Dress Code

A young man uses a protest against his school's dress code as an excuse to wear the dress he's always dreamed of.

by Czolgolz
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I wrote this back in 1999. Be kind.

If you review history, you'd be surprised to see how often a small event can have the most monumental results. If the driver of Archduke Ferdinand hadn't taken a wrong turn in 1914 he wouldn't have been assassinated and the world wouldn't have been plunged into The Great War. If Lincoln hadn't gone to the theater that night, he never would have been shot. If Hitler had been a really good artist, then he might not have entered politics and we all would have been spared a lot of grief.

I ended up exchanging the life I knew for a totally new and exciting existence due to an inconsequential event: Luthor Hugo's little brother, Pete, decided to wash his marble collection in the family washing machine.

Luthor was a classmate of mine at Fort Zummer High School (Ft. Zit to alumni) my sophomore year. We were casual acquaintances and had the odd class together. He was one of the few black students in the suburban St. Louis school district.

His kid brother, Pete, was in the fifth grade and really should have known better than to pull the marble stunt. Predictably, the washing machine's motor burned out. The repairman, flaunting the godlike power repair people hold over desperate customers, informed the family he couldn't come out for at least a week.

When the washer burned out, Luthor's laundry was already at a crisis point. He was forced to rummage through bottom drawers and the back of his closet for anything clean. The day before the washer was fixed, he wore the infamous 'Little Doobie' shirt.

It was an old T-shirt that someone had given him as a gag gift. Printed on it was a parody of the 'Little Debbie' trademark, featuring the innocent snack cake girl smoking a joint. He knew it was probably a bad idea to wear it to school, but, as he told me later, it was either that his father's 'Mondale 84' shirt.

Luthor managed to avoid the notice of his first period teacher. Unfortunately, he had Mr. Elmer for second hour biology. Mr. Elmer wasn't the sort of teacher to miss a rules infraction. He lived to send students to the office. Woe to the poor schmuck who was caught eating in the halls or loitering the cafeteria. Elmer's classes were among the most hated in the school.

Luthor ducked into class just as the bell ringed. Elmer looked up, probably to chastise him for being late, and saw the shirt. While what happened next would remain an area of dispute for years to come, I was there. I saw it all and I can tell you that this is exactly how it happened.

Mr. Elmer stared at Luthor's shirt for several seconds, as if trying to take in the hideous sight. "Mis-tar Hugo! Just what is the meaning of this?"

Luthor looked at his shirt and gave a hang-dog smile. "Yeah, I know. You see our washer..."
"I did not ask you about your washer, Mis-tar Hugo. Are you aware that garments containing drug-related messages are strictly forbidden by the school dress code?" Elmer, as you may have guessed, was quite familiar with the dress code.

Luthor was a big guy, even for his fifteen years. He was a JV wrestler and was not one to be easily intimidated. Yet for the first time since I had known him, I saw him look uncomfortable. No one liked to be on Elmer's bad side. It was nearly impossible to return to his good graces, and until you did he made it a point to make your life hell.

"Did you not think the school dress code applied to you? Or did you just not care that you would be providing an atmosphere non-conductive to the learning process?"

Someone giggled. Mr. Elmer shot a withering glance at the class. Everyone ducked their heads. I didn't bother. I blended in naturally. Teachers, classmates, pretty much everyone failed to notice me. I was a non-entity, John Doe, Jr. Not a nerd, not popular. The face in the yearbook that no one could quite place with a memory.

"Look," said Luthor. "Why don't I go to the bathroom and turn it inside out?"

Being presented with a logical solution to the problem seemed to infuriate Elmer further. "Because, young man, the school discipline policy is not there for be flaunted." Ah, Elmer's beloved discipline policy. Nary a day passed that he didn't quote from the damn thing. "Any student," he quoted, probably verbatim, "who violates the school dress code is subject to reprimand, detention, or suspension."

Mr. Elmer scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Take this to the principal's office, young man. I think Dr. Bailey will be very interested to see just what you've worn to class today." Personally, I thought Dr. Bailey wouldn't have given a rat's-ass, but I didn't tell that to Elmer.

Luthor groaned and turned to leave. Then he stopped. "Mistar Elmer," he mimicked "please enlighten me."

"Yes?" said Elmer, immediately put on his guard.

"You say I'm being kicked out of class because I'm wearing a shirt that promotes a drug, right?"

"That is correct, Mis-tar Hugo."

"Well," Luthor inexplicably grinned, "then no doubt you'll want to send Bill to the office with me!"

Bill Czolgolz (pronounced Shol-gosh) had been dozing on his lab table. He sat up at the sound of his name. "Huh? What?"

Luthor was enjoying the chaos he was causing. "You'll note that Mis-tar Cuzu...Cisz....that Bill is also wearing a drug promoting T-shirt."

Everyone, including Bill, looked at the offending shirt. It was black and showed a large model of a molecule. The caption underneath it read 'caffeine.' Bill had probably worn it in homage to his love for soft-drinks.

Bill was a smart guy, not many guys his age would appreciate the molecular humor. He was a computer expert, an honor society member, and a front-runner for the valedictorian spot. You'd think the teachers would have loved him. They didn't.

He was snide. He never paid attention in class, he was always sleeping or reading something unrelated. He cracked lewd jokes. He babbled about weird conspiracy theories. If he didn't like a teacher (and he disliked almost all of them) he would make it known. And he always championed the causes of the trouble making students.

"Well I’ll be damned!" said Bill, relishing the casual profanity. "Caffeine is a drug! Guess I'm off to the office too!" He stood up.

"Sit down this instant, young man! You can only be punished for clothes relating to illegal drugs." I think Elmer realized that he was about to lose control.

"Sit down?" asked Bill innocently. "But the dress code says drugs, period. Caffeine is a drug, it causes increased heart rate, nervousness, and prostate trouble!"

"I said return to your seat!"

"You mean I'm not going to be punished? And yet my crime is the same as Luthor's. Worse even, caffeine is addictive while marijuana isn't. Uh, so I've heard."

Luthor jumped in. "So why would I be punished, but not Bill?"

"We're the same age," said Bill.

"The same height," said Luthor.

"Ah, I know something different," said Bill, as if in a flash of inspiration. "I'm white and you're black!"

Luthor looked at his hands, as if shocked by this information. "Well, so I am. Guess it's off to the office with the colored boy."

"Guess so. I'll just stay here and enjoy the benefits of being Aryan-pure."

Of course racism probably had nothing to do with Elmer's decision, but Bill and Luthor knew a hot issue when they saw one. By the time Luthor had left, the entire class was glaring silently at Elmer.

"Don't worry," said Bill as he sat down, to no one in particular. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Our principal, Dr. Bailey, was only mildly annoyed by Luthor's shirt. He received a two-hour after school detention and a warning not to wear the shirt again. Luthor really could have cared less, when you're fifteen, detentions are fairly common. Bill, on the other hand, saw it as a way to cause more trouble. By lunchtime he had spread word of Elmer's alleged racism throughout the school. After classes, I saw him in the commons area, ranting to a group of his friends. "Are we going to let him get away with this?" he hollered to the gathering of freaks, punks, Goths, stoners, skaters, nerds, hippies, alterni-chicks, and losers. It would have been a dramatic time for them all to shout 'NO!' but they were silent. "Well," continued Bill, "it's time for action. I say all of us come to school tomorrow wearing our wildest outfits yet! And here's the thing...nothing that violates the dress code! Imagine the look on his face when we all come here in Halloween costumes that don't violate his precious discipline policy!"

There were sullen grunts from the crowd. Bill's friends weren't exactly what you'd call 'highly motivated.' "Why bother?" asked one green-haired individual. "I mean, he'll just go down on us! I've got enough problems." There were cries of assent from the angst-ridden audience.

Bill was in danger of losing his following. I don't know what inspired me to leap to his defense, but I did. "Good thing," I shouted. "Elmer said you all were too scared to fight him. He said you all respected him too much to face up to him!"

That did it. The students might have been apathetic to a supposed injustice, but they weren't about to be called respectful. Soon Bill had convinced them all to wear something strange the next day.

After the crowd dispersed, Bill walked up to me. "Hey, thanks...uh, er," like most people, he didn't remember my name.

"Harvey Cambiar," I replied.

"Hey, like Lee Harvey Oswald! I like it! You'll go along with us, right? Wear something funky tomorrow?"

Wear something funky? Deliberately anger a teacher? It was so unlike my normal, non-aggressive self. But what the hell.

"Sure, I'm in."

"Thanks, dude. Man, tomorrow Elmer's gonna freak! Whoah, gotta run, computer club."

*

"Hey mom, I'm home!"

"Hey honey, how was school?" my mother called from her bedroom.

I tossed my things on the couch and walked into the kitchen. I paused to glance at the photo hanging on the living room wall. Though I had seen it every day for over fifteen years, my eyes were still drawn to it.

It was a photo of a good looking man in his thirties. He was tall, muscular, and square-jawed. The camera had captured him as he emerged from the woods, a shotgun over one shoulder.
Though I had never met him, I knew that he was my father. Mother had told me everything about him: their whirlwind courtship, their five happy years of marriage, his successful career as a police officer. About how happy he was when mom told him she was pregnant with me. About how he was shot to death during a routine traffic stop a month before I was born.

I tore my face from the picture and went to the fridge to make a snack. Dad's death (she had told me) had nearly destroyed her. The police survivor benefits had provided well. She was able to pull up roots from her native Los Angles and move to the comparative tranquility of the Midwest. To recoup. To start a new life with her new son.

Mom joined me in the kitchen. "So did you learn anything at school today?" she asked.
I smiled at her. She was a pretty woman, despite her forty plus years and graying hair. I enjoyed her company. I guess that's a strange thing for a teenage boy to say, but Mom and I had been through a lot together. Besides, it's not like I had tons of friends at school to hang out with.

"Not much in the classroom," I replied, "but listen to this..." I briefly related the story of how Luthor and Mr. Elmer had locked horns and about Bill's insane plan to get back at Mr. Elmer.

Mother smiled, I knew she would. She was kind of a hippie. She was drawn to anything that smelt of questioning authority. It was definitely a case of opposites attracting when she married my policeman father.

"So are you going to dress up tomorrow?" she asked excitedly.

"I dunno, I told Bill I would, but what's the point?"

"What's the point? C'mon, stand up for your friends! Fight the power!" Sheesh, most kids moms would be forbidding their children to break the rules, mine was actively encouraging it.

I still waffled. "Well, what could I wear? I haven't had a Halloween costume in years, and I don't really have any wild and crazy clothes." I was speaking the truth. Mom knew that I really wasn't concerned about what I wore, it fact it was always a chore for her to get me to go clothes shopping.

"I hadn't thought of that," said mom. "Do you know anyone you could borrow something from?"
I shook my head. Mother continued to think. Then she laughed. "Here's an idea. We're almost the same size. What would you think of wearing something of mine?"

"Why? Do you have an old costume somewhere?"

"No, silly. I mean wear my regular clothes!"

"You mean, like a dress? Be serious."

"I am being serious. I doubt the school dress code specifically forbids a young man to wear a dress and I'm sure it would really get your teacher's goat."

"But...but what would everyone think?"

"They'd think you had the nerve to stand up against an unfair rule. They'd think you were brave for doing the right thing!"

Now, before I go on, I think I should admit something. Something, that up until that point in my life, I had never admitted to anyone. You see, as long as I could remember, I had wanted to be a girl.

I don't know why I should have felt like that. I knew it was an unnatural, perverted urge (at least I felt that way at the time). But ever since I realized the difference between boys and girls, I felt I belonged firmly in the latter category.

I hated sports, I loathed my boyish clothes. I hated the pubescent changes that had started in my body. I wanted to shave my legs, not my face. I wanted my voice to stay at its soft falsetto, not to deepen into a manly baritone. I wanted smooth, graceful curves, not the hard, chiseled features of a man. I wanted to grow breasts, not muscles.

At an age where most guys couldn't take their eyes off girls, I couldn't take my eyes off of them for another reason. Envy. Not lust, envy. I envied their skirts, dresses, and makeup. Their quiet, girlish ways. Their soft, yielding personalities.

I felt like I was utterly alone in the world. Who could I talk to? Not my mother; I could only picture the shame and sorrow such an admission on my part would bring. And if my father were still alive, it would go doubly. Tell that macho cop that his only son wanted to be his daughter? No way.

I had thought about telling Mr. Rogers, our school guidance councilor, but then thought the better of it. As Bill once remarked, 'I'd like to see things from that guy's point of view, but I can't cram my head that far up my ass.' Besides, I didn't know if I could trust him not to tell my mother. I had no friends, my age or otherwise, that I could confide in enough to tell. There was a peer help group at my school, but I didn't know if I could trust them to take me seriously.

And so, I turned to the only friend that someone who desperately needs anonymity can find: the internet. Among the thousands of 'hot transsexual pics' and 'chicks with dicks' sites, I ran across the occasional serious-minded transgender support page.

I learned all about my problem there. I realized I wasn't just a homosexual, who would be attracted to men but has no desire to be a woman. I wasn't a transvestite, who would get sexual pleasure from dressing as a woman, but had no desire to be one. No, I was a transgender. I wanted to be a woman. To live as one. To dress as one. To be treated as one. Maybe even find a nice boy who would love me as one.

All the support sites had one thing in common: they urged all transpeople to come to grips with their lifestyle as early as possible. The longer you waited, the harder it would be to have the life you wanted.

I wanted to tell my mom. I wanted to blurt it out that I wasn't a boy, that some accident of nature had stuck me in the wrong body. That I wanted to wear dresses and makeup from now on. That I would still be the same person, just of a different gender. But I knew I could never tell. After losing her husband, I couldn't heap one more tragedy on the head of the woman who had raised me. No, I knew I would have to suffer in silence forever.

I did dress in secret, though. Whenever my mother was gone I would slip down to the laundry room, grab whatever clothes happened to be there, and duck into the bathroom. I would have liked to have mixed and matched my own outfits, but I couldn't risk her noticing anything having been disturbed. Wearing clothes from the laundry also meant that I could dump them down the laundry chute if I should hear her car pull up.

Ah, those solitary hours alone in my mother's finery. Harvey disappeared, a teenaged princess took his place. Skirts, dresses, bathing suits, lingerie, jewelry...I could have stayed there all day. I learned how to create feminine curves with wadded up washcloths and to cover my penis with extra tight pantyhose. After I had fixed myself up the way I wanted to, I would stare at my reflection in the mirror. I'd look at myself from all angles, coquettishly flirting with my imaginary suitors. And I would cry to think how my encroaching puberty would soon take this girl away forever.

My excursions to the bathroom never sexually excited me like they would a transvestite. No, they just gave me a feeling of correctness, of normalcy, like this was the real world, and the outside world, the one with Harvey, was just a distorted reality. How I wished that were really the case! But it wasn't so. And even in the bathroom, things weren't perfect. My mom's clothes weren't quite in my size, I wished I could have my own. I could have purchased some somewhere, I suppose, but I was afraid. Though my mom respected my privacy, I always foresaw some disaster where she came across unfamiliar female clothes in my hiding place. That was too horrible to contemplate. Another problem I had was my lack of makeup. I wanted to make up my face, but I didn't dare disturb my mother's cosmetics. If she knew what I had done with them she wouldn't have understood.

How I wished, more than anything, that she would understand. My fantasy was to make myself up into a complete woman, so she would see how pretty I was, and then to wait for her to come home. For her to see me, but act like nothing was wrong. For her to take me clothes shopping the next day. For her to transfer me to another school where I could be her daughter full-time. For her to arrange for me to start on estrogen...

Life is cruel. That was a dream that would never come true. Though nothing could stop me from fantasizing, which I did, often.

Mom couldn't have possibly known what an effect her casual suggestion had on me. My mind was racing a mile a minute, there was a faint buzzing in my ears. She had suggested it! My mother had actually suggested that I go to school in a dress! Maybe she'd even let me wear makeup! And maybe, just maybe, she'd let me continue to dress like this, long after the dress code issue was settled.

No, that was ridiculous. Mom was just trying to think of an oddball costume for me to wear, nothing more. I couldn't jeopardize this by acting overly eager. I'd just have to play it cool, act like I was doing this because of my concern about the school's dress code, and enjoy it while I could. Afterwards, I'd always have the memory.

I steadied myself internally. "OK," I replied, managing to sound indifferent, "whatever."
Mom smiled and motioned me to her bedroom. She opened her closet and began poking through her various outfits; outfits I knew very well. Her green cocktail dress, her gray, skirted business suit, her black, backless evening gown. I grew dizzy, picturing myself in one of them. I nearly recoiled in horror when she pulled out a ludicrous, rayon-pink disco outfit with pictures of tropical fruit all over it.

"You can wear this silly thing," said mom. "Let's see, I think I have come old go-go boots and some gaudy costume jewelry..."

