I was born in 1969, and my mom was, well, a hippy. She had no idea who my dad was, so neither do I. When I was 5 she inherited some money and opened a small shop that sold soap, candles, incense, essential oils, and, if she knew you, pot and LSD. She never gave me any pot, but I’m sure I was often high from second hand smoke. I had no siblings, because mom decided that she liked women better than men, and eventually settled down with Ella, who’d been her shop assistant. Now mom is the breadwinner and Ella the homemaker and my second mom.

Ella is sweet and loving, but has weird ideas. While mom’s Catholic, Ella’s sort of Buddhist. So we went from not eating meat on Friday to not eating meat at all. I ate peas, beans, lintils and tofu until they came out of my ears. Also, they both believe that essential oils have mystic powers. I was bathed in, and anointed with, a variety of oils for reasons that weren’t explained. I didn’t mind the process, but the result was that I was often teased for smelling like a girl. I was also teased for wearing big, floppy hats because Ella didn’t want my skin exposed to the sun.

As a result, I was a small, fair-skinned 10 year old. Mom and Ella believed in long hair for boys, so mine came almost to my shoulders. Still, I was as much of a boy as I could be. I built models, explored with my bike and played baseball. I was a fair hitter and a decent shortstop. If the ball was hit to me, I could throw for an out most of the time.

One morning I woke with sore breasts. Unbuttoning my pajamas, I saw that my nipples were red and puffy. I’d seen an old jar of breast cream in the bathroom cabinet, so I rubbed a little on. It was soothing. “Problem solved,” I thought. A few days latter, my breasts were irritated again, and, again, the breast cream helped. Soon, applying breast cream became part of my morning routine.

A while later, I was putting on my Star Wars tee after school, and noticed it was tight across my chest. I would have changed, but it was one of my favorites. When I went down for my milk and cookies, Ella did a doubletake.

“Take off your tee shirt, sweetie.”

“I know it’s tight, but I still want to wear it.”

“It’s not that it’s tight, it’s why it’s tight that concerns me.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Now take it off, dear, so I can see.”

I thought, “No big deal,” so I did.

Ella looked at my chest, squeezed a little, which hurt, and said, “Your blossoming, sweetie.”

“Blossoming?”

“Yes, developing breasts, just like any girl your age.”

I felt my breasts and looked closely. It was obvious now that she’d mentioned it. I’d never seen breasts like mine on a boy, but I’d seen them on my cousin Faye when she’d visited two summers before and changed in front of me. I broke out in a cold sweat and started to feel faint. Ella guided me into a chair.

I had a million questions, but no words formed. Instead, my mouth opened and closed, like a fish gasping for air.

“Don’t worry sweetie, I’m sure we can straighten this out.”

I wasn’t so sure.

Ella called mom at the store and then made an appointment with Dr. Gail, my pediatrician.

Dr. Gail poked, prodded and took blood. Two days latter she saw mom, Ella and me. “Well, Raymond, you have an acute case of gynecomastia.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a technical term meaning ‘women’s breasts’.”

“Not to be smart, or anything, but I already knew that – or that I have girl’s breasts anyway.”

“Yes, medical terms are designed to be impressive, but really, the name hides the fact that we don’t know why some boys develop girl’s breasts when they go through puberty. I mean we know its caused by a hormone imbalance, but we don’t know what causes that. You have too much estrogen, which is the hormone that makes young girls develop into women. The good news is that breasts on boys usually go away in two years, maybe three in a case like yours.”

“So, I’m becoming a woman!?”

“No, not really. It should all go away in the same two or three years at the latest. I know when you’re 10½ that seems like forever, but really, its not a very long time.”

I was going to make a rude remark, but I held my tongue. “What am I supposed to do till then?”

“Well, it may seem strange to you, but wear a bra. You should already be wearing a training bra to stop your nipples from being irritated, and, at the rate you’re blossoming, you’ll probably need one for support soon.”

Tears started pouring down my cheeks. “Everyone will laugh at me.”

“Not if they think you are a girl.”

“Well, they don’t!”

“Perhaps that can be remedied. … Why don’t you sit in the waiting room while I talk to your mother and Ella?”

That was the last time I saw Dr. Gail.

On the way home I sat in the car with Ella as mom went into Target to buy me some bras. She came back with a large shopping bag that she put in the trunk.

“You bought more me than bras, didn’t you?”

“Yes, Ray.”

“Girl’s clothes?”

“Nothing awful. I’ll explain when we get home.”

I had a bad feeling.

When we got home, mom wanted me to play, but I sat on the sofa refusing to move until she showed me what she bought.

“Well, Raye, you heard Dr. Gail say it would be less embarrassing to wear a bra if people thought you were a girl.”

“Yes, it was a dumb idea!”

Mom was getting frustrated with my attitude. “What’s you’re idea, young lady? … Pretend you’re just a boy who likes to wear bras?”

“I am a boy! … and I don’t want to wear bras at all!”

“Well, your body hasn’t given you a choice … has it? … So, why don’t we start there.” She reached into the bag and handed me a plain white training bra. “Here, put this on, then, tell me what your idea is.”

“I don’t know how.”

“There are two ways. Ella, show her.”

“I’m not a her!”

“That remains to be seen.”

Reluctantly, I let Ella help me into my bra. “My bra,” I thought, my emotions confused.

“Now,” mom said, “put your shirt back on and go look in the mirror.”

I did, and came back in more tears. “I look like a girl!”

