Chapter One — My Secret

I had a happy childhood, or at least I wasn‘t unhappy, in spite of my gender issues.

My father was an aristocratic Englishman, and passed away when I was young. My mother, from the San Francisco Bay area, was loving and kind and raised me well. She was half Vietnamese and half Norwegian, and very beautiful — she had worked as a model, and probably could have obtained ’super-model‘ status if she cared enough to try. My friends would tell me how ’hot‘ she was, much to my chagrin. She had a fragile and somewhat passive personality and abhorred confrontation — she would leave things unsaid rather than deal with issues.

A couple of years after my father died, my mother became a trophy wife to a successful investment banker. My relationship with my stepfather could best be described as cordial. He did not have any children of his own, and was not the least bit interested in having any. He was never mean to me — mostly disinterested, but he did teach me a lot about investing and money management. He was often absent, spending part of the week in New York and the other at an office in Philadelphia, near our home.

Both my natural father and mother were wealthy as well. When my father died, he left me a trust fund, administered by my mother and her half-sister, my Aunt Beverley, which was worth many millions.

My mixture of English, Norwegian, and Vietnamese heritage resulted in me having slightly almond-shaped eyes, delicate features, brunette hair, blue eyes, and a very pale and fair complexion. I was frail and slight as a youth, with childhood asthma, and, much to my embarrassment, prone to bedwetting. My heritage and physical stature gave me a very girlish appearance and my voice was high pitched and soft — puberty didn‘t seem to change it. I had a full head of luxurious brunette hair, with a natural wave and curl that not a few ladies told me they‘d ’die for‘. In certain situations, such as accompanying my mother to the mall, or wandering through the ladies clothing section of a department store (which I loved to do, but made me so very nervous), I would be mistaken for a girl.

I was christened Evelyn Dale Fairechild. In today‘s world, Evelyn is a girl‘s name, but it wasn‘t long ago that it was a fairly common boy‘s name (witness Evelyn Waugh, the writer), and Evelyn had been my fraternal grandfather‘s name. I went by my middle name, and if anyone asked me what the "E" stood for, I‘d say Evan.

I attended a private school near our home in southeast Pennsylvania. Being shy and not at all masculine, I never had a girlfriend, and remained a virgin throughout high school. I loved music - piano and guitar — and was quite talented. My few friends were fellow musicians, and played in a couple of really good high-school bands. Some of my friends were the wrong crowd by mother‘s standards, and I guess she was right because we did experiment with drugs — mostly cannabis. I developed a taste for hashish, but eventually, I mostly gave it up — it gave me long and unwelcome bouts of paranoiac self-examination — anxiety attacks. At the beginning of my junior year I contracted hepatitis and then pneumonia. Partly because of my illness and partly because of my genes, I had stopped growing at five feet six inches, and a hundred and fifteen pounds, the same height as my mother. I had to repeat most of my junior year, which meant that I would graduate a half-year after the rest of my class. My illness may have had something to do with the fact that I was a ’late bloomer‘, not reaching puberty until I was almost eighteen.

I can‘t remember when I first started crossdressing. All I know is that I started sneaking into my mother‘s room whenever the opportunity allowed and dressing in her things. She had a separate bedroom from my stepfather, which she kept most femininely decorated. She called it her ’boudoir‘. She had lovely things — fine lingerie from Europe, designer couture fashions, many of which she was given as part of her modeling, and a small ransom in jewelry; pearls, emeralds, lapis, diamonds, sapphires, and artisan jewelry. When I dressed in her things, the feeling of silk, lace, and fine fabrics next to my skin sent exquisite chills through my entire being. The utter femininity of her things gave me such pleasure. The fact that they were my mother‘s clothes never played into my fantasies, just the exquisite pleasure I felt being dressed as a lady. I loved wearing foundation garments - brassieres, garter belts, stockings, and, above all, delicate panties. I would almost swoon while wearing these things. I heard my mother say on more than one occasion that she hated pantyhose, saying that she disliked the way they felt and that they gave her a rash. She much preferred stockings, preferably silk, and she would order them through the mail. But for all those dainties, dressing up just wasn‘t complete until I was wearing one of her fancy dresses and all made up, in high heels and jewelry — all the accessories that made a lady a lady. I felt so wonderful, so content, so alive and erotically charged (even as a prepubescent), so very naughty. I knew that something was terribly wrong with me and that I could never, ever divulge my secret. My crossdressing always brought about feeling of shame.

My mother received all sorts of ladies clothing catalogs and fashion magazines, and I would sneak off and study them in my room. I would also browse the websites that my mother visited, but because she had installed a very secure search filter on our computer, I was never able to discover any crossdressing communities or websites. Nonetheless, I became literate in fashion terms, and found that some terms had conflicting definitions, so I refined my own vocabulary. For example, the definition of a petticoat, to me, meant a long half-slip, intermission length (to the mid or low calf), tea-length (the low calf to just above the ankle), and floor length (to the ankle). To others, a petticoat meant any half-slip made of crinoline. A crinoline, in my world, meant a half-slip of any length, made of that wonderful rustling fabric, meant to pouf out a skirt, with flounces of lace at the hem. A petticoat, on the other hand, would be made of a fluid material, such as silk, and should be prettily decorated with lace and embroidery — a true underskirt. A pettislip was a petticoat that was just below the knee or above — ’street length‘ in some vernaculars. A peignoir was a full-length (to the ankle) garment meant for sleeping, and was a dramatic gown meant to wear in bed, made of sheer fabrics, such as silk chiffon. A nightgown differed from a peignoir in that it could be made of non-sheer fabrics, such as silk charmeuse, with a wide range of styles — essentially an evening gown made of lingerie fabrics. A negligee was anything longer than a chemise and had a fitted bodice and straps. Negligees were just fancy slips, meant to be alluring, and could be for bedtime or under dresses. All of them, of course, were to show a lady at her most feminine and to arouse passions.

The underthings that ladies wore were so fascinating, and I thought that they were at least as important as a lady‘s outwear and accessories. Dressing properly had to begin with the underdressing, which started with foundation garments; brassiere, garter belt, and immodest panties, all perfectly matched. And to me, foundations should include fanciful garters that matched the other foundation items, one on each thigh to cover the top of the stockings so to hide the clasps of the garter belt suspenders, rather than just for support the stockings. The garter belt itself should be wide, as traditional garter belts, sometimes called waspies. Over the foundations, a real lady should wear another pantie — or more — to cover the immodest bikini, such as a French cut brief or a tulip pantie. Topping it all off was a set of what some used to call daywear: camisole, pantie, and pettislip or petticoat (depending on the length of the skirt). Like foundations, these articles were a matched set, and should be fancifully decorated with lace, embroidery, or other feminine embellishments. A daywear set could be worn as outwear, except for the fact that they were far too feminine for a modest lady to be seen in. The outermost pantie should be a tap or dance pantie, a dance pantie being cut fuller and longer than a tap pantie. Perfection would be that the foundations and daywear should all match. During my furtive crossdressing‘s, I found myself wearing more and more panties. I would try to find panties that were of similar color that would overlay each other, the one on top completely covering the one beneath. Donning panties and drawing them off was so thrilling to me, watching myself in the mirror, fixating on the delicate lace. The more panties I wore, the more thrilling and naughty it was for me. I rationalized the wearing of so many panties as a way of adding fullness to my hips and derriá¨re, and the psychologist in me told me that the layers of panties would hide my maleness.

