Gene or Jean? - Part V - The Halloqueen.
By Pentatonic

Chapter 22 - Sylvia.

At last I graduated, and was heading off to college, to major in French Literature with a minor in Business. I figured that I would not be cross-dressing while in college, so I left all of my feminine attire at home. I figured wrong.

Sandy also graduated. However, she was enrolled at a different college. This put a strain on our relationship which shortly resulted in her connecting with a boy at her college. When she broke the news to me, she pointed out that her new boyfriend did not like to wear women’s clothes. I was hurt, but because she broke up with me, I hoped that she wasn’t also hurt. Oh, well. As a result I was in the market for a new girlfriend. I was still considered to be a slightly nerdly boy who was slightly feminine. Not good for finding a girl friend.

I was now only occasionally seeing my counselor. What was new were the dynamics of my relationships. She asked me if I wanted to be a girl, full time. While the thought had some good points to it, I just wasn’t sure.

After breaking up with Sandy and a while at college, I met Sylvia. I was at the student union, and went into the cafeteria for lunch. As expected, the place was crowded, and I wandered around looking for an empty seat. There was an empty seat at a table across from this girl. She looked up from her tablet and, taking off her ear buds, invited me to sit down. She then returned to looking at her tablet. I asked her what she was watching. “It’s a new music video of this fantastic girl singer,” she replied. “Oh?” I said, and she showed me what was on her laptop. It was me. Of course, I was wearing my boy clothes, and she didn’t make the connection. When the music video was over she put down her tablet. “Did you ever watch this video?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I replied, “a few times.”

“Isn’t it fantastic?” she said, “I’d love to attend one of her concerts. How about you?”

I admitted that it would be nice, omitting that if there was such a concert, I would have to be on stage, wearing a dress.

We seemed to get along with each other and chatted for about a half an hour, until we both had classes.

I had her name and her telephone number, so I called her and asked if she wanted to meet at the cafeteria again. She did.

“So, what is your major?” she asked.

“French Literature with a Business minor,” I replied. “How about you?”

“Sociology,” she said, “so you must have studied French in high school,” she added.

“All four years,” I replied.

“I took two years of French in high school, and I’m taking French here to satisfy my foreign language requirement,” she volunteered. “Maybe you could help me with my French?”

“I’d be happy to,” I responded.

“You know, when we first met, I was watching this music video.” she said. “The girl in that video also did a whole CD of French cabaret songs. Did you know that?”

“Yeah,” I responded.

“Did you like it?” she then asked.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” I said, breaking away from one word answers.

“My French prof played two of the songs in class,” she said. “My prof said that the pronunciation was good, but with a slight French-Canadian accent. He said that as second year students we probably wouldn’t be able to recognize it. Did you?”

“I heard that. Since I have an Aunt who grew up outside of Montreal, and who now lives in the same town where I live, I practiced French with her. She has a slight Canadian accent, or so I’m told, so I also have that accent,” I said.

“I live in an apartment with three other students,” she said, “how about you?”

“I live in a dorm room with a jock on an athletic scholarship,” I answered. “He considers French to be a sissy language. Naturally, we don’t get along.”

“I’ve got an idea,” she said, “Why don’t you come over to my place and translate the lyrics of the songs for me?” It appeared that the translation was part of her homework.

“I can do that,” I replied, “when and where?” She told me her address and suggested Sunday, about two. She gave me her last name, so I could locate the correct apartment.

“All of my roomies are from my town, which is how I found the place,” she told me. “One is a sophomore psychology student. Another is a junior and is studying to become a teacher. The other, a senior, seems to be majoring in boys. She goes out a lot and I never see her study,” she said with a smile at her own humor. I smiled back.

On Sunday I eschewed student grunge and wore slacks and a shirt with a collar. When I knocked on the door to Sylvia’s apartment, a good looking redhead answered the door. “Hey Sylvia,” she announced, “Frenchy is here!” and she asked me in.

Sylvia came into the front room. She was wearing a cute pair of tan shorts and a pink T-shirt top. She had sandals on her feet. She looked wonderful. “You have to excuse Ann,”she said, “she probably forgot your name. Have a seat.” She then went into another room and returned with the CD of cabaret songs.

It appeared that Ann was the senior who, as Sylvia said, was majoring in boys. Sylvia put the CD in a player, and Ann grabbed the jewel box. I could see her scrutinizing my photo on the cover. I was getting nervous, but before anything could happen the first song started. I translated as the music played.

“You did that pretty quickly,” Ann observed, “Either you’re faking it, or you’ve done this before.”

“I translated all of the songs into English for an assignment in high school, so I know it,” I responded.

“The translation is for a class assignment due tomorrow,” Sylvia confessed.

“Then you should do your own translation,” I warned her, “As I told you, I’ve had four years of French in high school, so some of my translation might have a nuance which you are not expected to know as a second year. Which two songs have you chosen?”

“Plaisir D’Amour and Parlez-Moi D’Amour,”she said.

“Good choices,” I said, “I like both of those songs.”

We went into the kitchen and sat at the table, and Sylvia began to translate. I only corrected obvious mistakes. Sylvia called me a few days later and gleefully reported that she received one of only two ‘A’s’ on the translation. “You’re my good luck charm,” she said, “Will you help me out in the future?”

“With pleasure,” I responded. So we established a routine where I would tutor her on Sunday afternoons. Occasionally I would bring some of the materials which I was studying to see if she could follow along. Sometimes she could and sometimes she couldn’t. Our study sessions expanded into occasional dates.

