A sexy music video helps a boy reveal his true feelings about breasts.

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I was sitting in my room doing the last of my homework when Mother disturbed my concentration. I suspected she wanted me to spend the rest of the evening with her. I had been looking forward to finishing the romance novel that I had borrowed from the young adult section of the local library. Reluctantly I wandered out to the head of the stairs where I could understand what she was saying, and sure enough I was right.

"Jean, come on down and we can have some time together"

I noticed that she had pronounced my name with the feminine sounding "e" rather than the "ah" used in the French version of Jehan or John. Unfortunately, both are spelled the same in English. Why my long-gone father ever allowed that name on my birth certificate is a mystery to which I have never discovered the answer. For years I have been teased by classmates about my written name, and have been misgendered by teachers and school staff whenever they read names from a new class roll. In my defense I had started telling the totally made up the story that I was named after a great-grandfather who had been a hero as an officer in the French army years before our family emigrated to the United States. It sounded plausible, and being named for an war hero made my name seem sufficiently manly, especially when correctly pronounced with an "ah" vowel.

Mother's saying "some time together" sounded encouragingly vague. Maybe she just wanted relax and listen to music or play a board game tonight. All to often she would summon me with a more loaded phrase like "girl time" or "mother-daughter time.". I have always known that Mother would have preferred to have produced a daughter. Picking my gender-ambiguous name was just the start, and over the years she never passed up an opportunity to encourage me to explore feminine things. Sometimes "girl time" meant doing work like helping with cooking, which I had gotten seriously good at. Other times she would ask me to help her with a sewing project, which allowed me to be creative. Last year I successfully sewed a pretty dress all on my own. It was fashionable and fit really well, but I was reluctant to model it when Mother asked me to show it to my aunt. Frequently, we would watch a chick-flick romantic movie or a ballet dance video and talk about it afterward. My favorite time with her was just sitting on the floor while she brushed my hair and asked me about my day at school and about my friends.

Friends really meant the girls because I just was never comfortable hanging out with the boys in my class or in the neighborhood. I had little in common with them, and I was always being teased for being a sissy. Being called a sissy was embarrassing, but really didn't bother me. It was true.

The truth was that I really enjoyed being treated as a girl, but we all pick up social norms at an early age and soon I became afraid of acting too enthusiastic. When Mother asked me if I wanted to do some girly thing I always offered mild reluctance before giving in. I am not sure what frightened me more, having neighbors and classmates discover our dress-up games, or Mother stopping them because I was not cooperating enough.

I remember that back in pre-school Mother had encouraged me to play with the girls. "Learning about girl things will be good for you," she would always say. She apparently had asked the teacher to let me be with the girls' group - I was too young to know or care. Playing with dolls and practicing dance moves was more fun than chasing a ball around or engaging in mock fights anyway.

As I got older I learned that acting "boyish" at school avoided problems, and in middle school I passed as "normal" in public. At home was a different matter. Lately, I had been wondering how much longer Mother would want to keep up with treating me as her daughter.

As usual, Mother looked me over carefully as I came down the stairs. "You look nice, dear," I heard her say.

I was in "androgynous casual" mode wearing a pair of comfortable slacks and a loose-fitting lavender shirt. The choice was definitely not masculine, but not overly feminine either. My after school and weekend clothes were usually purchased from the girls' section of the store. There were always a lot of "gender-neutral" things I could buy and wear in public without attracting too much unwanted attention. At mother's urging I even maintained a few totally girly outfits including some dresses, skirts, and frilly blouses, but I never wore these outside. Well, the "never" did not include when we were out of town on vacations.

Tonight my hair was brushed back, my face clean, and my nails trimmed like she wanted. Maintaining personal appearance was important to her and I got a lot of instruction. I never wore nail polish or makeup during the week because I was terrified about not getting it all off before heading back to school in the morning. Besides, a manicure took up too much time. Weekends, especially long weekends when we went to visit my aunt, were my chance to look glamorous.

