An Obvious Girl, by Karin Bishop

Part 2

Chapter 4. Come Saturday Morning

I woke up Saturday morning and felt absolutely wonderful, but didn’t know why. There was a momentary thought of ‘hey, these aren’t my boxers and t-shirt’, but I quickly remembered that I was in a nightie–and was delighted! I got out of bed, went to the bathroom, lifted the hem of my nightgown, lowered my panties and sat to pee. It all felt so natural that I actually sighed with happiness, just like in a movie or something.

I splashed some cool water on my face, put on the bathrobe, and headed downstairs. Mom was already up, and when she saw me coming she laid out a placemat, bowl, and melon.

“Morning, honey, how’d you sleep?”

“Like a princess!” I said, laughing.

She laughed, too. “That’s my girl!”

“Is this what I’m having?” I stared at the melon.

“Yes, honey, and you might as well face it–you were eating pretty poorly before, just typical carbo-heavy boy stuff. Probably thought it was you were supposed to eat, as a boy, not that it ever put an ounce on you. I always wanted you to eat healthier, and now’s a perfect time to start anew.”

She poured a glass of juice and set it before me and added some wheat toast when it popped up.

I had to admit she was right, so with a funny thought about ‘keeping my girlish figure’, I tucked into the melon. It wasn’t bad at all, and I felt pretty good after I ate it. It surprised me that after the toast and juice, I was pretty much full. I started to get up from the table and Mom gave me a ‘harrumph’ and a stern look. I realized that I’d left my breakfast things on the table, so I picked them up, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher.

“Sorry, Mom,” I said as I turned from the dishwasher. “I guess I had some bad habits.”

“Typical boy habits, and my own darned fault,” Mom nodded.

I thought for a moment she meant how I was now was her fault; my face must have done something because she came to me and hugged me.

“None of that, honey! I meant that it’s my fault that I fell into the routine a lot of women do, picking up after the men-folk, that sort of thing. Doing the laundry, doing the dishes, whatever.”

“Women’s work,” I nodded, reaching out to give the words ‘air quotes’.

“Exactly. But you know what’s silly about the whole thing? Bachelors. Nobody ever considers that if a male lives alone–or even with other guys–he’s got to do his laundry, do his dishes, and so on. So there’s no woman around; what do they call the work then?”

I giggled, remembering some TV shows and movies I’ve seen. “I think a lot of guys don’t do their laundry or their dishes!”

Mom nodded. Then she got more serious and held me at arm’s length. “And it’s the fault of mothers like me who raise their sons to think that basic cleanliness and courtesy is beneath them. I made that mistake with my son Andy; just fell into it.”

“I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, patting her hand. “For all the dishes I left, the laundry I didn’t help with …”

She smiled and hugged me. “That’s alright. We’ve got a chance to do things right, now. And now it’s time to start your day, honey. You’ll get to see some of what it’s like being a girl. I thought that because of the newness of it all, we’d ease into things. You usually wear denim jeans, a t-shirt, socks and tennies, right?”

“Sure. You know that.” I wasn’t sure what she meant by ‘ease into things’–I couldn’t wait to spend my day as a girl!

“So I thought that that’s what we’d start with–”

“Mom, I don’t want to wear my old clothes–”

“Young lady, you must stop interrupting!” she said with a mock-serious tone.

“Sorry.” Still, I got a warm rush at the words ‘young lady’.

“I thought we’d start with the same sort of things you wear, only a girl’s version. I actually do have my reasons, but we’ll talk about that later. Come upstairs with me.”

I followed her upstairs; she had been busy while I was eating breakfast. She had laid out a v-necked yellow t-shirt with capped sleeves, denim skirt, white cotton panties, short white socks, and white Keds. I had to chuckle; except for the obvious differences, there really wasn’t any difference from my usual ‘daily uniform’!

“I’ll step out and let you dress, Angela, then we’ll see to your hair.”

As the door closed I went and felt the panties, and realized that I’d guiltily looked around to see if anybody saw me. Then, of course, I realized that nobody could see me, and it was okay, because I was now entitled to wear them. They were my panties!

