Looking at Facebook and ran across this. I'm plagiarizing it in total. Note that the story has Calvin giving Hobbes to his grandson Francis and then look at the picture.

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"Calvin? Calvin, sweetheart?"

In the darkness Calvin heard the sound of Susie, his wife of fifty-three years. Calvin struggled to open his eyes. God, he was so tired and it took so much strength. Slowly, light replaced the darkness, and soon vision followed. At the foot of his bed stood his wife. Calvin wet his dry lips and spoke hoarsely, "Did... did you.... find him?"

"Yes dear," Susie said smiling sadly, "He was in the attic."

Susie reached into her big purse and brought out a soft, old, orange tiger doll. Calvin could not help but laugh. It had been so long. Too long.

"I washed him for you," Susie said, her voice cracking a little as she laid the stuffed tiger next to her husband.

"Thank you, Susie." Calvin said.

A few moments passed as Calvin just laid on his hospital bed, his head turned to the side, staring at the old toy with nostalgia.

"Dear," Calvin said finally. "Would you mind leaving me alone with Hobbes for a while? I would like to catch up with him."

"All right," Susie said. "I'll get something to eat in the cafeteria. I'll be back soon."

Susie kissed her huband on the forehead and turned to leave. With sudden but gentle strength Calvin stopped her. Lovingly he pulled his wife in and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips. "I love you," he said.

"And I love you," said Susie.

Susie turned and left. Calvin saw tears streaming from her face as she went out the door.

Calvin then turned to face his oldest and dearest friend. "Hello Hobbes. It's been a long time hasn't it old pal?"

Hobbes was no longer a stuffed doll but the big furry old tiger Calvin had always remembered. "It sure has, Calvin." said Hobbes.

"You... haven't changed a bit." Calvin smiled.

"You've changed a lot." Hobbes said sadly.

Calvin laughed, "Really? I haven't noticed at all."

There was a long pause. The sound of a clock ticking away the seconds rang throughout the sterile hospital room.

"So... you married Susie Derkins." Hobbes said, finally smiling. "I knew you always like her."

"Shut up!" Calvin said, his smile bigger than ever.

"Tell me everything I missed. I'd love to hear what you've been up to!" Hobbes said, excited.

And so Calvin told him everything. He told him about how he and Susie fell in love in high school and had married after graduating from college, about his three kids and four grandkids, how he turned Spaceman Spiff into one of the most popular sci-fi novels of the decade, and so on. After he told Hobbes all this there was another pregnant pause.

"You know... I visited you in the attic a bunch of times." Calvin said.

"I know."

"But I couldn't see you. All I saw was a stuffed animal." Calvin voice was breaking and tears of regret started welling up in his eyes.

"You grew up old buddy." said Hobbes.

Calvin broke down and sobbed, hugging his best friend. "I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry I broke my promise! I promised I wouldn't grow up and that we'd be together forever!!"

Hobbes stroke the Calvin's hair, or what little was left of it. "But you didn't."

"What do you mean?"

"We were always together... in our dreams."

"We were?"

"We were."

"Hobbes?"

"Yeah, old buddy?"

"I'm so glad I got to see you like this... one last time..."

"Me too, Calvin. Me too."

"Sweetheart?" Susie voice came from outside the door.

"Yes dear?" Calvin replied.

"Can I come in?" Susie asked.

"Just a minute."

Calvin turned to face Hobbes one last time. "Goodbye Hobbes. Thanks... for everything..."

"No, thank you Calvin." Hobbes said.

Calvin turned back to the door and said, "You can come in now."

Susie came in and said, "Look who's come to visit you."

Calvin's children and grandchildren followed Susie into Calvin's room. The youngest grandchild ran past the rest of them and hugged Calvin in a hard, excited hug. "Grandpa!!" screamed the child in delight.

"Francis!" cried Calvin's daughter, "Be gentle with your grandfather."

Calvin's daughter turned to her dad. "I'm sorry, Daddy. Francis never seems to behave these days. He just runs around making a mess and coming up with strange stories."

Calvin laughed and said, "Well now! That sound just like me when I was his age."

Calvin and his family chatted some more until a nurse said, "Sorry, but visiting hours are almost up."

Calvin's beloved family said good bye and promised to visit tommorrow. As they turned to leave Calvin said, "Francis. Come here for a second."

Francis came over to his grandfather's side, "What is it Gramps?"

Calvin reached over to the stuffed tiger on his bedside and and held him out shakily to his grandson, who looked exactly as he did so many years ago. "This is Hobbes. He was my best friend when I was your age. I want you to have him."

"He's just a stuffed tiger." Francis said, eyebrows raised.

Calvin laughed, "Well, let me tell you a secret."

Francis leaned closer to Clavin. Calvin whispered, "If you catch him in a tiger trap using a tuna sandwich as bait he will turn into a real tiger."

Francis gasped in delighted awe. Calvin continued, "Not only that he will be your best friend forever."

"Wow! Thanks grandpa!" Francis said, hugging his grandpa tightly again.

"Francis! We need to go now!" Calvin's daughter called.

"Okay!" Francis shouted back.

"Take good care of him." Calvin said.

"I will." Francis said before running off after the rest of the family.

Calvin laid on his back and stared at the ceiling. The time to go was close. He could feel it in his soul. Calvin tried to remember a quote he read in a book once. It said something about death being the next great adventure or something like that. He eyelids grew heavy and his breathing slowed. As he went deeper into his final sleep he heard Hobbes, as if he was right next to him at his bedside. "I'll take care of him, Calvin..."

Calvin took his first step toward one more adventure and breathed his last with a grin on his face.

Jamie is caught wearing his mother's pantyhose on the last day of school. His mother gives him an unusual option to avoid punishment for dishonesty.

   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapters 1-4
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapters 5-9
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 10
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 11
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 12
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 13
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 14
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 15
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 16
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 17
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 18
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 19
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 20
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 21
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 22
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 23
   My Summer in Pantyhose Chapter 24

The following chapters are an unauthorized continuation of Jeremy Chandler’s, “My Summer in Pantyhose,” last added to by Jeremy 04/07/2023. The story line and characters belong to Jeremy Chandler and are used without express permission. What follows is intended as fan fiction with the greatest of admiration for Jeremy and appreciation for the original work.

Authors note: This story first appeared in the “One Dozen Roses” anthology and has been edited to be read as a standalone.
You can read it in the anthology here.

I’ve been asked just how I came to choose the name Rose. The story of my name goes back to my childhood. I was eight at the time. It was in just after the second gulf war. I blame the whole thing on Susan. Susan was the girl who lived in our basement apartment. Her father had been called up in the National Guard and was in Iraq for a year. They decided to give up living in their house and rent it out to cover the mortgage payment. The rent on the apartment we had in the basement fit the budget imposed by his Guard pay which didn’t even come close to his regular pay. The apartment had been grandma’s before she died. It’s just two bedrooms, a bathroom and a sitting room with an efficiency kitchen and the rent helps us with the mortgage, since dad left. As part of the deal, Susan’s mom watched me while my mom was at work.

The easiest way to tell the story is to recount the conversations that led to my name. I had to tell my mother just how strange a girl Susan was.

“Mom, while we were playing today, Susan wanted to play dress up,” I told her.

“We played dress up when I was a girl. We had lots of fun. What did you dress up as?” Mom said.

“I didn’t?” I answered.

“You didn’t? Why not?” she wanted to know.

I answered “Well, all she had to play dress up with was her mom’s old clothes. Besides, she wanted to be the mommy and me to be the little girl and wear her old clothes.”

Mom got a mischievous grin and said, “Oh I see; too tough a part for you huh?”

Confused by the comment, I asked, “What do you mean, ‘too tough a part’?”

“It’s pretty tough pretending to be a girl,” she told me. She also said she could understand why I wouldn’t want to do it.

I had to tell her it wasn’t that it was tough; it was that boys just don’t do that kind of thing. She answered with a non sequitur.

“Tommy did.”

I had to wonder, if she was deliberately trying to confuse me. “Who’s Tommy?” I asked.

She told me about Martha and her little brother, Tommy. They lived down the street from her when she was ten. Martha had a whole bunch of clothes they could dress up in and Tommy joined in with them. Most of the time he played the little girl to their Mommy and aunt or some such.

I’m sure I sneered when I said, “Yeah, well he was some kind of sissy. I bet he grew up some kind of wimp.”

“Not really,” she said in an off handed manner. I was informed that he had been a star running back in high school and college. Apparently he was so good some pro scouts looked at him, but he was in ROTC and went into the Marines instead.

I commented that they had probably forced him to play dress up with them. After all, he was the little brother.

Mom retorted, “We didn’t force him, he asked to join us.” When they didn’t want him to, Martha’s mother made them let him join in. Mom claimed he was good at it and a lot of the time it was him that suggested that they play dress up. She said he liked it so much that sometimes he’d suggest it even when the weather was good enough to play outside.

“You’re not making that up?” I wanted to know. Before she had a chance to answer, I fired off, “This Tommy guy really did play dress up and like it?”

“Sure,” Mom claimed. She maintained she could prove it with some pictures in her old family album.

I followed her to her bedroom where she pulled a box down from the shelf and put it on the bed. She took out an old album and flipped through the pages and showed me a picture of three girls sitting at a picnic table on a patio. Two older ones of them were wearing ill-fitting grown up clothes and the other one was wearing a party dress complete with tights and Mary Jane shoes. Her hair was a little short for a girl, but had a big bow on the side.

“See, there’s Tommy,” Mom said. “The weather was nice so Martha’s mother had us have lunch on the patio,” she explained.

I was convinced that it was not a boy, but a girl with short hair. But Mom insisted it was Tommy. She showed another picture of him. In that one the three of them were standing in front of the fireplace, again, the two older ones were in grown up clothes and the younger one was wearing a short skirt and a blouse. This time, she had on ankle socks with lace and little flats. The blouse was sheer enough I could just make out her training bra underneath.

I claimed she was pulling my leg; that it was really a girl.

“OK then, look at this picture,” she said

In that picture they were at some park and the two older girls were wearing shorts and halter tops, but this time, there was a boy in jeans and T-shirt with them.

“Is that a girl?” she asked.

I had to agree that in that picture it was a boy. She told me to look at the face in both pictures. I did, and it was the same face.

I was astonished and said, “But that’s … She… he… looks so much like…like a girl.”

Mom informed me that at that age boys do.

I countered, “I’ll bet he turned out to be some kind of fag.”

Mom snapped back, “Watch your mouth! Fag is not a nice word.” Mom informed that he was not homosexual. That he’s married with two kids and never did have any gay tendencies. He just enjoyed playing the part of a girl.

She was shooting down my arguments right and left.

As we talked, she produced several more pictures. Apparently, this guy played dress up for years. Mom had been fixing dinner and the oven timer went off, needing her attention, so she left me to study the pictures.

In the later pictures, he obviously had on a bra and his hair was long and with the make-up he had on he looked older than his sister or my mom. In some of them he wore heels and nylons and mom and his sister weren’t playing dress up at all. But most shocking of all were the pictures of him in girl’s clothes outside, like the ones of the three of them waiting in line for movie tickets and the one of them at the beach. Mom and Martha were wearing two piece swimsuits and Tommy had on a one piece that had a little skirt on it and there were lots of other people around.

Mom appeared at the door and said, “So you see, it wouldn’t hurt you to play dress up with Susan.” The roast was ready and she directed me to call Susan and her mother up for dinner as she took the album from me. They ate dinner with us instead of mom paying her to watch me.

I went to the stairs across from mom’s room and called out, “Dinner’s ready.”

“OK… Mom, dinner,” Susan called from the bottom of the stairs.

All through dinner Susan looked at me, grinning.

The next day was a teacher planning day and wouldn’t you know it was raining again. Susan and I were sitting around bored while her mother watched the soaps.

She asked me to show her the album.

I played dumb and said, “Album? What album?”

She wasn’t buying it and said, “The one with the pictures of Tommy in it.”

I just blinked at her as if I didn’t know anything about it..

She told me, “The one your mother showed you last night.”

I started to say something more to deny any knowledge of what she was talking about, but she stopped me informing me that she had been on the stairs and heard everything Mom and I had said last night before dinner. She said she just wanted to see what Tommy looked like. She asked if he really did look like a girl.

I told her he did, but that I wasn’t sure that mom had been telling the truth. That I thought she was just pulling my chain.

She insisted that I let her see the pictures and see if she agreed. I went to mom’s room and found the album on her dresser. She hadn’t even put it away. That was good. That meant I wouldn’t have to rummage through her closet to find it.

We put it on the table and I leafed through it until I found the first pictures. “There,” I said. “Mom says that’s a boy. Now I ask you, does that look like a boy?”

She observed, that he didn’t, not very much. But she pointed out the hair was kind of short.

I pointed out the bow. I insisted that no guy would wear a bow in his hair like that.

She just countered, “Not unless he was trying to look like a girl.”

We leafed through some more pages and found lots more pictures of this guy. Most of them were him dressed in girl’s clothes, but some were him as him. Susan was convinced that they were all Tommy.

Susan was obviously convinced that this Tommy really did cross-dress; that Mom was on the level. But I still wasn’t convinced. The whole idea seemed off.

“No way,” I told her. I insisted that it had to be some sister or cousin or something; that no guy could look that much like a girl.

Susan kept to her guns, saying, “I don’t know; if I put you in the right clothes and did something with your hair, I think I could make you look that good.”

I showed a brave front and said, “No you couldn’t. I look too much like a boy.” But there was a part of me that thought just maybe she could. It both scared me and excited me.

She went for the kill. She said, “OK, let me prove it. Let me put you in one of my outfits and do your hair. If you look as good as Tommy, then we’ll play dress up.”

Shaking inside, I wanted to put the idea to rest before it became too tempting. I wasn’t sure that I could put the idea out of my mind. It had already been foremost in my mind since Mom had shown me the pictures. I demanded, “And if I don’t, then we’ll drop the subject totally!”

She agreed. But I wanted to tie down the subject and said, “And never talk about dress up again.”

She repeated, “… And never talk about dress up again,”

It was a dumb move. A really dumb, dumb move. I should have known it because I had been wondering just what it would be like to do what Tommy had done. I hoped that by letting her dress me up that it would put an end to the wondering. I guess I just didn’t want to believe that I could look like a girl. I was absolutely sure that I was so masculine that no matter what she did, I’d look like a boy in a dress. I was sure, well at least hoped, it would put an end to it in my mind.

“OK, now let’s see what I’ve got that would look good on you,” Susan mused as she slid the dresses in her closet across the rod. When she found a dress she liked, she said, “Oh, this will be perfect. Only, you have to wear something under it.” She struggled to remember the word, ‘translucent’ that her mother had said about the dress, but finally came up with it.” With that, she picked a slip off the hook on the side and told me to take off my shirt and put it on. She handed me the slip.

I dropped it on her bed as I peeled out of my T-shirt. Picking it up, I had a hard time figuring out just how it went on. After turning it around a few times, Susan told me that the little bow went in front. Turning it that way, I put it over my head. I was totally unprepared for the feel of the slip.

It was a real experience to have that soft, silky thing right next to my bare skin. I was thinking, ‘Why couldn’t my T-shirt be made of this kind of material? It sure beats plain cotton any day.’ That thought brought me up short. I continued thinking, ‘Whoa! The guys at school would really think I was weird for thinking that.’ But then I thought, ‘What am I thinking? I think I’m weird for thinking that.’

Nonetheless, I went on with what she wanted me to do. By the time I got the slip on, she had the dress ready and slipped it over my head. She fussed with it a bit and then had me go into the bathroom and where she worked on my hair.

I couldn’t admit it, even to myself, but I liked the slip the first time I wore it. I mean, it was so different from my T-shirts. But something inside of me said I shouldn’t like it and that I shouldn’t admit to anyone, not even Susan that I liked it.

But back to my hair; well she brushed it every which way, like she couldn’t figure out what to do with it. ‘This is where her whole scheme falls apart,’ I told myself. ‘My hair will never look like a girl’s.’ After a bit, she did something really dumb. She got a comb and holding my hair up by the ends, she combed it backward, down toward my head. I guess she realized how dumb that was and then took her brush again and smoothed it all out again. She then gave up and just put a barrette in it on one side.

“OK,” she said, “now all we need is some shoes.” Back to her bedroom we went and she got out a pair of really girly sandals. “You won’t need socks with these,” she told me. I sat on her bed and while I took off my shoes and socks she said, “You know, you should take off your shorts. They show when you sit down. It ruins the effect.”

That made my heart rate go up a notch. ‘If I did that,’ I thought,
‘wouldn’t that make me just like Tommy?’ “What? Take off my shorts?” I said, “No way. That’s, that’s like, like … well I couldn’t do that.”

She looked smug and said, “Why not? Us girls do it all the time. What do you think we wear under our dresses or skirts? And don’t tell me you’ve never looked up a girl’s skirt to see what they have on.”

I blushed. I had looked up a girls skirt and just about every boy I knew had as well. And she was right; girls just wear underwear under their dresses.

She went on with her argument, insisting, “If a girl can do it, you can do it. Besides it will help with how you look. Those shorts kind of show under the dress anyway.”

OK, so I turned my back and pulled the shorts off. I’ve got to tell you, I felt like I was naked. It was like I was doing something naughty… deliciously naughty. I was blushing again when I turned around.

“Deliciously naughty,” that's a good way to put it.

Her next order was, “Put the sandals on and we’re done.” By this time I thought she just might be in charge and I’m sure that she thought she was.

I self-consciously sat and put the sandals on trying not to show off my underwear. That accomplished, she took me to the full-length mirror in the hall. When I got there, I was stunned. I did look like a girl. Try as I might, I couldn’t see anything about me that didn’t look like a girl.

“There,” she said. “I guess we play dress up don’t we?”

I was completely dumbfounded and could only nod my head yes.

I had to ask myself, ‘Were you honestly surprised? I mean, your mother told you that young boys could easily look like girls. I guess I shouldn’t have been. But I guess I was in denial. I wanted to believe I was manly even at ten-years-old.

Well, she went to her dress up clothes and got out an outfit and soon I was the “daughter” to her “mother.” To my surprise I actually had fun. She had me doing all sorts of girl things like sitting with my legs crossed at the knee, and hanging one shoe from my toe. We changed outfits a couple of times. Each time I put on a different outfit, a little thrill went through me.

Just for the record, she never undressed. She was wearing some short shorts and a tank top. They didn’t show when she put on her mother’s old clothes.

Anyway, then without warning, disaster struck. Mrs. McCormick was standing in the door. “Are you ‘girls’ going to want lunch soon?” she asked. There was a smile on her face that somehow reminded me of the witch in Hansel and Gretel when she invited them inside.

Susan grinned and said, “Look mom, Ross is playing dress up with me.”

Her mom said, “So I see. Ross, you look just great. I’m fixing lunch and I just wanted to see what kind of sandwiches you wanted. We have PB&J, tuna and bologna.”

“I’d like tuna, please,” Susan told her.

“Ross, what would you like?”

I had been standing like a deer caught in some headlights with my mouth slightly open.

“Ah, tuna is fine,” I said, finding my voice.

“Why don’t you girls wash up while I make your sandwiches?”

It was a very weird lunch. I felt really self-conscious sitting at the table eating soup and a sandwich wearing Susan’s dress, but her mother acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. In fact the only recognition of what I was wearing was her referring to us as “you girls.” It was as if she thought I was a girl for real and not just pretend.

Susan and I continued in our game for the afternoon. Around 4:30, I said, “Ah, I think I should go up and make sure my room is clean before mom gets home. I didn’t make my bed this morning.”

“OK, you can come down and play some more after.”

“I don’t know, I think maybe I’ll just watch some television ‘til mom gets home. So I need to change back to my own clothes now.”

“Oh,” she said, obviously disappointed.

I told her that we could play some more the next day. I claimed, “I just kind of need to do some other things for a while.”

“OK,” she said, brightening a little. “I’ll pick out some really neat stuff for you tomorrow.”

With that, I pulled my cutoffs up and pulled the dress over my head. She took it from me and hung it while I pulled off the slip. After I put my shirt on, I started to head up the stairs, but she giggled and told me to not forget to wear those sandals again the next day when we played dress up. Embarrassed, I came back and changed my shoes.

Mom got home at her usual time and started dinner. When she was setting it on the table, she told me to call Susan and her mom.

“Dinner,” I yelled down the stairs. They showed up just as I was sitting down.

Mrs. McCormick filled Mom in on the day. “Ross and Susan played dress up today,” she said just as calmly as if she were commenting on the latest episode of “As The World Turns.”

“Oh?” mom replied, looking at me. Then she dragged me into the conversation. “Did you have a good time?” she asked.
I shrugged my shoulders and confessed, “I guess so,” is all I said. I know I was blushing three shades of red, and thankfully, mom let it drop.

That evening, Mom decided to revisit my time playing dress up.

She told me, “I’m proud of you, you know.”

I asked, “Proud of me? For what?”

She replied, “For playing dress up with Susan. With the way you feel about it, it was brave of you to do it and it was nice of you as well.”

I explained that she didn’t exactly leave me any choice. I went into detail about how she made a bet that she could make me look as good as Tommy. I claimed she did some really sneaky stuff with my hair and then made me take off my cut offs after I had everything on. I told her that Susan claimed they ruined the effect. I concluded, “It was only fair for the bet.”

“So, I take it that you did look as good as Tommy?” Mom wanted to know.

“Yeah,” I sighed and asked, “Mom, what does it mean that I can look so much like a girl?”

She answered simply. “It means that you’re young and haven’t gone through puberty yet. Though given your genetics puberty may not really change you that much.”

That got my attention. I asked, “What do you mean?”

She explained that her father was sometimes referred to as being ‘baby faced’ well into his forties and that my dad didn’t exactly have super masculine facial features.

That took me by surprise. She could read that on my face.

She smiled gently at me and said, “But that doesn’t really matter. What matters is you tried it and had a good time. Do you think you’ll do it again?”

I told her that I kind of had to, because when I changed back to my clothes to come upstairs, I kind of promised to do it again.

“Good for you,” she said, “Tommy really liked it. If you give it a chance, I’m sure you’ll like it too. Most boys who get by the old ‘boys don’t do that’ thing usually do.”

I told her that the only thing that bothered me was that I had to take off my cut offs. Up until then I just had on a dress and slip over my clothes.

She asked, “And when you took off your cut offs, you felt strange?”

I told her I did.

Mom looked thoughtful for a while and asked, “So, the slip… what kind of material was it?”

I told her I didn’t know that it was slick and shiny.

She said it was probably nylon or polyester. When I shrugged, she asked, “Did you like the way it felt?”

I started to say no, but I remember the thoughts that raced through my head, wishing that my T-shirt was made of it when I first put the slip on. I looked down and nodded my head. Mom reached out and lifted my chin. She was smiling.

She told me that Tommy said he like the feeling of the clothes, especially the underwear. She said, “It’s OK really. Girl’s clothes really are much nicer than boy’s clothes.”

Tommy liked the feel of the underwear… that was TMI. It caused the whole idea of dressing completely in girls clothes, underwear and all to run rampant in my head all night.

That was just the start of it. It was a very rainy spring and every rainy day after that, I found myself in a dress almost from the time we got home from school until just before Mom came home. Even though she knew I was playing dress up, and she couldn’t help but know because Susan often recounted our adventures at dinner time, I couldn’t bring myself to let Mom see me in a dress. The idea of Mom knowing and approving of me wearing girl’s clothes and that I liked it scared me.

That changed when we went into a weekend that was filled with not just rain, but a really gully washer. It had rained all evening Friday depositing over two inches of rain over night followed by two days of steady soaking rain. Just looking out the window and seeing standing water in the grass told you that stepping off any paved area would lead to disaster. Susan wanted to play dress up.

I told her that I didn’t think I wanted to; claiming we’d played dress up a lot lately. I suggested that we could play some board games and then on Monday, after school, we can play dress up some more.

Susan objected with a counter claim that after school, we didn’t really have much time. That we were just getting started and I want to change back. She said that we could have a chance to make it a real pretend time and do some really neat things on the weekend.

Just then Mom came into the room and said, “Why don’t you go ahead Ross? Susan has a point. After school you only have about two and half hours and you’ve never continued after dinner.”

I tried to object but Mom continued. “You’ve admitted that you like playing dress up, so go ahead.”

It was almost like an order. What’s more, she was right; I did like it; I liked it too much. Whenever it was raining I was distracted in class. I knew I’d be dressed in Susan’s old clothes. It was hard to concentrate on what the teacher was saying. When we got out of school, I actually looked forward to it. On the way home, Susan and I would talk about which outfit I’d wear. Over the previous month and half since we’d started my hair had grown and she could really do stuff with it that made it look good.

So there I was, wearing a dress down in the apartment with Susan while Mom was home. When Mom called us up for lunch, I nearly panicked. Susan insisted that I stay in her outfit because we’d just come back down and play dress up some more.

As I walked into the kitchen to eat, Mom smiled at me and put an arm around my shoulder, bending down to kiss the top of my head. As we ate, I relaxed a little. Susan did her commentary on what we had played that morning and Mom dragged me into the conversation by asking my opinions about it.

The next morning, over breakfast Mom questioned me about how I really felt about playing dress up.

She said, “So, Ross, it looks like it’s another dress up day. You and Susan really seem to be having a good time to spite the fact you’re stuck inside. Aren’t you glad you decided that you could do it?”

I agreed that it was better than watching daytime TV.

Mom couldn’t resist making a point. She said, “Now that you’ve let me see how nice you look, maybe you’ll not be so quick to call a halt to it before I come home during the week. I know that Susan would like to continue after dinner.”

I agreed.

She got a wistful look in her eye and said, “You know that you really do look good in her dresses. Easily as good as Tommy. I’ll bet we could take you anywhere and no one would suspect you weren’t really a girl.”

That was prophetic. Because, that summer I ended up with Susan and our moms at the state fair. My skirt was long, it went down to mid-calf. Susan was in a sundress. By then, I’d become really at ease in dresses, but it was still a bit of a rush to have everyone see me as a girl.

Of course at the end of the school year, Mom and I had had the conversation that really got me hooked on the dress up thing. It went something like this.

Mom speaking, “Ross, you know there’s only one thing about this dress up thing that has me concerned.”

That statement got me concerned. I worried that whatever it was might be enough for her to put a stop to it, because by then I was liking it a lot.

“It’s your underwear. Tommy’s mom ended up buying him panties because he said he didn’t feel right wearing boy’s underwear under the girls’ clothes and Martha drew the line at letting him wear hers.”

I didn’t know where she was going with this, but she didn’t leave me much time to wonder. She handed me a bag from JC Penney’s. It contained four packs of girl’s nylon panties in varying colors.

Tommy liked the feel of the underwear… that was TMI. It caused the whole idea of dressing completely in girl’s clothes, underwear and all to run rampant in my head all night.

I know, I know, I should be thinking “Oh, my, what a dream come true.” Most other trans folk at that age, were still sneaking their sister’s clothes. And I’ve heard that the really brave would sneak out late at night. after their parents went to bed and walk around the neighborhood.

Susan’s dad came home just before Thanksgiving. That put a stop to our playing dress up. Even Susan allowed that her dad wouldn’t like me wearing her old clothes. Susan’s dad gave notice to their renters that they had to be out on the end of January. He figured that he didn’t want to evict them before Christmas.

They went to Susan’s grandmothers for Thanksgiving and stayed until Christmas. When they came back I helped them pack things up. We put all her old clothes, the ones I’d been wearing for dress up, in a large garbage bag to be given away. I felt really kind of sad that they were going to be gone. She surprised me one day after school when she brought the bag to me and asked me to find the clothes a good home. I threw it in the back of my closet, not wanting to deal with it right then.

While I missed Susan, I was relieved. I truly thought that I’d leave the dress up thing alone even though Susan had given me all of her old clothes. To my dismay, wearing tighty-whities all the time irritated me. Not my skin, but my feelings. By spring break I had become entirely surly and Mom noticed. One Saturday morning she confronted me as I flipped through the TV channels.

“You know Ross, I really wish Susan and her mother still lived downstairs and you were playing dress up with her. You had a much better attitude then.”

That made me think about the bag of dresses dumped in the back of my closet and the panties in my underwear drawer. I suddenly knew that’s what I wanted.

I said, “Well she’s not so I don’t have anyone to play dress up with.” I’m afraid I was really surly.

“You don’t really need to have anyone to dress up with. I know that Susan gave you her old clothes before she left. You can dress yourself, you know.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “You… you really think… I couldn’t do that. It’s strange enough that I did the dress up thing with Susan, but it would be really strange to do it by myself.”

“Not as strange as you may think. There are lots of boys who sneak around and dress up by themselves whenever they can. You’ve got it all over them. You don’t need to sneak.”

I sat there doing an imitation of a goldfish.

“Why don’t you go put on something nice and we’ll have a mother/daughter day,” she continued.

That was what I needed. By dinner time I was really relaxed.

“Well,” Mom said as we ate, “I think we’ve solved your attitude problem. I think we’ll do this a lot more, don’t you?”

I looked down and shrugged. She waited a bit and then went on.

“It’s OK. Tommy found out he couldn’t stop when Martha and I outgrew our dress up stage. I’m thinking you’ll never stop wanting to either.”

I was conflicted because I thought she was right.

“Mom, I… I don’t know if it’s really OK for me to do this.”

“Of course it’s OK. You’re not hurting anyone. I’m good with it. Nobody else’s opinion means anything.”

She got up and came around the table and drew me into a hug. I cried for a bit and when I calmed down we sat and finished dinner while I processed the whole idea. As we cleaned up I realized that I was indeed going to be dressing up a lot.

“Thanks Mom.”

“Thanks for what?”

“For realizing that I needed to do this.” I waved my hand up and down indicating my outfit.

“So I was right, you really do need to do it?”

“Yeah.”

We were both grinning.

“You know if you’re really going to be dressed like that, I can’t keep calling you Ross.”

“What else would you call me?”

“Well, if you had been a girl, I’d have named you Rose.”

So that’s my story. I still get together with Mom for lunch a couple of times a month. And we do vacations together. She loves having our mother/daughter outings.

My parents were separated when I was four years old. Mom moved to the West Coast with us kids. When I was in the first grade, my father decided to try and reconcile. He showed up one Saturday unannounced. It had been so long since I had seen him that I didn’t recognize him. He moved in and things began to get a little strained.

Mom, as she had done since the separation, had a boyfriend.

He was a ne'er-do-well drunk, but I suppose that he satisfied some kind of need for mom. I had no idea what marital relationships should be like. So I didn’t know that mom shouldn’t have a boyfriend. When Phil was to drunk, mom would make him sleep on a mattress in the basement. I happened to be in the basement when dad discovered the mattress in that room. He asked me why the mattress was there. I told him that was where Phil slept when he was drunk. He then asked who Phil was. I innocently told him that Phil was mom’s boyfriend.

The next day my brother told me that mom had moved away. I found out later that she had gone to Los Angeles I didn’t see my mother for six years. In the mean time, my older sister got married and moved to California, my brother had graduated high school and joined the Air Force. My other sister graduated high school and got a summer job prior to college the next fall. I was the only one able to respond when my older sister called and said Phil had been arrested and would be in jail all summer. Mom needed someone to stay with her through the summer because her leg was bothering her and she couldn’t cook for herself. She also sometimes needed help in and out of bed.

My dad said if I wanted to go, he would fly me down and I could come back anytime I wanted, but for sure the first week in September. I planned ahead and swiped a good supply of my sister’s underwear and a couple of bras. I also dug out the nightgown I had purloined from the Goodwill bag last year. I packed all that secretly. My plan was to wear panties everyday, all summer and to sleep in a nightgown every night. I also made sure that I had a bathrobe so that if I had to get up in the middle of the night to help mom, I could just put on the robe. That way, she wouldn’t know what I was sleeping in.

