This story was inspired by Emma Anne Tate’s story Gullible Travails posted in February. At the time I mentioned that I could twist it and mangle it ,,,, (I also might have mentioned stomping but that was silly).

The first day of summer break, a rainy day of course, I was sitting quietly in my room minding my own business completely absorbed in a video game when suddenly someone laid a hand on me. I exploded out of the chair, in the process knocking over my Big Gulp(™) and barking my shins on the computer table. Shouting “fuuuuuuuck!” loud enough to drown out the frenetic drumming of Cash Cobain, I lurched around to fix Travis (the culprit, my bratty 15-year-old little brother) with the kind of stare Medusa would judge medal-worthy.

“Son of a BITCH, Travis!!! What the fuck is WRONG with you! You scared the SHIT out of me!”

“I’m sorry, Jude,” Travis said softly.

“WHAT???”

He lowered his eyes demurely. “I’m so sorry.”

“SPEAK UP. JESUS!!!”

“I SAID I’M SORRY!”

“True story,” I grumbled, turning back toward my computer.

“And it seems like you get sorrier every frickin’ day.”

I resumed play but couldn’t shake the feeling that my idiot brother was still standing there, just behind my shoulder, waiting for the critical point in the game to reach out and touch me someplace. CREEPY! When my megaspeakers finished projecting Wassup Wya to a world in need of some good music, I growled,

“Tell me you aren’t still there.”

“Well, actually,” Travis temporized. He was about to say something more, when Baddest In The Room blared out from my sweet dolby instrument of joy.

Minutes passed, while my hands made sweet love to my mouse and keyboard and things appeared to explode or die on the screen, depending on what exactly was being depicted. Then, just as suddenly, I was dead. Well, game I was dead, anyway. RL me was simply Pissed Beyond All Recognition.

“Oh, fuck me! Game’s a complete piece of shit! Yo, Tank, get over here and rez me!”

While I engaged in increasingly frenzied efforts to attract the help — or even the attention — of my fellow players, Travis just stood there. Why couldn’t he just leave?

By the time Baddest had completed its soothing assault on eardrums near and far, I was pounding on my desktop with both fists and spitting at the screen, which now showed that my avatar — a ten-foot troll with green skin and the heartbreak of psoriasis — had been deleted. “Game over” strobed across the top of my screen, a chyron that did nothing to improve my temper.

“Hey, Jude . . . can you think of a reason to force me to wear your clothes? Or maybe trick me into it?”

I swiveled slowly, traversing a full 180 degree arc with the dreadful inevitability of a naval battery locking on target. At least that was the impression I was trying to send.

“Why. Are. You. Still. Here?” Each word was measured with precision and delivered with venomous intent. That little creep!

“I just thought maybe we could make a bet about something, and I’d lose, and you would force me to dress up in your clothes.”

I just looked at him.

“Or maybe you could make it a dare!”

I kept staring at the little mollusk.

“Or, I don’t know . . . just decide that you want to humiliate me?”

“Why? You’re doing fine all by yourself.”

“But I want your help. Reading all Emma Anne Tate’s stories on Big Closet I had an epiphany. I’m a girl. It’s important to my character development. How else can I overcome my masculine aversion to wearing lingerie?”

“Stop this now if you want to live another day” I snapped, interrupting in a most unladylike fashion. “Don’t push it.”

“But I need your guidance! I need you to be my Spirit Guide to the world of femininity — you know: hair salons! Makeup! Nail polish! Dresses and heels! Please, Jude! I can’t do it on my own! I need help!”

“You need help, alright,” I agreed. “You’re freakin’ bananas.”

“No, no,” Travis pleaded. “I’m just tragically misunderstood!”

“By whom?”

“Well, everyone,” Travis said, happy to be given the opportunity to expound upon one of his favorite subjects. “Especially our Fundamentalist parents!”

“They’re Unitarians.”

“Right — Fundamentalist Unitarians.”

I rolled my eyes.

“That is so not a thing. Even I know that’s not a thing.”

“Okay, runt. Listen close, ’cuz I don’t want to say this more than once. One, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about. Two, I don’t want to know. Got it?”