I dropped the robe, then thought about my new life and personality, and remembering my breakfast dishes, I picked it up and hung it on the door. It sounds silly, but I wasn’t sure how to get undressed; should I take off the nightgown, then the panties, or the reverse? Well, I had to pee again, so that solved things. I picked up the panties and carried them into the bathroom. I sat down and peed, then wiped myself and tried on the panties, tucking myself back and away. They fit closer and more securely than the nightgown’s panties, and I thought they’d feel great all day. I pulled on the t-shirt, pulling my hair out the neck hole, and spontaneously shook my head. My hair floating back and forth felt wonderful.

Now came the moment of truth–the skirt. I pulled up the denim skirt. I zipped it and stood, looking down at my legs. So far, I didn’t feel anything earth-shaking. But I did think my legs looked surprisingly good. Well, I might as well finish, I thought. The socks and shoes were no big difference from what I usually wore, except the socks were low and had a pretty design, and the Keds were narrower than my usual tennies. And clean.

Fully dressed, I took my first steps as a girl. Oh, God, I prayed, please let me do this! Please let me pull this off–no, that’s not right. Please let me become the girl I truly long to be–no; even that wasn’t quite right! How about this: Please let me live as the girl I really am!

Okay, so it was a sloppy prayer with bad grammar, but as I walked around the room, feeling the skirt against my legs, it just felt great, and it felt real. I felt real. I hadn’t had too much of a chance to feel the hem of the nightie, because I got into bed right away, and then I had robe on this morning. So this was my first real feeling of walking with that open feeling, that skirt feeling–and I loved it. I walked to the closet and began checking out my new things more closely than I had last night. Mom had moved all my boy’s clothes to the far right, kind of shoved together as an afterthought. New hangers held my clothes–Angela’s clothes–neatly, according to type of clothing.

I couldn’t believe how much she’d bought! When she asked me what outfits I thought looked good, I never dreamed that she’d buy them all, and other things as well! I went out to thank her and to talk about things. I found her in the laundry room.

“Mom, I can’t believe how much stuff you bought last night!” I moved a laundry basket aside for her.

“Don’t worry about it; I’m sure it’ll all be needed. Now, Angela, we need to talk about today.” She leaned against the dryer and blew some hair out of her face. I leaned against the wall, rolling one leg on my toe.

“Angela, you’ve got to start learning girl’s chores. Much as I love you, you weren’t any great shakes at doing your chores as a boy–”

“Well, I did the garbage …”

“Yes, that’s true, you did the garbage and I thank you for it. And like I said, I fell into the trap of letting a son get away with things. But please, there are things every girl knows how to do and does for her family, and I need you to help me.”

“You mean like sewing and stuff?”

She smiled. “No, that’s a skill that you’ll learn, but I’m talking about basic chores. Okay, today we’re going to strip the beds, wash the bedding, make up the beds with new bedclothes. Follow me so far?”

I nodded, thinking what a drag it would be, then catching myself on the bad pun. And also chastising myself for that automatic ‘boy-thought’, because I didn't ever want to be the ‘lazy son’ again!

Mom saw my glum face. “Don’t worry, honey, there’ll be lots of things to talk about to pass the time. So we take care of the beds. We’re going to have chicken tonight, so you’ll clean the chicken, washing it and salting it to soak. And then we’ll see where we are. But first, there’s something I want to show you. Follow me.”

I followed her up to my bedroom; she made a detour into her room on the way, coming back out with a small box. She sat down on my bed and motioned for me to do the same, so I did. She cleared her throat; whatever this was, it must be heavy, I thought.

“Angela, do you remember me saying that you’re basically wearing the same things you wore as a boy? Except for the skirt, I mean?”

“Sure. And the skirt feels wonderful, by the way.” I realized that I had kept my knees together when I sat, and it just felt and looked normal.

“I’m glad to hear that. Well, you haven’t mentioned this, so maybe it slipped your mind. There is one item of clothing you aren’t wearing ... a bra.”

I blushed and looked down at my skirt’s hem. It took a moment to speak. “Well, I don’t have anything ... that is, I don’t think I’d fit ... and it seemed like you might think I was, I don’t know, presumptuous.”

She smiled. “I think I understand. Well, if you haven’t already, look in your top right dresser drawer.”

I got up and went to the drawer, and in it were several bras neatly folded. They looked smaller than Mom’s, of course, but they also looked so intensely feminine that I got another warm rush.

Mom might have noticed my reaction.

“I understand that you don’t fit now, but girls your age have developed a bust, right?”