Arrangements were made and I flew out that Friday. My sister met me at the airport and took me to moms’. She lived in a low rent neighborhood. It wasn’t all that bad; it was just that the houses all needed a little TLC that they hadn't gotten for many years. Mom’s house was a duplex. The other half was occupied by single mother with two daughters fifteen and nine years old. I met them right away. The neighbor had graciously been seeing to it that mom at least got something to eat. The older girls name was Michelle and the younger one was Marcie. They were there, bringing mom some lunch when we arrived.

I settled into the second bedroom which my sister had outfitted with a twin bed and dresser. I obviously didn’t unpack right away. I didn’t want anyone to know just what was in my luggage. The neighbor invited mom and I to dinner that night. Mom went to bed about 9:00. She said her leg was bothering her. I got ready for bed about a half an hour later. I put on one of the bras and stuffed out the cups. I slipped on the nightgown. It was about knee length, nylon and sleeveless. The shoulder straps were lace. There was matching lace at the hem.

I swished through the house. I somehow really enjoyed the idea that I was dressed this way while mom was in the house. The only time I had ever had any girl’s clothes on at home was when no one was there. Oh, I had sneaked the nightgown on at night, but I never even got out of bed with it on, let alone wondered through the house.

That set the pattern for the next several days. It was Thursday or Friday the next week when I was over visiting the neighbor girl. She was slightly over weight. Not gross or anything, but just enough that she wasn't very popular. She was glad to have a neighbor who didn’t know anyone and would be friendly with her. Although, she had confided in me that she had hoped it would be mom’s other daughter who came for the summer. Oh she was quick to say that she didn’t mean to imply she didn’t like me or anything, it was just that she was a girl and she had hoped to have another girl around.

Anyway, she asked me to help her rearrange her bedroom furniture. I agreed to help. During the moving, I guess my shirt pulled up when I bent over and my pants pulled down a little and she caught a glimpse of my underwear. I guess she pointed it out to her sister and mother. I caught them whispering to one another when they thought I couldn’t see.

When we were through, she sat on couch in the living room smiling at me. Her sister was giggling for no reason. Her mother chided the little girl.

"Marcie, I told you not to do that. It’s none of your business." I was mystified. About then Michelle started to say something and then didn’t. She got up and went into the kitchen. A few moments later, her mother followed her. I could hear them talking in muffled tones. All the while, Marcie was on the couch grinning. Finally, I heard her mother say. "Well, I guess we really should say something to him. The way you two have been carrying on, he’s bound to be suspicious." She came in followed by Michelle. She took a chair near me. "Larry, you probably think the girls have flipped their lids or something. I tried to get them to forget… no, I mean ignore something they apparently can’t. When you were bending over in Michelle's room, we could tell what kind of underwear you had on." With that, I could feel my face begin to burn. My eyes began to water. "Don’t get upset. I told them that it was none of our business what kind of underwear you had on. You probably had your own reasons for wearing them. And what ever that was it was OK. We shouldn’t pass judgment.” Then she looked a Michelle and Marcie. "Now girls, I think you both owe Larry and apology."

"I’m sorry Larry; I really don’t care if you wear girls’ underwear."

"Me too Larry," Marcie said. "It’s just you’re the first boy I’ve known that did that. I heard about boys who did. My cousin said she used to have a neighbor that did it. But he was older. And he wore dresses and every thing."

"Now girls, he may not want to talk about it," their mom said.

I felt sudden relief. I had never realized that there might be someone else like me, a man who wore girl’s clothes. "He wore dresses and everything?"

"That’s what my cousin said. He would dress-up and go places."

"Oh wow."

"Do you ever were dresses?"

"Ah… yeah. Sometimes."

"I’d like to see that.” My heart began to race. She wanted to see me in a dress. No one had ever seen me in a dress. "Mom, if he wanted to would you loan him your wig? You never wear it anymore."

"Well if he wanted to, but I don’t think we should really push him into something like that. I think that it’s probably a very private thing with him."

"Well, if you want to Larry, you can borrow my clothes."

"Let’s all move on from here. I think we are making Larry uncomfortable. OK? Michelle why don’t you and Marcie go to the store for me."

I went back across the hall. My pulse was still racing. "Hi Larry, I thought you would stay over at Michelle's until dinner time."

"She had to go to the store for her mother."

"We need some groceries. Why don’t you go with her? I was just making a list.” She gave me some money and a list. I stepped out on the porch just as Michelle and Marcie were stepping off the steps.

"Mom wants me to go with you," I told them.

On the way there, Michelle spoke up. "I hope we didn’t embarrass you too much. I think you’re really a neat guy and I want to be your friend this summer."

"Oh I’ll get over it I guess."

"Good. I wouldn’t like to have you here all summer and be avoiding me."

We walked in silence for a while. "Did you really mean it when you said you wanted to see me and that you’d loan me your clothes?"

"Oh yeah. Anytime you want. Why? Do you want too?"

"Oh I don’t know. It just seems strange that some one would want to see me."

"No stranger then that you would do it."

"I guess that’s right."

"Are you going to do it?"

"Not today. I have to think about it."

On Saturday I woke up thinking about wearing a dress. I thought about it so strong that I decided not to get dressed. I put on my robe and went out to fix breakfast. Mom got up as the coffee was finishing up and I was making the oatmeal.

"How come you’re not dressed yet?"

"Oh I’m just feeling lazy. I’ll get dressed after breakfast.” I have to admit that it was exciting to be talking to mom, knowing I was still wearing a nightgown under my robe. It was a particular thrill when I was sitting at the table and noticed that my robe was pulled apart and I could see the hem of my nightgown peeking out.

Later, I did get dressed and went over to Michelle's. We were sitting around watching television and they advertised the late movie. It was "Some Like It Hot.” Michelle and I looked at each other she grinned. I swallowed hard. Before I could think about it, I said. "Can I do it today?"

"You mean what I think you mean?" she asked. I nodded. "Sure. Come on.” She got up and led the way to her room. She opened her lingerie drawer and took out a bra and slip and laid them on her bed. Then she opened her closet and said. "Pick out a dress and I’ll get moms wig.” I rummaged through her dresses and selected a loose flower print that was lightweight cotton. I had my shirt off and was putting on the bra when she came back with the wig. She put it on for me. My heart was beating fast. I could feel it in my chest.

"I need something to put in here," I said indicating the bra cups. She pulled a box off the closet shelf. Laying it on the bed, she handed me a pair of falsies. I had heard of them, but this is the first time I had actually seen them.

"Here," she said. "When I was thirteen, I used these. I thought a bigger bust line would make me look skinnier.” I dropped one in each side. They didn’t actually fill the cups all the way, but they would have if I wore my own bra.

I pulled the slip over my head, followed by the dress. Turning my back, I hiked up the dress and kicking off my shoes, I undid my pants and stripped out of them. Michelle produced some anklets with a lace cuff and some shoes. I put them on grinning.

"Let’s go into the bathroom," she said leading the way. Once there, she brushed out the wig and put lipstick on me. I was ecstatic. We went back out to the living room and I walked back and forth for her. After a while, I sat on the couch and we watched TV and talked. Shortly, Marcie and her mother came back from her swimming lesson at the park.

"Oh cool! You did it," Marcie said as soon as she cleared the door.

"I guess you did," her mother said with a little chuckle. "You know Larry; I’d say you make a passable girl. You should really get a different wig though. That hairstyle is a little old for you.

"The only thing I’m worried about is what will your mother say about this?"

"Ah… I don’t know. She didn’t know about the underwear."

"Well, I’ll go along with this, only so long as we’re careful to keep it from your mother. The way I figure it, is you’ll do it anyway. I might as well keep a lid on it by allowing it. That, I hope, will keep you from doing something stupid."

At lunch time, I changed back to my clothes and went home and fixed mom lunch. I hung out with her for a while and saw to it that she had everything she needed. About 2:00 I was back at Michelle's getting dressed again. That was the way it went for nearly two weeks. Then one morning, I over stayed my time in a dress. I had to hurry to get back and get mom lunch. As I sat down at the table to eat, mom looked at me.

"Larry, are you wearing lipstick?" she asked. I touched mouth and looked at my fingers. There was no denying it. I had lipstick on. I had to think quick.

"Ah, yeah. I guess I am."

"Why in the world are you wearing lipstick?"

"Well, ah… when I went over there Michelle was saying how she had hoped that it would be your daughter who came to take care of you. Marcie started teasing me about how I would look dressed like a girl. And, well, they laughed and teased me until I finally agreed to try it."

"You were all dressed up like a girl? What did Mrs. Learner think about that?"

"She got me a wig and lent me the lipstick."

"How long did you stay dressed up?"

"Ah well, it was about 10:30 when I gave in, so I guess it would have been just over an hour."

"So how did you like being a girl?"

"Well, it was kind of fun. But I didn’t really get to do too much. They dared me to come back after lunch and do it again."

"Are you going to do it?"

"Ah… I, I don’t know. I kind of thought I might. But I don’t know. What do you think?"

"I think you probably are. You are easily manipulated. You’ll go over there and they’ll tease you. You’ll do it again."

"Yeah, I guess I am. Maybe I should just stay here this afternoon."

"Oh go ahead and get it over with. If you wait, they’ll just tease you about being chicken next time you’re over there and you’ll do it then."

So I went back and put on the dress again. At dinnertime, I changed back and went to fix dinner. As we were eating, mom asked. "Well was I right?"

"Yeah, I did it again. They weren’t satisfied though. They say since you found out about it, I should spend twenty-four hour as a girl without any breaks."

"How do they propose that you do that?"

"Well, they say I should sleep in a nightgown and put on a dress in the morning and wear it all day and sleep the next night in a nightgown again."

"That’s a tall order. Are you going to let them talk you into it?"

"I told them it would have to be up to you."

"Suppose I said you couldn’t do it?"

"Well that would settle it. I wouldn’t do it."

"Suppose I said you could?"

"I guess I would have to do it. I let them think that if you didn’t object, I would."

"Well, I’m not going to make it that easy on you. You have to decide it by yourself."

When I came back that evening I was carrying a dress, a slip some socks, shoes and the wig. Mom looked up as I walked in. "I see you made up your mind."

"Ah, yeah. I guess I’m going to do it. You didn’t say I couldn’t so I don’t see how I can get out of it."

I went to my bedroom and hung up the dress and put on my bra and nightgown. I put the wig on and went to get mom ready for bed. She grinned and then laughed. "So this is what I can expect all day tomorrow?"

I smiled. "Yep. For the next twenty-four hours, here I am.” Mom shook her head as I put her in bed.

In the morning, I put on the wig and stopped by the bathroom to put on some lipstick. I started breakfast. Mom came out and grinned. "I see you didn’t change your mind,” she said.

"No, I would never live it down if I did."

"No, I guess you wouldn’t. Not given what you’ve done already."

After breakfast, I went in and put on the dress. I washed the dishes and put them away before I went over to Michelle's. Michelle and Marcie wanted to know what my mother said.

"She didn’t say too much. She thinks you teased me into to it, so she’s giving me a hard time about letting you manipulate me."

At lunch I was back in the kitchen. It was really cool. Here I was fully dressed as a girl and my mother was accepting it. I was in the bathroom touching up my lipstick when mom looked in. "Well, if I didn’t know better, I’d think I had another daughter. You do that just like a girl."

I couldn’t help smiling. "If I'm dressed like a girl, I might as well act like a girl."

Dinnertime found me talking to mom again. "Well, I can’t get over just how much you look like a girl. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a girl.” I really liked mom knowing I was wearing a dress. I didn’t feel so rushed to leave. I could spend more time at home and get things done right. I didn’t have to worry about what would happen if mom suddenly needed me in the middle of the day.

That evening I put on the night gown and help mom get into bed. She stretched up and kissed my forehead. I stopped and looked at her. She smiled. "I always used to kiss your sister like that. As a boy, you objected when I wanted to kiss you. I just thought as a girl, you might not mind.” I smiled and laughed.

When I woke up, I put on the wig and went to fix breakfast. As we were eating mom looked at me thoughtfully. "Well, now that you’ve spent your 24 hours as a girl, what do you think?"

"It was neat. I mean, I think I have a better understanding of girls now. Michelle and Marcie treated me just like a girl. You even treated me like a girl last night. It is an enlightening experience. I liked it."

I washed the dishes and helped mom do some things. I was stalling. I didn’t have an excuse to put on the dress. Oh, I could slip on some jeans and a shirt and go over to Michelle's and put on another dress, but I’d have to sneak about it. Right now, in this moment, I could be open about it.

Mom went back to bed, to rest about 10:00. I went to my room and put on the slip. I put on my jeans and shirt over it and gathered up the rest of Michelle's clothes. I went straight to her bedroom and put on another dress. I began the regular routine that had been the norm before. Things were status quo for about a week and I forgot to take off my lipstick again. Mom of course noticed. But she didn’t say anything until bedtime.

"Larry, you did it again didn’t you?"

"Ah, did what?"

"Pretended to be a girl over a Michelle's today."

"Well, yeah, I guess I did."

"How come?"

"Well, they like to talk about it. Ever since I spent the 24 hours as a girl, they keep saying I should do it again. Michelle says I’m more fun to be around when I pretend to be a girl. She keeps daring me to do it for a week straight."

"A week straight? How would you do that?"

"Michelle would give me a seven day supply of clothes I would bring over and put in my closet. And I would just put on a dress everyday."

"What do you think Mrs. Learner would say about that?"

"I don’t know, I think she would be OK with it."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, when I do it Mrs. Learner really raves about how good I look. She keeps threatening to take me to the mall or the store or a movie or something. She said I am a nicer girl then I am a boy."

"So when do you start your week?"

"Well, tomorrow is Sunday."

That evening, I brought seven dresses, seven pairs of socks and three pair of shoes. Mom just shook her head. I put on the nightgown and wig before I helped mom get ready for bed. Each morning I put on a dress and the wig and lipstick before starting breakfast. By Wednesday, mom kind of got used to it and quit making comments. None of them were derogatory or anything. Just things like, "You certainly do that just like a girl. Have you been practicing?" or "I never thought you’d make such a good looking girl.” Then there was, "You know, I could get to like you in a dress, what with the way you take care of the house when you’re dressed like that.” It was true. When I could dress-up freely around mom, I spent more time in the house and did more cleaning.

On Thursday Mrs. Learner did it she took us to a movie as soon as I was through with fixing lunch. I was scared to death, but it was thrilling. I had never gone out of the house in a dress before. Being with three other women was perfect cover. We got back just in time for me to make dinner.

"Well, you did it. How did it go? Did anybody look at you strangely?"

"No, it was cool. I just walked right in with them and bought popcorn and everything." I bubbled. I couldn’t contain my excitement.

"You sound like you really like going out as a girl."

"Oh mom, you have no idea how cool it is. I’ve never done anything that’s as much fun. It’s like I have the best secret and I’m the only one who knows."

On Friday I did the wash. I hung the dresses back in my closet. Saturday Mrs. Learner took us to the mall. We all tried on dresses, even though we didn’t intend to buy any. That was really cool.

On Sunday, I put on a dress just like I had the week before. I kept it up through the Wednesday. Mom didn’t say anything until that evening when I was helping her get ready for bed. "You’ve kind of stretched a week haven’t you?"

"Oh yeah. I did, didn’t I? I just kind of fell into a routine."

"How long do you plan to keep dressing like a girl?"

"I don’t know. It just feels so good to do it."

She stretched up and kissed my forehead again. "Good night Linda, I’ll see you in the morning."

"Linda?"

"Yeah, that’s what I would have named you if you had been a girl. I just thought if you’re going to dress like a girl, I should call you by your girl’s name."

"Linda, I think I like it. Goodnight mom."

In the morning, mom came out as I was fixing breakfast. I was still in my nightgown. "How’s my girl this morning?"

"Fine mom. How are you?"

"Good, better then I’ve been for a long time. My sweet Linda must be a good nurse."

I sat at the table and talked with mom. I talked in a way I could never have done as Larry. About 10:00 Michelle knocked on the door. "Who is it?" mom called.

"It’s Michelle."

"Come on in."

"Hi," Michelle said as she came. "Mom’s going to take us to the Pike this afternoon; she wanted to know if you’d like to come along."

"Can I go mom?"

"If you want to Linda."

"Linda?" asked Michelle

"Linda is what I would have named him if he had been a girl."

"Well, Linda, do you want to come?"

"Oh yeah."

"The only problem, is we will be leaving in an hour, so maybe you’d better make a cold lunch for you mother."

"I feel pretty good today. If your mother has room for my wheel chair in the trunk, maybe I’ll come along," Mom said.

"OK, I’ll let you know if there’s any problem," she said leaving.

"Well Linda, you’d better get dressed. Why don’t you wear that pretty yellow print dress with the full skirt? I think it looks good on you."

I couldn’t believe my ears. Mom told me to put on a dress. I didn’t have to be told twice. I put on the very dress that she suggested. I was even more surprised that mom suggested the yellow dress. Of all the dresses I had worn for her, it was the most feminine. Not only that, but it was a real lightweight material and was the shortest. It stopped a good four inches above my knee. In the right light, you could see the slip under it. I chose a pair of yellow sandals to wear with it. Mom opened a jewelry box and got out a locket on a chain and put it around my neck. "I always meant to give this to your sister, I guess you might as well have it now," she said.

We had a great time. The girls and I went on a ton of rides. We had lunch and after we went for a walk down the boardwalk. We got home really late. We went potluck for dinner. We all went over the day and remembered all the fun. After that, I never wore pants for the rest of the summer.

It turns out the Phil died of a reaction to penicillin while in jail. Mom was better come September so I went back home, but every year at the end of school, Linda came to say with mom for the summer.

— Finis —

Photo credit Photo by Luke Stackpoole on Unsplash

My wife went to UCLA and while there she was roommates with the daughter of the British Consul who was also attending there. They became “Besties” since my wife is third generation British with some Scottish thrown in. That was years ago, but they sort of kept in touch. Not weekly phone calls or even letters. But Christmas cards and birthday cards. Of course they were friends on Facebook.

I got the opportunity to go to London on business. I was there with another member of the firm to do the grunt work while he negotiated a contract, but the company generously allowed me to bring my wife. Since she had a friend in the country we decided to extend our stay for a week on my own dime.

While I was working, my wife reconnected with her old friend Caelia. When my business was concluded, we were invited to Caelia’s for the week. She had married Gerald who came from an aristocratic family. However, he was a bit of a black sheep. He did well in school, but always seemed to skirt the edge of trouble. Nothing serious, just a little scandalous. A bit of an embarrassment for his parents. He mellowed only slightly when he married.

My wife Sharon told me that after Caelia had been in school in California the rigid social norms of the British high society seemed more than a little stifling and so she was attracted to Gerald in a big way. We were due to fly out Monday morning. You get a better fare flying mid-week. Caelia didn’t work, so she did the sightseeing tour guide bit. We saw Buckingham palace, the new London Bridge, “Big Ben”, properly known as Elizabeth Tower she informed us, the Tower of London, Westminster Abbey and took a ride on the London Eye. That’s the biggest Ferris wheel I’ve ever seen.

Friday morning at breakfast Gerald had an announcement.

“I know that I’ve been busy with work and haven’t really had much time to spend with you two, so I feel a bit guilty about not seeing that you had a good time while you were here. I know this is your last weekend here, so I would like to give you a great send off. I’ve called in a favor and the four of us have been invited to a fancy dress party tomorrow night.”

I guess the Brits have fancy dress parties often. They are theme parties where you’d expect to wear a costume of some sort. Maids and Butlers, Vicars and Tarts and the French Revolution are but a few of the themes that are popular. The one we were going to was a “Turn-about” party. The theme for a “turn-about” party is to dress as your spouse. So the four of us would have to pass clothes back and forth trying to come up with some cross-dressing outfits that mostly fit.

I knew it wouldn’t be too bad, I’m a little on the tall and lanky side where as my wife is a bit on the husky side, but Gerald and Caelia were the opposite. After poking around a bit, it was decided that Gerald could wear Sharon’s clothes and I could wear Caelia’s. That meant that Sharon wore Gerald’s and Caelia wore mine. Gerald and I were in the lounge, (read family room) Saturday after a late lunch discussing the upcoming party,

“So, just how far are you going to go with the cross-dressing,” Gerald wanted to know.

“I don’t know, Dress and shoes and a wig?”

“Last time we went to a turn-about party, Caelia insisted that I wear suspenders and stockings. That meant I had to shave my legs. That time I borrowed from my sister.”

“Suspenders?”

“The belt with the dangly bits that hold up stockings.”

“Oh a garter belt. I don’t think that Sharon has a garter belt or stockings. She might have some pantyhose.”

“You mean tights? No that won’t do. It’s summertime and it would be altogether too warm. Not to mention a real pain in the arse when using the loo. That’s OK; my sister didn’t want the pants and such back. So I still have them. I’m sure that Caelia has some you can borrow.”

“Pants? I thought we were wearing dresses.”

“Underpants, you know knickers.”

“You wore panties?”

“I couldn’t see any reason not to. I mean I had to wear a brassiere and slip and what with the suspenders and stocking it was the only thing left. Besides, my underpants would have been too bulky under the clingy dress my sister loaned me.”

Just then Sharon and Caelia walked in bringing the clothes we would be using for a costume.

“Hey Blaine, Caelia tells me it’s a custom at these parties for men to go all out in cross-dressing. What kind of panties do you want to wear? Caelia has all kinds,” Sharon said.

Caelia stood by with one of Sharon’s dresses draped over her arms while Sharon dropped a dress and pair of shoes on the couch next to me and then started extracting panties from one of the plastic shopping bags she had, identifying each one as she brought them out. The first pair out was a pair of thongs. It seemed unreal to refer to them as a “pair,” there was hardly enough material for one of anything let alone a “pair.” Then came boy shorts, followed by some full cut briefs. Then some hip hugger and bikini panties. “Caelia calls these French knickers.” I was informed as she pulled out a pair of loose legged panties with wide lace trim. Last out were some control panties that had a bit of padding in the butt. Seeing as how Caelia was challenged in that area, I could see why she might want something like that when wearing some close fitting trousers.

Sharon grinned at me mischievously. “I think that the control briefs are the best bet. You could wear one of the others underneath for more comfort,” Sharon told me.

I blushed at the thought of wearing any kind of panties, especially Caelia’s. Sharon then extracted a bra from the bag.

“I’m sure the band size is right. I know you have a 36 inch chest. But we’re going to have to figure out something to fill the cups.”

What Caelia lacked in the butt department she made up for in the bust. I’d had noticed that about her right away. I don’t know the cup size; I don’t really think that it was any larger than Sharon’s but on her thin frame, they looked huge.

“Not to worry,” Gerald said. “I’ve been to turn-about fancy dress parties many times. I have some forms that will do brilliantly.”

I arched my eyebrows.

“Yes, Gerald takes this sort of thing quite seriously,” Caelia confirmed.

“So, what kind of panties do you want to wear under the control brief?” my wife wanted to know.

The thongs were out. I’d seen women with some low-ride pants bend over exposing their whale tail and I knew that the back would ride up in the crack. I reasoned that the bikini would just be too skimpy and the boy shorts would not be a good match. And I couldn’t see the French knickers under the control brief. They would be worse than the boy shorts. That left me with the full briefs or the hip huggers. Since the control briefs were much the same size and cut as the full briefs that pretty much cinched it in my books.

“Those I guess,” I said pointing at them.

She put them along with the control brief and bra into the second bag she had.

Looking back, though I was oblivious at the time, I see that I wasn’t asked if I wanted to wear panties. Clearly, my tighty-whities would have sufficed. It was a given; the phrasing of the question left no doubt that I’d be wearing panties, my choice was what kind. They cleverly made it seem that I was choosing to wear panties.

“I suppose that we should see that everything fits,” Sharon said.

“What about you guys? Don’t you need to find something of ours you can wear?” I wanted to know.

“What do you think took us so long? We’ve got that sorted,” Caelia informed me.

Sharon and I retired to our room where she told me to strip down to my tighty-whities. Just then there came a knock at the door. Sharon went to answer it, opening it just a crack; then slipped out not quite closing the door. I grabbed my jeans and held them in front of me.

“Here are the forms that Gerald mentioned. I should have given them to you when we were picking out the dress,” I heard Caelia’s voice say.

“Won’t Gerald need them?”

“Oh, he has more than one set. These are his least favorite. He says they are too small on his frame. They should fill my bra nicely and look good on Blaine.”

Sharon came back carrying two white boxes.

“I suppose we should get your bra on first. Then we can try on the dress,” Sharon said.

She pulled a bra out of the bag.

“Hold your arms out.”

I complied and she slipped the straps over my arms. Stepping behind me she fastened it. She ran a finger back and forth behind the band.

“That’s about right. How does it feel?”

“Tight.”

“You’ll get used to it.”

She opened one of the boxes and turned it over depositing a flesh covered blob in her hand. She looked up smirking.

“Quite lifelike,” she said, holding a woman’s boob out to me.

She was right, it was lifelike. The color was right on and there was a dark areola about an inch and a half across with a rather large nipple protruding from the center. She glanced back at the box and put it in the right cup. Then she got the other one out for the other side.

“These are heavy.”

“Now you see what women go through every day. Wear then long enough and you’ll get used to them. The advantage women have over you is that theirs grow slowly. You just had them dumped into your bra fully grown.” She stifled a giggle.

“We won’t worry about the slip and panties for now. Let’s try the dress.”

It was a sleeveless, pastel blue number with a scoop neckline and a full skirt. Sharon helped me with it. Caelia, while thin like me, was about six inches shorter. So the dress that would have hit her just below the knees hit me about four inches above.

Sharon smiled as she stepped back to survey me. She pointed a finger down and rotated it in a tight circle. I turned a slow three-sixty.

“Good, very good. When you get the control brief with its padding on, it’ll be even better. Let’s see about the shoes. Put these on first.”

She handed me a pair of knee highs. I sat on the bed and mimicking what I’d seen Sharon do a million times, I bunched them up and slipped them on.

“Caelia thought these sling backs might be best for you. When she tried on your shoes she seemed to think that your feet must be a half size larger than hers. If that’s the case, we can adjust the strap. Plus they have a low heel. That’s probably best since you’re not accustomed to walking in heels.”

After a bit of fiddling with the strap, she had me stand. They weren’t all that bad; the heel was only about an inch and a half and looked like it was squashed down, so that it was thin near the shoe and wide where it contacted the floor. A few tentative steps and I was able to master them easily.

“Well, now all we have to do is decide which wig you should wear. Let’s see how Caelia is faring with Gerald.”

I was self-conscious as we stepped out in the hall. I’d chanced a look in the mirror and I looked ridiculous; a man’s head stuck on a tall skinny woman’s body with oversized boobs. I was considering bagging the whole idea, but everyone else was all gung ho to do this and I didn’t want to be a party pooper in front of Sharon’s friend.

Sharon knocked at their bedroom door. Caelia opened it and smiled at me.

“My, don’t you look nice.” She turned and stepped away from the door. Gerri dear, doesn’t Blaine look nice?

“Oh yes, put a wig on you and a little makeup, and you’ll be perfect.”

He was standing there in Sharon's dress. It was obvious that he hadn’t taken any short cuts. Like me, he was taller, so the dress was shorter. He had a lot of leg showing and as a leg man I didn’t fail to notice the sheen of sheer jet black stockings. By comparison, my legs looked comical in knee high stockings and noticeable hair. It was also obvious that his legs were hairless. He was wearing a pair of strappy, high heeled sandals with at least a three inch spike heel. When he walked over to the vanity, it was obvious it wasn’t his first time wearing that kind of heel. Nary a wobble or misstep. On the vanity there were three wigs on stands.

Caelia said something to Sharon that I didn’t catch.

“Well he hasn’t shaved his legs yet and I thought the hair would look unsightly. But everything fits really well, don’t you think?” Sharon answered.

“I was about to put on my makeup. You can watch if you’d like some tips on how to do it properly,” Gerald told me.

I watched, mesmerized, as Gerald deftly applied foundation, and powder. He continued on starting to work on his eyes.

“You don’t have to continue watching if you don’t want to,” Sharon said. “I’ll do your makeup for you. But then maybe you’d like to learn how.”

I snapped my head around.

“I … I don’t think I need to learn how. I mean this is only one night right?”

“OK then, let’s get you into the shower. There’s a hairy problem we need to take care of.” She smiled at her own pun.

It was back to our room, out of the dress, shoes and knee highs. Wrapped in a robe, not mine, but one of Caelia's, I followed Sharon to the guest bath. She handed me a tube of Veet.

“Rub this into your legs, wait about ten minutes; then get into the shower and rinse it off.”

“What’s this?”

“It’s a depilatory cream. It will get rid of the hair on your legs better than shaving. While you’re there, wash your hair with the shampoo, but don’t rinse it until you used some of the lather to shave you pits.”

“Why do I need to shave my pits?”

“The hair there is far too coarse for the Veet. By the time it removed the hair, it would give you a nasty rash.”

“I mean why can’t I just leave them.”

“Silly, it's a sleeveless dress. Every time you raised your arms, people would see that bush you’ve got growing there. I’ve left my razor next to the shampoo. Don’t take too long. You’ll need to shave your face really close as well. Your electric razor won’t do a good enough job, so use the blade there as well.”

I started rubbing the Veet on my legs as she left.

“It might start tingling leave as long as you can stand it; ten minutes at the most,” she said just before closing the door. There was timer on the counter so I set it for ten minutes. With about three minutes left on the timer, my legs started to tingle. The tingling got more intense. I reached in and turned on the shower and adjusted the water temp. I was tempted to just jump in and rinse the damned stuff off, but I decided to man up and take it. I mean if women can do it, I should be able to also. The timer went off none too soon. I was holding it. I turned off the notice, put it down and stepped into the shower. I grabbed the hand held wand and directed the spray to my legs. The pressure felt a lot stronger than it had that morning when I showered, but it was heavenly to get that burning cream off. I watched in amazement as the hair on my legs went down the drain.

Remembering my instructions, I washed my hair and raised a good lather. I was dubious to say the least about shaving my pits. But with my hair gone from my legs I wouldn’t likely be going swimming until it grew back, and I wasn’t in the habit of wearing tank tops so no worries there.

Out of the shower, I found some shaving gel and lathered up my face. It had been quite a while since I’d last shaved with a blade, so I took it slow. I figured that if Sharon was going to put foundation on my face it would be better not to have any nicks.

Sharon poked her head in as she passed the door and asked, “Are you about through?”

She was dressed in a pair of Gerald’s dress slacks and a powder blue oxford shirt. Her breasts seem so small that they could be overlooked. On her feet were a pair of wing tips. I didn’t know anyone who wore wing tips. They looked a little big on her, but I think only because I knew what size her feet were when she wore the trim women’s fashions that she preferred.

Back in our room, she sat me down and started with all sorts of pots and brushes and worked over my face. I objected when she started plucking eyebrow hairs.

“I won’t take too much. But you have some wild ones growing outside the brow line and I want to thin them just a little to even up the line.”

I gritted my teeth and winced with every hair that went bye-bye. When I looked in the mirror, I was relieved to see that I still had brows. I was afraid that she would get carried away and I’d end up with thin arches above each eye. As it was there was a noticeable difference from before, but if I fluffed them up a bit I thought I could make them look manly enough.

With the makeup on, the brows were definitely feminine and fit right in with my new look. It seemed my cheek bones had grown in size and prominence and my nose narrower as well as my chin just a little more pointed. ’How the hell did she do that?’

“Time to get dressed,” Sharon announced.

It started with the garter belt. It was a heavy duty affair about five inches wide that fastened in the back, black with lace trim. The high waist was very close fitting and I needed to suck in my stomach to get it fastened. Each side had three garter straps hanging down.

“Don’t I need to put my panties on first?” I asked.