“Exactly. Now you understand the problem. … So, What is your solution, Raye? … Do you want people to see you as a boy that dresses like a girl or a girl that dresses like a girl?”

“But, I don’t want to dress like a girl!” I sobbed.

“I know, dear … but unless you want to have surgery, there’s not a lot of choice – and I wouldn’t approve surgery for a temporary problem anyway. … So, what’s your solution?”

“Well, if I dress like a girl, everyone will laugh because they know I’m a boy.”

“If they knew you were a boy … but what if they didn’t know you were a boy?”

“How wouldn’t they know?”

“What if you went to stay with your Aunt Mary? No one but she would know you were a boy. Then, when your breasts got back to normal, you could come home.”

“I’d miss you and Ella,” I sniffled.

“Its not that far. We’d come and visit.” I could see that they’d miss me too.

“But, I don’t want to be a sissy,” I whined.

“You could be a tomboy instead.”

“A tomboy?”

“It’s the opposite of a sissy – a girl that acts like a boy.”

“So, I could act like a boy?”

“Mostly, yes. You could still ride your bike, play baseball and do lots of other things boys do.”

“That might not be so bad.”

“That’s what I thought. That is why I got you the kind of clothes a tomboy might like.”

“Like what?”

“Well, shorts, jeans and shortalls instead of skirts or dresses, and tops that are pretty much like shirts.”

“May I see?”

“Of course.”

I looked over what she’d bought. The clothes were pretty boyish for girls’ things – plain with no frills or lace. At the bottom of the bag were two packages of panties. They were white cotton, but still, they were panties.

“Panties!”

“Well, you didn’t expect to wear jockeys did you? If anyone saw the elastic, they’d know you were a boy for sure. … Right?”

“I guess. Did you buy me high heels as well?”

“No, sneakers are fine for a tomboy. … Now, you choose what you want to wear, try it on and let Ella and me see how it fits.”

I chose jeans and a tee that was very like mine, except the sleeves were a bit shorter. I started going to my room, when mom said, “Don’t forget your panties.” I blushed, but accepted a package.

It did not take long to change. It felt strange to wear a bra and panties, but except for my chest, I looked like a boy – a tomboy. I was glad not to look like a sissy. I stared into the mirror, imagining what I’d look like in a frilly dress and lipstick. Picturing it made me feel funny. Not good or bad, just funny. I realized that if people thought I was a girl, no one would mind if I wore a dress or lipstick, or even painted my nails. It was like a whole pile of rules just had disappeared.

When mom and Ella saw me, they told me how nice I looked, and pointed out that I was dressed very much like I dressed as a boy. Ella brushed my hair this way and that, then took me into the kitchen for a trim that gave me bangs. That scared me, but the result was hair that was still OK for a boy.

Mom called her sister Mary and talked to her for a long time in her room. When she came out, she said auntie needed time to get ready for me, so it would be a while before I went to stay with her. Meanwhile, I could get used to my new clothes and “smooth some of my rough edges.” After that they let me play for the rest of the day.

Mom sent a note to school saying I was moving and asking for my records. That let me stay home as I got used to my new self. I stayed inside and wore a different outfit each day. Ella gave me quiet encouragement and reminded me to keep my knees together when sitting. She also taught me to curtsy when introduced instead of shaking hands.

I wore the shortalls last – not because they were any more frilly, but because they made me look like I was 7 or 8. When I mentioned that to Ella, she said that how old a girl looked depended on what she wore.

“I could make you look 12 or 13, if you’d let me.”

“Really?”

“Yes! Want to see?”

“OK.”

“You’ll have to wear the things I get. … Not just once, but regularly, with your other things.”

“OK,” I said, thinking, “How bad can it be to wear things that’ll make me look older?”

“OK, let’s go shopping.”

“What!? Go out in girls’ clothes?”

“Why not, your going to have to do it some time.”

“Yeah, but not around here!”

“We’ll go to Westwood. Don’t be a sissy!”

It was a strange challenge to my manhood, but at 10½ it almost made sense. At any rate, I agreed. Ella put a blue bow in my hair that made me look even younger.

“Why do I need to wear a stupid bow?”

“It’s a distraction, sweetie. It makes you look younger. If the sales lady is thinking about your age, she’s not going to be thinking about whether you’re a boy.”

“Oh.”

Ella drove us to the Macy’s at the Westwood Mall. We took the escalator to women’s wear.

“We’ve been invited to a formal dinner, and I think it’s time my 11 year old starts looking looking more like a young lady,” Ella said to one of the sales girls.

“She’s 11? She looks 8 at most.”

“It’s how she likes to dress. I want to show her the advantage of dressing her age.”

“I see. Well, we have these mother and daughter outfits.”

“They’re nice, but I already have my dress. We’ll have more selection if we just shop for Raye.”

“Of course! We have a fine collection in teen miss – below that sign,” she said, indicating. “Call me when you’re ready to try something. I’m Margret.”

Ella began picking what seemed to be random dresses and holding them against me. I thought a tomboy shouldn’t be happy dress shopping, but I’d promised to give her a chance to make me look older, and didn’t want to be a sissy about it. So I stood patiently, trying not to be embarrassed. After a while, she asked me how I liked one of the dresses. It was purple, and I don’t like purple, so I told her so. The next dress had roses printed all over it. I didn’t want to look that girly – though I thought it’s kind of silly to worry how girly I’d look if I was wearing a dress any way.

