Chapter 7 – Date Time
Maureen Penney had chosen to live in the dormitory, even though her parents’ home was less than 15 minutes away; it had pained her parents that their only child would want to leave her comfortable home and choose to live in a tiny cubicle room in a three-student suite in the dorms.

“Mom and dad. I love you both very much, but I want to experience other types of people now in college,” she had pleaded.

She pressed the point, arguing logically that her decision to attend a local public university in place of the Ivy League school for which she had been accepted had saved the Penney family perhaps $25,000 a year. It was a convincing argument Jason Penney had acknowledged.

“Let her try it, Emily,” he said to his wife. “What can it hurt?”

“Two weeks in sharing rooms with smelly girls from the inner city and she’ll beg to come home,” Emily chortled. Having herself attended only private schools, she could hardly imagine being immersed in amongst a bunch of “ordinary” girls.

“No, Emily, I think she’ll look upon it as an adventure,” Jason said.

Maureen hugged both her parents when they informed her that they had agreed to her decision in live in the dorms. While her father had seemed genuinely pleased and interested in the decision it was apparent her mother still was uneasy with the decision. Her mother commented that she’d have to endure “all sorts of people” at an urban university, a statement that shocked Maureen.

“But, mom, haven’t you always preached that all people should be treated equally? Just ‘cause there might be a black or Hispanic girl as a roommate shouldn’t bother you. You and dad have always supported civil rights,” Maureen said.

“It’s not a matter of that, Maureen, but your dad and I are able to give you the best, and you’re settling for second best,” Emily said.

“No. mom, I’m not, and I appreciate what you and dad are doing for me,” she said.

*****
Maureen and Amy had become best friends, often going for walks in the Downer Woods that had been preserved in the midst of the busy city. There had been warnings issued that girls should not enter the woods at night due to fear of attacks since there was little deterrent to stop men (students or men from the neighborhood) from entering; several incidents had occurred in recent years. Yet, both girls experienced restlessness from being holed up in dorm rooms and felt the walks after they finished studying at about nine o’clock were a refreshing experience.

“Between the two of us, we can take care of any guy, I think,” Maureen said, happy that the taller and more athletic Amy was at her side.

“I’ve still got my pepper spray with me, just in case,” Amy laughed.

“I’m not sure I’d come in here with just your boyfriend, though,” Maureen said.

“He’d not be much of a deterrent.”

The two had just entered the woods, taking a well-worn path. There were lights alone the path, but the girls had to be careful because of patches of ice. Snow was piled along the sides of the plowed walk and their breath could be seen in the cold.

“Can I ask you something, Amy?”

“Sure.”

“I don’t want to embarrass you, but it seems Corey’s more like a girl than a boy. Doesn’t that bother you?”

“Kind of, I guess, but he’s so nice to be with,” Amy replied.

“My mother asked him to model the gown he designed for her. Can you imagine that? They both wear the same size dress and I saw him in it. He was absolutely beautiful. My dad walked in when he was modeling it and thought he was a real model, a real woman.”

Amy’s smile couldn’t be seen by Maureen in the dark of the woods.

“Yes, he makes a perfectly lovely young woman, doesn’t he? He modeled it for me one day after he finished it.”

“I might have embarrassed him,” Maureen continued. “I told him he’d the prettiest woman on our dorm floor.”

“By far, he would be,” Amy giggled. “Certainly prettier than me.”

“And me.” They both giggled.

A few minutes later, Maureen asked another personal question: “Have you and Corey . . .ah . . . ah . . .”

“Slept together,” Amy finished the question for her, ending the girl’s discomfort in asking the personal question.

“Yes, have you?”

“That’s OK,” Amy reassured her friend. “I consider you my friend and I know we can be honest with each other.”

“Thank you.”

Amy knew she could trust Maureen; the two shared a feeling of being sisters likely due to their teen years of feeling like ugly ducklings and outsiders.

“Yes, you could say we slept together, but it was more like two girls making love, Maureen, and I loved it. I didn’t want him to screw me and he didn’t seem to want to try it either. I’m not even sure he could complete the act.”