I thought of the girls in my class. Yes, they all had busts, all except Sharon Dodson, who weighed a thousand pounds so it was hard to tell. But Denise Waverly had big enough boobs for both of them; she’d started developing around fourth grade.

Suddenly I realized that those were uncharitable, unkind thoughts. Well, it was true that Denise started developing in elementary school, but …I was mad at myself. They were either the thoughts of a typical boy–which I didn’t want to be–or a ‘mean girl’–which I also didn’t want to be. I resolved to be kind and compassionate; I’d been so unhappy and now my mother was helping my dream come true. The least I could do was be a nice person!

These thoughts flashed quickly and my resolution was made. But it all happened so fast that Mom didn’t notice. Aloud, I just said, “Yes. Nearly all over them developed by the end of eighth grade.”

Mom’s voice was soft and very gentle. “So it’s past time for you to wear your first bra, Angela. Choose one.”

I picked a white cotton one that had a small geometric pattern in the cups. I carried it back to the bed and sat down, holding it like it was a wounded bird. Mom was as gentle with me.

“You’ll need to remove your top, honey, and I’ll help you put on your bra. Ready?”

I nodded, and pulled off my top. I can’t explain, but I felt very vulnerable right now, and had the urge to cross my hands over my puny chest. Instead, I held my arms out and Mom put the bra on me, hooking it in back. She tightened the straps, then pulled here and there until it fit securely. As long as I’d dreamed of wearing a bra, I hadn’t known how wonderful it would feel!

“Angela, when you put on a bra as a daily routine, there’s a quicker way to do it alone. Put it around your waist, turn it around so the cups face behind you, hook it, turn it cups forward, put your arms through the straps and pull it up. Then lean forward–” She broke off. “Sorry. I mean once you have breasts, lean forward and get the bra to fit in place.”

The casual way she said ‘once you have breasts’ gave me another huge warm rush. She hadn’t said, ‘if you ever have breasts’, or ‘this is what it would be like if you did have breasts’; she said it like it was only a matter of time! Oh God, if only it were true!

So I was standing there with the bra on. It fit around my chest and over the shoulders, and the stretchy fabric of the cups clung to my chest but was obviously loose. I was wondering what to stuff the cups with when Mom opened the small box.

She looked into the box full of tissue paper and began speaking in a ‘small’ voice; I guess she was embarrassed. “Before your father left, I tried different things to try to save our marriage. It seemed ... he told me he wanted a sexier woman, one with bigger breasts ...”

“Mom, it’s okay; you don’t have to tell me anything that’ll hurt you.” I laid my hand on her shoulder.

She looked at me with a sad smile. I could see tears at the corners of her eyes. “Thank you, honey. That means a lot to me. But I think you’ll need to know the hurt a woman can feel, too. I just hope it’s only second-hand and not have any man hurt you so …” She looked again at the box. “You were too little to notice anything, but I began dressing sexier around the house, trying to keep your dad. I didn’t know that he already had somebody else waiting.” Her jaw clenched. “I even began wearing sexy lingerie and tried to be something I wasn’t.”

My mom was a wonderful mother, and a hard worker. She wasn’t one of those 1950s ‘June Cleaver’ types with pearl necklaces, white gloves, and a vacuum; she was modern and more than a little hip. One time I’d looked at her with other than a son’s eyes and thought she would be a catch for a good man–not the skunk my father turned out to be. He left us in the middle of the night after cleaning out the bank account. Before the courts could catch up with him, he’d died in a drunk driving accident. Needless to say, he was not a good role model.

But I already knew that it wouldn’t have made any difference if he was a wonderful guy and they’d stayed married. I knew–I knew, absolutely–that I always would have felt that I was a girl, regardless of my family circumstances. That her marriage had been unhappy wasn’t a reflection on Mom.

Mom continued with her story. “I bought these for the sexy lingerie, to give me bigger boobs. God, I can’t believe how I tried to make myself be something I’m not! Anyway, I think maybe some good can come out of them.”

She reached through the tissue paper and pulled out two small breast forms, made of a flesh-colored gel. I realized what she meant by ‘some good’ and began getting excited, damping it down because this was a solemn, important moment. She held the forms between the palms of her hands.

“I wore these under my breasts to push my breasts up and out.”

I swallowed with embarrassment, because my mom was talking about her own body so frankly. She must have noticed, because she looked at me and chuckled.