Thus the tutoring sessions blossomed into a relationship, and I spent more and more time with her.

Chapter 23 - Halloween and becoming the ‘Halloqueen.’

It was in mid-October that Ann announced that her sorority, Sigma Rho Sigma or SRS, was sponsoring a Halloween party. All students were invited to attend because it was a fund-raiser. Sylvia made it plain that she wanted to go with me.

“But I don’t have a costume, and I’m a little short on funds right now, so I can’t buy or rent one,” I explained. “I only have enough to pay the admission price.”

“You have to be in costume to get in,” Ann explained, “Maybe we can come up with something.”

“Sue,” Ann announced, “can you come in here for a minute. Gene needs a costume for the SRS Halloween party. Do you still have that floor length formal gown you wore to the dance last spring?”

Ann then turned to me. “Think that you’re man enough to wear a dress in public?” she asked. Now that was unique, I thought. I had always associated wearing a dress to be feminine.

I knew that I would go for it. I hadn’t worn female clothes since summer. In fact, I didn’t bring any with me to college. I was sure that my roommate would not approve. I wanted to wear the dress, but I had to make it look like I was somewhat reluctant. I had no problems with dressing.

“I don’t know,” I began, “but I suppose I’m enough of a man to do so.”

“Good,” Ann said. “Sue, bring the dress in here, please.”

Sue returned with a long garment bag. “I don’t know if it will fit. I had to wear a waist nipper with it.” She held up a dark green floor length gown.

“Do you have the waist nipper?” Ann asked.

“Yeah,” Sue responded, “It’s in the garment bag.”

Ann turned to me. “I don’t suppose you know what dress size you would wear?” she said. “No, of course you wouldn’t,” she said, answering her own question. I certainly knew my dress size, but I had no desire to question what she said and let on that I cross-dressed. However, I really wanted to wear that dress.

Sue was a bit on the chunky side. Ann looked at the size on the label and looked at me. “I think this will work,” she said. She held the dress up to me. It was then that I noticed that it had a slit up the left side of the skirt, well above mid-thigh.

“Okay, let’s see if he can get into it.” Ann announced. She then turned to me and said, “strip down to your underwear.”

The waist nipper was pinned to the hanger. “Sue, give me that waist nipper,” Ann said. She handed it to me. “Here, put this on,” she commanded. I knew how to put it on, but pretended confusion. Finally, Ann helped me put it on. It did it’s job and my waist shrank, pushing my flesh upward. “Looking good,” Ann commented.

Ann turned to Sylvia. “You’ve been awfully quiet. Here, help me put this dress on him.” Sylvia and Ann put the dress over my head, and let it slip over my body. After doing this, Sylvia zipped it up. Both Ann and Sylvia stepped back to view their handiwork.

“It fits perfectly,” Sylvia commented.

I just fidgeted a bit, and examined the slit. “Is this necessary?” I questioned.

“It makes you look sexy,” Ann responded, “All girls want to look sexy.”

“But I’m not a girl,” I complained, insincerely. Ann and Sylvia ignored what I had said.

“Now let’s see about shoes,” Ann commented. “Let’s see what we have. Here, sit down,” she commanded.

Force of habit caused me to smooth the back of the dress as I sat down on the front of a chair, my knees together and my back straight. I noticed that Ann was studying this but she said nothing. I knew my shoe size, but didn’t volunteer that information. After trying on several pairs, one pair was found that wasn’t too tight.

“Stand up, and let me see you walk in heels,” Ann commanded. I certainly knew how to walk in heels, but I did my best to totter a bit as I walked. “They’ll do,” Ann declared.

“Okay, girls,” Ann added, “let’s make a list of what else we need. Panty hose or stockings and garter belt?”

“I wore panty hose,” Sue said, “If he wears stockings, some bare thigh will be visible.”

“Even the better,” Ann said with an evil grin. “What do you think, Sylvia?”

“Stockings and garter belt,” Sylvia replied with a grin, “ I kind of like a sexy, slightly naughty look.”

“Okay, black garter belt and stockings,” Ann continued, as she made notes on a piece of paper. “Panties,” she said, “we can’t forget panties. Black and brief.” She looked at Sylvia and Sue for confirmation. “Maybe a short black half slip with a matching slit. Do you have one, Sue?” Sue acknowledged that she had just the right slip.

“Okay, now for the top, she said, “He’ll need a black bra, and maybe a black camisole. We’ll see what we have in the apartment, and see what fits.”

She made a few further notes. “Okay, Frenchy, you can take the dress off,” she said. They unzipped the dress and helped me take it off.

“What are we going to do about his hair,” Sue asked.

“Pulled back with some pulled behind his ears, a head band, and the rest with a curl at the end,” Sue suggested.

“Or maybe a french twist,” suggested Sylvia, “something sophisticated.”

By now I had all of my clothes back on. Ann was studying my face. “Did anyone ever tell you that you have a cute face, almost too cute for a boy?”

“No,” I lied.

“Well you do,” commented Ann. “With a little makeup and doing something about his hair, we could walk him all around campus, and everyone would think he was a girl. You want to try?” she asked me.

“Definitely not!” I asserted, knowing full well that she was correct.

The next few days consisted of a crash course in acting and moving like a girl, which I really didn’t need. It also consisted of learning how to dance as a girl, which I did need.

One might ask why I let a bunch of girls get me to dress up as a girl. First, I really liked Sylvia, and she seemed to favor the idea; second, it was Halloween, the cross-dressers’ holiday and; third, I wanted to dress up, I liked doing it.

