pour in batter to start the pancakes. She hugged him and kissed him on the cheek

"He's pretty as Corrine, don't you think, Debbie?" she said, looking at Corey's mother.

"I'm afraid he does make a pretty girl, but is that what you want dear in a boyfriend?" Debbie asked directly.

"Mother, leave Amy out of this," Corey said sharply.

"I just asked her a simple question and she doesn't have to answer," Debbie said, not mollified by the sharp tone in Corey's voice.

"Mother, please . . ."

"That's OK, Corey," Amy interrupted. "Yes, Debbie, I like Corey in whatever way he wants to be. He's a dear, sweet boy and I like him very much. Yes, very much whether he's Corey or Corrine."

"I'm sorry, kids. Let's forget it. I shouldn't have brought it up," Debbie said.

Corey said nothing and turned back to the stove to begin the pancakes. Amy and Debbie worked together to set the table and bring the condiments from the refrigerator. They chatted about the storm that had finally ended, leaving at least eight inches of new snow on the ground, according to the news that was coming from the television set in the front room.

Debbie asked Amy about her family and her field of study at the University; the girl answered each question fully, seeming to relish talking about her father, mother and her brothers, particularly Adam with whom she was the closest.

"You love your family, don't you, dear?" Debbie asked.

"Very much and I miss them, too, but I also feel very much at home here, too. You've been so kind and welcoming."

Debbie smiled. "You're a sweet, lovely girl, Amy, and I hope only the best for you."

The two hugged and Corey announced: "The pancakes are ready. All sit down."

Corey prepared eggs and sausage for the breakfast as well and the three enjoyed a meal with laughter and light-hearted conversation as Amy described how she had learned to elbow her way around a crowded dinner table to compete with her large, strong brothers.

When they finished, Debbie said, "Now Corey, you get yourself changed and get out and shovel the snow while Amy and I clean up the kitchen."

"I don't need to change. I'll just wear that long coat," he argued.

"Don't be silly, you're wearing a skirt and your legs will show and you know how Mrs. Polakowski is," Debbie said, referring to a next door neighbor who was known as the neighborhood gossip as well as being openly ridiculing Corey’s "lack of manhood," even calling him "faggot" to his face.

"I can do the shoveling, Debbie," Amy volunteered. "We get to be quite experienced at home."

"No, mother's right, I'll put on slacks," Corey said, recognizing the need not to give Mrs. Polakowski something more to gossip about. "No doubt she'll be sneaking looks at me from behind her curtains."

Amy suggested that she help him with the chore, an offer Corey was pleased to accept. The snow was a heavy one, not one of the lighter, fluffier variety due to the near melting temperatures that accompanied the storm. Now that the storm had passed, and the sun was beginning to rise, the temperature had already dropped nearly to zero and the skies were bright and clear.

"It'll be cold out there," Corey said.

"Maybe we can hug each other every so often then. That way we can give your neighbor a show she hardly expected to see," Amy said, laughing.

*****
“It’s so beautiful this morning,” Amy commented as the two finished shoveling the walks and removing the snow that had nearly buried the car, both of them panting from the effort. The heavy breathing showed in puffs of fog in the cold of the morning.

Even though Corey felt totally exhausted from the physical effort, he agreed to walk a couple of blocks in the bright cold morning sun to nearby Humboldt Park, where they trudged to the top of the sled-riding hill. Dozens of youngsters slid with glee (and some with fear) down the modest slope, some with a parent sitting with them, others singly as their parents or grandparents or older siblings watched from the top of the hill, shivering in the cold.

“Do you have a sled, Corey?” Amy asked. “I’d love for us to go down the hill too.”

“It’s in the basement somewhere,” he said, hoping Amy would forget the idea. He rarely used the sled, even during the first winter after his grandparents presented him with it as a Christmas gift when he was eight. The slide down the hill always frightened him, and then he would face the long trudge up the hill.

“That’s OK,” Amy said, already sensing the boy’s reluctance to engage in outdoor sports.

