NotExpected 09

Not What We Expected by Tiffany B. Quinn Most of all, I just wanted the transition to be over so that I could truly move forward with my life. I sighed as I braced myself for another three months of transition. That first night in my new room was lonely. It would take some time to get used to being alone in bed again. I was sure that Sandra was having the same problem, but her bed would not be lonely for too much longer. ----<0>---- With the help of my lawyer's office, I filed the dissolution, gender, and name change petitions the next day. There would be no looking back.

Chapter 9

After taking care of our legal business, I had taken my old clothes to the charity shop. While I was there, I had browsed their selections and had picked up some new-to-me jeans and a couple of blouses in my current size. Sandra and Tom were going out tonight so I decided to skip my gym workout to spend time at my childhood home. I fiddled around in the kitchen and fixed my parents dinner while waiting for them to come home from work.

"Something smells wonderful," My mother called out when she walked in the front door.

"Hello Mom," I called out. "I'm in the kitchen."

"Is that you Andy?" She asked sounding confused as she walked into the kitchen, "you look like a young girl."

I sighed. "Yes, Mom, it’s me."

I hadn't been home for over a month.

"Let me get out of these work clothes," she said. "I'll be back in a jiffy to help. Your father should be home soon. Where's Sandra?"

"She has other plans tonight," I replied.

"It's still progressing, isn't it?" She asked when she returned to the kitchen, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, Mom," I replied, "and I have a question."

"What's that dear?" she asked.

"What would you have named me if I'd been born a girl?" I inquired.

"I knew it was coming to this," she sighed as she started setting the dinner table for three. "We would have named you Susan, but your sister got that name. Have you picked a new name?"

"As you can see, you have another daughter," I told her. "The Doctor told me yesterday that my chromosomes are all now XX so I am giving into the inevitable. All my old male clothing went to the charity store today. There is no going back. As you know, I’ve been living as a girl for several weeks now so a new name sounded appropriate. I chose Andrea Marie."

"You poor dear," Mom gave me a quick hug as she tried to comfort me. "That’s a pretty name. Being female won't be all bad. Most of us women rather enjoy the experience. I think that you might just like it."

"I hope that you are right. I also have the stature of a thirteen-year-old," I pointed out.

"That is a problem," she admitted. "You look like one of my eighth graders."

Mom was the current Principal at the middle school that I attended as a child. She had been a gym teacher when I was a student there. She knew a lot about tweens and younger teenagers.

"A couple of other things happened yesterday," I began the real reason for the visit.

"Why do I get the feeling that they were not all good," she asked suspiciously. My Father chose that moment to walked in the door.

"Because they're not," I replied. "I will fill you and Dad in over dinner."

Fifteen minutes later we sat down to eat and I began to give them the lowdown on getting let go at work, the visit with my doctor, my little shopping trip, my confrontation with Sandra and Tom, the visit to the lawyer, and my heart-to-heart conversation with Sandra when I got home. They asked a lot of questions along the way. It was a very long conversation. We were finishing bowls of ice cream when I got to the end of my narrative.

"That was quite a day," Mom understated when I finished relating the events. "I’d love to see your new outfit. Do you want to move home?"

I hadn't really thought about that option. "Why would I do that?"

"Well," my father said, "We haven't really been in a divorce situation, but it seems that the couples separate when they decide to split the sheets."

"I'll have to think about that," I pondered the question. "Sandra and I are still best friends. We are just not lovers anymore. I did move into our spare bedroom last night. We are roommates now."

"Actually," Mom observed, "The last few times I've been around the two of you, I thought you had more of a mother/daughter relationship going, given the great differences in your apparent ages."

"Its funny that you should say that." I smiled to myself, "Others have noticed the same thing."

"So you're intent on living as a girl for the rest of your life?" Dad enquired.

"It doesn't look like I have much of a choice," I responded, "does it?"

