Roy And The Road To Renee - Chapter 2.
By Pentatonic

Friday, October 3, 2014:

Becky and I had decided to invite our friends for a joint session to work on the essay on Friday after school. Before our meeting, Becky and I discussed the essay, especially the stereotypes which had been brought up in class. Thank goodness both Becky and I had good notes. My friends and Becky’s friends were not so fortunate so the joint study session benefitted them. By now Joe and Sue seemed to have paired up, like Harry with Cathy and Bob and Judy working with each other.

While we all together, I asked the guys if they had looked at the information for the dance. I told them that the boys should wear a suit, or at least a coat and tie. “I looked at my clothes, and came up with nothing. My Mom is taking me shopping tomorrow.”

“Ooh, can I come along?” Becky asked.

“I plan on getting in and out of the store in less than thirty minutes. From what I’ve seen and what we’ve discussed, taking you might turn it into a two hour session.” I immediately regretted my comments when I saw the hurt expression on Becky’s face. In the next second I withdrew what I had said, and told her that I would be delighted to have her along.

Saturday, October 4, 2014:

On the way to the mall, Becky and I explained our essay requirements to my Mom. “Maybe I can help you with it.” she said.

My mother and Becky dropped me off at the men's wear department, and took off on an adventure of their own. As mom explained it, “I’m going to borrow Becky as my daughter for the day to shop with.” For some reason both Mom and Becky began giggling madly.

Shopping for men’s clothes is easy. First you find a clerk, or more likely the clerk finds you, especially if he is a commission salesman. “And what can I help you with, young man?” he asked. I explained that I needed a suit or a coat and slacks, a white shirt and a tie to wear to the Homecoming dance. “Excellent,” he said, “By the way, do you know what size you are?”

“Not exactly,” I answered, and he whipped off a tape measure which he had around his neck. He measured my neck and sleeves, “for the shirt,” he commented. He then measured my chest, waist and inseam. “Hmm,” was his initial comment, followed by, “Why don’t you come over here, I think that the clothes in this rack are your size.”

“You might want to consider buying separates, that is a coat and slacks. We can find slacks that match the coat, for a suit, and you can buy another pair of slacks which contrast with the coat, for a different look. Essentially two outfits with the same coat. We should look at a tie that goes well with the contrasting slacks. Another point is that you would be buying slacks off the rack, and they will not need the cuffs sewn.”

At my mother’s suggestion I had worn a cotton button down shirt, since I was going to buy a coat. The salesman noticed this and said, “Good choice of shirt, since you will be buying a coat.” I secretly thanked Mom.

“I would suggest a black coat, or maybe a dark charcoal or maybe a dark navy blue. We have slacks made by the same manufacturer, and the color and material are practically identical. I would suggest a gray pair of slacks for the second pants, since they will go well with any of the coats.” With that, he pulled three coats off the separates rack, and I tried each one on. He buttoned up each coat and pulled on it to make sure there was enough room. He then adjusted the rest of the coat, and each time I walked to the mirror to see how it looked. All three worked.

“You could get the coat in a size larger, which would give you some room to grow into,” he suggested. “The sleeves will be a bit longer, but not so much that anyone will really notice. You’ll just have to make sure that you don’t drip them into the soup,” he added with a chuckle. “Now lets find some slacks.” He went through the rack looking for the correct waist and inseam. “We can go up a size on the waist, because they are a bit tight in the rear and maybe also on the inseam. Here, try these on.” He handed me four pairs of slacks and directed me to the fitting room. “While you’re doing that, I’ll look for some ties that I think will go with the gray slacks.”

“I have my Mother with me, at least somewhere in the store, and I’m sure that she will have final say, since this is all going on her credit card,” I added.

With a conspiratorial wink, he said, “As long as you have a woman in your life, she will have the final say. Just look around you. almost all of the men are accompanied by a woman who is making all the final choices. Now if you don’t mind, I’ll take care of some other customer while you’re waiting for your mother. Just wave to me when she comes in.” I knew that it would be inconsiderate making him wait with me for who knows how long, when he could be earning another commission.

At long last, Mother and Becky came back into the men’s wear department, laden with bags and carrying on non-stop conversations, except for when they broke into laughter. What was most disturbing was that most of the laughter came when they were looking at me.

“Now let’s see what you picked out,” she said. I waved to the salesman, and he nodded his head and made his way over to me.

He explained the concept of separates, and I modeled each of the slacks with each of the coats. “They’re all rather somber,” my mother commented.

“That’s true, but they are suitable for all occasions,” the sales clerk commented.

“Just like the LBD,” Becky chirped in.

“You’re quite right,” my Mother said.

