Finding Zoey – Part 4

Emily Lundstrom also had trouble getting to sleep that night, her mind wandering over the revelation that her only son, Tommy, was dressing as a girl. He even seemed to enjoy being a girl and she had to admit that he indeed could look soft and feminine. In fact, he had looked downright cute.

Tommy had never been much of an athlete, and his only skill was figure skating, in which he displayed graceful moves. She recalled that she and Tommy had become avid fans of figure-skating competitions on television, while his sister had usually shunned such showings. Tonya had teased Tommy, calling his interest “weird” and saying it was only for girls to like.

“There are boy skaters, too,” she recalled that Tommy would reply.

“Yeah, that Johnny Weir guy who looks more like a girl,” was Tonya’s reply.

It was at this point when Emily would enter the argument. “Tonya, don’t belittle the sport. It takes great athleticism to be a graceful skater. And your brother’s really very good at it.”

The fact was that Tommy’s lack of strength had made the sport difficult for him, but he worked hard at it, learning to do graceful figures on the ice, in spite of his chubby body. Emily had enrolled both her children in figure skating classes at the local rink, but Tonya was soon to drop out. Tommy continued to take lessons, one of the few boys to take the sport seriously.

Emily was surprised to learn that Tommy’s favorite skater was not one of the male stars, like Brian Joubert or Brian Boitano, but he particularly gushed over Ekaterina Gordeeva and Michelle Kwan. “I’d love to skate like that,” he swooned one night watching a DVD that featured Gordeeva.

Emily recalled her own teen years when she had become perhaps one of the most accomplished figure skaters in their community, repeatedly winning youth competitions held at the municipal indoor ice rink by the City’s Department of Municipal Recreation. She had a body much like Tommy, being a bit chubby in her ‘tween years, before finally slimming down by the time she left high school to become the attractive if slightly overweight woman she was now. Her early marriage to Barry Lundstrom and quick pregnancy with Tommy had ended whatever prospects she had to pursue a career in the sport.

Rolling over restlessly in bed, Emily looked at the clock next to her bed. “Only, 12:19,” she said aloud. “It feels like I’ve been here for six hours trying to sleep.”

She got out of bed and wandered over to the small desk she had in her bedroom. She turned on the desk lamp, and was momentarily blinded before she got used to the glare. She pulled out a yellow legal pad and taking a pen drew a line down the middle, dividing the sheet into two columns. At the top of each column, she wrote either “Pro” or “Con.”

It was in Emily’s nature to think problems out by putting the issues on paper. Her ex-husband, Barry, had teased her about her penchant for being organized, but the truth was that such orderliness had served her well as a single mother in raising two children now growing into their teens. It had helped become one of the most efficient waitresses at Maurice’s, likely increasing her level of tips.

Pro

T. is not athletic
T. is gentle and sweet
T. expresses interest in being a girl
T. seems to like fashion (he has made some good suggestions on my clothes)
T. is pretty like a girl

Con

T. is my only son
My ex will claim I have brain-washed T and will seek full custody
T. will be teased
I can’t afford money for medical treatment for gender changing
T. will have trouble in school
Job possibilities for T will dry up
New clothes expensive

There were more “cons” than “pros,” Emily realized. All reason pointed in the direction that she must discourage Tommy from pursuing a life as “Zoey.” It was her first reaction when her son presented himself in the dress that night; yet, she had found herself accepting him as a girl, likely because it seemed to please him so much. She had hated to ruin her son’s fantasies. Yet, she knew she should not have indicated such acceptance for the idea.

Emily had always been an open-minded woman, having completed two years of college as a “pre-med” student before meeting Barry and almost immediately becoming pregnant. The couple married and Emily quit school to go to work, while Barry completed his studies in business administration. She never went back to school, but read voraciously, turning to books on history and philosophy between her work and child-rearing chores.

At the restaurant, Emily had worked with a transgender woman. Laura was a tall girl, a bit husky but soft-looking who gave up a promising career in construction engineering when she transitioned. At Maurice’s, Laura was employed as a dishwasher, apparently the only job she could get. Emily had befriended the young woman, and even stopped off for a drink with her after work several times, at which time Laura told of the difficulties she faced as a transwoman.

“Are you sorry you made the change, Laura?” Emily had asked one night several weeks earlier as the two ordered their second drink.

“Oh no,” the woman responded quickly. “Otherwise, I’d have likely killed myself.”

Emily reflected upon that conversation as she looked at the sheet of “pros” and “cons” before her.

“Screw this,” she said, pulling the yellow sheet from the legal pad, crumpling it up and tossing it in the waste basket. She knew now how she would handle her son, who might someday become her daughter.

*****
The boy awoke to his mother’s soft voice, “Time to get up, my dear.”

Tommy stirred in bed, nestling his body more deeply under the covers, still in a fog. “But, mom, it’s Saturday.”

“No, young lady,” she said, shaking his shoulder gently. “You remember you may have a date with Brett.”

“Young lady?” his mother had said. “A date with Brett? What is this all about?