"Maybe it’s none of my business," Mom observed, "but your conversation and actions, while more feminine than they were, seem out of alignment with your current body. It is as if you are a mature man in a young girl's body.”

"That's true," Dad contributed.

"That’s probably a pretty accurate assessment,” I admitted.

"You may physically be a girl now,” she continues, "but I don’t think that you really know how to BE a girl. You've missed a lifetime of training in the feminine arts. As I have watched you this evening, I have been trying to think of how we can help you overcome that little problem. We need to find a way to help you truly be a part of a woman’s world. If you truly are female from now on, I don't think that you'll ever be completely happy again until you learn how to be a girl. I have a few ideas on how to help you that would probably be easier to implement if you were to move home again."

My psychologist had also referred to this problem, but we hadn't really dealt with it yet outside of subtle changes to my wardrobe. She wanted to ease me into the role.

"Do I want to know what you have in mind?", I cautiously enquire.

Dad was clearly not comfortable with where this discussion was about to go.

"This conversation is getting above my pay grade," He interrupted with a joke. "I'll leave you ladies to it and I will clean the kitchen before finishing a project in the garage. Thanks for a great dinner, Andi."

With that, he got up, gave me a pat on the head like he used to do with my little sister when she was younger, and wandered off taking a pile of dirty dishes with him.

"Men," my Mother sighed. "They get uncomfortable when we start talking about women's things."

"So," I prompted her to get back on track, "do I want to know what you have in mind?"

"Not yet, dear." She replies in reassuring tone, "I need to work on a few things first to see if any of them are actually feasible."

My cell phone chose to ring just then. It was my mother-in-law.

As my mother-in-law had become close friends with my mother after Sandra and I became engaged, I put the call on speaker phone.

Sandra had apparently called and talked to her mother before Tom came to pick her up for their date.

"Sandra called and dropped quite a bomb just now," she stated. "Her father and I are still reeling from it. How are you doing Andy?"

"Remarkably fine," I told her with tongue firmly in cheek. "Besides losing my job, my gender, and my wife yesterday things couldn't be better."

"I hate to break it you, Andi," my mother interjected, "but I think that you lost your gender a while ago, and your marriage went with it. You are just now putting it all together. You've also lost your age."

"Your mother is right," my mother-in-law commented. "I have noticed it too. We have missed our favorite son-in-law the last couple of months. He's been replaced by a very nice young girl. Regardless, I am put out my daughter. She's moved on to a new man a bit too quickly, in my opinion. I can't help but to think that she's dumping you for a better offer at a time when you need her support the most. Imagine getting engaged to another man while still married to you. She must really want those babies to leave you like this."

"It's not that way. Tom's good for her," I told the women. "They didn't pursue their romantic relationship until it was apparent that the marriage was over. I gave them my blessing yesterday when we decided to dissolve our marriage.

"Give him a chance," I told my mother-in-law. "Tom is a good guy and he is good for Sandra. I think that you will like him."

"The jury is out on that one," she grumbled. "We'll sure miss you, Andy. We wish that things were different."

My mother-in-law and I have always been good friends. I had gotten lucky in the mother-in-law lottery. She told us that Sandra had tried to explain that this was not a case of simply leaving me for another man, though that is how it is turning out. I tried, several times, to assure her that I was okay with how things were developing as I was no longer the man that her daughter had married. It took her, and my mother, a while to finally realize that, since I will never be a man again, her daughter was entitled to find a new partner and that I was okay with that.

"As your mother pointed out," my mother-in-law stated, "you lost your gender a while ago. From what I've seen, however, you don't really know how to be a girl. You need some training."

I sighed, "Mom mentioned that."

"What do you say," my mother proposed, "that we get the women of our families together to discuss the issue. Andi could use the support. I think that we should include the teenagers as they are a bit closer to current trends among young women."