No, no, no! Not campy drag! I wanted to look like a woman, not like one of the Monty Python players in a dress. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, I knew requesting something nicer would be way too suspicious, but I couldn't hold my tongue. This was my only chance to be dressed as a woman somewhere other than the bathroom. To go out in public, to school! True, everyone would know who I was, but what of it? No, if we were going to do this, we'd have to do it right.

"Er, mom..." I ventured, trying to get my excuse straight.

"Yes?" she paused, putting down a stupid old-lady hat with flowers on it.

"I was just thinking, um...."

"Yes?"

"Well, the whole point of me doing this is to wear something that will make Mr. Elmer mad, but won't actually break any rules, right?"

"Right."

"Well, maybe we should tone it down a bit. I mean, if a girl wore that outfit to school she'd be asking for trouble from the administration. Maybe if I just wore, I dunno, something that wouldn't look odd on a girl, I'd have more of a leg to stand on. Like you said, the school rules probably don't forbid boys to wear girl's clothes, but if I go overboard it might cause problems."

It was a tense moment. Had I gone too far? Had I said too much? I silently prayed I hadn't ruined everything. Much to my relief, my mom nodded. "I see your point. Only cross the line as much as you need to and you're more likely to win. Okay, let's see what we can do for you."

Mom pulled out three or four likely candidates. "Well, I'm going to have to dress you from the skin out. Go put on some swim trunks or something and meet me in the bathroom." I ducked into my room and shed my clothes. I pulled on some boxers and went into the bathroom. Mom was still in her room, so I took the opportunity to examine myself in the mirror. There I stood, in all my male, fifteen-year-old splendor. My rust-colored hair hanging, unkempt, just past my ears. A little acne. No muscles, sunken chest. Not tall. Hair under my arms, around my groin, and that was about it. There was hair on my legs, but it was not coarse or dark.
I loathed and loved my body at the same time. Loathed it for the obvious reason: it was not a woman's body. It had no breasts, no vagina, no femininity. But in a strange way, I loved it too. It was soft, hairless, and while not too feminine, it was not too masculine either. I knew from experience that with a dress and some makeup I could make myself into a presentable woman. But it wouldn't last long. Soon I would be covered with hair and muscles. Then my trips to the bathroom would be too sad to contemplate: a young man in a dress where a pretty girl had once stood.

I wished I could stop my puberty. A lot of guys my age looked like men, thank God that hadn't happened to me yet. I knew from my internet research that if I started taking estrogen now, puberty would actually involve welcome changes: breasts, softer skin, silkier hair, curves...
"Am I interrupting anything, Mr. America?" I was startled to realize that my mom had been standing in the doorway, watching me stare at my reflection for some time now. From her point of view I had been preening. That Mr. America comment had been made to build me up, but it hurt. I'd never be Mr. America with this body. And being anything close to Miss America was an impossible dream.

I grinned, embarrassed. "Just wondering if I was ever going to get chest hair (and dreading it)," I said lamely.

"Don't worry," said mom, "it'll happen before you know it."

Ugh.

Mom passed me the first dress. "Try this one on, we'll see how it looks."

I examined it. It was a gray business number, hemline down to my ankles. It buttoned in the front, and was belted around the waist. Sleeves past the elbows, full around the neck. A little conservative, but it least it didn't have legs. I eagerly stepped into it and began buttoning it.

"Now watch it," my mother began, "The buttons..." she stopped short, when she realized that I already was familiar with garments with buttons on the left. Whoops. I had to remember to be bumbling and awkward, like I had never worn a dress in my life. With what I hoped was convincing fumbling, I finished buttoning it and slipped the belt on.

Mom and I regarded my new outfit in the mirror. "Something's not quite right," she mumbled. Well, I thought, for starters I could use some makeup. And some jewelry. And a new hair style. And some breasts. "What's wrong?" I asked her.

"Nothing important. It's just that you don't have a girlish figure." Estrogen would help that, I thought morosely. "Maybe we should try some padding?" I asked, keeping all traces of hopefulness out of my voice.

"OK," she said, "if it wouldn't bother you."

If it wouldn't bother me. Please.

Mom instructed me to remove the dress. She left and returned with some of her lingerie. I almost blurted everything out right there. It would have been so cleansing to say "Mom, as long as I'm putting on your lingerie, why don't I just buy some of my own? In fact, I'd kind of like it if I dressed this way from now on." Of course I said nothing of the sort.

Mom handed me a pair of black pantyhose. "These will cover up your leg hair. Unless you'd like to shave them, of course." We both laughed, though mom's laugh was the only authentic one. I remembered just in time to pull on the nylons boy style: like a pair of pants. I grabbed the waist and shoved my feet in, knowing full well I should bunch them all together, get my feet into the panty hose feet, and then roll them up my legs. My mom quickly told me the correct method.

I had to scrunch my boxers together to get them to fit in underneath. When I dressed for school tomorrow I'd wear briefs, or just forego underwear altogether.

Mom then looked at me tentatively. "You know, Harvey," dresses are built for women with breasts. I guess there's no way I could convince you to wear a padded bra?" she said this pleadingly, as if she was absolutely sure I'd say no but was hoping I'd say yes. Well, I certainly didn't need a lot of convincing. But better play it close to the vest...
"I dunno mom....but I guess if you really think it's necessary."

Mom smiled and gave me one of her bras, a matching black one. "It makes for a more complete package. Now remember, the clasp is in the front." Good thing she said that, I might have forgotten to pretend ignorance about that!

I stuffed the cups with facial cloths to give me a more realistic, albeit lumpy, chest. Mom looked me over, dubiously. "You're still not curvy enough. A corset would help, but I'm afraid I don't have one. Lucky you, eh?"

Oh, yeah, real lucky. I reached for the gray dress again. Mom stopped me. "That one was too businesslike. Let's try a different one."

Yes, and another, and another...we could make a weekend of it...or a year.

Mom selected another. "If we go with this one we'll have to get you a different bra, but try this on for size." It was mom's evening dress. I had tried it on many times. I used to love it when mom would go to formal affairs, that meant that this dress would soon end up in the laundry and I could try it on later. I really hoped we'd go with this.

It was long and black. Totally sleeveless and backless. Mom was right, my bra showed through and would have to be changed. Still, I loved this feminine thing. The way it tied around the back of my neck, leaving just the right amount of flesh visible. The way it was so undeniably girlish, only a woman would look right in it. The way my fake chest extended the front, ever so subtlety.

"No, not right at all," said mom, and my spirits fell. "Too revealing." Too revealing? What did she care if her son's costume was too revealing? Unless...oh my God....could it be? That she was subconsciously thinking of me as a girl? That she didn't want her DAUGHTER to be dressed to provocatively? I barely dared to ask. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, too low cut in front. You can see you're all padding. Not that it matters I guess, but let's find something else." Oh, that was it. Realism, nothing more. Well, c'est la vie.

"Hey, this might be just the thing," said mom. And she was right. First came the simple, gray, pleated skirt. It came down to my knees, revealing my stocking-clad legs. Then came the sleeveless sweater. It was a brown, woolen number, leaving my arms totally bare to the shoulders. I liked the way it looked, but I couldn't say no when mom gave me a tasteful brown women's cardigan to complete the outfit.

The air rushing up my skirt. The softness of the material. The shear...girlishness of it all. But that wasn't really what felt so good. It was the naturalness of it all, like this was what I should be wearing every day, that I was pretending when I dressed like Harvey, trying to be something that I wasn't.

"Now, let's get you some shoes." I followed mom back to her room. She gestured to a pair of casual boots. "Give those a shot. They may be too small, you'll probably have to wear your own shoes tomorrow." The hell you say! They were too small, but I wasn't about to admit that. Tight or not, I was wearing them!

Mom stood back and looked me over. "Now don't you look darling." She was trying to tease me, but I took it as a compliment anyway. I giggled an exaggerated female laugh and spun around in a stupid manner, wishing I could let myself go and be a girl in demeanor as well as clothes.

Mom reached into her jewelry box and pulled out a pair of simple, black, plastic earrings. They were the clip-on type, she let me put them on myself. This was almost surreal. I wished I could slow time down, or stop it and replay it over and over. To savor the one time I could shamelessly wear the clothes I felt were part of my birthright.

"Well," continued mom, "you don't look half bad. And I'm sure you're teacher will have a stroke when he sees you tomorrow." Again, if only. "I guess you might as well change back."
I knew I should leave well enough alone, but I had to say it. It would make everything absolutely perfect. "Mom," I said, barely keeping my voice steady, "as long as we are doing this, maybe we should go all the way and have me wear makeup as well."

For the briefest fraction of a second, I saw suspicion in my mom's eyes. It was if she was thinking 'Just why is my son so into this? Is he enjoying this?' But then in passed. Mom smiled and agreed to make me over, as long as I'd be willing to get up at 5:30 so she could do it right.

Of course I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. I kept fantasizing about tomorrow. My dream was about to become a reality! Off to school in a bra, skirt, and makeup. Maybe mom would even do my hair up a little. And maybe the dress code thing would become a big issue! Perhaps I could dress like this for a month.

My fantasies were going wild now. Maybe the dress code thing would go on for so long that I wouldn't even bother changing to boy clothes when I came home from school. Maybe Mom would grow accustomed to her son in a dress. Maybe, after the protest was over, I could 'forget' and dress like a girl anyway. If Mom said anything I could just pass it off as a mistake of habit. But what if she didn't say anything? What if...I was really living in a dream world now...what if she said nothing? What if she just accepted my dressing as the status quo? And the next time we went clothes shopping, usually such a chore, we went to the women's department? And we gave away all my boyish clothes and I never had to be Harvey again?

I knew I was fooling myself, if I was lucky the costuming would last more than one day. But mine was a desperate, secret existence, and I knew that there was no harm in dreaming.
The next day, just after I showered, Mom made up my face. I could hardly restrain myself from hyperventilating or wiggling excitedly. For the first time in my fifteen years I felt like I was in my natural state. Just a young teenage girl getting makeup lessons from her mother. Dear God, if only!

I wanted to look in the mirror, to see every stage of my transformation. Unfortunately, it never occurred to my mom that any of this would be interesting to me, so I suffered in silence. Mom then brushed my hair back and pinned it up with two barrettes. She spritzed it with hair spray. Still without so much as a glance in the mirror she handed me my clothes, being careful to help me get on my sweater without smearing my makeup. As I laced up my restrictive boots, I could barely stop trembling from excitement. Finally, after what seemed like ages, I was able to get a good look in the mirror.

There she was. I had seen glimpses of her before, in my dreams, in my fantasies, and in my secret trips to the bathroom. But here she was in full. The teenage girl inside me, now on the outside. Her sweetly made up face. Her delicate clothes. Her womanly styled hair. Her small breasts. Her shy, almost terrified mannerisms. There she was...and she was me.

"Very sweet," my mom mocked. "One more thing." Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, they did. Mom carefully glued some press-on nails to my clipped and short real ones. Long, red nails. Just shoot me now, I have achieved a moment of true happiness.

"Well, it's crazy, but I know it will get under Elmer's skin," I said, dismissively. "But thanks for all your work." That didn't begin to express my gratitude, but it was all I should say.

"Try not to smear your makeup. Now off to school with you, young 'man.'"

As mom drove me from our apartment to the school, my feelings changed from that of expectation to dread. I had been so caught up in the prospect of wearing a dress that I hadn't stopped to consider the possible downside. What if no one else dressed up? My God, Bill had organized this, today he might have changed his focus to overthrowing the government or mandatory whale slaughtering or something. What if I was the only one dressed like this? Or if others dressed but still thought I was queer looking? Fat chance of me ever making friends then! I'd forever be 'that pervert in the dress.' Maybe I should have gone with the campy drag, at least then no one would suspect I was serious about this. Was it too late to back out? Yes, it was. If I didn't go today, I never would.

As I walked across the parking lot I could barely put one foot in front of the other. What had I gotten myself into? I took a deep breath and rounded the corner of the building to face the main entrance. That's when I realized that all my fears had been ungrounded.

Halloween came in March that year. A stream of becostumed students was pouring in through the front doors of Ft. Zummer. It was hilarious. Halloween masks, bathing suits, outdated 80's clothes, one guy even found a suit of armor somewhere. My God, something Bill had organized had actually worked. There was no way anyone would think there was anything odd about my skirt today.

Bill himself stood at the door, greeting his oddball legions. "Hey, looking good Drew, nice fangs Larry, Jim! you must give me the name of your tailor." Bill was wearing a straitjacket which seemed strangely appropriate. As I tried to pass by, he cornered me.
"Hey, how come you didn't wear..." then he stopped short. "Er, ah, I mean uh, nice costume, Harvey." He was blushing.

I walked to my first class on air. Bill had thought I was a normally dressed girl! Someone who knew me mistook me for a female, at least for a second. I wondered what a stranger would think.

Still elated over my deception, I stepped into my first hour history class. I counted five others participating in the great uprising: a guy in a leisure suit, a girl in a ballerina outfit, some dude with a Hawaiian shirt and a ukulele, a sports fan with his face made up in team colors, and Luthor, who was wearing his grandfather's Vietnam War uniform.

I took my seat. A guy near me looked at me oddly and I began to feel scared again. Bill was one thing, but would everyone believe I was don't this solely out of protest? Finally, he spoke.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I can't remember your name."

"Harvey," I replied.

"Ah, yeah, right. Great costume, Harvey." He quickly turned away and buried his nose in his history book. Now what was with that?

A warm glow covered me as I realized what had happened. He wasn't sure if I was Harvey dressed as a girl or some new girl. That's why he had pretended to forget my name. I wondered what he would have done if I had told him a woman's name.

Our teacher, Dr. Dumas, walked into the room precisely when the bell rang. I felt a little sorry for him. He'd taught for over thirty years, he'd probably teach for thirty more. He was tolerable, in a dull sort of way. I wondered how he'd react to our weird dress.

Dr. Dumas faced the class and squinted myopically at us through his glasses. He let out a long sigh, shook his head, and began writing on the board.

"As I mentioned yesterday, the Civil War left the United States in a state of discord and ruin..."

Most of my fellow students reported similar experiences: teachers who could care less about how we were dressed, as long as we didn't disrupt class. Most educators were like that; unwilling to make a big deal about things that really weren't a big deal. Of course, Mr. Elmer wasn't like most educators.

We all knew that Mr. Elmer's planning period was first hour, which he would invariably spend locked in the teacher's workroom. When he taught our class, it would be the first he'd see of the weird clothes we were wearing.

I nervously sat in the biology lab, regarding my fellow protesters. While there were only a few rebels in the last class, Elmer's students were decked out, almost to a man. As predicted by Bill, Elmer freaked.

You'd have thought we were all sitting there naked, the way his eyes bulged and his face reddened. He stared at us, as if we'd all whither and cringe under his gaze. Someone laughed.
"JUST WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS...THIS INSURRECTION?" bellowed the teacher of the year, no years running.

Bill was ready. "Why Mis-tar Elmer, if you'll take the time to familiarize yourself with the school's dress code, then you'd realize that none of us are in the slightest violation of..."

Elmer interrupted. "I am not interested in your juvenile shenanigans, Mis-tar Czolgolz. Get yourself to the office, AT ONCE! And that goes for any of the rest of you who feel that this school is an institute to be flouted!'

Bill grinned and marched to the door. Luthor quickly followed. He stood behind Bill at the doorway, and placed his hand on Bill's shoulder, prison style. Other protestors joined him. Soon the class was emptying. I was one of the last to get up. Elmer whirled at me.

"Get back to your seat, young lady! Only those who have worn...have worn..."

Realizing Elmer's mistake, the whole class, myself included, burst into laughter. "Young lady!" hooted one individual.

"Careful there, dude!" someone shouted at me. "Elmer might want you to stay after school for 'extra credit.'"

"Leave this classroom at once!" shouted Elmer, to cover his gaffe.

"ATTENTION!" bellowed Luthor, looking quite military in his uniform. "Ten, hut!" Hands on the shoulder of whoever was in front of us, we marched off to the office like an Alabama chain gang.

There wasn't room for all of us in Dr. Bailey’s office, he met us in the detention room. I smiled at our bald, sexagenarian principal and wondered what he'd do. Would be angry at us, or just pass this off as some dumb stunt? I had never been in trouble before, it was more than a little exciting.

"I've been teaching since the seventies," began Bailey, without preamble. "I've seen a lot of wild protests in my time. Wars, civil rights, women's rights, animal rights, the environment, whatever. Quite frankly, this is one of the lamest protests I've ever seen. The school dress code? I can't picture us having a more liberal one. I'm sure you only did this to annoy Mr. Elmer." He looked pointedly at Bill.

"I'm not going to punish you. However, I really don't feel like spending my time enforcing the school dress code. Don't waste my time. So here's the deal. Elmer doesn't want you to dress like that in his class, and since it's his class I don't feel I should overrule him. Anyone who continues this tomorrow will be suspended for a week. Return to class."

