14 year old Mike wears his mother's wedding dress for the first time and they discuss his future. Does he want to be a cross dresser or a woman like his mother?   Mike versus Michelle: Part 5 My Mother's Wedding Dress By Sharon Parsons

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Christmas came and went without any grand occurrence, meaning my mother didn't give me a dress to open up in front of Dad and Tony. For that, I was very grateful.

Ever since my first public outing as a girl, my mother had stepped up the pressure for me to be more open about my femininity. She tried to convince me that Dad and Tony would understand. And if that were the case, there would be no need for me to hide out in my room. I could be her daughter at home.

I was adamant about my secret not extending past the two of us, but I was becoming more and more like a daughter to her in ways which had nothing to do with the clothes on my back.

Mom and I began spending more and more time together around the house. I was helping her with the chores she used to do her self, like cooking and cleaning. Tony thought nothing of it and Dad just thought I was being helpful.

We continued leaving the house as mother and daughter whenever we got the chance, which wasn't very often, but it did happen. There was one day when we had the opportunity to go out but we stayed at home instead. That was the day my mother showed me her wedding gown and asked if I'd like to try it on.

I must have known she had a wedding gown but I'd never seen it before, except in pictures. It had been vacuum packed and stowed away for sixteen years. If I had known where to look for it, I would have thought about trying it on every day. Of course I never would have taken it out of its package.

"Your wedding dress," I asked? "You're going to let me wear it?"

"If you want?"

"Oh Mom. Please! I'd love too! Are you sure its okay. I don't want to hurt it."

Mom looked at me lovingly and nodded. "The dress will be fine honey. I'm more concerned about you. I know I've been a little pushy lately, you know, about having you be more ladylike, so that I could feel like I had a daughter. I've been a little selfish that way and I know there's still a part of you that isn't sure what it is you really want. I'm just saying its okay if you'd rather not or if you think it would make you feel uncomfortable."

"Are you kidding? I've never wanted to do anything so much in my life. Please Mom! Let me wear your wedding dress. I'll be careful. I promise."

"Okay honey," said Mom as she broke the seal on the vacuum pack. The dress that had seemed so flat only moments earlier, began to expand and take shape within the confines of the plastic bag.

After putting on my breast forms and stepping into a slip, Mom helped me get into her dress. I don't know how to describe it, other than to say it was white and billowy. Mom said the fabric was called peau satin. There was a train but my mom didn't think it was worth fooling with.

Mom began to cry once she got the head piece in place. I cried too when I turned around and saw myself in the mirror.

"You look just like me when I married your father," she said while wiping at her eyes. "You're such a beautiful bride Michelle.

Me? A beautiful bride? Indeed! "I love it so much Mom," I said as I hugged her. "Thank you for letting me wear it. Should I take it off now?"

"Not yet Michelle. I was thinking we could have a cup of coffee and talk."

"But what about the dress? I don't want to spill anything on it."

"You won't. I'm sure you'll be careful."

We went downstairs and sat at the kitchen table, since Mom decided the dress would probably be safer with me sitting there than on the couch. She retrieved her wedding photo album from the living room and set it on the table in front of me to look at while she made some coffee.

I opened the cover and looked at the first picture of my mother standing beside my father. They both looked so young and happy. The dress looked gorgeous on her.

Mom sat down beside me and lit a cigarette. "I can't believe how much we look a like," she said.

"Do you really think so?"

"Of course I do. Don't you?"

"I want to," I said as I took a sip of coffee. "I want to be just like you. I always have."

"I know. You've told me. Its just hard for me to believe it sometimes."

"How come," I asked?

"Because you're my son. I gave birth to you. Its not an easy thing for me to explain, but its like we're sitting here now and you look so beautiful wearing my dress. I always thought you'd get married some day, but I thought it would be in a tux. And now...I don't know what to think."

"Me neither Mom. But I know I like the way I feel right now. It feels great."