"Great idea," my mother-in-law agreed. At that point I was sidelined as these two strong willed women made arrangements for a family feminine summit. I had a feeling that I was going to lose control of part of my life.

As word spread about our dissolution, it wasn't long before each of the women in our immediate families called me to offer their condolences and assistance. I got the sense that I have a bunch of new mothers.

I also got the sense that Sandra would have to work hard to convince them that she's not dumping me. As a whole, they did not seem to be happy with her. I did my best to reassure each of them that things were not as they seemed.

The men, on the other hand, were totally silent on the subject of my change and had little to say about my pending divorce. Even after talking with my father and older brother, they were both pretty unhappy with Sandra for dumping me so quickly for another man. Again, I came to Sandra's defense. They didn't want to talk at all about my transformation. As everyone thought this was a spontaneous transformation, I think that the men were uncomfortable that it might just happen to them if they got too close to me.

-----<0>-----

Sandra and I decided that it did no good to try to hide my changes and the imminent demise of our marital status. We knew too many people. While we didn't advertise the changes, we were up front about them with people who asked or noticed. We just characterized my new age and gender as a spontaneous change and didn't make a big deal out of it. We tried to convince everyone that this was not something that either of us had wanted or sought. Those close to me tended to be supportive if not understanding. Particularly the women in my life. There were also quite a few people who just didn't know how to deal with the transformation and kept their distance. We couldn't give them any reason for the spontaneous change and that made some people nervous, leading to all sorts of strange speculation about what had actually caused my changes. While we're sure that it all started with Grandma Broussard, Sandra and I decided not to mention the ceremony and its impact. No one would believe us.

When people saw us together they understood the reasons behind our change in our marital status. We looked more like mother and daughter than husband and wife. What they had problem with was Sandra's quick engagement. Most people automatically assumed that Sandra had been unfaithful and was dumping me for a better offer before our dissolution became final. Dealing with that issue actually became more of a problem than dealing with my changes. I felt sorry for Sandra and stood by her whenever I could.

----<0>----

My weekly visits to the doctor and the psychologist continued.

At my next appointment, my psychologist was impressed with how I had handled all the devastating news on that fateful day and how I had resolved my problems with Sandra.

"How do you feel about it now?" she asked.

"Much better," I smiled at her, "Sandra's torment was hard for me to watch. It was hurting me too. Since we've put everything on the table, the tension has disappeared. We now understand how deep our bond is and will work hard to protect it. No more guilty secrets."

"How do you feel about it from the perspective of the injured husband?" she pressed.

"What husband?" I replied. "There has been no husband in our marriage for months. He died a quiet death.

"Sandra put it well," I told her, "We now have a widow being supported by her best friend. The husband in me has died and has been reborn as a supportive girlfriend. The supportive girlfriend is very happy for her best girlfriend who has found new love."

She made some notes before continuing, "How do you feel about the death of the husband?"

"I often miss him," I replied after a moment's thought. "I miss being an adult. It is frustrating being treated as a kid again. I do miss the marriage relationship that I had, but I think that we are deluding ourselves if we only remember the good things. If we are truthful, the marriage was strained before all this happened. Maybe what has happened to me was the best way to end something that might have died a slow death anyway. So, how do I feel about the death of the husband? I am sorry to see him go, but it appears to have been for the best."

"So," she pressed again, "you are not bitter to have been dropped by your wife for a better offer?"

The woman was starting to annoy me.

"Sandra did not drop me for a better offer," I corrected her. "The 'better offer' was not made until after her husband effectively died. She did not pursue or accept the better offer until after her marriage had effectively ended. How can I be bitter about that? It would be like a dead man being bitter when his widow rediscovered love with another man after he had passed. It doesn't make sense. I am happy for her."

She looked at me for a few moments before returning to writing in her notes.

"Let's talk about your transition," She changed the subject. "How do you think that is going?"

"I wish that it was over," I shrugged. "I am tired of being in between genders. As far as presenting as a girl goes, I am comfortable in my girl's clothing. I know that I pass convincingly as a female now."