For the rest of the day, Bill tried to drum up support for a second day of crazy-dressing. There were no takers. A protest for a real cause was one thing, but annoying Mr. Elmer wasn't worth getting suspended over. A suspension could stop a good student from getting a scholarship and a bad student from graduating. The general consensus was that no one was going to risk that much trouble for one of Bill's doomed crusades.

At the end of the school day, I found Bill, still bound in his straitjacket, leaning against a post in the commons area.

"We were so close, Harvey. Just one week of this and we would have won." Won what, I wasn't sure of. "Now, no one is willing to take a stand."

I pulled up a chair, smoothed my skirt, and sat down. I took the opportunity to cross my legs in a lady-like manner; who knew when I'd get to do that in public again? "Couldn't find any takers, huh?"

He grunted. "Only Luthor. And I probably ought to tell him not to bother. If he gets suspended he could get kicked off the wrestling team."

"Are you going to go on with it?"

"I have to. Someone has to." He was almost obsessive with this quest. I wondered what would happen if he ever funneled his energies into something worthwhile.

"But that could cost you your valedictorian spot."

Bill only nodded. I guess he knew as well as anyone that when you are valedictorian, you can pretty much go to college for free.

I excused myself. "Wait," called Bill. "I don't suppose I can count on you to wear that skirt tomorrow?"

"No..." I began and Bill's face fell. But then I thought about it. God, what a day it had been! I'd been briefly taken for a woman three times at least, but what was more, I finally felt like a real person. Sitting in school in a skirt, with makeup, earrings, a sleeveless sweater...suspension be damned! You can't keep a good woman down.

"No," I continued. "Tomorrow I'll probably wear a dress."

Bill grinned. "If I didn't believe that religion was nothing but a shallow invention of the ruling classes to subjugate the masses, I'd say 'God bless you, Harvey.' Now could you unstrap me here?"

When I returned home, mom wasn't there. I knew the logical, nonsuspicious thing to do would be to wash off my makeup, remove my clothes, and change into something more gender-appropriate. But I couldn't make myself do it. After a day in a skirt, it wouldn't be easy to go back to blue jeans and a T-shirt.

Mom returned home to find me relaxing in front of the television, still wearing the hose, skirt, and other examples of feminine garments that I had worn for the whole school day. She seemed a little shocked. "I figured you'd have ditched those clothes the second you walked through the door."

"Well, I guess I was too lazy." God, did that sound ridiculous.
"So how did the protest go?"

I briefly outlined what had happened, finishing with the threat of the punishment we'd receive if we continued.

"So I guess you won't be doing it again tomorrow? Still, I bet it was fun to freak out your teacher like that."

"Actually mom, I was thinking about doing it again." Please, please, let her not think this is strange.

"Again? I don't know, Harvey. It seems like annoying your teacher isn't worth a suspension."
"Oh, it's not about getting back at Mr. Elmer. It's that Bill's risking giving up his valedictorian spot and Luthor's risking getting kicked out of sports. I figure if I go along with them we might stand a better chance than if they took on the powers that be alone." And therefore I have to keep dressing like a girl indefinitely, I mentally added.

"Harvey, I don't like the thought of you getting suspended..." mom began.

"Please mom, they're my only close friends," despite the fact that they didn't even know my name last week. "I really have to do this for them."

Mom was wavering. She had always been concerned about my lack of a social life, I hoped by playing that angle she wouldn't realize my true motivations.

"OK Harvey. Just one more day. I have to say I admire you for being so loyal to your friends. But enough's enough, you can do it tomorrow, but no more."

Well, one day was better than nothing. In order to keep mom from guessing the real reason I was so excited about wearing girl clothes, I quickly changed into some of my own things. I washed off the makeup and wistfully folded the skirt, sweater, and jacket that had made me feel like a girl, for one glorious day.

True to my word, the next day I did wear a dress. It was nothing spectacular, just a black outfit with a hemline down to my ankles, and sleeves to the wrist. It zipped up in the back, mom had to help me with it. When we were finished, I looked into the mirror and sighed. I was so close! If I dressed like this every day, if I shaved my legs and got some shoes in my own size, if I practiced and practiced feminine deportment, then being a woman was not such a ridiculous idea. I looked fine. One might have even said pretty. But I needed my own things. I needed to do this every day, all day. Just two days wasn't close to being adequate.

But I knew, deep in my heart, that this was not to be. I could never slap my mom in the face with my sick desires to live like a girl. I could never face the humiliation of having her ashamed of me. The best I could hope for was a few hours a week, alone in the bathroom, until age removed my soft skin and smooth face.

Well, if today was going to be the last day, then I'd make it a day to remember. I held myself with a confident air. For whatever reason the world thought I was doing this, in my mind nothing was unusual. Today, for the one time in my life, I was going to be a girl. Not a boy in a dress, but a girl. I looked like one, I was dressed like one, well by God, today I was going to act like one. Who cared if anyone thought I was odd, I had the rest of my life to convince them I was masculine. Today I was going to shine.

I snatched one of Mom's extra purses and a compact and walked out to the car where she was waiting. With a lovely smile, I slid into the seat, rear first, legs last, so as not to spread my legs or hitch up my dress in an unladylike fashion.

I think Mom suspected something, but I didn't care. I could be macho from now on, but I was going to enjoy today. Yesterday I had been nervous, well today I was going to be brave. I pulled out my compact and touched up my makeup. I didn't dare look in Mom's direction; that would have looked like I was gauging her reaction. Nope, today I was her daughter. If she asked me about it later, I'd act offended, as if she was questioning my manhood.

I slid out of the car, smiled and waved at Mother, and walked into school. Due to my countless hours on the internet I had read quite a few FAQs about how to walk, speak, and act like a girl. Today I was going to put them into action.

I remembered to stand up straight, wiggle my hips, not to swing my arms too much. When I came to school, I noticed several people turn and look at me. Most of them were protesters from yesterday, probably shocked that I'd actually wear a costume for two days in a row, especially after what Dr. Bailey had said. Well, let them stare! I'd just pretend they were admiring my lovely figure instead of wondering at my suicidal defiance of the school rules.
Luthor was still decked out in his uniform, but today Bill was dressed like a circus clown. I asked him what had happened to his straitjacket. He replied that it's not a good idea to restrain your arms while walking down stairs. I noticed the beginning of a black eye under his clown makeup.

Before classes, I just had to go touch up my makeup one last time. I wanted more than anything to go into the lady's room, but I knew that would be asking for trouble. I went into the men's room and admired my face in the mirror.

A guy came out of a stall, yelped when he saw me, and ducked back in. Then, he slowly and cautiously looked out. "Er, this is the men's room, right?"

"Yes, it is," I said, reapplying my lipstick.

"Then what are you doing here?" It was hard to hide my joy. Mistaken for a girl again. I was tempted to play along, but decided against it.

"I am a guy. I'm protesting the school dress code."

"Oh, Jesus, sorry dude!" the guy stammered. Why did he say he was sorry? Didn't he realize he had just paid me a great compliment? I excused myself to go to class.

During first hour, I noticed students looked at me over their shoulders when they thought I didn't notice. After the bell rang, a girl actually told me I looked rather natural. She said this nervously, as if she were afraid I'd take it the wrong way. I smiled and thanked her, hoping that she wouldn't think that was too bizarre a response.

Elmer's class was a different story. Bill, Luthor, and myself were the only ones who had worn a costume. Would Elmer actually suspend us?

When I walked into the room, I noticed that Paul Sanford was back. He had be absent for over a week, due to a bout with food poisoning.

Paul was a bit of an enigma in our school. He was a fundamentalist Christian, his entire life revolved around church, Bible reading, and an almost Puritanical self-denial. He had missed the entire dress code thing, but it wouldn't have really mattered. Paul's major daily wardrobe decision seemed to be 'gray shirt with black slacks, or white shirt with black slacks?'

"Excuse me," he said as I walked by. "I have been gone. Could you please tell me why Luthor and William are dressed in that manner?"

"Dress code protest. They're trying to annoy Mr. Elmer."

"I see. Thank you and God bless."

"Paul," I teased, "aren't you going to mention my costume?"

"Your...?" Paul did a double take. "Oh! I did not notice...no, that is a lie and lying is a sin. I am terribly sorry, but I briefly mistook you for a girl." He quickly entered the room without waiting for a reply.

As I took my seat, I noticed Paul was talking to Mr. Elmer. I heard Paul request a copy of the school dress code, which of course Mr. Elmer had in his briefcase. I couldn't imagine what for, it was not like Paul had anything to worry about.

As soon as the bell rang, Mr. Elmer directed Bill, Luthor, and I to go to the office for suspension. We probably would have been suspended too, were it not for help from an unlikely quarter: Paul.

"Mr. Elmer?" asked Paul, in his quiet, respectful voice.

"Yes, Mis-tar Sandford?"

"Why are these three gentlemen being ejected from class?"

"For violating the school's dress code."

Paul sighed. "Well, then I am afraid I shall be compelled to join them, as I too am in violation." People giggled, Paul's clothes were a study in bland.

"Do not try to be funny, Mis-tar Sanford. What possible way could you have violated the dress code?"

Paul stood up and walked towards Mr. Elmer's desk. Then, without warning, he drew back his fist and swung. For a second we thought he was going punch out the teacher; Elmer let out a yelp and ducked. But strangely enough, Paul punched himself in the back of the head.

There was a squashing sound and something seemed to fly from the front of Paul's head. With a deft gesture he caught it midair with the hand he had punched himself with. He then spun and faced the class, the object held in his extended palm.

It was a glass eye.

"If I may quote the school dress policy," began Paul, "' No student may wear anything on their face or head during school hours, with the exception of earrings or barrettes on the part of female students.' It does not say anything about ocular prosthetics, so I fear I must forgo wearing this."

If you've never seen an empty eye-socket, then you really shouldn't. It was absolutely disgusting; the empty, moist hole in Paul's head, the writhing ocular muscles, the way the eyelid twitched spasmodically over the pit...

Paul sat down and smiled at the girl next to him. She ran out of the room and threw up.
"PUT YOUR EYEBALL BACK IN THIS INSTANT!" shouted Mr. Elmer.

"Now there's a phrase you don't hear every day," quipped Bill.

"No," said Paul, "the Lord commands us to obey the law, and the school dress code is no exception. I am afraid that the eye goes."

"I'm sure we can make an exception in your case, Mis-tar Sandford."

Paul looked shocked. "Why in my case? Does my disability disgust you? Can you not stand to be in the same room with someone as vile as I? Does the sight of my mutilation instill in you a loathing so great that I must cover it up?" Paul had hit the nail pretty much on the head, but there was no way Mr. Elmer could admit that.

Elmer desperately tried to hold class, but it was ridiculous. Students were either covering their eyes to avoid glancing at the gaping hole in Paul's head, or staring at it like it was some sort of cool car wreck. Nothing was accomplished that day, and in the midst of all the hubbub we never did go to the office.

During fifth hour, I was called to the principal's office. Bill, Luthor, and Paul were already there. Bailey, as usually, was short and to the point. "OK you four. You've made your point. Here's the deal. You won't be suspended, but if you pull another stunt like this you will be. I rarely go back on my word, don't make me regret not punishing you. And Paul, put your eye in, that's disgusting!"

We looked at each other and nodded. We had pissed of Mr. Elmer for two days running, and his students would never forget it. No point in getting kicked out. "Okay," said Bill. "Normal clothes tomorrow." Even though I knew it was coming, I was sad. There went my only excuse to dress how I considered normally.

Paul, saying that he had to disinfect his eye before he could replace it, slipped on an eye patch and we left the office. Before I went back to class, I caught Paul.

"Paul, thanks a lot for doing that. You really saved us."

"Oh my friend, your true savior was crucified in Jerusalem, nearly two-thousand years ago."
"Uh, yeah. But what made you decide to get involved like that?"

"'Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?' Matthew 6:25. Mr. Elmer was using his energies to worry about the clothing we wear, instead of spreading knowledge, which is his calling."

"Really?"

"Well that, and I was a little embarrassed for calling you a woman earlier. I wanted to make it up to you." He ducked into his class.

By all logic, that should have been the end. I should have enjoyed my brief time dressing the way I liked, and then buckled down and been a man for the rest of my life. But it wasn't the end.

Before the incident, I had deluded myself into thinking that if I ever went out in public dressed like a girl then I would be immediately found out, that everyone would see right through my shallow disguise, that it would be a fantasy not worth considering. But now...Mr. Elmer, Bill, and Paul had all taken me for a girl, at least briefly. At two other guys admitted to thinking I was a girl, and no telling how many others. My wild fantasy of changing my life didn't seem so wild now.

I wanted to break down and tell my mother, really I did. Every morning I would tell myself 'Today I do it. Today I come out.' But I couldn't. I mean, how do you tell your mother something like that? Blurt it out? 'Mom, I want to be a girl!' Or maybe 'Mom, there's something we need to talk about?' 'Mom, dressing up last week got me thinking...'? Or just surprise her in one of her dresses? Every time I thought I could bring myself to say it, I'd end up chickening out. Telling her I wanted to drop out of school or join a cult would have been easier.

I had two choices. Come to terms with what I had to do, or live in a state of denial all my life. Denial seemed to be winning out, when it happened.

I had never liked shopping for clothes, for obvious reasons. The bland, cotton underwear and socks. The dull jeans. The boring sweaters. I would look wistfully over at the girls' department and dream: the lacey panties, the nylon hose, the sexy skirts, and the darling blouses. That was the area of the store where I belonged, not the one with the posters of young models in their football jerseys or dress slacks.
It so happened that mom felt it was time for me to get some new clothes. Most guys my age beg and wheedle money out of their parents for clothes, my mom had to practically drag me to the store.
"Harvey, c'mon. You've been putting this off for weeks. Your pants don't fit, your shirts are worn to hell, and you need new dress shoes. We're going shopping, today!"

"C'mon mom. Maybe a couple or pairs of jeans, but why do I need a bunch of clothes? I have enough to wear right now."

"Doesn't it bother you what you look like? Don't you want to impress the girls at your school?"

Only with my pretty appearance, I thought glumly.

"Mom, clothes don't matter to me." Boy clothes, at least.

"Well, they matter to me. I don't see why you whine about this so much."
"Because I hate clothes shopping! It's pointless."

"Well, the clothes you have now are worthless, so you're going to get some new ones. Or would you rather keep wearing dresses and skirts?"

"YES!"

There was a long, long pause. Mom had meant that crack about women's clothes as a joke, but I had answered seriously. There was still time for me to back out. I could have laughed, passed it off as a joke, anything. But I stayed quiet, not daring to breathe until Mom broke the silence.

Now that I think back on it, I suppose Mom could have avoided confrontation as well. She could have ignored what I said, or pretended I was joking, or whatever. But instead, with a dead serious expression asked "Harvey....what are you saying?"

I swallowed. "I do want to go shopping, Mom. Just....just not in the boy's department."

"I see. Well, what would you like to buy?" This was torture. Anger, sorrow, rage, I could stand. Joy was too much to hope for, though hope I did. This steady, emotionless questioning, however... But I was in too deep to stop.

"The kind of clothes I wore last week. Dresses, skirts, panties...well, all girl's clothes, I guess."

"Anything else?"

If you don't ask for the moon, you'll never get it. "Makeup, perfume, cosmetics, all that."

"Harvey," Mom almost seemed afraid to ask the next question. "Do you just like to dress like a girl, or...is there something else? Be honest."

My voice cracked, I had to start again. "Mom, I am a girl. I don't know why I think that way, but it's not a phase and it's not an idle thought. I've always been this way. I am a girl. I think like one, I feel like one, and I think, with help, I could look like one. I want to live like a girl, dress like a girl, and be treated like one. I want..." I closed my eyes "I want to have a sex change."

Mom sat down on my bed. Here it comes, I thought. The tears, the screaming, the accusations. But I was wrong. Mom just looked at me, for what seemed like forever. Finally, she spoke.

"Harvey, here's some money. Go see a movie or something. I need a little time to think things over."

I took the money she offered and walked to the mall. It was Saturday and crowded, but I was alone in the world. I sat at a table in the food court, feeling that I had hit rock bottom. 'Mom, I am a girl'? 'Mom, I want a sex change'? What the hell was I thinking? Mom would hate me, even if I pretended to be 'cured' from now on, she'd always think of me differently. My one true friend, my one ally, and I had alienated her forever. It took all the strength I had not to burst into tears.

I never went to the movies, I just sat there all day in agony, nursing a soda. Time got away from me, I was surprised when a security guard approached me. "It's 9:30, son. You'd best be getting on home, we're closing up here."

I felt like I was walking to my own execution. How could I face my mother now? What would I say to her? Tell her I had been kidding? Say I'd try to stop thinking this way? She'd see through those lies in a second.