“What, didn’t you know I had breasts? Of course I would never talk to my son this way, you understand.”

She gave me a serious, direct look.

I nodded. “I understand, Mother,” I said formally. There was this flood of happy warmth as I truly understood her meaning.

She smiled. “I think you do, Angela. Well, these are not full-size mastectomy forms; they’re smaller and designed to work like I described, under an adult woman’s breasts, but I think they’ll suit your needs. While small for a full-grown woman, they’re perfect for a growing teen-age girl, don’t you think?”

I nodded seriously, realizing that she was quite literally giving me her breasts. “Mom, these mean ... they mean so much to me, I can’t tell you.”

She leaned over and gave me a hug. “Thank you again, honey. Okay, stand up. Time to develop your boobs!”

We laughed together as I stood. She pulled a cup from my bra, inserted the form, and moved it around, then moved it again. Then she looked at it, and moved it again. I cracked up.

“What, did I tickle you?”

“No, Mom, it’s just that you’ve got the same look of concentration you have when you’re rearranging furniture!”

She laughed too, then continued moving the form slightly. Then she inserted the other form, did the same adjusting–and look–and then stood back to admire her work.

“They’ll warm up with your body temperature and you’ll be amazed how they feel like part of you. Hmm ... jump up and down on your toes.”

I did that and felt an incredible sense of jiggling weight on my chest. So that’s what breasts felt like! I loved the feeling! And with the bra there was a sense of support, of …protection, and I loved that, too.

“Mom, they feel ... Oh God, Mom they feel so good!” I walked to give her a hug, and felt my breasts against hers, and suddenly we were both weeping.

“Oh, my sweet angel ... my pretty Angela! Someday, my darling ...” she said as she pulled back, holding my head between her hands and looking at me. She didn’t finish her thought; instead she kissed my nose gently. “You’re adapting quicker than I thought you would. Maybe not, actually …Well, let’s get on with our day.”

I put my top on, feeling for the first time the pull of my breasts against the top, and looked at myself in the mirror, with my denim skirt and yellow top. Yep, I thought. That’s the real me!

Chapter 5. The First Full Day

My first full day as a girl started out ridiculously simple. But busy! I stripped the beds, carried the bedclothes down, then got our two hampers and watched as Mom explained the best washing procedure for all the items. Then we made the beds together; I’d never done that before and floating the sheets in the air was kind of fun. As I lifted the sheets, I could feel my bra pulling against my chest and shoulders. I rather liked it.

Then it was time to get a cooking lesson. Mom told me how to prepare the chicken we’d be having for dinner, by washing it and salting it and letting it soak. When she’d first told me about it, I’d thought it was a long, complicated procedure. It was so simple–but the raw chicken felt weird!

My next assignment was to tidy my room and vacuum. I decided to attack my room like it wasn’t mine; I never really tidied things up when ordered to because I’d get distracted by something. Or I’d spend time daydreaming, thinking about how my room would look if I could decorate it like a girl’s. My vanity would go there, I’d have a hat stand or tree or whatever they called it for my pretty scarves over there, and so on.

So looking at it now, through Angela’s eyes, it was a stranger’s, and it was very easy to see the mess. It also helped to distance myself from the boy who made the mess. I would be a neat and tidy girl. As I bent over to pick things up, I learned to keep my knees together and roll them to the side when I lowered myself. I could also feel the weight of my new breasts. Beyond that, I just concentrated on the task at hand.

We folded laundry next; it was strange when it came time to fold the boy’s clothes. I actually thought about it like that–the clothes of some boy. There were no girl’s clothes, of course, since I hadn’t gotten anything dirty yet, but I did watch Mom closely to see how she folded her bras and panties.

Next was the dusting and vacuuming; as I pulled the vacuum towards me I could see my legs under my skirt; it probably sounds silly, but they looked like they ‘belonged’ there. I found that I wasn’t the least bit sexually excited by wearing the clothes; it was only the newness and the ‘at last!’ feeling that was exciting. Good, I thought; I don’t want to be a transvestite; I want to be a girl. There’s a difference, and I guess I’d already figured out that I enjoyed wearing a girl’s clothes because I was a girl, pure and simple.

After a wash-up in the kitchen, Mom declared a break in the action; she’d made ice tea so we went out to the patio to sip the tea and relax while the chicken cooked.