"Do you think that dressing as a girl is helping you to feel more like a girl?" she asked.

"What does a girl feel like?" I asked, "I just feel like me. I am being accepted as a girl everywhere now and it feels natural. I blend in better now that I am wearing girls clothes."

"You told me that you bought and wore a dress with all the accessories to confront you wife and her new man," she commented. "Did that make you feel any different? Did it change the way you approached the couple?"

After thinking for a few seconds, I replied, "I guess it did, to some extent. Dressing up made a statement to Tom and Sandra that the marriage was truly over. The dress felt awkward since I had never worn one before. Sandra had to remind me how to sit without exposing myself. I gather that, in some ways, I looked like a guy wearing a dress for the first time, even though I do have a mostly female body. My mannerisms haven't caught up with my body yet."

"So," she reflected back, "are you saying that you haven't developed the mannerisms of a girl?"

"Yes," I admitted. "I think that's right. I don't have any real experience being female so it is hard to act like one."

"We should explore this," she commented as she wrote more in her notes.

"Would you be willing to wear your new outfit to our next visit?" She asked. "I think that we could learn a lot if you did."

"I can do that," I told her.

"You might want to consider adding a few skirts and dresses to your wardrobe," she advised. "Maybe some practice wearing them will help you adjust quicker to your new reality."

"I will take that under consideration," I promised her, thinking that the water in the pot just got turned up a notch. This frog was well on his way to being cooked.

Sandra and I went shopping for the suggested additions to my wardrobe. We picked up a mid length skirt and another dress. I would sometimes wear them at home, but it took some time before I was comfortable enough to wear them with ease.

I did wear my first dress to my next appointment.

----<0>----

The first Sunday in April our mothers called a meeting of all the females in the family over sixteen. The purpose of the gathering was to see what could, or should, be done to help me adapt to my new age and gender situation. It also gave the women a chance to really connect with the new me. Sandra tried talking me into wearing one of my two dresses or my skirt but I went to the meeting wearing jeans and a nice top instead. I felt more comfortable that way.

The assembled women knew that Sandra and I were dissolving our marriage because we were both female now, not because we wanted to leave each other. At that meeting Sandra and I did our best to convince the non-believers of the family that this is not something that we sought, but something that just was. We had not consciously done anything to turn me into a girl. We also tried to make it clear that Sandra and I would always be BFFs and love each other as sisters. We did our best to convince them that Sandra wasn't just dumping me for a better offer. It took a while before everyone seemed to be convinced. Once our relationship was clear, the focus shifted to exploring ways to help me fully adapt to my changes.

My mother started the discussion by pointing out that even in that evening's discussion, my behavioral patterns had a strong tinge of mature male that did not resonate with the young girl that I had become. I was much too mature and my thought patterns had an obvious male influence. While I had been becoming more feminine in my behaviors in recent months I still had a ways to go to be completely believable as a young girl. Much in my mannerisms were incongruous with my physical presentation. The other women agreed. They also agreed that I needed to become even more feminine if I were to operate in the world of women as a peer.

I was also very deficient in my training in the womanly arts. I didn’t know much about female clothing styles, hygiene, grooming, social interactions, etc.

"You don’t know much that a young teen girl would have learned growing up as a little girl,” my sister pointed out.

"Yes,” one of Sandra’s sisters added, "Do you have any idea how to style your hair? Not that you have much to work with, but every girl has played with her hair since she was a toddler. A teen can do amazing things with her hair without even thinking about it.”

"Have you ever painted your nails?” another woman asked before I could answer the prior question. "Every teen girl that I know has been doing that since she could hold a nail brush.”

"What about how to wear a dress?” someone else asked. "I don't think that any of us have ever seen you in a dress or skirt. Do you even own a dress? You probably don’t know how to protect your modesty while wearing a short skirt, or how cool it feels to twirl in the right kind of dress.”