They stood together watching the children, laughing at the tumbles of the youngsters who seemed to relish rolling around in the snow after falling off their sleds or saucers or colorful slips of plastic. Corey looked about the park, its barren trees glistening with clinging snow in the bright sun. The morning after a heavy snow, he mused, is such a magical time, the world made fresh with a new cover, masking the dirt and corruption of a big city; the spirits of their neighbors always soared, he realized, as they gathered together, all brought out onto their sidewalks for the common chore of cleaning their walks, sharing tales about how difficult it was to get home the previous night or boasting about how they navigated a particularly steep hill in their cars. He watched neighbors who rarely talked to each other help each other free their cars from where city plows had deposited snow. Along with spinning wheels and the din of snowblowers, there were sounds of laughter as the snow-shoveling neighbors discussed their snow storm problems in good humor. What was it that stirred people to be sharing in times of such inconveniences and difficulties?

Yes, it was a magical time, and at that moment on the Humboldt Park sledding hill, Corey knew that love was intoxicating. Yes, as Amy said, it was a beautiful morning.

*****
Debbie Sullivan went to open the salon at noon, having called the customers with morning appointments to tell them she was keeping the salon closed for half a day until more streets had been plowed and sidewalks cleaned. She said that Corey could stay home with Amy, except to handle his two appointments, scheduled to begin at four o’clock.

“Have you finished Mrs. Penney’s gown yet, Corey?” Amy asked after Debbie had left the house for her two-block trudged to the beauty salon.

“Just about. I just have to redo a bit of stitching in the waist; I told her I’ll bring it by for a fitting next week.”

“Can you model it for me, Corey?”

“You want me to, really?” he asked.

“Why not? You and her are approximately the same size, aren’t you?”

Corey reddened a bit, admitting that he and Emily Penney both wore dresses of either Size Four or Six, depending upon the cut.

“Please, I’ll bet you look beautiful in it,” Amy smiled, reassuringly.

Corey excused himself, going into the bedroom in which the two slept; it was there he had the sewing machine and where he normally did his dress-designing and dress-making chores. In just a few minutes, he emerged wearing only light blue satin panties fringed in lace and a matching bra over breast forms.

“Oh my darling Corrine,” Amy gushed as he walked out. “You’ve such a lovely body.”

He loved hearing that, hoping that Amy saw the same girlish body that he saw, slender and smooth with gentle curves. Corey added a girlish sway as he walked and Amy giggled at the sight.

“Maybe you’d like to help me brush my hair and fix my makeup before we put on the dress,” he offered.

“Darling, that would be great. I don’t know what help I can be, but I’d love to watch,” she said.

Moving to the bathroom, Amy helped by brushing his hair down past his narrow shoulders, so that it created a slight bob; Corey was able to fashion a bang to one side of his forehead, framing his face. Amy fastened a barrette and asked him to stand when they finished. “You’re a beautiful girl, Corrine,” she volunteered.

Corey needed little help putting on light makeup, a light pink lipstick, a bit of coloring to highlight cheekbones and darkening around the eyes.

“There,” he said when finished. “Now you can help me get into the gown.”

Amy helped the transformed girl to step into the gown and then clipped shut the fasteners up the back. He pointed to a pair of beige heels with a four-inch lift and sat down on the vanity. “Put on these footies first, Amy,” he ordered.

She fumbled with the tiny pieces of nylon that formed the footies and fit them onto Corey’s feet one at a time. She loved the feel of his feet; the skin was soft and smooth and she was not at all surprised to see that he had already applied light pink polish on the toenails.

“Even your feet are pretty,” she remarked. “You’ll have to paint my toenails sometime, Corrine.”

Corey smiled; he loved being called Corrine.

“I like to keep them soft and smooth. I’ll show you the lotion I use every day,” he said.

“That's nice. My feet are so callused and so wide and ugly,” she said.

“Amy, I’m certain that’s not true.”

“I wished it wasn’t, but I guess I spent too much time running around in bare feet back home.”

“Guess you must have been quite a tomboy,” he said. His smile quickly turned into a scowl as he wondered if he was insulting her.

“I was,” she admitted easily. “How could I not be with three big, older brothers and the area I grew up in?”

He nodded, realizing that if he were a girl living in her small backwoods town he would likely not have fit in very well; he would have been quite a girly-girl, always wanting to be in dresses and having his hair in lovely curls. He wondered, too, if he had been raised in such an environment whether he could have survived, recognizing how physically inadequate he was.

Amy fitted the shoes on his feet, her hands caressed his slender ankles, and she assisted him in standing erect.