I seriously contemplated running away, but I gave that up as hopeless. Besides, as much as I had hurt Mom today, I couldn't hurt her more by abandoning her. I had to face the music.

As soon as I entered the door, Mom rushed to me. "Where have you been?" she almost shouted. "I've been worried sick about you."

At least she wasn't mad. And her concern momentarily hid her shame in me. "I'm sorry...I went to the mall and I guess I just lost track of time." I smiled, meekly. Maybe she wouldn't bring up what I had said this morning. Maybe we could just forget about it and move on with our lives.

"Harvey, honey, come into your bedroom. We need to talk." The dreaded 'We need to talk.' Like a man going to the gallows, I held my head up and walked to my doom.

When I arrived at my room, I was surprised to see that my computer desk was covered with dozens of printouts. Mom rarely used my computer, I wondered what she was up to. She took at seat at my desk and motioned me to sit down on my bed.

"Harvey, I need to ask you a few questions. It's very important that you answer me honestly, I want to understand you and help you." Ugh, the honest answers. Well, there was no point in lying now, not after what I had said this morning.

Mom picked up a sheet of paper and began reading off of it. "How long have you felt this way, Harvey?"

"Since as long as I remember. The first time I really remember is when I was about four. Mary June from next door came over, remember her? Anyway, she had on this lacey party dress and I told her that I was going to ask Santa Claus for one just like it; it was almost Christmas. She told me that only girls wore dresses so I told her I was going to ask Santa to turn me into a girl."

"Hmm. OK. Now how often do you dress as a girl? I'm assuming that last week wasn't you first time."

"I only manage to dress once or twice a month." Good sense told me to leave well enough alone, but I had to plow on. "Of course that's because I didn't want you to find out. If it were up to me I'd dress every day, all day."

Mom nodded. It was weird, she wasn't freaking out. Maybe she just wanted the full story before she laid into me. "Harvey, are you happy with your present body?"

I shook my head.

"Why not?" asked Mom.

"Because it's a boy's body. It will never have breasts. It will just get hairy and big. I want to be soft and smaller."

"Anything else?"

"My penis," I closed my eyes "I want...no, I need to have a vagina."

Mom jotted something down on the paper. "Who are you more sexually attracted to, men or women?"

"I don't think about sex a lot, but when I do...I guess you could say I have no interest in girls, but some in boys." In most cases, an answer like that would be enough to cause a rift in a mother-son relationship, but with me it was just the tip of the iceberg.

"One more question, Harvey. If you could start living as a woman, if you could begin taking female hormones, if you could eventually, some day, have sex change surgery, would you want to?"

Mom was looking at me intently. I hadn't been able to face her through any of the other questions, but for this one I looked her full on.

"Yes, I would."

Mom let out a sigh. It wasn't a depressed sigh, more resigned than anything. "Okay, Harvey. I've been doing a lot of research on the internet today. I've learned a lot about your, ah, condition. It's called transgenderism, if I'm not mistaken. I nodded. She smiled a thin smile. "I take it you've been doing your homework as well." I grunted an affirmative.

"Here's the deal, Harvey. I don't know what to tell you. This wasn't covered in any parenting book I've read. I mean, should I be angry, sad, what?" I didn't know what to say.

"So I looked to the internet for help. While most of the sites varied on their advice, they all agreed to one thing: you need to see a councilor immediately. Would you do that for me, honey? See a psychologist?"

"Of course, Mom." So that was the route. Take me to a head shrinker to see if I could be cured. Listen to some old psychiatrist tell me about my feelings and babble on about repressed-this and Freud-that. If it made my Mom happy to see me treated, fine. But I knew better than anyone that these feelings weren't going away.

"Okay. I'll start researching therapists tomorrow."

I couldn't take this anymore. From now on, I'd be her strange son. The pansy. The sissy. The one who had to get his head examined to see why he had such perverted urges. "Mom, um, can I go to bed now?"

"In a minute, dear. I need to take your measurements, I'm going to get you some new clothes tomorrow." God, not that again.

"Mom, you don't have to measure me. I'll go with you."

Mom smiled, a bittersweet smile. "I'm afraid you can't. They don't let boys try on things in the girl's department."

For the first time in my life, I doubted the veracity of my senses. Had I heard correctly? The girl's department? As in dresses and training bras?

"Mom, you don't mean...?"

Mom got up and sat down next to me. She put her arm around me. "Harvey, this isn't easy for me, but it must be ten times as hard for you, especially keeping it inside this long. I've been thinking about this for a very long time..."

"Mom, I only told you today."

"Yes, but I've suspected for a while."

I guess my shock showed. "Hey, you can't fool your mother."

"But how..."

"Well, you've never been what I'd call a man's man, but that wasn't it. It was little things. You seemed to take more that a casual interest in my clothes when you were younger, and were always wanting to play dress-up when you were in pre-school. I'd occasionally notice an outfit that should have been at the bottom of the laundry on top. You'd always seem angry when I'd try to compliment you on how strong or handsome you were. And once you got on internet, I noticed some rather unusual sites in the history list."

I mentally beat myself for that last one. How could I have committed such a bone-headed, moronic mistake? All my efforts not to be caught, and I forget that every site I visit is logged into the history list. Well, maybe it was better that I was found out early.

"Anyway," Mom continued, "this wasn't totally unexpected. When I suggested you go to school dressed as a woman, I wanted to see how you'd react. Now that it's all come out," she let out that sigh again, "I figure I should do what it takes to make you happy. You're far too young to decide you want a sex change, but we'll take you to the psychologist to see if that might be an option. Someday. But for now, I figure you'd never say you wanted to be a girl if you didn't feel it, and strongly. I want you to be happy, honey, and last week was the happiest I'd seen you in a long time. Until we decide the best course of action for the future, well...what would you say if I said I'd let you dress like a girl at home, when we were alone?"

I hugged my mom and started bawling. I couldn't help it.

*

The only thing I remember about school the next day was that I was incapable of concentrating. All I could think of was mom's comment that she'd get me some new clothes tomorrow. New girl clothes. Surely it couldn't be true...fantasies like mine never came true! Could I really come home to a pile of dresses? My own dresses? That I could wear whenever I wanted?

No, it was insane. Mom probably was just making idle promises, something to keep me happy for the moment. Like she'd ever dress her only son up like her daughter...

I knew I shouldn't expect any miracles, but it is impossible to extinguish hope. I was like a child on Christmas morning: expecting socks, but hoping for a puppy.

I raced home to my house. When my hand hit the knob, it froze. This might have been my last chance to revel in an understanding mother and the immediate promise of new clothes. I took a deep breath. 'Please, just one dress,' I silently prayed.

My mom wasn't in the living room, so I called out for her. "I'm in your room," she called back, "come back here, I want to show you something."

When I saw what awaited me in my room, I knew that all the risk had been worth it.

My room looked like a Kardashian’s closet. Bag after box after loose garment was piled on my bed and most of my floor.

I looked at my mom, she had exceeded even my wildest expectations.

"I suppose I went a little overboard," she said with a funny smile. "But I guess if you've been waiting for eleven years for a dress of your own, then I owed you a few."

I couldn't even stammer out a 'thank you,' but I think Mom knew how I was feeling. She began to show me what she had bought me.

First came the underwear. There were at least twenty different pairs of panties, bland cotton of course, but each one a different color. Next came the nylons. There were enough nylons and pairs of pantyhose to keep a gang of bank robbers disguised for a year. I made a note to burn my briefs as soon as possible. Even if mom refused to let me go through with this, I could always sneak on the panties under my jeans.

The contents of the next bag made me shriek with delight. It contained three training bras! Small sized bras for young women who were just starting to develop. Hey, I felt like a young woman and with hope I'd start developing someday! After what I was experiencing today it didn't seem like such a ridiculous notion.

I figured I could stuff the undergarments with washcloths until I could find something better, but once again mom was thinking ahead of me. At the bottom of the bag there was a set of fake, foam-rubber breast forms. They were small, but I figured that at age fifteen I didn't need anything gigantic. What was more, they felt a lot like the real thing, and even had fake nipples on them (should I ever go braless).

Like a kid on Christmas I ripped into the next packages. Skirts, dresses, blouses, girl's jeans, and all manner of female attire. There were even necklaces and earrings for non-pierced ears.

Finally, I opened the bag full of nail polish, makeup, and hairspray. There was nothing wanting. I closed my eyes, praying that everything would still be there when I opened them.
"Harvey," my mother said "is this what you want? I want to make you happy, that's the important thing. Would these clothes make you happy?"

Once again, I began my very un-masculine crying. What my mother must have gone through, picking out clothes for her son, acting as if she was shopping for a young woman. And all for me! Had she made me happy?

"Oh, yes mom!" I babbled through my tears. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

Mom hugged me. "Now enough of that. There, wipe those tears. No point in crying now, why don't you try something on? I'm pretty sure I got everything in your size..."

I didn't know what to put on first. Now that I no longer had to hide what I wanted, I got greedy, wanting to try on everything in rapid succession. Mom checked my impulses, and suggested I start slow.

So start slow I did. Two pairs of frilly panties to hide my penis. A pair of dark hose to hide my leg hair. A black, ankle-length skirt and a poofy, white blouse. A pair of overlarge heels (mom admitted having trouble converting my men's shoe size to the women's scale).

Then, mom sat me down and made me over. As I watched in joyous anticipation, she filed and manicured each of my nails and glued a fake one on top. I took mental notes as she used lipstick to redden my lips, rouge to add color to my cheeks, eye shadow to accentuate my eyes, and mascara to lengthen my lashes.

Mom took out a brush and began teasing my hair. It went from its normal, tangled messiness to a silkier, more well-maintained hairstyle. Finally, with the addition of earrings and her watch, I was finished.

There she was. She shown, she glowed! Pretty, shy, and yet somehow more confident than she had ever been, she smiled back at me from the mirror. She now had nothing to hide. As long as she was in this apartment, then she could exist happily and unashamedly. Now I'd just have to convince mom that I needed to live like this always.

"Harvey, how do you feel?" asked my mom.

I wondered how to answer: excited, relieved, happy? I hit on the perfect answer...

"Natural, I feel natural. This is how it's supposed to be."

Mom put her arms around me. "I want you to feel good about yourself. I want you to know...I want you to know that you can dress like this whenever you want...only at home of course." I was struggling with the happy tears again.

"But I also want you to know," she continued, "we can stop doing this anytime you like. You wouldn't owe me any sort of explanation...no matter how far we go with this, you can always back out."

"I won't ever want to go back mom. This is the life I have to lead. But mom, tell me honestly, you wish I wouldn't do this, right?"

Mom didn't speak for a while. "Yes, I wish you wouldn't do this. I wish you wouldn't do this, because I know you've chosen a very difficult course in life. If you decide you want to...make this permanent, then you'll have to take a hard, hard, path, and there is no point in pretending otherwise. You'd have to give up your current life. And when you decide you want to date...well, if you should be interested in...in a boy, then...well, we'll discuss that when the time comes. That's why I want you to know that, no matter how deep you get, you can always stop."

"But mom," God, did I really want to know the answer to this next question? "Are you...ashamed of me?"

"For Pete's sake, no!" Mom emphatically answered. "No matter how this turns out, I'll always be proud of you."

"You don't know how happy you've made me today," I told her.

"I think I do."

"No, you don't. You might have an inkling, but you can't imagine the black hole I was in before you rescued me. Imagine if you were suddenly zapped into a man's body...and that you had to act like a man, be macho, sleep with women, and there was no escape. That was my life."

"Harvey, I guess I'll never really understand what you're going through, but I want to help you. Please be open with me."

"Could I start on estrogen therapy?"

"No. I'm sorry, but you agreed to see a psychiatrist, and until the doctor says you are emotionally and physically mature enough, then no."

I figured as much. "Well, could you do something for me?"

"What's that?"

"Treat me like a girl? Don't mention the true state of things unless you have to? Refer to me as 'her' or 'she,' even if it's only when we are alone? It would make me feel more comfortable...and it might help you get used to things."

Mom smiled a thin smile. "I guess you really think there is no going back, eh?"

"I know there isn't. Now that I know you won't hate me, I can't stop. Even if you won't let me, when I turn eighteen..."

Mom cut me short. "We'll discuss that when the time comes. Treat you like a girl? Well, as long as you are dressing as one...I guess I can't call you Harvey anymore. What should I call you?"

"Any suggestions?"

"Well, your name starts with H, how about something that starts with the same letter, maybe 'Hannah'?"

"That sounds like someone's grandmother."

"Hester? Heather?"

"No, I don't think this is working. Let's try a different line."

"Like what?"

I remembered something that Bill had once said about my name. "How about Lee?" I ventured.
Mom laughed. "From Harvey to Lee. OK Lee." She sighed. "Where did I go wrong?" But she was smiling when she said it.

*

The next few weeks felt like the end of a prison sentence. Normally when the final bell rang I'd make my unhurried way to the front of the school, either to get a ride from Mom or to walk home. Now I was like an Olympic track star, just waiting for the starter pistol to fire. It was a rare day that I didn't make it home in under fifteen minutes.

There I would shuck my hated boy's clothes into the laundry and run to my closet. I would always have to catch my breath and I pondered my many options for the day. Would it be a skirt, blouse and heels combination? Or a relaxed half shirt, jeans and pumps? Or did I feel the urge to put on a backless evening gown and faux pearls? Decisions, decisions...
Of course, my wardrobe selection was only the beginning. I would hop in the shower and scrub myself clean. Then, pausing only to don my new pink robe, I'd start on the makeup.

I had insisted than Mom show me everything she knew about the art of the makeover. I had been a most eager and willing student and now could make myself up in a variety of ways. So many different options: the overly exaggerated prom night look; the female executive, with eye shadow and faint blush only; the high school sweetheart, with just a little of everything; or casual, just a dab of lipstick.

Then I would do my hair. Since a lot of guys wore their hair long, I had decided to grow mine out. It was about down to my shoulders now, I could almost manage a ponytail. Soon I'd have endless options.

Mom suffered through this like a trooper. I knew that every day she hoped that I'd say that enough was enough and stop. Despite what she had said, I knew that concern for my future wasn't the only reason she wanted me to give this up. When a woman gives birth to a son, she doesn't expect to buy him lingerie some day. Still, she held her tongue. When she noticed that I had shaved my legs she didn't say a word. I didn't mention that I had shaved my armpits as well.

Things would have been perfect had she allowed me to go out in public dressed like my true self, but I knew better than to bring that up. I lived in constant fear of mom deciding that she had made an error and it was time for this cross-dressing business to come to a close.

I spent close to an entire week after school, sitting at home and making myself pretty. Finally Mom put an end to that self-destructive lifestyle. She had agreed I could act like a woman, not a hermit. From now on, she said, I'd have to spend at least three afternoons a week out of the house.

Changing back into the hated masculine attire wasn't easy, but I knew it had to be done. And, despite the fact I hadn't had many friends before, the Great Dress Code Uprising had made me closer to several students. A couple of times a week I'd hang out at the arcade with Bill or rent movies with Luthor. Once I even went to a church youth group meeting with Paul.

It made me sad, in a way. For the first time in my life I was on the way to making true friends, and I knew it wouldn't last. Despite what Mom hoped, I was destined to be a girl. When I turned eighteen, she couldn't prevent me any longer. Still, I truly hoped I could enter into my new life, if not with her blessing, then with her understanding and support. I also knew that I could never explain the change to my former friends. Harvey would have to go. Mom was right, it wouldn't be easy but I knew it was the only way.

After three weeks of this half girl/half boy existence, Mom brought up what I had been dreading. She had located a psychiatrist who specialized in the area of gender identity. I'd have sessions twice a week.

With great trepidation, I steeled myself for the first meeting. I pictured some old man telling me why my urges were wrong and the best way to overcome them. But on the other hand...you can't have a sex change in this country without consent of a psychiatrist...maybe I could convince the old doc that the only course of action was to prescribe some estrogen injections for me, in preparation for my eventual surgery. Maybe I could turn this situation to my advantage.

On the afternoon of my first session, I chose my outfit carefully. I figured if I dressed too boyishly then the shrink wouldn't take my urges seriously. If I dressed up too much, however, then he might think I was just a confused drag queen. I settled on my original gray skirt, with heels, a blouse, and a woman's cardigan. Unmistakably feminine, but conservative as well.

When Mom came home to drive to me to the doctor's she was shocked at what I was wearing. "Harvey, did you forget it's time for you to see the doctor? You can't go like that!"
I touched up my makeup with my compact. "That's the point, Mom. I want him to see that this isn't some sort of passing phase, and that I can make a convincing girl. I have to let him know I'm serious."

Mom didn't know whether to be angry or accepting. "I never gave you permission to leave the house dressed this way," she said, not sure what to think.