"These are things that a girl your age would know,” my mother pointed out.

"Yes,” agreed my mother-in-law, "You should know these things if you are going to be a woman.”

"But I didn't ask to be a woman," I finally got a word in edgewise.

"That's moot," one of Sandra's sisters responded. "According to medical science you are a genetic girl. Do you know a way to change back?"

There were nods around the room supporting her statement.

"Medical science has been less successful at changing women into men than the other way around," another one pointed out. "From what I hear the results are less than satisfactory."

Not really sure that I wanted to know, I asked, "I’ve already purged my wardrobe of anything masculine. So what do you recommend that I do next?"

That question opened the floodgates.

There were almost as many suggestions as there were women in the room. There were, however, some commonalities. The primary commonality was that I needed to let go of any attempts to be male and start building a reservoir of female experiences. Of course that meant that I needed to get rid of all male clothing and start dressing as a girl, which I had already done. Unfortunately, the general opinion was that my wardrobe should be as girly as possible until I had eradicated any remnants of masculinity from my system.

I also needed to start accumulating experiences related to the other things that contribute to the making of the psyche of teen girl. As they compared their experiences from their girlhoods it became apparent that dress up games, playing with their mother's clothes, makeup, and accessories were a large part of the learning of young girls. Then there were the sappy Disney movies, teen chick flicks, playing with hair, and hanging with girlfriends. Some of the girls admitted to devouring teen girl magazines every month for tips on hair, makeup, clothes, boys, etc.

It is said that our character is the sum total of our experiences. I was sorely lacking in the experiences that make up the character of a teen girl. A lot of time was spent discussing the activities that I needed to do to start accumulating those experiences. A curriculum for a form of girl boot camp slowly emerged.

They felt that an overcorrection might speed up the process. I could always back off when I was finally completely presenting the behavioral patterns of a girl. Since I'd already had a couple of months to work up to the idea of being female, the suggestions of jumping into the role were not a big surprise nor repulsive.

I wasn’t so sure, however, that I liked the idea of jumping as deeply into the role as was being suggested. I wondered what my psychologist would think about these suggestions. While she was now encouraging me to start experimenting with skirts and dresses, she seemed to be easing me into the role instead of throwing me into the deep end, as these women suggested.

Amongst other things, it was agreed by the assembled women, that I should stick to dresses and skirts for the foreseeable future. I also needed to start experimenting with hair styling, fashion, and makeup. The assembled women felt that total immersion in girl culture would be the best way for me to make the transition and learn what I need to know to really BE a girl. I needed to start accumulating the experiences that every girl has. Kind of like language immersion when you want to learn a new language. It became apparent to me that all this would cost me more than a few dollars. I pointed out that funds were tight, but Sandra had already offered to bankroll the basics. As did my mother.

There was some disagreement about makeup. The younger women were adamant that I needed to spend a lot of time learning the fine art of makeup. After my first experience with the stuff, I tended to agree that I needed a lot more education in that arena if I was going to do it right. The older women were firm in the opinion that, if my age continued to regress, that I would be too young for more than the basics. I could learn makeup skills along with other girls in my new peer group once I started to grow up again.

I would end up spending every moment of free time studying one or more of these girl skills over the next few months. It was hard to cram twelve years of girl training into a few months.

The next commonality in the suggestions was that I needed to start spending some time with my new peer group. The idea of connecting with a peer group prompted a round of speculation as to how young I would be when the transformation was complete. Based on Grandma’s prophecy, which no one but Sandra and I knew about, I felt that the youngest I could be was thirteen but I was already there. Others pointed out that if age regression continued until my body completed the last remaining changes, that even younger was possible. We just didn’t know. As so few changes remained to be completed, it was decided that we’d assume twelve-years-old for now and adjust as needed. That age prediction turned out to be spot on when I finished my skeletal changes in mid-May.