"I see you did not put on a bra after you came home from school. You know how cute a padded bra makes you look. Remember how excited you were when I first bought a few starter bras for you and encouraged you to see how they looked and felt, and ..."

"Mom, you know I am a boy. Boys don't ..."

She cut me off before I could finish. We both had that bad habit of interrupting. "Yes, and that is unfortunate, Jean. But, those bras are just one of our little girl games together. Other girls your age always wear a bra you know."

I tensed. There was the long "e" in my name again, and that "other girls" language. Was she planning another intense conversation or some femininity training? I enjoyed my time with Mother but she clearly had an agenda. I expectedthat her encouragement of feminine behavior would taper off as I got closer to my teen years, but mother persisted and seemed to be getting even more serious about it.

"You have been getting a bit careless about your at-home dressing again. You know I want you to look like a real girl whenever you can. Your tops will fit much better if you have 'something' underneath."

A shudder ran down my spine. Mom kept bring up clothes, body image, identity, puberty, relationships, and more. Usually those talks ended with me being confused and upset, especially when Mother wanted to talk about breasts. I had overheard boys in my class bragging about making out with girls, and I did not like the crude language they used. I was jelous of how the girls in my class were blossoming. In private I would sometimes think that I knew what I wanted, but I was never sure enough to tell Mom, and after a few days I would reconsider and change my mind again.

"Jean, let's snuggle on the couch and watch a video. I picked one that will give us a lot to talk about."

Momentarily that sounded good, and then I thought about how unusual it was for a boy my age to snuggle with his mom.

"So, who did you sit with at lunch today?" Mother asked as we sat down.

"Just my usual friends, Pam, Tammy, Mary Beth, Claire and a few other girls. They are all watching their weight and were talking about their figures. I tried to set a good example by eating only half of what was on my tray, and was able to say a few things that showed empathy with their body issues. But when they started comparing notes on their periods I decided it was best to shut up and politely listen to the conversation. I mean ..."

"Very thoughtful of you. Your ability to be one of the girls is something that makes you so special, dear."

That remark was confusing. Mom looked me over again. Her eyes focused on my chest. "Jean, Why don't you go back upstairs and put on one of your padded bras and a bit of makeup. It will help put you in the right mood for enjoying the video"

As I marched back to my room I wondered what sort of mood I was supposed to be in. Jerking open my so-called "lingerie drawer" I saw a couple of sports bras on top. Those were not what Mom had in mind so I moved them aside and found my most heavily padded underwire push-up bra and slipped in my gel inserts for the full effect. I leaned forward as I had been taught and reached behind to fasten the clasp. Standing straight I made a few adjustments to the cups. I grabbed a bright red lipstick and then touched up my brows with an eye pencil. Looking in the mirror I started to calm down like I usually did when in girl mode. Maybe Mom was right when suggesting I dress up for the evening.

"Much better, now come sit down," Mom smiled as a entered the living room with a feminine walk.

"OK," I said as I sat down with my legs folded under me. It was not the most comfortable position, but Mother liked to see me sit that way rather than leaning back with my feet on the the floor and my legs wide apart. "So, what are we watching?"

"I chose a short YouTube music video by a pop singer named Kim Petras. I think you will enjoy the stage dancing and song. You can tell me what you think while we watch."

After sitting through the mandatory advertising which I always ignored the screen burst into a colorful display of the stage as the title song "Coconuts" began. The lead singer, Kim, was wearing a red top above tight blue shorts She was surrounded by four backup dancers in blue costumes and identical long platinum-blond wigs. The backup dancers wore very high-cut thong leotards to display the shape of their bottoms and thighs. Kim's form fitting top was very low-cut with push-up cups accenting her breasts. Accenting was not the right word; her cleavage was enormous and her "twins" were spilling out from the top of her outfit.

The loud singing and energetic choreography was exciting, but the lyrics were awfully explicit. "My coconuts … give them a shake .. watch them bounce up and down." As I enjoyed the eye candy I wondered why in the world Mom was asking me to watch this video with her.