“You’re absolutely ravishing, Corinne,” she exclaimed. “That dress is perfect on you.”

Corey smiled and turned around to give her a complete look and to look at himself in the full-length mirror on the closet door. He loved how the dress hung on him, its asymmetrical cut exposing his lovely left leg from mid-calf down.

“What do you think, Amy? Do you think she’ll like it?”

“She should, Corrine. It’s really a striking gown and you make a great looking woman, you know. I hope you don’t mind me saying that, but you’re just so naturally beautiful and so totally feminine.”

“Thanks, Amy, but I know you must not think much of me as a man, or even as your boyfriend,” Corey said, his mood changing from the euphoria he felt as a woman to that of despair when he was concerned about whether he was the kind of a man who could please a woman.

His words interrupted the pleasure of the moment and sadness stunned Amy for a moment. Amy was speechless, her own joy at seeing him look beautiful in the lovely gown having been dampened by the reality that her first-ever boyfriend was standing before her as a very pretty young woman. She felt true warmth and affection for this strange androgynous person, a person that would be so out-of-place in the world as she understood it. Throughout her teen years she wondered if she’d ever find love with a boy – or as she grew into adulthood the love of a man and eventual motherhood and family. Now, she thought she had found love in Corey, but wondered if it was love; in fact, she had no idea what love was supposed to feel like. Could Corey (or Corrine) ever become that love?

The two looked at each other, neither one knowing what to say; their awkwardness turning into a maddening silence, into an emptiness. It was only broken by sobbing; Corey burst into outright crying, so violent that he had trouble keeping his breath, the tears ruining his makeup. He rushed into the strong arms of Amy and she held him. A deep sadness enveloped her.

*****
"You’d better change out of that dress before it gets too mussed or it gets wet from tears," Amy warned and the two broke their embrace.

As the two separated, Amy kissed Corey lightly on the cheek. "I love you Corey," she said simply. The girl meant her words deeply, even though she wondered whether the word "love" expressed her feelings for Corey.

Corey smiled, his face still red and moist with his drying tears. Knowing he had to get ready for work at the salon, he left the room to change out of his clothes and to put on the androgynous outfit he normally wore while working at the salon, a pair of tight-fitting black slacks and a ruffled peach-colored blouse. He tied his hair in a ponytail, and donned a pair of light blue Skechers that he wore when he knew he'd be on his feet for a while. Underneath it all, he wore black pantyhose and a white camisole; he felt both were more comfortable than his male underclothes.

Emerging from his bedroom, Amy smiled, "I remember you were dressed like that when you fixed my hair the first time. Do you always dress that way?"

"Yes," he said sheepishly, well aware he was appearing more feminine than masculine to her.

"You’re very pretty, dear," she said smiling.

"I just feel like I fit in better at the salon like this, and it seems the customers like it," he added. "I didn't used to dress quite so outlandishly at first."

"May I say you look more like Corrine than Corey," she giggled.

"I guess you could say that," he smiled. "I'm sorry to have to leave you, Amy, but I have to handle these appointments."

"Don't give it a thought, Corrine," she said teasingly. "I've got plenty of work I need to do on this paper and besides it'll give me time to think about my new girlfriend."

He nodded and turned to put on his parka and a pair of his mother's boots to trudge the few blocks to the salon. As he walked in the cold, bright afternoon, he wondered whether the pleasure he felt in being dressed as a pretty young woman might cause him to lose Amy.

*****
"You seem in a distant world this afternoon," said Sonja Peplinski, a striking woman in her late twenties with long, straight dark hair. The woman who worked for an ad agency downtown was one of the proud products of the nearby lower middle class neighborhood and always sought to have a most elegant look.

Corey admired Sonja's long, thick hair and had urged her to let it flow more naturally, but the woman disagreed: "I need to look more professional, Corey," she told him. "You need to stylize it like I know you can. I've seen you do wonders with other girls."

"I'm sorry," he said as he was setting her hair into a more upswept fashion that Sonja seemed to like. "I don't mean to be distracted today, but I was thinking of my girlfriend. Forgive me."

He cursed himself for indicating to Sonja that he had a girlfriend when he realized that Tanya Winters, the hairdresser in the nearby chair, had overheard the remark. The older woman was a well-meaning, but consummate gossip.