Connecting with a peer group was felt to be important since girls band together as friends to learn as they experiment with their femininity in their early teen years. It was decided to wait until the changes were complete before pursuing this idea much further. There were a number of ideas floated on how to accomplish my peer socialization. Several of the women there had daughters who were just entering their teen years and offered to connect me with them. That idea didn't really sound right to me and a little awkward. How would it go down when I was introduced as their thirty-two year old uncle who was now a teen girl? I’m not sure that I would integrate well with young girls who knew who I had been. I was thinking that I needed to find girl friends who didn't know the old me.

My mother, bless her soul, came with the strangest idea of all as a solution to my non-contact with girls. As a middle school teacher and administrator for her whole career, she has worked with budding teenagers her whole life.

Mom's suggestion was that I enroll in middle school for a year. The grade would depend on what my final apparent age would be. This would totally immerse me in girl culture and give me a crash course in becoming one. No one had to know what or who I once was. She insisted that middle school is a time of transition where young girls start to figure out who they really are, just like I apparently needed to do. It is a time of confusion and experimentation. It is a time when no one really knows how things work. My awkwardness would not be out of place and could be easily explained as me being a tomboy. I pointed out that I already had a college degree. She said that I would be going to get educated in the feminine arts, not to get a new diploma.

She got a devilish grin on her face. "I'd love to see a male navigate the treacherous waters of middle school girl culture where, at any given time, a large portion of the girls are trying to deal with PMS."

My dear mother spent about half an hour convincing the other women that this was a good thing. In the end she won over just about everyone but me. I didn’t like the idea of going back to middle school. The first time through was bad enough. I didn't think that the academics would be a problem. My memories of middle school revolved around being a social outcast. I had been a geek and didn't fit into the social fabric of middle school all that well. I had few friends and the few friends that I did have banded together more for self preservation than out of true friendship. We were just a group of misfits trying to survive. It was interesting, however, that all of our little band of misfits were generally more successful in our chosen careers twenty years later and probably better adjusted than most of the bullies and mean girls that had ruled the middle school social structure.

As a way to squash the idea, I pointed out that, as I was getting the condo in the dissolution, I needed to make a living to pay the mortgage on the condo and for other living expenses. Middle school would get in the way of that.

Several of the ladies promptly jumped in and offered their homes to the "visiting cousin/niece/granddaughter" that would be my cover. They pointed out that I could sell or rent out the condo. Sandra mentioned that, without her income, I would probably not be able to make the mortgage payments even if I did find a decent job.

I should note that Sandra had offered to pay me alimony, which would have helped, but I had turned that down. I wanted to stand on my own two feet and not be a burden to her. I wanted our marriage split to be clean. I wanted us to both walk away unfettered. I should be able to do this on my own. I would have if we had never married. I think that my male pride was showing through during the negotiations.

In the afternoon's conversation, Sandra and my mother both offered to take me in. Those women with young girls in the house were particularly adamant that their homes would be the best place for me to gain my girl education. I think that at least one of them really just wanted me to be a live-in babysitter/nanny.

To appease the crowd, I said that I'd think about it when no further progress was being made in the discussion.

Sandra thought that the whole affair was entertaining. She got a gleam in her eye when we talked about my girl training. She was excited to do her part.

When we got home that night, we talked more about how to connect me with my new peer group. Neither one of us came up with any ideas better than what my mother had proposed.

Six weeks later I was still "thinking about it". During those six weeks, however I was taken clothes shopping on multiple occasions by several of the women along with their age appropriate daughters. The goal was to help me find clothes that a typical young girl would choose.  While my age regression seemed to be slowing, I still had to go shopping more than once to to find smaller clothes. I learned more about feminine undergarments than I ever figured out being married to a woman for a decade. I also learned about the myriad of clothing styles. My drawers and closet were beginning to fill with the colorful adornments of female life even though we tried to keep it to a minimum until we could be sure that my regression had stopped. Many of the clothes that became too big for me would come in handy when, and if, I ever started to grow again.