I was blissfully unaware of the possible consequences.

* * *

On the day of the Halloween party, Sylvia and her roommates all joined in for my transformation. Sylvia did my hair and Sue my makeup, all under Ann’s supervision. With my hair and makeup done, Sylvia, Sue and Rachael, the other roommate, went to collect the other clothes, leaving me alone with Ann. “You’ve done this before, haven’t you?” she asked. I noticed that she was holding my CD of cabaret songs, with my picture on it. I knew that I looked a lot like the picture.

“Yes.” I admitted, “but please don’t tell anyone.”

“This is you on the cover,” she said.

“Yes,” I further admitted.

“And you sang the songs on the CD, didn’t you?” Again I had to admit it was true.

“Why don’t you want Sylvia to know?” she asked.

“Because I like her, and want to continue our relationship,” I responded, “if she knew that I cross-dressed, she might drop me like a hot potato.”

“But then again, she might not.”

At this time, Sylvia, Sue and Rachael returned with the clothes I was to wear to the party. I started to undress, assuming that the girls would leave the room, giving me some privacy. I assumed wrong. No one moved.

“How about some privacy,” I requested, which the girls intentionally misunderstood.

“Ann, Sue, do you need privacy?”Sylvia asked.

“Not us,” Ann replied for herself and Sue, intentionally misunderstanding my request.

“Rachael, Sylvia, do you need privacy?” Ann asked in turn.

“No, we’re fine,” Rachael answered for herself and Sylvia.

“None of us need privacy,” Sylvia said to me.

“Not for you, for me,” I said with frustration edging into my voice. All four of the girls started laughing at their own joke, but none of them made any indication of leaving the room.

“Okay, so be it!” I declared, took the panties, faced the wall, took off my pants and underpants, and slid on the panties. It was some time since I had last worn panties, and I savored the feeling they gave me. I then took off my shirt and undershirt, and turned around to face the girls. I had used a hair remover the night before and my skin was smooth and hairless. I put on the waist nipper and Sylvia helped me with the bra, not that I really needed any help. I put on the garter belt, and fished the suspender straps under the panties. Ann gave me a knowing smile when she saw me do this.

I sat down and started to put on the stockings when Sylvia said, “Let me help you with that.” Her help included rubbing her hands up and down my legs. She then fastened the straps of the garter belt to the stockings.

Sue handed me the half slip, and said, “The slit goes on your left side,” as if I didn’t know. Rachael slid the camisole over my head, while Ann balled up some pantyhose to stuff into the bra.

At last it was time for the gown. All of the girls assisted putting it on me, and pulling it so it hung correctly. Rachael then knelt on the floor and put on my shoes.

“Nail polish,” Ann announced, an produced a bottle of red polish. “It matches your lipstick,” she said. All the while I could feel Sylvia rubbing my butt. The last step was packing a purse.

Sylvia and Ann then completed getting ready, and Sue handed me a coat. Ann, Sylvia and I then stepped outside. A breeze lifted up the skirt of the gown, opening the slit. I could feel the cold air on my left leg.

I sat down on the rear seat and turned as a lady would do when getting in a car wearing a dress. This was not lost on either Ann or Sylvia. Sylvia then got into the back seat with me, to my left. Ann was sitting alone in the front seat. Once we were all seated, we fastened our seat belts. Sylvia took the middle of the back seat, and with an innocent look on her face, found the slit in my dress and ran her hand up and down my left leg.

* * *

The sorority had rented a hall off campus, and it was appropriately decorated for Halloween. I paid for Sylvia’s and my admission and hung up our coats. The main room was fairly large, with tables and chairs around the outer edge. There was a small stage at the far end, with only a piano on it. Because this was off-campus, there were two bars, one for over 21 and one for under 21. Two of the sorority members were checking ID’s. Those over 21 were given orange and black wrist bands. which allowed them to buy alcoholic drinks. Both bars were busy when we walked in. Ann introduced us to some of the sorority members and then left us on our own.

All of the sorority members wore name tags. The Halloween party was part of the rush to get new members. Ann had hoped that Sylvia would join her sorority and Sylvia and I were seated at a table with some sorority members.

I sat to Sylvia’s right, probably to give her access to the slit in my dress. To my right was a sorority member named Tiffany. Tiffany obviously though that I was a girl, and began talking about the advantages of joining the sorority.

“That sounds great,” I told Tiffany, “but I can’t join.”

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I’m not a girl,” I replied. When I said that, she looked at me in total astonishment.

“But you look like a girl.”

“It’s my Halloween costume,” I said.

While we talked I could feel that Sylvia’s right hand had found the slit in my dress, and was rubbing my stockinged leg. While that was pleasant, I was afraid I’d get aroused.

I noticed that there were a lot of boys milling around, checking out the girls. Two of them came up to Sylvia and me and asked us if we wanted to dance. “Sure,” Sylvia answered for both of us. “Come on Jean, let’s dance.” I had no choice but to comply. Tiffany heard this exchange and gave me a strange look as I stood up and the boy took my hand.

“I’m Fred,” he said, “and from what your friend said, you must be Jean.” The music was loud enough to make conversation difficult until the DJ put on a slow dance song. Then Fred said, “You’re a good dancer. What is it about you girls, most of you are good dancers.”

“I have three sisters, and we all taught each other how to dance,” I responded.

When Sylvia and I returned to the table, Ann was sitting where Tiffany had sat. “It looks like you scared poor Tiff away. What did you do?”