"I'm sure you told the doctor the purpose of our appointment, so he won't be shocked. And I think I can walk from the car to his office without attracting too much attention."

"Harvey, er, I mean Lee..."

"Mom, listen to me. If the doctor thinks I'm making a mistake, fine. But he has to know how much this means to me."

"OK Lee. But stop referring to your doctor as 'he.' Her name is Dr. Kari Odom."

*

The doctor's office was located in a large medical facility. Mom and I sat in the empty waiting room after we had announced our presence to the receptionist. I glanced at her as she sat behind her desk, typing something. Did she suspect? If she did, she certainly didn't let on.

Dr. Odom, a pleasant looking woman in her fifties, invited us into her office and asked us to sit down. She looked at my file; I recognized it as my general health record from my family doctor. Her first question to me was what I preferred to be called. Predictably, I requested to be called Lee.

"Alright, Lee. Now before we begin, I want you to know that you are safe here. You can tell me anything. Without your permission, nothing short of a court order can make me reveal anything you've told me." I smiled, I was a little concerned about that end of things.

"Now Lee, one of my specialties is helping men who have decided that they want to become women. If I find that that is what they truly need, and they are mature enough to handle it, I recommend them for gender reassignment surgery, or GRS. I want to say right off that I cannot guarantee I'll do that for you. It would be irresponsible for me to rubber-stamp every sex change request that comes through here. But I can promise you that I'll keep an open mind and maybe help you decide what will be best for you in the long run.”

I let out an internal sigh of relief. She was professional, open-minded, and best of all, she didn't reject my claim outright.

"Now Lee," said the doctor, taking out a pen and pad, "would you like to talk to me alone, or would you like your mother to be present?"

"Well, I don't mind if Mom stays. It's not like we have any secrets."

Dr. Odom wrote something down and I panicked. What did she put, that I was Oedipal or obsessed with my mother or something? I guess she noticed my consternation, because she smiled and showed me the pad. She had only written the date.

"Now Lee, it's fine if you want your mother to be included in our sessions, many of my patients bring alone friends and family members for support. But if, for any reason, you need to tell me something in private, you may." She faced Mom. "That's my rule. Do you agree?" Mom nodded.

The doctor requested that I tell her about myself. Soon I was relating my entire tale of woe...how I was trapped in the wrong body, how I had always felt this way, how dresses seemed natural to me, how I really was a girl, despite my Y chromosomes. I mentioned several times that I was happy in all other respects, I didn't want Dr. Odom to think that Mom had done a poor job raising me or anything. She then asked me several questions. Did I get sexually aroused by women's clothes? No. Did I get sexually aroused by women or men? It was still a little ambiguous, but I could easily see myself with a man, if I were a woman. Would I go through the gender change procedure, even if it meant giving up my current life? Yes. Even if it were painful? Yes. Even if my mom forbid it? I hoped it wouldn't come to that, but yes. I avoided Mom's eyes when I said that.

The doctor told me she'd like me to come twice a week. Once for a private session, another to meet with a transgender support group.

"You mean...with others like me?" It was still hard for me not to think of myself as a unique case.

"Yes, three others in various stages of transitioning. You can count on their discretion, they need their privacy as much as you do."

I readily consented.

In the car, Mom asked me what I thought of the doctor. I replied that I liked her, I felt she understood me. Mom agreed. She got the impression I was in good hands. We took off for home.
"Lee," Mom said, after a bit, "about what you said back there. I want you to know that it never will come down to a choice between our relationship and your lifestyle. I may not support what you are doing, but I will help you. I want you to be happy, I'll never forbid it."

I mentally reminded myself that Mother's Day was coming up.

*

While Mom was welcome in our private sessions, the doctor requested that she not attend the support group unless she absolutely felt she must. When you are undergoing a sex change you want as few people to know about it as possible. Mom agreed.

I went to the group not knowing what to expect. Convincing women, poor drag attempts, what? I entered Dr. Odom's office and was introduced to my fellow gender benders (their names have been changed to protect their privacy).

First was Rachel, formerly Robert. She (I will refer to all of them by the feminine gender here) was a tall, strapping redhead. She was big, but not ungainly, and very freckled. She was thirty years old, and had been transitioning for the past two. She had had breast implants and hormone therapy, her surgery was scheduled for two months from now.

I immediately liked her. She was an example of what I could achieve. A happy, outgoing woman, totally at peace with herself. She was far too large to be a beauty queen, but attractive in her own way. She made it clear she was looking for a husband and I knew with her fun loving persona it wasn't an impossible request (provided she found someone who could accept her past).

Next was Denise, formerly Dennis. She was forty-one. She looked like a woman, but not a pretty one. Too hairy, too ungainly. She could pass, but not be pretty. Denise was a sad case, she had 'come out' only recently, and after fifteen years of marriage. With her was Patty, her wife. Patty had been devastated by her husband's confession, she attended the meetings, trying to work out what would become of her marriage and her relationship with someone who was no longer really a man.

Lastly was Katie, formerly Kip. Katie was twenty-four, black-haired, willowy, and did the best job out of any of us (myself included) of passing as a girl. She had been taking estrogen for over a year, but illegally, getting hers from a supplier in Mexico. Unlike the rest of us, Dr. Odom made it known that she felt Katie was making a mistake, she had only decided she wanted to be a girl a couple of years ago, after her (or Kip's) fianc”š ran off with another woman. The doctor thought Katie was suffering from a nervous breakdown, and was trying to convince her to return to manhood.

Dr. Odom introduced me as Lee. Everyone said hello. I didn't say much my first meeting, I just listened. Some of what the others said really hit home with me: the fear of telling their families, the long-time desires in secret, the terror of being caught. On the other hand, some were suffering from problems I was glad I didn't have: Rachel's family refused to accept her phone calls, Denise and Patty were suffering through what would probably be the end of their relationship, Katie was legitimately worried about being denied the operation.

When the session was closing, Dr. Odom asked if I would like to say a few words about myself. I gave a brief outline of my situation and thanked everyone for their support. The meeting ended, and everyone left. I stayed behind to wait for Mom.

As I was talking to the doctor, Denise came back in. She seemed nervous. "Listen, Lee. This may be none of my business, but I think you are doing the right thing, coming to grips with this so young. I wish I had. I've lost my friends, my job, and I've destroyed the life of the only woman I ever cared about. Not to mention I look horrible. No, it's true. I just want you to know, if you feel that this is what you want, then go for it. Don't wait until it's too late like I did." I thanked her and she left.

*

Soon the school year drew to a close. I continued my dual existence: Harvey at school, Lee at home and at the sessions with Dr. Odom and the others. I soon got to the point where I was absolutely sure that no one would think anything odd if I went out in public dressed like Lee. Mom was steadfast in her denial of this. I think she wanted to prevent me of building up a life as a girl, in case I ended up not going through with it.

Mid-July I went to one of my private sessions with the doctor. Much to my surprise, she requested that I wait in the waiting room while she talked to Mom. I was hurt, and not a little afraid. I had let Mom in on all my secrets, and now they locked me out. What were they doing in there? If it concerned me, then I had every right to know!

Mom opened the door, and motioned me in. Much to my surprise, Dr. Odom left and shut the door behind her. What was with all the secrets? I was even more shocked when I noticed Mom had tears in her eyes.

"Harvey, uh, Lee...sorry, I'm still getting used to this. Listen...Dr. Odom has been talking to me, and well...she's convinced that forcing you to live as a boy is going to end up hurting you. And I can't hurt you, honey. You're all I have in this world. And well, I've been thinking. I can't live on Dad's police pension forever...I've been offered a sales job in the city. What would you think about moving all the way into town?"

It was fine by me, in my opinion the suburbs combined the crime and traffic of the city with the dullness and isolation of the country. I thought it was good that Mom was getting back to work, maybe it meant she was finally recovering from her tragic past. But what did all this have to do with me and Dr. Odom?

"Now Lee, you'd have to transfer schools. And well, we were thinking...how would you like to begin your junior year as a girl?"
"Oh Mom, do you mean it?"

"Lee, ever since that day I told you that you could dress like a girl, I've never seen you so happy. Never, in all your life. I can't take that happiness away from you, it would be cruel and short-sighted. Remember, if you ever want to stop, you can, but something tells me you won't."

"Mom, you've made me the happiest girl on earth. You'll never regret this." I had to restrain myself from laughing...my dreams were coming true!
Mom hugged me. "OK. I'll register you tomorrow, we'll probably be moved by next month. Just be careful, that's all I ask."

"I will Mom."

"I know, dear. And Dr. Odom said that if you live the rest of the summer as a girl, then she'll allow you to start on estrogen."
Christmas, New Years, and my birthday, all in one day.

*

I was expecting trouble when Mom went to register me at my new city high school, but she told me later it happened without incident. She simply registered me as 'Lee' and signed me up for the classes I had requested. I had taken the state required PE class as a freshman, so I didn't have to worry about changing in front of others. I'd just have to watch myself in the restroom. In the lady's room.

On my sixteenth birthday I took and passed the driver's exam and received my license. When it came time to do the paperwork I marked 'female' on the form and got into the longest line I could find at the DMV. Much to my surprise, I realized I was standing behind Paul, the Christian who had saved us all at the dress code protest. Hoping not to be noticed, I watched as he took his vision exam.

"Close your right eye," said the civil servant behind the counter.

"I am blind in my right eye."

"Then close your left eye," replied the none-too-bright counterman.

"You do not understand. I can only see out of my left eye. I do not need to close one."

"You have to close one, it's the rules."

Eighteen minutes later, Paul had finished the two minute eye exam. "Judge not," I heard him mumbling to himself as he left.

The dope behind the counter didn't even look at my birth certificate. I now had a license that said 'Lee Cambiar, female.' Illegal, yes, but at least now I had a valid piece of ID.

Within a week we had left our old apartment and moved into our new urban one. It was a little bigger than our previous one, but not much of a change other than that. When we were preparing for the move I told Mom not to bother packing my boyish clothes, I wouldn't be needing them anymore. While she had insisted we take a couple of outfits with us, I managed to convince her to let me give most of my old clothes to charity. From here on out I planned to wear nothing but skirts, dresses, and women's slacks.

Once the movers had gone, Mom and I relaxed on our sofa, regarding all the boxes that still needed to be unpacked. Mom groaned. "Maybe if I wish really hard, everything will put itself away."

"Well," I said, looking down at my nylon covered legs and pumps, "sometimes wishes do come true."

Mom smiled a bittersweet smile at me. "Lee," she said, "you certainly make a lovely girl."

"Oh Mom...I've been waiting sixteen years for someone to say that."

"Why did you never tell me earlier?"

"I was afraid you'd hate me. I was afraid you'd be ashamed, or think I had dishonored Dad or something."

Mom looked at me severely. "I'll never be ashamed of you honey. And I know your father, if he were alive today, would never be dishonored by you. He loved you. Even though you weren't born yet, he loved you."

"Thank you Mom. Thank you for everything."

Mom put her arm around me. "This wasn't easy, at first. I hoped that by giving you permission to be a girl you'd just grow tired of it, like when you become old enough to drink and it stops being a fun, forbidden thing. But now I know that's not the case. Something tells me that you really do have a woman's heart."

"I always have. And thanks to you, now I'm not living a lie."

Mom stood up. "Well Lee, you've been wanting to show yourself to the world for some time now. What do you say we go out to eat?"

"Oh Mom, you mean I can go like this?"

"You'll be starting school in a couple of weeks. I might as well get used to it."

We went out to a nice restaurant. It was how I had always pictured it. 'Where would you ladies like to sit?' 'And what would the young lady like to drink?' 'Ma'am, did you order the chicken, or did your daughter?'

That night I prayed that that would be what the rest of my life would be like. Never again referred to as 'he' or a 'gentleman.' All I'd have to do would be to convince Dr. Odom to recommend me for GRS. It could really happen.

*

The next week I spent composing a feminine past for me. The first thing I did was to ask Mom not to display any photos of me in our apartment, and to remove the existing ones out of the family albums. It was hard on Mom, but since I'd be introduced to everyone as her daughter from now on, then it had to be done. How could we explain the picture of the young man in our old family shots?

I then sat about fixing up my room. Figuring that Mom had made enough sacrifices for my change in life, I withdrew some of my savings for new room decorations. Floral sheets and a frilly comforter, feminine drapes, a couple of stuffed animals, and, after only a moment's hesitation, a shirtless poster of a current Hollywood beefcake. When Mom saw what I had done to my room, she only shook her head and sighed.

The day before school started, Mom and I drove back to Dr. Odom's office for my first weekly shot of estrogen. The doctor told me that I wouldn't notice any changes for months, and even then I'd probably be the only one who could tell, the changes would happen so gradually. Still, when I came home that night, I couldn't help but looking at my chest in the mirror, to see if anything had grown.

School started. Thanks to our new location I could now walk to school. On the first day of classes I stood in front of the high school, purse in hand, hair in a pony tail, skirt swishing in the breeze. After this, there was no going back. I walked in. Usually when school started, I would lurk around in the corners, waiting for the first bell so I could get the day over with. Well, I had reinvented my gender, so what was to stop me from reinventing my personality? I smiled at people, said hi to strangers, glanced over the bulletin board announcements (cheerleader tryouts? Hmmmm....nah) and generally made myself seen. Just before first bell I casually strolled into the women's room, ostensibly to adjust my makeup, but in reality just to revel in actually being in there, terra incognito, the last frontier. The restroom with a tampon machine and no graffiti.

I took a seat in my first hour chemistry class and smiled in a friendly way at the girl sitting next to me. When the teacher called roll, I said 'here' when the name Lee Cambiar was called.

At lunchtime I bought a tray of something that looked halfway edible and looked around for a seat. As I walked past a table full of girls, one of them motioned for me to sit with them.

Her name was Angelica, she and her friends were all members of the field hockey team. I introduced myself as a new student. Soon we were all chatting about girl stuff: clothes, makeup, and boys. My God, no longer did I have to pretend to know who won football games or force myself to make leering comments about whatever woman who walked by. I hoped I wouldn't do anything to screw this up, I'd really like it if I became friends with this group of fellow women. I readily agreed when they invited me on a shopping trip to the mall that weekend.

As we were returning our trays, I accidentally dropped my fork on the floor. A guy quickly picked it up and introduced himself. I smiled and did the same. As we walked away, Angelica shook her head. "Boys, always after one thing."

Yes, I thought, and for once I was that one thing!

Mom had arrived home from her new job just before I did. I found her nervously sitting on the couch, awaiting my arrival. I think she half expected me to come home with a broken nose. I quickly assured her that not only had I been a successful girl, I was already making friends. Mom smiled, she had always been concerned about my lack of companions.

After a week, I found that being a girl was no longer the thrill-a-minute adventure it had been earlier. Each day femininity brought me a new and exciting experience, but it no longer effected me the way it once had. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Real women don't jump out of bed every day, thanking God for the chance to be female. I wasn't growing bored with my new identity, I was growing used to it.

Still, when that Saturday rolled around, I eagerly embarked on my first day out with the girls. Angelica picked me up in front of our apartment building in her parents' car and, with a couple of her friends, we drove off to the mall.

It was a fabulous day. Now the only stores in the mall that were closed to me were the ones that sold men's clothing. Dress shops, women's swimwear shops, even lingerie shops were wide open to me, I could go in and browse without fear.

The girls must have thought I had never been shopping before (which I hadn't, at least like this). Every time we passed a new store I insisted on stopping to try on a couple of things. The only moment of panic came when I complained to Angelica through a dressing room door that I was having trouble zipping up the dress I was trying on. She told me to unlock the door, she'd zip me up. Whoops! I certainly didn't want her to see her new 'girlfriend' in this half-dressed state, so I told her that the dress didn't fit anyway.

We decided to round off the day by grabbing some burgers in the food court. On our way there, we were accosted by one of those annoying survey people, you know the kind, they haunt shopping malls with their clipboards, badgering people to take market research polls.

This woman was quite overweight and was sporting a valiantly struggling beard, but seemed nice enough when she asked if any of us ladies would like to answer a few questions. I was feeling generous, so while my new friends made their way to the food court I told them I'd catch up.

I followed the woman to the little survey office and was subject to a brief interview over why or a why not a certain commercial would incite me to see a new movie. While I was leaving, I heard a familiar voice from one of the little cubicles that made up the room. It was Bill, interrogating a woman over two bowls of mac 'n cheese. "Would you say," he said, like a police sergeant grilling a suspect, "that macaroni and cheese A is creamier than macaroni and cheese B?"

My gut went cold. Bill, I knew, was a temp, he had a different job ever few days. Market research must have been his career du jour. I had never expected to see someone I knew back here, I tried to leave as soon as possible. Not soon enough, as it were. Bill looked up from his questionnaire and for one horrible second, our eyes met. I left without claiming the complimentary coupon I would receive for taking the survey.