Mother‘s best friend was a French woman named Mimi, a handsome lady with a calm inner strength and air of authority. Mimi and mother had been friends when I was in elementary school, but she moved back to France for a number of years, and then moved back during my junior year when I was ill.

Mimi often babysat me when I was young. She was a few years older than my mother. I used to call her ’nanny‘. We had a warm relationship, and she would address me as "dear" or "sweetheart" and, sometimes "mon chéri", using her French. She could never seem to pronounce my name correctly and called me ’Dahl‘, which sounded almost like ’doll‘. She was taller than mother or me, and dyed her bobbed hair jet black with a broad streak of white. She was often impeccably dressed and groomed and dressed conservatively in nice clothes. When she returned from France, mother, through her modeling contacts, got Mimi a couple of jobs as a model for mother-of—the-bride gowns featured in a bridal magazine. When mother showed me the magazine with Mimi‘s photographs, I was amazed — Mimi looked fabulous and I was jealous that she got to wear such beautiful gowns. I always wondered why she never married — she was certainly good-looking enough to attract a man‘s attention. Like my mother, Mimi attracted the attentions of my friends.

When I was sick, Mimi would do laundry, a little vacuuming, make the beds, and generally tidy up, but mostly just hang out with my mother, allowing her to care for me. For heavier housework and cleaning, we employed some ladies who came by every couple of weeks.

Mimi had an apartment not far from ours. When my stepfather was gone for the night, which was fairly often, she‘d quite often stay overnight in our downstairs bedroom, originally the servant‘s quarters that had its own bathroom, closet, and a fireplace, which Mimi loved, especially on winter evenings. Mimi was "well enough off" as mother put it. Nonetheless, she worked at an art gallery and dabbled in real-estate.

I never thought that the relationship between mother and Mimi was anything but platonic, but, on occasion, I would find them in more intimate positions when they thought I wasn‘t around, such as Mimi sitting on the couch with mother‘s head in her lap, gently stroking my mother‘s hair, or embracing each other in a quiet corner. I guess I was just naíve — in retrospect, it was evident that they were lovers; they just did a very good job of hiding it from me and my stepfather.

There were a few occasions when I was crossdressed by mother and Mimi, although it was moderate and, by all outward appearances, innocent. Mimi said she had a niece my age in France who was, according to Mimi, about my height and build — which meant skinny. When I was still in elementary school, I came home one day to find a girl‘s skirt and sweater set laid out on our living room couch. I was told that they were gifts for Mimi‘s niece that mother and Mimi had purchased that afternoon (which explained why the price tags were still attached). The set was a peach and gray pleated tartan skirt, peach cashmere twin-set, and a pair of woolen peach pantyhose. Mimi expressed concern that she didn‘t know if the things would fit her niece and she asked that I try them on for size. It seemed like an odd but innocent request, but I (of course) objected. Mother admonished me and told me to help Mimi and do as she asked. "Besides" she said "I bet you‘ll be cute". So I went upstairs with the skirt and twinset and dressed. There was nothing but my boring boy underwear beneath and I didn‘t even get to wear the pantyhose. Although I was in principle crossdressed, there was no thrill. I came downstairs and goofed around a bit. Both mother and Mimi said I looked cute and mother even said, to my chagrin, "we should dress you all the way with makeup and heels and some padding — you‘d easily pass as a girl." After a minute or two, Mimi was satisfied with the fitting and I went upstairs and undressed. The entire incident (except for mother‘s comment) seemed innocuous and harmless and I didn‘t give it much thought after that. A few weeks later, Mimi mentioned that her niece really liked the set and it fit her perfectly. Once or twice after that, Mimi (with mother‘s assistance) would buy her niece an outfit and have me try it on for size. Each occurrence was basically the same — I‘d try on the outfit in my room, pause to admire myself, and then go downstairs to have mother and Mimi evaluate it. They would tease and joke with me a bit and, although they would suggest ’going further‘ with the dressing, never did carry through with it, mostly because I vigorously protested (I would have loved to have ’gone further‘ with it all, but the puritan in me shut down those desires).

Chapter Two — My First Sojourn

I‘ll never forget the first time I had an orgasm (which I called a "creaming" — a more delicate term, I thought) while crossdressed. The few creamings I had to that point would start by browsing through a fashion catalog or two, dreaming of wearing the beautiful dresses shown inside. At first, I would lie in bed, stomach down, on a pillow covered with a soft towel to prevent staining the pillowcase, slowly churning, dreaming about being dressed. Later, I discovered the pleasure of lotions and strokes of my hand. I had to be careful with this method because my cream could expel rather far, as I discovered one night when I had to wipe a puddle or two from my face. I found out later in life that I was unusual in this regard, which may have explained the intense and deep satisfying pleasure I experienced with creaming.

My first experience of creaming while dressed was spring of my senior year, not long after I reached puberty. My parents were gone for a long four-day weekend. Mimi was to check up on me and make sure I had ready-made meals, but, much to my relief, she wasn‘t spending the night — something about ’previous commitments‘.

My parents left on a Friday afternoon. Mimi was there to see them off, and then fixed me dinner. After assuring her that I would be perfectly fine by myself she left me for the evening. I scampered upstairs, showered, and then snuck into my mother‘s room. There on the bed, carefully laid out, was a tea-length gown with a matching bolero jacket and a petticoat. The gown had a black velvet bodice and an empire waist tied with a midnight blue satin ribbon that matched the midnight blue silk faille of the skirt and jacket. The petticoat was white with a double layer of tulle lace netting at the hem. Why had my mother left it there? Was it something she meant to pack, but didn‘t? Did she know about my crossdressing, and left it for me? I didn‘t have an answer, but it was definitely on my mind as I found myself, a delicious couple of hours later, all dressed, accessorized with a fine pearl necklace and bracelet and black velvet pumps. I was made up in lipstick, mascara, and blush. Beneath it all I wore a matching antique white lace brassiere, garter belt and French pantie set, a soft bit of terry cloth protecting my ’daintie‘, black seamed stockings, an antique-white silk camisole and dance pantie, and the exquisite petticoat. The petticoat absolutely thrilled me, and I wore it so that the tulle lace hung an inch or two beyond the hem of the skirt. I was standing by the recamier, cheval mirror in front of me, primping and swishing, reveling in the rustle of the petticoat, and my hand wandered down. I was so stimulated by that point that it only took a few gentle strokes of my finger across the dress in front of my daintie to entice a withering creaming. I cried out as wave upon wave of exquisite pleasure swept over me. (It was pure luck that the terry cloth absorbed most of my cream. As it was, I had to wash the panties, but it could have been much worse, with cream on the dress.) I couldn‘t believe that anyone could possibly feel that much pleasure! From that moment on, I knew absolutely that there would be no denying the deep exquisite pleasure I had just felt.