“Oh my God, Amy. That sounds terrible for you.”

“No, no, no. It wasn’t. I loved it.”

“Like you were lesbians?”

“Yes, like we were lesbians. I call him Corrine and he looks so lovely and inviting in a nighty.”

“Corrine and Amy. How sweet,” Maureen said.

The two stopped in the walkway, and Amy turned to hug her shorter friend.

*****
Emily Penney received compliment after compliment for her gown at the Club’s Valentine’s Day Dance. “Is that an Alexander Wang?” “That just has to be Versace!” “Ralph Lauren?” Her friends gushed. At first, Emily felt she shouldn’t tell who designed her gown, but as the compliments rolled in, she asked her husband if he thought Corey would mind.

“I doubt it, honey. Maybe one of your friends might like to hire him and he needs the money, I’m sure,” Jason said.

She smiled and for the rest of the night, she told her friends that it was designed by a young designer named Corrine who lived in Milwaukee. Several of the women asked for Corrine’s contact information; they might be interested in having Corrine design something for them. Soon, Emily had stuffed her tiny purse with scraps of paper and cocktail napkins and business cards of the phone numbers of women interested in hearing from “your marvelous designer.”

To questions about the designer’s name, Emily called attention to the tag in her dress that said, “Designed by Corrine.” Corey had been convinced by both Amy and Maureen to create a designer name for himself, suggesting “Corrine” since the name seemed to sound a bit French and was a name unique for today’s young women.

On the Monday following the Dance, Maureen joined Corey at the Sociology Class they both attended with several hundred other freshmen students and gave him eight pieces of scrunched up scraps of paper, cocktail napkins and business cards with the names of women interested in being contacted for dresses.

“My dad says you may have a budding business here,” Maureen told him.

“But I can’t do that now, I need to finish college,” he said.

“Yes, I suppose, but maybe you could do a few at a time to raise money for your tuition. It wouldn’t hurt to check it out.”

“Your mother didn’t tell them who I was?” he asked.

“No, just that her gown was designed by Corrine.”

He was shocked. “But that means they’ll think I’m a woman.”

Maureen smiled and said, “Well?”

Just then the class was called to order. Corey said nothing and suddenly he began to see himself clearly.

*****
Because of their school and work schedules, Amy and Corey were able see each other only on Wednesday lunch periods and on Sundays; sometimes, they’d find time to spend an hour or two together for a time at a local coffee shop or at the food court in the student union. A few weeks after the semester began, the two figured they could get together on Saturday night, following the end of Corey’s day at his mother’s beauty salon and Amy’s dinner shift in the Union cafeteria.

The third such Saturday night was a snowy one in mid-February. Corey, using his mother’s car, picked Amy up about seven-thirty and suggested she spend the evening at his mother’s house. “Mom’s going out on a date tonight so we’ll have the house to ourselves, and you can stay the night,” he announced.

“Hmmmmm, you’re getting a bit adventurous, aren’t you?” she said, giggling.

“Why not? We’re adults,” he said.

“And your mom’s got a date, too?” she queried.

“Yes, and I’m so happy for her. It’s been a while for her and the president of our neighborhood association has asked her out for dinner and a movie. He’s a widower, but still not too old.”

“That’s great for her, Corey. But does she know I’ll be there overnight?”

“Yes, in fact, she suggested it. I think she wants to make a man out of me,” Corey said.

“You think that’ll happen? Maybe we need to get some condoms,” she said teasingly, recognizing Corey’s apparent incapability to complete the manly act as well as their mutual declaration that they were “best girlfriends.”

“I doubt that’ll be necessary,” he said. “Besides I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“What’s that?” she asked, as Corey drove down Lincoln Memorial Drive along the lakefront. Winds were whipping up waves that were crashing angrily upon the sandy shores of Bradford Beach with a light snow beginning to coat the roadway. Corey drove below the speed limit, with most other drivers following suit. While it was a sparkling wintry scene, it was also becoming treacherous on the road.

“You’ll see later,” he said.