Mom took a puff from her cigarette and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She smiled at me and asked if I'd let her take some pictures of me in the dress. I told her I'd like that very much and I asked if she'd put on something nice so we have our picture taken together, like the one in the photo album of her and my grandmother.

"But how will we take the picture," asked my mother? "Do you know how use the self timer?"

I'd never used it before but I told her I thought I could work it.

"Okay," said my mother. "Do you want to go upstairs and help me pick out something to wear?"

 

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Mom chose a light gray dress with a matching jacket. It was so classic looking. If I wasn't already wearing a wedding a dress, I would have begged to try it on my self.

We went downstairs and found the camera in the kitchen. Mom suggested that we take the pictures in the back yard. She took about about ten pictures of me in different poses in front of a tree before we tried to set the camera up to take a picture of us together.

We were both disappointed when I couldn't figure out how to put it in self portrait mode. Even if I had been able to figure it out, we didn't have a tripod, so it would have been impossible to get a good shot.

We were just about to give up when I said I wished we could get someone to take a picture of us.

"Even though they'd see you in my dress," asked Mom?

The significance of her question and my pending answer weighed heavily on my mind as I opened my mouth to speak as I ran my hands over my breasts and down my mother's wedding dress.

"I wasn't sure until now, but now I am. This is what I want Mom. I want to get married in your dress for real some day."

Mom looked both delighted and shocked. "To a man," she asked? "Do you want to get married to a man?"

Her question floored me, even though it shouldn't have. After all, it was such an easy question. My answer should have been obvious, at least to my self, but it wasn't.

"I don't know. I think so. Maybe...Yes! I do Mom. I want to get married to a man and be his wife the way you and Dad are married."

"Oh Michelle," said my mother. "I think that's wonderful. I'm so happy for you and I'm sure you'll make a beautiful bride and a wonderful wife some day."

My mother hugged me and then she held me and rocked me to and fro as she whispered her love for me. "Do you really want to get someone to take a picture of us together, even though they'd see you like this?"

"I think I should. If this is what I'm going to do, then I can't hide it forever."

"Did you have someone in mind," asked my mother. "We could always go to a studio and have a professional do it. That would be a start."

"No it wouldn't, because the photographer wouldn't know who I really am, and I think it should be someone we both know. I was thinking that maybe we could ask Mrs. Holsteader."

"Dana? Why Dana?"

"Because I like her and she's your friend and you know how much I like hanging out with you and your friends."

Mom smiled knowingly. "I think I understand honey. You want to be one of the girls, don't you?"

I nodded my head and wiped a tear from eye. "More than anything Mom."

"My friends are all so much older though. You wouldn't have anything in common with them. They're all married and have kids. I'm not saying we couldn't include you, but don't you think you'd be uncomfortable?"

"Not really," I said. "Maybe a little at first, but a lot of that would be because I think it would probably be weirder for them than it would be for me. I've been thinking about stuff like this forever Mom. That's how I know I want to do it."

"Maybe we should talk about this for a while," said my mother as she took me by the hand and led me back into the house.

"But why? I thought you wanted me to be a girl."

"I do," said my mother. "And I wouldn't say that unless I knew that you wanted as much or more than I do."

"I do want it Mom. I want to be just like you. I swear I do. Its what I've always wanted. Even when I was a little kid, I used to play with your clothes and things and pretend I was you. Its like what you said that first time you caught me, about how you used to feel the same way about wanting to be like your mother."

"I know honey. Its every little girl's dream to be like her mother. And believe me sweetheart, its the dream of every mother to see her little girl grow into a happy woman."

"Then what do we need to talk about if we both feel the same way," I asked nervously.

"I just think we should talk things over between ourselves before we let Dana in on it. I know you're a hurry to start your new life as a woman, but it might be more complicated than you think."

"What do you mean?" I asked as I sat down at the kitchen table.

"Okay. Well the first thing that comes to mind is hormone therapy. You're pretty now and you don't have any problem passing as a girl, but it won't be that easy if you keep growing up the way you were meant to- like a man. Your voice will get deeper and your skin will get tougher. What I'm trying to say is that without female hormone therapy, you'll grow up to look like a man wearing a dress."