On Saturday, I dressed in a recent purchase of my mother‘s — a beautiful pink chiffon robe and nightgown, a diaphanous lovely by Jonquil. Beneath I wore a pink brassiere, garter belt, stockings, bikini panties (again, with a small linen towel protecting my daintie), and silk tap panties, finishing off with ankle-strap high stiletto heels. Just before finishing my makeup, I smoked some hashish and got really high. Like the last couple of times I got high, paranoid thoughts bombarded me as I sat at the dressing table — an anxiety attack, I guess. I somehow finished making up, the lip-gloss the final touch. Feelings of utmost shame and humiliation swept over me as I sat there, dressed up in ladies things. Oh, what a sissy I was! What a rich, spoiled, crossdressing sissy, a ’Nancy‘, a pampered and prissy pantywaist! Oh, how would I ever amount to anything? While other boys were out chasing girls and playing sports, here I was, an inadequate frail boy dressing in dainty ladies things. Oh how shameful, how utterly shameful! I sat for minutes on end, almost in tears. I stood slowly, afraid I might faint. I considered undressing, ridding myself of the disgraceful garments and the shame, but when I stood in front of the dressing mirror, a solemn stillness came over me as a vision of feminine loveliness stared back at me in the mirror. I was transported into another world, a world meant for me. A slight movement to and fro brought on a stunning creaming, causing me to cry out loudly. The linen towel wasn‘t enough to protect the panties, and I had to hand-wash them later. After I had creamed, I swore I‘d never, ever crossdress again. And I didn‘t - until later that afternoon in an oatmeal colored sweater dress, and that evening, in a plethora of panties and petticoats, a silk chemise an embroidered satin bed jacket.

I was spent by the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, when Mimi was coming over to check on me and fix me dinner. I had to remove all evidence that I had been into my mother‘s things, putting everything back in its proper place.

After Mimi arrived, she went upstairs for some reason. When she came back down, she asked "Dahl? Did you notice that your mother left a very lovely evening gown behind? It‘s on her bed."

"Uh… no" I lied.

"Really? Well, perhaps later tonight you can have a look" she replied somewhat coyly. I shrugged my shoulders as if I could care less.

"You know, you and your mother are probably the same size" she continued.

’Where is she going with this? I thought. "Whatever…" I replied, again shrugging my shoulders, trying to sound insulted.

The next thing she said left me blushing: "Well, I was just thinking that you‘d look really cute in that gown." Her tone was non-committal, as if it was just a passing thought, so I didn‘t respond immediately or forcefully.

"You‘re blushing, aren‘t you Dahl?

"Huh?" I replied.

"You‘re blushing because I suggested that you‘d look cute dressed up in the gown?" she asked.

"Huh? No… I mean yes…" I stammered, trying to figure out the right response.

"It‘s alright, Dahl. Don‘t worry; I understand" she said, almost ending the conversation until she added as she turned to go into the kitchen: "But I know you‘d be a really pretty girl."

I tried not to think about what she had said and what she meant by "I understand". I wasn‘t going to pursue it with her.

Mimi left after dinner and I bounded upstairs to find that she had rearranged the gown on the bed. I dressed in it again and didn‘t get to sleep until late.

Mimi drove me to and from school on Monday and noted that I looked tired. She stayed overnight. My mother returned the next evening. Although I had tried my best to not leave any evidence behind, I doubted that I was successful. But mother never mentioned anything, and didn‘t ask why the gown was rearranged on her bed.

Chapter Three — The Redecorated Guestroom

A few days after mother returned from her trip, she enthusiastically declared that she was going to redecorate the guestroom across the hall from me. My room and the guestroom were at one end of a long hallway, while her room and my stepfather‘s room were at the other end, with the staircase in between. We had a big house, and the distance between our rooms was substantial, so I enjoyed quite a bit of privacy. The guestroom was, to that point, boring, containing a couple of twin beds and serviceable furniture, certainly nothing like the fine antiques that mother collected and showcased in other parts of the house. This was the last room to get her touch.

A few weeks after summer vacation had started, she finished redecorating, turning the guestroom into a very feminine chamber. The walls were papered with a floral pattern, pastel shades of pinks and blues against a cream background. The two beds were replaced with a mahogany four poster queen bed. The bed covering was a delicate wisteria satin quilt with a cream chenille throw folded at the bottom. The sheets and pillowcases were fine Egyptian cotton with ecru lace trim. At its foot was an antique mahogany loveseat with mother-of-pearl and exotic wood inlay on the back, upholstered with silver silk brocade with matching tasseled bolster pillows. The carpet was replaced with thick and plush wool in a cream that matched the wallpaper. She replaced the old bureau with a mahogany antique that went well with the bed and loveseat. An oval cheval mirror stood in the corner. But the crowning touch was a vanity dressing table that matched the loveseat — mahogany with inlays on the four drawers, a large round mirror, and a vanity slipper chair with the same silver silk brocade as the loveseat. The vanity mirror was antique silvered glass and had developed a patina around the edge. The vanity had two lamps with tasseled lampshades. On the bureau, mother placed a porcelain figurine by Armani titled ’Ada‘. To complete the redecoration, mother added a nightstand and two matching wingback chairs upholstered in velvet to match the comforter, with a small table between them. A gilt-framed mirror was hung on the wall between the two chairs and reflected the bed. More table lamps with tasseled shades sat on the nightstands on each side of the bed. When lit in the evening, the table lamps gave a soft romantic glow to the room. In the attached bathroom, she continued with the wallpaper from the bedroom and purchased coordinating plush velour towels.

When she was done, she couldn‘t resist giving me a tour and asking my opinion. I cordially praised her decorating skills, trying to hide how thrilled I was to have such a feminine chamber right across the hall from me. I don‘t think she ever showed it to my stepfather.

Mother had just finished redecorating when we went for our annual visit to her sister Beverley.

Chapter Four — My Favorite Auntie

Aunt Beverley lived in the hills above Larkspur in the San Francisco Bay Area. I loved going there, especially into San Francisco proper, and liked the openness of the city. We usually stayed with Auntie for ten days or so over two weekends. Auntie was well off, as my mother‘s family was quite wealthy. Aunt Beverly, being my mother‘s half-sister, did not have Oriental blood — she was all Scandinavian — tall, robust, and classically handsome blond, but she had recently taken to dying her hair pure white that gave her the most dramatic and mythical look imaginable. She liked to dress in hour-glass shaped vintage dresses and suits from the forties and fifties, and had quite a style and look about her. She would alternate between solid color suits and glorious floral and botanical print surplice bodice dresses. I loved being around her; she was so warm and friendly to me, and we just seemed to connect somehow. Auntie insisted on calling me by my given name, Evelyn.

Auntie had university degrees in psychology, and had written a couple of books on sex therapy along with another woman. I had seen copies of the books at her house. Mother tried to keep me in the dark about Auntie‘s books and expertise, but, being curious, I was able to learn a little about them. One book was called "Embracing your Sexuality" which, I gathered from brief glances, was about coming to terms with your sexual needs and satisfying those needs. The other book was called "The Orgasm Factor" and was all about how orgasms promoted mental and physical health, and in my furtive glancing, found it had chapters about attaining orgasms through masturbation and intercourse. Auntie was also a bit of a local celebrity, giving lectures on subjects in her book and appearing on a popular local radio talk show. Most of her focus was on female sexuality, but she also discussed male sexuality, mostly in terms of how males repressed everything and couldn‘t come to terms with their feminine side. From what I could gather, she pitied men.

Auntie had a housemate, Suzanne, who was a tall and willowy girl with shoulder-length hair dyed with Henna. Suzanne usually dressed in flowing skirts and tunics made of faille or surah, usually soft earth-tone browns and tans, but also could go vintage in her look with full skirts with petticoats beneath. She often wore her hair in pigtails. I thought she was lovely and I liked her fashion sense. She was somewhat boisterous whereas Auntie had a quiet sternness, and spoke softly and deliberately. But both had a good sense of humor that was somewhat bawdy at times. They were both taller than me and I always felt a little intimidated by them, especially Auntie.