Amy noticed he was wearing his mother’s heeled boots, as he had done during the snowstorm that led to their first night in bed together. She saw he wore a pair of navy blue slacks beneath his parka, similar to those worn frequently by both girls and boys on campus. He wore a wool winter cap that covered his ears, with his long hair flowing out from the bottom. She looked at him, marveling at how totally feminine he appeared as faint flashes of light shone across his face from the lights lining the roadway.

“My darling Corrine,” she mused, watching his rapt concentration on the road.

They said little during the drive, with Amy aware that Corey was concentrating on his driving. He was driving like an old woman, she felt, and wished he had allowed her to drive; she had far much more experience driving in such weather. He certainly was nothing like the boys she knew back in her snowbound hometown. But, the truth was she loved him, just as he was, a lovely, fragile, almost dainty girl.

*****
Corey unveiled his “surprise” once they had entered the house, having completed the tedious drive safely with only an occasional skid; with Amy’s counsel he had successfully learned to maneuver the car as a slide might begin and to resist revving the engine if the tires began to spin on the ice.

“Just have a seat for a few minutes, and I’ll show you the surprise,” he said, ducking into his bedroom after the two had deposited their snow specked coats and boots in the front hallway.

She busied herself looking at an issue of liberal Nation magazine she was surprised to see on the Sullivan coffee table. Amy had always found herself in agreement with the publication’s strong liberal articles on the few times she’d read it in the past. She was impressed that Corey or his mother despite their apparent interest in fashions had such a deep interest about political issues. She was deeply engrossed in an article about wage inequity when Corey entered the living room and said: “Surprise.”

Amy looked up, shocked. Corey stood before her wearing a brightly multi-colored tunic that reached to his mid-thighs; he wore black tights and a pair of dark red ballet flats. The tunic had an embroidered scoop neck with matching embroidery lining the hems of the tunic and short sleeves. He let his hair flow freely, and had fashioned discreet bangs.

“I thought I’d be Corrine tonight,” he said.

She said nothing for a minute.

“Is that OK with you, Amy?” he said, puzzled by her silence.

“Oh . . . oh . . . my God, yes,” she said, rushing to hug him.

“And I’ve got another surprise for you,” he said.

He retreated to his bedroom and returned holding a hanger showing similar tunic. “I made this for you. I think I got your size right,” he said.

“For me? We’ll be like sisters,” she said.

“Try it on, Amy,” he said, smiling at the thought of being her sister.

*****
Indeed, Amy and Corey’s friendship soon developed into a sisterly one. More and more, in their moments together, the boy wore women’s clothes, an activity reluctantly approved by his mother. The two friends did their share of hugging and kissing, but neither seemed to be fulfilling their sexual needs. Amy realized that as much as she loved Corey he would never satisfy her desire for a man. Their Saturday nights and Sunday excursions became those of two young ladies, shopping at the mall, sipping coffee or lattes at Colectivo (the area’s most popular coffee shop chain), seeing movies or sharing a pizza.

At first, Corey joined Amy in the outings wearing androgynous slacks, tops and boots with heels (when weather required it) or flats. Regardless of the attempt to retain some semblance of masculine appearance, he was always addressed as “miss” or “young lady.” As the weather warmed, he began to wear skirts and ruffled blouses or sleeveless tee-shirts.

“I’m really getting jealous,” Amy said one Sunday in April as they munched on a pasta salad at the mall’s food court. “The boys all are eying you up, you’re so damned sexy and pretty.”

“They’re looking at you, too, Amy,” he reassured her.

“Nah, I look like a cow next to you,” she said. “But I love you.”

Corey had been pleased on how he had helped Amy become more attractive, building on her features to create a tall, lovely, welcoming young woman. Though Amy would never be a striking beauty, she would always look to be the warm, welcoming person that was her true self. Amy had lost about twenty pounds, mainly through careful dieting, counseled by Corey. He had taught her to cast aside the lumberjack eating habits of her brothers and find a liking for the more feminine diet favored by Corey.

“You’re no cow, Amy,” he said. “You’re a tall, lovely girl. Believe me.”