“No, if you do that you’ll not be able to sit on the pot without unfastening your garters. With your garter straps inside, you can just pull your panties down and there’ll be no problems. Trust me this is the best way.”

She helped me get the hose on and fastened to the garter straps. My freshly denuded legs were aware of the silky sensation as the nylons were drawn up to my thighs. Then I pulled on the briefs and Sharon stopped me before I could put the control panties on.

“I asked Caelia about what to do with your male equipment. She says there are two schools of thought. The conventional wisdom is to tuck it back between your legs and use a gaff or panty girdle to keep it there. But she says that Gerald finds it more practical to pull it back against your belly and let the panty girdle keep it there. That way, it’s more comfortable keeping your knees together and crossing your legs in a ladylike fashion.”

It was sounding more and more like Gerald knew an awfully lot about cross-dressing. But I was all for comfort. So it was Gerald’s way. I’ll admit that I was surprised at the feeling of nothing between my legs. It wasn’t like I’d lost anything, but in some unmeasurable way I gained. The thing I really noticed was when standing the overriding presence wasn’t there and I stood with my legs closer together. I ruminated on that and came to the conclusion that was the way women stood… legs together.

Sharon put the slip over my head and I shivered a bit as the slick, silky material cascaded over my body. Next up was the dress. I don’t think there is any piece of men’s clothing that compares to that dress. Not in the cut, the fit nor the fabric. The material was almost gossamer; hence the need for the slip, but it was just a dark enough shade of blue that in normal light there was nothing amiss. However when I stood in front of the mirror and the bedside lamp was behind me I could tell where the lace trimmed hem of the slip was and see the shadow of my legs. Sharon brought out a package of temporary fingernail extensions and proceeded to push back and trim my cuticles before using super glue to affix them to my nails and polish them.

“Don’t be concerned about getting these off; a little soaking in acetone will take them right off.”

I was a bit overwhelmed by all the little details she went to for a party. As I was blowing on my nails to dry them, Sharon remembered one big detail.

“Oh, the wig. We should have gotten one when we were in their room. Wait right here and don’t touch your face. I’ll be right back.”

That comment made me raise my eyes to my face in the reflection. Now it was only my hair that looked out of place. Again, I marveled at just how much the makeup she put on me changed the contours of my face. I’d always thought I had a decidedly masculine face, but not now. It was definitely feminine. I stood staring in disbelief.

Sharon came back accompanied by Caelia. They brought one of the wigs on its stand.

“How do you feel all dressed in feminine finery,” Caelia wanted to know as she placed the wig on our dresser.

“Well,” I said, as I lifted my ersatz boobs, “these will take some getting used to.”

Caelia’s face registered alarm. She turned to Sharon.

“You didn’t glue them in place?”

“No, was I supposed to?”

“Most assuredly. If he bends over, we don’t want them roaming around. There’s enough stretch in the bra to allow them unnatural movement. We need to fix that right now.”

She came to me and unzipped the dress to the middle of my back and pushed the shoulder straps off and extracted my arms. She likewise slid the bra and slip straps down and removed the forms.

“Lay down on your back,” she instructed.

I complied with my head swimming. ‘Glue them in place? What kind of glue and how do I get them off when I want to?’

Caelia shook each of the boxes the forms had been in and took the plastic cradle out. Underneath was a small aerosol can. She spayed the back of each form generously and then one at a time she carefully placed them on my chest, slightly lower than they had sat in the bra. Not a lot, maybe a quarter of an inch. She took my hands and placed them on the boobs.

“Press down and hold them in place for a few minutes.”

“How… how do I get these off when the time comes?”

“We have a release agent that makes short work of it. Even if we didn’t, they would detach themselves in a fortnight.”

“I think I’d like to use the release agent.”

She glanced at the clock.

“Alright, that’s enough time. Sit up.”

When I did, she pulled the bra straps back over my shoulders. She tugged the bra down a bit and then reached inside and pulled up on the forms moving my skin with them. She tightened the straps. It felt a lot tighter than before. Looking down I blinked. The forms were just out of sight under the bra and the skin above them was mounded up, forming a realistic cleavage. As I stared in disbelief, she threaded my arms back into the dress and pulled me to my feet. Zipped back into the dress, I went to the mirror again. In the lowest dip of the scoop neckline there was now a noticeable rise of flesh giving the illusion of breasts.

“It looks much better, doesn’t it?” I nodded. “Let’s get your wig sorted, shall we?”

She sat me in a chair and began brushing my hair. Sharon handed her bobby pins as she needed them. When she was finished with that, she put a stretchy cap over my head that was kind of like it was made of fish net stockings only heavier. She then secured that with bobby pins and finally put the wig over that. And secured the front with double face tape and the back with more bobby pins. She fussed with it some and invited me to take a look.

In front of the mirror I was amazed at the transformation. I won’t say I was beautiful, but I was definitely feminine. I doubt that any man would come on to me but I looked enough like a woman that most people would take me as one without a second glance.

Just then, Gerald came to the door. He looked even better than I did. If I saw him on the streets and didn’t know it was him I’d have had a second look. I’m only human and a good looking woman is a feast for the eyes. Looking at a good looking woman is like looking at a piece of art. Gerald fit the bill.

“We should probably leave straight away,” he said.

“I think we’re all ready,” Caelia said.

Caelia drove. I know I sure couldn’t; I’d have caused an accident the first time I had to rely on conditioned reflex to avoid a problem. We arrived at about six. I was OK going from their house to the car, but when we arrived at the home of the host, I panicked a bit. I wasn’t sure that I’d be able to get out.

A valet, a woman with her short hair slicked back wearing black slacks, a white collarless shirt, vest, only in London it’s a waistcoat because a vest is an undershirt, and highly polished oxfords came to the driver’s door and opened it. Caelia got out and the valet gave her a ticket. Another valet opened the passenger door and Sharon got out, taking my hand and nearly dragging me out of the car. Gerald was beaming as Caelia walked around the car. She took Gerald’s hand and put it in the crook of her arm. Sharon observing that did the same with me. As a group we mounted the steps. Caelia and Gerald set a brisk pace and fearing we’d be separated, I hurried along to keep up. I glanced over at Sharon, who was smiling and looking around in wonder. I seemed to be the only one with any misgivings about our adventure.

Once inside it became apparent that not everyone went “all out.” It seemed that most of the younger set did, but in the over forty crowd it was hit and miss. Some of the men were sporting mustaches and I saw a couple of them actually had beards… well goatees. Some simply wore women’s pantsuits and clipped a barrette in their short hair. Their wives seemed to make more of an effort. Most were wearing three piece suits and ties all tied in a proper Windsor knot.

Most of the young guys wore makeup and high heels of varying heights. I noticed that those wearing spiked heels like Gerald seem to have no trouble getting around in them. Very few, however, looked nearly as good as Gerald and there were many that didn’t look as good as I did.

Gerald introduced us to a number of his friends and business associates. I couldn’t tell you one of their names after moving on to socialize with another group. There was a buffet table and through the evening we all managed to eat something. There was an open bar tended by two women dressed much like the valets, only the valets had red waistcoats and the bartenders had black to match their trousers. The bartenders also wore collared shirts and ties. We did drink quite a lot. Well I did anyway. I suspect Caelia moderated her drinking because when it came time to drive home she seemed perfectly in control. After the alcohol loosened me up I have to admit that I did enjoy myself.

It was after two in the morning when we called it quits and headed back to their house. I was having a bit of a time not nodding off in the backseat. On reaching their house I needed the toilet. And when I came out Sharon informed me that Gerald and Caelia had gone to bed.

“She said, and I quote, ‘We’ll sort out things in the morning.’ She gave you a nightgown to wear to bed.”

Sharon did help me remove the wig as she thought sleeping in it wouldn’t be a good idea because she was sure it was human hair. But she left the wig cap on and well of course the boobs were glued in place so they weren’t going anywhere.

Waking in the morning, I needed to empty my bladder. It was a bit unnerving to discover I still had boobs, although without a bra, and was wearing a nightgown. I glanced at the clock as I headed for the bathroom and was amazed to see that it was after ten in the morning. The nightgown was long and I was still wearing the control brief. With all the fuss of everything, I just sat down after I pulled them down. I don’t know why I didn’t just take them off, but instead, I pulled them back up and positioned things as I had every time I’d used the restroom the night before. On the way back to my room, I encountered Caelia.

“Oh, good job you’re up. Is Sharon up as well?”

“She wasn’t when I left the room.”

“I have a nice brunch ready. Wake Sharon and come down as soon as you can.” She looked me up and down a bit and said, “You really should have put on the dressing gown that goes with your nightdress. I gave it to Sharon last night. The nightdress is nearly transparent without it. Oh, you might want to put your wig back on as you look a little discordant without it.” She must have seen the shock I felt at the suggestion. “Not to worry, Gerald is wearing his. It will be quicker than trying to undo everything else.”

With that she turned and headed back to the kitchen. I went to our bedroom and surveyed myself in the mirror. Caelia was right. The nightgown was practically see-through and my head didn’t match my body. I took the wig off its stand and tugged it on my head. I wasn’t about to try to pin it in place.

“Sharon,” I said as I gently shook her shoulder. When she roused I continued, “Caelia says that she’s got brunch ready and wants us to come down as quickly as possible. Where’s the dressing gown, or robe or whatever that goes with the nightgown. I don’t think I want to prance around letting everyone see my underwear or lack of a bra.” Now there’s a problem I’d never had before; going without a bra.

“Oh the robe is hanging on the back of the closet door,” Sharon told me as she levered her way out of bed. She grabbed her robe off the top of the dresser. “Tell them I’ll be right there. I need the potty.”

I found the robe. It wasn’t a whole lot more dense than the gown, but between the two of them they did a fair job of covering things. My slippers were a bit masculine for the rest of the get up, but as needs be. A quick look in the mirror and I was amazed at just how feminine I looked even without makeup.

On entering the kitchen I was relieved to see that not only was Gerald wearing a nightgown and wig, but he had on a pair of mule slippers that were decidedly feminine. He still had an obvious bustline and his nail extensions were still in place like mine were. Unlike me, he had put on lipstick.

“Help yourself to coffee and take a seat; I’ll have your breakfast there in a moment.”

It had been a relief to find out that with Caelia’s time in the US she had come to appreciate real coffee, as opposed to the instant that other Brits made do with and had a French press that brewed nicely. Coffee in hand, with three lumps of sugar, I sat. True to her word, she had a plate of eggs and French toast in front of me in no time.

“Sharon will be down as soon as she’s through in the bathroom.”

I no sooner started eating and Sharon showed up. She seemed to know the drill and went straight to the French press and poured herself a cup. Caelia was right behind her with a plate as well,

“So, what’s the plan for today?” Sharon wanted to know as soon as she had taken a hit on the coffee.

“After a turn-about party it seems a waste to undo everything we took so much effort to accomplish the day before, so I generally give Caelia a girl’s day, where she decides what to do,” Gerald said.

“You mean you spend the day cross-dressed?”

Caelia gave him a hug.

“Yes he does and I love it. On days like this it’s like having my best girlfriend and husband all in one.”

Much to my dismay, Sharon jumped on the bandwagon.

“I love it!” she said, latching onto my arm and hugging it close. “Please say you’ll do it too,” she pleaded.

‘What the hell, so it’s spend the day all femmed up. Gerald is going to. So after I eat, I’ll put on a little lipstick and we’ll sit around watching all the girlie shows on television.’

“OK, count me in. What the hell, it was kind of fun last night.”

That seemed to make everyone happy. Talk around the table centered on the activities of the night before. It resembled a gossip session at a hen party. They, well we, picked apart the costumes that some those less inclined to make the effort wore.

“If that’s all the effort they’re willing to make, why not just decline the invitation?”

“I would venture a guess that they don’t want to commit social suicide. You notice that the same ones that don’t make an effort at turn-about parties hardly make any more effort for French revolution parties. I mean pinning a tricolor cockade to the lapel of one’s jacket is hardly a costume, now is it?”

They then launched into deriding the men with facial hair and those who wore dresses and nothing else. We were all in stitches laughing at the examples cited. The meal took about an hour to eat and we all pitched in to do the cleanup.

“Right, so let’s all go up and get dressed for the day,” Caelia said. “I’ll sort out another dress for you Blaine”

I guess it’s a woman thing. You can’t wear the same dress two days in a row. My beard grows slowly and Sharon allowed that I didn’t need to shave that morning. Back in our room, Sharon went to work on my face. At least this time she didn’t pluck my eyebrows or spend a great deal of time on prep work. The result of her ministrations was much the same as the night before only a bit more subdued. Especially around my eyes. When she got through, you might almost think I didn’t have any makeup on, except that my face was far more feminine. Mostly it was the blush that changed the way you perceive my cheek bones.

Caelia appeared at our door. She knocked and opened a crack.

“Is everyone decent?” she wanted to know.

“Come on in,” Sharon answered.

She came in carrying what I would call a sundress and half-slip. What I didn’t notice was that under the half-slip was a pair of clean undies. She also had another pair of shoes. These were sandals. The heels were a little taller than the sling backs from the night before. She draped the dress across the bed.

“I thought since you did so well last night that these might work for today,” she said, holding out the sandals. “The straps all adjust so you should be able to make them fit. Since we aren’t going anywhere, no need for hose today.”

Given I was going to be wearing sandals, nothing would do but that I have my toe nails polished to match my finger nails. That was the first order of business. Caelia left us to get dressed. I assumed she would be helping Gerald with his presentation.

When I was dressed, I found the sandals a bit more of a challenge than the sling backs. The heel was more than two inches, I was sure and that put a little strain on my calf muscles. The only saving grace was that they were wedge heels so it gave me a solid base to walk on.

Sharon put on a nice day dress, like she might wear to go to the mall or out to lunch with her friends. When I questioned her about wearing a dress, I mean last night she’d worn men’s clothes, she informed me that it was a “girl’s day” not a turn-about day.

Back in the lounge, we found Gerald in a casual frock. It wasn’t one that Sharon owned, so I had to question just where he got it from. I didn’t want to be rude, so I held the question in my head. He was thumbing through a fashion magazine. He looked up as we came in.

“That dress looks divine on you.”

Caelia joined us from the kitchen carrying a snack tray with cookies and fruit on it. There was already a pot of tea and cups and saucers on the coffee table.

“It does; you look smashing. I don’t think I ever looked so good in it.”

I blushed to think that I might look better in her dress than she did.

Sharon and I settled on the sofa and Caelia sat on their loveseat. And poured tea for everyone. I’m not a big tea drinker, but when in Rome, and all of that. Here in England, folks drink tea in the afternoon, so I didn’t complain. Without asking, she put a dollop of milk in each then looking at me.

“One lump or two?”

Not knowing exactly I opted for two. But Sharon, who had spent four years of school around Caelia and had shared a pot of tea with her many times before, took one lump.

“Help yourself to the biscuits and fruit,” we were told.

I wasn’t sure just how to act, so I took my lead from Gerald. He was sitting with his legs crossed at the knee. As a guy, I’d never been comfortable crossing my legs that way, both socially – it is after all a woman’s thing to cross them that way – and physically; certain things get in the way. He seemed to be suffering no discomfort and Sharon had adamantly insisted that this was a “girl’s day” so I attempted it. To my surprise there was no discomfort at all. My thighs pressed together from knee to pelvis as the knees crossed. Gerald had pulled his foot back to his calf. I wasn’t quite limber enough to actually get my foot to touch the other leg. ‘I wonder if he had to practice that.’

I held my peace and let the ladies lead the conversation. They talked about the latest movies that appealed to women and that led to a suggestion that we watch one. They had a large selection of DVDs. I was amazed to see just how many of them I would classify as “chick flicks.” But then I supposed that Caelia was the one who bought most of them.

We ended up watching “P.S. I Love You.” I’m kind of a sensitive guy, but a guy none the less and I’ve watched chick flicks before and enjoyed some of them. When they suggested we watch one, that’s what I expected. But this wasn’t some schmaltzy love story; boy meets girl, girl hates boy/boy hates girl etcetera, etcetera.

No this involved a married couple deeply in love; they completed each other. The man developed a terminal illness at a young age. He knew almost from the start that he was dying. He also knew that his wife would have a hard time moving on with her life so in the months leading up to his death he arranged for a series of letters to be delivered to her in imaginative ways. Each one ended, “P.S. I love you.” The gist of the whole thing was that he encouraged her to get on with her life and allow herself to fall in love again.

I’ve got to tell you, it was a real tear jerker. I’m not ashamed to say I cried; not just my eyes watering but real tears streaming down my face. I may have been embarrassed but looking around all four of us had raccoon eyes. Facial tissue boxes had appeared on tables as if by magic and more than a few of them were wadded up on the coffee table.

“My God, what a touching movie. That’s what love, real love is all about. He was dying and all he could think of was how to help his wife deal with the grief.”

That one thought seemed to express all of our feelings about the movie. Caelia opened her purse and passed around a pack of Nice 'n Clean makeup remover pads. It took a bit, but eventually we all had cleared the mess under our eyes. It was a good thing that it was daytime makeup and none of us had used a foundation.

“Let’s see what we can do for tea before we change for the evening,” Gerald offered.

“I’ve got that sorted,” Caelia informed him. I have some Thai salmon fish cakes and a salad in the refrigerator. All we have to do is pop them in the microwave for a few minutes and we can eat. If you and Blaine will lay the table, Sharon can heat the fish cakes while I add the dressing to the salad.”

Having our marching orders Gerald and I got out the plates, glasses, bowls and silverware and in short order we were sitting at the table feasting on a fine meal. I don’t know when Caelia had time to prepare all of this. I suppose she could have gotten up earlier than the rest of us and fixed the salad. The fish cakes I noticed came out of a container that one might use for the freezer so who knows when they were cooked. At any rate, it was delicious.

After the meal, we all helped clean up, or tidy up, as Caelia had said.

“Right, we can change for the evening and truly repair our makeup.” Gerald seemed a bit preoccupied with the idea of a girly day. I suppose I could see refreshing our mascara and such but he indicated changing clothes. ‘Oh well, part of the game, I guess.’

In our room, there was yet another of Caelia’s dresses on the bed. This one had cap sleeves and a sweetheart neckline. Along with the dress was a pair of sheer nude hose. That told me that this evening I’d need the garter belt. That required striping naked again, but before I did that Sharon insisted I get a close shave again. I assumed that meant full makeup again… it did. With me all trussed up and dressed, Sharon went to work on my face. The result was possibly more dramatic than the night before.

Downstairs, Gerald and Caelia were waiting in the entry way. Sharon picked up the purse I’d been given the night before and handed it to me. I looked down at it blankly.

“Right, let’s be on our way,” Gerald said, opening the door.

As a group we were headed for their car again. Caelia drove again. I leaned forward and tapped Gerald on the shoulder.

“Where are we going?”

He turned a little toward the back and said, “Ted’s Place.”

“Ted’s place? Who is Ted?”

“Not who, but what. It is a bar in West Kensington. On Thursdays and Sundays it caters to cross-dressers. We sometimes make that our Sunday evening destination after we’ve been to a “turn-about” party. There’s a good group of people who go there. It’s quite popular.”

“Blaine, you didn’t really think that a girl’s day involved just sitting around and watching television. I’ve heard about Ted’s Place. It sounds like a fun place,” Sharon told me.

“You’ve heard about it?”

“Yes, I heard some people talking about it last night and I asked Caelia. Going there will really be an adventure; something to make our stay in London memorable. I can’t wait.”

It was a long drive, which left me with plenty of time to stew about going out in public wearing a dress, looking like a woman. By the time we got there, I was tied up in knots. There was a bit of a problem finding a place to park. The nearest place was a fifteen minute walk.

“I don’t fancy the walk from the car park in these heels,” Gerald, that is Gerri, said as we neared our destination. “I’ve ordered an Uber. Hopefully we’ll beat them there.”

“I should hope so. We’ll need an Uber back when closing time comes. Between the drink and time of day, I’m not walking back,” Caelia agreed.

We parked up and headed back to the street just as Gerri’s phone indicated that Uber was there. The four of us squeezed in with Caelia riding shotgun and the rest in the back seat. The driver, a young college age guy, surveyed us in the mirror. I hoped he couldn’t tell which, if any of us was cross-dressed. Given it was common knowledge that Ted’s Place catered to cross-dressers on Sunday night. I’m sure he knew that we couldn’t all be women.

Ted’s Place was crowded and luckily, I guess, we chanced upon someone Gerri knew who was willing to share a table. I took a seat and looked around. The clientele was eclectic, some were done up like prostitutes, some like starlets. Some I really couldn’t tell if they were cross-dressers or born women. I hoped that Gerri and I were in that category. Most however had tells that made it easy to read them; some very obvious, others required a bit of observation to be sure.

Gerri introduced us to his, or I suppose given where we were, her friends. Again, don’t ask me for their names. I forgot them almost as soon as I heard them. It was a small group of four cross-dressers. All of them respectably dressed much the same as we were. They seemed to be a friendly group. One of them was drinking a little heavier than the rest. Every now and then someone would come over and bring them a drink and congratulate her or wish her a happy rebirthday. One of them that I happened to end up sitting next to was one who could easily pass as a woman, though her hands did seem a little large.

I leaned over and asked, “What’s the occasion? I’ve never heard of a ‘rebirthday’ before.”

“This is the three year anniversary of her coming out and the two year anniversary of her RLT and HRT.”

“I don’t understand.”

“She came out as trans three years ago today. Two years ago she began her real life test and hormone replacement therapy.”

‘A transsexual. No wonder she looks so good.’ I had heard of them before, but in my circles I had never met one, or at least never knew if I did.

“Oh, I’ve never met a transsexual before.”

“Really, luv, you should know transsexual is out dated. These days, we’re all transgender. Just some of us really need to transition. For Janet there, it was transition or die. She couldn’t take living the lie.”

I nodded just like I understood and studied Janet for a moment.

“It looks like she’s doing well. I mean if I met her on the street, I’d never know she wasn’t born a woman.”

My new friend smiled.

“Yes, she’s one of the lucky ones. Too bad her wife wasn’t able to cope. When she came out things between them got really strained and when she announced that she was going to transition her wife filed for divorce straight away. Fortunately, she was able to keep her job. She’s an architect and does brilliant work.

“It must be difficult to make such a drastic change.”

“Yes, it’s not something I could or even really want to do. My wife knows I fancy wearing women’s clothes but she has adopted a ‘do it if you must, just don’t let me see it,’ attitude. And I’m happy dressing at the weekend. My wife is a shop assistant and works weekends, so when she leaves for work on Saturday, I slip into something more comfortable and change back before she gets home. When I go shopping I’m careful to not go to her shop. Though I’ve been naughty a time or two and walked right by it.”

“You go and buy your clothes while dressed?”

“Oh yes, it's much better to try things on before you buy.”

That threw me. The very idea of going out in broad daylight in a dress was one thing, but actually going out of the way to interact with people and try on clothes… that seemed a step too far. The women’s fitting rooms are the epitome of women only territory. But I could see how my new friend could get away with it.

“Where do you get your clothes,” she wanted to know.

“Oh, this is borrowed.”

“Your wife?”

“No, Gera… Gerri’s wife, Caelia,” I gestured toward her.

“So, Sharon, is she your wife?”

“Ah… yes.”

“Aren’t you lucky to have an understanding wife?”

I opened my mouth to explain just how I came to be cross-dressed, but shut it right away. The whole thing seemed a bit farfetched even to me and I was living it.

“Yes, I guess I am, and Gerri too.”

At that point, I decided that Gerald was and had been for some time, a cross-dresser or transgender as I’d been informed was the favored term.

My new friend got pulled into another conversation and I talked with the person across the table for a while. The evening ensued, I discovered that the restrooms were gender neutral, drinks flowed and we shut the place down at two in the morning. I was ever so glad that Uber would be taking us to get the car. Walking to the door was a challenge and fifteen minutes walking down the street would have been a disaster in a myriad of ways. I fell asleep on the long drive back. Sharon saw to it that my makeup got cleaned off and that I got into bed wearing the nightgown.

In the morning, Caelia came knocking at the door.

“Hurry and get up you two. We have to get Blaine sorted before we go to Heathrow,” she called, opening the door just a crack.

‘Heathrow! The airport!’

“What time is it?”

“Half ten.”

“Christ on a crutch. Our flight takes off at three-thirty. And we need to be there by twelve-thirty”

“Put your trousers on and strip to the waist. I will be right back with the solvent for the forms.”

I did as she suggested and was sitting on the bed when she came back. I gave a test tug at the forms and they weren’t going anywhere. Caelia came in and started painting the top edge with the solvent. It took some time to start working, but soon the top edge of the left boob was loose. She then poured a little in the gap and started on the right. Gerald showed up, still in his nightgown.

“I’ve brought some coffee and biscuits. You’ll have to get a proper breakfast on the other side of security.”

I took the coffee in my right hand and sipped. He’d been paying attention when I fixed my coffee; the sugar was right. I held the gap at the top of the left boob a way while Caelia poured just a little more solvent in. I continued pressure on the left while she worked on the right. I could feel the boob pulling away. By the time it gave way entirely, Caelia had a good start on the right. I munched a couple of cookies while she finished up.

While all this was going on Sharon was packing madly. She had pre-packed a little yesterday morning, but I hadn’t. So most of her efforts were toward getting my bag packed.

“Get dressed and I’ll take over for Sharon so she can as well,” Caelia ordered.

I pulled on a tee shirt and a button down shirt. I shook my head at my painted toes as I pulled on my socks. ‘Guess they’ll just have to stay that way until I get home. Hope we don’t have any trouble getting the finger nails off.’ It was then that I realized I’d gone to bed still wearing panties and the control brief. ‘Nothing I can do about it now. It’s a wonder that my slacks fit over my butt.’ I gulped down the last of my coffee and another cookie. Sharon came back from the bathroom wearing slacks and a blouse. She’d taken time to brush her hair and put on lipstick, but nothing more. She still had her brush in hand. She pushed me to sit down on the bed and quickly unpinned the wig cap and tried her best to get all the bobby pins out of my hair before she ran her brush through it. She missed two bobby pins and that smarted like heck.

“Your bags are packed. We’d better get going. I think we have just enough time to make your flight providing we don’t run into traffic problems,” Gerald said as he picked up two of Sharon’s bags.

Like any woman, she had packed twice the clothes she really needed. Fortunately I could manage with only one bag. They allowed us two bags each with our tickets so I checked her third bag on my ticket. That had caused some raised eyebrows when we went through customs in London and I expected it would again when we got back home. It was obvious that either Sharon or Caelia hadn’t taken the time to arrange things in my bag properly. The poor thing was straining at the zipper. I was sure it was just because it looked bigger that it seemed to be heavier.

The smell of acetone was strong in the back seat. I held a shallow bowl in one hand while I immersed the fingertips of the other in acetone. After half an hour, we were able to pry the nails loose on that hand. It was rinse and repeat for the other hand. It’s a good thing it was summer because we had to put the windows down because of the smell.

We arrived at Heathrow and made it to check in with five minutes to spare. As we headed toward security, I took stock of what Gerald was wearing. It was a little warm for it, but he’d pulled a cardigan sweater on over his shirt. It was obvious he hadn’t taken time to remove his own boobs. But, if you didn’t know him you would just think he had a flabby chest or something.

The women hugged and exchanged tearful goodbyes, while Gerald and I shook hands. He was the picture of a stiff upper lip Brit. But he did crack a smile when spoke.

“I would imagine you won’t be forgetting this weekend.”

“No, I don’t think so. If you had told me from the beginning what was going to happen, I would have nixed it right then. But after the fact, I did have fun. So I guess I should say thank you for pushing my boundaries.”

“Think nothing of it, old man.”

We went through the screening process and waved to them from the other side. After that it was find something to eat before we boarded the plane. Three hours is a long time to kill just sitting around the departure area. I nodded off a couple of times and was never so glad as I was when they announced our boarding time. We would be chasing the sun on the way home, so sundown would come a little later. Not that it made any difference as we wouldn’t reach home until late in the afternoon on Tuesday. Frankly, I have no idea when the sun finally out distanced us and darkness outside engulfed us as I was reclined and asleep long before that.

As we went through customs I was asked, “Do you have anything to declare?” I suddenly was at a loss. I knew I didn’t buy anything that I was bringing back, but I wasn’t sure about Sharon.

“I’m not sure. You see, one of these bags is my wife’s and I’m not sure if she bought anything or not. She’s right over there, can I go ask her?”

The customs agent looked to her left, the direction I was pointing.

“Which one.”

“The blonde in the white blouse and blue slacks.”

She stepped away from the counter and went to where my wife was having her bags checked. A moment later she walked to a copy machine, made a copy and finally came back.

“Really sir if you’re going to check your wife’s bags on your ticket, you should have a copy of this list with you.”

She scanned the list for a few moments and then poked around in the bags. She found something in my bag that I didn’t know was there. Two white boxes. She took them to one of those belts like you put your carry on through and ran them through. She brought them back and put them back in my case. She found a small package in the lid pocket of Sharon’s bag. Opened it, made a note. She then poked around, looking at several items of clothing. She looked at the list again and referenced something on her computer.

“It appears that what’s in your bags doesn’t exceed the personal exemption. However, if all the things in this bag were on your wife’s ticket she would be over the exemption by over a hundred dollars. So it’s a good thing that you checked one on your allowance. Thanks, it’s been an interesting check in. You can close your bags now.” She had a funny grin going on as she said it. I noticed the paper she had retrieved laying on top as I closed the bags. My wife was waiting for me at the exit. We found our way to the parking lot and retrieved our car. I didn’t have a chance to look at the paper, but I sure would at home.

I put our bags on the bed and opened mine. While Sharon began unpacking, I looked at the copy of the form that the customs agent had made. She had ticked off the items she found in my suitcase.

• 3 dresses used      value £30
• 2 breast forms used   value £100
• 3 knickers used    value £6
• 1 control brief used    value £5
• 1 necklace new     value £125
• 3 dresses used     value £30

I rummaged through the clothes. The two boxes with the breast forms were easy to find and the three dresses were not hard either as were the women’s underwear, since everything else was either pants, shirts or jockey shorts. I put them all on the bed.

“Sharon, how did this stuff end up in my suitcase?”

“Oh, Caelia put them there when she took over packing for me.”

“You knew they were there. You must have. How else would they have been listed on the form?” I shook the form at her.

“Well yes, she gave me the costs of the thing and told me that she thought you had such a good time wearing them that she wanted to make them a gift to you. She seemed sure that if she didn’t you’d be looking to buy your own.”

“You could have asked me if I wanted them. We could have taken them out. Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was when the customs agent found them?”

“She didn’t tell me until we were at the airport and you and Gerald were checking the bags in. Then you came back and handed me that form to fill out. As you remember, I didn’t fill it out until we were waiting to board. What could I do then?

“Besides, Caelia was right. You did have a good time wearing them… we had a good time going out together. I’m glad she did it, because I’m sure that you’ll wear them again.”

“I… wha…” I stammered. “How can you be so sure?”

“Are you sure you won’t?”

I started to deny that I would but I looked at dresses and my mind filled with the memory of how they felt and more importantly how I felt when I was wearing them. Oh I was nervous when we went out of their house, but discount that; there was something about wearing them that spoke to something inside of me. I looked down, metaphorically climbing down off my high horse.

“I…, no, I can’t be sure.”

Sharon wrapped me in a hug. “I’m glad. I feel like Caelia. I like having my best friend and husband all in one.”

I began putting my clothes away and Sharon went back to doing the same.

“Do you think that Gerald cross-dresses more than just for turn-about parties?”

“Caelia didn’t say, but I’m sure of it. Why else would he have three wigs, human hair wigs, and multiple breast forms?”

“That’s what I’m thinking. He had clothes to wear that you don’t own and he knew too many people at Ted’s Place,” I said and kept on unpacking.

“So what do we do now? It’s not like we’re likely to be invited to a turn-about party here.”

