The Apron
A Vignette
By Maryanne Peters

I don’t believe in magic, but it is hard to think of another explanation. I may not have been the manliest of males, but I was male. Now I am not so sure.

I was helping out in the kitchen as a guy should do, and as I was stirring the meat sauce, and as wearing a while shirt, somebody suggested that I put on an apron. That stuff stains.

There was only one apron, hanging on the inside of the pantry door. It was pink with a bow on the front. I smiled as I put it on. I would turn to the guys, and they would laugh and tell me that I belonged in an apron and in the kitchen

But before I could even acknowledge how it made me feel, I turned around and stuck a pose for them. Kane was making a salad and Brett was getting more beer. They both just stared at me, as if I was a stranger. It was like the apron had turned me into somebody else.

And stranger than that, was that was how I felt. I felt as if I was not the same person. The truth is that I was not – the same person, that is - not from the moment that I put the apron on, and they saw me in it.

Like I said, I don’t believe in magic. It now seems to me that the guys saw me in a new light from that moment, not because I was wearing something pink and feminine, but because they realized that I belonged in it. I guess I looked happy and comfortable, because that is how I felt. It seems that they saw the woman in me, and I could see them looking at me and seeing that woman.

Of course, that was months ago now. Since then, the hormones have worked their magic and I am starting to fill this bra and empty the front of my panties. And I wear my hair up these days, to keep it out of the sauce. I am taking charge of cooking these days, because I like to look after the boys, and they like being looked after, in more ways than one.

I still wear the apron – sometimes with not much else. I look good in it.

And maybe there is something magical about it. What do you think?

The End

© Maryanne Peters 2023