After a sip and sigh of satisfaction, Mom said, “So, how are you doing, honey?”

“Fine, Mom. Do you ... have you been doing this work every week?”

“The laundry’s done every week, of course; beds every couple of weeks. I usually give up on your room, though.” She grinned.

I grinned back. “I don’t blame you! That boy was so messy! Why couldn’t he learn to put things away?”

She stared at me for a second, then burst out laughing. “Yep, Angela; boys are so messy! But girls can be kind of messy, too, if they don’t keep their room tidy!”

“I will.”

The calm certainty with which I said this made her get serious quickly. “Well, let’s not rush things. Angela’s only been around less than a day–”

“That’s all I need, Mom. This is me! I’ve been trying to imagine what it would be like to go back to being Andrew forever, and I can’t. But I also don’t want to be Angela just on weekends, you know?”

“I think I do, honey, but let’s just take it one day at a time to find out just where you really fit. I just want you to know that I love you and I’ll support your decision–whatever it is–100%.”

“Thank you, Mom. You know, the weird thing is that I haven’t been thinking about this at all–”

“I don’t understand?”

“Well, as soon as I got dressed, you threw me into chores so I didn’t have time to sit around and go, ‘oh, look at me, I’m a little princess’. I plunged into the work, and I guess the back of my mind was working, because my decision’s already made and I never consciously thought about it. I think maybe you had that in mind all the time.”

She laughed. “Caught me! Yes, I thought that just sitting around dressed in a skirt wouldn’t do anything for you. Remember what I talked about yesterday? The essence of being a woman isn’t just the clothing. Of course, it’s not doing all these chores, either. Tell you what; let’s check on dinner and then see what the rest of the night holds.”

We’d finished the tea; we took the things inside and I helped Mom get dinner together, listening and learning. She told me that every girl has to know how to keep house, because even if she never married she’d be keeping house for herself. Continuing what she’d said earlier about bachelors, she said that she suspected some men marry only because they want another ‘mother’ to take care of them, but women were stronger and always took care of themselves.

My usual eating procedure–Andrew’s procedure–had been to wolf down as much as possible as fast as possible. Maybe it was because I’d helped prepare things, but I decided to take my time and enjoy the meal. I sat carefully, my knees and ankles together, the napkin across my lap. It felt right and wasn’t uncomfortable; I was glad that my testicles were tucked away. Mom complimented me on my eating manners so I made a resolution to continue this way.

It seemed like each resolution came naturally; even the word ‘resolution’ seemed too heavy. They were just simple facts. I would help clean. I would not think unkind thoughts automatically about girls I didn’t really know. I would keep my knees together. Just simple facts.

As I cleaned up the dinner things, Mom looked through the newspaper and suggested we see one of the new movies.

“Cool, Mom, I heard that’s a great–oh-oh!”

“What?”

“So I’ve got to change, right?”

She looked at me over the top of the paper. “It’s not fancy; you know that. Unless you want to.”

“Mom, you know what I mean. I’ve got to dress like a boy!” Amazingly, my eyes stung at the thought.

She looked at me for a long time without speaking. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Then I’d rather not see the movie, much as I want to.”

“You mean you’d rather ...”

“Yes, I’d rather continue being Angela.” That sounded odd. “I mean, I am Angela …you know what I mean.” She nodded. “So I’d rather …not go if I have to go as a boy, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind at all. Listen, honey, you can have what you want, you know. Come to the movie with me. As Angela. As yourself.”

“Oh, God, I’d love that, but what if someone should see me?”

“The movie’s playing on the far side of town, too, so we’ll go there and we shouldn’t see anyone we know. It’ll just be a regular mom ‘n daughter night out.”

“Mom ‘n daughter ...” I started weeping again. “I can’t believe how much I’m crying lately! Oh, Mom, I want to be your daughter in every way and all the time–”

“Remember, Angela, one day at a time.”

“Okay, okay. Well, what do I do?”

“You can wash your face if you’d like, put on a little makeup. Wear what you’ve got or change–”

I interrupted her belatedly, because what she said had just sunk in. “Makeup?”

“Sure. Every girl wears some when she goes out.”

“I know that, silly! I mean ...”

She gave me a knowing look and went with me to my bedroom. She stood at the door and surveyed the now-neat room. I opened a drawer and pulled out a baby-blue long-sleeved top with a scalloped neck. As I put it on, I noticed Mom was murmuring quietly.