"Oh yes, Sonja, he's got a perfectly lovely young lady as a girlfriend," Tanya said. "She's been in the salon and he's worked on her hair and even made a dress for her."

"A girlfriend, Corey? And you make dresses, too," Sonja said, showing genuine surprise at these two pieces of information about Mr. Corey.

Corey suddenly felt humiliated; were the women in the salon laughing at him, trying to figure out how such an effeminate young man could have a girlfriend? Worse yet, they seemed to infer a criticism of Amy as to the nature of a woman who would even consider him as a boyfriend.

"Yes, is there anything wrong with me having a girlfriend?" He said defensively, realizing he was talking back to a loyal customer.

"Not at all," Sonja said, herself showing remorse at her reaction.

"Please excuse me for my outburst, Sonja, I think you'd like Amy, my girlfriend, and we like each other very much," he said.

"Of course, I wish you all the happiness in the world, dear," the woman said.

When finished, Sonja said she loved what Corey had fashioned for her hair. "You're a genius darling," she said kissing him on the cheek as she paid.

*****
Sonja's reaction to the announcement that he, Corey, had a girlfriend, apparently a real, live, pretty girlfriend, bothered him. It was obvious that Sonja, like so many others, thought it unlikely that such an androgynous, effeminate boy would have a girlfriend; he knew most people thought he was hopelessly gay – the kind of "nancy boy" who would never be able to complete the manly act.

In fact, Sonja's reaction hit upon the truth, he knew. He wasn't a real man; hadn't he already demonstrated that by his sexual inadequacies with Amy, except in those moments when she was treating him more like a pathetic, weak girl? No, he wasn't gay, but he also wasn't a man.

Amy was due to spend the night again, and at the suggestion of Debbie Sullivan, the two slept in Corey's room and were able to share his double bed. Debbie obviously continued to hope that her girlish son might eventually discover his manhood and was pleased to suggest the two be more comfortable in a slightly wider bed.

"Oh we got along just fine in that narrow bed last night, Debbie," Amy said at the suggestion. Both she and Corey giggled as she spoke.

"Go, you two, enjoy your night together in a more comfy bed," she pressed.

The two agreed the larger bed might indeed be more comfortable and they might sleep better, too.

Amy, however, sensed Corey was uncomfortable with the idea of spending another night together; she knew he was embarrassed by being incapable of performing his manly functions. She had already concluded he may never be able to be a man in the fullest sense, but she still loved him, loved being with him and, to her own confusion, loved that he was so soft, weak and girlish.

"Corey," she said as the two prepared for bed that night. "You don't have to try to fuck me."

She blushed at using the crude word, but it was all she could think to say at the moment. He looked at her quizzically, wondering if she meant it.

"Really, I love you as you are and I think I love you most as Corrine."

"You do?" He asked.

"Yes, I bet you have a sexy nighty you could wear for me, dear Corrine," she suggested.

He nodded, blushing at the expectation of putting on a black nighty that reached only to mid-thigh and had thin straps across the shoulders that exposed his lovely shoulders and arms. The truth was that Corey had several such nighties that he wore regularly.

As he left for the bathroom to get ready for a night in bed with Amy, she suggested: "Maybe a little squirt of perfume might make my darling Corrine even more fun to hug."

That night as he lay in Amy's strong arms, she cooed over how soft he felt, kissed his smooth inner thighs and massaged his slender arms. His member became hard. "You're my dearest girlfriend, Corrine," she whispered, and they kissed, his fingers finding her vagina to enter.

They both orgasmed nearly in unison, Amy screaming "yes, yes, yes" as Corey slumped into exhaustion as his juice coated her strong thighs.

They lay together, both content to be motionless in each other's arms.

In a repeat of what occurred the previous night, Corey began to cry, his sobs consuming him so that he couldn't speak. Amy held him tightly, soothing him with the words, "My dear girl, my dearest, dearest girl."

They fell asleep in each other's arms. They were both in a stupor when they awoke. It was 6:10 on the digital clock and the sunrise at this time of year would likely not occur for nearly two hours.

Amy raised herself on one elbow, looking in the faint light peeking through the drapes at the face of her partner. She loved the girl next to her with all her heart. She saw Corey's eyes begin to open, for a moment registering alarm and then turning to happiness.