The coat and slacks matter having been resolved with the second slacks being a gray one, we all turned to the buying of a tie. Needless to say, the clerk’s choices and my choices were disregarded the moment when Mom and Becky pawed through the tie collection. Finally, I had enough and said, “Look, I’m the one who has to wear it, so I should make the choice.” Mom and Becky relented, and the sales clerk looked at me with more respect.

We made our way out of the mall laden with clothes. When we were home, I went to my room to remove the tags from the coat, slacks, shirt and tie, and hung them up in the closet. Shoes were not an issue, since I still fit, rather tightly, in a pair of black oxfords from a year ago.

When I came into the kitchen, Mom and Becky were waiting for me. “We thought we would have a light lunch,” Mom said.

“Sounds good to me,” I answered, thinking of a bacon sandwich.

“You know, to write a good essay, you’re going to have to get in touch with your feminine side,” my mother said, as she handed me a frilly apron. “One part of that is you will set the table and fix lunch. I set out the ingredients for a nice salad, so get to it.”

“A salad?” I questioned. “I was thinking more of a bacon sandwich.”

“Hardly,” my mother answered. “You have to think of your figure!” This last comment brought out gales of laughter from the two females. I couldn’t figure out what was so funny at that time. So I followed directions while Mom and Becky engaged in a non-stop conversation which included not only giggling, but even some outright laugher.

When the salads were on the table, we all sat down, or rather they sat and I slouched. “Sit up straight, knees together,” Mom commanded. “In fact, sit on the front of the chair with your back straight,” she added. To reinforce the point, both Mom and Becky demonstrated how it was to be done. “This will help you get in touch with your feminine side,” she explained, “It will help you with your essay.”

An evil thought ran through my mind. “If I have to do this to get in touch with my feminine side, shouldn’t Becky slouch and occasionally give out a loud belch to get in touch with her masculine side?” I expounded.

My mother gave me a disgusted look, and said, “She doesn’t need to practice being a slob, after all she’s observed you and your friends for many years. You might not realize it, but girls do pay attention to that.”

When lunch was finished I got to clean up the table and wash the dishes, while Mom and Becky relaxed in the living room. Finally, I was able to hang up that dang apron and join them. I plopped into an easy chair and sprawled with one of my legs over the arm of the chair. This was met with immediate and stern disapproval. “That won’t do at all!” exclaimed my Mother. “Stand up and sit correctly in that chair.” She pointed out to a straight backed chair with no arms. I sat in that chair, remembering my instructions from lunch. “Much better,” she said, “but don’t get too comfortable, because you need to take a shower.”

“Why?” I questioned, “I took one this morning.”

“Because you need to use a hair remover. I left it on the sink. Just follow the directions on the label.” I didn’t like the way things had been progressing ever since we returned from shopping. Maybe I’m being paranoid, but I felt that Mom and Becky have been plotting against me all morning, and the laughter was at my expense, Naw, I answered my own question, but in this case I was wrong, they had been plotting.

“While you are in the shower, Becky and I will put some clothes on your bed for you, and you WILL wear them,” Mom said with emphasis on the word ‘will.’

“If you need any help, just call,” Becky said with a helpful tone in her voice.

When I walked into my room I saw a pair of pink panties, a pink bra, a white garment which I found out later was a camisole, a half slip, a pleated plaid skirt, a white blouse with short sleeves, a pair of panty hose and a pair of sandals with one inch heels. “Put on all the clothes except the pantyhose,” my Mother directed. “I’ll help you with that. I don’t want any runs. I’ll do your hair when you’re dressed.” My hair is just above my shoulders, and I wore it in a low ponytail. With that she and Becky left my room and closed the door, all the time giggling to each other.

“Why?” I shouted through the closed door.

“To help you with your essay,” Mom answered. “You should be thankful, I’ll bet that none of the other moms are doing this for their sons.”

While standing there wearing only the panties and the half slip, I requested help with the bra. Both came into the room, and Becky showed me how to put on the bra. “It’s only a padded training bra,” she said, “It’ll give you a little shape. I picked this one out all by myself, just for you,” she added with an innocent looking smile.

“While you’re doing that, I might as well do the pantyhose. Sit on the bed and lift up your slip” When I did as I was told, she noted the bulge in my panties. “That won’t do,” she said. “Go back in the bathroom and tuck yourself back. If you can’t figure out how, I’ll come in and do it for you.”

“I’ll figure it out,” I said, and I did.

She then showed me how to put on the pantyhose. As the smooth nylon slid up my smooth and hairless legs, I could feel a tingle through my whole body. Finally I put on the camisole, blouse and skirt. I put the sandals. My mother fussed with my hair, giving it a somewhat feminine look. We then went downstairs where I was given lessons in feminine deportment and how to walk in heels.

After two grueling hours, Mom said, “You kids need a break. Why don’t you go for a nice walk around the block?”

“Like this?” I exclaimed.

My question was answered with a withering look. “Exactly like you are!”