Eventually, I looked at the rack and saw a beautiful blue color I liked. I pulled the dress out a little to see it better.

“Do you like that one?”

“Well, I like the color.”

Ella picked it off the rack along with two others she’d selected, and waved to Margret. “Now comes the fun part. Let’s try these on.”

Margret led us to the changing rooms, where Ella helped me. She had me begin by trying the two dresses she’d picked. Trying on dresses made me feel all shivery. They were unlike anything I’d worn, and it was strange to watch the skirts swaying and feel them brushing my legs. I felt like a complete sissy, but no one seemed to mind. Instead, Ella smiled and said how good I looked in each one. When I looked in the mirror, it was like I was different – not just dressed different, but a different person.

The two she’d picked looked nice and fit well, but I liked mine better. It wasn’t just the color, I also liked the smooth, soft material. Ella said it was a knit and the style was a “princess dress.” I liked it despite the name. Ella saw me smile as I looked down at it, but when I looked in the mirror, my smile faded – the top was way loose. I mean you needed even bigger boobs than I had to wear it. (I know now that I didn’t have big boobs, but they sure seemed big then.)

“Oh, sweetie, don’t frown. You like this one don’t you?”

Nodding, I admitted that I did. “But it doesn’t fit right,” I said, pinching the loose bodice.

“Oh, that’s no problem. Women have to deal with that all the time.” Ella went out and whispered something to Margret. In a minute, Margret came back and handed some things to Ella. Soon, I was out of the dress, and out of my training bra. Ella put a lacy blue bra on me.

“Ella, this is as loose as the dress,” I said, pulling at the empty cups.

“Not for long!” She put a little pad in each cup, filling them. “These are called ‘falsies,’ and are a young girl’s best friend.”

Now the dress looked perfect. I couldn’t help but smile at how good it looked on me – and my new boobs made me look at least 12. I turned a little, swinging the skirt back and forth – feeling it brush my legs.

“You like?” Ella asked

“Yes, but I shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” she said with some emphasis.

“Because I’m a boy,” I whispered, starting to choke up.

“Well, you were and will be again, but God’s made you a girl for now, so you might as well enjoy it!”

“You think?”

“Yes, sweetie!” She hugged me. I felt better.

“You like looking older?”

“Yes!”

Ella paid Margret and let me downstairs, still in my new bra and dress.

“12-year-olds can wear kitten heels. Let’s get you some.”

We went to the shoe department.

“If you had lots of shoes, I’d get you blue to match your dress, but as this will be your only pair of heels, we’ll get black.”

We walked around looking at the shoes, with Ella telling me about the different kinds and when to wear them. It was much more complicated that boys’ shoes. Since summer was coming, I left wearing strappy sandals with a kitten heel and carrying ballet flats and pantyhose. I liked being taller, and almost asked for higher heels, but the boy in me rebelled.

I thought we were done, but instead we stopped at the cosmetic counter, and Ella had the girl make up my face. We left with pink lipstick, blush, mascara, and eyeshadow in a complementary case. Ella also gave me A Girl’s Guide to Makeup. It all went into a new shoulder bag.

Instead of going home, Ella drove us to mom’s candle shop. When mom saw me, she said “Raye, you're beautiful!” and hugged me tighter than she ever had. I realized then that there was a difference between a loved son and a loved daughter. I enjoyed the affection, but it left me confused.

Mom closed the shop and took us to our favorite trattoria. (For reasons I never understood, Ella has no Buddhist objections to clam linguine.) I was thinking how wearing a dress seemed to make me different inside as well as changing how mom felt about me. So, I forgot that the restaurant folks knew us. When the hostess saw us, stopped for a second, then smiled broadly and said, “My, what a lovely young lady you have with you tonight.” I knew she recognized me as the boy that usually came in with mom and Ella, but she treated me with courtesy and kindness.

How she treated me made me realize that not everyone thought it was horrid for boys to dress like girls. Being a sissy might be no more wrong than being black. Bullies just like picking on other people. So, I relaxed and enjoyed dinner with my two mothers in my new dress.

The next day was Saturday, and I had a baseball game. Ella wrapped my boobs with an elastic bandage, which was uncomfortable, and I dressed in my uniform. I knew this would be my last game with the team, so I tried my best. I managed two base hits and threw for three outs. Then, I said goodbye to my friends. I lied and told them I was going to live with my dad for a while.

When I got home from the game, I traded my bandage for a bra and felt immediate relief. At the same time, the game made me realize how much I’d miss being a boy among boys. “What would my friends think of me if they saw me in my bra and panties?” I cried quietly, not knowing how I felt. After a while, I pulled myself together and finished dressing. This would be my last day at home.

After a snack, Ella said that now that I was done with my last male activity, I needed some “finishing touches” She began by taking me to the bathroom for “a set.”
.
“I don’t want a perm!”

“A set isn’t a perm, sweetie. Sets go away when you wash your hair. Perm’s don’t. I’m going to show you how to do a set. Every girl your age should know how.”

I was going to say I wasn’t a girl my age, but I kind of was. So, I let her do it. She showed me how to put my hair on rollers and apply setting gel a couple of times, then had me do the rest. I ended up looking like Shirley Temple – my head a mass of short curls. No boy would wear his hair like that, so I wondered if I was still a tomboy.