“You hate me! You hate me because you’re transphobic!”

“Nnoying,” I supplied, helpfully.

Travis couldn’t manage a better response than a puzzled, “huh?”

“I hate you because you’re a-nnoying.”

“No, no,” Travis said. “That’s not the real reason you won’t help me explore my femininity!”

“Really?” My eyes took on a dangerous gleam. “Well how about this, then. I don’t own ‘lingerie!’ I have ‘underwear’ like every frickin’ human in the twenty-first century. Have you ever seen me wear a dress?”

“Well, no . . . .”

“Heels?”

“Ummm . . . .”

“Makeup?”

“Maybe it was subtle, and not overdone? That’s how it’s supposed to be, right?” Travis looked hopeful. “You could teach me that!”

“You don’t get it, do you? I wear normal clothes. Jeans. Hoodies. Sneakers. Boots if it’s snowing. I don’t use makeup, I keep my hair short. I rock at video games.” Jude’s voice grew louder and louder as she went through her list, like a kettle that’s been on the stove too long. “Do you know what that makes me? What I AM?”

Travis looked at his sister like he was seeing her for the first time, his eyes wide.

“I’m a GIRL. That’s what I am. And this is what girls look like!”

“Jude, you know I love you. I’d never steal your boyfriend

That was the point where he got me. The accusation was so absurd I had to laugh. I didn’t have a boyfriend. I’d never had a boyfriend. I had no plans to get a boyfriend. Too many complications. I was quite happy with my life as it was: video games, school, baseball. I was to be the captain of the school team next year.

Come to think about it Travis was practically begging me to boss him around. My own little action doll. Scratch that. My own little Barbie doll. Whatever happened to the one my parents had given me?

We agreed (that is, I told him) on the action plan.

1. Travis would tell our parents he was transgendered.
2. In school he’d tell everyone that it was a dare
3. I’d tell my inner circle that I black-mailed him.
4. Travis would have to do EVERYTHING I told him
5. I promised to make him a girl

I expected the whole thing to run aground already on item 1. Our parents had some silly ideas about gender roles. The had been nagging me about being more “ladylike” for years. I had misjudged them. Either they were more openminded than I had expected or they were just happy that ONE of their children would become more ladylike, no matter who. They agreed to support Travis. On a trial basis. He’d have to live like a girl for a year before they’d take any official actions. What the hell were they thinking? Girly Travis in the boys’ locker room?

Travis was so infatuated by his epiphany that he’d agree to anything.

This left the ball in my court. I was stuck. I couldn’t teach Travis to be a girly girl. In my despair I brought it up with my best friend. Tom is the star pitcher in my team. He got completely red and terribly embarrassed. What was he hiding? After some hmm and hewing he admitted that he knew somebody who’d be able to help. Actually, she would love to feminize a boy. His older sister, who was home from college, would jump at the chance. Tom was terribly embarrassed by all this. I also got the impression that this would not be the first “conversion”. Tom? Nah! Sure, he was sweet but not girly, was he?

The next day the “consultant” started her work on Travis. An added bonus, in Travis view, was that Carol was an experienced cheerleader as well. From my window I could see Travis sweating through the warm mornings and evenings getting to grips with cheerleading. He was quite cute in his pink spaghetti-strap leotard and his curled hair. In the hot midday hours, they were sequestered in Travis ultragirly room. Makeup, fashion, comportment.,, Every now and then Travis balked. I got the impression it was more for show than real. Both seemed to like the “punishments” a little bit too much.

By the end of summer I had a passable “sister”. He caused quite a stir in school. The Principal had to be convinced that a girly boy still is a boy and that a girly boy is entitled to all necessary support. The “dare” aspect worked quite well among his friends. Logically he should have been terribly bullied but he became the top girly boy instead.

Cheerleading? He was a shoo-in.