Auntie‘s house was nestled in a cool shady canyon. It was a big French provincial style house with a circular driveway set back from the street. The architecture and landscaping gave it a very formal and elegant look. The entryway was small with a large formal parlor to the left of the entryway dominated by an open curved staircase that flared at the bottom. The hallway at the top of the stairs was open a bit to the floor below, and led to five bedrooms. All but one of the bedrooms was large. I stayed in the smallest bedroom. One of the larger bedrooms was turned into a private office and study.

Auntie and Suzanne owned a shop called the "Gilded Lily". It was located about fifteen minutes from their house in an old two-story courtyard retail complex. The Gilded Lily was an eclectic place, full of stuff that Auntie, Suzanne, and their associates, Penelope and Julie, had gathered from estate sales as well as retail and consignment items. There was antique furniture, such as dressing tables, armoires, beds, writing desks, dressing mirrors, settees, slipper chairs, lamps, and so on. There was also a large assortment of retail goods: bath oils and powders, scented sachets and paper to line drawers, towels and bathrobes, fancy stationary, cards, and writing supplies, wrapping paper and ribbons, silk flowers and chocolates, and a large selection of decorating pillows. The upstairs loft, half retail space and half office space, contained clothing — a good but modest selection of vintage dresses, jewelry, accessories, and lingerie.

I got to know Penelope and Julie a bit. Julie was in her early forties, a classy statuesque blond, with hair that arched and flowed around her face and touched her shoulders. (I discovered later that she was a trophy wife when she was younger — like my mother — but it had all ended in a bitter divorce.) She was a southerner and spoke with a soft accent, and was always nice to me. Penelope was younger than Julie and was ’pleasingly plump‘ with an easy smile that showed her cute dimples. Both Penelope and Julie were sweet, friendly women, well-groomed and feminine, and Julie, in particular, quite pretty. Auntie, Suzanne, Penelope, and Julie were all part owners in the shop, and they all dressed very nicely to lend an air of formality and professionalism to the business. They would come and go from the shop depending on what leads and purchases they could make.

The other shops in the complex were a mixture of things; over half were small private businesses — lawyers and accountants and such — while the remainder was uninteresting retail shops and cafes. Both Auntie and Suzanne had unkind words for the owner of the complex and all sorts of ideas on how they‘d transform it into something chic and upscale by giving the entire complex a facelift and kicking out most of the tenets, replacing them with ones who met their tastes.

Chapter Five — A Favor For Aunt Beverley

On our visit to Auntie‘s, mother took off overnight to visit an old friend in San Jose who was flying into the city for business. She left early in the day, leaving me to hang around the house with Auntie and Suzanne. I sat around watching television in the morning while Auntie and Suzanne were doing something upstairs. When they came downstairs, they both had changed out of their morning clothes (slacks and sweaters) into rather nice dresses; Suzanne in a toffee color broomstick skirt and teal tunic and Auntie into a dark blue pleated wool skirt and a crisp white cotton blouse with wide lapels. I wondered why they were so nicely dressed and just figured they were going out. But they stayed and fixed lunch.

While we were eating lunch, Auntie asked "Evelyn, would you do me a big favor?"

"Sure, I replied" thinking that she wanted me to move some furniture or help her with something heavy.

"Well" she started, "this is kind of awkward. You see, I got this call the other day from a lady looking for a bridal gown — not just any bridal gown, mind you, but a gown from a particular designer — Susan Lane — that has gone out of business. She heard about the Gilded Lily and how we collect dresses and such from estate sales. She offered a lot of money for a size eight Susan Lane original in perfect condition, and we found one a couple of days ago. But she wants detailed pictures. I guess we could go to the shop and dress one of the mannequins, but that‘s too much like work and besides, it‘s hard to get a decent picture from a mannequin — you can‘t just tell them to raise their arm or turn just so. Neither Suzanne nor I are a size eight, but we think that you might be — perhaps between a size six and eight, actually. So, I was wondering if you could do us a big favor and model the dress while we snap a couple of photos for this lady. It won‘t take long. It‘ll be fun. You know, with your long hair and a bit of makeup and padding, she‘ll have no idea that it‘s a boy modeling the dress."

I stammered something, objected, blushed, and tried to hide my inner excitement at the thought of being dressed in a bridal gown by Auntie and Suzanne. "Please, dear, don‘t be such a baby. It won‘t hurt a bit" she replied to my objections. I finally agreed. They followed me upstairs and Auntie asked me to shower and wash my hair. "We‘ll want to do something with your hair, OK?" she said. While I was showering, she knocked on the bathroom door, stuck her head inside and told me that she left some underwear on the bed for me, along with a robe.

When I came out of the shower, there was a white terry bathrobe that had the name of a spa embroidered on its pocket, an old-style white long-line side-zipper girdle with clasps for stockings, and a pair of pink satin pantie briefs decorated with a white lace panel down the sides.

"Everything OK in there, sweetie?" asked Auntie from the hallway.

"Do you want me to put these on?" I asked, sounding incredulous, but secretly wishing it was so.

"Well, of course, dear, you‘ll need something modest underneath and you need something to hold up the stockings" she replied matter-of-factly. "And the girdle will tuck in your waist. You need to have something on beneath the girdle and that‘s what the panties are for."

Nervously, I put on the panties and then the girdle. Normally, I would have been delighted to wear such undergarments, but not today — I was just so afraid to let on that I enjoyed dressing up in ladies things. The girdle was tight and did, in fact, smooth out my tummy and give me a bit of an hourglass shape. After tying the robe, I exited my room to find Auntie waiting in the hallway. "Let‘s go to Suzanne‘s room, dear. She‘ll do your hair".

When I entered her bedroom, I saw the gown draped across her bed. It was indescribably feminine. I expected a white satin wedding gown with a long train, but this was a floor length gown in an utterly romantic Victorian theme, décolleté with cascades of white and pink lace, a dotted net modesty panel beneath the décolleté, mutton sleeves with long lace cuffs, an empire waist tied with a long gold duchess silk ribbon, and the skirt alternating between white satin and lace panels. I think I must have gasped.

"Isn‘t it just so pretty?" asked Suzanne. "These Susan Lane ’Country Elegance‘ gowns are just treasures, and it‘s no wonder this lady is willing to pay a lot. And this one could be worn as a formal, or to a garden party, not just as a bridal gown."

Suzanne had me sit at her dressing table and she began to blow-dry my hair, brushing it out to give it volume. Suzanne had been a hairdresser at one point, and it showed as she expertly brushed and dried my hair. "You have such gorgeous hair, Evelyn! I was thinking I‘d have to use some gel to give it volume, but obviously not."

As Auntie watched, Suzanne applied makeup; some foundation cream, mascara, eyeshadow, blush, and lipstick. She used two different tones of foundation cream; a darker shade for my neck, Adam‘s apple and jaw-line, and a lighter shade for the rest. She stepped back to admire her work. Auntie exclaimed "My goodness, Evelyn, but you make such a pretty girl!"

"We need a bra and some padding, stockings, and then a full slip" said Suzanne, who was now enthusiastically taking charge of the transformation.