I tried to put on a cheery face for my friends as we sat eating. Did Bill recognize me? Would he tell anyone? Could he keep a secret? Much to my horror, I saw him coming my way from across the court. He walked right up to our table.

"You forgot your coupon," he said, handing it to me. "Good for ffity cents off your next purchase of Macaroni and Cheese A."

"Thanks Bill," I replied, wondering if that was the only reason he had come over.

He seemed surprised. "I'm sorry," he asked, "do I know you?"

I wished I could have kicked my own butt. So paranoid about not letting on that I knew Bill, and I call him by name. Smooth.

Angelica and the gang were watching me, waiting for me to answer the question. I couldn't think of a convincing lie, so I blurted out the truth "We, er, went to school together." Please don't let him put two and two together.

"Funny, I don't remember you. Your name is...?"

I couldn't give a fake name in front of my friends. "Lee Cambiar."

"Hmmm," said Bill, thinking, "I once new a Harvey Cambiar. Is he any rela..." Bill stopped and looked at me again. "Back to work," he said abruptly and sped off.

I wanted to cry. Bill knew. Who would he tell? Luthor? Paul? Everyone at his school? Everyone at my school?

Pretending I had to go the lady's room, I ran off in search of Bill. I had to beg him to keep his mouth shut. Much to my horror, no one at his office knew where he was. Morosely, I left, only to be startled when someone laid a hand on my shoulder from behind. I let out a shriek before I realized it was Bill.

"I wanted to be a ninja," he grinned, "but Mom insisted that I finish high school."

"Bill..." I began, "I guess you're wondering why I dress like this now."

"Well, I was wondering more why you moved without telling any of your friends or ever calling us, but yes, the dress and sex change have aroused my curiosity as well."

I began to think of an explanation, when he interrupted. "But I also know that it's probably none of my business." The rapt look on his face let me know that he hoped for an explanation anyway.

"Bill, I am a woman. Maybe not physically, but in my heart and mind, I am."

"I see," replied Bill, totally nonplussed. This sort of thing was apparently beyond his realm of experience.

"I've started a new life for myself," I continued, "and for the first time, I'm truly happy. Please don't destroy me by telling anyone my secret."

"I swear," said Bill, for once in his life serious "that I won't tell anyone about this. I have better things to do than ruin people's lives."

I felt like a weight had been removed from my shoulders. "Thank you Bill."

"But uh Harvey, or...damn, what's your name now?"

"Lee."

Bill smiled at the sound of that. "OK Lee Harvey. But hey, I'm still your friend, give me a call sometime."

I smiled at the man who was more of a friend to me than I had ever given him credit for, and turned to go. I stopped when I heard someone behind me shout "Czolgolz, you SOB, I swear I'm gonna rip your lying tongue out!"

A large, muscle-bound teenager had shoved Bill up against the wall. He was handsome, in a muscle-headed type of way, about 6'0", and was wearing the letter jacket of my new high school. The patches on his jacket informed me that he was a member of the football team.

The big jock waved his fist in Bill's face. "Whatever is the matter, Charles?" asked Bill, as if nothing was wrong.

"The problem, shit for brains, is that you said I'd get a free movie coupon if I took your stupid survey."

"And I kept my word."

The jock known as Charles waved the coupon in Bill's face. "This thing expired five years ago!"

"Cavet emptor," said Bill. "Let the buyer beware." I was starting to worry. This guy was seriously capable of mopping the floor with Bill, and yet he was being his usual sarcastic self.

The big guy grabbed Bill by the shirt. "I ought to flush you down the toilet."

Bill winced. "Ow, Charlie, you've got a handful of my chest hair there."

Charlie instantly let go. I breathed a sigh of relief, apparently his anger had been a put on. Mumbling something like 'creamy macaroni my ass,' he turned to leave. Then he spotted me.

"Hey Bill, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Huh? Oh, Charles, this is (for a panicked second I thought he would say Harvey) Lee. Lee, this is Charles. I let him hang out with me sometimes."

Charlie shot him an angry look, then turned to me. "Charlie Guiteau," he said, shaking my hand. "Pleased to meet you." Charlie was looking right into my eyes, I inwardly blushed when I realized he was probably attracted to me.

"Pleased to meet you," I said sweetly.

"I haven't seen you before, are you new around here?"

"You might say that."

"Well, I'm having a party this Friday. Why don't you stop by?"

"Um, OK, sure."

"Great. See you there. The Dorkmeister (indicating Bill) knows where it is." He smiled at me again and left.

Bill was looking down his own shirt, apparently checking to see if any of his chest hair was missing. I smiled. Body hair was now one thing I'd never have to worry about.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"Never better."

"Why do you let that guy push you around like that?"

"Ah, Charlie and I go way back. He was just putting on a show for, ah, you." Bill grinned when he realized his friend had been acting extra macho to impress another man.

Someone with a bigger clipboard than Bill's appeared and demanded he stop flirting and get back to work. We parted company. During the drive home, I kept thinking about Charlie. Bill had said that he wasn't as big a jerk as he appeared to be.

I kept thinking about his square jaw, his powerful arms, his towering height...but that was foolish. Still, as far as guys went, he was a hunk.
On the night of Charlie's party, I spent over two hours getting dressed. This would be my first major social event as a woman and I wanted to shine. No longer would I be the shy guy, hiding in the corner. No, tonight I would be the woman I had waited sixteen years to be.

I decided to wear mostly black, black heels, black hose, a black skirt, and a white undershirt with a long-sleeved black top, unbuttoned in the front. I fixed my hair and makeup, and waited for Bill to pick me up.

"Have fun," my mom said. "No drinking, be home by midnight."

Bill parked about two blocks away from Charlie's house. When we were almost there, he said "Damn, forgot something in the car. It's the green house on the left, you ahead without me."

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what was going on. Bill, now that he knew my secret, was afraid to be seen with me! Well, at least afraid to arrive at the party with me, he obviously didn't want anyone to think we were dating. Insulted, I vowed to make Bill wish that he hadn't been so rude.

The party was in full swing, people dancing, talking, eating, music blasting, everyone having a good old time. I spotted Charlie, mingling.

"Lee, I'm glad you made it!" he shouted over the music.

"Thanks for inviting me."

"No prob. Wanna dance?"

I had just been asked to dance by a guy. I thought about how odd that would have been, half a year ago. But now, here it seemed perfectly natural. I was a young woman, what was so strange about a young man asking me for a dance?

We danced a fast number, then another. Then the music slowed down. My God, were we actually going to slow dance?

Charlie gently put his arms around my waist. I put mine around his neck. Because of the height discrepancy, I found the only comfortable way to dance was for me to lay my head against his chest (really! No other reason!). We swayed gently in time to the beat.

Charlie was an OK dancer, maybe that's why I agreed to dance the next slow number with him. Of course, him holding me close, my eyes closed, feeling him breathe...I have to say I rather enjoyed that as well.

Eventually I had to excuse myself to use the restroom. While I was adjusting my makeup, I realized that I could hear Charlie talking in the other room. Much to my surprise, it was Bill's voice who answered him.

Charlie: Look, just say the word and I'll back off. I don't want to steal her from you.

Bill: I'm not interested in her, I told you that before.

Charlie: You sure looked freaked out when I was dancing with her (I was shocked to realize that it was me that they must have been talking about). Seriously man, I'll step aside if you want me to.

Bill: Listen Meathead, I'm not interested in her, capiche?

Charlie: OK, whatever you say, man.

I was surprised. Charlie, bless his heart, was obviously worried that Bill was interested in me romantically. I was a little annoyed with Bill for denying it so vehemently. I mean I knew he'd never see me like that, but did he have to freak out so much? It's not like I was a plague carrier or anything.

Soon, the time came for me to go home. Bill said he'd get the car, Charlie walked me to the street.

"I'm glad you came," he said, taking both my hands in his.

"So am I. I had a wonderful time."

"So can I maybe call you some time?" he said with a friendly smile. He certainly wasn't the same man I had met at the mall.

"You bet." I gave him my number.

Charlie looked deep into my eyes. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he bent down and brushed my lips with his.

Bill's blaring horn drowned out any subsequent comment I could have made. I waved Charlie goodbye and climbed into the car with Bill.

On the way home, I was too absorbed in my own thoughts to notice how sullen and quiet Bill was being. I had kissed a boy! A man had touched my lips with his! True, it was a brief, almost brotherly kiss, but he sure as hell wouldn't have kissed a guy that way.

When we reached my apartment, I thanked Bill and turned to open the car door. Much to my surprise, Bill hit the automatic door lock, temporarily sealing me in the car. I turned to ask him why.

Much to my shock, Bill was wearing the most wrathful, angry expression I had ever seen on him. I was speechless.

"Stay the hell away from him."

"What?"

"Charlie. Don't you ever come near him again." It wasn't a request, it was a command. His voice was hateful and venomous.

"Bill, what's gotten into you?"

"You kissed him, I saw you."

"So what business is that of yours?"

Bill hit the dashboard with his fist. "I've been friends with Charlie since kindergarten, that's what business it is of mine. Did you bother to tell him what you are?"

"What I am? Bill, I'm not a thing."

"No, you're a guy. And I'll be damned if I'll let you treat Charlie that way."

"Bill," I tried to explain "I'm only physically a male."

"Don't give me that bullshit about being a woman trapped in a man's body, Harvey, or whatever the hell your name is. You have a dick, so that makes you a guy. You want to live as a woman, fine, I can respect that. It's weird, but it's your choice. But don't drag Charlie into this. You'd destroy him if he ever found out."

Bill had a point. I could only imagine how the macho football player would feel when he found out the girl he had kissed was really a boy. But who's to say he'd ever find out? I told Bill as much.

"You just don't get it, do you? Charlie'd be devastated. He wouldn't be able to live with himself. He'd expose you and probably kick my ass for not telling him the truth. You can't see him anymore."

"Bill, you can't tell me who I can or can't see."

"No, but I can tell Charlie the truth."

I was aghast. "Bill, you swore you wouldn't tell anyone!"

"That was before I caught you playing tonsil hockey with my friend. Back off or he knows the truth."

Bill flipped the locks open. Wordlessly, I opened the door and left.
I was near tears when I entered our apartment. Mom had already gone to bed, I sat on the couch and sulked. Why was Bill being so mean? Why wouldn't he mind his own business? What happened between Charlie and myself was none of his concern.

I needed someone to talk to. I knew it was rude, but I couldn't wait until morning. I stole into Mom's room and whispered her name loudly until she woke up.

"Mmmmm...what is it?" she mumbled. Then she saw my face. "Oh my God Lee, what happened?" she was wide awake now. "Are you Okay? What's wrong?"

I told her everything, about Charlie, the dancing, the kiss, about Bill blowing up. Mom sat next to me on the bed and listened.

"Lee, honey, I was afraid this would happen. Listen to me." I looked at her. She had the parental 'this is for your own good' look about her.

"Bill was right, honey. No, listen. I'm sorry, but if he didn't forbid you to see Charlie, then I would. I know it's not fair, but it's not fair to Charlie either. In his eyes you were born a girl, with no complications. How's he going to feel when he finds out?"

"Mom," I said, holding back my anger, "he won't find out! All I want is to go on a date with him, not marry him!"

"You never know what a date can lead to. I only agreed to go out with your father as a favor to a friend who was dating his roommate. You know the rest of the story. What if you end up liking him a lot and then he finds out and doesn't understand? You can't be sure he'll keep things a secret. You can't even be sure he wouldn't hurt you."

"He wouldn't do that!"

"Don't count on it. A lot of guys are very homophobic, and kissing you would amount to, in his eyes, a homosexual experience. That might make him do something he normally wouldn't. Besides, an experience like that could traumatize a young man."

Mom was making a good point. I couldn't very well tell Charlie 'Oh, I hope it doesn't bother you, but I have a male body under this dress.' At the same time, it would be horribly unfair to him to lead him on and think he was in a normal relationship.

"Mom," I said, with a hitch in my voice "it's not just Charlie. I'm sixteen, I want to date. Am I supposed to be a nun? Be alone forever?"

Mom hugged me. "Lee, Lee, Lee," she repeated. "I wish you had been born a girl. I wish I could spare you all this pain. I told you earlier this wasn't an easy life you had chosen for yourself. I wish I could say that all guys were kind and understanding. But I'm afraid that that's not the way things worked out. I'm sorry, but no dating."

"For how long? Until I'm old and alone? An old spinster?"

"No, I guess not. To be honest, I don't know what to tell you. Once again, I'm stumped. Maybe you should ask your friends at the support group. They might be able to advise you."

"That's a good idea. Maybe they know how to break this to a guy."

"OK. Well, I have to turn in. I'm sorry I have to be so strict about the boys, but I'm concerned for your safety."

We hugged and I went to bed.

The next day, Charlie called me and asked me to a movie. I knew I had to tell him I wasn't interested, but I couldn't. I kept hoping that someone at the gender support group would come up with some sort of amazing plan for guiltlessly dating him. I told him that I was busy, maybe some other time.
There was a festive attitude at the support meeting that week. Rachel, the big redhead, would be leaving for a hospital in the West the next day; when she returned she would be a physically complete woman.

There was little discussion that night, Rachel and Dr. Odom had brought snacks and we enjoyed ourselves. I felt guilty about bringing up my problem, but I needed support. Near the end of the meeting, I asked if I could get some advice.

Instantly, everyone grew serious. I loved these people, they understood so well how much I needed understanding. They had all been there themselves.

I related my problems with Charlie, Bill and my mother and asked them what I should do. Was there any way I could see him without risking being found out or hurting him?

Their replies pretty much mirrored Mom's. Dating Charlie would be dangerous, underhanded and cruel. I'd best forget about him.

"OK," I replied, "I expected as much. But I can't go fending off guys all my life. How exactly do I go about dating?"

Their answers were varied. Denise, the middle aged married woman, said she had resigned herself to a celibate life. She said she was too stocky and unattractive to find a man to love her. We all shouted denials, but it was true. She was not at all desirable. While many guys are capable of seeing inner beauty, finding a man who could look past both her appearance and her history would be asking a lot. I was once again reminded how fortunate I was to have began transitioning so early in my life.

Kip, the young lady who Dr. Odom had advised against transitioning, said that she normally met men at a conservative gay bar. Since women never went there, the customers generally knew she wasn't a complete woman. Some men are attracted to transsexuals so she didn't generally have trouble finding dates. Unfortunately, this advice did me little good. I wouldn't even be old enough to enter the bar for five years, and even if I could, I was only looking for a date, while I assumed the men at the bar were probably looking for a little more.

It was Rachel who gave me the best advice. She said when I entered college to contact the campus gay and lesbian support group and ask them for help. They usually had activities where I could be honest with everyone about the state of things and meet nice people who would understand. That would be my best bet for meeting a man who wouldn't care about my past.

It sounded wonderful, the only problem was that I would have to wait two years until I went off to college. "Isn't there a way I could meet boys right now?"

Rachel shook her head and smiled. "I'm sorry honey, but most guys your age aren't mature enough to understand that you really are a woman, inside. And your mother was right about it being dangerous. Look." Much to my surprise, she removed several of her upper left teeth; they were false.

"A guy I liked knocked 'em out," she explained. "and all I did was hold his hand. If you are going to date a guy, he has to know the truth beforehand. That's why you need to wait until college, when the guys are a little more mature and open. Don't worry, you'll meet someone."

So that was that. I couldn't see Charlie again, I couldn't see any boy for at least two years. Oh well, maybe it was for the best. By the time I left for college hopefully the estrogen would have kicked in and I would be even more of a woman. The thought of finding a nice college man, either a straight guy who understood that I was a woman inside, or a bisexual man who wouldn't care about my past, was a nice one.

Later that week, I was surprised when Charlie roared up in front of my apartment building...on a motorcycle. A real, honest to God Harley. He had on a leather jacket and helmet. I almost swooned, he was so handsome and macho.

"Hey Lee, I was in the neighborhood." I smiled at the lie. He had come to see me! "Can I take you for a spin?" He held up another helmet.

How much I wanted to ride with him. To climb up there, wrap my arms around his chest, lean my head on his back, and let him take me wherever the road lead...but it just wasn't to be.

"Charlie, listen...I like you, but I don't think we should see each other anymore. I'm sorry if I lead you on, it's nothing personal."

Charlie smiled, embarrassed. He thought I liked him, now he probably thought he had just been making an ass of himself.

"Alright," he said with forced casualness, "see you around."

As he gunned his engine, I wanted to tell him to stop, to take me with him, but I didn't. As he roared off, I said silently "Goodbye Charlie. I like you, but it wasn't meant to be."

'I like you, but it wasn't meant to be.' Ranks right up there with other great quotes as 'Peace in our time,' (Chamberlain, 1938) 'No new taxes,' (Bush, 1988) and 'I did not have sex with that woman,' (Clinton, 1998). And, like those other quotes, turned out to be absolutely, and completely wrong.