“Maybe wall paper, some lace curtains ...” She spoke up. “Well, I think you would need to exchange that desk for a vanity, don’t you think? Every girl needs one.”

“Fine with me, Mom!” I’d already spent hours dreaming of my girl’s room and my vanity, and now it might actually happen! And I really didn’t have any friends that came over, so nobody would ever see my room but us.

“So normally you’d sit there to do your makeup.” That simple thought, of that simple action, made me tingle. She turned me into the bathroom. “So you’ll have to do your makeup in here.”

“But–” I saw a brightly colored tackle box that had never been there before; I recognized it as a Caboodles makeup kit. I opened it and it was filled with really cool makeup–not Mom’s makeup, but teenage brands.

“Mom, thank you! But I don’t know how ...”

“I understand. Well, the movie won’t wait; would you mind if I helped you?”

“I’d be honored!” I grinned.

Mom sat me on the toilet and holding my chin in one hand, rubbed and brushed and stroked. It was all over so quickly that I figured she’d given up. Then she brushed my hair and put clips on both sides, so my hair was pulled back off my face and then hung down, framing it. She left the bathroom to get something. I looked in the mirror. I couldn’t believe it–a pretty girl stared back at me. Mom had put a touch of soft brown shadow, a bit of blush, and a soft pink shiny lipstick, and I was absolutely transformed. The effect was so startling that I let out a yell; she came back in the bathroom and I hugged her.

“Do you want to change into some other shoes? You’ve been in those tennies all day. How about some flats? They’ll be more comfortable.”

It was a great idea, but of course I wouldn’t have thought of it since everything was so new–and I really didn’t know everything I had! Mom had bought several flats with almost no heel in different colors; I carefully put my tennies away and threw the socks in the hamper. Andrew would have dumped everything on the floor. I slipped my feet into the white flats and we were ready. Walking to the door, I almost bumped into things because I was looking down at my feet. I was probably flipping out, but I thought my feet looked so pretty in the flats and not at all boyish. No boy could have such pretty feet, I thought.

Mom had more surprises. At the front door she handed me a yellow sweater to carry, and handed me a purse–a shoulder bag, really. It was not an old lady purse; it was a young, hip bag. I was once again amazed at how she’d thought of everything.

“I’ve put some things you’ll need in there, like tissues and a brush, and some lipstick for touch up. You can put whatever you want in, of course. Now, lift your hair.”

She reached behind my neck and attached a necklace; a thin gold chain with a cute, stylized heart pendant.

“Of course, you can pick out your own jewelry, but I saw that and thought it’d look pretty on you.”

I was delighted. “Oh, Mom, I love it!”

“It’s a little weird for a girl not to have rings and bracelets, earrings and necklaces and personal jewelry, but I don’t suppose anybody’s going to be too critical in the dark theater.”

Still in awe of her complete thoughtfulness, I followed her to the car after she locked the door. It wasn’t until I got in the car that it dawned on me that I was out on the street dressed as a pretty girl!

Dressed as me!

Chapter 6. Going To The Movies

The movies were all the way across town, as Mom had said, and it took awhile to get there, allowing me time to think about things. I realized that I had received no feedback as to how I looked–beyond Mom’s reassurances, but she had to say reassuring things; she was a mother. I began to get nervous. We pulled up at the theater and I was reluctant to get out of the car; Mom had to coax me. As we crossed the street, she told me to stand up straighter and walk proudly as a pretty girl should. I think I did it; either way we got to the box office.

I dreaded the bright lights of the front of the theater and lobby, but we just whisked through with the crowd. There was a hitch though; the movie we came to see had been bumped by a sneak preview, so we decided to see it. It was about a hip young girl starting her business career and the men who tried to romance her or block her way. It was all very breezy and everything, but I realized that I was following the girl much more closely than I would have if I was sitting there as Andrew. In fact, as Andrew, I would have been at the action flick next door, watching aliens get zapped.

The odd thing was that Andrew would only have been at the action flick because it was what boys did. And he would have been miserable. There would have been a Damsel in Distress for the Hero to sav e from the aliens, and Andrew would have stared at her and wanted to be her, to wear her clothes, to be with her girlfriends, maybe …

But it would seem to any observer that Andrew was just a regular boy at a regular boy’s movie, never knowing how unhappy he was, and how much he wanted to be in the theatre next-door, watching the romantic comedy.