“No, but I got a text from Caelia. She’s done some online research. She said that you probably wouldn’t be ready right now, but after you’ve been wearing them around the house for a while, you might feel the need. She gave me the contact information for Trans-Fem, a group that meets at the Q Center in North Portland.”

“Well she’s right. Not right now. I’m not even sure how often, or just when I’ll be wearing these things,” I said as I hung the dresses in my closet.

Sharon came and hugged me again.

“Whenever you’re ready and whenever you want, as often as you want, I’m good with it.”

Even after eight years of marriage, Charles still couldn’t bring himself to tell his wife. He was just too afraid of losing her. It would be different if he had told her before they were married. But who knew this would be a lifetime condition. Oh sure, he knew that by the time he got married, he had given into the urges five or six times a week. Almost daily. He had still thought having a wife would banish the habit.

Indeed it did, for almost a year. They had been married in August. The honeymoon was everything he had dreamed about. For the next six months, she occupied his every thought. They worked at the same company, but in different departments. They often had lunch together, so it was hard not to think of her a lot. But when he decided to pickup a sexy nightgown for her on Valentines Day, he felt the old urges as he handled things in the lingerie shop. He passed it off as nothing more then an old habit. He didn’t need that, he had Claire. That was the last of that. But not quite. Some time in April, he had a few days off, during which he decided to help with the wash.

The white clothes were ready to come out of the dryer. He put them on top of the dryer and began to fold them just like Claire did. She was very organized, as you would expect any up and coming professional might be. The lingerie was still warm. Suddenly there was a rush of memories flooding his mind.

He had been eight when his sister was twelve. Their mother had gone shopping and left his sister to do the laundry. Like all girls her age, she spent half her life on the phone. That’s where she was when the dryer stopped.

“Charles, be a dear. Get the clothes out of the dryer. Just separate them into piles, yours, mine, mom’s and dad’s. I’ll fold them later. Thanks,” she said holding the phone away from her ear.

Being the well behaved little boy he was, he went to comply. He opened the dryer door and hauled the clothes out in two big handfuls. He climbed up on a chair and began to sort them as instructed. The lingerie was still warm. He was impressed with the way it felt. It was so soft and silky. Suddenly he was jealous of his sister. It must be heaven to wear such nice underwear. He compared them to his jockey shorts. No comparison. Hers were much nicer. He decided to “borrow” a pair.

Later he tried them on. He was right. It was heaven. A lot more so then he had thought. After that, he always had at least one “borrowed” pair of her undies. Later, it became more then a pair of undies. As he got old enough to be left home alone, he got into slips, bras and dresses. By the time he was in the sixth grade, he was wearing her pantyhose and high heals. In high school, he took to sleeping in her nightgowns a couple of times a week. He was always right there to do the laundry so he could get the borrowed items in the laundry and get some more out.

He also was sure to sift the charitable donations for useable “hand-me-downs.” A lot of lingerie and dresses turned up in his stash that way. He always thought that this was a passing thing. It would go away when he got married.

Well, if that was the case, why did he want so desperately to put on that pair of peach colored panties with all the lace? Why did they feel so delicious? He shook it off, but as he put them away he felt it again. He put them on. It was still heaven. After a few nervous minutes, a bra joined the panties. He quickly put on a slip and dress. He knew his slight build was near his wife’s size, but he never knew that it was this close.

That was it. He managed a dress up session a couple of times a week. She had sales meetings every Tuesday and Thursday. On those days he caught a ride home with John in the mail room. It was only a block out of the way. That made it easier since he discovered John lived a mile and a half farther out. John was a nice guy, none too bright, but he had a heart as big as all outdoors. He wouldn’t take any money for giving him a ride home. “It’s only two nights a week. And I only drive two blocks I wouldn’t anyway,” he told him.

When Charles got home he would slip into something and fix dinner for her. He had his own pantyhose and shoes tucked away. He didn’t want to tip his hand and stretch out her hose, and his feet were too big to fit into her shoes.

Now here it was seven years later and they were moving in to a duplex just two weeks after their anniversary. They moved mostly because it was two miles closer to work, but in truth, Charles wanted to have a little more privacy. He was careful to pack away his things so Claire didn’t see them during the move. In two weeks time, he had secured his hiding place and was back to his old habits. Their landlady, Martha was really nice, about ten years older then they were. She was little taller then Charles with a husky build. She had two girls, Kim 11 and Lois 13. In those two weeks, Claire had made friends with Martha. That led to the regular Saturday morning coffee klatch. Every Saturday about 10:00 in the morning, they would go out on the patio and have coffee. As it turned out, Martha did that every morning. She was always baking cookies and cake and such. She began sharing them with Charles and Claire. On one Saturday, when it was raining and blowing, Martha called and invited them to come over and have coffee in her living room. After that, it became a regular thing every Saturday Morning. Rain or shine, they had coffee with Martha somewhere.

That led to the occasional Saturday night movie rental. Martha would rent one and Charles and Claire would rent one. They would take turns hosting. One time, they would watch at Martha’s and the next they would watch at Charles and Claire’s. This would happen about every other month. It was by no means as regular as the coffee klatch.

Sometimes, if there weren’t any new releases they wanted to see, they would rent an old favorite. One such time in early May, Martha rented “Tootsie.” At the end of the movie, Dustin Hoffman gave his famous line. “But I was a better man with you, as a woman... than I ever was with a woman, as a man.” With that Martha commented, “I think he was right. I think all men should try living as a woman for a while. It might give them some compassion for women in general and specifically, the women in their life.”

“You know Martha; I think you’ve got something there. Men could stand some sensitivity training and I can’t think of a more intense way to get it for them.”

“Yeah,” agreed Lois. “I can think of a lot of guys I’d like to see try to act like a girl.”

“Well, Lois, “ Martha said, “it’s not so much acting like a girl, it’s being treated like a girl. That’s the big thing. People, men and women both, treat men differently than women.”

Charles sat back and listened as they went on a male bashing spree. He thought it best not to try to defend men when he was so out numbered. The conversation got pretty heavy and ended up with a challenge. His tactic didn’t work he still got drug into the conversation.

“Charles,” Martha said, “why don’t you try it?”

“What?”

“You should spend some time in a dress, like Dustin Hoffman. It would give you a whole new perspective on what being a woman was all about.”

Claire started giggling. “Yeah, I’d like to see that.”

“I don’t think so!” Charles said in surprise.

“Oh honey. I’ve got a blue number that you would look great in,” she replied laughing.

“What’s the matter Charles, I wouldn’t think that a little thing like wearing a dress would bother you,” Martha informed him.

Charles began to get worried. Did Martha know something? Had he been careless and not pulled the curtains? “Well if you think I’m about to put on a dress, you all are dreaming,” he protested in macho bravado.

On Sunday, as Claire was getting dressed she took out a blue dress with a full skirt, a boat neck and cap sleeves. “Charles wouldn’t you like to try this on?” she grinned. “I think you’d look so good in it. Try it on just to see if it fits.”

“You’re dreaming. I’m not about to try that on.” He didn’t need to. He already knew it would fit good and it felt good too.

All day Claire brought up the subject just to get a reaction from him. The whole time Charles felt more and more uneasy. He began to think that not only did Martha know but she had told Claire. On Monday morning, he escaped to work.

Thankfully, Claire was all business at work. Since her job was outside sales, they really saw very little of each other at work. The week went as always. He dressed up on both Tuesday and Thursday. He did, however, take great pains to see that there was no way anyone could see in.

Saturday came as usual. Along with it the usual coffee with Martha. It had been an unusually warm week and Saturday day as no exception. It was already 75 by 10:00. Martha, even in the heat, had done her usual magic in the kitchen. She had some fresh apple strudel to share. Her daughters, Lois and Kim joined them just to get in on mom’s strudel.

The women talked and Charles listened as was usually the case. He would make a comment on occasion. He really just enjoyed being outside after spending so much time inside at work. When he least expected it, Claire said. “Oh Martha, you should have seen Charles last Sunday. I held out my blue dress and invited him to wear it. You’d have thought. I was asking him to take poison. I mean he could hardly talk, he was so shaken. Every time I brought it up, he acted the same way.”

“Is that right Charles? It really bothers you that much?”

“Oh it really doesn’t bother me that much. It’s, well, it’s just not something men do.”

“Well they should. You know, you give a lot of lip service to being a sensitive guy. If you were all that sensitive, you’d jump at the chance to walk a mile in your wife’s high heels, so to speak.”

“Yeah, Charles, where’s your sensitivity?”

“I don’t need to wear a dress to be sensitive.”

“Well, no, but you’d be so much more sensitive if you did. Come on Charles, you’re not chicken are you?”

By now, the girls were really interested in the adult conversation. They hung on every word. Martha drug them into the conversation, sure they would help tease Charles. “What do you think girls? Don’t you think that Charles should try wearing a dress?”

“Oh yeah I do,” volunteered Kim.

“Me too,” joined Lois. “It would do him a world of good,” she smiled.

“See Charles,” Claire pointed out, “everyone thinks you should do it.”

“You know you shouldn’t be concerned about cross-dressing. Women do it all the time. I know I do. Look at me now. I’m dressed to work in my garden. I have on men’s pants and a man’s shirt. And look at Lois. Those are boy’s high tops she’s got on. She refuses to buy girl’s tennis shoes. And Kim. She buys nothing but boy’s jeans and often wears them in combination with boy’s tee shirts. That doesn’t make them any less feminine. Wearing a dress wouldn’t make you any less masculine.” Charles was visibly uncomfortable at this point and Claire changed tactics.

“Charles, if you’re chicken, I’ll understand,” she told him. “After all, you do have your macho image to protect.”

“I’m not worried about my macho image!”

“Well then, why don’t you put a dress on right now?” Claire said springing the trap.

“Yeah Charles, put your money where your mouth is. Put on a dress and prove to us that your macho image isn’t what you’re worried about,” Martha added.

“You guys aren’t going to give up are you? I’m never going to hear the end of this until I’ve worn a dress. Will I?”

“Nope,” said Claire smiling.

“Oh all right. I’ll put on a dress,” he said shaking ever so slightly. He waited almost hoping that they would laugh and tell him that it’s OK, he doesn’t have to prove anything. On the other hand, he was afraid they would do just that. That didn’t happen. Instead they are full of congratulations.

As he stood up, Lois piped up. “Dustin Hoffman went all the way. He became a total woman from the skin out,” she said.

Claire followed him in. “I’ll help you dear,” she told him. Once in the bedroom, she opened her lingerie drawer and picked out a matching bra and panty set in light peach. They both were covered in lace. She also produced a pair of suntan pantyhose. Next there was slip in the same color as the panties. She instructed him to strip and put on the panties. Which he did. She smiled as she fastened the bra for him. She found some plain cotton panties to stuff in the bra, and helped him on with the pantyhose and slip. Then she took out the blue dress.

After he had it on, she rummaged through her closet, shaking her head. She finally came up with a pair of run down slippers that had always been to big on her. She managed to squeeze his feet into them. She marched him back out to the patio.

The girls were delighted. Martha was all smiles. “Charles, I’m proud of you. But those slippers have to go. They look like they’re about to explode. Wait right here.” She disappeared for a little while. Soon she was back, carrying a small case and a pair of open toed sling back pumps. She adjusted the strap and slipped the pumps on Charles. Then without asking, she opened the case and began to do make-up for him. It was a complete make over. Foundation, blush, mascara, eye liner, eye shadow and lipstick. Then she brushed and ratted his hair and sprayed it. Reaching in her pocket, she took out a pair of lightly tinted sunglasses and slipped them on him. Then she took him inside and let him see himself in her full length mirror. He was amazed. He had never done make up. He was intoxicated. He began sweeping around the room like Grace Kelly dancing and saying how wonderful he felt. In every gesture, he acted overly effeminate like Shirley Temple, batting his eye lashes. Everyone laughed and giggled.

“Oh, I feel so feminine,” he said, pausing and contemplating the first honest thing he had said on the subject. Then he continued. “I know just how every woman must feel. It’s such joyous thing. I am now a complete person.” He really did feel complete. This was the most completely dressed he had ever been. He realized that all his other experiences had paled by comparison. With a little sorrow, he knew that he had to get out of this outfit quick or he wouldn’t be able to without making a fuss.

Abruptly, he stopped and reverted to playing the indignant male, forced to wear a dress.

“Well,” he said. “I hope you are all happy. I finally put on a dress. Having let you all have you fun, I hope you’ll let me alone about it. I really need to get back into some pants.”

“Oh, but dear,” Claire spoke up, “you can’t possibly have soaked up how it really feels to be a woman in so short a time. You’ve only begun to touch the surface. You need to spend some time dressed up. Why, Dustin Hoffman spent months pretending to be Dorothy. You couldn’t even begin to experience anything like he did in less then half an hour. Just stay in the dress for a while.”

“She’s right Charles. If you stop now, all you’ve done is tease yourself with the idea.”

“Really mom, ‘Charles?’ He looks more like a Charlotte to me,” Lois put in. Everyone laughed.

“Charlotte it is. Claire squealed. Charles blushed.

“You’re not going to let me change back are you?”

“Well, we can’t stop you. But if you do, nothing has changed. You’re still the same man you were before. All that’s different is you let us tease you in to looking foolish. If you want to redeem yourself, you’ll have to become comfortable with the experience. You know, you have an advantage over Dustin Hoffman.”

“What’s that?”

She stepped up to him and put her arms around his neck. “The woman you love already knows you’re a man,” she said lightly kissing him. He was immediately aroused. There was definitely something sexy about wearing a dress and having your wife kiss you. Even a little peck, like that.

“Oh… OK. I’ll keep it on for a while,” he said pulling away. He didn’t want her to realize that he was aroused.

A while turned out to be all day. The usual Saturday morning coffee klatch turned into an all day event. Charlotte helped prepare lunch for the group. The two girls who usually found something to do in the neighborhood stayed home all day. They talked to Charlotte and in general showed an interest in everything he did. That day, Charlotte was involved in every “woman’s work” or “girl talk” situation that came up. The only problem was that he was really enjoying the sensation of being around the others in a dress. What a let down it he would have when he went back to dressing up in private.

The day drew to a close with Martha and Claire going to Block Buster to rent movies. They found a couple of really oldies, “Some Like It Hot” with Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon and “Charlie’s Aunt” staring Jack Benny. Everyone agreed it was an appropriate choice of movies considering Charlotte being a guest for the day and all.

After the movies the conversation took an unexpected turn as far as Charlotte was concerned. Martha turned to him and said. “You’ve been a good sport today Charlotte. It’s been fun having you around. What do you think you’ve learned?”

“What could he learn?” Lois interrupted. “He’s been pretending to be a woman for about twelve hours. I’ve been at it thirteen years and I still don’t really know what being a woman is all about.”

“A good point. Compared to your twenty-eight years as a man. Twelve hours is hardly enough to affect you’re thinking.”

His wife pulled dirty pool and hugged him. “You could always continue this tomorrow,” she said kissing him.

“Yeah, all in favor of Charlotte coming back tomorrow raise your hand,” Kim put in lifting her right hand. Her gesture was follow by Lois, Martha and Claire.

“No need to vote,” Claire told him. “We already have the majority.”

“Well, it’s getting late,” he said. “Can we at least go to bed so I can get out of the heels?” he asked.

“Good night Charlotte, Claire,” Martha said laughing as she stood up. “Charlotte, with that comment, I can tell you’ve begun the road to understanding. That is a chorus women the world around sing. Come girls; let’s go home so these two can go to bed.”

Later, in the bedroom, Charlotte had taken off the dress when Claire called him into the bathroom. “Charlotte. Come in here. I’ve set you up so you can take off your make up. Take it from me. You don’t want to sleep in that stuff.”

He came in and she explained her nightly routine to him as she went through it. “You might as well do everything a woman would do,” she said.

As she completed one step she started him on that step while she did the next. First she removed all her make-up with cold cream. As he began she washed her face with apricot scrub. When he started the apricot scrub, she put on a quick setting mask and began brushing out her hair while it dried. As soon as he rinsed off the scrub she helped him apply the mask and handed him a brush. She thoroughly brushed her hair and he imitated her. When she was done she peeled off her mask and applied a moisturizing cream to replace the moisture the scrub and mask removed. She rubbed it in and blotted any excess with a tissue. She prompted him to peal the mask and handed him the moisturizer.

“Be sure to blot the excess off or you’ll soil the pillow case,” she told him.

When Charles came back into the bedroom Claire had just dropped a rather sexy nightie over her head. He reluctantly removed his slip, his pantyhose and bra. Claire had been watching him from next to her open dresser drawer. “Here,” she said, “sleep in these. That way you won’t interrupt your feminine experience.” She was holding out a pastel blue short nightgown with matching sheer panties. He took the nightgown and slipped it over his head. As Claire got into bed, he changed panties. He quickly got under the covers and turned out the light. He was embarrassed that he was so aroused. He didn’t know if Claire would like that. Masculine arousal was definitely not a feminine thing.

Claire scooted close and kissed him. A passionate kiss. “That’s for being such a good sport today,” she said and hugged him close. The feel of their two nylon clad bodies closely entwined, fanned the flames of his passion beyond any point of reason. The sex that night was as incredible as it was long lasting. After an eternity, they both slept.

In the morning Charles awoke first. It was his bladder that awakened him. While he was in the bathroom, he lathered up and shaved. As he was washing the left over lather from his face, Claire walked in. She patted his panty clad rear and kissed him on the cheek. “If last night is an example of what I can expect, I just might insist you wear a nightgown every night,” she told him. The very thought of that brought a tingle to his groin. He suppressed it as Claire sat out her cosmetics and a moisturizing soap bar. “You should have lathered with this,” she told him. “It wouldn’t dry your face like the shaving cream. You’d better wash with it so your make up won’t deeply imbed itself in your dry skin.”

He lathered up and did as he was told. Then she indoctrinated him in the morning ritual of a woman. After the moisturizing soap and a rinse she applied a foundation and instructed him in the same. “Now watch as I put on mascara,” she said as she carefully brushed her lashes with black/brown mascara. After she was finished, she supervised him in that task. Next she demonstrated eye liner, and eye shadow. He managed to get a passable dose of each on. Then came the blush. That wasn’t too hard. There was a large margin for error. Lip liner took a little more care as did the lipstick. In the end, what with Claire making a few adjustments, he looked every bit as good as he had the day before. She picked out another set of lingerie for him this time in a soft rose. The hose had a red cast to them. She put him in a skirt and blouse. The blouse was a semi sheer, rose color that showed the lace from the slip, ever so slightly. The skirt was burgundy with pleats. It struck him just above the knee. He knew the skirt. He liked the way I swayed as he walked. The sling back pumps being black went all right with the outfit. They had no sooner gotten dressed than the phone rang. It was Martha. “Hi Claire, I thought you guys might like to come over for brunch.”

“Let me ask. Dear, it’s Martha. She wants to know if we’d like to come over for brunch.”

He looked down at himself then shrugged. “Why not? It’s a cute outfit I might as well let someone see it.” They passed between two households by way of the patio.

“Oh Charlotte, you look gorgeous. To tell the truth I invited you just to see if you really did repeat your performance. I’m glad you did. It shows me you have the courage of conviction.” It was another day of inclusion in the feminine activities that normally would have passed Charles right by. The Sunday paper was full of advertising flyers form all the leading shops in town. It seemed that each of the others found an outfit in each circular that they thought Charlotte would look good in. He even found himself caught up in the game.

“I think this one is really nice,” he said, point to a knee length dress that had an empire waist and a full skirt. “With my height and build it would cover up what I don’t have in shape.” With that Claire, who had been looking over his shoulder, gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

“Very good!” she told him. “You’re a quick study. Women often buy a particular style to accentuate the positive or cover up the negative aspects of their figure. We’ll make a woman out of you yet.”

Charles cringed he really didn’t want to become a woman. He just liked to visit the woman’s world.

They all had dinner together that night. Over the dinner table, the subject of how well Charlotte had adapted to the feminine life style dominated the conversation.

“You know mom, Charlotte looks so good, I could almost forget that it’s really Charles under there,” Lois said.

“Me too,” added Kim.

“You know Charlotte, the girls are right. Don’t you think so Claire?”

“Oh absolutely. Aside from a few masculine mannerisms, we could take him anywhere. And of course he would have to learn to speak more softly. Perhaps in a slight southern accent like ‘Dorothy’ did.”

“That would be the perfect way for Charlotte to experience what women go through,” Martha returned. Charles began to feel like he wasn’t there.

“We’d have to have him practice a lot, though,” observed Lois.

“Well, that’s true,” Claire agreed. “How long do you think it would take?”

“If he were to work on it everyday, we could have him ready in a month,” Martha opined.

“It would take another month of him finding out how women are treated, before he could begin to know what we’re trying to teach him,” Claire thoughtfully observed.

“It would take all of us coaching him on everything. What do you say girls, are you willing to participate? It would mean being around home more than you usually are.”

“Yeah, it would be fun. Wouldn’t it Kim?” Lois said.

“Sure.”

“Wait a minute,” Charles said. “Don’t I get a vote? After all, I’m the one who will be making the biggest commitment.”

“Oh, dear, we didn’t mean to leave you out. But you will do it for me, won’t you? It’ll be fun. You’ll be let in on things most men couldn’t even imagine. Say yes. Please?” she said. The look on her face melted any resistance. He was terrified of going out in public dressed like this and that was clearly what they had in mind.

“What about work? I can’t wear dresses there.”

“You can still wear under things. Oh! I saw some women’s shoes at Payless Shoe Source that looked like men’s loafers. You could wear them and some trouser socks. They’re like knee-highs only textured and heavier. They would pass for men’s dress socks. I have those gray slacks with the fly and hip pockets. And that one white blouse I have looks like a man’s shirt when the top button is buttoned. Add a tie and no one would know,” Claire told him.

“I’ll bet my gray, double breasted blazer would make it look like a suit,” Martha added. “Let’s try it.”

Charles was swept along with the current. Before he knew it he was wearing the pants, blouse and blazer. By just adding a tie, it did look like a suit, except for one thing.

“It looks great,” he said. “But it buttons the wrong way.”

“I can fix that,” Claire said. “All I have to do is make this button a double button, like this one.” She pointed out as she held the coat open by buttons.

“You get started on that,” Martha said, “while I get to Payless Shoe Source before they close. I know what size to buy. He really wears one size larger then me. I’ll pick up some trouser socks too,” Martha said putting on her coat.

“Here,” Claire said, “take my credit card.” Martha was out the door like a whirlwind. Claire opened up her sewing kit and selected a button and began sewing it in place. She then tried it on Charles and discovered that the other button needed moving. It wasn’t quite in the right place. Charles was impressed. He had on all women’s clothes and no one would suspect. If the shoes Martha bought were as good as this, he could do it. It seemed like forever before Martha came in carrying two shopping bags.

“I hope you don’t mind, I thought if Charles will be Charlotte for two months, he’d need more than one pair of shoes. So I bought two pairs of heals and two pairs of flats as well. I didn’t know if he wanted brown or black loafers so I bought one of each. It’s not as bad as it could be each pair of shoes was marked down 25% and on top of that they had a buy one, get one half price sale. I’m not sure of the ratio, but I think that three pairs of these shoes were free.”

Charles put on the back shoes and while they were lighter weight then comparable men’s shoes, they did look the part. The trouser socks were just what the doctor ordered. He wished he had known about them a long time ago. They had the feel of nylons and the look of dress socks. The heels were in blue and beige, size 12W. They fit perfect. The flats were black and blue in the same size. This was like a dream come true. Shoes he didn’t have to hide. Now if only he could manage to keep them after the time was up. He was set.

“Well dear. What do you say now?”

“I know I’m crazy. But you’ve taken away every argument I could use to say no. Besides, you’ve spent all that money on shoes already.”

“Starting right now, you will wear nothing but women’s clothes. Every where but work, you’ll wear make-up and you try your best to act like a lady for two months,” Claire said.

“That’s the deal, two months,” Charles said firmly

“That’s the deal,” Claire agreed.

His wife’s routine became his. That night he followed her lead in cleaning up before bed. The night in the blue nightgown was a repeat of the one before. In the morning, he shaved using the moisturizing bar for lather. Then she dressed him in her panties and a “nude” bra. There was almost nothing to it. The cups were very light weight and transparent. Next came a no lace camisole, the trouser socks and the slacks. The blouse was actually more comfortable then his own dress shirt. He had never bothered to put it on before, because it looked too much like a man’s shirt. It sure didn’t feel like a man’s shirt. The neck didn’t bite into him like his dress shirt and the fabric was softer, gentler on his skin. The tie hid the fact the buttons went the wrong way. With the comfortable neck line, he wouldn’t have to loosen his tie.

“You know Claire, this blouse is really comfortable. I should get some more of them and wear them for dress shirts all the time,” Charles observed, testing the waters a little.

“You could, you know. No one would ever know and I won’t tell,” she said smiling.

He slipped into the shoes and put on the jacket. With his hair combed back he looked like executive material. Off he went to work, totally dressed in women’s clothes. No one would be the wiser. He wished it could be yesterday’s outfit. There was no way that would happen. But he did like this outfit. Claire was out of the office at lunch time. She probably had a meeting with a client, he thought. She used the car for her sales work. He wished they could have had lunch together. He hadn’t thought of it yesterday in the rush, but he couldn’t wear the same suit to work for two months. They would have to make some sort of adjustment.

She was back by quitting time and they went home as usual. When they pulled up in the driveway, Claire popped the trunk. “I picked up some things we’ll be needing during lunch,” Claire told him. The trunk was practically full of bags from three of her favorite women’s shops.

Inside she laid out her purchases on the bed. There were five women’s jackets, six pairs of slacks similar to the ones he was wearing and eight blouses like he had on. They were in white, bone, pastel yellow and blue. All colors he had in dress shirts already. She also had a pile of panties in every color and bra’s to match. The bras were her size, but they were padded push ups. Something she surely didn’t need. There were also four more of the kind he had worn that day and three more no lace camisoles. “I thought that over the next two months it would be better if we expanded the wardrobe for you. You can’t keep wearing the same suit over and over again. And you’d have put quite a strain on my lingerie if we didn’t have these,” she said holding up a pair of frilly panties and a bra.

Charles changed into one of his new push up bras while Claire made room in his dresser for the rest of his new wardrobe. While he dressed she hung his new things in the closet. Then she instructed him in his make up. “You know tomorrow, you’ll have to do this yourself. Of course, if you get stuck you could call Martha, she’d help you.”

That evening Claire dropped a bomb. She was in the kitchen looking at the calendar.

“Charlotte,” she said. “I just realized. For you to stick to the deal, you’ll have to go on vacation as Charlotte. The first week of our vacation is the last week of the deal.”

“Really?” Charlotte asked, coming to check out the dates. “Well we’ve spent too much money to squash the deal now. Besides Martha would say it was just me getting cold feet.”

“We’ll be staying at a motel. You won’t be able to check in as a woman and out as a man.”

“So I go an extra week. After two months, what’s another week?” He hoped that he would have the guts to go by then.

When Martha was told about vacation, she got the idea of going along. They called the motel and managed to change the reservation to two adjoining rooms. That meant Martha, Kim and Lois would be there to bolster his courage.

By the end of the week, he was almost as quick as Claire doing his make-up and needed no prompting. Every evening there was a session with all the genuine girls wherein, they all critiqued his deportment. And of course Saturdays, they all worked on his tone of voice and the amount of breath. They found he couldn’t do a consistent southern accent. But he could do a fair Loran Bacall like voice. The weeks went by and before he realized it he was in the car headed for a movie on Saturday.

At the theater, he let Martha and Claire buy the tickets while he hung out with Kim and Lois. He was dressed in a pantsuit and a pair of flats. Women didn’t wear dresses to movies anymore. He managed get through the movie without incident. After that they went to a burger place for dinner. They insisted that Charlotte order her own meal. He ordered one of the bargain meals by number. The harried teenager behind the counter saw Charlotte as the woman he had learned to be. After that, Charlotte got brave and went grocery shopping. She fit right in. The following weekend it was dinner at a real restaurant on Friday night.

At dinner on Friday, Charlotte was quit nervous. This would mean repeated contact with one person. Both Martha and Claire assured him that he would do just fine. After all the super market had been no trouble. He dressed in a green dress with a white print. It had a full skirt, long sleeves and white lace collar. He had to wear black heals with it. He carried one of Claire’s black purses. It was just him, Claire and Martha. The girls had a birthday party to go to.

“OK Charlotte, this is what you’ve been training for. Let’s put your femininity to the test,” Martha told him as he got out of the car. They went in and were seated at their table. The waitress walked up to the table. She was young. She smiled and said, “Good evening ladies. What can I get you tonight?”

Martha ordered first. “I’ll have the skinless chicken breast with baked potato.”

“Soup or salad?”

“Salad with Roquefort dressing.”

“And for you ma’am?” she asked Claire.

“I’d like the Chef’s Salad with Thousand Island dressing.”

“Last but not least, for you ma’am?” she said addressing Charlotte. He was ecstatic. “Ma’am” she’d called him. He was passing.

“I’ll have the petite sirloin, rare please. The baked potato and a salad with ranch dressing,” he told her.

“Coming right up ladies.”

“Well done Charlotte,” Martha said.

“Very good indeed,” Claire agreed.

The meal went flawlessly.

The next day, they all went to the mall. Charlotte was treated to the pinnacle of a woman’s joy… shopping. At first he was reluctant to do more then walk around the mall. They eventually coaxed him into a shop. Soon he got into the spirit of things. He was looking a dress, holding it up to himself in the mirror when a saleslady walked up and said, “Would you like to try that on?” He turned, surprised. He caught Claire’s eye. She was shaking her head yes.”

“Please,” he managed softly.

There he was in the inner sanctum of the woman’s world. He was truly accepted as a woman. He had been invited into the fitting room. After that, you couldn’t keep him out. He saw the fitting room in every woman’s shop and women’s department in the mall. By the time the day was out nine dresses had been bought. Six of them for Charlotte. Four pair shoes were bought, two for Charlotte. Three night gowns, two for Charlotte. A new gorgeous coat was on his back. He even bought a swim suit for vacation.

Every weekend after that, Charlotte was out and about. Soon the closet was bursting with new clothes for Charlotte. Claire never said a word about how much was being spent. After all, everything, except the shoes, would also fit her. The way she saw it, Charlotte’s wardrobe was just a good place to borrow whatever she didn’t have.

The next thing Charlotte knew, it was vacation time. He packed all women’s clothes. Not a stitch of men’s clothes was in his suit case. Not even the clothes he had been wearing to work. Everything was feminine. There were some pants, but they didn’t have a fly. There were also some shorts; they too had no fly.

By this time Charlotte was so confident, that he checked into the motel. He was wearing a skirt and blouse. He carried a bone colored purse and wore matching low healed pumps. “Hello, you have a reservation for Charlotte and Claire Johnston?” he asked in his best Loren Bacall voice.

“Just a moment please,” the middle aged lady behind the counter said, as she typed in the name. “Yes here it is. You have an adjoining room with Martha Carson,” she said as she handed him a registration card.

“Yes, she’s right behind us.” Just then Martha walked in.

“Oh hi Charlotte. All checked in?” she asked.

“Not quite,” he said filling out the card.

“You must be Martha Carson,” the desk clerk said, producing another reservation card.

“Yes I am,” Martha told her.

“There we are,” Charlotte said, handing the card back.

“Here are your keys. And yours Mrs. Carson.” The desk clerk told them. “I hope you ladies have a nice stay. If there’s anything you need, just call the front desk,” she added.

Charlotte walked out on air. “Ladies,” she had said. The two weeks were delicious. Their room overlooked the ocean. And they had a large deck that the rooms shared. They spent a lot of time there. The motel had a swimming pool. Charlotte spent so much time in the pool she turned up with a tan on her back. They went to dinner in the motel restaurant several times each week. And of course they went shopping. Charlotte got a lot of summer clothes.