Hoping against hope that no one would see me, I stepped out on the porch. I immediately felt the breeze under my skirt. Not a bad feeling. My hopes of being unobserved were dashed when I saw Joe riding up the street on his bicycle. He called out to Becky, “Have you seen Roy around? I need help getting my car started.”

“Roy’s around, and even closer than you think,” she responded and pointed her thumb at me. With that he came closer.

“Holy shit!” he exclaimed as he took a good look at me, “is that really you, Roy?”

“Of course it is,” Becky answered, “Who else do you think I’d be hanging out with?”

“What’s the deal, Roy?” Joe asked.

“My mom, Becky, and who else I don’t know, thought it would help me get in touch with my feminine side and help me with my essay,” I responded.

“When you can, I’d like you to help me with my car,” Joe said.

“Did you replace the battery cables, as I told you to do a week ago?” I enquired.

“Uh, I kinda forgot,” he said sheepishly.

“Then take your bicycle to the parts store, get the cables and put them on,” I commanded.

“I don’t know about getting auto repair instructions from a guy wearing a skirt,” he said, insultingly. He then smiled and said, “When Mrs. Benson picks an essay to read to the whole class, I hope it’s yours. It’d be a real hoot,” he added with a smirk. “Say, did you go whole hog, like panties? If so, can I see?”

“No, you pervert,” Becky answered for me.

“I’m a pervert?” he said, “I’m not the boy wearing a skirt and who knows what else. Call me when you can.” He then added, “By the way, Becky, when are you going to get in touch with your masculine side?”

“I already know how to be an inconsiderate slob from watching you guys, and I know how to scratch my crotch and belch loudly. What else is there to learn,” she said. With that, Joe rode off on his bicycle, laughing.

I thought that I now had one example of a stereotype. We circumnavigated the rest of the block without incident, but on entering the house I complained loudly to my Mother, relating the gist of the incident with Joe. “That was a valuable lesson for your essay, you should be happy that it occurred.”

I wasn’t. At least Dad hadn’t seen any of this, since he was golfing all afternoon with his pals.

I was reminded that the next session would be on Sunday, starting at Becky’s house and then the mall, all the time with me dressed as a girl. It appears that Becky’s mom was in on the plot.

“Wear your panties and pantyhose under your jeans when you come over,” said Becky as she left.

That night, as I was getting ready for bed, my Mom came into my room and handed me a long nylon nightgown with spaghetti straps. “It’ll remind you of your time as a girl today,” she said.

I didn’t see any sense in complaining, so I put it on. It gave me a wonderful feeling. As I contemplated my day, I thought how it wasn’t so bad wearing girl’s clothes, in fact, I rather enjoyed it, and part of me was looking forward to tomorrow, dressed as a girl and being a girl.

Sunday, October 5, 2014:

On Sunday afternoon I drove over to Becky’s house. Her mother greeted me at the door. “Hi, Roy,” she said, and then stopped, “what with all that is going on, we can’t very well call you Roy, can we?”

“I guess not,” I responded.

“Then what?” she asked.

“I thought about it last night. How about Renee?”

“Then Renee it is. Becky, did you hear that?”

“I did,” Becky responded, “I think it’s a wonderful name.”

Becky’s Dad was sitting in the living room and heard the exchange. It was obvious that he knew what was going on, since he said, “I really applaud the depth of your research for the essay.” Becky’s Dad was a researcher for a firm known for the extent they involved themselves in experimentation.

“Thanks,” I replied, “It has been a really different experiment, and I think I’ve already learned a lot.”

This seemed to satisfy him, because he came up to me and shook my hand. “Keep up the good work. I might say that you might want to keep a journal of these events. It might be useful if you ever go into the social sciences.”

Wow, I thought to myself. He actually approves.

As Becky and I went up to her room, she called over her shoulder, “Mom, can we borrow your wig?”

“Certainly, Honey, let me get if for you.”

I quickly got dressed in the clothes Becky had laid out for me. “You know, Renee, it might get colder this afternoon. Why don’t you let me find a sweater that goes with that skirt?”

“Okay, sure, thanks,” I responded.

Becky’s Mom arrived with the wig which she fitted on my head, first putting on a wig cap. During this, she kept up a running explanation of what she was doing, “for future reference,” she said, “While I am working on Renee’s hair, you might want to work on her makeup. Did you buy any for her yesterday?” I guess the use of feminine pronouns was acceptable given how I was dressed.

“Yeah, Mom, I got the basics.” responded Becky, “I got some lipstick, mascara and a little blush. I had to guess at her colors, since Renee was not present at the makeup counters.”

“I have colors?”

“Of course, all girls pick makeup to complement their natural colors.” I didn’t know that and quickly admitted it. “Just another step in getting in touch with your feminine side,” she added.