Just then two young men, sat down at the table next to them, each carrying a tray with a hamburger, fries and large soda. Corey noticed that the taller of the two looked squarely at Amy; the boy smiled at Amy. The other boy busied himself with his meal, setting his food on the table and chucking the tray onto an adjoining empty table.

Amy saw the boy examining her; she blushed, and Corey smiled, pleased that his friend was drawing the attention of what appeared to be a trim, handsome young man. Amy quickly averted her eyes, seeking to avoid eye contact; her face grew red, and Corey wondered why the boy’s attention seemed to bother her. Neither of the boys paid attention to Corey, who was dressed in a fetching peasant blouse, a short pleated skirt, coffee-colored pantyhose and flats.

Finally, the tall boy, said, his remarks aimed at Amy: “Excuse me. You look so much like a girl I went to school with.”

Amy raised her head to look at the boy, nodding her head as a silent reply.

“You’re Amy, aren’t you? From Pine Valley?”

“Yes, and you must be Josh Maclin,” Amy replied.

“You got it,” he said. “I hardly noticed you at first. You’ve . . . ah . . .”

Amy giggled at the boy’s fumbling words, realizing he was about to say something like “you’re not such a fatty anymore.”

“Yes, Josh, I’ve lost some weight, but I’m still the same girl you guys paid no attention to in school,” she said pointedly.

Corey looked at Amy, angry at how she seemed to be pushing away a handsome boy who was paying attention to her.

Josh was not to be put off, though. “Amy, that’s not fair; I always liked you and we talked a few times, didn’t we? Besides I was dating someone else all during school.”

Amy nodded, remembering Josh always had Hetty Lefond at his side. “I thought you’d marry her, Josh.”

“Ah, she thought she could sing and went off with a group from the Twin Cities and got herself all messed up. I think she’s working the poles up on Silver Street in Hurley,” he said, referring to street in a town on the border with Upper Michigan that featured pole dancing at its strip clubs. The town’s once bawdy character had been greatly tamed when the mines closed in the area, Corey knew, but there were still a few remaining clubs on the notorious strip.

“That’s too bad,” Amy said, sincerely. She had always liked Hetty, even though the girl had been a bit vain, probably due to being raised by a single mother who was not attentive to the girl.

The conversation continued, and Corey began, much to his shame, to offer flirty glances at the other boy. The boy was kind of cute, he thought, quickly reprimanding himself for his far too obvious girlish actions. He had never thought he’d be attracted to boys, but he found the other boy’s obvious attention to Amy to be intriguing.

“May we join you girls?” Josh finally asked.

Amy looked at Corey tentatively, seeking his approval, and Corey nodded with a smile. The boys took the two empty chairs at the table, after both Corey and Amy had removed their purses.

“This is my friend, Stefan Gordon, and who’s your pretty girlfriend, Amy,” Josh said as they sat down.

“My friend, Corrine.”

Corey smiled, looking at Stefan. He was a trim, nice looking man with sandy hair that included an unruly cowlick; he wore a gold sweat shirt with the word “Marquette” in blue across the front, indicating he was likely a student at the other major university in the city.

Stefan took my hand in a courteous, polite way, and said in a heavily accented voice, “Nice to meet you, Corrine.” He had large, strong, callused hands that seemed engulf Corey’s dainty, soft hands. Is this how it feels to be a girl when a man finds she’s attractive?

*****
Stefan spoke with an East European accent that was often heard in the area, largely because of the city’s large Polish population. It turned out Stefan was from Poland and was studying international affairs on a scholarship aimed at attracting foreign students to Marquette; to help cover the added expenses not covered by the scholarship, he said he worked about sixteen hours a week in a warehouse of a large beer distributor in the community, wrestling with beer cases and half barrels. It explained the boy’s callused hands and muscular forearms.

Corey was fascinated by the boy’s story and surprised him by saying a few words in Polish; he had picked up the language from his maternal grandparents who had emigrated from Poland after World War II and still spoke the language regularly.

Soon Corey and Stefan were engaged in a close discussion, ignoring their table mates, who were also similarly engaged.

“May I be so bold as to ask if I can see you again, Corrine?” Stefan said when the group was about to break up.