At the end of the two weeks they loaded up the cars and went home. That night, Charlotte went through the nightly ritual that had become habit. He put on a nightgown and slipped into bed. Claire snuggled up close. After some very sensual love making, they slept soundly.

In the morning Charles got up and lathered with the moisturizing bar and shaved. After which he put on panties and a “nude” bra, followed by a no lace camisole, the trouser socks and the slacks. He topped that off with one of the masculine blouses, a tie and women’s blazer. He put on his women’s loafers.

“You look great this morning dear,” Claire told him as they got in the car. Work was a drag. (Pun intended.) After work, as was his custom, he removed his tie and buttoned the jacket the other way round as he got into the car. He removed a clutch purse from the inside pocket and sprayed himself with perfume. When he got home he went straight to the bedroom while Claire started dinner. He stripped to his panties and put on a push up bra and pantyhose. In the bathroom, he ratted his hair to give some body and put on his make up. He put on a slip and dress and a pair of low healed pumps.

Returning to the kitchen, he sat the table as Claire put the finishing touches on dinner. It was back to the usual routine for the rest of the week. On Saturday morning, Charlotte and Claire were on the patio with coffee when Martha came out. “Good morning Charlotte, Claire. You beat me out here this morning.” They had their usual coffee and muffins, fresh from Martha’s kitchen.

Charlotte decided to skip shopping that week, since she had done so much on vacation. But next weekend Saturday afternoon was spent in the mall trying on dresses. Oh, she didn’t buy anything; she just had fun trying things on. Things were definitely back to normal.

Charles birthday fell on a Sunday that October. They were enjoying a late breakfast when Claire looked up at Charlotte. “Do you realize that it’s been five months since you wore any men’s clothes?”

“Oh yeah. We packed them away when the closet got too full last June. I had almost forgotten about them.”

“Do you think you’ll ever wear them again?”

“Well, I don’t know. How would you feel if I didn’t?”

“I don’t have any complaints with the way things are now. It’s certainly a lot more interesting now. Between your wardrobe and mine, we have one of the largest wardrobes any woman could want.”

“Well then, I guess I won’t then.”

“What shall we do with them?”

“We might as well give them away. I guess.”

“Let’s box them up and take them to a drop off center this Saturday.”

“OK with me. Then we can go to the mall. I hear that Macy’s is having a sale.”

“Oh, by the way, happy birthday,” Claire said taking a gift wrapped box out of the cupboard. It was heavy. Charlotte opened it up. It was a pair of prosthetic breasts.

This story was originally written by Julie, sometime in the 90s and posted elsewhere. I read it and liked the premise, but the ending didn't suit me. So for my own enjoyment, I rewrote the ending. Julie's end had Chrissy transitioning, mine is more like my life. When I was finished modifying the ending, I liked it so much that I couldn’t resist posting it, so…

It was 1965, and tomorrow was the last day of fifth grade. After supper I tooled off on my bike down the sidewalk, in a hurry to get over to me friend Gary’s. Near the end of the block a lady was backing out of her driveway … and nearly killed me! I swerved, lost control, and went sprawling. I jumped up, and took off pedaling down the street as I heard her yelling. What a bitch! She almost runs over me, and SHE’S yelling at me! If I hadn’t been in a hurry, I would have gone back to set her straight.

There were several of my friends there when I rode up. After a while, I told them what happened; and they suggested I do something to get back at the old biddy. It was forgotten for a while as we played; but then Dick came across a can of red spray paint. There were several suggestions about what I should do with it; and they insisted I take it when I headed home.

It was nearly nine-thirty, and dark, when I started past the woman’s house. Her car was in the driveway; and there was a hedge on one side. I looked around. There was no one out, just lights on in the houses. I sneaked over between the car and bushes. I wrote "stupid bitch" on the side of her car she almost ran me over with. That will teach her, I thought, as I pedaled home. I threw the paint can over by the garage. When I walked in I realized I had some red paint on my fingertips. Mom was in the kitchen as I went for a glass of milk. She asked where I had been. Before I could answer and retreat with my milk, she noticed the red paint. I told her there was red paint over at Gary’s.

The next day, after dinner, I was about to run out the door over to Gary’s when the phone rang.

"Charley, do you know a Miss Marcy?" she asked

"No," I replied.

"Well, she seems to think you may know something about her car being vandalized."

Terror shot through me like an icy shower. I shrugged, and shook my head.

"Well, she wants us to come over and see if you can clear this up."

Oh NO! I was about to shit my pants as we walked down the street. I tried to hide my fear, and trembling hands. My hands… I had scrubbed them last night; but there was still some red paint around my nails. My legs were rubbery as we went approached her house. The car was parked on the street, and the red message on the side of the blue and white Chevy was hard to miss. We had nearly turned into her sidewalk before mom noticed.

"Who would do such a vile thing?" she gasped.

She looked at me; and I shrugged.

"You didn’t have anything to do with this, did you?" she questioned.

I shook my head.

Mom looked upset as she knocked; and I was filled with dread and doom.

"Come in," she said.

"Hi, my name is Mrs. Collins, and this is my son Charley."

"Hi, I’m Miss Sharon Marcy."

"I saw what… what… someone did to your car. It’s horrible! Who could do such a thing?"

"Well, I’m hoping Charley could shed some light on that."

"Charley!" Mom said in an accusatory tone.

I shrugged.

"Do you know anything about this?" Mom asked.

I shrugged, and shook my head.

"When did this happen?" Mom asked.

"Well, a neighbor said she saw a small boy on a bike near my car about nine-thirty last night."

Mom shrieked! "Charles! You came home last night shortly after that … and with red paint on your fingers! …. You better tell me the truth … and right now!"

I started crying. I couldn’t lie my way out of this. Mom would make me show her the non-existent red paint at Gary’s. I might just as well get it over now.

"You what?" Mom screamed.

WHACK! She struck me across the face.

"How could you? What could you have possibly been thinking? Why?"

Between sobs I told them about her nearly running me over, and then yelling at me. I tried blaming the other kids for goading me into it. Mom was incredulous.

"You shouldn’t have been on the sidewalk. It wasn’t this lady’s fault! Charley… how could you!"

Mom wailed into my backside as hard as she could.

"I’m terribly sorry Miss Marcy. Of course we will pay for the damages… although I don’t know how. …Charles, you apologize this instant! You are going to be so sorry young man!"

"I’m… sorry … Miss Marcy," I stammered amongst tears.

"How … much damage … what is it going to cost to fix his vandalism?"

"The body shop said it will cost three hundred and twenty seven dollars."

"Oh my!" Mom sighed. "I don’t … I don’t…. Where are we going to get that much … I suppose I could get a loan. … Oh dear! Charley, I could kill you!"

"I’m so sorry Mrs. Collins," Miss Marcy remarked sympathetically.

"I don’t suppose… I don’t suppose Charley could work some of this off?

The lady thought for a second.

"No … I can’t think how. I don’t need…"

She paused, lost in thought for a moment.

"It’s too bad he’s not a girl. I could use a little help at my shop," she mused.

"Can’t Charley help? I know he’d be happy to do anything."

"No … I’m afraid not. It’s a dress and lingerie boutique. I’m afraid he wouldn’t fit in. … too bad."

"Yes," echoed mom.

"But then if he was a girl I don’t think we, … he’d, be in such a fix,” she said. "Boys can be so much trouble."

Mom nodded in agreement.

"Well, let’s have a cup of coffee and talk. Maybe we can work something out."

They left for the kitchen.

"Stand right there young man, and don’t touch anything! You’re really in for it when we get home! How COULD you?"

I stood for twenty minutes before I sat timidly on the edge of the couch. It was a few minutes later when mom called from the kitchen.

I stood in the doorway as they looked me up and down.

"Maybe…. What do you think?" Mom asked.

"Well… there’s only one way to find out!" Miss Marcy exclaimed.

They got up from the table and marched me upstairs. Mom had a firm grip on my bicep. The lady went over to a rack of dresses. She came back over to us, and held up a frilly blue and white dress up … to me!

"Yes … maybe," she mused.

I shuddered. They can’t be thinking of making me wear that!

She went over to a pile of boxes, rummaged through them, and handed some things to mom.

"Have him put these on. You’ll find a wash cloth and soap …and dusting powder in the bath."

A cold chill went through me. I wanted to run; but mom was right there, with a vise-tight grip on my shoulder, and pulled me into the bathroom.

"Take your clothes off!" she barked.

I looked at her in horror. I wasn’t afraid of much… but GIRL clothes?

I slowly unbuttoned my shirt. I didn’t dare refuse. I was in enough trouble. I often disobeyed, but not now! I wouldn’t have dreamed of allowing her to do what I thought they were going to do; but these were dire circumstances. Mom was really ticked! I got down to my shorts and stopped.

"Those too!" she yelled.

I was no sooner naked, when she began running a soapy wash cloth over me. I was a little too old for mom to be washing me all over; but I wasn’t about to reproach her. I was shaking as she toweled me dry, and then patted me all over with a sissy powder puff with a ribbon on it. The powder had a faint girlie smell.

"Mom…!"

I tried to get out my plea of protest; but the icy rage in her eyes stopped me cold.

She picked up a pair of white, lace trimmed panties! My heart raced, and yet I felt the blood drain from my face. Soon, my whole body was cold. … I shook my head; but mom wasn’t paying any attention. She slapped my legs as a signal to lift my feet. I felt her tugging at the waistband as the nylon things covered my bottom. My brain was turning to Jell-O as I tried to come to grips with what was happening. I was wearing girl’s PANTIES! Mom pushed me onto the toilet; … and the next thing I knew, she was working something thin and white up my legs. They were girl’s white tights! I felt all yucky … and cold. My lower lip trembled.

"Mom… no… I can’t!" I stammered. …But she ignored me …until she had finished. She pulled me to my feet with a strong grip around my bicep. It hurt! I hadn’t realized mom could be that strong!

"You will do whatever it takes to make up for what you did! WHATEVER it takes!" she hissed.

She marched me back to stand in front of Miss Marcy. She was waiting with a white slip dangling from her hand. Mom told me to raise my arms. I started to shake my head no, when mom raised them for me; and I felt the cool, slippery nylon slip down over my body. I looked down to see the hem settle just above my knees. There was lace… and ribbons! I felt sick! She picked up the dress, and fussed with it, preparing it to go over my head. Mom raised my arms again; and everything went dark for a few seconds. When I could see again, I looked down at shiny blue, with ruffles and lace down the front. My legs buckled.

"STAND UP!" Mom yelled.

I felt totally humiliated. My eyes were watery; and I brushed away a tear. I didn't want to cry. My own mother zipped it up in back, while the lady lifted my chin.

"Hmmm yes, I think he will do. We'll have to do something about his hair though. It is awfully short."

This CAN'T be happening!

They studied me for a few moments. Miss Marcy lifted my chin again.

"Look up!" she commanded. "We want to look at you. …. You don't like this much, do you?"

I shook my head. What was her first clue? Could it be the tears in my eyes, or the completely terrified look? I was in a frilly blue dress with a wide, white lace ruffles!

"Yes… well, it serves you right, doesn't it?"

"Isn't this a pretty pinafore dress?" she asked, turning to my mom.

"Oh, it's adorable. Even Charley looks so pretty in it. He CAN pass for a little girl!"

My legs were wobbly.

"STAND UP! For goodness sakes, don't be such a baby!" Mom yelled again.

"But the hair!” the Lady exclaimed. "We need a wig. You wouldn't have one?"

Mom shook her head. … I was thankful for that.

"I know! The Lady called out.

She left for a few seconds, and returned with a brush, comb, and scissors. She brushed my hair forward, and clipped away with the scissors. What was she doing… shortening it? Mom watched. When she finished, she lifted my chin, and looked at mom. Mom smiled.

"You'll have to shampoo it, and use conditioner to relax his part; but I think it's kind of cute," Miss Marcy commented.

Oh no! Whatever she did seemed to have worked! Mom looked me over, smiling, with an occasional giggle. I turned to find a mirror. I saw. She had shagged my hair so that it framed my face. It looked like… a girl's "pixie." I was going to get a butch cut when school got out, just as I had the last couple of years, but hadn't made it to the barber's.

They led me over to stand me in front of the mirror.

"We can't call you Charlie. …I think we'll call you… Chrissy. Well, Chrissy, do you think you can come to work for me in my store? You'll have to be on your very best behavior … girl like behavior … and manners."

"You better believe he will! He'll be happy to jump at everything you tell him to do … even if it means walking down the street in his frilly girl's underwear!"

Miss Marcy laughed.

"Oh, we won't make him do anything so crude as that. No, I'll try to be good to him. I think he's going to have enough to cope with, being in public in a dress, and working around dresses and ladies' lingerie."

The dam burst! I bawled my eyes out. She rushed over with a box of tissues to wipe my tears.

"Oh, I know! This is going to be difficult at first; but I think you know you really deserve it! Now get this all out of your system. We can't have you looking all red-eyed and puffy, and getting tears on your pretty clothes. You have to be looking pretty for tomorrow."

Pretty for tomorrow! The words echoed through me, vibrating my very being. I can't go out wearing girl clothes! … And especially these frilly things!

"Shoes … we'll need some shoes," she sighed. …. I'll see what I can do. What size does he wear?"

"Oh, he's a size five. He has small feet for a boy."

They talked to each other as they had me parade around for them. I was slow to react to their instructions. I wasn't trying to resist; I was just in mortified risk. It seemed like forever before mom finally let me out of the dress; and we stood by the door to leave.

"Say thank you to Sharon for being so gracious, and allowing you to work this off. I think she's being very nice.

"Thank you so much. I'll be sure to have Charl… I mean Chrissy here by eight."

It seemed so ridiculous to be thanking her for doing this to me.

"Thank you," I got out timidly before we walked home, silently. This was going to be a terrible summer vacation.

"Mom … I can't … you can't make me wear those sissy things tomorrow," I begged as soon as we entered the front door.

Mom looked at me enraged.

"You will do exactly what we tell you young man! That was the most despicable stunt I've ever seen! You deserve a far worse punishment! If it were up to me, I'd make you lick every last bit of paint off her car with your tongue! It's lucky for you Miss Marcy is going to let you work off the damages! You are going to wear a pretty little dress… and LIKE it! Do you understand me! I've never been so embarrassed in all my life! You better behave well, and make a proper little girl for her … or else! … Why, I'll just borrow some of those pretty girl clothes myself, and make you parade up and down the street in them! You'll wear them day in and day out if it embarrasses you so much!"

I had never seen mom so mad! I wish I had never said anything. Mom sent me directly to bed; and it was a relief to get away from her … and to fall asleep.

Mom woke me at six-thirty the next morning.

"Come on, you have to take a nice hot bath, and have breakfast before you go," Mom called.

I didn't like baths, but considering the trouble I was in, it seemed a minor inconvenience. Mom came in as the tub filled. She dumped some of her bubble bath and oil in the water. It was nice and hot, and yet I broke into a cold sweat and began shaking at what they were going to make me do. Mom came in a little while later and shampooed my hair, and then messaged in hair conditioner. She let it stay on a couple of minutes before rinsing. She stayed in the bath, and helped dry me off. I was embarrassed. I was too old for mom to see me naked; but she acted like it was an everyday occurrence. She powdered me all over, and then combed my hair. I looked in the mirror. It looked just like a girl's "pixie" again.

Little was said as we ate. I was nervous, like waiting to go in to see the doctor, only worse. My heart beat faster as we put the dishes in the sink; and then we were going out the door. I was a bit apprehensive about how my hair looked, and looked around for any kids who might see me; but it was too early for kids to be out.

Mom looked over at the spray-painted car; and I felt her tense and her hand tighten over my own. … There was no way I was going to get out of this.

My hands were shaking as we walked up to Miss Marcy’s door. She greeted us with a warm smile. We were five minutes early.

"Well, we look all fresh and bright this morning. Come on Chrissy, let's get you dressed."

It took all my strength to keep my legs from buckling as we went up the stairs. Miss Marcy led the way, with mom right behind me. I felt sick to my stomach at what lay ahead. She handed mom some under things. I looked past her at the blue dress laid out… waiting.

Mom took me into the bath, where she told me to undress. My heart was pounding so loud, I thought it was someone at the front door. Mom dressed me in a pair of white, lace trimmed panties, the white tights, and the lace trimmed slip with the ribbon bow. I was breathing heavily, and too weak in the knees to either protest, or help dress myself. They were going to make me go out dressed as a frilly girl! Mom ushered me back to the bedroom. She had to push, as I didn't want her seeing me in the sissy underwear. The frilly pinafore dress looked even frillier and girlish than I remembered. I struggled to hold my tears as they pulled it over my head. Their voices sounded pleased, but muffled, as I struggled with my embarrassment, squirming helplessly in the fancy dress. The next thing I knew I was looking down at pair of girl's white shoes with a strap over the instep. They both smiled and cooed at how I looked, to my mortification.

Miss Marcy took me over in front of the mirror. I didn't want to look, but I did. The white lace stood out next to the shiny blue of the dress. The lace around the gathered short sleeves seemed to be particularly prominent, as was the ruffled lace on the white, rounded collar. As I turned, I noticed the large, perfect bow she had tied in back, with the ends trailing down the back of the dress. I was paying a very high price for my behavior.

My heart pounded, and my hands began to sweat on the way downstairs. Mom warned me to be on my best behavior, and follow Miss Marcy's instructions.

I sat on the couch, as they had coffee in the kitchen. It was like waiting for my execution. I was going to have to go outside … like this! I looked at the shiny blue skirt over my lap, and cursed myself for getting into such a predicament. They came out a little while later, and, surprisingly, mom came over to hug me.

"You just look SO cute! You do make a pretty girl," she trilled, before going out the door.

"Mom…" she stopped and turned to face me. "How long do I have to do this?"

She looked at Miss Marcy, then back at me. "If you’re good and do a good job for Sharon, I think that till the end of August should do it. Isn't that about right, Sharon?" she asked looking back a Miss Marcy.

"Yes, I think so," Miss Marcy agreed. Mom nodded and left.

Miss Marcy went upstairs, and then returned shortly.

"Well, Chrissy, let's be going."

I stopped at the front door.

"Problem?" she asked.

"I just don't want the other kids seeing me like this."

"I see. Would a scarf help? ... Just in case, that is. It would help hide your face."

I nodded. She produced a silky white scarf with a flower print, and tied it under my chin, then pulled it forward so you couldn't see my face from the side. We walked out to her car. The red paint scrawled over the side made me feel ashamed. She really wasn't so bad, despite what was happening to me.

As we drove into town, she proceeded to explain what my duties would be. I kept my chin buried, not wanting to see if there was someone outside who could recognize me. All I saw was ruffles and lace. I was wearing a pretty dress!

"I want you to check the display counters and racks so that everything is kept straight and neat. You can keep things swept, and the counters wiped clean of fingerprints. I may want you to bring some merchandise from the back to add to them, as well as assisting the customers. You must be especially polite to everyone that comes in, and welcome them with a good morning or good afternoon, and answer any questions with yes or no Ma'am. Do you think you can do that?"

"Uh … yes Ma'am," I replied.

"Very good … we are going to get along just fine, Chrissy."

"Miss Marcy … do I really … is it really … why do I have to dress this way?"

"It wouldn't be right at all to have a young male roaming about my shop. You'll know I'm right when you see. You are stuck I'm afraid … but don't fret. I think you make a cute girl."

We arrived at her store… the window read.

"The Princess Shoppe"
"Fine Dresses, Lingerie and Foundations"

I cringed.

There were just a few passing cars and a couple of people across the street; but they took little notice of us as we approached and went into the shop.

It was somewhat small looking, but once inside, it seemed much larger, with lots of racks of frilly dresses, and counters filled with all sorts of women's intimate garments. One glass case held nothing but stockings and garter belts; another was all bras. I was as nervous as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I didn't know where to divert my eyes. Mom could never have dragged me into a sissy store like this; and now I was stuck here for the whole day … and tomorrow … and…

Miss Marcy called me over to the girls' accessories, where she picked up a blue ribbon and white lace barrette. She clipped it to my hair on the right side!

"Yes… quite pretty, don't you think? You make a most acceptable girl. You're so cute!"

I was trembling. I felt so weak… and fearful. Here I was surrounded by women's dresses and frilly under things, dressed like such a sissy girl, in a frilly dress with ribbons in my hair. Was there anything worse than this? This was AWFUL! What would my friends or any of the other kids say if they saw me like this?

She had me return some items left in the dressing rooms to the proper rack. It was something to take my mind off where I was, and how I looked. I was careful to avoid the window. I didn't know how I was going to cope with the customers seeing me. There had been a couple of bras to return too, but Miss Marcy took care of those, thank goodness.

She then had me bring out a box of panties, to add to the display table. They were folded so the ribbon and lace trim was prominently displayed. She watched as I added to the neat rows. I hesitantly, gingerly, handled each pair. This was severe punishment for a boy … to wear a frilly dress and forced to handle such girlie things! It was most humiliating.

She didn't sell any leisure things, only one small rack of fancy jeans. Everything else was dressy. About a third of her shop was women's dresses, a third girls', and the remaining was undergarments.

I was scared to death when the first women customers came in. They looked around, and then approached the counters. I stood beside Miss Marcy, behind the counter.

"What a cute little girl! And what a darling dress! Isn't she adorable?" the women remarked.

I was crimson.

"What do you say?" Miss Marcy prompted.

"Thank you, Ma'am," I responded, red faced.

Their laughter filled the store.

Their attention shifted to shopping, and I relaxed. At least I was being accepted as a girl. They hadn't seen I was really a boy. … That would be so much more humiliating.

The day crept along. Every time someone came in I panicked a little. It occurred to me; what if one of the girls from school came in with their mother? I crept meekly around the store. I felt so helpless in this bastion of femininity, stuck in a frilly dress.

At lunchtime she sat me in the back, where I had a sandwich, milk, and a piece of cake. She kept an eye on the store and just grabbed bites.

Nearly all the women who came in complimented me on the dress, and some remarked what a shy, pretty girl I was. I was getting pretty adept at my "thank you Ma'ams." Miss Marcy was quick to point out that she carried the dress in all girls' sizes. Early in the afternoon, this technique made her a sale. In fact, she sold three dresses like the one I wore.

Miss Marcy was right. I could never be in here as a boy. I hadn't seen one male face all day. That is except for one, and he was three years old. A boy would definitely be out of place here. I would be almost as embarrassed to be stuck in here as a boy. At least being accepted as a girl, I didn't appear to be so out of place.

I was quite exhausted by closing time. I didn't think the day would ever end. I was quick to draw the scarf over my head for the trip back, and felt only slightly strange tying the silky scarf under my chin … like a girl.

I had had a slight feeling of rebellion as we drove to her shop, but not now. Somehow I had lost it. I would follow her instructions with few compunctions. I wasn't sure why or how I had lost the last bit of boyish resistance, just that I had. I felt like a shy, skittish girl, like the ones I used to tease.

I was anxious as I made the trip from the car into her house.

"I called your mother, and told her you would be staying for supper, and would be getting home later this evening. I want you to help me prepare dinner, and then I want to have a talk with you."

She tied an apron around me, and we fixed dinner, and set the table. I was a little uncomfortable eating. She watched, as I was forced to sit up straight, and watch my manners.

"I think it would be nice if you learned how to curtsy. It wouldn't hurt to curtsy to the ladies who complement you, especially the ones that gush over you. Stand up for me. Put one foot slightly behind the other, and lower yourself. Hold the sides of your skirt as you do. … Yes, that is right. You make a fine, pretty little girl. … Everyone at the shop thought so."

I was crimson. It was a moment or two before I realized a thank you was in order. I curtsied, as I thanked Miss Marcy. She smiled pleasantly, and chuckled. … And suddenly, out of nowhere, she seemed attractive. She was younger than my mom, and sort of pretty herself.

"I noticed how timid you were around the shop, especially around the frillier, intimate things. I understand, what with you being a boy and all. Even some of my women customers are a bit embarrassed sometimes with intimate garments. We will have to help you get over that. It doesn't help to make my customers uncomfortable discussing intimates; and I'm afraid your blushing, and skittishness doesn't make them feel less uncomfortable."

She took me upstairs, where she helped me out of the dress. She brought in a box and dumped the contents on the bed. There were dozens of panties. I stood with my arms folded, feeling vulnerable and exposed in the slip.

"I want you to sort these according to style, size, and color. Examine them closely, as I want you to pick out the prettiest."

She was drowning me in girl things. Here I was in a slip, folding more pairs of frilly panties. The ribbon bow in the middle of my chest was inescapable; and the ribbon straps over my shoulders were so daintily girlish. I was doing as she instructed when she came in with yet another box. This one held an assortment of things: bras, slips, girdles, garter belts. I was to sort these too, taking note of their sizes.

"How old are you?" She questioned.

"Uh … I'm ten." I replied.

"Hmmmm … well, I think that's old enough. Here…,” she said, pulling the slip straps off my shoulders. "Little girls wear training bras in anticipation of the bras they will soon have to wear. So let's try one on you."

I went white.

She showed me the white cotton bra with the little flower in the middle. I felt my face burning, as she then showed me how the clasp worked. She had me stretch out my arms while she slid the bra up them and fastened it in back. My insides felt like they were full of worms!

"Now, I want you to unhook it, take it off, and then put it on again. When you can do it with ease you come show me."

The first several times were surprisingly difficult. Imagine, a boy practicing putting on a bra! I examined the hooks carefully. In about twenty minutes I could put it on and take it off pretty well. I made my way out into the hall. I could hear her … downstairs! I pulled the slip top up over the bra, and walked to the top of the stairs.

"Miss Marcy!" I can get it on and off now! I called.

I couldn't believe I was being so cooperative, but then being in a frilly dress all day, in a women's boutique, had its effect.

"Come here and show me!" She called back.

My face was ablaze. Go downstairs in this frilly underwear? …. I crept slowly down the steps. I looked down to see my hand over my chest. I nervously made my way into the kitchen with my arms folded in front of me. I peered in to see two people! I went white … before I recognized my mother. They turned and giggled at me standing there.

"OK, show us! Show us how good you are with your new bra."

I wanted to die! I was crimson.

"Yes dear, show us what a good little girl you are," Mom giggled, "Come on!"

I unhooked the bra, slid it down my arms, and then replaced it, hooking it again, with only slight difficulty.

"That's very good honey," Mom cooed.

Mom had a sappy grin on her face as I pulled the dainty slip straps back in place. She whipped out a camera, and snapped a picture.

"Oh yes, you make a splendid girl. Sharon told me what a dear you were today and how everyone thought you looked so pretty! I couldn't believe you had been that good. It looks like you are going to work out just fine. Maybe you should have been a girl. … I kind of like the idea of having a daughter, and so pretty too."

I was red clean to my toes.

"Remember what I taught you earlier," Miss Marcy prompted.

I stammered, not knowing what she meant, and then it came to me.

"Uh, thank you mother," I mumbled … adding a shaky curtsy.

"Oh honey! That's darling! …. I was afraid that you might make some trouble for her at the shop, but I see my fears were unfounded. You definitely should have been a girl! You look so cute … and it's certainly improved your attitude."

Mom took another picture; and then she held out her arms. I went over, and she hugged me. I struggled to keep from crying. She held me at arms length, and then fussed and cooed over the dainty girl's underwear I was wearing. …. I brushed a tear from my cheek.

"Oh honey, it's all right. Things are going to be OK. You make a fine looking girl."

I was sent back upstairs to finish sorting the intimates; and moments later they were standing at the door, watching me. They asked me questions. What size is that? Isn't that a lovely color? What size bra was I wearing? I didn't know, and had to remove it to see. It was a size thirty AAA. The tag read "Little Ingénue." Handling the intimates was embarrassing, even though I was dressed in them. I stared at a girdle with ribbon covered garters dangling from the bottom. I hoped I would never have to wear anything like that! I didn't think I'd ever be comfortable around these silly, feminine things.

"You know Mrs. Collins, I think it would be nice if Chrissy would paint her fingernails. They should be red … like the paint on my car, as a reminder."

"I think that is a great idea. I'll take care of it."

"Now Chrissy, did you pick out the prettiest panties?" she questioned.

"Yes." I replied. I blushed as I held them up. They were pink with white lace and ribbon bows. They were very girlie.

"And what size are they?" She asked.

"Uh … size five," I replied.

"Good… put them on."

"What?"

"You heard me. Put them on over your tights."

My face burned as I slid them up my legs. They were just a little big.

"Now, show us… show us your pretty panties."

I faced them, holding the hem of my slip up. They smiled at me standing there in the pink lace trimmed panties with the little ribbon bows. They tittered. I was beside myself with embarrassment.

"Yes, they are very pretty; … and you look so pretty in your pink panties," Mom giggled.

I knew my face was as red as my fingernails were going to be.

It was dusk when mom and I left. I was allowed to put on a shirt and pants over my sissy underwear. Mom carried a bag home. I didn't ask what was in it.

I was so tired as we got home; but mom marched me to her room where she painted my nails. She had me sit at her vanity in the slip with the bra underneath as she filed, buffed, and turned my fingernails red.

"Mom … how am I … how can I go out anywhere…"

"Oh, you are grounded for the summer. If you go anywhere, you can just go as a girl!" Mom stated emphatically. "Now, let's look at you."

She lifted my slip, smiling at the lacy pink panties. She had me curtsy for her. She giggled. I felt so helplessly weak. I had lost all my boyish pride and independence. I had allowed myself to be dressed like a sissy girl. I was unworthy. I meekly complied to her instructions, holding the thin nylon slip in my pink tipped fingers as I curtsied for her. What had happened to the headstrong boy?

The following morning I had to take another bubble bath; and mom lotioned and powdered me. She held the pink panties as I stepped into them; and then dressed me in the bra and lacy anklets. The larger women's panties went over the other pair. I was then allowed to put on a shirt and pants.

We arrived at Miss Marcy's at a quarter past eight. We went upstairs, and my shirt and pants were removed. Miss Marcy slipped a girls vest or camisole over my head. It was white with a little pink flower design. It had lace across the top with a little flower over a ribbon bow in the middle, and there were small bows at the straps. It was terribly sissified. I had to step into a circle of ruffles and lace, and pulled it up around my waist. The petticoat was smooth on top, then a circle of lace, and then three rows of lace trimmed ruffles. There was a large bow at the lace circle, and the ends draped down over the ruffles. They were such frilly, girlie under things! They smiled and cooed at me in the sissy, ribbon covered and lacy underwear.

"You will wear this today." Miss Marcy stayed, holding up a pink dress.

It had short, puffy, lace trimmed short sleeves, lacy collar, rows of lace down the front, and shiny pink sash. It was a sissy, party dress, and she pulled it over my head. The dress felt smooth and rustled as it slipped down over me. She buttoned it in back and tied the sash. I knew just how the bow was going to look in back. I had seen many girls with bows in the back of their dresses. I slipped into the white shoes, and she fastened the strap. She then clipped a pink ribbon in my hair. Mom took pictures as Miss Marcy fussed with the dress.

"Isn't she a pretty little miss?" Miss Marcy asked.

Mom giggled in agreement, cupping her hand over her mouth.

They tittered with amusement as we made our way downstairs.

The full pink skirt swished and bobbed as I descended the stairs, causing my insides to squirm with embarrassment.

Miss Marcy pulled a silky scarf over my head, and tied it under my chin. I was scared and mortified as we walked to her car. Climbing in and sitting in the dress and petticoat wasn't easy. I struggled to straighten the dress. My red tipped fingers fidgeted nervously in my smooth lap as we drove away.

Her exercise with the undergarments helped a little as I helped around the shop that morning. It was odd, but the way I was dressed in pink and lace, seemed to make it easier around the other feminine clothes. I felt better buried in a rack of dresses than standing fully exposed in the pink, sissy dress. The women that came in instantly fussed over me and the dress. I was deluged with complements, as the women coming in gushed over me and my dress. Oh! They would say, “How SWEET” … “SO PRETTY” …. “What an ADORABLE girl and dress” … “aren't you a precious little girl?” I spent the day a bright crimson.