"Oh, do you know which bra I‘m thinking of Suzanne?" asked Auntie. Suzanne said she did, and she retrieved a white satin full cup with pink lace accents from her bureau. I sat at the dressing table, stunned, trying desperately not to let on how exciting it all was — I was being dressed by two attractive and vivacious women who were obviously enjoying themselves and the transformation that was taking place. Auntie helped me out of the robe and Suzanne helped me into the brassiere. For padding, Suzanne had produced two scented sachets, stuffing one in each cup. White stockings came next. Auntie remarked that she thought I‘d have to wear opaque stockings, but since I had hardly any hair on my legs, I could wear something sheer. Suzanne rolled up a stocking and helped me insert my foot. Without thinking, I began unrolling the stocking up my leg and fixed it to the clasps on the girdle.

"It seems you‘ve done this before" said Auntie. I stammered something about it being easy enough to figure out. I don‘t know if she believed me, but nothing more was mentioned as I rolled the other stocking up my leg and fastened it.

After donning the stockings, Suzanne went to her closet, saying "I think I have a long negligee that might fit you." She retrieved a most feminine white satin negligee with pink lace trim at the bodice and hem, matching the brassiere almost perfectly. She and Auntie both helped me into it, raising it over my head and carefully drawing it over my coiffed hair and avoiding my makeup. I stood as Auntie smoothed it over me, tugging the hem to get the fit just right.

"Oh wow!" they both exclaimed as they stood back, looking me from head-to-toe. "Just look at you, Evelyn! My goodness gracious: if you ever have a need to disguise yourself, just put on some makeup and a dress." She turned me around to look at myself in the full-length mirror. I could barely look at my reflection. My trepidation, silence, blushing, and furtive glances were probably as telling as blurting out "I‘m a crossdresser". Auntie and Suzanne exchanged a knowing smile.

"Now, let‘s get you into that dress, dear. I can‘t wait to see you in it" said Auntie in a velvety voice. The dress buttoned in the back with a couple of dozen small satin covered buttons. They helped me step into it and guided my arms into the lovely lace sleeves. Auntie stepped back to watch Suzanne button me up, while I watched in the full-length mirror. It took several minutes to do all the buttons. I could barely talk above a whisper, and tried to make a joke or two, but ended up making the situation even more embarrassing for me. The gown fit well enough although it was a bit large.

"Oh my goodness" breathed Auntie when Suzanne had finished buttoning me. "Suzanne, can you believe just how pretty he is?"

"We need some pearls and a big pretty hair bow" said Suzanne, and she began to look through the drawers of her bureau. She produced a four-strand faux pearl necklace, matching bracelet, and pearl drop earrings. The earrings had posts, meant for pierced ears, which mine were not. Auntie solved the problem by cutting a flesh-colored band-aid and wrapping it around my earlobe, leaving a little flap protruding off the bottom of my earlobe. She then poked the earring through the flap. It was quite a clever trick. While Auntie was dealing with the earrings, Suzanne went looking for a hair bow, finding a big white satin bow with long wide ribbon streamers. "Remember this Beverley?" she asked, holding it up. Auntie gave a little giggle — it was some sort of private joke. Suzanne gathered my long hair in the back and held it while Auntie fixed the hair bow.

"We need some heels, too" said Auntie, "We can‘t have the hem dragging on the floor. What about those white dress sandals of yours, Suzanne?" A few moments later, I was sitting down while Suzanne helped me into the impossibly high heeled flirty sandals. The heels fit well — in fact, they might have been a bit big. Both Auntie and Suzanne remarked on this, saying they were surprised how small my feet were and how easily they fit the heels. They helped me stand, thinking that I‘d have all sorts of issues with wearing heels, and when I didn‘t, Auntie said quietly "Well look at that — you‘re a natural in heels."

"One last thing" said Suzanne, and she went to her bureau and came back with a pair of white lace gloves. "Brides wear gloves, so you should too" she said. Each glove had a little satin rose with blush pink ribbon accents on the back of the hand.

They both stepped back for an inspection as I looked at myself in the mirror. I was deeply embarrassed, for my reflection showed just how feminine I looked, how feminine I felt on the inside. Under different circumstances, I would have been utterly overcome with sensual pleasure, but I knew I had to hide my feelings from them. Auntie let out a deep sigh and said in a whisper "Just look at you. Oh my goodness, just look at you. You are just ravishing."

The trance was broken a few moments later when Auntie blurted out enthusiastically "Where‘s the camera? We need pictures!"

She took a few pictures with her digital camera, but the light was too low and the flash was washing everything out. "Let‘s go outside in the garden" suggested Suzanne. I thought about it for a second or two — going outside dressed! But the garden was enclosed and no one would see us.

I slowly descended the staircase, holding up the hem of the gown so as not to trip. Auntie and Suzanne were very concerned that I might trip on my heels, so they stayed close to me. As I took each step carefully, I began to feel flush and I let my guard down for a few moments, and I think I let out a sigh and detected a smile from Auntie and Suzanne.

When we reached the bottom floor, Auntie said "You know, Suzanne, Evelyn here is just too tense to take a decent picture. What do you say we sit in the den for a while and let her — excuse me — him — have a glass of sherry?"

And so I sat on the couch, dressed in an utterly feminine bridal gown; made up, wearing expensive pearl jewelry, my long hair coiffed and tied back with a big girlish hair bow, sipping sherry, while Auntie and Suzanne sat opposite me, casting admiring glances at me and my dressing. "You know, Evelyn, you are such a beauty in that gown. Promise me you‘ll have some fun posing outside" said Auntie.

The sherry helped me relax, and when we stepped outside to the rose garden, I felt the lady inside of me coming out. They had me strike various poses, Auntie pleading with me to give a nice smile. They took close-ups of the gown to show what excellent condition it was in. Suzanne wanted to freshen my makeup for the lighting conditions, and she retrieved the powders and lipsticks, brought them outside, and had me sit while she freshened me. Then it was back to posing for the camera. Once or twice I let myself go and gave a coy, knowing smile and posed myself in a most ladylike manner, which elicited oohs and ahhs from Auntie and Suzanne, which made me blush and withdraw.

The photographing was declared finished after a good half-hour and we went back inside for some tea. As the tea was being made, I excused myself to use the toilet. Auntie gave me a bit of advice, telling me how to hold the skirt while sitting on the toilet. Alone in the downstairs bathroom, with its big mirror, I felt faint as I undressed. A real boy would have objected and refused to do what Auntie and Suzanne had requested. A real boy would have taken command of the situation. Then again, a real boy wouldn‘t look so pretty. My whole demeanor — my quietness, my blushing, and my furtive poses — was all positive proof that I was deeply affected by the dressing. A real boy wouldn‘t be as stimulated as I was, either, sitting on the toilet, having difficulty passing water because my daintie was so stimulated. I took longer than I should have to get out of the toilet, but no mention was made as I returned to the kitchen for tea.

We had a leisurely tea — almost an hour. Auntie and Suzanne talked about goings-on at the Gilded Lily, discussed the rest of our vacation, and asked me about school and such. Auntie asked about Mimi, as they had met a couple of times when Auntie came to visit us. Whenever I tried to act like I wasn‘t enjoying being so exquisitely dressed, they‘d compliment me on how pretty I was. Suzanne even asked if I ever dressed-up at home ("Of course not!" I exclaimed). It got to the point where I just sat blushing, reveling in the way I was dressed.

It was getting on to late afternoon and it was time to start preparing dinner. "I‘d love for you to eat dinner with us while dressed up in a nice dress, Evelyn — just not that one; we can‘t let anything spill on it."