The question literally took Corey’s breath away; he had never really considered the possibility that his dressing as a girl could lead to dating a boy. True, Amy, Maureen and Emily had all suggested that should he dare to go out in public as Corrine he’d likely face such eventuality; didn’t they always says he was often the prettiest girl in the room?

“Oh, I’m sorry, you probably already have a boyfriend?” Stefan said haltingly after his question went unanswered.

“Ah, no, but I’m not sure . . .”

“You don’t like me, Corrine? I thought we were having a good time here.”

“No, that’s not it. It’s something else,” Corey said, totally unsure how he should handle the situation. Corey didn’t want to offend Stefan; he was truly a sweet boy and Corey enjoyed his company. He’d love to be Stefan’s friend, but he was a boy, not a lovely, pretty girl as Stefan perceived him to be.

“Oh, OK, I just thought I would ask,” Stefan said apologetically.

“No, no that’s fine. I’ll tell you what maybe we could meet for coffee sometime,” Corey volunteered.

The boy’s eyes brightened and the two agreed to meet at Colectivo coffee shop on Prospect Avenue sometime. “Let me call you when I can, Stefan, OK?”

Stefan wrote his cell phone number on a napkin and Corey took it, placing it in his purse. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever call the number. Yet, he knew he would not lose Stefan’s phone number.

*****
That night Corey was particularly fastidious as he prepared himself for bed; he took a long bubble bath, making sure to use his mother’s scented soap. Emerging from the tub, he dried himself slowly and gently, finally wrapping his head and looking very much like a slender, smooth teenaged girl. He dabbed on a bit of tangy scented toilet water and for a minute admired the image in the mirror, an image whose soft femininity was violated only by the ugly, smallish organ at his crotch. With a free hand, he tucked the slender, soft shaft between his upper thighs, to form a smooth, flat front.

“Now I am a girl,” he announced, speaking into the mirror. Corey loved the image.

“I am Corrine,” he mused, wishing it were true.

He chose perhaps the daintiest of nightgowns in his drawer, a light, satiny affair hemmed in lace. He loved how the skinny straps over his shoulders exposed his soft, slender arms; the gown ended at the upper thighs.

Crawling under the covers, Corey wondered how it would feel to be in the embrace of Stefan; he looked so strong and manly and Corey imagined himself caressing Stefan’s firm, bulging arms, his sinewy thighs and hard stomach, murmuring to the boy how strong he was. He hoped Stefan would relish massaging Corey’s (no, Corrine’s) soft feminine flesh. And how passionately they would kiss!

His reverie ended with the sudden realization that such an event would never happen. How could he lure the unsuspecting Stefan into bed, only to reveal that the lovely, tender girl in Stefan’s arms was a boy? Corey cried and cried until sleep finally overcame him.

*****
“Stefan’s been asking about you, Corrine,” Amy said when the two had their usual Wednesday lunch together. As usual on school days, Corey was dressed in an androgynous outfit, navy blue women’s slacks over sheer pantyhose, a dark turtle neck pullover and a pair of grey running shoes. It preserved, he felt, a hint of masculinity that he needed since all of his school ID information said “male.” He knew that he could be taken either for a male or female, though strangers almost always addressed him as a young woman.

Corey smiled, pleased that Amy had been calling him Corrine during their private times together.

“So you’ve been talking to Josh?” he inquired.

“Are you jealous, darling?” Amy asked, her question was partly a tease and partly serious, since she wondered whether the two friends’ closeness had morphed into a lesbian love affair.

“Just a little bit, Amy,” Corey answered with a giggle. “But really I’m happy for you.”

“Corrine, dear, we’ll always be friends. I just know it and whenever I need a comforting hug I know where to come.”

Corey smiled at the round-faced girl, whose eyes were truly dancing with happiness.

“Seriously, Corrine, Stefan really would like to meet you again,” Amy said.

“I don’t know if that’s so wise, Amy. After all I’m still a boy in some ways.”

Amy laughed. “Not that I can see. Even in your so-called boy outfit, I still see a pretty girl sitting here.”

“Oh, Amy, what am I to do?” Corey asked, after the two had joined hands across the table, showing their obvious affection.