It was around noon when it got a little slow; and I was finding some interest in the unfamiliar clothes. I was swinging the skirt back and forth, when Miss Marcy called.

"Quit playing with your dress, and come here." And she giggled at my behavior.

That afternoon a woman asked if I would try on a dress, so she could get a better idea how it would look on her daughter.

"She's just your size and color."

I had to oblige.

"Oh, and what pretty under things! Isn't that an adorable petticoat? You are just so sweet!"

"Thank you Ma'am," I replied with a dutiful little curtsy, red-faced.

"And such lovely manners," the lady chuckled. "You are such an adorable little girl … just like my baby," she commented.

I twirled for her in the dress. She bought two dresses and the petticoat.

Another woman remarked she wished her daughter was like me. She couldn't get her daughter in a pretty dress, unless she absolutely had to wear one, like for church.

Miss Marcy sold two more dresses like the one I wore that afternoon. It occurred to me I was her living mannequin, and her idea was working.

When I got home, I quickly got out of the dress and underwear, but was still embarrassed to eat supper with polished fingernails. Mom asked about my day. I didn't want to talk about it … or think about it. I had to help with the dishes. She had had a lot of trouble getting me to help with housework; and she smiled triumphantly as she tied a frilly apron around my waist. The last time she tried to make me wear an apron I was five or six, and I threw a fit! We spent a quiet evening.

Miss Marcy put me in white blouse with a large rounded, lace trimmed collar the next day. It had puffy, banded, short sleeves, trimmed in ruffled lace. My skirt was a red and black plaid with yards of shiny, smooth, stiff material. I had to wear the petticoat under it again.

I looked in the mirror. The thin white blouse left little doubt I was wearing a bra.

The blouse and skirt attracted as much praise as the dresses.

The store was going to stay open later as it was Friday, so mom was picking me up after work. She came in around five-thirty, and her face lit up when she saw me. The customers cooed as mom hugged me.

"Hi Chrissy!" she greeted.

The women all gushed over mom about how lucky she was to have such a pretty daughter. It kind of took her back; but she looked quite happy with the praise.

Mom gossiped with the other women about their girls, and they talked and talked. I didn't think we were ever going to go home. …. And then she started looking about the boutique. My toes curled when she picked up three pair of panties, and then … she asked to see training bras! OH! This was embarrassing! Mom and Miss Marcy enjoyed drawing it out, glancing over at me; and then mom called me over to ask which style I wanted! Everyone could see how mortified I was. And they seemed to find it amusing. They stood around, watching my embarrassment. Mom bought the panties, two bras, and a pretty slip, which she held up against me.

It wasn't until we got to the car, that I noticed the other packages she carried.

We were half way home, before I realized we would be going straight home! How was I going to get from the car to the house, dressed like this? Someone might see me! Mom told me to skootch down as we approached. Mrs. James, the neighbor lady, was outside. We circled the block, and five minutes later we pulled into the driveway. I ran into the house.

Mom found me upstairs, getting out of the clothes.

"What do you think you are doing?" she asked.

"Getting out of these clothes," I responded.

"Oh no you're not! Sharon and I have decided it's best if you stay in skirts and dresses. You will manage your skirts better if you wear them all the time. You said yourself you can't go out as a boy with your nails and hair, so you will be a girl this summer. Besides, I told Gary when he called that you were grounded for the summer. He said he'd tell the rest of the kids. So they won't be looking for you until school starts."

I looked at her. There wasn't much to say. I disheartedly buttoned my blouse again. Mom produced the packages. Besides the underwear items, she had bought two blouses, two skirts, and a dress. They weren't as dressy as what I had worn to the store.

"Mom … I thought you said we didn't have any extra money?" I whined.

"We don't have three hundred, but an extra forty I can always find," she smiled.

I didn't like the direction this was going, spending money on girl clothes for me. We returned downstairs to prepare dinner together. Mom put me in the frilly apron again. She smiled over at me a lot as we ate, and did the dishes together.

She cheerily asked what I wanted to watch on TV that evening. Mom looked happy. She seemed to have gotten over my costly prank.

Relaxing in front of the TV wasn't the same… not in a skirt. I was forced to mind how I sat, with my knees together.

I was quick to agree when she suggested getting ready for bed. I could get out of the sissy things. Mom watched, and coaxed me to be careful removing the delicate girl things, and hang them up. I was carefully placing the petticoat over a chair, when mom handed me a flower print nightgown and matching robe.

"What's this?" I questioned.

"It's your new nightgown and robe. Put it on."

"What?"

"Yes … you are going to be my daughter this summer. Just get used to it. I like having a little girl. I had so much fun shopping today … and you make such a pretty girl."

"Mom!"

What was the use? I had been a frilly girl for three days now. It made mom happy, and got her over her anger. I could go along for a few days. She was radiant as I slipped into the silky nightie and robe. The nightie had a flounce at the hem and across the chest, with a large ribbon bow with long ribbons that came to my waist. The robe had a ribbon belt which mom tied in a neat bow. I was to be dressed in girlie frills night and day. Mom hugged me, several times. We returned to the living room, as mother and daughter. The nylon over nylon of the nightie and robe felt so strange, but slippery, silky, and nice. I felt so sissified sitting there in the flowered film and ribbons. Mom kept looking at me with a radiant smile. It wasn't long before she sat next to me, put her arm around me, and cuddled me. It had been a number of years since I let mom cuddle me. Now, dressed as I was, it felt kind of nice.

I jumped in bed, and discovered you can't do that in a nightie; and it got all twisted. I stood, straightened the nightie, and sat, then swung my feet into bed. Silly girl clothes! Mom came in to tuck me in. It had been a while since she had done that. I was her little girl now. I was trapped for the summer.

I had to take yet another bath in the morning. It was Saturday, and I wasn't going to be leaving the house I protested.

"You are a girl now, and you will keep yourself dainty, clean and fresh," Mom explained.

I wore one of the new blouses and a skirts mom had bought.

We returned to my room after breakfast, and we both wore aprons. We started in cleaning, and she began pulling my clothes from my dresser and closet.

"We have to make room for Chrissy's things," she stated.

But she removed ALL my clothes. The sheets, bed linen, and curtains were all removed, to be replaced by softer, more feminine ones. I had a girl's room by dinnertime, and mom stored my boy things in the attic.

We baked cookies that evening. Mom seemed very pleased. I was silent. I let her enjoy herself.

Sunday, mom fussed over me as she helped me dress in frilly underwear and dress. I helped with breakfast and lunch, and we hand-washed OUR dainty under things that afternoon. Mom then had to go to the Laundromat to do wash. She couldn't take me, and was a bit disappointed I had to stay behind.

I was alone in girl clothes, and watched TV. I made no attempt to remove them for a while. I might just as well get used to it, I reasoned. There I sat, in bra, panties, slip, and a dress, with no one to stop me from taking them off….

When she came home I helped refold the clothes, and put them away. She gave me sewing and crocheting lessons that evening. I was truly going to be her daughter this summer.

I left the house Monday in a girl's blouse and slacks. From a distance you couldn't tell. They were merely intended to get me to Miss Marcy's and back. I wasn't going to be allowed boy clothes of any description.

When we got to Miss Marcy's, I noticed the paint from the side of her car was gone. I was glad.

She had me wear a multicolored floral print dress with a large, white, lace trimmed, square collar.

Tuesday, I wore a pink print sundress, with large bows on the shoulders, and it tied in back.

Wednesday, I wore another sundress, a yellow daisy print, with ruffled lace in front in a square. It gave the illusion of a bib. It too tied in back.

The sundresses were cooler, but they flashed glimpses of the bra I was wearing underneath when I reached forward to arrange the displays. A young girl my age noticed, and I heard her begging her mother for her own training bra.

"Mom. … See, she's wearing one, and she's no bigger than me! Can I have one … please?"

Her mother looked over at me, smiled and nodded … to the squeals from her little girl.

Sometime during that week Miss Marcy and I became good friends. Mom hugged me even more and she smiled more than any time I could remember. She was very enthused about having a daughter.

This was turning out very well for mom. She worked during the day, and summers were a problem. She had to scramble to get someone to look after me during the day. Not only was I completely supervised, Miss Marcy even saw to my lunch.

I began to get used to the constant day to day fussing over me as a girl in frills. I kind of even liked it at times. My "prank" was never brought up. It was like I was Chrissy now, not the boy that did that awful thing.

It was three weeks later, when a girl from school came in with her mother. I froze … then melted into the back room. A few minutes later Miss Marcy called for me. I came out to confront Trisha and her mom standing at the counter. Trisha smiled at me.

"Hi," she called.

I wanted to crawl under the floor.

"You look familiar. Do I know you?" she asked.

I shrugged.

"What's your name?"

"Chrissy," I replied.

"Chrissy what?"

"Uh … Chrissy Smith," I lied, glancing furtively over at Miss Marcy.

"What school do you go to?"

"Mapledale," I lied again. It was across town.

"I've seen you … somewhere then…." she pondered.

"Maybe … but you don't look familiar."

Her mom was buying her some new under things, including a couple training bras… the same as mine!

I breathed a sigh of relief when they left. I couldn't believe she hadn't recognized me. Some of my friends and I had teased her and her friends a little over a month ago.

I was just getting comfortable with this masquerading as a girl and now Trisha showed up. For the whole of next week, I lived in fear that she would come back or some other girls from school would come in. Every time the bell on the door rang, I'd step behind something and peek out to see if it was someone I knew. It never was. I guess it was a fluke.

After two weeks more, I calmed down and almost forgot about it. One Friday Mom showed up as usual but said that she had some shopping to do and would I mind working a little longer.

"No," I told her. "I think Miss Marcy could use the help. We're busy tonight." With that, Mom kissed my on the forehead and smiled as she walked out the door.

We had a ton of customers in the next two hours. Miss Marcy had me hopping bringing out new stock and showing off my dress for the day. She must have made a thousand dollars in sales. Just as it began to slow down, Mom showed up again. I was in the back bringing out some more stock and came out to see her talking with Miss Marcy.

"I'm sorry to be so late. I hadn't realized it was really that late until I noticed I was hungry."

"Yes, I know what you mean. Fridays are always tough on me. I just can't wait 'til I get home to eat. I always treat myself dinner a restaurant."

"What a great idea. Where were you going tonight?"

"I was thinking of Georgio's. I feel like Italian. You guys could come with me if you like. My treat."

"Chrissy likes Italian. We'd love to."

I couldn't believe it. It was one thing to spend the day here in the boutique, but quite another to go someplace else. My mother practically invited us into Miss Marcy's plans. I knew that there was no sense resisting. These two had already demonstrated that once they got an idea, there was no stopping them. I just prayed that Georgio's was a really class restaurant where none of my friend would be likely to show up. Before I knew it we were on the way to Georgio's in Miss Marcy's car.

"I've got to tell you, having Chrissy stay late tonight really helped. After 5:00 on Fridays is my busiest time. If you wouldn't mind, I'd like her to stay all the time," Miss Marcy intoned.

"That would be fine with me," Mom smiled.

"Thanks Mom," I thought grimly.

There must be a God, because Georgio's turned out to be really fancy. We were greeted at the door by a knockout blonde who could hardly have been out of high school. She was wearing a dress that must have cost $ 200.00 and her jewelry spoke of money. This was the hostess. Just hired help. The wait staff was all in formal wear. The cheapest thing on the menu was spaghetti with Marinara sauce at $ 17.95 a plate.

Needless to say I was a bundle of nerves. But everyone treated us as if we were royalty. Soon I was relaxed and enjoy my shrimp Alfredo. Somehow the experience liberated me. I began to enjoy the idea that no one could tell I was a boy in girl's clothes, that is until I had to go to the bathroom.

"Ah, Mom… I have to go," I whispered.

"What did you say Chrissy?" she asked.

"The bathroom?" I said just a little louder.

"Oh, you mean you have to powder your nose," she smiled.

I gave her one of those looks and nodded my head.

"Come along sweetheart."

She led me right to the ladies room. In we went. Imagine, me, a boy in the ladies room. Thankfully there wasn't anyone in there. Mom pushed me toward a stall and said, "Don't forget to sit." I looked at her funny because I only had to go number one. "Girls do you know."

I went into the stall and closed the door. I dutifully turned my back on the toilet, lifted my dress and pulled down my panties and sat. As I sat there, I studied my blue nylon panties in detail. They had white lace around the leg openings and darker blue rose sewn on a patch of lace on the left side of the front. The waist band was some kind of elastic lace about an inch wide. There just above the panties, sticking out from under the hem of my dress was another band of the most delicate lace that matched the panties. I was struck with the oddity of it. I'm a boy, but from the skin out, I was strictly female. I couldn't imagine anything more girly then the lingerie I was wearing. Another thing that really seemed odd was I realized my Mom was in the next stall.

I was soon finished and pulled the odd underwear back in place and smoothed the dress and slip back down. I went out to wash my hands and nearly fainted. Just as I stepped up to the sink, the door opened. A lady about my Mom's age came in. She glanced at me, smiled and went into the stall I just exited. I turned and watched as she closed the door. I was still staring at the closed stall door when Mom joined me at the sink. She nudged me. I looked up.

"There's a woman in that stall," I mouthed.

Mom just smiled. "Wash your hands Chrissy."

I turned and quickly washed and split as fast as I could. I couldn't believe that I was in the ladies room when woman came in.

"Chrissy, you’re white as a sheet," Miss Marcy said as I slid into my chair.

Mom chuckled. "A woman came into the restroom while we were there."

"What happened," Miss Marcy asked with a grin.

"Nothing. She just went into the stall."

"Then what's the matter?"

"Chrissy?"

"She looked at me. I… I was afraid she'd know."

"Did she act like she knew?"

"She just smiled and went into the stall."

"Well there you go," smiled Miss Marcy. "You are such a sweet looking child Chrissy; I don't know what you were worried about."

Just than the waiter came and took our order for desert.

As we were leaving we walked past the lady's table, the one from the bathroom. She looked up and smiled. It was a warm smile that covered her whole face. I couldn't be sure that it wasn't a conspiratorial smile. But she didn't give any indication that she knew anything.

Our Fridays out for dinner became a regular thing. Mom came along most of the time. The only good thing was, we got home after dark and no one could see me go into the house.

The summer passed uneventfully. It became routine to get up, take my bubble bath and dust with the dusting powder. I really came to like the scent. By the middle of August I was picking out my own girls lingerie for the day. I was taken by how all the girls underwear could, and should, be coordinated. Of course, Miss Marcy chose the dress. I always wore whatever dress she wanted to sell most that day. Some times it was a little boring. I'd wear the same dress only in different colors for days at a time.

Summer finally did come to an end. It was kind of exciting. When Mom brought my boy's clothes back down and had me try on them on to see just what I'd need for school. My pants would have been fine, if I hadn't grown nearly an inch. I just hadn't noticed. Who really pays attention to just where the hem of a dress hits. Certainly not me. An inch one way or another is no big deal. Most of my shirts would do. Mom promised to have some new jeans and shoes for me by the first of September. She also promised some new boxers and socks as well.

Tuesday the last day in August was a great day. It was my last day as Chrissy. I couldn't wait. Mom could though. She showed up to take me home, only she didn't take me home. We went to dinner. I was used to it by now, but I really wanted to get home. Mom had promised that as soon as we got home I could put on some boys clothes.

I pealed out of my girly duds as soon as I hit the house. I was unbuttoning my blouse on the way upstairs. By the time I closed my door, I had it untucked and was pulling it off. I carefully hung it and the skirt followed. Again, I hung it carefully. No sense not taking care of the clothes after all they were nice.

I put on my new boxers and a pair of my new jeans and a T-shirt. I went bare foot. I was allowed to wear boy's clothes, but I couldn't go outside until after Labor Day when school started. I went down stairs and watched television. The first thing I noticed was that my boy's clothes seemed really rough. I had always thought of cotton as being a soft fabric. But when contrasted to the nylon that had been next to my skin for the last three months, it was positively rough.

Friday morning, when I got up, I went straight to the bathroom and drew my morning bath. Without thinking, I put in the bubble bath and after I dusted myself with the perfumed dusting powder. Then I went to get dressed. I had on a pair of panties and my bra and I was pulling my slip over my head before remembered that I didn't have to go to Miss Marcy's today. I let the slip settle and sat on the bed. I began to shake a little. I had gotten so used to wearing girl's clothes it had become second nature. Just then, I heard Mom on the stairs.

"Charley," she called out.

"Yeah, Mom?" I called back quickly jumping up and running to my closet. I grabbed my boy's robe and threw it on. Just then she knocked on my door and opened it.

"I thought I heard you in the bathroom earlier. I was wondering why you were up so early."

"Oh, I don't know. I guess it was just habit. I just woke up and went to take a bath."

"Well, come on down and have breakfast with me before I go to work."

"I'll be right down, as soon as I'm dressed," I told her.

"Oh, come on down now. I've already cooked your eggs. You can get dressed after I leave."

I followed her downstairs. For the first time in months, I felt nervous about my slip rubbing on my legs. As I ate, I was self-conscious about my robe pulling apart, so I kept my left hand in my lap pulling the opening together. I silently wished that boy's robes buttoned down the front like my girl's robe.

"You'll be all right here alone today, won't you?" Mom asked. "I mean, I can trust you not to go anywhere, can't I? You are still grounded, you know."

"Sure Mom. I know. I'm not going to go anywhere. I wouldn't have any idea where the guys would be anyway. It would take all day to find them."

"Good." She smiled as she got up and kissed me on the forehead just has she had done every morning before sending me off to Miss Marcy's. "Clean up for me, will you? I've got to get going before I'm late for work."

"OK Mom."

"Be good," she called as she went out the door.

I cleared the table and washed the dishes. Then I went up to get dressed. I took off my robe and hung it back on the hook behind my closet. That was a change from my summer as girl. Last spring, I would have just thrown it on the bed. Then I notice that I had made up the bed without thinking. Another change. I started to take off my slip, but stopped as soon as I began to pull it up. Then without really deciding to, I went to my closet and got out one of my weekend dresses and put it on. I pulled a pair of knee socks out of my drawer and put them on. I put my patent leather flats on. In the bathroom, I brushed out my hair and put a barrette in the left side, just like Mom liked it.

"Oh well," I thought. "I've been wearing this kind of stuff all summer, what's one more day."

I stayed dressed like that until quarter to five. I changed back into my jeans and a T-shirt. I left the panties and knee socks on. They were white. If figured that under my sneakers, they'd look the same as sweat socks. I was sitting on the couch when Mom came in.

"Hi sweetheart," she said, kissing my on the forehead. That was a habit she had developed when she put me in dresses for the summer. Last year I'd have complained loudly. But now, it felt… natural. "Did you have a good day?"

"Yeah," I said.

"What did you do all day?"

"I just hung out and watched television."

"You didn't go anywhere did you?"

"No, Mom. I couldn't." If only she knew.

On Thursday, I really intended to wear jeans all day. I got up about 9:00 and put on my boxers and jeans. I pulled a sweatshirt over my head and put on some crew socks and my sneakers. I went down and got some cereal for breakfast. By the time I had cleaned up the kitchen and watched the morning cartoons. I couldn't keep still I was overly conscious of every fold in my boxers. About noon, I decided that I had to get out of my boxers.

I went up and took off my jeans and boxers. After I pulled on the panties I got out a pair of anklets and put them on. After all, they were nicer then my crew socks any day. I looked down at my legs. There were red marks on them from the coarseness of my boxers and jeans. I really didn't want to put on my jeans again. I got out a half-slip and a skirt. I had them on and saw myself in the mirror. Now that was a sorry sight. That sweatshirt just didn't go with the skirt. I took off the sweatshirt and got a knit top. After putting on my bra, I pulled the top on. I went to the bathroom and brushed out my hair. I changed back again just before Mom was due home.

Friday, I lay in bed looking at the ceiling for a long time after waking up. I had, for some reason, decided to wear the nightgown to bed. I just liked it. What could I say? But what was troubling me now was what to wear when I got up. I had tried to wear boy's clothes. They were just uncomfortable. I got up and put on panties, slip and a dress. I was going to be Chrissy again today.

Saturday, I had to be careful of how I dressed. I nearly put on my girls clothes again. Mom and I spent the day cleaning out the garage. During dinner we were talking about things in general when Mom brought up my behavior.

"You know, you haven't done one thing I had to punish you for since you spray painted Sharon's car. It's been a really enjoyable summer for me." After a short pause, she continued. "Maybe I should put you in dresses every summer," she teased. "I know Miss Marcy would like it. She told me that if you wanted to do it some more she'd be glad to pay you to work at the store. With you modeling the dresses she sells, her sales took a big jump. She said that over the summer the made about six times what it cost to repaint her car. That's over and above what her normal sales would have accounted for."

Looking at her, I think she was about half serious.

It wasn't until lunch on Sunday that I realized that I still had my nails polished. Mom and I had a good laugh about how it would have been if I had gone to school with it on. I also had to clip my nails. They were quite almond shaped by now.

Monday was my last day of confinement. I did want to make sure that everything was A-OK. I had a perfect record and I didn't want blow it and end up in trouble now. I got up late and put on my boxers, my new jeans and T-shirt. Some sweat socks and my sneakers completed my outfit. Somehow, I felt strange all day. I really didn't feel comfortable. My shorts rode up and my jeans were rough. Even my cotton T-shirt seemed out of place. I was eating lunch that realized I felt naked without my bra. I was devastated. How could I, a boy, feel that way? I didn't have anything to put in a bra and I never would.

Mom got home a little after 5:00. "Hi, Charley. Did you enjoy your final day of summer vacation?" She asked.

"I guess. I just hung out and watched TV some." Then, out of the blue, I asked. "Did you get me the right size boxers?"

"Yes, why do you ask?"

"I don't know. They just seem to bunch up. They are really uncomfortable."

"You're just not used to them. After all, you just spent three months wearing something a lot lighter," she smiled. Then she looked at me with her head turned sideways. I'm not sure I liked what she was thinking. I was sure I didn't want to know what she was thinking.

The next morning, I got dressed and headed out for school. Gary and the rest of the guys were all glad to see me. Of course, they all had a million questions about what I did all summer. I told them that I had to work for Miss Marcy to pay to have her car repainted. Of course I didn't tell them just what I had to do. I just told them she really made a believer out of me when it came to respecting other people's property.

School fell into a routine. Up every morning off to school. After, hang out on the school grounds for an hour to play baseball. Then home to do homework until Mom got home. It was good to hang out with the guys again. By the end of the week, I ended up with a rash, like an abrasion, where my boxers rode up and rubbed between my legs.

I finally told Mom about it on Sunday she laughed and said. "You could always go back to panties."

In the morning I seriously considered it, but decided not to because I was afraid that the guys might notice. But I have to tell you come Saturday mornings I took the chance. It felt great to be back in panties. That very thought, "It felt great" sent chills up my spine. I didn't bother to tell Mom. By Monday morning, my irritation was getting better but was not gone. After about 20 minutes' deliberation, I decided to chance panties at school. I combined it with my football jersey. It was long enough that I didn't have to worry about the guys seeing my underwear.

I wore panties all that week. After that, I did an every other day thing, alternating between panties and boxers. I hoped to toughen up to the skin on my inner thighs. I kept it up all the month of September. I just couldn't get to like the boxers. I guess the summer in dresses had made me a little bit of a sissy. I did panties on the weekend. I had to hand wash my delicates. Mom never noticed them hanging in the shower. At least if she did, she never said anything.

On Monday in the second week of October, I stayed late to get some help from the teacher on an assignment. When I left the room, Trisha was waiting in the hall. She was looking at me really strangely.

As I passed her she said, "Hi Charley, I heard you had to work for Miss Marcy all summer. Isn't she the one who owns The Princess Shoppe?"

"Ah, yeah … I guess."

"Are you related to anyone named Smith?"

"No, why do you ask?" I'd forgotten that was the name I told her when she was at the store.

"I have a cousin that goes to Mapledale. She says there's no Chrissy Smith there at all. In fact, there is no one named Smith or Chrissy at all."

My heart stopped. All I could do is play dumb. "Huh? Chrissy Smith?"

"My mother shops at The Princess Shoppe sometimes."

"So? That a girls store. Why wouldn't she?" I said, affecting a tone.

"I even go with her some times."

"Goody for you." I started to walk away. It was everything I could do to keep from running.

"She bought me some things there this summer." I just kept walking. "It's raining and you can't play baseball, why don't come to my house instead, Chrissy." She called after me.

I stopped in my tracks. All of a sudden, I couldn't breathe. Forcing air into my lungs, I turned slowly around. Panic must have been showing in my face. I looked at her. She had a funny look on her face, like she was trying not grin, but not being successful.

"I know it was you," she said.

"Me?" I squeaked. "Whe… what, me?"

"In The Princess Shoppe that day?"

"Uh unh," I said trying to regain my composure.

"Yes it was. Why else would you stop when I called you Chrissy? Answer that one, Chrissy."

"I… I…" My mouth continued to move but nothing came out.

"Don't worry I haven't told anyone and I won't. I think you make a cute girl. Besides, I want to get to know Chrissy. I'm dying to hear how they made you into Chrissy. Why don't you come over to my house? We can talk there without worrying if anyone will hear us."

I was beat. I knew it. "Well OK, but I can't stay long. I have to be home before my mother gets off work."

She smiled and led the way outside. "Don't worry, if anyone sees us they'll just think that we're boyfriend, girlfriend. Susan and John are and so are Mike and Linda.

On the way to her house she kept up a steady stream of chatter. I guess girls are that way. "When I first heard that you had to work for Miss Marcy all summer. I couldn't imagine how that could be or what you could have done, since I already knew she owned The Princess Shoppe. My mother has one of her business cards, so I know her name. Then I remembered that I had met Chrissy there and how she looked familiar. Then it clicked. Without telling her why, I asked my Mom if she had ever heard of anyone punishing their sons by making them wear girl's clothes. She told me that in England, they call that petticoat punishment. It's supposed to make good girls out of bad boys. Is that what it did for you?"

"I guess, my Mom said she didn't have to punish me for anything after I went to work for Miss Marcy."

"I really want to see Chrissy again," she smiled. "I'll have to work out just how we can do that. My Mom says that some boys get to like wearing dresses. Did you?"

"Ah, I… not really. I mean, I got used to it, but I don't think I liked it."

"I like wearing dresses. Pants are too confining. I'll wear them if it's really cold outside, but give me a skirt or a dress any day," she confided in me. She was talking to me just like I was a girl. "Did you wear lots of dresses?"

"A different one every day. Well sometimes I'd wear a skirt and blouse."

"Let's see five outfits a week, for eleven weeks, that's fifty-five different outfits."

"I had to wear them on the weekend too," I blurted out.

"Really? You didn't get to wear pants on the weekend?" she said in disbelief.

"No and that's not all they made me wear girls panties," I regretted saying it as soon as it came out. I could feel the color rise up my neck.

"Really? I never thought about that. You had to wear panties too? I knew you had on a bra, I noticed it when you reached across the counter. Oh wow. So you didn't wear any boy's clothes all summer huh?"

"Nope."

"What about at night?"

"I wore a nightgown. It was really strange. I'd always slept in pajamas before."

"Have you worn any dresses since you got through working for Miss Marcy?"

"The first morning I didn't have to work there was the first of September. It was a Wednesday, you remember? Well, I just got up and forgot that I didn't have to wear dresses that day. I was putting on my slip when I realized what I was doing."

"What'd you do?"

"Well when my Mom came up, I didn't want her to know that I had forgotten, so I threw on my robe. She would have really teased me and made a big deal out of how I chose to wear girl's clothes when I didn't need to. I think she would like me to keep wearing them. She sure went on and on about how nice it was to have a daughter for the summer."

"Is that all?"

"Well, no. She wanted me to come have breakfast with her before she left. She insisted that I come down right away, because she had already cooked my eggs. So I just went down and ate dressed like I was."

"Did you run up to your room and change as soon as she left."

"Well, not exactly. I started to, but I was closer to being dressed then undressed. All I had to do was put on a dress and shoes and socks. So that's what I did. I was still grounded and couldn't go anywhere anyway. I gave Chrissy a day when no one was there to expect her to do anything. She could be herself." Suddenly if felt good to just talk about it. I'd spent so much time being careful not to say anything that just having someone who knew to talk about it was intoxicating.

Soon we reach her house. Trisha's Mom met us as we came in the front door. "Hi Mom, this is Charley from school. We're in the same math class. Teacher asked him to help me in math and I'm supposed to help him in spelling."

"Hi Charley. Good, I'm glad the teacher found her some one to help in her math. If it weren't for the math, she'd be a straight A student."

"I know," I told her. "I'm afraid that math is the only one I'm really good at. Everything else, I'm sort of average." That was an understatement. Frankly, I was a little surprised that I was assigned to sixth grade. Mom had been after me to get serious with my studies for a long time.

"Can we go down to the family room and study Mom?" Trisha asked.

"Sure go ahead. I'll bring down some fresh chocolate chip cookies in a few minutes."

"Thanks Mom. Come on Charley."

Once in the basement Trisha spread out her books on the table and invited me to do the same. We really did work on her math. And true to her word, her mother brought us some chocolate chip cookies still warm from the oven and some milk for each of us. After I'd explained just how to do the problems in her math, she insisted that I work on my spelling.

"I never really lie to my mother. If I tell her that I'm going to do something, I do it."

"What about that story you made up about teacher ‘asking’ me to help you?’

"Well, that was mostly true. Teacher did suggest that I get someone like you to help me. She even suggested that I could pay you back by helping with your spelling."

We went over and over the spelling words. I think I learned the order the words were in even if I didn't learn to spell them all. Finally it was time for me to go home. Trisha asked if she could walk me part way home. It was only three blocks. Since it had quit raining, her mother agreed. Out on the street she got talkative again.

"So when can I see Chrissy again?"

"What?"

"When… can… I… see… Chrissy… again?"

"Ah… I… I…up… How could we do that?"

"Tomorrow, we could go to your house to study."

"I'm not allowed to have any one in the house when my Mom isn't there."

"Oh,” she said, obviously disappointed.

"I can have people in the backyard or the back porch."

"Is it a big back porch?"

"Yeah, we sometimes play board games when it's raining and we don't want to watch television."

"There's a table then?"

"We have a card table I can take out there."

"We can study out there then," she smiled. "See you at school tomorrow."

I don't really know how it happened, but I just agreed to be Chrissy again. This time with a girl from school!

Well it happened. Trisha told her Mom that to be fair, she was coming to my house the next day to study. So we walked over there. We went into the backyard and mounted the steps to the back porch.

"Wait here. I'll get the card table and be right back."

"Why don't you let Chrissy bring it back? I don't mind waiting,” she said plopping down on one of the plastic chairs.

I looked around and decided that the way the porch was situated that no one could see us so long as we stayed on the porch. I went upstairs and nervously put on the rest of Chrissy's clothes. I striped to the panties I was already wearing. I got out the bra that matched them and deftly put it on. Next came the slip that went with the set. I picked out one of my dresses that looked like something the girls at school wore to school. As I was slipping it on, I wondered why Mom hadn't taken Chrissy's clothes out of my closet. After all when she put them in, she said she needed to take my boy clothes out to make room. Now here they were, side by side.

I pulled on a pair of knee socks and put on my patent leather flats. In the bathroom I fluffed up my hair and put a barrette in it that complimented my dress. My hair was quite long now. All the other guys were jealous because their parents wouldn't let them grow out their hair like a lot of the high school kids did. I went to the garage and got the card table. Nervously I carried it to the kitchen. I stood inside the door working up my courage for a few minutes. Finally, I opened the door and stepped out.