“She was trying to get me to join Sigma Rho Sigma until I told her that I wasn’t a girl. I probably should have just gone along with her.”

“She probably has it in for you,” Ann said. “We have a little contest that we do every year, where we pick a Halloqueen. She’ll probably make sure that you’re one of the contestants.”

“But I’m a boy, I can’t be Halloween queen, or Halloqueen as you put it.”

“That never stopped anyone in prior years,” Ann commented, “I actually think that you have a good chance of winning. By the way, part of the contest is a talent contest. You shouldn’t have a problem with that,” she added with a chuckle.

As the evening progresses, I found that Sylvia couldn’t keep her hands off of me when we were not dancing.

About ten, the DJ announced, “After I take a break, we’ll start the Halloqueen contests. The ladies of the sorority have picked the contestants, and will now escort them to the stage.” With that the sorority sisters fanned out to bring the contestants to the stage. You didn’t know you were a contestant until one of the sorority sisters brought you to the stage. I remembered what Ann had said, as I noted that Tiffany made a bee line toward me. With a wicked smile on her face, she pulled me toward the stage. She had to let me go when we got to the steps leading up to the stage, but she and some other sorority sisters blocked any avenue of escape except up the steps. I lifted my skirt and climbed up the stairs, followed by Tiffany.

Once on the stage she said, “You have a handy slit in your skirt. Show them some leg.” I moved my left leg out of the slit. I noted that everyone could see my stocking tops. This was greeted with wolf whistles. I blushed.

There were twelve contestants on the stage, both boys and girls, with a variety of costumes. One girl, who was the President of Sigma Rho Sigma had a microphone. She introduced herself and gave out the rules of the contest. “There are twelve of us, each with a poster board with the number one through twelve. One of these girls will stand behind each contestant in random order. No contestant will know their number. One by one on my command, a sister will turn her poster board so the number is visible. You are to clap or otherwise make noise when a contestant’s number is shown. The four contestants with the loudest response will move into the final phase, and yes, you may vote as many times as you wish.”

And so the selection began. The numbers were called in random order. Some contestants received only a little applause, but for others the response was deafening.

“That was for a warmup,” she said, “We will do it several times more to be sure that we have the correct finalists.” She turned to the contestants, and said, “This is supposed to be fun. Let’s see some big smiles.” I complied and flashed a big smile with my red lipsticked lips. With that, the contest commenced.

“Now for the elimination. I will call out the numbers of the contestants who have been eliminated. One of our sorority sisters will guide that contestant center stage, and he or she will give us his or her name and tell us where he or she is from. After that, he or she may leave the stage.”

Eight of the contestants were eliminated. I was not one of them. “Let’s hear it for our contestants who were eliminated. You were all good sports.”

After the last eliminated contestant had left the stage, she said, “Okay, these are our four finalists. I want each of you to walk back and forth on the stage and strut your stuff.”

“You in the audience are encouraged to yell, cheer, whistle or clap,” she told the audience. The noise was deafening as each of us strutted across the stage. It appeared it was louder as I did it.

The President of SRS then pointed at me. “Let’s see some leg, honey,” she commanded.

What the heck, I thought, and I lifted the hem of my skirt, and stuck my left leg out to a tumultuous response. My stocking top and garter straps were clearly visible, along with some thigh. I looked at the other finalists. Three of us were boys in drag. The fourth was a foxy looking girl in a brief and sexy witch costume.

“For obvious reasons, we can’t have a swimsuit competition, but we can have a talent competition.” She turned to the audience, and said, “None of our finalists have had a chance to prepare for this portion of the contest, so the results may be interesting.” She smirked as she said this.

The first finalist was the girl in the witch costume. “And what are you going to do?” the President asked.

“I could dance, but I need music.”

“What song?”

“Theme from New York, New York.”

“We may have to wait until the DJ comes back, unless we have a volunteer to play the piano,” the President said.

I raised my hand. “I’ll do it,” I said, and walked to the piano. I smoothed my skirt under me and sat down. “When ever you’re ready,” I said. The girl nodded and I started to play. She was really good. I hoped she’d win.

When the girl was finished, there was thunderous applause. The President turned to me and said, “Thank you for playing the piano, but don’t think that it satisfied your part of the talent contest,”

The other two finalists each elected to sing a song, and again I volunteered to accompany them on the piano. One was okay, but the other one couldn’t keep in tune and went flat.

Finally, the President turned to me. “Introduce yourself and tell us what you are going to do.”

“My name is Gene, and I’m going to sing a French cabaret song called ‘Parlez-moi D’Amour,’ which means ‘speak to me of love.’ Because it is a French song, I will sing in it French. I will also accompany myself on the piano.”

So I gracefully sat at the piano and turned my face to the audience, and began. When I finished, there was dead silence at first, then some clapping, and then a thunderous response. I stood up and curtsied. This brought an even greater response.

By this time the DJ had returned, and he played the same song from my CD. When that was finished, the President held up her hand for silence and said, “You did a great job of imitating what the DJ played. Have you heard the recording before?”

“Yes, many times,” I answered.

With that I was allowed to leave the stage and return to the table. Sylvia gave me a big hug with one hand on my butt. “You really knocked them out.”

The sorority President then announced that the panel of judges would meet and pick the new Halloqueen for the year.

“I’m sure that you will win,” Sylvia said.

I did, and was called back to the stage receive an orange sash with ‘SRS Halloqueen’ on it and to have a tiara placed on my head, supposedly by last year’s Halloqueen, who was a boy wearing a long dress.