I made my objections, saying how I wanted to change back into my jeans and T-shirt. Auntie said "Oh, don‘t disappoint us dear. It would be so much fun for us if you‘d wear a nice dinner dress. Suzanne? You know that blue dress of yours? That one that‘s too small? Don‘t you think Evelyn would look fantastic in it?"

"She… Oh, excuse me, Evelyn! He really would" said Suzanne with immense enthusiasm.

I whined and complained. It was just too much — didn‘t they understand how they were torturing me? I was completely torn apart by trying to be a boy and, at the same time, reveling in the experience. Finally, Auntie put her foot down, saying "Evelyn, can‘t you do this for Suzanne and me? We‘re so enjoying this, it doesn‘t hurt, and it beats the hell out of the alternative of just sitting around as couch potato watching television. Now, if you don‘t want to play along, well…" her voice lowered "…I guess I could show your mother the pictures of you in the bridal gown…"

That threat did it. I acquiesced.

"Then it‘s decided" replied Auntie gaily, clapping her hands. "Let‘s get you out of that gown and into your dinner dress."

Suzanne led me back upstairs to her room. Auntie stayed behind to finish preparing a casserole and put it in the oven. Suzanne helped me out of the gown, gloves, heels, and jewelry and carefully put the gown away in her closet. As I stood in the negligee, she retrieved a blue dress from the closet.

She held it up for me to see. It was a simple and classic dress in powder blue georgette. The bodice had a modest and clean V neckline. The sleeves were long and oh-so-billowy, made of sheer powder blue chiffon and ending in long three-button cuffs. The neckline was trimmed with two narrow overlapping ribbons of chiffon that matched the sleeves. The waist had a two and a half inch matching fabric belt with a fabric covered buckle. But the skirt — oh my, the skirt —intermission length with one-inch box pleats, metallic thread woven into the georgette to give it a sparkle. The dress zipped in the back and came with a full slip made of high luster white satin, which would reflect light back to the skirt to show off its sparkle.

"Isn‘t it pretty?" she asked. "It really catches the light — you‘ll see. Too bad it‘s too small for me because I really like it. It should fit you just fine."

She laid the dress on her bed. The phone rang (scaring the hell out of me) and Auntie answered downstairs. I must have been trembling, for Suzanne said "Why so nervous, sweetie? I‘m not going to hurt you, for goodness sake! Every boy needs to be dressed up as a pretty girl at least once; and some boys much more often than that. Heck, in San Francisco I bet there are boys being dressed up every day. Now, I bet you‘re sick of wearing that girdle. I know I would be! Let me see…" she turned and began looking through her bureau drawers, letting her last comment about boys dressing up hang in the air.

"Here they are" she said. She pulled out a wide garter belt and pantie brief that matched the brassiere; white satin with pink lace accents. My heart skipped a beat when I saw these luscious underthings. She put the garter belt and pantie brief on top of her bureau then looked back in the drawer, musing to herself "well, I totally forgot about these". She pulled out a pair of roomy white tap panties with a pink Alencon lace appliqué on the sides. She put this on top of the bureau as well.

"Now, you sit down and take off your stockings and then the girdle while I look for some heels to go with the dress, and maybe some different stockings. I think I have a scarf to go with, too."

I did as she said, unclasping the stockings and unrolling them. Then I stood and reached beneath my negligee and unzipped and removed the girdle, leaving on the pink satin panties. Suzanne has found shoes for me; powder blue T-strap sandals with high stiletto heels. When she saw I had removed the girdle, she brought the pantie briefs over to me and said simply "Here, slip this on, okay?"

I was relieved to discover that the fabric of the pantie briefs had a bit of spandex and fit nice and snug — maybe it would hide my excited daintie. I wore them over the pink satin panties.

Suzanne had now found a powder blue chiffon thin rectangular scarf. "Hmm…" she said to herself and then, turning to me, said "We could use this as either a long tie worn around your neck or as a hair tie. We‘ll experiment and see what looks best."

Finally, she retrieved a pair of almost nude stockings that had a bit of metallic sheen to them.

"Okay, sweetie, off with that negligee and I‘ll help you into the garter belt."

I did as she said, and stood blushing deeply (how much more blushing could I do in one day? I thought), my ears ringing. I was facing the mirror on the dressing table when she wrapped the garter belt around my waist and clasped the back.

"You‘re so skinny that this garter belt doesn‘t even fit you!" she said with a giggle. "Let me see if a safety pin will help." She fetched a safety pin and gathered some of the loose material in the back and pinned it. "There, that helps. Does it fit better now, sweetie?"

"Yes, I guess so" I replied breathlessly.

"Stockings next!" she said gleefully. "You know what to do."

I rolled up the stockings and attached them to the garter suspenders, working quickly, not wanting to let on how much I loved drawing on stockings. Suzanne hummed quietly to herself as she watched me. I fumbled with the garter suspenders and finally managed to get both stockings clasped.

"Why don‘t you go ahead and wear these as well?" she asked, holding up the white tap panties. "The fabric of the slip that goes with the dress is really delicate and might get hung up on the hooks or the safety pin on the garter belt, and these panties should cover them" she offered as an excuse. It didn‘t make much sense, really, but it was enough of an excuse to get me into them. I stepped into them and drew them up as she watched. When they were in place, she said "My goodness, but you are so cute! Just remember, dear, life‘s too short for boring underwear!" The fact that the panties didn‘t cover the back of the garter belt went unnoticed.

"And now the slip, sweetie; arms up." She guided the slip over my head and pulled it down. I let out a little sigh of relief for my foundations were now hidden out of view.

A minute later, Auntie knocked on the door and entered. "How‘s it going in here you two? How much fun have I missed?" she asked with a smile. She told me that the phone call was from my mother ("Don‘t worry dear, I didn‘t tell her about our day" she added quickly). She confirmed that mother would be spending the night in the city which was a relief to me — the last thing I wanted was my mother showing up unexpectedly and finding me all dressed-up.

While Auntie and Suzanne watched, I stepped into the dress and Auntie zipped it up. I tried not to admire myself in the mirror, but my furtive glances told me that, indeed, the dress was exquisite. The delicious fabric of the skirt caught the light and just glowed and shimmered; with each motion I took it seemed to be alive, the pleats opening and closing to give it a graceful and flowing movement, catching the light to make the skirt shimmer even more. The slip showed beneath the bodice and I found myself wishing the slip was adorned with lace to show from beneath the georgette. The dress was a bit big for me, but the cut was such that it didn‘t make much difference. After cinching the belt as tight as it would go, it fit well enough.

The sleeve cuffs needed buttoning, and I stood facing myself in the mirror as Auntie buttoned one cuff and Suzanne buttoned the other. With their heads down, I had a private moment of self-awareness in the mirror, just a heartbeat or two; the scene was just too surreal and sensuous, and I let out a silent ’Oh‘, my painted lips parting seductively. They had me step back and walk around a bit, giving comments on how lovely and graceful I was in the dress.

I sat at the dressing table again. Suzanne went to work with silver and blue eyeshadow and more mascara, really lengthening and darkening my lashes. Purplish lipstick followed along with darker cheek blush. She was really tarting me up.

Auntie was standing behind me, watching my reflection in the mirror as Suzanne applied the makeup. "I was telling Evelyn" began Suzanne, addressing Auntie, "that every boy needs to be dressed up as a pretty girl at least once."

Auntie gently placed her hands on my shoulders and looked at me in the mirror, right into my eyes, and said "Oh, most definitely… At least once; some boys need to be dressed much, much more often than that… like, every day." She let the comment hang in the air, her hands still gently on my shoulders, as Suzanne concentrated on my makeup.