"Oh Chrissy, I wondered if you'd chicken out. I'm glad you didn't. Are you wearing everything?" I shook me head yes. "Turn around and let me see you." I turned slowly. She giggled. "I love it. This is the greatest secret I've ever known."

"You won't tell anyone will you? You promised you wouldn't."

"Oh, no. I won't tell. I need the help with my math. You're the first person to explain it so that it makes sense. Besides, I've never told anyone's secrets. I know secrets people have told me from five years ago that I haven't told," she said proudly.

We sat up the card table and began studying. About a half an hour before Mom would be home, I went up and changed back and then walked Trisha home. I ran back and was in the house before Mom came in.

Trisha and I studied all that week. To my surprise on Friday I got a 100% on my spelling and my social studies paper got a B. The spelling, though surprising, I could kind of understand. Trisha had really drilled me on it. But the social studies paper was something else.

I don't know how that happened. I had always just done my homework before. The only thing that was different was that Trisha and I talked about it as I wrote it.

On the way home I showed Trisha. She was thrilled. She showed me her math homework for the week. She had B's and mostly A's on the homework and a B on the quiz for the week. She was happy. I knew she would do OK on the homework. She had done it just like I told her.

"I can't believe I got a B on the quiz," she beamed. "I've never done better then a C before."

When we got through studying at her house I went home and laid my work on the kitchen table. I got some soda out of the frig and turned on the Television. A few minutes later Mom came home.

"Hi sweetheart, did you have a good day?"

"Yeah sure," I said absently. She went on into the kitchen to start dinner. A few minutes later she came back in.

"Charley… this school work is great. What happened?" she asked with wonder in her voice.

"Oh, I got a study partner. She helps me with spelling and such and I help her with math. She did good this week too."

"She?"

"Ah… Yeah, a girl from school."

"Do I know her?"

"I don't think so. Her name's Trisha Wilson."

"Where do you study?"

"Sometimes in her family room. I like it there, her mother gives us home made cookies."

"Sometimes? Where else do you study?"

"On our back porch."

"Well, she's certainly done a miracle with you. I hope you've helped her as much."

"I think so, she has a hard time with math, but this week she got B's and A's on her homework and a B on her weekly quiz. She's never done better than a C before."

"I'd like to meet her some time. Are you sure it's OK with her mother for her to come over here when I'm not home?"

"We never come inside. I take the card table out on the porch and we study there."

"What are you going to do when the snow flies? It'll get really cold out there, especially if the wind blows."

"I don't know. We just started. I really haven't thought about it."

"Well, you may just need to do all your studying there in a few weeks."

---

Author's note:
When I first posted this story, I did so on my own web site (now defunct) with the apology
to Julie and an offer to take it down if she objected to it. She merely asked that I that denote
where her original story left off and I took over the ending to suit my personal bent. I did as
she asked. Unfortunately the only copy with that note was only saved on my web site and not
on my computer. I am unable to locate her original story anywhere to compare and I'm
likewise unable to locate her. I know that my version starts somewhere around here. Hence
this note in keeping with her wishes. Having had permission to post it with this disclaimer on
my site I'm posting it here

---

Mom was in a real up mood all weekend. Saturday afternoon, a man came over and Mom talked with him on the back porch for a while. He took some measurements and left. On Sunday he came back and dropped off some papers. In a couple of weeks later, on a Wednesday, when I came home from school the guy was back. He had taken out the back porch railing nailed a bunch of two by fours up. It kind of looked like some new houses I'd seen being built somewhere. He was putting some siding on the outside. He called it Tee-one-eleven or something like that. It looked like plywood to me. I watched as he and another guy put the stuff up. They were really fast. They had some kind air powered gun that shot nails it only took a few minutes to put up whole big sheets of it. Then they took the big thing they called a router and cut big holes in the wall they just built. Kind of like windows. Then they put some other kind of plywood, thinner, on the inside and cut the same windows. The got some really nice boards and covered up the exposed two by fours in the windows. It only took about a half-hour to finish them off. Then they got some pre-cut quarter inch plastic sheets. They put them in the windows with something call quarter round. They explained that during the summer the plastic could be removed and the porch left open. When they were through, they put a storm door in the door they left at the top of the stairs.

When Mom came home she told me that my working at Miss Marcy's all summer had saved her enough in baby-sitting costs the she could afford to close in the back porch, so I would have a study area.

"If your grades stay up, I'll consider it a good investment." The next time I saw the back porch it was painted to match the house.

My grades did stay up and Mom met Trisha. On Monday, after we were through studying at my place. Trisha brought up Halloween. I was Chrissy again at her insistence.

"You know, you're lucky. You already have your costume for Halloween."

"I do?"

"Yeah, you're wearing it."

"I couldn't go trick-or-treating with the guys in this. They would razz me no end. They'd call me a sissy all year."

"So don't go trick-or-treating with the guys; go with me."

"What'll I tell the guys?"

"Just tell them that you have to go to some party or something your mother arranged. That's almost the truth. Your mother arranged for you to practice in that costume for Halloween."

"I don't know. I don't think my Mom would go for me wearing girl's clothes for Halloween."

"Why not? She went for you wearing girl's clothes for the summer. What's one day?"

"Well, that was different. That was a 'had to' situation."

"Ask her. I dare you."

I looked at the time. "I better change or it will be Chrissy doing the asking and I'll be in trouble again."

I had no more come back down from changing and discovered that Trisha had stayed; then Mom came in.

"Hi Charley, hi Trisha. Did you kids go long on your study time?"

"Yeah, we kind of got talking at the end," I told her the truth.

Trisha nudged me and whispered, "Ask her."

I had been dared I had to ask. "Ah, Mom, Trisha wants me to go trick-or-treating with her this year."

"That'd be good I think. You always seem to get in trouble went you go with the guys. Maybe this year I won't get any phone calls asking me if I know where you are."

"Well, that's not all." I swallowed hard. "She wants me to, ah… do girls clothes for a costume."

Mom's eyes lit up. "A girl's costume? Ummm, I'll have to think about that for a bit. I'll mull it over. I'll let you know in a day or two what I can come up with. What will you be wearing Trisha?"

"Mom's making me a rabbit costume. It'll be made out of some white fake fur. She has the head done already. It’s got really long ears that are pink inside. She got this thing that fits over my nose and looks like a rabbit nose. It even has whiskers."

Trisha went home and Mom fixed dinner. As we were eating, Mom brought the subject up again. "So, you want to dress up like a girl for Halloween," she mused. There was a definite twinkle in her eye.

"It was Trisha's idea. I was thinking pirate."

She went on like I hadn't said anything. "It's not like you don't have plenty of girl's clothes to wear. The problem is that you look so much like a girl when you do. If you just put on girls clothes, you'll look like a girl without a costume. I'll have to call Sharon and see if she can help."

The next day we studied at Trisha's house. "Charley is going trick or treating with me this year and he's going to dress up like a girl," she announced to her mother as we came in.

"That'll be nice," her mother smiled.

After we were downstairs, I questioned her. "Wha'ja tell her that for?"

"Well, you are."

"Not necessarily. My Mom said she'd think about it."

"She'll go for it. You know that."

"I'm not so sure." What I wasn't sure about was if it was a good idea. No telling who'd see me.

That night when Mom and I were eating dinner she dropped the bombshell. "I called Sharon today. She said she thought she could put together a great costume for you. She said we should come by the store just before closing on Friday.

When Mom came home Friday night she took one look at me and said, "How come you're not ready to go?"

"I'm ready."

"No you're not. You can't go to The Princess Shoppe dressed like that. You can't go at all. Chrissy will have to go. She's the one being fitted for a costume. Now go up and change and don't dilly-dally about it. Oh and Sharon said to wear your white tights and the black Mary Janes."

In shock I went up and changed into Chrissy's clothes. I came down about a half an hour later. And we went to the garage. Thank God it gets dark early in October. We walked into The Princess Shoppe about fifteen minutes later.

"Hi Gwen. Hi Chrissy, it so nice to see you again. I was pleased to hear that you wanted to have a girls costume for Halloween. It's so much fun making up a costume. I've got what I think your costume should be in the first stall. Go on in and try on the dress. Then we'll get the rest of the costume together."

I went into dressing room and began to change. Mom and Miss Marcy were standing nearby and I could hear them talking.

"I thought that he really hadn't had enough of dresses. Has he been Chrissy much since the end of August?"

"Some I think, he's worn some of the underwear at least. I've found it drying in the shower some evenings. But this is the first time I've seen him in a dress."

"Well, if he's worn the underwear, he's worn the rest, unless I miss my guess."

"I'd thought of asking him if he wanted to, but I figured that would just embarrass him so I figured just wait and see if he'd come to me with the idea. I guess that he's kind of testing the water with this Halloween idea. I hope he loosens up with it. I've missed Chrissy. There's been many a time that I've have welcomed Chrissy's company. I'm glad for today."

I couldn't believe what I heard. Mom had seen my panties drying and hadn't said anything. What's more, it sounded as if she wanted me to be Chrissy at least some times. I had to think about how I felt about it. Really I had gotten used to being Chrissy. But had I really enjoyed it? I had enjoyed studying with Trisha. I had enjoyed the satisfaction that I felt when someone bought a one of the dresses I had worn to the store. But then, what about the feel of wearing panties under my boy clothes? That I had liked. More than just the fact that they didn't bunch up and irritate my legs.

I looked at the dress Miss Marcy had picked. It was beautiful. It was satin in pastel blue. The cap sleeves were really big and puffy and lace showing out from under them. The skirt was full and the hem showed three rows of lace. There was a three-layer petticoat in the dressing room also. I loved it and I really wanted to see what I looked like in it. Now I ask you, is that the thought of someone who didn't like to wear dresses?

I put on the dress and went out to show Mom and Miss Marcy.

"Oh Chrissy. You look gorgeous. That dress is you, just as I thought," Miss Marcy gushed.

"Chrissy, she's right that is a gorgeous dress and you look great in it." She couldn't get over how pretty I looked. Miss Marcy thought I looked sensational too, but mom really got carried away. Mom mentioned that maybe I should have my ears pierced so I could wear earrings. I shuddered. Fortunately Miss Marcy said she didn't think that Alice in Wonderland wore earrings.

Miss Marcy picked up an elastic hair band that matched my dress and slid it over my head and pulled my hair back. She added a white pinafore apron, tying the sash behind my back. It was all ruffles and lace. I loved it.

"There," Miss Marcy said, "that is great. You'll be the prettiest Alice on the street."

I stood looking at myself in the shops three-way mirror. I looked just like Alice in Wonderland. I was really pretty and innocent. It was the dress and all the rest of course. I mean, I'm just a boy in a dress. I couldn't really be pretty. At last, I looked at my face. I was smiling. Then I thought about all the times this last month that I had dressed for Trisha and realized that I had been happy and smiled then. In all the time the Trisha and I spent together, we had not once had any kind of argument. I couldn't have spent that kind of time with any of the guys and not at least had some point in which we'd have disagreed. Then I thought back as to the last time I had worn my boxers. I realized that I hadn't since the second time that I dressed up for Trisha. All in all, the girl thing was enjoyable. If what I heard was right, Mom would be OK with it if I did it more often. I was really confused. How did I feel about dressing up as a girl?

Just then Miss Marcy jolted me out of my deep thoughts. "You know," she said, "there's a Halloween costume contest on Friday night before Halloween. If your friend is a white rabbit, you could go as a team."

When I got home, I called Trisha and told her about my costume. "Alice in Wonderland. I love it. Hang on." I could hear her talking away from the phone. "Cool. My Mom said she could come up with a waistcoat and a big watch for my outfit. I can be the White Rabbit to your Alice."

"Miss Marcy says there's a costume contest on Friday night, want to go?"

"OK." She talked away from the phone again. "My Mom says it's OK. She wants to go."

We all went to the Halloween party, where there were going to be prizes for best costumes. Everyone was floored at how I looked, and people would come up to me and Trisha and gush about what a pretty girl, and what a pretty costume it was and how great our costumes went together. We each won a $50 saving bond. Mom kept me in the dress all evening when we returned. She loved it.

Saturday I was up early and into my Alice outfit. Trisha wanted me to go over to her house and I wanted to get there before anyone would be up to see me. When I showed up Trisha went right to her room and got on her White Rabbit outfit. While she was upstairs her mother just looked at me for the longest time.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" she said.

"Done what?" I asked.

"Dressed up like a girl."

"Why would you ask that?" I asked nervously.

"Well, you move too comfortably. And, I'm sure I've seen you before. It was at The Princess Shoppe. You were there this summer working for Sharon Marcy."

"Oh no. I didn't think you'd remember. I was being punished for spray painting Miss Marcy's car."

"Oh yes, I did hear something about that. So that was you who did that. Hum, so your punishment was to dress as a girl and work in Miss Marcy's shop," she smiled. "Well, you had me fooled. You are a very pretty girl."

"You're not upset by that?"

"Well it bothers me that you spray painted Sharon Marcy's car. That was despicable."

"I know," I said hanging my head. "She's a really nice person. It was terrible of me to do that. I wish I hadn't and I wouldn't do it now."

"Well as long as you've learned your lesson. It appears a summer as a girl has done you some good. Does Trisha know it was you in the shop that day?"

"Yes, that's why we're friends, she told me she knew. At first I was friendly because I wanted to be on her good side, but she turned out so nice that we really are friends now."

"I've heard that some boys who are subjected to petticoat punishment grow to like wearing dresses. What about you? Do you like wearing dresses?"

"Up until last week, I'd have said no. But when we were putting this costume together, I realized that I really did. Does that make me bad or weird?"

"No, I don't think so. I'd guess that you've just discovered a part of you that you didn't know was there. I can think of lots of terrible things boys could do, like spray painting someone's car, but wearing dresses isn't one of them."

Just then Trisha came down in her White Rabbit costume. We had fun playing around the house until about 5:00. Then we got our bags and headed out for the candy haul. We saw lots of trick-or-treaters. Some them I was sure I knew, but they didn't seem to recognize me. Which was a relief. None of the people whose doors we went to seemed to recognize me either. That is except Miss Marcy. She made a fuss over us. She asked us in and took pictures.

About 7:00 or so, we went back to Trisha's house. We were counting out loot while her mother made us some hot chocolate. We did pretty good. We could get sick every day for a week. As we sat sipping cocoa, Trisha's Mom spoke up. "So Chrissy, do you still have the clothes you wore this summer?" she asked.

"I didn't tell her Chrissy. Honest." Trisha protested.

"I know. She figured it out the same way you did," I told her. Then to her mother, "I have some of them. The ones my mother actually bought. Most of them Miss Marcy just loaned me for the job."

"I'm sure that Trisha would love to have Chrissy over to play on some rainy weekends this winter. Wouldn't you Trisha?"

"Oh yes, could you do that?"

"I suppose, I'd have to ask my mother."

Of course, you have to know my mother thought it was fine. In fact, she took Chrissy shopping so I'd have plenty of clothes to wear. I (Chrissy) spent many an enjoyable weekend at Trisha's after that.

That year was the beginning of academic excellence for me. Studying with Trisha really got me started on the right path educationally. Trisha and her mother were happy with the arrangement since I could get across the math and science to Trisha like no one else. Her C+ grade average went up to a B+ that year and an A- in the seventh grade. We helped each other all through high school.

By then, of course, we were doing things as girlfriends. All my old friends began to think of me as a nerd, because my grades went up also. My giving up staying at school for baseball or hoops in favor of studying didn't help. I didn't fit in with the in crowd in high school, which was fine. I fit in fine with Trisha and a select group of girls. None of them knew I wasn't Trisha's cousin until our senior year. Some of them caught us necking and nearly freaked about us being lesbians until I confessed that I was really a boy. Somehow after them thinking of us as lesbians, my being a cross dresser seemed like nothing.

In college, I even attended some classes en femme and expanded the circle of those who knew. My sophomore year, I even had another guy confess that he too liked to wear girl's clothes. We exchanged stories, maybe I'll tell you his someday, and in our junior year, he came out to my friends. There were two of us hanging out with the girls, comparing fashion and such.

The end,

or is it?

“I don’t know why you can’t dress like a girl. I mean, I’ve never seen you in a dress and you’ve lived next door for five years,” I told Susie, the tomboy that lived next door. She was my sister’s age, two years older than me, and I was starting to notice girls and she was one I noticed. Under her jeans (boys) and loose shirt, there was a good looking body. The only time you could tell was when she put on a swimsuit. “And you should do something with your hair and maybe wear some nail polish or somethin’,” I continued.

“Leave her alone Frank. She can dress how ever she wants. I don’t blame her. I like to wear jeans and sweatshirts too,” my sister defended.

“Yeah, you’re nearly as bad as she is. You only wear dresses sometimes, when there’s some kind of special occasion. You’ve got a drawer full of nice nighties and all you ever wear to bed is flannel pajamas. The only difference between you and Susie is you polish your nails. Susie never wears dresses,” I complained.

“I don’t always wear flannel pajamas.”

“Oh yeah; I forgot. During the summer, you wear Dad’s old T-shirt and Boxers. Real girlie. I’ll bet Susie wears that kind of thing year round.”

Susie whispered something to Karen, who nodded. “I’ll tell you what,” Susie said. “Let’s have a contest. I’ll bet that I can do everything you do and that you can’t do everything I can do. If you win, I’ll wear whatever you say for a whole week and fix my hair all girlie. I’ll even let you go first.”

“What if I lose?”

“Well then,” she grinned, “you’ll have to wear whatever I say all week.”

“What ever we say… I’ll even do it too. And you’ll have to do something with the sorry mop you call hair to make it look better. I don’t know where you get off talking about Susie’s hair. At least she washes hers,” my sister Karen insisted.

“We’re talking about actually ‘doing things’ not dumb stuff, like having babies or whatever.”

“No, it’s not like girls can have babies or anything.”

I thought about it. I was pretty sure that I could find something that I could do that she couldn’t and I was really sure that I could do whatever she could do. It’s a good bet. I’m sure to see her in something really girlie.

“OK, if that’s the bet, I’ll take it.”

“There’s just one more condition,” Susie informed me.

“Oh yeah, something that put you to the advantage, I’ll bet.”

“No, just to keep me from being at a disadvantage.”

“Oh yeah, what?”

“Well, if you do find something I can’t do, then I still get to see if I can find something you can’t do and if I do, we’re even and there is no winner.

“Ahh…”

“That’s fair,” my mother said.

I didn’t even know she had heard our bet. Yet there she was standing in the patio door. I looked at her wanting to argue that the first person to find something the other couldn’t do should win, but then we’d have to take turns and being first was to my advantage. I might just be able to tire her out enough that she couldn’t do the whatever it was she thought that I couldn’t do.

Mom must have seen my indecision, because she continued, “You have to give her the chance to get even.”

“OK,” I said, knowing that even if I wanted to, Mom wouldn’t let me not agree.

“OK, now I’ll add some conditions. If I think it’s too dangerous, you don’t get to do it, and I’m the judge of whether or not the second person has actually met the challenge or if it was a fair challenge. Since we don’t want this competition to go on into the night, you’ll each be limited to ten things to challenge the other, so make it good.”

“Fine by me,” I said, figuring she was my Mom and she’d be on my side. I mean, Mom wore dresses often and always looked girlie, even when she wore pants. Ten would be enough to find something Susie couldn’t do.

“Works for me,” Susie agreed.

“Let the games begin,” my Dad said from behind Mom.

Where did he come from?

Mom and Dad came out and sat on the patio furniture while I tried to think up just how to go about this. I didn’t want to go right to the good stuff. I wanted to do some things that would tire her out before I got to the good stuff. But… maybe, just maybe I could get lucky and do something she just didn’t have the skill to do.

My first challenge was to do a handstand and walk on my hands. I took about twenty steps. I tucked out of the handstand, stood up and smiled at Susie. She surprised me by bending over and popping right up into a handstand and walking the same distance I had and tucked out with possibly more grace than me. When she popped up, her loose shirt bunched up around her shoulders exposing her T-shirt. Mom gave me a look like she was unhappy, but I couldn’t figure out why.

My next challenge was what had been a break dance move two decades earlier; I saw it in some ninja movie. I ran over to the garage and took two steps up the side and flipped over to land on my feet. If she can do this, I hope she doesn’t know how to do any other ninja stuff. Susie didn’t even hesitate, took her run and did the flip with ease.

This isn’t as easy as I thought it would be. Time to see how brave she is.

I went to our fir tree, ducked under the branches and started to climb. Susie didn’t even wait for me to get through. She ducked in and climbed right behind me. When I got near the top, I poked my head outside the branches and continued to climb until I was holding onto the very top of the tree. Susie poked her head out and climbed up to match me just around the tree and grinned at me. I grinned back. She can’t know what I’m going to do next. I was sure this would get her. I jumped up, so my feet were outside the tree as well and turned loose, sliding down the outside of the tree. Imagine my surprise when I hadn’t even reached the ground and she copied my move.

I ran to the swing in the oak tree, jumped on and swung up as high as I could and bailed out with a back flip. Susie ran and caught the swing before it stopped, hopped in and followed suit. I can’t believe it; she hasn’t even hesitated once. Time to think of some good things to do.

I ran to the gazebo. Once inside, climbed the railing walked the circumference. When I jumped down, Susie jumped down right behind me.

“Come on,” she said, “you gotta do better than this. This stuff is too easy. You only got five more things. If this is the best you got, you might as well forfeit right now, ’cause I’ll win for sure.”

“We’ll see about that,” I said. I jumped back on the rail and then jumped out to catch a rafter. I swung back and forth a couple of times, then tucked my legs up and over rafter, ending up with my head up inside the roof, resting on my hands. Susie joined me mimicking my every move perfectly.

I swung a leg over the rafter and she did the same. Then sitting on the rafter, I put my hands between my legs, grabbing ahold; I pushed back, ending up hanging by my knees. A couple of swings upside down and I turned loose with my knees and landed on my feet. She did the same without even blinking.

“Only three more,” she said. “They better be good.”

“Three? Four! That was only the sixth one, or do I claim victory because I can count and you can’t.”

“The flip off the rafter was number seven. The fancy move to get up there was number six.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let’s ask your Mom,” she said confidently.

I looked at Mom. “Susie’s right,” Mom said.

I glared at Susie as I tried to think of what to do next. I should have planned this better. I need something that requires strength, bravery and skill… what?

Suddenly it hit me. Back to the swing in the oak tree. Grabbing one of the ropes, I began to climb. As I reached the limb, I looked down to see Susie on the other rope only five feet below me. I pulled myself up on the limb and stood as I walked to the trunk. Turning back, I saw Susie stand and walk toward me.

I climbed another limb up on the other side and started walking out toward the garage. The limb paralleled the garage roof about five feet away. Facing the garage I jumped onto the flat roof, catching myself with one foot. I looked over my shoulder as I scramble up on the roof Susie was darting out the limb faster than I did and didn’t even hesitate as she launched herself at the roof. She actually landed better than I did.

“One more!” Mom called out.

“One more?” I asked.

“Yes, one more,” she called back. “It was seven when you asked last time. Climbing the rope was eight; jumping to the roof was nine. I’m being generous. I could count walking the limb as one as well, but I’m giving you that one because you already walked the railing in the gazebo.”

OK, time for the coup de grâce, whatever that means. I went to the edge of the garage and bent down to put a hand on the false wall and hopped off the roof, landing in a roll to absorb the shock of the landing. By the time Susie got to the edge of the roof, I was standing. I grinned up at her. She couldn’t have seen how I landed. I’ve got her this time. Dad’ll have to get his ladder to get her down.

“That’s pretty dangerous…” Mom started.

“No, that’s OK,” Susie said. “If he can do it, I can do it.”

She grinned at me as she stooped down to find her handhold and went over the side, landing in a crouch, followed by a roll. She stood up and grinned.

“My turn,” she said.

“Do your worst,” I returned.

Susie swished her way back to the patio and went inside returning with a kitchen chair before I could follow. She smiled as she sat it next to the wall. Putting the toe of her right shoe against the wall, she put the toe of her left against her heel, stepped back to put her right foot behind the left in the same manner. Feet together, she dragged the chair in front of her. Bending over, she touched her head to the wall and picked up the chair. What kind of goofy thing is this? Anybody can pick up a chair. Then she stood up, turned and smiled at me.

“OK hotshot, do that.”

I looked around. This is screwy. What kind of challenge is that? Looking back, I should have known something was up. Both Mom and Karen were grinning like the Cheshire Cat and Dad was slowly shaking his head. Susie put the chair down and I picked it up.

“What’s the big deal?” I asked.

“The big deal, is you didn’t to it right,” Susie informed me.

“What? You picked up the chair, I picked up the chair.”

“You didn’t measure the distance from the wall with your feet and you didn’t put your head against the wall first.”

“OK, but this is dumb. This chair hardly weighs anything.”

I did the heel to toe thing, pulled the chair in front of me, bent over touching my head to the wall and picked up the chair.

“See?” I said. “No big deal.”

“Stand up,” Mom said.

I started to put the chair down. “No, Susie stood while holding the chair.”

I shrugged. This is dumb. I flexed to stand, but nothing happened. It was like my head was glued to the wall. What? I flexed again, harder. Still nothing. I turned my head to look at Mom. She was grinning ear to ear and chuckling softly.

I put down the chair and stood. “OK, what’s the trick?” I demanded. Karen began to laugh out loud.

“No trick,” Mom informed me. “Susie can do it, you can’t.”

“There’s got to be some trick. She didn’t show me everything.”

“OK, Susie, do it again slowly and explain everything you’re doing.”

Susie stepped up the wall. “You put your toe against the wall, like this,” she said. “Then you put your other foot behind your first foot, like this. Then the first foot behind the second foot the same way. Stand with your feet together, like this. Put the chair if front of you against the wall; bend over touch your head against the wall. Then pick up the chair and stand up. Nothing too it.”

“What’s the trick?” I asked.

“No trick. You just do what I did.”

“No, there’s some trick. Karen, you do it.”

“OK,” Karen said.

She stepped up to the wall and measured her three steps back, pulled the chair in front of her, bent to touch the wall, picked up the chair and stood up. She turned and smiled. “See, nothing to it.”

“I still didn’t see what you did different. You had to have done something different than I did.”

Mom said. “No she didn’t. Here, I’ll show you.”

I watched in awe as Mom performed the trick.

“OK, you get one more try and then I declare Susie the winner,” Mom informed me.

“Not if I do it,” I stated flatly and measured off my three steps I put the chair in front of me, bent, pick up the chair and couldn’t stand up. I struggle for nearly five minutes.

Finally Dad said, “Give it up son. You’ve been beat.”

“It’s not fair Dad,” I said putting down the chair. “They’re doing something different and they’re hiding it from me. You know how, show me,” I pleaded.

“No son, I don’t, well… I know how, but I can’t do it either. The only thing they did different than you was to be born girls. You lost the bet. Let this be a lesson to you. Never take a bet on someone else’s game. They probably know something you don’t, which means they’ll win hands down.”

Mom stood and raised Susie’s hand. “I’m the winner,” Susie shouted.

“OK little brother, time to get you dressed properly,” Karen said with glee. She stepped inside and crooked her finger at me in the “come here” sign. Susie gestured toward the door and bowed slightly.

I looked at Dad. He said, “I assume you’ll honor your debt like a man.”

Hanging my head, I followed them into my fate.

“So what do I have to wear? I suppose you’ll make me wear my suit and tie all week.”

“We’ll worry about what you wear later. Take off your shirt. The first thing we’re going to do is fix your hair. No more dirty rag mop for you. You’re going to have some style for the next week,” Karen told me.

That’s just what they proceeded to do. I was in the kitchen with my head over the sink while Karen sprayed my hair with the nozzle and Susie poured a big glob of Mom’s shampoo in her hand.

“Yuck, can’t you just use the Ivory soap like I always do?”

“NO WAY,” Karen informed me. “That’s what’s wrong with your hair now. When you do wash it, you use hand soap. That stuff just dries it out and makes it look like straw. This stuff will put some body in it and with a little luck some shine.”

“But that stuff smells all flowery,” I protested, only to be ignored.

After Susie scrubbed my hair, like she was trying to rub holes in my scalp, she rinsed my hair and started all over again.

“Hey,” I said, “you already washed with that stuff.”

“Yeah, well your hair is in such sorry shape I may just do it three times. Besides the directions say to shampoo, rinse and shampoo again for best results. Trust me, you need the best results.”

So I endured another round of scrubbing followed by a rinse. When they were done, my hair was hanging in front of my face. Wow, I never knew my hair was that long. They threw a towel over my head and did up the turban thing Mom wears when she comes out of the shower.

“Sit over here,” Karen told me.

When I sat down, they conferred in private for a moment and seemed to be in some kind of disagreement. Finally, they came to some sort of decision and ran off only to come back with pink bag and sat it on the table next to me. Off came the towel on my head and Susie began to comb my hair with a rattail comb. She parted it down the middle and again across the top. From nowhere, she came up with three clip things and bunched up three of the sections of hair with them. It was then I found out what was in the bag… rollers, hair rollers.

“HEY!” I shouted. “You’re not going to put my hair in rollers, are you?”

“Well, if your hair wasn’t so mistreated, maybe we wouldn’t have to, but it’s the only way we’ll ever get it to do anything but hang straight down,” Karen said.

“DAD!” I called. “DAD!”

He came in. “What’s the matter son?”

“They got some goofy idea they’re going to put my hair in rollers. Tell them that’s dumb and they can’t do it.” I knew that Dad would put a stop to this nonsense. But Mom appeared behind him.

“You know, the bet included hair,” she said.

“So it did,” Dad agreed. “I guess they’re within the bounds of the bet. Sorry son. Like I said, you’ll just have to learn to not bet someone else’s game.” He just shook his head and headed off.

It took them mostly an hour but they got my hair in rollers. Mostly small ones, only a few big ones. I think it wouldn’t have taken them so long if they hadn’t messed around with the paper things on the ends before they rolled it. After that they got a piece of white cloth and kind of made a fence around the rollers. Once done, they began giggling like banshees while they hovered around the sink. Messing with two bottles they got from a box. After they were done, they turned toward me grinning like maniacs.

“Over here,” command Susie. I walked over. “Bend over the sink.”

They started squeezing this smelly junk on my hair. I thought about calling for Dad again, but with the result the last time I didn’t. He was outside mowing the lawn and probably wouldn’t have heard me anyway. When they were satisfied with the stink on my hair, they had me sit down and wrapped my hair in some kind of plastic and tied it off. Susie pulled out her iPod. “You’ve got about twenty minutes to kill, so you might as well just sit and listen to some music,” and she stuck the earbuds in my ears. At least the music that she had on it was decent. I sat brooding while they disappeared.

I don’t know how long I sat there in the kitchen. Just as they came back, Mom came in. She wrinkled her nose, looked around. She zeroed in on me; then turned her gaze on Susie and Karen. She picked up one of the bottles from the sink, shook her head and said something and pointed at me. I couldn’t tell what she said, but she pulled out the garbage from under the sink and looked in. She threw the stink bottle the girls had used in it. Looking back at me, shaking her head she pulled the not nearly full sack out and replaced it. She then opened the windows while she talked to the girls some more. Shaking her head, she gave the garbage sack to Susie who sprinted off with it.

Mom just stood with her back to the counter staring at me. It was making me nervous. She had a look of real concern on her face… almost angry, almost worried and mostly determination. Susie showed up again, sans garbage bag. Mom said something to them moving her hands over each other and then turned to go outside looking back at me and shaking her head as she went.

The girls came over and checked my hair. It was back to the sink and after taking away the iPod; they bent me over the sink and sprayed water on the curlers until I was dripping. They wrapped my head in a big fluffy towel and carefully squeezed each roller following that with some more squeezing with paper towels. Then they opened the other bottle and squeezed some of the stuff in there on each curler. At least this stuff didn’t stink. Then it was back to the chair with the iPod. About five songs later, they had me at the sink again. This time, they rinsed my hair, unrolled it, spread some of the goop in it and rinsed it again. I couldn’t figure out why they bothered to put the junk in my hair, if they were just going to rinse it out again.