After lunch, Ella told me she’d bought me a present so I’d remember that she loved me – zircon studs that matched my blue eyes. She got a needle, alcohol and ice, and pierced my ears. I was not happy to have my ears pierced, but the studs were a sign of love. So, I had confused feelings about them. When I looked in the mirror, all I saw was a pretty girl.

I spent the afternoon packing. Ella said some of my boy clothes were OK for a tomboy. Taking them made me feel better. On the other hand, packing bras and panties was weird. So was packing the cosmetics.

When mom came home, she complemented me on my curls and studs, and said no one could mistake me for a boy wearing a bra now. Still, she knew that I was not ready to be a girly girl. Her going away present was four models I could build at Aunt Mary’s. I hugged her hard for remembering I was still a boy. She wanted to take us out for dinner, but I fell asleep before we left.

It was 5:30 AM and mom was shaking me.

“Wake up, we’re going to 6:30 Mass before we take off for Mary’s. Wear your dress and flats or heels – which ever you want. … And, don’t forget to cover your head with a shower cap so your curls don’t wash out.”

When I was awake enough to notice, I saw I was wearing a babydoll set with a matching bonnet covering my curls. I didn’t remember putting any of it on.

My boobies were sore again, so I rubbed on some breast cream and put the jar in my suitcase. Once I was dressed we put my things in the car. We went to Mass at a different parish, ate breakfast at a diner, and hit the road. I slept until we exited the interstate about 2 hours later. Mom drove another hour on two lane highways to reach Springfield, where my aunt lived.

Springfield is a small county seat, built around a town square. At one end is a courthouse and at the other is the town hall. The other two sides have shops, a community church, lawyers’ offices and a small hotel. The square has huge trees, benches, a bandstand and a small play area. Auntie’s house is a couple of blocks over on a quiet street. It’s two stories, white with clapboard siding, a veranda on three sides and a cupola on top. It’s shaded with large trees, and decorated with flowers in front.

We arrived about 11:00 and parked in the back. Auntie was in the kitchen, just putting lunch in the oven. She’s a couple of years older than mom, a little heavier, but with the same blue eyes, reddish brown hair and thin lips that marked our branch of the O’Connor family.

“Hello Susan, Ella, and … Ray – my, aren’t you something!” she said, looking at me with a great deal of interest. “I’ve made sun tea. Would you like some?”

We all said we would (though I had no idea what sun tea was) and sat for a chat. We talked about family and what was happening in our lives when the conversation turned to me.

“Well, Ray, Susan said you have a little problem. May I see?”

Needless to say, I wasn't ready to show my budding breasts to my aunt.

“Don’t be shy now. If you’re to be living with me, I expect that I will be seeing a lot more of you than your tits, dear.”

By now I was red as a beet. Still, I let my mom unzip the back of my dress, unhook my bra, and pull the cups up.

“Oh, my! I see what you mean, Susan. She’s more developed than either of us were at her age. I’ll have to admit – I had my doubts about dressing Ray as a girl, but now I agree – there’s not much choice in the matter.”

Meanwhile, mom was covering my modesty. “I told you, Mary,” she said slightly peeved at being doubted.

“So, the pediatrician said they’d go away in time?”

“Yes, in two years, three at the outside.”

“Well, Raye, it looks like you’re going to be staying with me as my niece for a while. … You can stay in your mom’s old room. I’ll show you.”

We went up stairs to look at one of the front bedrooms. It had a fourposter bed with a handmade quilt, a dressing table, bureau and a small desk. Aunt Mary had boxed mom’s old clothes, but the rest of the room was as mom had left it. Posters of the Beatles and other bands I didn’t recognize decorated one wall and a doll in an elaborate dress sat on the bureau.

“Oh, there’s Rachel,” mom said, picking up the doll. “I was going to name you after her if you were a girl. I guess I still did in a way, calling you 'Ray.'”

I wasn’t sure how I felt learning I was named after a doll, but that was small potatoes compared to standing there in a dress.

We brought my stuff up from the car, and then had lunch. After lunch, there we hugs and kisses all round. Mom and Ella told me to obey auntie and be as helpful as possible. Once they left, I started washing up as Auntie put away the left overs.

“Don’t you have some jeans or shorts dear?”

“I do auntie.”

“Well, then go change. There’s no point in wearing your Sunday best to do housework … off you go.”

I put on jeans, a tee and sneakers. I didn’t feel like wearing a bra, so I didn’t.

“Raye, dear, I know you’re not used to having boobies, but it’s immodest to go braless. I expect you to wear proper underwear everyday. Understand?”

“Yes. Auntie.” I went up and put on a training bra.

When I got down again, Auntie had finished cleaning up. “I appreciate how you tried to help, and in the future, I expect that you’ll do your share. I want to say a few things about what I expect of you.” She explained the house rules, which were much what I expected. The only new thing was that I shouldn’t show my “boy lump” (as I apparently was) when dressed. I was to tuck myself back. If necessary, she’d get me a girdle to help have a flat front. After “fixing” myself, I was sent out to play.

I was shy about exploring the town, so I poked around behind Auntie’s house. Beyond her yard was wood with a small stream. I was watching polliwogs in pool when I heard someone behind me. It was a girl about my age, but a bit taller than me.

“Hi! I’m Joanne Becket. You can call me Jo. I saw you coming out of Miss O’Connor’s house. I live next door, so I thought I’d say hello.” She extended her hand, helping me up from the edge of the pool.

“I’m Raye, her ne… niece. I’m going to be staying with her for a while.”