I felt humiliated. Why were Auntie and Suzanne doing this to me? Were they trying to humiliate me? Or were they doing it because they thought I enjoyed it? Or was it because they enjoyed dressing me? Wearing the bridal gown was quite enough, but at least there was an excuse — they wanted pictures. Part of me wanted desperately to stop, to throw a tantrum and get back to being a boy. But the other part of me — the part that was reveling in the situation, was just as compelling. Torn between two worlds, I just sat there as Suzanne finished my makeup.

The chiffon scarf was looped around my neck and tied in front with a loose knot. They didn‘t like it, so Auntie retied it so that it formed a kind of flower petal on the side of my neck. They didn‘t like that either, so it was looped around my neck and tied in the back, creating sort of a choker, the streamers falling down my back. "Hmm… I like this" said Auntie. "It hides that little Adam‘s apple of yours." That comment stung me a little bit, for I had wished at times that my Adam‘s apple would just disappear altogether.

Earrings came next; we tried gold, but settled on multiple strands of long delicate silver chains. We experimented with lots of different necklaces, finally deciding that all of them distracted from the clean elegant lines of the bodice.

Suzanne selected an antique filigreed silver hairpiece that had a polished grayish silver stone set in the middle. She took strands of hair from my temple and clasped them together high up on my head with the hairpiece.

Finally, I put on the heels. The T-strap sandals matched the delicate dress and gave really gave it a flirty look.

"Oh my… oh my" whispered Auntie. "You‘re just so… so pretty Evelyn! Come, let‘s go downstairs and get a few more pictures in before dinner."

We went to the staircase together, but Auntie insisted that she and Suzanne go down the stairs first so they could watch as I came down. "Be very careful on your heels dear" said Auntie as I began my descent. About halfway down, they had me stop so they could get the camera and take pictures because, as Suzanne said, "You just can‘t believe how elegant you look coming down those stairs."

After more poses and pictures, Auntie and Suzanne set the table, leaving me alone in the parlor to evaluate myself in large mirror hanging on the wall. My feminine side won out and I became infatuated with the movement of the skirt and the utter femininity of the dress. It was definitely a dramatic special occasion dress that seemed perfect for wearing on the dance floor. In this regard, it was a dress for a vivacious woman on a date. But it also was reminiscent of a dress a young girl might wear to a party. One moment, I was that vivacious woman on the dance floor. The next, I was a little princess playing dress-up for a party. My primping and posing in the soft afternoon light was so titillating that I had to stop.

Thankfully, dinner was light and easy — I just picked at my food — and our conversation was about politics and not about me and my dressing. After dinner, we did a little clean-up and Auntie announced "Do you know what would be fun? If we three ladies took a drive up to Lookout Point." I think my heart skipped three beats and I felt faint.

"Auntie, there‘s no way I‘m going out dressed like this!" I almost screamed.

"Nonsense dear: why not?"

"Someone will see me, that‘s why!" I exclaimed.

"But sweetie, nobody here knows who you are. Anyone that sees you will think you‘re just a pretty girl in a lovely dress" was her rejoinder.

"But we could get in an accident or something" I replied in a pleading voice.

"Oh, pshaw; I‘m a fine driver — unlike your mother — and it‘s an easy safe drive to Lookout Point. We‘ll be fine. I‘ll drive nice and slow and extra cautiously if that‘ll make you feel better. Besides, this will be something you‘ll always remember and can learn from."

Her last comment struck me as odd, but then again, the whole day had been extraordinary.

I was out of excuses. Deep down inside, I did want to go out — it would be the thrill of a lifetime! We‘d go to Lookout Point, watch the sunset from the car, nobody would notice me, and we‘d be home soon. I let out a big sigh, saying "Okay, if it makes you feel better, I‘ll go."

"Great! Suzanne? I think you and I should dress up a bit ourselves to make Evelyn feel more comfortable, don‘t you think? And we should get you a purse, Evelyn. Suzanne? Do you have a purse that Evelyn can borrow? I don‘t think I have one that‘ll go with that dress" inquired Auntie.

They both scampered upstairs, almost giggling, leaving alone again in the parlor. I now had a bit of time to myself and I let myself go and primped and posed in the mirror. I minced to the bathroom and had too much fun undressing to use the toilet and again had to force myself to relax before I could pass water. My daintie became very stimulated as I drew on the panties. In such a state, my panties — Suzanne‘s panties — would become sullied. I looked around for something, anything, which might serve as a napkin to absorb the little beads of cream my daintie was oozing. One of the drawers contained a stack of linen hand towels, and I took one from the bottom, cut it in half with a pair of cuticle scissors, and used it as a napkin beneath my panties. I would deal with the other half later.

I exited the bathroom and spent a few more minutes alone with the mirror in the parlor. Then Auntie and Suzanne descended the staircase. They looked fabulous. Auntie had changed into a long black rayon skirt and a white silk side-wrap blouse with a dramatic ruffled portrait collar. She wore a chunky purple, blue, and white stone necklace that really set off her ensemble and her hair. She had done her makeup, too. She was beautiful. Suzanne had changed into a matched two-piece scarf dress, the abstract window shade pattern made of hues of brown, teal, blue, and a bit of red. The skirt and tunic top had asymmetric hemlines. She wore no jewelry and didn‘t need any. Like Auntie, she had done her makeup. Both of them wore high heels, Auntie in black pumps, Suzanne in brown stiletto sandals. Suzanne was holding two purses.

I complimented them, saying they both really looked beautiful. "Not as beautiful as you, dear" replied Auntie.

Suzanne handed me a rectangular white clutch purse. I could tell by its heft that it contained some cosmetics. Suzanne offered that she had put some makeup in it "In case you need to freshen up" she said with a wink.

"All set?" asked Auntie.

I sat in the back of Auntie‘s big Cadillac — I felt a little more hidden there than I would be in the front seat. They both stood outside the car door giving me tips on how to get into the car without mussing my skirt.

Lookout Point was a fifteen minute drive, but it seemed like an eternity. I began to relax a little, and fondled and stroked the lovely skirt as I sat hidden in the back seat. When we arrived, there was one other car, but, much to my relief, it left, leaving the place to ourselves.

Auntie and Suzanne got out of the car. With my head buzzing with prospect of actually presenting myself to the world outside Auntie‘s house, I too stepped out as well. A cool breeze was blowing and it gently lapped at my skirt as I walked with Auntie and Suzanne to the guardrail and took in the sites of San Francisco in the distance. The sun hadn‘t quite set yet and we watched the last remnants of the day disappear below the horizon. It was an idyllic scene, peaceful and spiritual. I was doing it — going out as a lady — and it felt so wonderful, so right. My mood became such that if Auntie or Suzanne had asked, I would have told them all my secrets; that I was thrilled to my core to be wearing such a pretty dress, that I dressed up whenever I could at home, that my dream was to be, as Auntie said, a boy who was dressed up as girl every day.

We walked along the paved path beside the guardrail to another point. The cool breeze felt wonderful as it played with my skirt. We were now uncomfortably far away from the car, at least in my paranoid mind. Sure enough, another car pulled up, its headlights shining directly on us for a moment or two, and parked between us and our car. There were two couples in the car. They stayed in their car for a few minutes.

"We should get going" said Auntie. "Evelyn, you must be tired; after all, you‘re still on East Coast time, aren‘t you?"