The next week, I returned to the mall to have my ears pierced. I had been wanting to do that for a long while, and the brief painful pricks were well worth the two gold studs that now shone from my lobes.

As I walked towards the exit, I heard a familiar voice. It was Bill again, still pestering people with the never-ending marketing surveys.
"Hey, can I ask you a few questions? Yeah, you! Don't pretend you can't see me! Oh, that's real mature..." Bill was a natural.

I wondered what I should do. After our last conversation I really didn't feel like speaking to him again, but on the other hand I figured I should tell him that Charlie and I were through. Just in case he felt like spilling the beans.

He seemed shocked when I said hello. For a few moments we stood, sizing each other up like Jerry Seinfeld and Newman. Finally, I broke the silence.
"Bill, I want you to know that I'm going to leave Charlie alone from now on. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Thank you," said Bill, and he sounded sincere.

More awkward silence.

"Listen," said Bill, "I'm sorry I blew up at you the other day. I didn't want to insult you personally, I just was worried about Charlie."

"I understand, Bill. I didn't want to admit it at the time, but you were right."

"Er, uh, Lee...can I ask you a personal question?"

"What?"

"Why? I mean, why are you doing this? Becoming a woman, I mean."

I glanced around at the myriad of people wandering around. "Can we go somewhere more private?"

Bill looked at his watch. "Yeah, let's go to my car."

He bought us each a soda, and lead me out to his old Vega with the 'Byte Me' and 'I've Got the Hardware if You've Got the Software' bumper stickers. We sat on the trunk.

"I guess you think I'm pretty weird," I told Bill.

Bill looked me over, my skirt, my long hair, my makeup, my newly pierced ears. "Lee," he said finally, "I'm the last one to accuse someone of being weird. I guess I just don't understand what you are trying to accomplish."

"Bill, what sex are you?"

"Uh, male."

"Right. It would never occur to you to answer any other way. But with me, it's different. As long as I can remember, I've thought of myself as a woman, and that my male body was a mistake. Now I've finally been able to start living the way I need to. For the first time in my life I can tell the world what I already knew: I am a woman."

"So what are you going to do now? Have one of those operations?"

"I hope so. My doctor has to give her okay first. I'm taking female hormones right now."

Bill shook his head, as if to clear it. "Lee, I guess I'll never understand why you want to do this. But listen...if I hadn't known you before, I'd have never guessed you weren't born a girl. You'll do fine."

I smiled. "Thank you Bill."

"Just stay away from Charlie, okay? Not just for his sake, but for yours."

"I promise. So do you have time for a game of Mortal Kombat, or is your break almost over?"

Bill looked confused. "Break?"

*

My life soon fell into the routine of a normal high school girl. Studying, football games, trips to the mall, preparing for college...at times I could almost pretend there was absolutely nothing abnormal about me, that I really was just a sixteen-year-old girl.

Of course, my life differed in several major respects. No dating, of course. While I passed Charlie in the hall several times a week, we would only nod and say hi, nothing more. Not to brag, but other guys asked me out as well; several of whom I wouldn't have minded dating, but I couldn't complicate my life. 'Wait for college,' I kept telling myself.

Another way I was different was my biweekly psychologist appointments and estrogen injections. In a way, I began to feel embarrassed every time I went...it was like a reminder that I wasn't a real girl, that I was different.

Still, it was nice to have a place where I could talk out my problems, and be of help to other people.

Rachel had completed her sex change, she had proudly shown us her new, updated birth certificate with the sex stamped 'female.' She now only attended our group once a month. Perhaps she was trying to put her maleness behind her as well. Denise, on the other hand, had just suffered through a non-contested, though emotionally-draining, divorce. There's only so much you can expect a wife to tolerate.

One night, maybe six months after I had started living as a woman, I stood in the bathroom naked. I regarded my nude figure in the mirror. There were changes going on, that much was certain. A little more fat around the hips. A little more silkiness in my hair. A little more softness in my skin. My breasts, too, were changing. The nipples were darker, and more sensitive. They stood out erect in the cold. I could feel the fatty deposits starting to grow behind them. I knew that the changes were far from over. My one big frustration, however, was that estrogen couldn't give me real breasts. I'd grow 'A' cups if I were lucky. What I'd have given to get breast implants. To have real breasts...But it was not to be. I didn't know how I was going to afford the eventual sex change. I couldn't go spending money on a boob job as well.

My relief came from a sudden and unexpected source. In December I took the ACT test, which is the Midwest's answer to the SATs. While this test is normally taken by seniors, I signed up in advance for practice. I good score, they told me, would be a 22. I got a thirty-one.

I felt on top of the world. Bill informed me later that he had only gotten a 28 and had to take the test two more times before he got thirty.
The thirty was a magic number. Besides looking great on a college application, it meant that I would receive the Missouri 'Bright Flight' scholarship, which provided two-thousand dollars a year, cash, for up to five years of college.

The thing was, my college was already paid for. My father had set up a trust fund for me that would more than provide a college education. So now I had eight or ten thousand dollars of my own (author's note: The Bright Flight Scholarship of Missouri does exist, as I have portrayed it here).
I did some calculations. I could withdraw some of the money from Dad's trust early, and use the scholarship money to make up the difference. I could get a job in college to cover any additional money I would need.

Breast implants, I knew, cost between six and ten thousand dollars. I knew Dr. Odom could recommend a worthwhile doctor. With my sudden windfall, real breasts were within my grasp.

My head swam as I pondered why life would be like, breasted. I could wear a halter top, a low-cut dress, or a bikini top! I would have to wear a bra, and one that wasn't padded! I could change in a locker room with no worries!

There was one problem. How would Mom react? Would she allow it? She seemed to have come to terms with my new life, but something this permanent? And what would Dr. Odom say? I knew how vehemently she had opposed Katie's decision to take estrogen; what made me think she'd allow me to have surgery?
I brought it up to Mom, first. When she asked me what I wanted for Christmas, instead of saying some clothes as she had probably expected, I told her I wanted permission to have breasts. I related my plans to her.

She thought for a while. "Well," she said, "I have a feeling that this is something that will eventually happen, whether I give my permission or not. And a girl your age should have breasts by now...they might prevent you from being found out."

"So you'll let me do it?"

"I didn't say that. I want to talk to Dr. Odom about this. If she agrees, and if she can find a surgeon we both like, then I suppose I'll give my permission."

Dr. Odom took my request as she had taken most of my previous ones: she said she'd have to think about it.

"You see, Lee," she began, "you are a unique case. I fully expected you to have at least some degree of uncertainty or regret when you began your life as a woman, but I've seen no evidence of that. You're a textbook transgender, Lee."

I wondered if I should be proud.

"But," she continued, "you are also very young. Normally I wouldn't feel right allowing surgery like this for a minor. If this ended up being the wrong choice, it could traumatize you."

I started to protest. Dr. Odom held up her hand. "I haven't said no, yet. I need to think about this, talk it over with some other doctors. As always, I won't use your real name."

*

Shortly after New Years, I came home from school to find Mom waiting for me. "Dr. Odom just called," she said.

"And? And?!" I shouted.

"She said that despite your young age, she and her colleagues felt you were mature enough to make this decision."

That night we went and picked out a low-cut dress for me. You know, to celebrate.

The next week, I met with the plastic surgeon that Dr. Odom had recommended. His name was Dr. Jagdish Patel. His office was in a large hospital in the downtown area.

When Dr. Odom first recommended Dr. Patel, I was a little worried. She said he was an excellent plastic surgeon who could give me a lovely pair of breasts. But had he even given breasts to a male before?

Dr. Odom laid my fears to rest. "Don't worry, honey. He's helped out several of my patients in the past. You have nothing to worry about." Much later I found out that he was the one who had done Rachel's breasts.

Dr. Patel was East Indian, forty-something, with a large beard and a big smile. I instantly felt at ease with him, maybe more so than with Dr. Odom. He had a wonderful bedside manner.

"Now, Ms. Cambiar," he said with his lightly-accented speech, "I'm sure that I do not have to tell you what a permanent decision that you are making here. I would normally never do this for someone as young as yourself, but Dr. Odom assured me that you are mature enough to handle this. But I feel I must warn you again.

"The bruising from the surgery will not subside for about three months. After that, no one who sees your torso will think you were ever a man. I don't mean to brag, but you'll find it hard to believe you didn't achieve your breasts the natural way. I want you to consider this, and consider it seriously. With breasts, you are taking the penultimate step in achieving womanhood. Only the GRS is more permanent. If you ever decide you don't like having a woman's body I can remove the implants, but it is a costly and painful procedure, and it will leave scars. I beg you, if you have any doubts whatsoever, now is the time to voice them."

The doctor's speech rattled me a bit, but I never considered backing down. This is what I wanted. "Doctor," I said, looking him in the eye, "this is what I've needed for sixteen years. Someday I will have breasts, and I hope that you will be the one to give them to me."

Dr. Patel smiled. "You are very determined. Much like the other young ladies I have treated with your (ahem) condition. Very well, please disrobe. Only your blouse will be sufficient."

I felt surprisingly uncomfortable removing my top in front of him. I had been totally naked in front of male doctors before, but after months of living like a girl, I was very aware of my toplessness. Nonetheless, Dr. Patel was quite professional.

He examined my chest. "Dr. Odom informed me of your estrogen use. It seems the effects are progressing nicely. I suspect that after the surgery, you'll be indistinguishable from a genetic female."

I thanked him.

"Have you given any thought to what size breasts you would like?"

"My mother and I discussed this. I wanted to get D cups, but mom recommended smaller."

"I would be inclined to agree. Many women come to me asking to have their chest size reduced; by choosing a smaller size you reduce the risk of back pain. Not to mention you'll avoid many of the morons who obsess over the size of a woman's bosom."

After a lengthy discussion, I finally settled on a C cup. It was about size of the padding I had been wearing. Maybe I'd find them too large, but what the heck, in for a penny, in for a pound. We scheduled the surgery for early February.

*

I woke up from the anesthetic with Mom holding my hand. I was miserable, groggy. I tried to speak, Mom touched my cheek. "Shhh, honey. It's all over."
All over. I had done it. Now there really was no going back.

Much to my irritation, Dr. Patel refused to allow me to remove the bandages for a week, even after my two nights in the hospital recovering. "You have to let them heal. Besides, you don't want to see them now, they are too beat up." For a week I walked around with what seemed like a wiener dog bandaged to my chest. I felt like I was carrying extra weight up there, but that was about it. Seven days never passed so slowly.

Finally, the day came. Dr. Patel cut the bandages. I followed his recommendation that I not look until he had cleaned off the caked blood. Finally, he told me to open my eyes.

There they were. Bruised and bloody, giant stitches on the underside, but they were real. Real and mine! I had a woman's chest! C cup breasts! Cleavage!
No longer could I look straight down to see my toes. Two wobbly mounds of flesh stood in my way, I had to lean over slightly. My nipples stood out, pink and erect (though black and blue as well) and hardened in the cold examining room. I could feel the strange sensation as they bumped into each other. I looked at myself straight on, in the mirror, in profile. Today I was a woman! Well, almost.

All too soon, Dr. Patel insisted on rebandaging them. While I had only begun to explore the wonderful things, he assured me that I would have the rest of my life to get used to them.

In the following month I learned more and more about my two new friends. Even before the bandages came off permanently I had to get used to the extra load up front. Mom had been right, there is something to be said for small breasts. I found myself constantly bumping into things with my new and very sore additions. Clothes that had fit me before were too tight. And Dr. Patel was correct, many men seemed to be talking to my breasts rather than my face.

Still, it was worth it. Every week, when I changed my bandages (I did it at home now) I would take about a half an hour and just look at them. The way they hung down to the bottom of my ribs. The way they gently swayed when I walked. The jiggling when I laughed. And of course, the extra sensitivity. Sometimes I had to restrain myself from just laying back and playing with my nipples, to experience the erotic, extra sensitive sensations. But I knew that I would have plenty of time for that.

Mom surprised me with her reaction. I half expected her to behave as if I had gotten a tattoo: disappointed, but resigned. Instead, she seemed as excited as if she were the one with the breasts. She was constantly asking me how they felt, did I like them, if I enjoyed having them...One day she admitted to me she rather enjoyed having a daughter to talk to. She didn't expect it to happen at the beginning, she thought she would always think of me as her son. "But," she said, "you took to womanhood more readily than you ever did manhood. You do make a wonderful daughter, Lee. You'd make any mother proud."

It was then that I knew that when I had my sex change, there was no danger of Mom forbidding it.

The girls in the support group were proud of me. Rachel told me my chest looked almost as good as hers (meow!). Katie told me she hoped hers would turn out as good, which brought a chastising look from Dr. Odom. Apparently Katie was considering bucking the doctor's authority and getting her breasts done abroad.

As for Dr. Odom, she seemed a little nervous after my surgery, as if she was afraid I'd regret it and place the blame at her doorstep. I remembered to be extra cheerful in the following weeks.

None of my friends at school noticed, why would they? I had always been a girl in their eyes, and the padding I had worn (and had now thrown away) convinced them I was amply breasted. I couldn't wait till the summer when the bruising had gone and I could wear a swimsuit. I wondered how Bill would react. Or Charlie.

Finally, it was over. The stitches came out, the swelling went down, and the bandages came off for good. I could wear my bras now, my tight sweaters, my halter tops...and once the discoloration went down, look out world!

I stood in front of the mirror every night, wearing only a pair of men's boxers to hide my penis. The combined effects of the estrogen and the implants...well, I was a woman. The hair in the pony tail, the absence of an adam's apple, the lack of muscles, the well rounded figure, the soft skin...I looked eagerly to the future.

Finally, the day came when I had to pay Dr. Patel for services rendered. It was a hefty hunk of cash but well worth the price. I could have mailed it in, but I wanted to give it to the doctor in person, and to thank him one more time.

It was a lazy Sunday and the doctor wasn't seeing any patients at the moment. "Ah, Ms. Cambiar," he said. "How lovely to see you."

And how lovely to get his check, I thought with a smile.

"Doctor, I just wanted to tell you again how..." I was interrupted when a male nurse came running into the office.
"Sorry to barge in, doc, but there's an emergency case on the way."

"Emergency?" asked Dr. Patel, "I'm a cosmetic surgeon!"

"It's a cosmetic emergency. Some drunk plowed into a motorcyclist on the highway. The guy left half his face on the asphalt."

"Goodness!"

"Well, he's lucky he was wearing his helmet or it would have been half his brains."

"I see."

"Anyway, Dr. Fromme is in surgery and Dr. Dealy is out of town. You've got to put this guy's face together again or he'll look like Frankenstein's monster for the rest of his life."

Dr. Patel turned to me. "If you'll excuse us," he motioned to the door.

I quickly left the doctor to prepare for the emergency stitches or skin graft or whatever would be required. As I was leaving, and ambulance pulled up in front of the hospital. Two EMTs gingerly took a stretcher out of the back and wheeled it through the door. Obviously, this was the guy who had faceplanted on the road. He was wheeled right by me and I got good look at him.

He was a wreck. Most of his face had been scraped raw, it looked like hamburger meat. One eye had swelled shut, the other wandered aimlessly. His nose was broken and he had lost at least two teeth. Plastic shards of helmet visor stuck out of his cheeks and forehead.

For one brief, brief second our eyes met. Then he was wheeled into Dr. Patel's office.
"Are you allergic to Novocain?" asked the doctor.

"No," came the mumbled reply.

"That's a good thing," said Dr. Patel, as he brandished a syringe that looked like it had been designed for cattle. Then someone slammed the door and they vanished from my view.

I sat numbly in the office until Mom picked me up. The motorcyclist, the guy with the wrecked face, had been Charlie.

*

Two days later, I stood in a hospital corridor, a bouquet of flowers in my hand. 'I'm just here to look in on him,' I told myself. 'I just want to see how he's doing. That's all. The same as I'd do for any friend.'

"I would have made a good Pope." -Richard Nixon, 1968

Charlie lay on the hospital bed, staring at the television. Most of his face was bandaged, as was his wrist. He looked like hell, at least what I could see of him. Timidly, I knocked.

Charlie turned his head painfully and squinted. "Lee!" he said, in a surprisingly robust voice, "c'mon in!"

Nervously I tiptoed in and sat down. "These are for you, I said unnecessarily, as I placed the flowers on his bedside table. He smiled a gap-toothed smile.

"So how do you feel?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Like hell. Over 500 stitches, just fifteen short of the hospital record."

"How awful!"

"Well, the doctor said scarring should be minimal. Hell, this story could have easily ended with 'and now I have to pee through a tube for the rest of my life,' so things could have been a lot worse." I giggled, and the tension was broken. Soon, despite Charlie's injuries, we were laughing and talking. It was so good to be with him again.

"So why were you in the hospital?" he asked, eventually.

"To visit you, of course."