“Really!? That’s great. This town is full of old folks. There aren’t many girls our age. I hope we’ll be special friends.”

I hadn’t thought that dressing as a girl meant I’d have girls for friends, so the idea was a surprise. The fact was, while I played with a lot of boys back home, none were special friends. “I suppose so. It might be nice.”

She smiled at me. “Want to see my room?”

I didn’t, but it’d be friendly to say I did. “Sure, I’d love to.”

Jo’s house was well-kept, but newer and smaller than auntie’s. It was a one story brick, with a covered porch across the front. When you went in the front, the parlor, as she called it, was on the left, while a door opened onto her room on the right.

“Hi Jo, who’s your new friend?”

“This is Raye, Miss O’Connor’s niece. She’s staying with her.”

“Hello, Raye, I’m Bea Becket, Jo’s mother.”

“I’m glad to meet you Mrs. Becket” I said, shaking her hand more vigorously than a girl would.

She looked at me for a second, but decided to ignore my faux pas. “Well, have fun.”

Jo pulled me into her room. It was much more feminine than my mom’s old room (mine now). The furniture was white and her bed had a pink and white floral quilt. There was also a large play area with a doll house on one side and a play table set for tea in the center. Around it, two large dolls were sitting in chairs.

Jo looked at me, expectantly. I knew a compliment was called for, and thought what Ella would say. “That’s a lovely dollhouse, and your tea set and dolls are beautiful.” It was all true and sincere, if not what Ray the boy would have said. I picked up a unicorn and was impressed by the modeling detail. “I like your unicorn too!”

“His name is Wonder Star. Aster is the in the pink party dress and of course the doll in the blue gingham is Dorothy. ... I’m so glad you like my things. … This is Becky,” she said taking a small doll from a dollhouse bedroom. She’s having a baby soon, so my dad made nursery furniture for my birthday.”

I looked at the crib and was impressed by her dad’s modeling skill.

“Now we have to make a nursery for the new baby. I thought this’d be a good room. What do you think?”

“Where’s the parents’ room?”

“Here.”

“Well, I think it’d be good if the nursery was near it, don’t you? Like maybe in this room?”

“That’s Linda’s room. She’s the big sister. She might get upset, but I think you’re right.”

Soon we were rearranging the furniture in the dollhouse. As we got into it, I started having a good time, not even thinking I was playing dolls. It was kind of like playing soldiers, only without the shooting. Anyway, I was surprised when Mrs. Becket said it was getting late and my aunt would be wondering where I was. I was even more surprised when Jo kissed me on the cheek, but I remembered that’s what girls did, so I gave her one back, which made me feel like a complete sissy.

Auntie made a supper of hot dogs and beans. After washing up, we watched TV, but I fell asleep. Auntie woke me to brush my teeth and change into a nitie.

The alarm when off at 7:00. My breasts were tender, so I used a little breast cream before getting dressed. Auntie had milk and cereal on the table.

“Do you drink coffee, Raye?”

“Not yet, auntie. Ella says I’m too young.”

“Well, I started at your age, so if you want to try it, let me know.”

“It smells good, but not today auntie.”

“OK. … Today I’m taking you over to the school to register you, and then showing you how to get to my shop after school. I usually keep the shop open from 10:00 to 5:00, so I expect you to come there after school.”

“OK, auntie. … Do they know I’m a boy?”

“I have no intention of telling them what’s in your panties. I’ve added an ‘e’ after ‘Ray’ on your transcript, and erased the ‘x’ from the ‘male’ box and typed one in the ‘female’ box. Since no one undresses for physical education, there’s no reason for them know your gender. Most of the staff are gossips – which is another reason for them not to know. Anyway, in no time at all I’ll be sending you home as a boy.”

“Thank you, auntie.” I was glad to hear she shared my goals.

“Do you have a school dress, or a skirt and blouse you can wear?”

“The only dress I have is the one I wore yesterday. Ella bough me jeans to wear to school.”

“Well, the school here does not allow girls to wear pants, so your dress will have to do for today. Later we’ll sew you something more suitable.”

After cleaning up breakfast, we walked to her shop. The sign read “Mary’s Fabrics – Sewing Machines – Seamstress on Staff.” It was on the side of the square nearest her house, sandwiched between a hardware store and a small grocery. A bell tinkled when auntie opened the door. The front of the shop displayed hundreds of bolts of cloth, sewing patterns and books, and some new and used sewing machines. A smaller back room was a combination work room and office. It had a large cutting table, a powerful sewing machine, a rack of assorted dresses, a desk, and a tiny changing room.

“School doesn’t start until 8:30, so I might as well measure you now. Come in the back.”

I took off my dress and stood on a little stool while auntie worked with her tape and notebook. “Since you’ll be growing, I’ll measure you with your falsies so you can grow into your blouses.”

“OK, auntie,” I said, not thinking what that would mean.

When we were done, we went back to the front. She gave me pattern books to pick out the style blouse and skirt I liked. I also got to pick out the fabrics I wanted. It made me feel funny, but creative to pick out my own girls’ clothes – even more creative than model building. Someone else decided how my boxed models would look, but I was creating the look of my new clothes. There were so many choices compared to boys’ clothes!

I picked a pleated skirt that came just above the knee and a blouse that looked like a boys’ short sleeved shirt, but there were other patterns I liked nearly as well. Auntie said that I could choose them later, if I liked.