As I was walking back to the table, Tiffany intercepted me. “Being Halloqueen is a year-long event,” she said with a wicked grin. “It looks like you’ll have to buy some skirts and dresses, that is, unless you already have a stash of them.”

Back at the table I asked Ann what this year long event as SRS Halloqueen was all about. “Let’s see, you crown next year’s Halloqueen, but you figured that out already. If the Halloqueen is a girl she is asked to join our sorority and we waive the first year’s dues. Since you are a boy, you are made an honorary member of our sorority.”

“Is that it?” I asked with a feeling of relief.

“Not quite,” Ann continued. “Our sorority participates in all of the school events, and you will be with the girls as our honored Halloqueen, This includes riding on our float in the homecoming parade, leading the first dance at dances, attending the winter carnival, valentine’s day, spring fling, and stuff like that. We’ll tell you when and what, as needed. Oh, you will be our queen at any sorority events for our members, except for chapter meetings.”

I didn’t like the way this sounded. “What’s this about skirts and dresses? Tiffany told me I would have to buy some skirts and dresses.”

“Oh, when you attend these events, you will wear a skirt or dress as the occasion warrants.”

“What if I just refuse?”

“Aside from proving that you have no school spirit, you go on all of the sororitys’ black list, which means that none of the sisters will go out with you. Come on, it’s a lot of fun, so don’t be a spoil sport.”

She then moved closer to me and whispered, “After watching you get dressed today, and how you walked and acted this evening, I’d be willing to bet that you like to wear girls’ clothes, not to mention that you are wearing hose and a garter belt. Most guys wouldn’t stand for that. I’m also willing to bet that you already have a wardrobe.”

I didn’t respond.

“Since you don’t deny it, I’ll take that as a yes.” she said with a grin.

As we were leaving, Sue asked me if I wanted them to drop me off at my dorm.

“Heavens no!” I emphatically responded, “my roommate is a jock and I can’t let him see me like this.” Accordingly we all went back to the girls’ apartment.

Sylvia offered to help me change back into my boy clothes. While she was doing that, I felt her hands roaming over my body. Every few moments she kissed me. “Seeing you in a dress really turns me on. Just you, not anyone else.”

When I returned to my dorm room, my roommate wasn’t there, and I quickly undressed and climbed into bed.

Chapter - A Visit Home.

The next morning I decided to drive back home and pick up some of my female wardrobe, and I asked Sylvia if she wanted to go with me for company. “Sure,” she replied, “When do you want to head out?”

On the ride, I mentioned that the dorm rooms were kind of crowded, without a lot of room to put things. “So tell me,” she asked, “what are you picking up?”

“Stuff,” I replied.

“What kind of stuff?”

“Just stuff.”

This didn’t satisfy her, so she said, “Ann mentioned that she thinks that you like to dress as a girl and that you have some female clothes. Is that it?”

“Sorta,” I vaguely answered.

I introduced Sylvia to my parents, and went into the basement to get some boxes. When I came back up I asked my mother if she had an extra garment bag.

“Let me get it,” she said, and when she handed it to me she whispered, “for some of your girl stuff?”

“Yeah,” I replied and then told her about being crowned ‘Halloqueen,’ and why I needed the clothes. “Maybe it’s best if we didn’t tell Dad.” I added in a whisper.

Sylvia went to my room with me. She was delightfully amazed at the number of skirts, dresses, blouses and the lingerie I had, not to mention shoes. With her help I packed up a reasonable wardrobe, including the corset. When we were done, we sat on the bed and I related what happened in French class and everything thereafter, including the recordings I made. I also mentioned that I wrote songs, and since there was no piano available, I was taking a keyboard and headphones back with me. After an early supper, Sylvia asked me to bring my CD’s with me and we left.

I knew that I could not keep my girl clothes in my dorm room. My roommate would not understand. Therefore, I squeezed my clothes into Sylvia’s closet and dresser. “We’re about the same size, so I’m going to love borrowing some of your clothes.” I did leave the keyboard in my dorm room.

When Ann, Sue and Rachael were back, Sylvia made me tell them about the CD’s which I had made, and I explained how it contributed to my cross-dressing.

Chapter 34 - Homecoming.

A week later, Ann mentioned that I, as Halloqueen, was riding on the Sigma Rho Sigma float at the homecoming parade. “We have to find something appropriate for you to wear. It’s my guess that the thrift store has a collection of prom dresses, and maybe we can find one there.”

If I was looking for a dress, I decided that I should look like a girl, and with Sylvia’s help I picked a plaid kilt and cream colored blouse. I decided that a corset was necessary, and after I put on my panties and pantyhose, I put on the corset. There was no lack of volunteers to help tighten the laces. I put on the skirt and blouse, and started on my makeup. That I was able to do it so quickly and well amazed the girls. I then fixed my hair with a headband. I grabbed a coat and I was ready to go. Sylvia insisted that she and Ann go with me, Ann being a representative of the sorority upon whose float I would be riding, wearing the dress we hoped to find.

When at the thrift store, I noticed that most of the prom dresses were either worse for wear or an inappropriate style. Sylvia then spotted a floor length white gown, which was my size. It almost looked like a bride’s dress. I noted, thankfully, that it did not have any slits. While I had it on, we looked for a white or cream coat, since it was likely to be cold on the day of the homecoming game and parade. After buying the dress and coat, we went to a shoe outlet and found a pair of white shoes with two inch heels.