"Yes, Corrine," Amy said, softly. "I'm here for you always. We'll be best girlfriends forever, my darling. Best girlfriends forever."

Corrine looked up at her friend and smiled.

*****
That evening, Corey heard from Helen Comstock, his friend from high school who had returned several days before to the University of Massachusetts at Amherst for her second semester. “Lionel was waiting for me at Logan [Airport, in Boston]. What a sweetheart of a boyfriend,” she texted.

“Great. Bet u happy to see him,” Corey replied.

“Not coming home for spring break mom is pissed,” her text continued. “Spending time with Lionel’s family in Philadelphia.”

“WOW. Cool. L’s folks know about u?”

“Yes that I white. They not happy but OK. My folks don’t know about L. Scared to tell them.”

“Hope he worth it.”

“YES YES. U and Amy OK?”

“YES YES YES”

“LOL”

“Hugs. Bye bye.”

“Double hugs.”

The two friends continued their correspondence several times a month, often sharing articles concerning their mutual interest in politics, usually those favoring liberal policies. Several times they talked by phone, sharing their personal lives with each other.

“You know it’s funny, Corey,” Helen said one night. “I’ve told you things I’ve never told anyone else. You’re the only one I’ve poured my heart out to.”

“I feel the same about you. But how about Lionel? Aren’t you able to bare your soul to him? I seem to be able to tell my Amy everything.”

“I don’t know but it’s different with him. He’s a boy.”

“I guess that makes a difference,” he replied, suddenly realizing the irony of his words. Wasn’t he a boy, too?

The two signed off with their usual air kisses. Corey reflected on the conversation, realizing he was sitting cross-legged on his bed, wearing only a tank top and his brief shorts. He fussed with his hair as he spoke with Helen. He remembers giggling a lot as the two share some recent experiences in which they had both found comedic.

*****
The following Wednesday, as scheduled, Corey borrowed his mother's car to drive to Emily Penney's home for a final fitting for the woman's gown. Even with his time spent with Amy while squeezing in time for some studying, he had been able to complete the final work on the dress. He hoped the dress would fit Mrs. Penney well, since he had fashioned it to fit his own body. They both wore about the same size dresses; his own concern was that her hips were a bit wider; otherwise their measurements were identical (as long as he was wearing breast forms).

Maureen opened the kitchen door when he drove into the parking area at the rear of the house.

"Can I help you with anything, Corey?" She yelled.

It was a clear, cold day and, even though it was not quite four o’clock the sun was already dropping down into the western horizon.

"No thanks, I got it," he said.

"I could have driven down to pick you up, Corey. I have no classes this afternoon," Maureen said. She was always a cheerful person, a great pleasure to be around.

"No need, mom let me use her car," he said entering the warm kitchen.

Maureen led him into what appeared to be a study and opened a closet door; there was a space cleared on the closet rod so that he could hang it up without messing it up in squeezing it between packed clothes.

"I'm so excited to see what you've done," Maureen gushed. "Mom says you're going to model it for us. Is that right?"

"If that's what she wants, I guess I will," Corey replied. He was none too happy with the prospect of parading around in the gown before Mrs. Penney and perhaps even her husband, if he were home. As much he loved wearing the dress, Corey would be humiliated to do so in public. He remembered how Amy had said he looked lovely in the gown.

"Let's see how it hangs, Corey," Emily Penney said. "Please model it for us."

"I'd hate to ruin the joy you might feel by wearing it first, Mrs. Penney," he said, hoping to forestall the inevitable.

"Nonsense, Corey, I know you'll look just divine in it," she said.

Twenty minutes later, he left Maureen's bedroom, where he had changed, having had the foresight to bring along breast forms and some basic makeup so that he could present a reasonably feminine presence. Walking, turning slowly and smiling elegantly, as he'd seen runway models do on the fashion shows that he devoured in his television viewing, he moved into the living room where Emily and her daughter sat expectantly, drinking tea and munching on snacks.

"Let me see you turn, darling, slowly and elegantly," Emily said sweetly.

"That gown just flows beautifully, mother," Maureen said.

"She does wear it so well," the woman said, and Corey noted the use of the feminine pronoun. After several passes, Corey paused in front the two Penneys. "Want to try it on for your fitting, Mrs. Penney?"