Travis was popular. He was interesting. He was novel. Travis was no ordinary girl. Not a normal girl like me. Nor a prissy. A girly, sophisticated, cute girl. He was no longer “Judy’s brother”. I felt a little pang at that but at the same time I was worried for him. The boys were getting too interested in him. I had another conversation with Tom about Travis. One of many. Tom suggested that I get Travis a “safe” boyfriend. Didn’t he have to do as I told him? The boy in question could be told the “blackmail” story. Great idea, but who? Once more Tom had the answer. His twin brother Peter. Tom and Peter are not identical twins. Petere is big and athletic. Football fullback big and athletic. And handsome in a roughhewn way. Tom is wiry and athletic. And come to think about it, rather cute.

Travis got himself a boyfriend. Another step in his ascent in school social life. Perky and popular cheerleader. Fashion columnist at the school newspaper. Football player boyfriend. Well, cheerleaders are supposed to date football players.

Travis was so grateful for forcing him to get a boyfriend. He (she?) was really looking forward to the next school dance. His exuberance worried me. To my horror I found myself compelled to go the dance to make sure he didn’t do anything rash. This meant that I had to do something I never done before. I had to go shopping! With intent For a dress! And all the extra stuff needed to go to a school dance. Fortunately I had expert help. Travis really knew his stuff. I also told Tom to take me to the dance.

The dance wasn’t too bad. I didn’t dance that much. I didn’t know how but the atmosphere was quite nice and Tom was kind enough to sit with me most of the time. And Travis behaved. He barely sat down for a minute. All the boys wanted to dance with him. He danced very well.

After the dance I decided I had to learn to dance. At least a little bit so I wouldn’t be so completely outclassed by my brother.

I took ballroom classes. I conned Tom into taking them with me. At the dance school Tom saw ballet classes and got fascinated. He twisted my arm and we started taking ballet together.

In school Travis got more and more popular. He and Peter were the perfect couple. Even if Peter only did it as favor to Tom and me and Travis did it because he was told to, they were great actors. They became THE couple in school. Countless were the times Travis ran out on the field after a game to kiss Peter.

Travis was so cute and perky. Always perfectly dressed. Our parents had given him an extra allowance. They’d never done that for me!

When I asked them they answered that if I wanted cute girly clothes, they’d give me an extra allowance too. I declined the offer.

Then I looked at my brother in school. I got an extra allowance too. Together with some dresses and skirts and shoes and pantyhose and …. I just couldn’t let my little brother look so much prettier than me.

As my Prom approached, I was determined outclass Travis (he was to be Peter’s date). I told Tom to be my date. Tom said no. He’d only go to the prom with his girlfriend. At that moment I was devastated. I also had an epiphany. I told him I loved him. Tom was happy to ask me, his girlfriend, to the Prom.

I used any money I could squeeze out of my parents to the last cent. Well spent money. I was the most beautiful girl at the Prom. I even got crowned prom queen (Travis was ineligible). I finally outgirlied my brother! And the kiss Tom gave me!!!

The next night I saw Travis in conversation with our parents. I heard them mention something about succeeding in making a lady out of me and then they handed over a bundle of banknotes to Travis.

I tracked him down. He was counting the bills. All Benjamin Franklins. He was a bit embarrassed but he confessed. All this was a scheme to make a “proper girl” out of me. He had succeeded.

“And now you are going back to be a boy?”

“No. Why should I? I have great time as the girly boy in school. No way I’m giving that up!” Travis stated looking at me with his doe eyes

“And our parents?”

“After fully supporting me for a year they can’t back out now, can they?”

“And Peter?”

A beautiful smile spread over his face “I told him everything from the beginning. He agreed to play along and then we stopped acting. I like him. No, I love him. And he loves me.”

Talk about unintended consequences. Our parents got what they wanted, a more ladylike daughter. In the process they also got a ladylike son. Then I saw the bundle of money.

“What are you going to do with the money?

“Part of it is to pay for the combined football and cheerleader camp this summer. Peter has arranged for us to share a room.” Another beautiful smile lit up his face. Hm, perhaps not so ladylike after all.

Travis walked away. At that point I started to sketch out an idea how to “boyify” him again and how much to charge our parents for it. Sure, I owed him for my relationship with Tom and being a little bit girly wasn’t too bad but business is business and he had stabbed me in the back and betrayed me.

Then I looked at Travis and saw how genuinely happy he was.

Nah, I couldn’t do it.

I’m a better man than he is.