I don’t know how many people come home with a brand new wardrobe after only a few hours of being out, but I ran into a problem that was new for me. I ran out of space in my single tiny closet.   Samantha's Story part 5 By Maid Joy

I don’t know how many people come home with a brand new wardrobe after only a few hours of being out, but I ran into a problem that was new for me. I ran out of space in my single tiny closet.

I now had two full wardrobes to deal with, my Sam self’s clothes and now Samantha’s wardrobe. Integrating them was going to be interesting. I still didn’t know if I wanted to attend school as Sam or Samantha, and that was a question that needed to be answered soon.

I started by pulling out all the clothes in the closet. I had about 15 outfits of various types thanks to Mom Porter’s generosity. I had everything a girl could want, from suits to comfortable skirts, to hot pants and tank tops. She had taught me, while selecting clothes, how to mix and match the different tops and bottoms to make different outfits.

She was also thoughtful enough to provide the lingerie I would need. Slips and camisoles, a couple bras and some panties too (new in the package) were handed to me at the same time that I was getting the outerwear. The only thing we couldn’t find were shoes in the right size.

I pulled everything out of my closet and spread it on the bed. I had one Sam suit complete with shirt, tie and belt that I wore if needed. Ten pairs of jeans and a dozen t-shirts along with underwear and socks were all Sam needed for college once coats for winter were added. I never realized before how colorless and boring it was.

However, the rainbow of colors Mom Porter and the kind strangers had gifted me with were eye opening. I had two pairs of jeans, three skirts (two long and one mini), two pairs of shorts and three pairs of slacks. There were three dresses (not including what I already had) and three sets of skirt and blouses. She blessed me with five tops, three tanks, and four things she called “shells”. It seemed to be a combination pullover top and t-shirt, just made a lot nicer.

I did notice that a couple of my student t-shirts would go with these outfits. That was good since it would allow me to expand my wardrobe even more.

I spent some time trying on various outfits, making mental notes for what would be nice together and what felt right. I couldn’t really see much in the bathroom mirror, and I resolved again to get a full size mirror if I could.

Finally, I was done. I had three outfits that I felt I could wear at a moment’s notice, and I put them in the front of my closet. The T’s and tanks I put in my drawer, along with the under clothes. The dresses I lovingly put up in the closet, arranged by color, and then the blouses, shells and long skirts. I neatly folded the minis and put them in the drawers too.

I was left with about 3 Sam-self outfits that I didn’t want to get rid of, but that I also didn’t want to wear much longer. I couldn’t figure out whether to put them in the closet or into the trash bin.

Sam, don’t waste. Put them in the closet and wear them as you can. If nothing else you can wear them to clean in. I mentally nodded to myself and put the rest of the clothes away.

That left me with my suit. I folded it and put it in the suitcase that I used when I arrived at school. It would be fine, and I hoped I wouldn’t have to pull it out again.

So many things were happening so fast I wasn’t really sure what I should do with my life next. Once again I was confronted with the decision, go to class as Samantha or Sam. I knew I would have to make a choice and soon.

I spent the rest of Thursday night doing the homework I had been putting off. I fought through it and got it out of the way.

Checking my planner I saw a project coming up for my video production course. While it wasn’t due for several weeks, I would still need to start laying out the shots along side the music for the first rough cut.

I grabbed my things and took off for a long night at the studio.

I was almost at the studio door when I glanced in a large store window and realized that Samantha was looking back at me, not Sam. In my impulsive haste, it hadn’t occurred to me to look down and then change from she Sam to he Sam and wash my face.

I don’t know what imp of the perverse kept me going toward the studio, but I did. I was definitely excited and hoping that since it was nighttime very few people would see me or care what I was wearing.

When I got to the production studio, I saw a couple classmates in there. They were getting some preproduction and filming for their projects done. I slipped into the editing studio and closed the door.

I got my tape out and started putting it all together. It took focus and concentration to pull the scenes I wanted and to splice them into the beauty in my mind. I made notes on my clipboard about those scenes I had to reshoot or scenes that were missing, but I had a pretty good rough-cut when I finished.

I ran it back through and was pleased with my work. That’s when I heard someone say “That looks pretty okay for a rough cut, Sam.”

I turned around and saw the Teacher’s Assistant standing behind me, he probably slipped in while I was concentrating and was now standing behind me having watched the play through.