At that moment, Jason Penney entered the room, drawing the attention of everyone. He looked puzzled, looked at Corey and then at his wife.

"Are we holding a fashion show here?" He said, his voice a bit testy.

"No dear," Emily said. "Remember the young man at the dance before Christmas? We commissioned him to make me a gown for the Valentine's Dance."

Mr. Penney paused a moment and then nodded. "Oh yes, I remember, he was with a girl from Maureen's dorm."

"That's right, and here he is modeling the dress for me," she said, motioning to me.
Jason Penney looked at me incredulously. "But, but . . ." He sputtered.

Corey smiled and gave a tentative wave, which he immediately regretted since it was a dainty, effeminate move. To make matters worse, when he greeted Jason Penney his voice came out thin and high-pitched.

"Oh my God, yes," Mr. Penney said, recovering himself. "Corey, you're just so beautiful I thought my wife had hired a professional model."

"I just thought I ought to be realistic to model the dress, sir," Corey said, now using what he hoped was a firm, masculine tone.

Jason Penney continued to examine Corey and he obliged by doing a few more slow turns causing the man to applaud when he'd finished.

Turning to address his wife, he said, "It's a lovely dress and if you look half as pretty as Corey does in it, you'll be the belle of the ball."

"Mr. Penney, your wife will look twice as pretty," Corey said, a comment that brought a smile to Emily Penney's face.

Returning to the bedroom, Maureen helped Corey undo the dress and get it ready for her mother to wear. As she assisted, she said, "Corey, you make just an absolutely lovely girl. In fact, if you were on my dorm floor, I think you'd be the prettiest of all."

Corey knew Maureen was self-conscious about her looks, realizing she was too short and chunky to be a classic beauty. Her round, plain face would never be a strikingly beautiful face like her mother's, but Corey found the girl to give off a warm, welcoming feeling.

"I doubt that," Corey said. "You know, Maureen, you are a perfectly lovely girl."

"But I'm not pretty like you are," she protested.

“Thank you, Maureen, but don’t judge yourself too critically. I find you totally adorable,” he said.

“You mean that, don’t you, Corey?”

“Of course, I do or else I wouldn’t have said it.”

She kissed him lightly on the cheek and said, “Thank you, thank you.”

Corey in fact was totally sincere in his comments. He sensed the girl’s gratitude; obviously she had been criticized so much by her mother, who in her own youth had been a strikingly beautiful woman with an enviable figure and who dearly wished that her only daughter was not so stocky and plain looking.

“You know, Maureen, if you’d like, I’d love to have you come down to mother’s salon where we could see if we could help you make her proud of you,” he offered, suddenly realizing that perhaps he was acting arrogantly in promoting his own skills.

“Would you, Corey? I saw what you did for Amy and she’s beautiful,” the girl said, smiling.

“Wrong, Maureen, she always was beautiful as you are, too. All we did was to bring her natural beauty out.”

“You’re a genius Corey to know what women want,” she said.

“We’d better go; your mom’s waiting on us,” Corey said, finally having gotten out of the gown and into his own clothes. He did not change out of the panties and bra that he had worn under his male clothes, which brought a question from Maureen: “Do you wear those underthings always, Corey?”

“No,” he said. “I just wore them ‘cause I expected your mother wanted me to model the gown.” It was only a partial lie; he always wore women’s panties and only sometimes wore a bra with modest breast forms.

“But those are your own panties and bra?”

“Yes,” he admitted, his face growing red.

She smiled at him, saying nothing at first. As he gathered the gown in his arms to leave the room, the girl queried him: “You like dressing like a girl, don’t you? I’m sure daddy must have thought you were a pretty girl model when he walked in tonight.”

“I suppose I do, and I hope that doesn’t bother you,” he said, seeking to make certain he’d keep her friendship. He truly liked Maureen.

“No, Corey, and it’s just between us,” she said. “I won’t even tell Amy.”

“She knows.”

“That’s cool, Corey, but let me tell you one thing: don’t you ever do anything to hurt that girl or break her heart. If you do, I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

Corey smiled, knowing the girl was sincere and probably was strong enough to do follow through on her threat.

“And maybe you’d like to create a dress for me too, Corey,” she suggested. “Daddy’ll pay for it, I know.”