I also spent a number of afternoons after school let out with some of my teenage relatives getting coached in nail painting, hair styling, and makeup. They were brutal taskmasters and were satisfied with nothing less than perfection.

----<0>---

"That's too loose," one of my taskmasters said in frustration one afternoon. "It will fall apart in no time. Take it apart and try again."

I was trying to braid her younger sister's hair. I had to admit that my attempt looked nothing like what she had demonstrated.

"This is hard," I sighed.

"No it is not," she firmly informed me. "This is the easiest thing you can do short of making pigtails."

I had screwed that up too.

"I will show you one more time," she patiently instructed me, then she made a perfect braid in seconds flat.

"Wait until you try making French braids," she warned me. "Those can be tricky at first."

Oh joy!

----<0>----

Looking in the mirror, I stated the obvious, "I look like a clown."

"Yes you do," one of my high school aged teachers agreed. "The eyeliner needs to have a more consistent width and the mascara is unevenly clumped on your eyelashes. The eye shadow could be a lot more even and symmetrical. The colors don't really match your outfit either."

Her friend handed me a makeup wipe, "Why not clean it off and try again? You will get it. Eventually. You should practice more at home. Remember how long it took for you to learn how to apply lip gloss correctly?"

And I had been told that lip gloss was a no-brainer.

----<0>----

It took awhile for my young instructors to forget that I was their thirty-two year old uncle before I started hearing a lot about the happenings in middle and high school while we worked together on my girl education. I learned who broke up with who, what fashions were in style, who dished who, the crazy dumb stunts that boys used to try impress the girls, who the cutest guys were, what a drama queen the most popular girl was, how cute the track star was, etc. It was like no other world that I had ever encountered.

One of the upsides of shopping with, and being trained by, the women of the family is that they became more comfortable with the new me. Each time I went shopping with someone new, I had to overcome their reservations about my female status. After a few hours of shopping, however, they would relax and I was soon just one of the girls. Getting nearly naked in front of them in a changing room usually generated stares and questions the first time around, but they soon realized that my body was pretty much the same as theirs and everything became normal. It wasn't long before some of the bold ones were changing in front of me while they tried on new outfits. I had been changing in a women's locker room at the gym for some time, so the nearly naked women were not an issue for me.

Sandra started subscriptions to several popular teen girl magazines so that I could read about the concerns and interests of tween girls. In addition to time spent with my personal girl trainers, I spent hours watching YouTube videos on the subjects they were trying to teach me. Who would have thought that being a girl could be so involved? I ended up investing in all manner of the tools, implements, potions, and powders required to perform the tasks that I was learning about.

Following the advice of my various female mentors, I started wearing skirts and dresses almost exclusively in an attempt to get more in touch with my developing feminine side. At first, the new clothes felt very foreign, but with time I came to find that I actually liked it all. The feel of soft skin hugging underwear and the swish of a skirt became desirable. I found that twirling in a dress was kinda cool, as was mentioned in the big family meeting. I wasn't so thrilled about wearing bras as I felt they were constricting, but I was assured that it was better than going without. I noticed the truth of this advice as my own breasts started to fill my A cup bras. When I no longer needed the silicone assistance I was thankful for the support. Sandra had me wearing short dresses and skirts until I learned to sit in a ladylike fashion without giving cheap thrills to any guys that might be around. Without my male equipment in the way, I found that crossing my legs in a feminine fashion was only natural and helped to protect my modesty.

I even had my hair cut into an easy to care for longish curled under bob style. It is amazing what a difference a cute hairstyle makes. The beautician assured me that it would grow out nicely if I wanted long hair.