I smiled shyly and said “Thank you.”

He came over and sat down in the chair next to me. He glanced at my clipboard and noted what I was thinking, and he began talking to me about the production and what I was missing. He asked questions about the stock footage I’d used, and suggested a couple re-cuts that would make the overall video better.

I have to admit that I was shaking inside. I was nervous about the right hand of the Professor being in here with me and giving me a critique, but also because I had a skirt and blouse on and couldn’t hide the fact that I was dressed as a girl. Sure it was somewhat darker in the editing room, but not that dark.

He finished going over the whole thing and never mentioned how I was dressed. He was winding down and getting ready to leave. Then he stood and said “You look very nice tonight. I never liked the grunge look on girls. Maybe you should think about dressing up more? Just a thought, no offense intended.”

He gathered his stuff and left.

I nearly fainted. Once the door was closed I did start shaking, so bad I almost wasn’t able to retrieve my tapes and box them up.

My emotions were in turmoil. I didn’t know whether to cry, shake, faint or laugh hysterically. After a few minutes, confusion won and I just packed up and left.

That night I had some very strange dreams. I mean, they were normal dreams, just the scenes were nothing like I had ever experienced before.

In them, I was a girl, fully. I had my own boobs, I wasn’t a half girl or passing as a girl I was all girl and I looked good. I found myself on a date with Tom (of all people) and we went to a fast food place that was nearby.

We laughed and talked, we held hands and at the end of the night, I kissed him.

I’m not gay, but I had one of those dreams where the horny factor goes off the scale. I found myself rubbing my hands all over my body and it felt good, very good. I woke up thinking that it was Tom touching me.

At that point I was long past confused. Apparently my subconscious was trying to tell me something. I just wasn’t ready to listen. I had given myself a bad case of freak out.

I did what was natural at that point, I pleasured myself. I realize that I probably shouldn’t have, but if something didn’t happen, I was going to be up for several more hours.

Most often I had no trouble with this, but tonight I wasn’t getting anywhere except chaffed. But when I started seeing myself as a girl, suddenly I couldn’t stop my orgasm.

I cleaned up and I didn’t know what to think.

Sunday was rapidly becoming my favorite day of the week. Normally I enjoyed Saturday, but now that I had a home, Sunday was much better.

I left the question of Sam or Samantha at class up in the air, not really thinking about it or trying to resolve it. I knew that I wanted to talk to Mom Porter about what I was feeling and dreaming; I really needed help.

I helped pass out the fliers again since the boy’s arm was going to be in a cast for at least 5 more weeks. I had arrived early, and I had my seat up near the front. There were more people who said “hello” to me and took a few moments to talk to me, which made me feel very welcome.

This time I was sitting next to a senior citizen. She had to be 90 if she was a day. Her mental faculties were clear enough, but it was apparent that she was having trouble participating in the service. Standing for the hymns and kneeling for the prayers was taking a toll on her, so I offered a helping hand. I helped her up, helped her kneel and helped her back to her seat.

I saw Pastor Porter give me a smile when he noticed my effort. It made me feel warm to my toes.

Once the service was over, I did some more socializing in the vestibule as the congregation normally did. It was a time to just chitchat and gossip, to compliment dresses and to see friends.

I saw Tom and Tina, then stopped and chatted with Susan and her children. They were the cutest little kids and I was happy to meet them. Tina reconfirmed her desire to go to the club and see Tom play. Apparently she felt it was critical that she insure my attendance for moral support or something.

I have to say that I was looking at Tom in a different light given my dreams, and I wasn’t that comfortable with him right there. He was one of many pressing unresolved issues.

Finally the mandatory socialization was over with, and the party moved out back to the Baseball games and the picnic. Apparently, like the Baptists, there was to be a celebration every Sunday with a Pot Luck dinner and sports. I couldn’t object that much since it meant a meal I didn’t have to pay for.

But first, I wanted to talk to Millie.

I found her in the chapel again, tidying up the music from the choir. She didn’t have much left to do, so I helped her with getting it back to the offices. She smiled at me and I felt well-rewarded for my efforts.

Once our hands were empty, she gave me a big hug and a peck on the cheek. I hugged her back and said “Thank you for everything. If you have a few minutes, I need to talk to you if I can.”