After this, Ann said, “Gloves, she needs some white gloves, maybe with white lace trim.”

“How about a full slip, or something to make the skirt of her gown puff out a bit?” suggested Sylvia. “It would help her hips look bigger.” It should be noted that I didn’t object to their use of the feminine pronoun; in fact I kind of liked it.

When we arrived back at the apartment, the first thing I did was to order a pizza to be delivered, after which Sylvia and I put away my purchase. We returned to the living room and chatted with Ann for a while. “I’m so glad that you’re getting into the spirit of things,” Ann commented.

Sylvia sat close to me on the couch, and alternatively rubbed my knee and fiddled with the hem of my kilt. Ann noticed this and announced that she was going to her room to rest and said, “Call me when the pizza is here, and you two, try to behave.”

Sylvia tried to behave but failed miserably. As soon as Ann left the room, Sylvia said. “Seeing you dressed like this turns me on,” and with this she grabbed hold of me and put her lips on mine. I could feel her tongue on my lips and I opened them up to her tongue. From then on, our hugging and touching just got more bold. Finally the pizza arrived and we called this fact out to Ann.

When Ann returned to the living room she had to notice that both Sylvia and I were both a little flushed in the face, our lipsticks were smeared beyond all recognition, and our clothes were disheveled. “I thought I told you two to behave,” she said with a huge grin, “but it’s obvious you ignored me.”

“You told us to behave. You didn’t say whether we should behave well or badly, so we didn’t ignore you,” Sylvia retorted with a smile.

“You two are impossible.”

On Homecoming day we were told to assemble at the stadium parking lot at ten. I knew it would take me some time to get ready, so I slept on the couch at the girls’ apartment. As I was ready to enter the bathroom to change into my pajamas, Sylvia stopped me. “No, that won’t do,” she said, and then added, “wait here for a minute.”

When she came back, she took my pajamas from my hand and handed me a long white nightgown and matching peignoir. “This’ll get you in the proper frame of mind for tomorrow.” She then moved closer to me and whispered, “I wish I had a double bed,” with the innuendo unsaid.

There was nothing to do but to go into the bathroom and put on the nightgown and peignoir, and go to the couch.

I awoke early, before the girls were out of bed, and went into the bathroom to use a hair remover on my body. When this was done I gave myself a close shave, and put on my panties and bra, covered by a robe. By this time the girls were finally up. I went into the living room to allow them to use the bathroom. I then put on the corset and slipped the breast forms into the cups. I tightened the laces as well as I could, and put on my pantyhose. Rachael walked into the living room with her morning coffee. “Would you like some coffee?” she asked. I nodded my head, and she went back into the kitchen. When she returned, I asked her to tighten the laces of my corset, which she gladly did.

After this I put on my full slip and my shoes. I waited until all of the girls were in the living room, because I wanted some help with the dress. Ann and Sylvia helped me with the dress. At this point the girls left the room to get themselves ready. I returned to the now vacant bathroom and applied my makeup, a little heavier than usual. I called to Sylvia and she helped me with a sophisticated up style for my hair. This I followed with some jewelry, the tiara and the sash.

It wasn’t much later that the girls themselves were ready, and at a quarter of ten we put on our coats and left the apartment. My gown was long enough that I had to pick up the hem when I negotiated stairs.

The stadium was not far away, and we arrived about a minute before ten. One of the sorority girls had a big urn of coffee and some doughnuts. The sorority President came up to me. “You look outstanding,” she said, “Much better than I expected.”

“As Halloqueen, I wanted to do it right, and not give the sorority a bad name,” I replied.

“We all appreciate it. By the way, have you met your court who will be riding with you on the float?” and with that she introduced them. They were all wearing formal dresses, and looked really nice.

Tiffany then came up to me. “Nice gown,” she said, “did you have it already or did you have to buy it?” she said making reference with a catty remark she had made to me at the Halloween party.

“I bought it at the thrift store, just for this occasion,” I said,

The President heard this, and said, “Lay off of her. We are overjoyed that she is in the spirit of things, and took the time to look really pretty.”

When the time came, my court and I climbed onto the float. I would have liked to say ‘gracefully climbed’ but it was impossible to be graceful. My ‘throne’ was a white plastic lawn chair perched on the highest part of the float. There were other chairs, a little lower, for the court.

The parade path wound around the campus and part of the town. We were scheduled to arrive back at the stadium shortly before game time, and would make one circuit on the track inside of the stadium for the crowd. I felt like a queen, waving my gloved hand at the people along the parade route and in the stadium. Once outside the stadium we climbed down from the float, exposing a lot of lingerie in the process. There was a portion of the stands reserved for us, near the end zone, and thankfully near some restrooms.

I like football, even if I am way too small to play it. I enjoyed the game, even if our team lost. The sorority had planned a reception in the chapter rooms for parents and alumnae. During the reception a girl who had graduated two years ago came up to me. “I see that you were chosen to be the Halloqueen this year. I can see why you were chosen, you’re a really pretty girl.” Tiffany, who was close by overheard our conversation and just had to interject, “He’s not a girl.” The sorority President overheard this and glared at Tiffany, and moved her away.

“Not one of your fans, is she?” the girl asked.

“Hardly,” I responded.

“But tell me, are you really a boy? I know that boys have been crowned Halloqueen in the past.”

“Tiffany is right,” I responded, “I’m really a boy.”

“But you look so feminine,” she said, “I was going to ask if you were going to pledge this sorority, but I guess the answer is that you can’t. Too bad.”