I agreed. I was really enjoying myself, but the visitors unnerved me. As we began to walk back to our car, the other visitors exited theirs. They stood at the guardrail in front of their car. Auntie confidently strode past them on the walkway and I followed, Suzanne behind me. Someone said "Good evening" and Auntie replied "Lovely out tonight, isn‘t it?" A few more pleasantries were exchanged as we walked past, my head down, trying not to be noticed. But I was noticed, for as we passed them a few steps, I distinctly heard one of the women say "pretty dress…"

Back in the car, we drove back into town. "We need milk and yogurt" said Suzanne. "Let‘s stop off at the dairy market". We pulled up to a small market and parked.

"Want to come in Evelyn?" asked Auntie with a grin, teasing me, knowing that I‘d refuse.

"Uh… no thank you Auntie" I replied with a smile.

"Okay, sweetie, just wait here and we‘ll be back in a couple of minutes."

While they were inside, I opened the purse and couldn‘t resist touching up my lips with the tube Suzanne put in the purse. Then a bit of cheek blush. There I was, sitting in the car, wearing a fabulous dress, touching up my makeup, just as a lady should.

Back at Auntie‘s house, sherry was poured and Auntie and Suzanne toasted me on a wonderful day. I let out a little yawn.

"You must be sleepy dear. Go ahead and go to bed. You can get undressed by yourself, I assume? Just leave everything in your room and we‘ll just put it all away in the morning. Suzanne and I are going to watch a little television."

Both Suzanne and Auntie gave me kisses on the cheek and thanked me for a wonderful day. Then Auntie blurted out: "Drat! Evelyn, I took the sheets off your bed and washed them, but they never made it to the dryer. Oh well. Why don‘t you sleep in your mother‘s room tonight?"

"Uh… okay" I replied. The guestroom that mother stayed in was much nicer than the small one in which I slept. Not only that, but the closet doors were mirrored.

After a few more goodnights, I ascended the staircase to the room where mother was staying. I entered the room, shut and locked the door, and let out a huge sigh, for I was finally alone. I just wanted to admire myself in the closet door mirrors.

That‘s when I noticed the negligee on the bed; the very one I had worn beneath the bridal gown. Auntie or Suzanne placed it there. On top was a handwritten note that said:

Dear Evelyn:

We‘ve had so much fun today. You make such a pretty girl. We thought you might like to end your day by sleeping in a nice nightgown.

Much love to our beautiful ’niece‘;

Auntie and Suzanne

I stared at the note and the negligee in disbelief. The first thing that struck me was the ruse Auntie played — she knew I‘d be spending the night in this room and not my own; there was no ’forgetting‘ to dry my clothes. The second thing that struck me was just what a wonderful evening this was going to be. It was barely nine o‘clock and I had several precious hours to play.

My first creaming was in the bathroom in front of the well-lit mirror. I was leaning against the countertop, a pillow strategically placed between my oh-so-stimulated daintie and the countertop. (I had found more protection for the pantie gushing that was most certainly going to occur.) I was a seething caldron of emotions, bouncing between shame, humiliation, pure joyful erotic pleasure, and questioning of Auntie‘s motives. Why had she done this to me? Why did I so want to be dressed as a girl? Why did I love dressing up as a girl? Why was it so very erotic? How did Auntie know? Did she dress me up for her enjoyment, for mine, or both?

I began to cry; tears ran past my mascara and down my cheeks. The precipice was reached; I gently bit the knuckle of my index finger and whimpered as wave after wave of cream gushed forth.

The first creaming settled my mind and thoughts. No feelings of utter shame arrived, nor were there any desires to undress from the shameful garments. My next creaming was less than an hour later as I sat in front of the mirrored closet doors, my panties at my ankles; the skirt held with one hand while the other held a soft velour hand towel and coaxed another stunning creaming. After that, I showered (it occurred to me that maybe Auntie and Suzanne would hear me showering and realize it was a couple of hours after I had gone to bed. What was I doing in the meantime? They would wonder and probably draw the correct conclusion.)

I slept in the negligee and foundations. I awoke early in the morning and had a splendid pillow ride and creaming, then fell asleep again. I got up late in the morning and gathered the dinner dress ensemble and negligee on the chair, a mound of dainty treasures. I had kept the note that Auntie and Suzanne had written me, folded tightly in my wallet, a souvenir of a fabulous day. I would probably destroy it later — I just couldn‘t risk anyone ever seeing it. I put the cut-up linen hand towel I had used as a pantie napkin in the trashcan in the bathroom, hiding it amongst the tissues and such.

I came downstairs in jeans and a T-shirt. Auntie and Suzanne were in the study. "Good morning, sleepyhead" said Auntie cheerfully. "Come in here, precious, there‘s something I want to show you." They had downloaded the pictures to their computer and beckoned me over to look.

I couldn‘t believe what I was seeing. Those weren‘t pictures of me; they were pictures of some very pretty young lady in an exquisite Victorian gown and a beautiful dinner dress. "You are just stunning, Evelyn!" cried Suzanne. "Your mother may be a professional model, but you… you just take the cake!" I feigned indifference, but I just couldn‘t take my eyes off of the photographs.

"Don‘t worry, dear" said Auntie "no one will see these but us and the lady that wants to buy the gown. Would you like me to copy the files for you?" she asked.

"No, no, no" I replied, although I secretly wanted them.

Suzanne made me a late breakfast. As I ate, she told me how special yesterday was and how she was kind of sorry mother was coming home today because, if she wasn‘t, we could do some more dressing up.

"No way" I said, trying to sound like a real boy and not the sissy that I was.

"Oh, I think otherwise" she said with a wink.

It wasn‘t long before mother returned everything went back to normal. But I did go to bed early that evening (I didn‘t sleep much the evening before) and read the note from Auntie and Suzanne before snuggling up to a pillow.

Chapter Six — A Belated Birthday Present

Before we left a few days later, Auntie and Suzanne offered me a job after graduation at the Gilded Lily. They knew that I had applied to go to Berkeley and if I was accepted, it would be a perfect opportunity to settle in. I was to graduate high school after the first semester — there were two only two easy classes that I needed to complete in order to graduate. I was a straight-A student, but because my earlier illness had made me skip a semester, I lacked the two classes. So if I was accepted at Berkeley, I could go out and work for Suzanne in the winter and spring, then attend summer orientation classes at Berkeley and start school in the fall. Mother wasn‘t too keen on the idea. She told me she was looking forward to having me around the house for the entire school year.

On the day we left, Auntie presented me with a gift, a belated birthday present, she said (I was a Gemini, of course). It was a set of pajamas and a robe of the highest quality white silk charmeuse with powder blue piping, with my initials in a florid blue monogram on the breast of the robe. The pajama top was double-breasted. They didn‘t look unquestionably feminine, but there was little doubt that these were ladies pajamas. The fabric was exquisite and definitely not something boys would wear, and the cut was for a lady‘s figure. Mother thought they were very nice and never questioned how feminine they were, but she did suggest later that my stepfather need not know about them, and that I might want to keep them in the guestroom closet.

"Ellen?" said Auntie, addressing my mother, "you know how we‘re getting more clothing at the shop? Well, some of the things coming in are really quite nice. I was thinking that I could set aside some of the nicer things and send them off to you. Would you like that?"

"Sure, why not?" she replied. "If they don‘t fit or I can‘t use them, I‘ll send them back at some point."

To be continued…