Since the divorce things have changed. Sis and Mom work more, and the house isn’t as tidy. Mom is more stressed. She complains about money all the time, and my good-for-nothing father. Some changes have been for the better. Mom and I haven’t received a thrashing; her for being a whore, and me for being a dumb ass. I was growing my hair long.

It used to be a ritual with my father. Every June, after school let out, we would go to the barber and get buzz cuts. I didn’t go to the barber that often. I got a buzz cut in June and a trim before the holidays. Dad would say, “Now you look like a man; not some fucking sissy faggot." I was told I got my first thrashing over a haircut; my refusal to get one. I don’t remember. I just know I always hated hair cut day. However, I learned to heel. “Good boy,” He would tell me rubbing the peach fuzz on my scalp.

I sat in Sis’s room brushing my hair. I was wearing a white bra and panty set. I moved up from the training bra. It improved my image having budding breasts. I tried several technics for stuffing my bra over the week. I got the best results with cotton balls and a semi padded bra. As I brushed I thought about what I wanted to wear. I had already tried on most outfits in the closet. It was like I spent the week clothes shopping. I would put on an outfit. Step in from of the full-length mirror. Turn left, turn right, check out my butt and bust, and try on a new outfit. I liked miniskirts with a spaghetti strap T shirts the most.

I thought about wearing make-up. I tried my hand at it a few days back. The result bordered on comical. I looked like I was trying out for clown school. Since then I had been watching YouTube videos on male to female transformations. Sis didn’t have all the cosmetics they used in the videos. Instead of trying everything I decided to work on one feature at a time. I had on pink lipstick with gloss. The pink stood out against my white skin tone. I saw Sis had matching nail polish. I wanted, and was afraid to paint my nails. I worried it wouldn’t all clean off. Mom and Sis would see that I wore nail polish.

I continued to brush my hair. It covered my ears. I wondered how long I could let it grow before Mom said something. I wanted hair down to the middle of my back like Sis used to have. The only time I remember Dad getting mean with Sis was when she cut her hair. “What do you think?” she asked with a smile, modeling her new short blonde hair. “You look butch. You aint a lesbo are you?” Dad was series. The next day she had her hair curled so she would look more girly.

I parted my hair down the center. I brushed my bangs down. My hair looked terrible. I knew a stylist would be able to fashion what I had. The barber would ask, “number 3 or 4?” I brushed my hair back. I needed it to grow. It still wasn’t long enough to put in a ponytail. I would be pretty with a ponytail and bangs. I would be prettier as a blonde.

I gave up on my hair and decided on an outfit; a black flirty skirt with white dots and a grey T shirt. I put on black tights. I learned about tucking on the Internet. That trick helped my appearance. It is hard to look feminine with a boner. I slipped on my sister’s heels. I learned walking in heels takes practice. I wondered how girls danced in heels. I stepped in front of the mirror, my ankles wobbling. I stared at the pretty girl staring back. Looking pretty was a euphoric feeling, an overpowering feeling that I wanted all the time. I could feel myself becoming aroused. I didn’t want to be aroused. I couldn’t help myself. The only feeling stronger than the euphoria was the guilt I felt after masturbating. I wondered if the guilt came from the fact I knew if dad ever saw me like this he would beat me. I turned left then right. I was pretty, I knew it, and I was going to enjoy the time.