“My girlfriend is going to pledge, and for this year I’m an honorary member, I said.”

“I’m Diane,” she said as an introduction, “and you are?”

“Gene, short for Eugene, but on days like this I spell it ‘Jean’,”

“You’ve got me interested, can we sit down and talk for a few minutes?”

“Sure,” I answered and we moved to some vacant chairs.

I had mastered sitting gracefully in this dress, and when Diane saw this she said, “You really know how to sit in that dress.”

A moment later she said, “Do you feel humiliated having to wear a dress?”

“Hardly, first of all, a lot of people have seen me in a dress and know that I’m really a boy. I have not received a great deal of grief about it. Second, I like wearing a dress and my girlfriend likes it when I’m dressed.”

I then related my cross-dressing starting with my project in French class, and going through making the CD’s, after which I circulated around the room.

When we were back at the apartment, I asked Ann, “What’s with Tiffany? every chance she get, she gives me a hard time?”

“Don’t tell anyone, but she’s on academic probation, and if she doesn’t pull up her grade point she’ll be out of here,” Ann said, “and from what I’ve heard it doesn’t look like she’ll make it.”

At this point I wanted to change clothes and get out of that blasted corset.

Chapter 35 - The Holidays.

Silvia’s parents, for some reason, couldn’t pick her up for Thanksgiving, and I volunteered to give her a ride back and forth. Fortunately, this detour only added an hour to my drive home. Classes for Wednesday afternoon were cancelled, and Sylvia and I were able to get underway before noon.

When we arrived at Sylvia’s house, her Mother fixed us a late lunch, and we chatted for a while with her parents, all the time with her Mother ‘checking me out.’ I guess I passed the test, because her Mother gave me a hug when I left.

When I arrived at my house, the first thing I noticed was a huge banner which said, “Welcome Home, Halloqueen.” After supper, my sisters cornered me and demanded details of my reign so far as Halloqueen, especially my experiences of being hit upon by boys.

“It’s too bad that you’ll have to stop being Halloqueen next Halloween,” Gloria said, “and no more dresses.”

“Don’t be too sure of that,” rejoined Nancy, “I bet that this is just the beginning.”

They were able to extract some information about Sylvia. “Does she object to you wearing a dress?” Emma asked.

I should have only said that she didn’t mind, but to my regret I admitted that she was turned on when I wore a dress or a skirt. As could be expected, they cross-examined me about this interesting fact. Each question was more risque that the prior one.

“So,” stated Emma, “whenever you want some, all you have to do is put on a skirt. How convenient.”

“That’s not how it is,” I rejoined, “you make it sound so dirty.”

“Well,” she responded, “if you’re wearing a skirt, it gives her easier access. I’m well aware of how this happens, based upon personal experience.”

“Enough!” I stated, “you’re telling me more that I want to know.”

When it was time for bed, Emma handed me a nightgown. “I’m sure that you will want to wear this to bed,” she said, with a smirk. I did, but I got up first thing in the morning so Dad wouldn’t have to see it. Thanksgiving dinner was pretty much as usual, except that my cousin Jane was there and had to hear everything about me being Halloqueen. She already knew about my CD’s so it wasn’t a total surprise.

On the Friday after Thanksgiving, I called Sandy, just to see how things were going. Despite our breakup, we were cordial with each other. She pointedly wanted to know if I was still cross-dressing.

I had a lot of homework and a paper to write, so I spent most of my remaining time reading Proust and Balzac.

Chapter 36 - Dancing Queen.

Several sororities jointly hosted a Christmas Dance to be held at the same place as the Halloween party. Naturally, as Halloqueen my attendance was requested. “Do I have to have a date?” I asked Ann, “after all Sylvia will be there.”

“You may bring a boy as a date if you want, but it is not required,” she answered. “However,” she added, “you will be rather busy the whole evening.”

“Doing what?”

“Well, all the officers of the sororities met and decided that you should be the honorary hostess for the dance. You will welcome everyone to the dance, and will lead off dancing with the head of the fraternity council.”

“Does he know about me?”

“I don’t know, but that shouldn’t be a problem, After that you will dance with all of the officers of the fraternities who are there. I’d suggest you find a pair of comfortable heels,” she added with a laugh.

“What should I wear?”

“Either the dress you wore when you won the contest or the dress you wore on the float.”

“I like the white one,” I said.

“I think everyone else likes the green one,” she said, “We can get you some red accents to make it look festive.”

By now Sue had joined the conversation. “You know, red stockings and red garter straps would look great, give it a Christmas look.”

“You know, you’re right,” Ann agreed. “Bright red, not dark red or burgundy.”

“And we all expect to see a red leg come out of the slit, a lot.” Sue suggested.

“That means red shoes,” Ann added.

Sue obviously didn’t trust me, so she and Sylvia hauled me to the mall and corset shop for my purchases. Of course, I wore a skirt and blouse for the occasion. They insisted that the garter straps matched the hose.

On the day before the dance, the President of the sorority sought me out, and handed me a box. “It’s a corsage. The fraternity council bought it for you.”

I opened it up. It was red, like my hosiery.

The next day I used a hair remover. The girls handed me a bag. “New Lingerie,” Sue said, “Red.”

About three-thirty in the afternoon the girls started working on me, starting with my red lingerie and stockings. This time Rachael worked on my hair. She had decided that a high pony tail was a good choice, since it could be tied with a bright red ribbon.