"Do you like the video, Jean?"

"Yes," I said quickly, unwilling to comment right now on the provocative lyrics and costuming.

"Can you say a bit more?

"It's fun to watch the way the girls use their arms and hands," I answered trying not to sound too enthusiastic. Meanwhile, I was thinking how absolutely fabulous it would be if I could be on stage doing those sexy moves.

She must have sensed what I was thinking. "You could learn to dance like that if you really wanted to."

I took a deep breath and sighed a non-committal "yeah."

The lyrics kept coming back to the theme of "my coconuts - you can put them in your mouth - right now" mixed in with things like "just give them a squeeze" and "whipped cream and cherry on top." Those last suggestive phases reminded me of the dream I had the other night. My friend Tammy, who everyone always accuses of being a lesbian, was slipping her hand up under my shirt and feeling me up. Then she started to unbutton my shirt and was licking her luscious lips...

My recollection of the dream were interrupted by another question. "What else do you have to say?"

"Nothing right now, I am just thinking."

Mother was not going to let me get off so easy. "What do you think about Kim's breasts?"

What could I say? Her prominent "coconuts" were bouncing with every step and she never missed an opportunity to give them a shake from side to side.

"I wish ..." The words were almost out of my mouth before I realized what I was about to say to my mother.

Mother pressed on with her questioning. "What are you thinking right now? Are you thinking about what boys do with girls? Do you wish you were on stage being one of those girls? Do you identify with Kim?"

That last question caught me off guard and I blurted out an answer. "Kim has an awesome body. I love the way she moves, she make me jealous and …" Again, I hesitated.

Mom seized the opportunity. "Do you know that Kim Petras was born a boy? At your age she was still a boy - just like you. She first became famous by going on talk shows and describing all the details about her transition at a young age. Her treatment started before her voice changed so she sings as an alto."

I took another look at the beautiful woman on the stage and tried to image her journey to get there. If a boy could grow up to look, sing, and dance like her then anything was possible. I took a deep breath and I finally said what was on my mind, "Mom, I wish I could have a body like her. Totally."

Suddenly I was crying in her arms. A whirlwind of thoughts were rushing through my mind. Had I just made the worst mistake in my life? Will she think I am a freak for saying something like that? Why had Mother chosen to show me that video and then tell me about Kim?

"Jean, you have reached an age when gender identity and sexual orientation are a big part of your thoughts. I decided to show you a video of a beautiful transwoman to see how you would react. Instead of being "turned on" and responding like a male you told me you wanted to become female - just like her."

Mother held me close. "What you have just told me is exactly what I have been hoping you would eventually say. Your telling me that you want to become a woman was the bravest possible thing to do. If your really mean what you said I will help you transition into the beautiful girl I always hoped you could become." She looked into my moist eyes. "We are going to have a great future together."

"Mom, being a girl is something I have wanted about for years, but was always afraid to tell you. Even when you and I had girl time together I pretended to resist and acted like it was just a silly game and nothing serious."

"It will not be a game anymore. Ever when you were a toddler I could see you had feminine tendencies and suspected you were truly a girl inside. I sought professional advice I was advised to only drop hints and give you opportunities for self-discovery. Meanwhile I waited and waited until you thought you were ready. Tonight I took a chance."

I had stopped crying and had taken a sip of the diet soft drink that Mom had placed on the end table. I put my hands under the cups and lifted like Kim did. "Yummy. Feels good." Jean looked for Mother's reaction. "I think you made a great suggestion having me wear a bra and makeup tonight."

Mom looked at my chest. "Yes, wearing your make-believe breasts put you in the mood, didn't it?"

Suddenly we were both laughing.

"Now, let's talk about the special pills that I offered to get for you. The reason Kim looks so beautiful is because she started transitioning before entering male puberty. We do not have any time to spare."

That one spontaneous remark while watching the Kim Petras "Coconuts" music video was life changing. Mother started working on her plan, and in only a few months I was already filling an unpadded A-cup. There was no going back.