When everything was done, I studied my reflection in the mirror. I did not recognize myself. I saw a girl with a nice looking behind, nice legs, but not much on top. All in all not bad looking. I decided to give a swirl, much to the delight of all present.

“Ready for the mall?” Becky’s Mom asked.

“Uh, yes, but could you give us a ride. If anyone saw me get out of my car, they’d know it was my car and that I was getting out of it. It would be better if you drove.”

“Okay, I understand. Becky, do you have a purse for Renee to use?

“I do,” Becky said, and produced a purse with a shoulder strap. “Put your stuff in it, and put it over your shoulder. By the way, I put a pad in it first, in case some other girl is not prepared for her period. Most girls carry one just in case, or to give to an unfortunate.”

“Oh, by the way, you’ll have to use the women’s washroom. It’s an experience you can’t afford to miss for your essay. Just remember to sit when you pee.”

What followed was a novel experience for me. First thing I noticed was the boys. Neither Becky nor I were drop dead gorgeous, but that didn’t stop the boys. The leered, they stared, they mentally undressed us. In general, they were boors. It hurt to remember that I had acted exactly like that on many occasions. I vowed to clean up my act in the future. Becky confirmed that the boys’ behavior was how they usually conducted themselves.

The next part was shopping for clothes for hours, but not buying anything. After a while I began enjoying shopping. It was so unlike my shopping experience when I bought my clothes for the Homecoming Dance.

Then came a visit to the food court. Here the boys circled around like vultures over a fresh kill. I recognized it for what it was, since I had done the same on numerous occasions. They were attracted to the girls but it was obvious that they were really scared of them. Then Becky taught me long distance flirting, “Catch a boy’s eyes and smile at him, until he finally comes over and asks if he could join us. Then the short range flirting begins. Batting eyelashes, smiles, and making a boy feel if not comfortable, at least less uncomfortable.” Becky then taught me another two lessons. First, do not make eye contact with the most brazen of the alpha males, you don’t want to have anything to do with them. The second lesson was just as important; never do this alone. Always have at least one other girl with you, for your own protection.

The last experience was the women’s washroom. I went into a stall, which could have been cleaner, and remembered to sit. Then came the conversations at the wash basins with fresh lipstick appearing to be the first priority. What was most strange to me was how the girls described the boys they had seen in the food court. I could hardly keep from blushing, the girls’ comments were so frank. I hated the thought that on some occasions my friends and I might have been so discussed. There were comments about what some of the girls wanted to do with some of the boys. Not being that good looking I hoped that I had never been the topic of these washroom discussions.

When Becky and I left the washroom I commented on what had been said. I said to her that I imagined that I had never been the subject of those kinds of discussions. She quickly disabused me of my misconceptions, and she related what had been said about me, and the questions of what she was going to do with me. I was embarrassed. Then she said, “Some of the girls commented that you have a cute butt, and it really fills out your skirt.” I had never thought that my butt was cute; I only knew that it was larger than average.

Finally, we called Becky’s Mom and she picked us up. Once at Becky’s house, her Dad wanted to know the results of the experiment, and encouraged me to write them down as soon as possible. He told me to be sure that I noted what happened when Joe showed up the previous day, “Don’t only state the facts, write down how you felt, and what was happening around you at the time,” he said. “However, at the same time, don’t omit any of the facts. They are the basis of your experiment. How you felt are also facts, but they also are part of your conclusions.”

His comments were really helpful. I had never approached a topic using this method. “What I just told you was what you would put in a scientific monograph. An essay can consist of feelings and conclusions without as much reference to the facts. When you write up your essay, I’d like to see it.”

When I arrived back home, my Mother wanted to hear all about it, but I told her I wanted to put what happened in writing before I forgot any of it. Just then my Dad came into the room. I hadn’t changed out of my girl clothes. “I’m Roy’s Dad,” he said, “and who are you?”

“I’m Renee,” I answered

“Is Becky around,” he asked, clearly confused with the situation. I gained some satisfaction that he did not recognize me.

“No, she’s at her own house,” I answered.

“Okay, then where’s Roy?” he asked.

“Right here,” my Mother answered, and immediately dissolved into gales of laughter.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” he said. Then remembering the answer to his question, he stared at me.

“You,” I answered. “You don’t even recognize your own son.”

“Roy, is that really you?” he asked, “What’s going on?”

I explained the essay and Mom and Becky’s plan. When I got to the part of Becky’s Dad’s comments, he softened his face. “He’s a good man, and if he thought it was an experiment of merit, I have to agree with him.”

After supper, I reminded my parents that I had to write up my journal while what happened was fresh in my mind, and I went to my room and turned on my computer. It was well past my usual bedtime before I finished. My Mother came into my room to wish me good night. “Don’t forget the nightgown, it will help you with your thoughts.”

I didn’t forget the nightgown. I realized that I loved wearing it, as well as my girl clothes.