I knew what she was talking about because I'd read about hormones on the internet. I just hadn't thought about as seriously as my mother had, but I realized she was right.

"If you're sure about this, we'll need to see a doctor. You can't get hormones without a prescription. He'll probably want you to see some kind of gender therapist too. You know. To be sure this is something you really want and need."

"But what if the therapist doesn't like me and thinks I should be a boy?"

Mom lit a cigarette and grinned. "That's not going to happen baby, so don't you even worry about it. Once the therapist sees and and talks to you, she'll know that becoming a woman is the best thing for you."

"What about Dad," I asked? "And what about school? My friends are going to find out, aren't they?"

"Those are all important things and you'll have to deal with each of them and a whole lot more. It won't be easy, and it shouldn't be. Becoming a woman has to be the most important thing to you in the world. Nothing else can matter. And if you can't say that, then you should just keep doing things the way you're doing them now."

"There's nothing wrong with being a cross-dresser honey. A lot of men think of it as being a part time woman. They say its the best of both worlds because they don't have to give up any thing."

I told my mother that I didn't want to do it part time and that I'd tell Dad and anyone else I had to tell.

"In that case, you'll need to start living as a woman every day. That means from the time you wake up until the time you go to sleep and every minute in between."

I told her that that was what I wanted.

"What about school? If you take a lot of teasing over your hair and earrings now, it will only get worse if you start wearing dresses."

"I don't want to go to school any more. I hate it."

"Then I'll have to home school you so that you can earn your G.E.D."

"Okay," I said firmly. "That sounds real good to me."

"It sounds good to me too," said my mother as she placed her hand on top of mine. "I think it will be nice getting to spend more time with you."

"Do you think Dad will be mad when we tell him," I asked?

"I wouldn't say he'll be mad, but it will definitely bother him. He doesn't know you the way I do. As a matter of fact, he thinks of you and Tony as chips off the old block."

"I'm not like him," I said. "I'm like you."

"I know you are darling," she said as she kissed me on the cheek. "And I'd be lying if I didn't tell you how happy it makes me feel when you say things like that."

"Good, because its true," I said. "And it feels good being able to say it to you. I've wanted to tell you that all my life but I was afraid you'd think I was a sissy."

"It must have been awful for you, having to hide your femininity from me all those years. I suppose you're pretty relieved to be able to talk about it now."

I nodded without speaking because I was afraid I'd get choked up.

"Its been hard for me too," she said. "I've thought and wondered about it for so long, but I was afraid to ask, because I didn't want to embarrass you. And if you did feel the way I thought you might, I didn't want to scare you away by saying something too soon."

"So what you're saying is that we shouldn't be afraid to talk to each other now about anything?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying," said my mother as she finished off her cigarette and put it out in the ashtray. "Is something bothering you that you want to talk about?"

"Kind of," I said as I took a deep breath to steady my nerves.

"Then say what's on your mind. I want you too."

"And you won't get mad at me."

"Think about it this way. I might not like what you have to say. And it may be that I won't want you to do whatever it is you're doing or thinking about doing. But I promise I won't get mad if you tell me what it is. All we can do is talk about it and see what happens from there."

"Okay. Well in that case, I wanted to know how old you were when you started smoking."

"What?" The question surprised and confused her more than it upset her. How could she be upset. It was just a normal question. She had braced her self for a question about sex or body parts, but this?

I was embarrassed by my mother's response and was immediately sorry that I'd brought it up. What was I thinking? Why had I even tried? There was no way she would understand. And it was even sillier to think she'd wind up giving me her permission to start. No good can come from this, I thought.

"Nothing Mom. Lets just forget it."

"No. We're not going to forget it. You asked me something and we need to talk about it because its important to you. Are you trying to tell me it bothers you that I smoke?"

"Oh no Mom. Nothing like that. I was just wanting to know how old you were when you started. That's all. Its okay if you don't want to tell me."