There was a rustle of sound at an adjoining table where a half dozen boys had been making a ruckus in their good-natured joshing about. Corey glanced over to see one of the boys, a pock-marked ruffian return a disapproving stare and then turn to his nearest companion and said, loud enough for Corey and Amy to hear, “Look at the two lezzies.”

Corey’s face reddened and he rose in anger to confront the boy, but Amy held him back, grabbing his hand in earnest. Instead, she got up, standing tall over the boy and said in a fearsome voice: “You got something against girls who love each other?”

It was obvious that Amy, her body strengthened through her rough and tumble life in the woods, would likely easily handle any of the boys at the next table.

“No, but I’d sure like to tussle with your girlfriend,” the boy said, looking at Corey.

“Well, she doesn’t like wiseass jerks like you. She’s a girl with good taste.”

The boy’s table mates burst into laughter and one of them said: “She sure told you, Caleb.”

Knowing he had been bested, Caleb looked first at Amy and then to Corey and said, “I’m sorry girls. I was just trying to have a bit of fun. I didn’t mean no harm.”

Corey looked back, suddenly feeling sorry for the boy in spite of his offensive remarks. He had been made to look like a fool to his friends; Corey truly felt sad about people who get humiliated for any reason, and the boy Caleb looked like just such a boy who must have been struggling to find an identity and perhaps thought his thoughtless remarks about “lezzies” might win him points among his loutish companions.

“OK, I accept your apology, but just don’t try to make fun of other people again,” Corey said, smiling in a friendly way.

“My, oh my, you’re a forgive-and-forget type of girl, aren’t you?” Amy said when she returned to the table.

“I guess.”

Amy returned to the subject of Stefan. “He wanted your phone number, Corrine.”

“I don’t know what I’m going to do, Amy. I never really thought about boys. I just wanted to be a girl. But, Stefan seems like such a nice guy and he’s kind of intriguing, too, isn’t he?”

Amy nodded.

“You have to face reality, dear,” she said. “If you’re planning to go out more often as a girl, and as such a pretty girl, too, you’ll have to deal with men and boys. You’re hot.”

“I like the way I feel as a girl and it is so exciting to be liked by a boy like Stefan. I’d like to go out as his girlfriend, but how can I do that. He’ll have to be told what I really am.”

“Either that, Corrine, or you’ll have to forget boys and just say you like girls,” she said giggling.

“Oh, and be lezzie? Well, I might like that, but now you got Josh.”

Corey agreed finally to let Amy pass his phone number and email address to Stefan.

*****
Amy decided not to return home for the spring break, claiming that she had a paper to finish and that she would be able to work nearly fulltime during the period at the Student Union filling in for those student workers who left town. “I can use the extra money,” she told her mother, who was nearly in tears to learn that her only daughter would not be home for the week.

“I bet it’s that boy who’s keeping you in Milwaukee,” her mother said.

“No mother, I don’t even date that boy anymore,” she said, realizing it was not quite the whole truth. Her decision, of course, had more to do with meeting Josh than anything else; he, too, was planning to stay in the city during the period. Both had agreed that it was best not to tell the folks back home about their budding relationship. “You know how gossip spreads in that place,” Josh said.

Stefan also remained in Milwaukee during the break. He had no family nearby; his parents and siblings were still in Poland. Besides his studies and a paper he needed to finish, Stefan would be putting in extra hours at his beer distributor’s job during the break.

Stefan called, apparently almost immediately after getting Corey’s phone number. He was breathless and in an almost panic-stricken voice, his accent suddenly stronger than Corey remembered it, asking, “Corrine, is you?”

It was Tuesday, just two days into the spring break period. Corey had been both waiting for the call, but also dreading it since he was afraid to encourage the boy’s interest. She didn’t immediately answer his question.

“Corrine, is you?” Stefan pressed.

“Yes, Stefan, I’m here.”

“Oh, I worried. Is wrong number?”

“No, Stefan, I just wasn’t expecting you, is all,” he said, making his voice soft and demure, reflecting a shyness that he truly felt.