She showed me how to find the patterns in her stock drawers. By the time I did, it was a little after 9:00, so we walked to the school, which was a block off the square. It was very unlike my old school. First, there were only four classrooms, 1st and 2nd grade, 3rd and 4th, 5th and 6th, and 7th and 8th. My old school had several class rooms for each grade, and only went to 6th. Second, even with two grades per room, there were only about 20-25 kids in each room. My old school had over thirty.

We went to the office. The school secretary, Mrs. Zimmerman, was making purple copies one at a time with something called a hectograph. It had a strange smell. Auntie explained that I was living with her and needed to enroll in school. Mrs. Zimmerman told us that the principal, Mrs. Ross, would be teaching until lunch, so we should come back then. We went back to auntie’s store.

Auntie said since she’d be busy with customers, I needed to help make my new skirt. I picked a blue baseball print, but she said it was too boyish, and suggested a dinosaur print instead. For my blouse she recommended permanent press fabric, so I wouldn’t have to iron it. After showing me how to lay out a pattern, size it, and cut the pieces, she opened her shop to a lady who was waiting out front.

I was busy cutting, when I heard someone say, “And who’s this industrious young lady?”

“That’s my niece, Raye.”

“Raye, this is Mrs. Hodge. She and her husband have a farm a few miles south on highway 37.”

“Hello, Mrs. Hodge.” I was about to shake her hand, when I remembered what Ella taught me and dipped a slight curtsy.

“What a sweet girl your niece is.”

“Yes, she is.”

I went back to cutting as auntie rang up Mrs. Hodge’s purchases.

The same thing happened several more times. Auntie knew each customer personally, as I could hear her asking after their families and things that concerned them. When the store finally got quiet, she came back and showed me how to thread her sewing machine. I spent the rest of the morning practice-sewing scraps of cloth.

At noon, we met with Mrs. Ross. I worried about auntie’s modifications as the principal looked over my transcript.

“Well, everything seems in order. Come in at 8:45 tomorrow and I’ll introduce you to Miss Wells, who teaches 5th and 6th grade. I expect great things from you, Raye.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Ross.” I dipped a curtsy and we left.

Auntie normally went home for lunch, but today we went to the diner, where I was introduced to so many people I couldn’t remember them all. By the time we left I was convinced I’d still be curtsying when I returned to being a boy.

After lunch, auntie showed me how to read the pattern to sew my skirt together. From time to time she’d come back and help me. I had to unsew a few seams, but by closing time I’d made a skirt! I was very proud of myself. When we got home I changed into my new skirt instead of shorts – and admired my handiwork in the mirror.

The next morning I was introduced to Miss Wells and became a student at Springfield Elementary. Jo was in my class and asked if I could sit next to her. So, that was where I sat.

At recess Jo introduced me to the other 5th grade girls: Linda, Estelle and Patty. They all lived on farms outside of town. The four 6th grade girls thought that they were better than us and didn’t talk to mere 5th graders unless they had to. Mostly, they looked at the boys, who generally ignored them.

My new friends had never seen a dinosaur skirt before. They all thought it was cool and were impressed that I’d sewn it myself, even with auntie’s help. Linda asked if I’d make her one. Then, before I could answer, Patty suggested we have a party Saturday and each sew a skirt. Everyone liked the idea, except Jo looked a bit jealous. I think she’d wanted to play with me Saturday. I said I’d talk to my aunt about the sewing party.

As we walked back to class I thought how much friendlier girls were than boys. None of the boys I knew had ever invited me to a party, or even been interested in anything I’d done.

When I told auntie what happened, she was glad that I was making friends. If we came to her shop at 8:00, she’d loan each girl a used machine and teach them how to run it. She’d also supply the fabric at cost.

That night, I invited Jo to dinner to show her she was still my special friend. That cheered her up. After dinner, we went to my room. As the only doll I had was the decorative one on my dresser, I wasn’t sure what we could do that would interest her.

As she was looking around, she said, “Oh! You have makeup!”

“Yes, my step mom bought it for me last week. She took me to Macy’s, had the cosmetic lady make me up, then bought me that stuff. She also got me this book. I’ve used the lipstick a couple of times since, but that’s all.”

“Wow! You’re sooo lucky, Raye. My mom says I’m too young for makeup. I only have nail polish.”

“I don’t have any nail polish.”

“How about I go get mine, and we have a makeup party?”

Before I could respond, she was down the stairs and out the door.

When she came back, we did each other’s nails, then tried different techniques from my makeup book. We laughed and giggled until Jo’s mom called to tell her it was time to come home. After hurriedly removing her make up, we promised to do it again soon. I’d had a wonderful time, but it was confusing to be a boy who liked playing with makeup and having his nails done. I finally convinced myself that I’d just done it to please Jo.

The next morning, auntie complimented me on my pink nails, which I’d forgotten about.

I blushed. “Jo wanted to play with makeup,” I said apologetically.

“Yes, I heard the giggling. Sweetie, there is nothing wrong with enjoying your time as a girl. You should take advantage. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

“You think so? I feel like such a sissy sometimes.”

“There’s nothing wrong with being a sissy. Be honest. If you like something, then admit you like it – at least to yourself.”

“Really?”

“Yes, dear.”

I’d think about what auntie said.

The skirt making party Saturday was a success. Instead of making myself a skirt, I helped the other girls with theirs. Linda needed the most help, but at the end of the day, she was happy with the result. Since I was sort of the hostess, I went next door to the grocery and bought sandwich makings and punch for lunch. Everyone had a good time, and we promised to do it again. Over the next week, auntie sold two used sewing machines to the girls’ mothers.