Sandra took it upon herself to help me with my girl training homework. When Tom wasn't around, we'd spend hours on these activities while she gushed about the latest on the Tom front and the wedding plans. At first it seemed very weird, but I soon started looking forward to these sessions. I was getting even closer to Sandra as a girlfriend, and I liked what these skills did for my looks. I decided that I'd rather be a cute girl than a slob.

Speaking of becoming a slob, Sandra and I had continued our workouts at the gym to avoid that very possibility. After their engagement, Tom joined us most days. He pointed out that he had a gym at his house, but I felt more comfortable at the more public gym that we had joined. I was learning a lot by observing the other women and girls in this setting. When Sandra had first dragged me into the ladies locker room, I had been petrified. Now it was no big deal. The locker room gossip gave me a greater insight into what was important to women. It had never occurred to me how defensive most women feel around men until I started listening to them warn each other about the various predatory males that frequented the gym. It helped me to understand why women's only gyms were becoming so popular.

People at the gym often mistook us for a family, and I guess the roots of one were starting to form. After working out, I would go home or off to do my own thing as the two of them would frequently disappear on dates to do whatever. I didn’t ask.

By the beginning of May, we were still struggling with how to connect me with girls in my new peer group. My work with my subject matter expert instructors helped to a limited extent. Unfortunately no matter how comfortable we became around each other, my mentors still treated me like their thirty-two year old uncle who had decided to become a girl. I was never one of them.

There were, basically, two problems standing in the way of my connecting with a new peer group.

The first being that we still weren’t sure what age group that would be. My doctor assured me that the age regression seemed to have almost stopped at a twelve-year-old stature. She was impressed with the speed at which my A cup breasts had formed and thought that it might be a sign that I would start growing up again. My gynecologist was also optimistic that my transition was well on its way to completion.

The second problem was my insertion into a girl peer group. School was still in session and wouldn’t get out until the week of the wedding, which was fast approaching. It was too late in the year for me to jump into middle school as just another one of the girls. The next term didn’t start again until the end of August. The female family network was still chewing on ideas of how to help me make true new girlfriends but nothing made more sense than being dropped into a school environment.

One of Sandra's nieces, who happened to be one of my hair styling instructors, got talked into inviting me to a Friday night sleepover that she was having for her friends. It did not go well. It seems that the niece in question had, over the past couple of months, been telling her friends of the uncle who was becoming a girl. I was a novelty and was not fully accepted as a girl that night. Some of the girls kept their distance and at least one had chosen to not attend the party because of me. They were unusually reserved while I was there. I could tell that they saw me as a boy in a girl disguise. I stuck it out until the morning, but left before the other girls started getting up. It seems that this wasn't the way to work my way into teen girl culture.

Every once in a while whatever little bit of male that was left in me yelled STOP! I had to take time out for my old favorite past times. I did a little wood working in the garage, skied or hiked some of my favorite trails, read a few action novels, and even played my favorite violent video games. I would have liked to go sailing, but winter in Wisconsin is neither the time or place for that activity. One day, while skiing on the local cross country ski trails by myself, an older guy tried getting a bit too friendly. It felt wrong and creepy. I quickly excused myself and got out of there. Tom and Sandra chided me for being out alone like that when I told them about my experience. I quit hiking and skiing without a companion. Since everyone was either working or in school that meant that I only got to go out on weekends if I could talk someone into coming along. It's just not safe for a young girl to be out on her own in today's world.

It came home to me that life as a young girl had its serious limitations, whether or not I liked it.

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Author's Note: Thank you for hanging in there! I am pleased that I am not the only one who likes this story. I will be doing a little international travel over the next week and will not be able to post, so there will be a break in the action. Also, please forgive me but this chapter and the next are not necessarily sequential. Andi decided, as this story is a reminiscence of past events, to address the next parts of her story by topic instead of by sequence. There is overlap in the time lines. The approach is likely to continue. You will see what I mean when you read it. She has tried to give time references as appropriate for the various story elements. Please don't let that confuse you.