“I want meet you again,” Stefan began, his question direct and his wording reflecting the Eastern European tendency to leave out prepositions and other basically unnecessary words that clutter up the English language.

“I’m awfully busy now,” Corey said, trying not to sound too eager, though his desire to meet the boy as Corrine was growing stronger than any reluctance to avoid having to reveal himself.

“How about tomorrow night? Josh and Amy want us join them at pizza then movie,” he offered.

Corey had hoped to spend Wednesday night finishing up a dress he was fashioning for one of Emily Penney’s friends (he had gained a steady supply of customers willing to spend generous dollars on his creations thanks to Emily’s one-woman campaign). That could wait another day or so, he thought, and agreed. The thought of dressing up pretty for a young man was so enticing. How much he loved being a lovely, soft feminine woman named Corrine!

*****
Corey had two major obstacles to overcome in order to be a believable woman: his voice and his beard. Overall his appearance and mannerisms were truly feminine and at first impression he was taken to be a lovely young woman, thus causing new acquaintances to overlook the voice or facial hair shortcomings. Corey had largely solved the voice problem by adopting a soft, almost breathless manner of speaking and by carefully studying how women spoke; he avoided making his speech sound too effeminate, a practice that would immediately draw attention to his speech. What bothered him most about the voice issue was that he needed to be constantly alert when he spoke to avoid drifting into his deeper, more masculine voice.

The beard was something else; he shaved every day, changing blades often to be certain he always got the closest of shaves to avoid stubble. In addition, he used much lotion and mascara to keep a soft-looking skin.

The pending date with Stefan was a first for Corey, since until his recent trips with Amy in the guise of Corrine he had not ventured into public often as a young woman. His trips so far were a success and he was pleased he had been totally accepted as female. Not only that, as Corrine he had been ogled and examined by what he felt were lustful eyes of men, both young and old.

Now, he was about to be in close proximity to Stefan for several hours who would be wanting to treat him as he would any other young woman he was dating. It would mean some hugs, some groping and likely kisses. Corey, of course, would refuse any efforts by the young man to “feel” him up and to probe into his genital area in search of a warm, moist hole to insert his fingers.

“Are you sure you want to do this, dear?” his mother asked when he told her that he needed to get off from the salon an hour early to ready himself for his first real date as Corrine. Mother and son were in the kitchen, having their breakfast on Wednesday morning, before beginning their day at the beauty salon. Since Corey was off school this week, he was working nearly every day in the salon which was busy with appointments in preparation for the Easter weekend.

“I’m scared, mom, but I have to do this,” he said.

“You don’t have to do anything like this. You’re still a boy, or really a young man and a very handsome one, too,” Debbie Sullivan said, renewing a discussion that had been going on between the two for several months after Corey declared he was serious about transitioning into being a woman.

“I do, mom, I really do have to do this. I feel I am a girl and I need to experience what a girl lives through. And Stefan is so nice.”

“Oh, darling, I’m so worried about you,” she said. “I raised you in a world of women and I’m so sorry. You have so much talent and you’re such a nice young man, and now this. I failed you so badly.”

“No, mom, you didn’t and I love you,” Corey said, reaching over to hug his mother.

“Oh dear and you do make such a lovely young woman,” she said, resigned to her son’s course of action.

“You know I’m only following Dr. Grainger’s orders in beginning to live outwardly as a woman,” he said.

Indeed, Corey had begun the steps to transitioning, having been referred by his primary physician to Dr. George Grainger, a gender specialist, who confirmed Corey’s reality that he was female, except for his masculine bodily features. Corey was scheduled to begin living outwardly as a woman in June, after school ended; shortly thereafter he’d receive hormones to further the process. If all went as scheduled – and he could afford it – Corey would have the ultimate surgeries to provide him with female sexual organs and, if needed, facial surgery and breast enhancement.

“Though I doubt you’ll need any facial surgery, Corey,” the doctor said. “You have perfectly lovely features now.”

Looking at her pretty son in the bright kitchen light, Debbie Sullivan nodded in resignation of the inevitable: Corey was to become Corrine.
(To Be Continued)