Then he felt the lace cap sleeves of the baby doll nightdress he wore and remembered. Yes, he had gone to sleep in his mother’s old baby doll nightgown dressed as Zoey, the young girl who was facing an invitation to go ice-skating with Brett – his onetime best friend.

His mother sat down next to the bed, and placed her had on his upper arm, petting it as she might an affectionate dog.

“Last night, you said you liked being Zoey, not Tommy,” she said quietly.

Suddenly, Tommy was wide-awake. He broke away from his mother’s hold and sat bolt up-right in bed as the realization came that, yes, he had told his mother he liked being Zoey. And, yes, he now faced the prospect of being a girl called Zoey and going on a “boy-girl date” with Brett.

“Do you feel the same this morning?” Emily asked her son.

“I don’t know, mommy. It’s scary.”

“That’s OK, my dear,” she replied. “Why don’t you get up, brush your teeth and come on down to breakfast. I can make your favorites, pancakes with whipped cream.”

“No, you better make it yogurt and fruit.”

“Yes, of course, a girl must watch her figure,” his mother teased.

“Mommmmmm,” he protested.

She smiled. “OK, dear. I left a robe and slippers for you on the desk chair for you.”

His mother left the room and Tommy arose from bed and checked out the robe; it was light blue and lacy. He had seen his mother wear it in the past and since he was nearly as tall as she was, he knew it would fit him. Beside the chair was a pair of fluffy slippers in a matching color. He was confused, having the feeling that his mother had approved his parading around as a young girl. Did she really want that to happen, he wondered?

He went out and down the hall to the bathroom, looking into the mirror. He scowled at the image; it truly appeared to be that of a young teen girl with unruly hair. “Girl, you’re ugly,” he said aloud. He quickly ran his fingers through his hair, giving it some form and allowing the longish tresses to flow in a more orderly fashion to his shoulders. He then put his hands under the faucet, cupping some warm water and applying the fluid to his face. He felt awake finally and then looked into the mirror, pleased to see that he no longer appeared ugly and also noticing that he truly could be a pretty girl, with a little help, of course. He smiled at the prospect.

He stripped down, careful not to look in the mirror. He hated looking at his naked body; all he ever saw was soft flesh and the breasts he had developed. He shoulders were narrow and his arms were thin and without muscular definition, while his body was fat. It did not look like the body of a boy, he felt. Maybe if he lost weight and exercised he could look like the other boys he saw and envied in his phy-ed class.

His mother had laid out shampoo and soap for him. It was sweet-smelling and smooth, definitely he was in store for a feminine shower.

*****
He took a short shower to wet himself down and then applied the sweet-smelling body wash, his hands lingering over his soft, smooth skin as he rubbed in the lotion, following that up with a shower and a shampoo. He felt light and feathery as he left the tub and dried himself off, the floral scent of the body wash and shampoo intoxicating. As he applied the towel around his upper body, he felt his breasts; they felt large in his hands and he found he could press the the two mounds of flesh together to make a cleavage. He looked into the mirror, but it was steamed up, making the image foggy and indiscernible. Was there a girl visible through the misty glass?

He put on the robe and slippers and padded down into the kitchen, surprised to see that his sister, Tonya, was already up, defying her regular Saturday routine of sleeping until past noon. She was seated at the table, eating pancakes, and was grinning as he entered.

“Hi, big sister,” she said cheerfully.

“Hi,” he said, hoping to cut off any further remarks. Tonya could be a little brat sometimes.
His mother stood at the stove, where she was about to flip another batch of pancakes. They smelled delicious.

“Mother, I thought I told you I didn’t want pancakes,” he said.

“Is the girl afraid she’ll get too fat and the boys won’t like her?” Tonya teased.

“Shut up,” he said.

His mother smiled. “Darling, just ‘cause you didn’t want pancakes doesn’t mean we can’t. I’ll get your breakfast out of the fridge.”

“You smell so pretty, Zoey,” his sister said again.

“There was only that smelly stuff for me in the bathroom,” he said, seeking to dismiss the topic.

His mother looked at him. “Well, you do smell just lovely my dear. I’m sure Brett will enjoy it.”

Tommy scowled. “Let’s hope he doesn’t call.”

“Come on, Zoey, you know you want to have a boy date,” Tonya said.

“Not.”

“Yes, you do.”

Tommy felt himself begin to blush. Part of him felt he wished Brett would not call, but another part of him felt excited over the prospect of dressing up pretty for a boy.

After Tonya had finished her pancakes, their mother asked her to leave the room. “Your brother and I need to have a little chat, and I expect you to be upstairs in your room and not listening in behind the door. You got that?”

“Why can’t I stay? She’s my older sister.”

“Just go,” Emily ordered.

With a pout, Tonya was gone; they heard her steps on the stairs.

“Now, honey,” his mother began. “How do you really feel about this?”

Tommy didn’t reply immediately; instead his mind restored the image of girl in the mirror. He liked what he saw since the girl was pretty, even if she was a bit pudgy. He recalled the breasts and how he had cupped those mounds of flesh to create a cleavage. He knew he should be ashamed of his body; after all he was a boy, wasn’t he?

“Mommy, I just . . . ah . . . ah . . . feel funny,” he said. “I look so much like I should be a girl, but I’m not.”