I was now accepted as one of the girls, and stopped worrying that I was half boy. It wasn’t that I wanted to stay a girl, rather I just became comfortable being one of the girls.

When school let out, I helped auntie out in her store, and most of the customers knew me on a first name basis. Since I helped teens and pre-teens with sewing projects, aunties sales increased and she began paying me for the hours I put in.

I often took afternoons off to spend with Jo. She was developing, and told me when she had her first period. As far as I was concerned, it was information I didn’t need. Of course, we’d already compared our breast growth (I was a little ahead of her). So she was entitled to brag about being ahead of me with her periods. My only signs of puberty were my breasts, a couple of pubic hairs and an increasing number of zits.

Anyway, I told auntie, and she told me more than I wanted to know about periods. She also bought me a box of pads and a belt to hold them. She said I should wear them for a week starting a month from when Jo started her period. Then I’d understand what Jo was going through better.

“You know, Raye, it’s a good thing you and Jo are so close. You should learn from her. As long as it’s not hurting anyone, it would be a good idea to follow her lead. It will make it easier for you to pass, because, while I know what I did at your age, times change, so I don’t know what girls are doing now.”

Not long after, Jo started being interested in boys, and in David McKinsey in particular. David was a tall boy in our class, a few months older than us. He had wavy blond hair and what Jo called “dreamy blue eyes.” The problem was that David and Jimmy Coragan were inseparable. He would only go on a picnic with Jo if I came to keep Jimmy company.

“Please come and talk to Jimmy so I can spend time with David. Please!”

I had no interest in boys. “I don’t think auntie will let me.”

“Oh, none of our parents know. My mom thinks just you and I are going.”

I didn’t want to disappoint Jo. She was my best friend and had no other way to see David, so I finally agreed.

We arranged to go to a roadside park a mile outside of town. It was beside a little creek and had a foot bridge over it to a meadow where you could spread a picnic blanket. David and Jimmy would bring sodas and hike cross country. Jo and I would bicycle, and bring chicken and potato salad.

We all arrived about 12:30. After eating, Jo and David walked off to find some privacy and Jimmy and I sat on the blanket talking about baseball and model airplanes.

“I’m surprised that you know as much as you do about baseball and planes. Most girls are clueless.”

“My step mom says I’m a tomboy.”

“A tomboy?”

“A girl that acts like a boy.”

“Maybe that’s why I like you, Raye. … That and you have a boy’s name … almost. … Being with you is almost like being with a boy.”

I got a little scared.

“It’s OK. I mean sometimes I feel … well, a little girly – please don’t tell. The kids call me a sissy sometimes.”

I could see that hurt him. “I won’t tell. I understand better than you think. ”

“I guess a tomboy would.”

“I do, really! My auntie says ‘There’s nothing wrong with being a sissy – or a tomboy. Be honest. If you like something, then admit you like it – at least to yourself.’”

“That makes sense.”

“We can be friends, and if you feel girly sometimes, well, I understand better than you know.”

“Gee, thanks, Raye.” He leaned over and kissed me on the cheek, like one girl would kiss another.

Just then Jo and David emerged from the woods. David looked flushed, but Jo looked happy, so I wasn’t concerned.

Later Jo told me that they’d kissed a lot, and she let David put his hand under her blouse and feel her bra. All of a sudden, he tensed up, grunted, and got this strange look. After, he got real flush. She was worried, but he said it was OK.

That night I figured out what happened to him, cuz the same thing happened to me. I was thinking about being kissed, and feeling myself through my panties when I suddenly made a mess in them. I was so embarrassed that I’d wet my panties! I washed them out in the sink and didn’t tell auntie.

The next day, I told Jo what I thought happened to David, but not how I knew.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

“It’s so kewl that we can do that to boys. It makes you feel kind of powerful, doesn’t it?”

“I s’pose it does.” After that I started thinking about my breasts in a different way – not so much as a problem, but as a kind of super power, boys (well most boys) don’t have.

As the summer progressed, Jo and David were spending more and more time together. It was kind of funny in a way – it was like she was his mom, because he seemed to obey her like a little kid. (“Yes, Jo. No, Jo.”)

I mentioned it to her, and she said he’d do whatever she told him. She’d show me next time we were all together. A few days later, we were all in Jo’s room playing Monopoly.

She said, “David, you’re sitting in Aster’s chair. She looks so lonely over there on my bed. Hold her so she doesn’t feel neglected. … That’s it. Now give her a kiss and a hug.”

He looked very embarrassed, but did as she said and held Aster the rest of the game.

Jo looked at me. I knew Jimmy might like holding Dorothy. I winked so only he could see. “Jimmy, you take care of Dorothy. Show her lots of love, just like David is doing with Aster.”

He feigned embarrassment, groaning a bit, but flashed me smile when no one else could see.

I was not the only one that Jo shared her escapades with. She had a cousin Judy who had graduated from nursing school at the beginning of the summer. After visiting one weekend, Jo came back with new-found wisdom and pharmaceutical bounty. Judy’d shared some ways of pleasing and controlling males. She’d also given Jo a bag full of birth control pill packets.

“Here. You can have half of them.”

“Ah, thanks, but Jimmy’s only kissed me on the cheek once. We’re not like you and David.”