"No, I mean the other day. When they brought me in here." I was shocked, I didn't think he had recognized me.

"Oh, ah, female trouble." 'Female trouble' was more or less the truth, and I knew that no guy on earth would ask for a more detailed explanation.
When it was time for me to go, a middle aged couple walked in. The man looked like a Ward Clever clone, all he needed was a pipe. "How's it going, sport?" he said to Charlie with a plastic grin.

The woman looked like she was straight out of the Eisenhower administration as well. "Oh, my poor baby," she almost sobbed, "my poor, precious boy."
Charlie looked acutely embarrassed. "Uh, Lee, I'd like you to meet my folks."

I giggled, to think of the macho, motorcycle-riding football player sitting down at Sunday dinner with his two white-bread parents.

The next day I went to visit Charlie again. I know what you're thinking, but I just wanted to make sure he was still doing all right. A lot of people in his condition can have relapses, you know. No other reason.

"If I do not receive three million dollars, then the Lord will call me from you." -Oral Roberts, 1987

When I walked in, Charlie smiled a genuine smile. "Lee, it's so good to see you."

"Thank you, it's good to see you too." If I wasn't mistaken, he had combed his hair around his bandages and was wearing after-shave. Maybe he just felt like looking nicer that day. Maybe.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked.

"Yes, there is actually. Sit down."

I took a seat, wondering what he would ask.

"Listen, Lee. I know you said you didn't want to be romantically involved anymore, and I respect that...but listen." I sat in rapt attention, not sure what he was building up to.

"I'm not getting out of here for a while, and well...look, you don't have to do this if you don't want to, but, uh, well, I wanted to go to junior prom this year and this accident has kind of put me out of the dating circuit for a while. Would you go with me to prom? Just as friends of course," he added, unconvincingly.

"Yes, of course I'll go!" My God, prom! To wear a dress, no, a gown! To receive a corsage, to make myself up perfectly, to dance with Charlie...

It wasn't until I left that I began to question the wisdom of my hasty answer. There, at the door, stood Bill. He regarded me dubiously as I exited.
It took me nearly a week to convince Mom to let me go to the prom. For some reason she had it in her head that I was only doing this so I could go on a date with a cute boy, and not for the humanitarian favor to a sick friend that I had portrayed. Finally, after much cajoling and talk of how poor old Charlie would have to sit at home on prom night, she relented.

Once I had her permission, I had another problem: Bill. Bill had sworn he would tell Charlie the truth if I ever went out with him again. Bill and Charlie were such good friends that it wouldn't be long before Bill knew exactly who Charlie was going to go to prom with.

Surprisingly, I had nothing to worry about. The next time I visited Charlie in the hospital he asked me how I would feel about double dating with Bill and his date. I assented, confused. I had figured that Bill would have blown his top when he found out I had broken my promise, but apparently he was okay with it. I put the nagging doubts out of my head, and with the help of my friend Angelica, I began shopping for my gown.

When the big night came, I knew all my efforts had been worth it. I had picked a teal-green gown, with bare arms and spaghetti straps. I wore my hair up. When you looked at me, with my stylishly done hair, my makeup, my almost-bare shoulders and pert little breasts (makeup covered what was left of the surgical bruises), you'd never have guessed that I was a boy going off to prom.

When the doorbell rang I nearly jumped out of my skin. My date was here! I rushed to the door. Mom shook her head, clearly she didn't believe I considered Charlie just a friend.

He looked absolutely handsome. His crisply pressed tux, his shoes shined, he hair slicked back, and a big grin on his face. His scars still hadn't healed of course, and he kept nervously sucking on his new partial bridge, but he looked like Prince Charming to me.

"You look beautiful," he said as he attached the flower he had brought to my wrist.

Mom, while against the whole endeavor, still insisted on snapping several dozen photos of us before we left.

Bill and his date were sitting in the front seat of his junker. Bill, in contrast to Charlie, was unshaven, rumpled, and bored. He had managed to find a tuxedo the color of a traffic cone somewhere. His date, a hippie girl from my school ostensibly named 'Rosebud,' was wearing some weird, second-hand looking dress, with lots of fringe and short sleeves. She had not, I noted, shaven her armpits.

"Let's get this sham of a night over with," grumbled Bill.

"What's wrong?" I asked, afraid he was referring to my true gender.

"Prom," replied Rosebud, "It's nothing more than a corporate sham to get us to spend money and conform. Screw it."

Bill had apparently met a girl of like mind. Though I did wonder, if they both hated prom, why they bothered to go in the first place.

There was little conversation on the way there. We all sat up, rigid and uncomfortable in our finery. I hoped that Charlie would hold my hand, but he didn't. I wished I could ask Bill why he had the change of heart about Charlie and I, but there was no opportunity.

When we came to the darkened, crepe paper festooned gymnasium, Bill and Rosebud went off in their own direction. The DJ was playing a soft number. "Well," said Charlie, "shall we?"

It was just like the first time I had danced with him. His arms around my waist, my head on his chest, his breathing in my ear.

After a few dances, we sat down to enjoy the complimentary soda and peanuts that came with our expensive tickets. I was having such a good time. I noticed that Bill and Rosebud, despite their initial objections, were tearing it up on the dance floor. I also noticed Paul, dancing with (but not touching) a plain looking girl from my school.

I guess time got away from me. Eventually Bill tapped Charlie on the shoulder while we were dancing and told him pointedly that it was time to go. He was right, there were almost no couples left.

We piled into Bill's car and sped off. It had been such a magical night, I thought, as I lazily rested my head on Charlie's shoulder. But the night wasn't over yet.

When we came to our stop I realized that we were not at my house, or Charlie's. We were in a city park near the woods, the local lover's lane.
"So, Rosebud," said Bill with forced casualness, "want to go look at the stars?"

"I dunno, it's awfully overcast."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Want to go into the woods and make out?" he asked bluntly.

"Yeah, sure." Just like that, they were off, leaving me alone with Charlie.

"So..." he said.

"So." I replied. He looked nervous, it was kind of funny to see that in a guy his size. I knew what he was thinking : 'Should I or shouldn't I?'
I wanted him to make a move. I really did. But I knew we couldn't. It would be playing with his emotions. I wanted to be his girl, to kiss him, to let him hold me, caress me...I was interrupted from my thoughts by the touch of Charlie's rough fingers lightly touching my naked shoulder. He had put his arm around me. He looked at me uncomfortably. He had broken the just friends promise, and he wanted to see how I would react. I reacted by snuggling just a little closer to him. And when he began gently running his fingers over my skin, I wasn't shocked at all. Nor was I when he kissed me.
I knew I should have stopped, but at the same time I was powerless to. With every press of his lips my resistance lowered. The feel of his scratchy cheeks, and his warm, warm, probing tongue... I can still feel it to this day. And before I knew it he was unzipping the back of my dress. I breathed harder as my bare chest was exposed to the faint moonlight.

Charlie didn't do anything for a long time. He just stared at my erect nipples in awe and wonderment. Finally, a tentative hand reached out and stroked one. "Oh, oh Lee..." he kissed my shoulder. Then he kissed lower.

I felt like I was in a trance. All I wanted to do was lay back and let him touch me. To let him hold me. I was dimly away that now his bare chest touched mine. Gently he tried to lean me back in the seat...

No! Damn it! I couldn't let him. I wasn't sure what I would have done if I were an actual girl, but the fact remained that I still male genitalia. I pushed him away.

I don't know why I did what I did next. Charlie wasn't angry, he didn't look hurt or anything...now that I think back on it, I guess I wanted to prove to him, as well as to myself, that I could satisfy his needs like only a woman could. I unzipped his rented pants and carefully took out his manhood. He gasped. I bent my face over his lap and...

A few minutes later I was out of the car, running, as I tried to straighten my disheveled dress. What had I done? My God, what I had I done?
When I was out of sight of the car I stopped and hyperventilated. I hardly knew the man! Oh my God, what a slut I had turned into! I was a whore!
No, no, that wasn't right. I rinsed my mouth out at the drinking fountain. No. I was intimate with a man, but what of it? I cared for him, I just wanted to get close to him.

A million thoughts raced through my mind. One thing was for sure, I couldn't just leave him in the car, wondering what he had done wrong.

On the way back to the car, something caught my eye and made me stop. It was a station wagon, half hidden among some bushes. I recognized it as Paul's. What was he doing up here at make out point? As I crept closer, I noticed to my shock that the car was rocking. I heard a female voice cry out "Oh, God yes! Oh, sweet Jesus! Rock of ages! Oh, Lamb of God, I come! Oh, Christ! I COME!"

Not wishing to hear any more, I ran back to the car. Charlie was jogging down the path, trying to work a flashlight and his zipper at the same time. "Lee!" he called when he saw me. He rushed over to me. "Lee, I'm so sorry!"

Despite my conflicting feelings, I embraced him with both arms. "I know you just wanted to be friends, I didn't intend to come on to you like that."
"Shhh," I broke in. "It's okay. I...I enjoyed it. It's just that I'd never done anything like that before. I'd never even been close."

Charlie held me. "Same here."

I was utterly shocked. I had always assumed that Charlie was one of those guys who had lost his virginity at age twelve. And yet, I was the first 'girl' he had been with. I felt very special right then.

Charlie took my face in his hands. "Lee, I want to be more than friends. I want you to be my girlfriend. I love you."

"I love you too, Charlie." Dangerous words, yes, but for once I was being truthful.

I came home to find mother watching TV, pretending like she wasn't waiting up for me. I tried to act casual, but when she asked me how the date went, the tears came like rain. She ran over to me and held me.

"What's wrong, honey? Tell me." I told her. I told her everything. I had gone too far this time. She'd never forgive me.

"It's okay, honey," she said to my surprise. "It's OK. This is just the first time you'd been with a man. It's like this for every woman. Shhh, there now. It's going to be okay. It's scary at first."

Mom wasn't angry. We stayed up until dawn, talking about boys, men, safe sex, and respect. She never broached the subject of my gender.

"Mom," I finally said, "I really like him. I mean, I guess I'm his girlfriend. What should I do?"

"I take it leaving him is not an option?" I shook my head.

"Then you have to tell him the truth."

"I can't tell him that! What if he tells everyone?"

Mom looked at me tenderly. "It's once choice or the other, honey. That's how it is in a relationship. You were intimate with him, you can't lead him on, or lie to him."

"I guess I have no choice."

"No, not after last night. Just make sure you tell him in a public place, so he can't get violent."

The next day, I thought about what I had to do. Jesus, telling him I was pregnant would have been easier. Worst case scenario: he hates me, and tells everyone my secret. Of course, after what we had been through, he probably wouldn't. He wouldn't want to be known as the guy who went to prom with another guy. Best case scenario: he doesn't mind. Yeah, right. Like he wouldn't mind that I lied to him about my gender.

I came up with two possible outcomes of my upcoming confession: he would hate me and never forgive me and never speak to me again. Or, less likely, he would hate me, but in time realize that I was a woman at heart and could love him like one.

I began to plot where I could tell him. The mall or a public park seemed to be the most likely candidates. We could talk privately, but he wouldn't be tempted to hurt me if things went bad. I tried to rehearse the conversation a few times, but gave it up. 'Telling your boyfriend that you are a pre-op transsexual' is just something that wasn't covered in Speech 101. I decided to blurt it out and hope for the best.

There was a knock at the door. It was Charlie. He awkwardly thrust a box of chocolates at me and smiled nervously. Knowing that I shouldn't, I reached up and kissed him.

"Lee," he started, "about last night."

"It's okay. I was just nervous. But listen, I want to take things slower for a while, physically. I'm not ready for much more of that right now."
"Okay. I'm cool with that. But...uh, do you still want to be my girlfriend? I swear, I can keep my hands to myself." It amused me how Charlie continued to blame himself for everything that had happened, it was hardly his fault.

"Charlie, of course I want to be your girlfriend. But I don't think you will want to be my boyfriend (what a sweet word) after what I tell you. Have a seat." I knew I shouldn't tell him this alone (Mom was at work), but I couldn't keep putting it off.

"Charlie...geez, where to begin? Listen, I have something important to tell you. I have...a secret. Something horrible."

"What, that you're really a boy?" he asked, casually.

I felt like I had been slapped. He hadn't been joking. There he sat, grinning, and had just blurted out the secret that I would have moved heaven and earth to keep.

"How...how did you know?"

He chuckled, as if he had just found out my real name was Petunia or something. "Bill told me."

"Oh, my God! He promised that he wouldn't!" I said, forgetting that I had promised Bill to stay away from Charlie.

"Don't be too hard on Bill. When he found out we were going to prom he gave it away. He was only looking after me. Told me if I hurt you or told anyone else then I'd have to fight him."

"But, if you knew my secret...then...why?"

He placed his hands gently on the sides of my face. I couldn't look away. "Lee, you've met my parents. You can guess what my family is like. Right out of Father Knows Best. I'm their son, the football star. They expect me to marry the pretty little girl next door and live happily ever after. No one suspects that…well…I go both ways.” He grinned, sheepishly.

"I have a hard time admitting that, even to myself. I figured I’d never act on it. When Bill told me the truth, I was stunned, of course. I had a hard time believing it. So I broke into your file at the hospital. I've never met anyone like you before, Lee. You're beautiful, funny, smart...and I don’t care if you’re a man or a woman. I've fallen for you hard, Lee."

"What did you tell Bill?"

"The truth. I love you just the way you are."

"Wasn't he shocked?"

"Nothing shocks Bill. Mildly surprised, I'd say." That explained why Bill never brought the subject up again.

"Charlie, does this mean..."

He kissed me. "I love you honey. If you were born a girl I'd love you, but quite frankly, I could care less who you used to be." He kissed me again and we were still kissing when Mom came home, several hours later.

Epilogue: several years later

I was sitting in the airport coffee shop when his flight was announced. Flight 203 from New York. Which had originated in London. Which had come from Athens. Which had started from Cairo. Which had begun in Nairobi.

I saw him as he cleared the security gate. He was wearing an uncharacteristically loud Hawaiian shirt...and his eye patch.

"Paul!" I called to him.

"Lee!" he hollered back, running up to me and hugging me, "Thanks for picking me up, it is so good to see you! Hell, after sixteen months in Africa, it's good to see any of my old friends!"

"What happened to your glass eye?"

"Traded it for a gallon of gas in M'bamba."

"You're in a good mood."

"Well, the hospital is up and running. Never thought the church could pull in enough funding, but there's real doctors and everything."

"Wonderful news. I don't know too many guys who'd be willing to make a sacrifice like you did for humanitarian reasons."

He grinned, like he had some kind of secret. "Oh, it wasn't all humanitarian."

"C'mon, spit it out."

"I'm getting married."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"To who?"

"A Canadian girl named Laura. She was over there with the Campaign to Ban Landmines, and well...we clicked." He handed me a photo.

"Which one is she?"

"The one with all her limbs."

"She's lovely."

Paul stretched out in the seat next to mine. "So c'mon now, the mail service over there is horrible. Give me the lowdown on everyone."

I briefly outlined the current lives of the people we both knew: Luthor on his college's wrestling team, my mom, recently promoted to store manager, Mr. Elmer, taking early retirement.

Paul shook his head and smiled. "So what about Bill?"

"Oh, he's still in prison."

The smile rapidly left Paul's face. "What?"

"I guess you never heard."

"In prison? For what?!"

"Computer piracy, data trespassing, credit card fraud, electronic theft, that sort of thing. Mircoflacid computers finally had him busted."

"That's horrible!"

"Well, he told me at his sentencing that there was a bunch of stuff he never got caught for."

"How long will he be in for?"

"Two year sentence, he'll be out in six months with good behavior."

"But prison? They'll eat him alive!"

"It's minimum security. Non-violent offenders, rip-off artists, scam men, sleazy characters...Bill's kind of people."

"This will ruin his life! He'll be lucky to get a job at McDonald's after he's released."

"Actually, he already had a forty grand a year job lined up."

"Where?"

"Microflacid computers."

"The ones who busted him?"

"Yeah, they know talent when they see it. He's says he could make VP in five years."

Paul shook his head. "I leave the country for a year and a half and everything falls apart." He looked up. "So...is it true what I heard? I'm not the only one getting hitched?"

I held up my finger and displayed my engagement ring. "This August."

Paul pecked me on the cheek. "You and Charlie G. make a good couple. Congratulations."

"Well Paul, I wasn't just being nice by picking you up here. I want to ask you a favor."

"Shoot."

"Will you perform the service?"

"Of course I will. I'd be honored." He picked up his suitcase. "But I have one question. When I left, you were planning on having a full sex change. But then you said maybe Charlie would prefer you to stay the way you were. What did you decide?"

"Sorry," I replied, "private matter."

Paul smiled and we headed off to my car. The decision whether to have a sex change had been a hard one, but in the end, I know I made the right choice.
What choice, you ask? Wouldn't you like to know…