But Angela could watch the romantic comedy. And I could freely giggle at the funny parts and sigh at the romantic parts. And I could freely identify with the girl. Without forcing myself to maintain a boy’s perspective, I was wrapped up in this girl’s life. Could it ... could it be mine?

Halfway through the movie I had to pee. No problem, I thought. I knew I’d have to use the women’s rest room, but I wasn’t worried because everybody was watching the movie. Wrong! I immediately learned one of the downsides of being female–lines at the toilet! There were four women waiting for a stall; a mother and little girl and two older teenagers. The girls were talking about their boyfriends or their dates; I wasn’t eavesdropping but there was no way to avoid hearing them. Even the mother heard them, and I could tell she disapproved and didn’t want her daughter hearing.

The odd thing was, I immediately panicked when I saw the others, but had to pee so bad–and the men’s room was not an option–that I stayed there, trying to be invisible. I was playing with my necklace, sliding the pendant tight along the gold chain. But listening to the girls, I got caught up in their stories, and forgot to be self-conscious. It also helped immensely that none of the females there paid me any attention; in their eyes I was one of them.

The mother and daughter went into a stall as an older woman came out, washed, and checked her makeup before leaving. One of the girls made a comment about a guy named ‘Chuck’, and her friend jumped right in.

“Yeah, but Chuck’s an asshole, Gina! I’ve told you that, Diana told you that–heck, even Becca told you that!–and face it, girl, you know it yourself!”

The girl named Gina looked sad. “Yeah, I know he is. But he can be so sweet when we’re alone.”

“That’s just an act he’s putting on to get laid. You know it, Gina! The best thing is, you haven’t slept with him yet.”

“I know ... But he can be so nice, Carrie ...”

Carrie snorted and turned to me as if I was already in their conversation. “He’s an asshole.”

She shook her head at me, as if I should join her in being exasperated with Gina. I just smiled weakly, wishing I could disappear. I was so sure that she would realize I was a boy.

Gina turned to me, also. “He can be really nice! You know?” She looked at me hopefully.

I realized that both girls thought I was a girl, too, and I got an incredible warm rush of happy confidence. They were both looking at me–I know it seemed like minutes but it was really only a second or two–and I felt I was supposed to say something. I thought about a jerk I knew in class.

“Well ...” I checked to see if they really wanted to listen; they did so I went on. “I don’t know the guy you’re talking about, but I know one guy that’s sort of like that. The only question is, which guy is the act? Is he a nice guy who is sometimes an asshole, or is he really an asshole that occasionally does something nice?”

The girls looked at me, thinking about it. Gina’s eyes widened and she went, ‘oh wow’, and a smile formed on Carrie’s face. Gina looked shell-shocked; just then a stall came open and she went in. The former occupant checked her face at the mirror for a second, fluffed her hair and headed out.

Carrie turned to me. “You’re right. Boy, are you right.” She leaned her head against the wall and looked at the ceiling. “Poor Gina. I think it’s the second one.”

“Pardon me?” I had been worried for a second that I was the ‘boy’ she’d just referred to but realized it was just the saying, the exclamation, like ‘wow’. Or ‘man!’ I reminded myself not to be so sensitive; the girls seemed to be accepting me as one of them, so why didn’t I accept it?

Carrie sighed. “The second one you said. Chuck’s an asshole who sometimes is nice, because he thinks he’ll get lucky. And Gina’s going to be hurt. I’ve tried to be a good friend and warn her, but I think she’s gonna get burned.”

“Then you’ve got to be a good friend and be there for her afterward.”

Carrie looked at me. “You’re right; I will be. But I hurt for her. I’m Carrie,” she said, turning to me.

“I’m Angela,” I said, saying and hearing it out loud for the first time outside my home. It sounded right and fine.

“Do you go to Burl?” she said, using the slang for Burlington High School.

“No, I go to Westmont,” I said, and mentally slapped myself–I couldn’t believe I told her my school!

“That’s why I haven’t seen you–”

A stall opened and an old lady came out; Carrie started towards the stall and turned back to me.

“Listen, my email’s ‘burlgrrl–two R’s–at gmail’. Drop me a line if you feel like it.”

Then she disappeared into the stall. Gina came out next, and as I headed into the stall, she held the door.