His mother pulled a kitchen chair next to him and put her arm about him, hugging him gently. “I know it’s confusing, honey,” she said.

“But what will all my friends say? And school?”

His mother hugged him tightly and Tommy put his face onto her bosom and began to cry. She held him close to her breasts, rocking him as if he were an infant. He burst into a full-blown cry, tears moistening her shirt. The two sat there for what seemed an eternity until he finally stopped sobbing.

He raised his head and his mother dabbed tissues to dry the tears off his face and the moisture from his eyes.

“Mother, I like being Zoey,” he said finally.

“You’re sure?”

He nodded. “Yes, mother. I’d like to see what kind of a girl I could be.”

“Starting today, if Brett asks Zoey to go skating?”

“I guess so, but I’m scared.”

“I know you are, and you don’t have to go with him,” he mother said. “You could stay right at home and we could find some pretty clothes for you to wear.”

“That would be nice,” he said, relieved at how welcoming his mother was to the idea that her only son could become her oldest daughter.

“What’ll I say if he calls, mother?”
“Do you want me to take the call and give you an excuse?” she asked.

Before they could continue their conversation, the phone rang and his mother picked it up.

“It’s for you, Zoey. Do you want to take it?”

He paused for a moment. “Yes,” he said, surprising himself.

She handed him the phone and quickly walked out of the kitchen, leaving him alone in the room to talk with Brett.

“This is Zoey,” he said, his voice tentative.

“It’s a good day for skating,” the boy said. “Wanna go?”
“I dunno,” he said, his voice soft.

“Tonya says you’re a good figure skater. Come on.”

“Not so good, and I don’t have my skating clothes here,” he said as an excuse.

“You can wear anything warm, Zoey. Borrow something from Tonya. You two look about the same size.”

“I dunno.”

“Come on. It’s going to be a nice day, sunny and in the 20s and no wind. You’ll love it.”

Tommy hesitated for a few moments, finally agreeing to the invitation.

“O.K. See ya’ about eleven o’clock then. My mom can take us,” Brett said.

Tommy hung up the phone, stunned at what he had just agreed to do.

*****
“Now we’ve got to make you into a really sweet girl,” his mother said. “This should be fun, Zoey.”

Tommy was shocked. What was going on here? Was his mother totally on board with him being a girl? It just didn’t make sense. Didn’t she realize it was going to be a disaster for him once Brett finds out the cute girl he was taking ice-skating was really Tommy?

“Mother, no. This won’t work. Why did I say yes?”

Just then Tonya bounded into the room. “Is Zoey going on a date with Brett now? Is that what I heard?”

Emily turned on her daughter, eying her sternly. “Yes, she is, my dear, and I expect you help now to turn Zoey into being a really pretty girl.”

Tonya laughed. “That won’t be hard. Look at her, she’s already a girl.”

“I am not,” Tommy protested.

“Are!”

“Not!”

“Children, that’s enough. Zoey here has made a commitment and she’s going to live up to that commitment,” she lectured. “And, you and I, Tonya, are going to help her become just the prettiest little girl in the neighborhood. OK?”

She turned to Tommy, who felt he was about to cry. “Now, Zoey, honey, you started this game by dressing up in those clothes, and you admitted to enjoying being girlish. So, let us see if you’re truly serious about this or if it’s just a little foolishness on your part.”

“Mommy, I’m so scared and confused. I’m not sure how to act.”

She smiled at him. “I think you’ll do just fine. You certainly look quite pretty now, even without being dressed up.”

“I’m jealous. Zoey’s is a prettier than me,” Tonya piped up.

Emily Lundstrom looked at her newest daughter and smiled. What she saw was a pale, smooth-skinned young girl with a round soft featured face and longish light brown hair. He had full lips and a small cute nose.

“You know, darling,” she said, addressing Zoey. “I found my old winter ice-skating outfit buried in my closet a few weeks ago. It might fit you. It was really a good one and my father spent lots of money on it.”

“Mom, maybe she could wear that training bra you bought me,” Tonya said.

“Wait,” Tommy protested. “I’m not wearing a bra.”

“Maybe you should. You got bigger boobs than me.”

Tommy blushed. His sister was right. He had developed breasts a year or so earlier when he began to gain weight and grown from a skinny kid into a somewhat chubby one.

Emily shooed her two children out of the kitchen, telling them to go into Tonya’s room and to begin dressing Tommy into undergarments. “OK. Get going you two. I’ll dig out my old outfit for you Zoey.”

When the two were gone, Emily sat down at the kitchen table and began to cry. She wondered whether she was doing the right thing in assisting her son into becoming a pretty girl named Zoey. Or, should she have resisted his apparent joy in seeing himself as a girl, stifled him, she wondered? In her discussions with her co-worker, Laura, she had learned that the act of transitioning into a young woman had likely saved her life; was she saving Zoey’s life or encouraging her into a lifetime of despair?

“Oh well, let’s give it a good try, shall we?” Emily told herself. She left the kitchen and headed into her large closet to see if she could find the old skating outfit. She was certain Zoey would look quite fetching and cute in it.

(To be continued)