She led me back to the Pastor’s office again and we had a seat in the chairs. She had waylaid one of the children in passing and had them fetch some big glasses of tea and some small snacks for us.

Once we were alone again, I started in on my problems.

“Mom Porter, here it is. I feel happiest when I’m being Samantha, but that’s going to cause me all kinds of grief if I attend school as her. Not only do most of my classmates know me as male, but if my parents found out I’d be cut off totally.

“Then there are boys. I’m not gay, I’m attracted to girls, but I find myself dreaming about some boys and feeling really special when they notice me and compliment me as Samatha.

“I like being Samantha. I feel comfortable as her. But I can’t give up being Sam either. So I’m lost and getting confused. I need your help and counsel.”

She sat there for a while. I could tell she was thinking since she had a far away look in her eyes. I sat quietly and ate and drank my drink while she thought.

“Samantha,” she finally said, “I don’t pretend to understand the impulses that motivate someone to put on the clothes of the opposite sex, so I can’t tell you how to make these decisions. I can tell you, however, that if this is how you truly feel, deep down inside, then God has made you that way and it is how it is supposed to be.

“I can’t say that He made a mistake, because there’s a reason you are in a boy’s body even though you feel like a girl. But I do know that if you are feeling like this, and attracted to girls, you should do all this without guilt. It is how He wanted you to be. He has also given you the tools to make the changes you want in your life.

“It may be that at this point you have to do some serious introspection. That may be part of what you are here to do. It may be that you have some message for others. I can only tell you that none of this is wrong, evil or a sin, since God made you like this. I have never been one to believe that God makes our lives harder for his amusement or to test us, there’s tests a-plenty just living life. It is not a burden to be carried alone until you collapse, it is one to be shared by people who love you and who care about you.

“Personally I will support you no matter what you choose to do. But to my old eyes, it looks like you have already chosen, you just have to get past the guilt you feel about it.

“Finally, about your parents.” She sighed deeply. “I’m not going to tell you to cut them off or to leave them. But you are over the age of adulthood in almost every way possible. It is up to you to decide how you wish to live your life. They can influence you, they can tell you what they want, and they can put pressure on you to be who they think you should be, but ultimately you make the decisions now and you are going to be the one answering to Him about how you lived your life.”

She fell silent for a while and I was left to mull over what she had said. She was right on every count. It was up to me how to live my life. I was the one who would be living that life, after all. It was up to me to make those choices.

She spoke up again. “I can tell you this, if it were up to me, I’d tell you to do what makes you happy. Life is too short to live someone else’s life.”

That simple statement hit me like a wiffle bat between the eyes. There was this bright flash of light behind my eyes and I felt like my world had been shaken up, stirred around, turned inside out, examined and then put back. Everything was different now, and I could make decisions for myself knowing this simple truth.

My heart started filling up and soon all that emotion started pouring out my eyes. I felt reborn and made new almost. Things were different now and I could continue without my limbo.

I wasn’t crying, I was just having an overflow of emotions. I realized that I now had permission to live as I wanted to do, exactly as I wanted. I didn’t have to justify my desires and what made me happy to anyone else.

I sat there and thought about this with tears running down my face again. I had wanted a sign and I had looked for someone to say “it’s all right” and now I had it.

I dabbed at my tears with the tissues that Millie handed to me while she snacked. She let the flood happen since she was wise enough to realize that it was good for me.

Pastor Porter, who had come in unnoticed while we were talking spoke up. “If I was your parents, I’d be proud to have a daughter like you. If they cut you off, feel free to come to our family.”

That was it. I started crying in earnest now. This was the most open-handed generous offer I had ever been given. I sat and cried my heart out and tissues weren’t going to be enough.

Millie scooched her chair closer and held me while I cried. She pulled me close to her shoulder and patted me on the back and let my tears soak into her dress. I knew I was going to have to fix my face in a bit, and I didn’t care.

Then the absurdity of the whole situation hit me. Here I was worrying about my makeup while making life-changing decisions and being offered a LOT of love and understanding by people I barely knew. I started giggling and that lead to laughter and finally a total emotional release.

I managed to calm down and get myself under control again. I kissed Mom Porter on the cheek hard while hugging her and then I went and kissed the Pastor too. His face broke into that big grin all men get when a pretty girl does that.

I knew that the road ahead would be long, but at least now I had hope of happiness at the end.

Maybe God did look out for me the day I found this church.