“Thanks,” she said quietly.

I said ‘sure’, wished her luck, and went in. Okay, I knew what to do, sort of; pull down the skirt, pull down the panties, sit, do it, wipe, make sure everything’s back in place. I was terribly self-conscious; I wondered crazily if anybody could tell that my pee sounded different from a real girl’s! I finished and left the stall; Carrie and Gina were gone and there were now two other women waiting. I washed my hands, checked my face–it still startled me to see this girl looking back with my eyes–and went back to Mom.

“I thought you’d fallen in!” she said in a whisper. “Any trouble?”

I whispered back. “No; just a line.” Mom nodded; she knew all about Ladies’ room lines. I leaned closer. “I think I might have made a friend.”

Mom turned in the dark and looked at me, smiled, and turned back to the screen. She whispered that I hadn’t missed much. A little bit later there was a love scene, and I got uncomfortable sitting next to my mother, watching the scene. Not because I’m a prude or anything; it’s just that I suddenly thought about it from the girl’s side. I wondered what it would be like to be held that way, to be kissed that way, and then when he put his hands on her breasts and kissed them, I got a quick hot rush. Where were these feelings going to take me?

Finally the heroine wound up with a promotion and a future romance with an artist. We all left the theater; out of the corner of my eye I caught Carrie and Gina with two guys, and I wondered if one of them was Chuck. Carrie noticed me and called out ‘see ya, Angela!’ before they turned the other way with their boyfriends. Mom looked at me again while we waited for the light to change.

“She seems nice. Did you know her before?”

“No, she goes to Burlington. She gave me her email address.”

“Are you going to email her?”

“Sure. I guess. I don’t know; do you think it’s a good idea?”

The light changed and we crossed. Mom smiled and said, “A girl’s got to have friends.”

We didn’t say anything more about that; we talked about the movie and agreed it would do okay, but probably do much better in video release. It was a long drive home, and I found myself getting sleepier with each mile. When we got home, I didn’t even think about neighbors seeing me; I followed Mom in a daze.

I went upstairs and flopped down on my bed. Mom passed my door and looked in.

“Oh, no you don’t, young lady! Get ready for bed and call me when you’re ready to wash up.”

I undressed sleepily. I put the flats in a line with the others, then stepped out of the skirt and hung it on the odd skirt-hanger. Then I pulled off the top and hung it up, too. I didn’t know the ‘hamper procedure’ for these clothes. I’d been wearing them but they weren’t dirty, so should they go in the hamper after one wearing? That was for Mom to decide. A big yawn overtook me, and I stretched my arms up toward the ceiling. As I did that, I felt the bra pulling against my chest, and felt the breast forms against my chest, and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Damn! I really looked like a girl! And the stretch just felt so good, and everything was just so nice today, that I never wanted it to end.

Reluctantly, I removed the bra and placed the forms on the dresser, removed the panties and hampered them. I didn’t know if I was supposed to put on the same nightgown and panties I’d worn last night so I put on the bathrobe and went to see Mom. She was in the bathroom laying out new items. She told me to wear the same nightgown if I wanted, as long as it wasn’t soiled, but to change panties every night and every day; that way I’d always feel fresher. We decided that I’d shower in the morning and just wash up now. I was going to remove the necklace but she said I could keep it on; I was glad because I loved the way it sparkled and hung down my chest. After I brushed my teeth, she instructed me in how to use the cleanser, astringent, and moisturizers she’d bought.

As I wiped the last bit of cream from my hands, she held my face in both hands and studied it closely, then smiled.

“You’ve got your grandmother’s pores.” I must have made a strange face, because she chuckled. “That’s a good thing, honey. Unfortunately they missed me, but those good genes are strong in you. Be glad for them. Rejoice in them.”

I nodded tiredly, and went back to change into my nightgown. After I was under the covers Mom came and sat on the edge of the bed.

“How was that for a first day?”

“Pretty–” I yawned, “–terrific, Mom.”

“I’ll say! Thank you for all your help today, honey. I promise we’ll do something fun tomorrow.”

“Going to the movie was fun ...”

“And you found a new friend, too! Well, good night, sweetheart.”

“Good night, Mom.”

She turned off my bed light as she stood, then turned at my door and looked at me with a sweet smile.

I heard her gently murmur, “Good night, Angela.”

End of Part 2