The girls had a discussion about my makeup. As usual, I was not consulted. They finally agreed on heavy eye makeup, with a lot of red in it. They even treated me to a set of false eyelashes. Shortly thereafter Ann came out of her room with bright red nail polish. I had let my nails grow, so I didn’t need false nails, although this was discussed.

At my trip to the mall, the girls had insisted on red shoes. The ones they chose had open toes, so the same red nail polish was put on my toe nails. The only thing I liked about these shoes was that they were more comfortable than any of the others I had tried on.

They were done sometime before five, when they went to their rooms to get dressed. While they were getting ready I snuck a look in the mirror. I really looked all tarted up, especially when my left leg was outside of the slit.

I was supposed to be at the dance at about six. The dance was to start at seven. Rachael had a red purse which she loaned to me for the occasion. Sylvia, Rachael and I rode together, and arrived at the dance a minute before six. The presidents of the sororities were already there. When I walked in, they all looked at me with astonishing approval. “Wow, you really outdid yourself, you look absolutely delicious and beautiful,” one said.

“Let’s see some leg,” another added.

“Ooh, hosiery and garters,” a third said, “very sexy,” she added.

“You’re going to drive those frat boys crazy,” another said, “expect some dirty looks from their dates.” Then all of them individually told me to behave myself with their dates.

One of them whispered to me, “Are you sure you’re really a boy? You look all girl tonight.”

Their dates had been standing around the bar when I came in, but like moths and flames, the came over. “Hey, sexy,” one said, “I can’t wait to dance with. . .Oof!” He didn’t finish his statement because his date jabbed him in his stomach with her elbow.

“Watch it, buster,” she said, hinting that otherwise it would be a chaste night for him.

It was then that one of the girls handed me a red sash with ‘Halloqueen’ in silver letters on it. Then the girls gave me the schedule of what I was to do and when to do it.

The doors opened at six-thirty, and by seven the place was crowded. As expected, most of the boys gave me admiring looks and their dates scowled at them and gave me dirty looks. However, there were some girls who gave me admiring and inviting looks. Sylvia, who stood beside me was the one who scowled at them and gave them dirty looks. “Just remember, you’re mine,” she whispered and patted my butt.

At seven-thirty the DJ handed me a microphone, and I made my welcoming remarks. Then the dancing started. As scheduled, my first dance was with the head of the fraternity council. After that, I must have danced with all of the officers of the fraternities. Although it was fairly well known that, as the Halloqueen, I was a boy, none of them invited me to consider joining their frat.

All evening I showed a lot of leg, and there was no doubt as to what I was wearing underneath my gown. I was in cross-dresser heaven.

All of Sylvia’s roommates had dates, and when the dance broke up they and their dates went out for something to eat, or maybe something else. I didn’t ask. That meant that when Sylvia and I went back to her apartment, we were the only ones there. Decency dictates that I not mention what then happened.

When I woke the next morning, I discovered that I was wearing a sheer nightgown, and curled up with Sylvia in her bed. It was a little cramped, but I remembered that neither of us had complained about it the night before. We both got up and went into the kitchen and made coffee. It was then we noticed that not all of Sylvia’s roommates were present in the apartment.

Chapter 37 - Rush.

Fraternity and sorority rush started right after the prior term’s grade were released. Sylvia was invited to join several sororities, and chose Ann’s. I, on the other hand, was only invited to join one fraternity. I suspect that Ann and other members of her sorority had a hand in pressuring the frat to make that invitation, since the sorority which Sylvia joined wanted their members to only date fraternity guys.

Another factor may have been that the college kept track of all of the fraternity members’ grade point averages, and the fraternity which invited me to join, Rho Lambda Epsilon or RLE, was dead last in grade point averages. My first term grades were very good; one B and the rest A’s, a fact which would benefit the fraternity.

There were some casualties in the grade point battle. Tiffany did not return for the next semester. My dorm roommate was placed on academic probation. If he didn’t improve his grades dramatically, he wouldn’t be allowed to play in any sports, and would loose his athletic scholarship.

Shortly after the semester began, I went to my dorm room to study and tickle the ivories on my keyboard. My roommate was there, with a book open on his desk and a desperate look on his face. Knowing that he was on probation, I only said hello.

He then turned to me. “Hey, egghead,” he started, “my grades stank, and the dean suggested that I find a tutor or my days here are numbered. How are you at math?”

“Pretty good,” I said, “Why?”

“Can you tutor me in math?” he said with a look of desperation, “I can pay you for your time.”

“Ok,” I said. “What other courses do you need help in?” I asked.

“All of them, but math is the worst.”

“Aren’t we in the same music history course?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he answered.

“I can help you there, too.”

So I agreed to tutor him. He had to repeat last semester’s math course. I looked at his textbook. It appeared that it had barely been used. I had taken the same materials in an advanced placement course in my junior year in high school. So the two of us set up a tutoring schedule.

It turned out that he wasn’t stupid; he just didn’t seem to grasp the idea that he was supposed to learn something at college. I also found out that none of the fraternities would touch him with a ten foot pole because he had such a lousy grade point average. It appeared that the frat which he wanted to join was the same frat that I was joining. It was referred to as the dumb jock fraternity, not that I minded.

As a result of the tutoring, we opened up to each other. “So, you’re pledging RLE,” he said, “that’s the one I wanted to join, but I can’t with my lousy grades.”

“Well, let’s get your grades up, and maybe you can join next year.”

“Will you put in a good word for me?” he asked.

“Sure,” I answered. I liked the thought that he was indebted to me.