“You know I haven’t let David go any further than playing with my boobies! I just don’t want to be the only girl I know taking birth control pills. Besides, Judy said they will help your acne.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“OK, OK. Given ‘em to me.”

Auntie told me to follow Jo’s lead, so after that, I took one every morning.

My breasts had stopped growing about the same time I came to live with auntie. Part of me hoped they’d shrink back to normal for a boy, and I could go back to being my old self. I knew that there were many things I’d miss about being a girl, but I was still ready to return to being a boy.

Now they started growing again, only this time my nipples and the area around them started getting bigger – looking more like Jo’s. So, I was a bit concerned and started using the breast cream again to sooth them. When I put on my nitie, noticeable bumps poked out. Well, auntie noticed anyway.

“Raye, lift up your top so I can see your breasts. … Hmm … Well, they seem to be changing – looking more like mine than when you first came.”

“Is that bad?”

“Well, I don’t know if that’s the way your gynoco-what’s-it is supposed to go. I’ll call your mom tomorrow and see what she thinks.”

The next day she was on the phone with mom for a long time. At the end, she did not seem so concerned. She repeated what the doctor said: they should go back to normal in a couple of years. Until then, I might as well enjoy my girl time. There was nothing else to do.

Meanwhile I discovered I like rubbing myself through my panties and playing with my nipples felt lovely too. I knew Jo let David play with her boobies and wondered if Jimmy would like to play with mine. I suppose you might think that is weird, given that Jimmy and I are both boys, but I’d started thinking of myself as a girl, just like Jo.

Auntie had no problem with Jimmy and I being alone in my room, even when she wasn't home. I wasn't going to get pregnant, so, what was the worst that could happen? Anyway, I started inviting him to my room – to work on model planes at first. Once we’d run through the models mom had bought me, I had a mischievous idea.

“Jimmy, you said you feel girly sometimes.”

He blushed.

“I was wondering if you’d like to try on some of my things?”

“Like what?”

“Like a bra and panties and a dress?”

Now he was really blushing.

“And maybe make up, too.”

“Oh, God, Raye! Don’t tease!”

“I’m not. I bet you’d look cute. I know you’d like it, and if you didn’t you could take it all off. No one would know. I wouldn’t say anything.”

“Really? You’re not kidding?

“No. I thought you’d like to see how it feels.” I went to my drawer and got a lacy bra and panty set. The bra was an A-cup that I’d outgrown. “Here try these!”

“Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“In front of you?

“I won’t mind, but if you want, you can change in my closet.”

He was shy and chose my closet.

“I can’t fasten this bra.”

“Here, I’ll help you!”

For some reason seeing Jimmy in lacy panties, and putting a bra on him was very exciting. It clearly excited him as well.

“Here’s a pantyliner, put it in front. I don’t want you staining my panties.”

He blushed, but did as I said.

“Here’s a skirt and blouse.”

He put them on.

I brushed his hair into a vaguely feminine style and put lipstick on him. Walking him over to the mirror, I said, “What do you think? Do you like it?”

“Oh, Raye! Thank you, thank you!” He kissed me on the lips.

I kissed him back.

He looked a little faint, so I sat him on my bed.

“I, … I have a secret. Can I trust you not to tell?”

“Jimmy, I wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose. As long as it doesn’t hurt anyone, I’ll keep you secret.”

“Well … I … I don’t usually like girls. I like boys. I like David, but I never told him because he likes girls.”

“Oh, is that all? My mom and step mom love each other. If they could, they’d get married. So boys loving boys and girls loving girls doesn’t bother me.”

“Really?”

“Yep. … Since you told me your secret, I’ll tell you mine … do you promise not to tell?”

“Yes … cross my heart.”

“I’m a boy!”

“What!?”

“Yep, not a tomboy, a real boy … at least below my waist.”

“What do you mean.”

“I mean above my waist I have boobs.” I looked around, then lifted my top and my bra to show him.

“Wow! … How?”

“Well, the doctors have a name for it, but they don’t really know how. They say that in two or three years they’ll go away, but for now I need to wear a bra.” I put mine back. “So, I dress as a girl.”

“Wow! … And I thought I was screwed up.”

“Neither of us is, Jimmy. We just are what we are.”

“Ah … don’t be insulted, but … do you like girls or boys?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never kissed either before. I don’t even know if I like being a boy or a girl better.”

“May I kiss you again?”

“If you want.”

He kissed me ever so sweetly … I felt warm and tingly, and so kissed him back.

“Well?”

“That was lovely. Thank you. You can do it again anytime. … Still, I’ve never kissed a girl so I can’t compare.”

“I have!”

“I thought you didn’t like girls.”

“I like you!”

“I like you too, Jimmy, I just don’t know how yet. … Ah, … did you like my breasts?”

“Yes, they’re beautiful!”

“Would you like to kiss them? Maybe suck them?”

“I would, if you’d like me to.”

“I’d like to see how it feels.”

We laid on my bed and Jimmy spend a long, loving time on my breasts. It felt wonderful. If anyone had walked in they’d have thought we were two girls. I thought of reaching into our panties, but neither of us were ready for that.

Finally, it was time for me to start dinner. Jimmy put his boy clothes back on and came down to help me. I cleaned a few traces of lipstick off his face before auntie came in, but forgot my face.

“Well, it seems like someone’s had a pleasant afternoon,” auntie said as she cleaned smudged lipstick off my face with a kleenex.

We both blushed.