"Why would I not want to tell you? I think I was probably 12 or 13, but I didn't start smoking in front of my parents until after I finished high school. Why did you want to know?"

"No reason. Just curious. That's all. Thanks for telling me."

"I hope this isn't your way of telling me that you've started smoking. You haven't, have you?"

"No."

"Does this have anything to do with your wanting to be like me? Do you want to smoke because I smoke?"

The heat from my shame rose up. How did she know what I was thinking? I wondered if I should tell her the truth. I was afraid to, but seeing as how this was the closest I'd ever gotten to really talking to my mom about smoking, I knew I'd hate myself for ever if I didn't try to finish it.

"Yes," I said.

"Oh honey. Noooo. That's such a bad idea. I don't want you to smoke like me. Its so bad. Please don't ever start!"

I felt as if I'd just been rejected by my one true love. Sensing my pain, I watched as my mother's hand came down softly on mine.

"Why do you want to smoke honey?

Right or wrong. For better or worse. I told her everything and I told it with passion. I watched her face screw up as I described how beautiful and womanly she looked when she smoked. I told her about playing with her cigarettes and pretending to smoke like her. I told her everything from start to finish about my wanting to smoke like a woman. And when I was done talking, we sat together in silence while she considered her response.

"I'm so sorry sweetheart. I had no idea you felt this way. I'm not even sure if I can understand everything you said, but apparently this is really important to you. Isn't it?"

I nodded painfully.

"I think I know how you feel to a degree," she said, "because I can remember wanting to smoke like my mom when I was a little girl. But some of the things you said are so intense, so maybe I can't really comprehend them since I've always been female. But are you telling me that you would feel better about yourself as a woman if I allowed you to start smoking?"

"I know it sounds weird, but thats exactly what I'm saying."

"If its so important to you, then why haven't you started before now? Why are you just asking about me it?"

"Because of a lot of reasons...like for starters, I didn't want to get in trouble and have you hate me for it. I know you've always told me never to do it and I didn't want to make you mad. And the other thing is I'm afraid I won't do it right and I want to look the right way if I do it."

"LIke a woman," asked my mother?

"Yes."

"I see," said my mother as she laughed nervously. "I suppose you're right about there being a difference between a lady and a man when it comes to how they smoke. Its just that I've never put as much thought into it as you apparently have."

I watched her carefully as she ran her finger across the pack of Virginia Slims sitting on the table.

"Have you always smoked that kind," I asked?

"Virginia Slims?"

I nodded.

"Yes," she said. "Its the same brand your grandmother smoked when I was a little girl. I thought they looked so feminine and ladylike."

"They are," I said.

"I don't know what to tell you," said my mother, "other than to tell you that I really don't want you to smoke. I know it looks good to you now because I felt the same way when I was your age. But its a lot different once you've been smoking for a while. Dana and I talk about it all the time. Both of us wish we never started and we're always talking about how we hope you and Cam never start."

I felt as if I'd just been kicked in the gut.

"I guess that really wasn't much of an answer, was it," she asked?

I looked at her hopefully. "So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can't stop you from smoking if your heart is really set on it, but I want you to think about it before you do anything. Do you understand what I'm asking? I want you to really think about it. And if its still as important as you think it is, then I'll talk to your father about giving you our permission."

All the blood in my body seemed to rush into my head and I suddenly felt woozie. "Really," I asked?

"Yes, but you have to promise me that you'll really think hard about it."

"I will Mom. I promise. I'll think about it tonight."

"And tomorrow too. There's no reason to rush in to this. You have your whole life to smoke so you don't have to start tomorrow."

"But I can if thats what I want to do?"

"Yes, but we'll have to talk to your dad first because I don't want you sneaking behind his back or mine. Is that clear?"

"Real clear," I said. "But what about telling him the other stuff, you know, about me getting home schooled and being a woman."

"I'll talk to him tonight and I'll let you know how it goes. But regardless of you're father, we need to make an appointment for you to see a gender therapist."

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To Be Continued...