I was surprised. From what I knew about rollers, they stayed in until the hair was dry. But maybe they just wanted to mess with me about the hair thing. Maybe that stuff was some kind heavy-duty conditioner.

All I know is after they gently combed it out I was dragged upstairs with my hair still wet. My horror had only begun.

“OK, let’s get you dressed right,” Karen said, with an evil grin. “Take off that grungy T-shirt.”

Looking around, I was nervous. We hadn’t gone to my room. What are they going to dress me in, in here? I was soon to find out. As my shirt came off over my head, Susie was right there with a bra. A bra! What the he…

“Hey, hey, here. I’m not putting that on!”

“Oh but you are, little brother. Don’t you remember the terms of the bet? ‘You have to wear whatever I say and fix your hair like I say all week.’ That’s what you agreed to. You don’t want me telling Dad that you didn’t honor your bet, do you?”

“I didn’t mean girl’s clothes.”

“You didn’t exclude them either. The operative word was ‘whatever,’ no limitation. If you mean no girl’s clothes, then you should have clarified that by saying ‘OK, but only boy’s clothes.’”

“I… I can’t. I just can’t.”

“You don’t have to. All you have to do is not fight it, and we’ll do the rest,” Susie put in as she took my right arm and threaded the bra up it.

I closed my eyes. They had me. I wanted so much to turn and run, to call out for Dad to intervene. But after his reaction to my hair in rollers, I knew it wasn’t going to happen. I felt her bend my left arm and the strap slide up it. Too quickly there were hands hooking the cursed thing behind my back. It felt like a band was compressing my chest, making it hard to breathe. I could feel tears welling up behind my eyes. They fussed with it, pushing and pulling, finally they slipped the straps off my shoulders and stuffing something in front. Whatever it was, it was cold and sticky. I began to shake as they fussed with something inside the bra and I could feel my chest being pulled together. Then they put the straps back on my shoulders.

“Not bad,” Karen said. “They almost look real.”

“By the time we get him dressed, they will look real,” Susie agreed.

Opening my eyes, I looked down with disbelief and horror. There inside the bra were boobs… girl’s boobs. Oh my God, some how they’ve given me boobs!

“This is next,” Karen said, holding a half slip in front of me.

I blinked and looked at my boobs then looked up in disbelief.

“Here,” she insisted, “put this on over your shorts.” I was so shocked I just did what I was told. I had no idea how to tell if there was a front or back or what, so I just stepped into it and pulled it up. They giggled and Susie adjusted it from behind and then with a quick movement, she pantsed me. That shook me out of my stupor.

“Hey!” I shouted trying to cover myself.

Just then, Karen held up a pair of panties. “These match the bra, you’ll need to wear them too, to complete the outfit.”

“Oh God, Karen, please no.”

“‘Whatever we say,’ remember?” she insisted.

I was whipped and I knew it. That phrase would haunt the rest of my life, I was sure.

“At least turn around and give me some privacy,” I pleaded.

“OK,” said Susie, coming around to stand beside Karen. “Just throw your under shorts on the bed, so we’ll know you aren’t just wearing the panties over them.”

They turned around and so did I. I ended up facing the mirror on Karen’s closet. I was astounded by the sight. My way too long, curly hair and the bra and half slip gave me the look of a girl changing her panties. It gave me a little thrill as I tossed my briefs at the bed and stepped into the panties. Pulling them up kind of gave me an electric shock. I stared at my reflection breathing in shallow breaths.

“Aren’t you through yet?” Susie demanded.

“Ah, yeah,” I said nervously as I turned around.

“Good,” she said. In one quick move, she had a sundress in her hands. I recognized it as one Karen had gotten for her birthday last year and had only worn it when we went out to dinner that day. Yeah, she looked good in it, but never wore it but that once and now she wants me to wear it.

Over my head it went and Susie did the honors to zip it up. I turned to look in the mirror while they fussed with getting the bra straps out of sight behind the dress’ none to wide shoulder straps.

“You know Frank that dress looks pretty good on you. I think it’s your color. Maybe I’ll give it to you,” Karen teased. Whatever…

“Sit,” Susie commanded, indicating the bed. She fitted my feet with some knee socks in the same color as the dress. She tried but couldn’t come up with any shoes that fit me.

“Wait,” Karen said, “I’ve got an idea.”

She ran off leaving me and Susie alone, me sitting on the bed, her standing there smirking at me. We heard Karen pounding down the stairs, some talking we couldn’t make out, then two sets of footsteps coming up and going into our parent’s room. It seemed like an hour later, Karen came in clutching several pair of shoes.

“I think these will work with that dress,” she said, holding out a pair of sandals. “Mom says we can use the others the rest of the week.” She dumped the remainder on the bed next to me.

Soon my feet were shod in the strappy sandals. As I stood, I became aware of the two inch heel on them. Fortunately, they were casual sandals and not dress, so the heel was wide and I didn’t wobble too much when I walked.

“Let’s show Mom,” Karen blurted excitedly.

Each girl took a hand and dragged me back down the stairs. We met Dad at the bottom of the stairs. At last! Dad will see what they’ve done to me and put a stop to this nonsense. It was not to be.

“Ooooh, wow!” Dad muttered. “Well Frank, my boy, you’ve really stepped into it this time haven’t you.”

“Look what they did to me, Dad. Nobody said anything about me wearing girl’s clothes.”

Dad shook his head slowly. “Well, that’s true, but nobody excluded them either, did they? As I remember, the phrase was, ‘Whatever we say,’ wasn’t it? And face it, this is what you had in mind for them, wasn’t it.”

God, I couldn’t believe it. My own Dad wasn’t going to defend me. But he did have a point. It was exactly what I had in mind for them.

“I’m off to do a round of golf with old man Simmons from the office.” With that he strode out the door, chuckling to himself.

It was on to the kitchen where Mom was being Mrs. Homemaker and baking. As we entered she turned.

“What do you think? He looks good doesn’t he?”

Mom looked me up and down, a little smirk forming on her face. She walked around me, taking in all angles.

“Yes, he does look pretty good. Better than I thought. But I seem to remember something about nail polish.”

Oh God! My own mother is on their side.

Karen squealed and ran off only to return with some sick pink nail polish. Under my mother’s watchful eye, they painted my fingernails. When they were through, Karen said, “I never do just my fingers, I always do my toenails as well. Off came the sandals and knee socks as well. They giggled like crazily as they painted my toes.

At this point I was totally defeated. My father refused to step in and be the voice of reason and my own mother conspired against me. She provided the shoes and remembered nail polish when the girls had forgotten. What’s more, she just went about her housewife duties while I waited for the polish to dry. The cake came out of the oven and was turned out to cool on racks. Then she turned her attention to making sandwiches. The girls helped get lunch ready while grinning at me. When my nails were dry, they put the knee socks and sandals back on me.

“Well, girls,” my mother said, looking directly at me, “it’s so nice I think we should eat outside.”

I could feel my eyes widen as I realized the she meant all of us out on the patio! While our back yard was fairly private, the house next door, if someone wanted too, could see into it from an upstairs window. I wasn’t sure that I was willing for Susie’s mother to see me dressed like that. Later that would be a moot point. With fear and trepidation, I took a seat at the patio table making sure that my back was toward the neighbor’s yard where someone might see me.

I expected to have someone give me a hard time, but it didn’t happen, I just sat and slowly ate my sandwich and drank my soda. I really didn’t have much of an appetite. The girls chattered away just as they would have the day before. A couple of times they asked me a question or two and I responded with one or two word answers. I was ticked. Can you imagine it? I mean, I’m a red blooded American boy and they’ve got me all gussied up like a girl. The lunch was entirely uneventful. I mean we sat, we ate and we took the dishes back inside.

“OK, I need some help in the kitchen. I’ve got dishes to wash and a cake to frost and I’ve got three girls to help me,” Mom said, emphasizing the word “three.” She snatched up her broom and broke off a long straw. Turning around so we couldn’t see she messed with it and turned back. There were three straws sticking out of her hand. They all looked like they were the same length, but I’d seen this before I knew there would be one of a different length. “Here’s the deal. There are two long straws and one short one. You’re going to draw straws and the one with the short straw will help me frost the cake and the other two will do the dishes.” With that, she held out the straws to us. Susie and Karen each picked one and then me. I ended up with the short straw.

“Since you’re wearing a nice dress, you’d better put on this apron,” Mom told me.

She had several plain aprons that she and/or Karen wore when working in the kitchen, but the one that she selected for me was one she usually wore only on holidays. It was long with wide bib and had lots of ruffles around the edges and instead of a loop over the neck, it had wide suspender kind of straps that crossed over the back and went through loops so it could be drawn tight and tied in the back. She called it a penny or something like that.

The girls grumbled about how I got to do the fun stuff, but they did the dishes in short order and were out of the kitchen long before I was. Mom really didn’t need help decorating the cake. She spent the whole time instructing me how to do it. We made the frosting and after separating it into two bowls, colored each with different food coloring. The larger bowl was used to frost the cake. But before we started, she showed me how to use a thread to turn a two layer cake into a four layer cake. She cut one layer in two and supervised me as I cut the second. It was chocolate cake and we spread raspberry filling between the two pieces we had created and put them back together. Then we frosted the top of one of the resulting layers and put the other on top, so that some of the frosting squished out. She had me spread a layer of frosting over the whole cake and instructed how to make little peaks in it to make it interesting. The smaller bowl of frosting she put in one of those things you see dessert chefs use and had me practice squeezing it out on fresh waxed paper until I could make a straight line and an even squiggly line. I made lots of mistakes. Mom and I giggled a lot. It was really kind of fun. In the end, we scooped up the frosting off the waxed paper and put it back in the squeezer thing. Then, according to Mom’s plan, I squeezed the decoration on the cake. We produced a pretty good cake with some fancy stuff on it.

“Mom, why did we go to all the trouble with the decoration? I mean, it won’t make the cake taste any better. And it’s not like it’s a birthday cake or anything.”

“I know, sweetheart, but it’s all in the presentation. When a cake looks nice, people want to eat it and the anticipation of that nice looking cake make them appreciate it more when they do eat it,” she told me.

When we were all done, Karen and Susie came into the kitchen and had our digital camera. They took pictures of my handiwork and were really complimentary. “Oh wow, Fran. You really did a good job,” Susie told me.

“Fran? My name is Frank.”

“Actually,” Mom put in, “it’s really Francis and, like my father, we call you Frank.”

“Yeah, and in a dress, Francis becomes Fran. You don’t look much like a Frank right now,” Karen almost shouted with glee.

I had forgotten what I was wearing up to that point, but with that comment, I became acutely aware of each piece of clothing. The bra, the panties, the half-slip, the dress, even the knee socks and shoes; I was aware of each item. Then I thought about what was inside the bra, those cold sticky things. I had to search for the sensation they were there. It was almost like they were part of me. They weren’t cold any more and moved when I moved. Weird!

Mom took off her apron and then untied mine. As I moved I could feel the bra straps tugging at my shoulders and the slip caressing my legs and my butt over the panties. I was aware of the hard heel on the shoes clacking on the linoleum floor. It was like I was someone different. I wasn’t Frank I was… was… Francis… Fran… Oh I don’t know; I wasn’t the same person I had been when I got up. The whole sensation of just doing ordinary things was totally different. All my nerve endings were alive and aware of every little movement.

I needed to think. I went into the family room and plopped down on the couch and turned on the television and promptly zoned out. I don’t know what was on TV; I just sat there staring at the screen and subconsciously rubbing my leg as I relived my transformation. From Frank to Fran… Francis, or is that now Frances? My Mom once explained that Francis had two spellings, one for boys, F, R, A, N, C, I, S, and one for girls, F, R, A, N, C, E, S. To keep things simple, they usually called a boy name Francis, Frank. I never really thought about what they would call a girl named Frances… I guess it’s Fran. I looked down at my dress – no, no, no, not ‘my dress,’ the dress – and thought, maybe for a week, I’d have to be Frances, (with an e) or Fran. Oh God, no! A thought was trying to creep, well not creep, force its way, into my mind. If anyone saw me, I’d better be Frances, or Fran. I tried to keep it out, not think it but there it was… If anyone saw me. God please don’t let anyone see me. Funny, I never prayed or even went to church. I hadn’t even had a wedding or funeral to go to, yet here I was praying, just like I thought God might even know who I was, or even care. The thought scared me. If anyone saw me…

“Sweetheart, you probably should keep you knees together when you sit like that,” Mom’s voice dragged me back from wherever I’d spaced out to.

I looked up, and back down and saw that my knees were about two feet apart… I always sat that way, but I knew that if a girl sat that way in a dress, every guy within a mile would be angling for a look up her dress. I snapped my knees together with an audible clap and pulled the hem down trying in vain to cover my knees. It just wasn’t happening.

“Stand up sweetheart. You’ve sat down all wrong. Your dress,” No, no, no, my mind screamed, not my dress, the dress, “is all pulled up in the back.”

I stood and the dress fell back to just above my knees.

“Now sit again, only this time use your hands to smooth your dress behind you to keep it from riding up. It’ll also keep the wrinkles out of the back,” she said sitting beside me.

Why does she keep saying “your dress?” It’s Karen’s dress! Couldn’t she just call it “the dress?”

But still, I sat and smoothed the dress behind me. I was shaken; I turned to her and threw myself at her wrapping my arms around her. “Mommy, I don’t want to be Fran… I want to be Frank.” Mommy? I hadn’t called Mom, Mommy since I was in the first grade.

Mom hugged me. “Sweetheart, you are Frank. It’s just for a week you’ll be dressed like a Fran, but that doesn’t mean you’ll stop being Frank. And who knows, maybe they’ll get tired of the game after a couple of days and have you dressing in slacks and a sport shirt with your good shoes or something like that, that you wouldn’t normally wear except for a special occasion.”

“That’s what I thought, when I made the bet, but look at me. I’ve got panties and bra and every thing. I’ve even got boobs!” I pouted, fighting back tears.

“Breasts, dear, say ‘breasts’.”

“OK, breasts, I’ve even got breasts.” I lost the battle with tears and one rolled down my cheek.

Mom smoothed my hair, which I noticed was dry now. I clung to her. I felt like a sissy. I needed my Mommy, just like I did when I was a little kid and skinned my knee. She could kiss it and make it better, but now… this… this she couldn’t kiss and make it better. Only Karen and Susie could make it better. HA! Yeah, like they’d make it better anytime soon.

Mom just rocked me, just like she did when I was a little kid. I didn’t care; I needed her right then. I needed to know that my mother still loved me and would… would what? I didn’t know what; I just needed a hug and some TLC.

“It’ll be over before you know it. You know you can’t let the girls know it bothers you, or they’ll lay it on really thick. I’m going to suggest that they dress you in something a little less fragile. This is a nice dress, intended to be worn out somewhere. A girl would have to be doing something genteel wearing it. Between Karen and Susie, I’m sure they have plenty of plainer dresses, something like they’d wear to school if the school insisted girls wear dresses, like they did in my day.”

This dress is really girlie. I didn’t mean they should wear dressy clothes, just dresses or skirts. You know, like real girls.

“You know, what you need is something to keep you busy. When you were helping me decorate the cake, you seemed to really enjoy yourself and forgot what you were wearing.”

“Yeah, I did. I did enjoy myself and forgot about the dress.”

“You know if you acted like it was no big deal. If you treated it like wearing a dress was some kind of non event, you’d demonstrate the point you were trying to make when you got into that dumb bet that ended up with you being in this dress in the first place. Do you think you could do that?”

“What? Just do things like I always do and ignore the clothes?”

“Yeah, that’s what I mean, ignore the clothes.”

“Well, I don’t think I could totally forget the clothes. A lot of things I do, girls in dress shouldn’t do because… well, you know, dresses don’t really cover things as well as pants.”

“Yes, I know, but if you’ll try, I’ll help by giving you things to do that are interesting, like I did after lunch with the cake.”

I looked at her doubtfully. We drew straws; I got the short straw. “What do you mean? It could have been Susie or Karen who decorated the cake. I just got the short straw.”

“Yes, you did. I planned it that way.”

“How? How could you plan what straw Karen and Susie drew?”

“Well, promise you won’t tell?” I nodded. “Did you notice that when I held out the straws, I used both hands?” I thought about it… She did use both hands. I nodded again. “All three straws were the same length and I had Susie and Karen draw first and then before I let you draw, I used my thumbnail to shorten your straw.”

“You cheated and made me get the short straw?” How could a mother make her son get the short straw?

“Yes I did. I knew that whoever did the dishes would get done quicker. If you had been one of the ones to do dishes, you would have ended up at the mercy of the one who helped you. By making sure that you helped me, it kept you busy longer and the girls had to amuse themselves. I saved you having to interact with them one on one. I think Karen would have only been annoying, but Susie would have really gone out of her way to humiliate you. She seemed way too smug when she pulled that trick on you to win.”

“It was a trick! I knew it. There was something she didn’t show me. But… but… you… you could have showed me. Why didn’t you?”

“No sweetie, it wasn’t what you didn’t know that prevented you from doing it; it’s that you’re a boy. Just like we said. The trick was that you didn’t know that some things are physically impossible for boys, because their bodies are put together differently than girls.”

“What? How? OK, I know that girls have boo… ah, breasts and aren’t the same, you know, down there,” I nodded toward my crotch, “but there’s something else?”

“Well, yes. Women and girls, who have started to develop breasts, have more weight in their hips, while men and boys have more weight in their shoulders and chest. What’s more, women and girls have smaller feet in proportion to their height, so when they measure the distance from the wall, they, proportionally, aren’t as far from the wall as men and boys. That combined with the weight in their hips helps them pick up the chair and stand. While men, with longer feet, making them stand farther from the wall, and the weight in the shoulders and chest combine with the weight of the chair make it harder for men to stand up. The chair puts them off balance forward. Do you see?”

“Kind of, but not really.”

“OK. The weight in a woman’s hips, counter balances the weight of the chair and she can still stand. While the weight of the chair combines with the man's upper body (chest and shoulders) weight to pull him into the wall, so he can’t stand.”

“So, if a boy had more weight in his hips, he could stand up with the chair?”

“Well I suppose that’s true.”

“I’ll bet Larry Ferguson could do it.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Well, he’s got a real bubble butt and he wears small shoes.”

Mom chuckled. “You really shouldn’t say ‘butt’, you should say buttocks.”

Thinking about “bubble butt Ferguson” made me smile. I’ll have to have him try it in secret and see if he can do it. If he can, maybe I could use it to win a bet with some dumb girl.

“Well,” Mom said, “if you’re going to pull this off, you need some lessons in how to handle yourself in a dress or skirt. I can guarantee you that if Karen or Susie had caught you sitting like you were they’d have used it to argue against them wearing dresses and teased you mercilessly. Want some pointers? I sent Karen and Susie to the store, so we’ll have some time uninterrupted.”

“Sure,” I said. What the heck, I might as well. I could be wearing them for a week.

“Well, I already told you that you should smooth the skirt when you sit. Stand up and practice that for a few times.”

So I did. I had to think about how I saw women sit in skirts and dresses. They always at least had one hand smooth the skirt against the back of their legs. I tried it with both hands and then with one hand. It was easier with two hands, but my right hand was better at it than my left. I guess that’s because I’m right handed.

“OK,” said Mom. “I think you’ve got that pretty well. You can practice that more on your own. The next thing you need to know it that when girls wear a skirt, they always have to keep their knees together, for obvious reasons.” I nodded. “There are some easy ways to help you do that.

“OK, sit back and put your knees together.” I did. “Now the easiest way is to cross your legs, but do it knee over knee, not ankle over the knee like some men do.”

I crossed my legs, keeping my thighs together and my knee over the top. OK, so they stayed like that. “But Mom, when a girl crosses her legs in a short skirt, it kind of shows a lot of leg… if you know what I mean.”

“That’s true, so a woman has to be careful just who might see her when she crosses her legs in a short skirt. Another way that’s more discrete is to put your feet to one side and cross your ankles.” She demonstrated.

I tried it. Actually, it was quite comfortable. I remembered that I had seen lots of girls sitting that way, but I never really thought about why. I just thought it was a girl thing.

“Of course, there’s the feet wide apart with the toes turned in, so that the knees are forced together,” she said demonstrating that, “but I don’t think that’s all that attractive.”

Neither did I. But I tried and it worked, sort of, but I didn’t think it was really comfortable either. It looked awkward and felt awkward.

“OK, lesson number two. Stand up.” So I did. She picked up the TV Guide off the end table and threw it on the floor. “There. Pick that up for me please.” I gave her a look that said, “Really Mom!” but I bent over to pick it up. “Freeze!” I had one foot slightly ahead of the other, bent at the waist with my right hand on the magazine. “Anyone behind you can see farther up your skirt than you want them too and anyone in front of you can see down your top to your belly button.”

I looked down. Sure enough, I could see the waist band of m… the slip as well as the entire bra. How is it I have boobs? I never did before. I stood up quick, forgetting the magazine.

“How am I supposed to do it?”

“Like this,” Mom said standing. She took two steps toward it, stooped and retrieved it and stood. “Now you try it,” she said, throwing it back down. I stooped and picked it up.

“Much better,” Mom informed me. “Never bend at the waist. Too many girls’ clothes have an open neck line that will grant an inappropriate view down the front and sticking your rear in the air really isn’t a great idea even when you’re not wearing a skirt. The skirt only compounds the problem by exposing the back of your thighs.

“Today you didn’t get to choose what you wore, but when choosing an outfit, always think about what you’re going to be doing in that outfit. If you’re going to be working in the kitchen and want to wear a dress, you should be sure that the hemline is long enough that when you reach up to the top shelf in the cupboard that you’re not exposing anything you don’t want to.”

Yeah right. Like I’m likely to get to choose my own outfits this week and I for sure won’t be wearing this stuff after the week’s over.

She stood thinking for a bit. “Well, I guess that’s about it. I can think of things a girl would learn in charm school, but all I really think you need to know is how to keep from embarrassing yourself. Preventing down the blouse or up the skirt views is really all you need to worry about. Gestures, posture and phrasing aren’t things you really need to concern yourself with.” She smiled.

Just then, the Karen came in the front door. “Remember, never let them see you sweat,” Mom whispered. She then spoke to Karen. “Thanks for going to the store for me. I needed that stuff for dinner. And since you did the fetching, Francis volunteered to help me prepare the meal. I’m sure you don’t mind getting out of that now do you.”

“No Mom. Not in the least. Susie’s Mom wanted her to come home. I’ll be in my room listening to my tunes.”

I volunteered to help with dinner? I don’t remember that.

Mom took the sack from Karen and nodded for me to follow her into the kitchen.

“I’m sure you’d rather be in here helping with dinner than at Karen’s mercy. She’ll avoid this area so long as there’s work to be done.”

Mom had that right. Karen wouldn’t keep her room clean if Mom didn’t ride her and threaten to take her stereo away. OK, so I’m not that much better, but at least I didn’t have my friends come over and help me trash it. I didn’t really spend that much time in my room anyway. Sad thing was I lived too far away from any of the guys at school to have them come over anyway and I never went to their houses either. I guess you could say I was a loner. Maybe that’s why I was so interested in what Susie wore and did.

As Karen’s stereo kicked in, Mom strapped me into the penny, or whatever, apron. Mom has a special way with meatloaf. I stood and watched as she got out the ingredients. She had me put the raw hamburger in a big bowl and crack three eggs into it. Then the fun part, YUCK! Using my hands, I had to mix the eggs with the hamburger. Then she had me add some other liquid ingredients, like tomato sauce mixed with brown sugar and some Worcestershire sauce and added some salt and pepper and finally bread crumbs to make it dry out. Finally, following Mom’s instruction, I put it in a loaf pan and into the oven, which she had preheated while I was playing gushy, gushy with the hamburger and eggs. I was never happier to wash my hands than I was after that. Next I was peeling and cutting up potatoes and putting them on to boil, but that had to wait a while, since the meatloaf would take an hour in the oven. The veggies were easy; I just measured out two cups of frozen corn and put in a bowl. Two minutes in the microwave was all it would take, so Mom told me to wait and do it while we put everything else on the table.

“You know, Francis, you could have done this whole meal by yourself. Maybe I’ll turn you loose in the kitchen one day and see how you do,” Mom said as she helped me set that table. “You really seem to have a natural talent for cooking.”

Yeah right, like she really did anything to get dinner ready, besides tell me what to do. … Ah, well, I guess, if she hadn’t told me, I couldn’t have done it at all.

“Karen shows no interest in the kitchen at all. God help the man she marries. I hope he knows how to cook,” Mom complained. “At least my other daughter … Oops, sorry Francis, after the way the day has gone, it’s almost as if you changed into my daughter. Sorry, sorry, sorry, I know you’re really my son no matter if you make a better daughter than my real daughter.”

Oh great! I make a better girl than my sister, just what every boy wants to hear.

Mom came over and hugged me. “Francis, I didn’t mean to suggest anything with that slip. And you know, you would do well to learn to cook, with so many girls acting like Karen and Susie, you may just need it to survive marriage,” she teased.

“It’s OK Mom; I know you didn’t mean anything.” uncharacteristically, I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Actually, it was kind of fun. I think I could do this dinner on my own sometime. There really wasn’t anything hard about it. I know that you have it all in your head, but you do have a recipe around I could look at to get the ingredients right if I needed it right?”

“Sure, right here,” she said, showing me her recipe box, she opened it up and pulled out a three by five card labeled, “Meatloaf.”

“There are lots of easy main dishes in here. Look, here’s Swiss steak; that’s really easy, and Pot Roast. I like that one, because you just peel potatoes and carrots, cut them up and put them right in the pan with the roast and they all come out together ready to serve. Well, except to cut the meat, and I usually get your father to do that. I could just give you the recipe card on any of the casseroles I make. With your natural talent, you’d have no trouble with them either. How about I keep you out of reach this week by having you help me in the kitchen, so Karen and Susie won’t have a chance to embarrass you so much. Who knows, you just might turn out to be a world class chef?”

“Well, I guess it would be better to be busy, instead of just setting around brooding over what they have me wearing. I mean, while we were fixing dinner, I didn’t really think about what I had on.”

“That’s the spirit. I think that maybe, you just might shame Karen into being more girlie after all. All you have to do is be my surrogate daughter and show her how it’s done; then you can tease her about how easy it is. ‘It’s so easy, a boy can do it,’” Mom laughed. “You know how she always says that boys aren’t all that smart, well, you can be smart enough to be a better girl than she is.”

In a weird way, Mom made sense. I mean, when she started talking I was thinking she was loony as cuckoo bird, but then it kind of clicked.

“Yeah, beat her at her own game,” I agreed, kind of getting into it. “I’ll show her there’s nothing wrong with wearing dresses, learning to cook or any of that girlie junk she and Susie are always trying to avoid.”

Mom hugged me again. “Well, let’s get the kitchen cleaned up and we can kick back until it’s time for the meatloaf to come out of the oven.”

It only took a few minutes to rinse out the bowl and the other tools we used to prepare and wipe down the counters and we were indeed kicked back watching TV while the meatloaf baked.

About forty minutes later, Dad came in.

“Hi dear,” Mom said. “How was your game?” as she gave him a quick peck hello.

“It was tough to do, but I shot a 98.”

“A 98? But you usually shoot in the low 80’s.”

“I know, but Smithers was having real trouble today and I need to top his 94. I had to develop a nasty slice on the back nine to make it look good.

“What smells so good?”

“Oh, Francis has a meatloaf in the oven. Francis, you’d better put the heat on under the potatoes, so they’ll be ready to mash when the meatloaf is done.”

I went into the kitchen and turned the burner on.

“Francis has a meatloaf in the oven?” Dad asked, following me.

“Yes,” Mom said. “He’s been very helpful today. He frosted the chocolate cake we’re having for dessert and he made the meatloaf, peeled the potatoes and has the corn ready to go into the microwave. He’s got the table set and the only thing, really, left to do is mash the potatoes and slice the meatloaf. I think it’ll be Karen’s job to wash dishes.”

“She won’t like that Mom,” I told her. “She washed dishes for lunch.”

“I know dear, but the cook is exempt from washing dishes.”

Dad just stood and looked at me with a kind of disbelieving look.

Dad got himself a can of soda out of the fridge and we stood around the kitchen talking while the potatoes came to a boil. Mom turned the heat down so they wouldn't boil over.

“Karen’s music is kind of loud,” Dad observed. “I think I’ll ask her to turn it down. How long ‘til dinner?”

Mom looked at the timer. “Give it about fifteen minutes.”

Dad nodded and headed for the stairs. Mom stood there smiling at me.

“What?”

“Oh, I was just thinking. Usually, it’s Karen in here, although reluctantly, helping with dinner and you playing your music too loud. It seems there’s a bit of a role reversal.”

I grinned, “Yeah, except she’d never be wearing a dress.”

Mom nodded. “You got that right.” Just then the timer went off and she handed me some hot mitts. “Take the meatloaf out of the oven and set it here on this rack,” she instructed.

I got my first lesson in how not to open the oven. I just bent over and pulled it open. There was a blast of warm, moist air that hit me right in the face making me jump back. Mom chuckled. “Now you know why I always stand to the side of the oven when I open it. Your grandmother says it’s worse when you wear glasses, they steam up and you can’t see.”

I recovered and got the meatloaf on to the rack like Mom said. Using a spatula, Mom got the meatloaf away from the sides of the loaf pan. Then she set a timer for ten minutes.

“We need to let the meatloaf set a bit before we slice it,” she explained. She handed me a fork. “Stick the potatoes. If the fork goes in easily, then they are ready to mash.”

It did and I poured off the water and Mom instructed me how to use the mixer and mash the potatoes, adding a generous pat of butter and some milk. I scooped the potatoes in to a bowl. The frozen corn went into the microwave and we sliced the meatloaf and got it onto a plate.

“Dinner,” Mom called as I put everything on the table.

Karen was really subdued during dinner without Susie. Aside from a couple of looks, it was almost like I was wearing my normal stuff. I wondered if she might be feeling guilty.

Turns out she was just down about having to wash dishes. I spent the evening practicing all the moves that Mom had gone over during the afternoon. Each time I sat, I made sure to smooth my skirt and then cross my legs at the ankle and put them off to the side. Dad kept giving me strange looks. Karen went to her room about 9:00 to catch up on her e-mail.

A half an hour later, having nothing else to do, I stood and announced, “I’m going to bed. I’ve been on my feet a lot more today than usual.”

Dad said, “Before you go up, I’ve got a few questions.” He looked at Mom and then back at me.

“OK,” I said, smoothing my skirt as I sat back down.

Dad gave his head a little shake. “That’s exactly what I want to talk about. What’s with that feminine move… smoothing your skirt like that? And the way you’re sitting? You’re more girlie than your sister ever was.”

“I’ll field that one,” Mom interjected. “Francis’ whole point when he made the bet was that the girls, Karen and Susie weren’t being girlish. All he really wanted was for Karen and Susie to act more like girls. They’ve both made excuses that it was just too much bother. Well, now they’ve backed Francis into a corner where he’s going to have wear dresses for a week, so I pointed out he could beat them at their own game and show them how easy it was to act like a girl. ‘So easy even a boy could do it.’ I showed him a few tricks that girls of my day learned or figured out by the time they reached their teen years, so he could prove to them that it wasn’t ‘too much bother.’”

“So, putting a dress on didn’t turn you into a sissy?” Dad wanted to know.

“I don’t think so. I just don’t want to embarrass myself while I have to wear this stuff. So I was glad that Mom pointed out what I need to do to keep from exposing my underwear. Can you imagine what a field day those two would have if I sat the same way I usually do, or did anything that would show a girl’s underwear. They may have won the bet, put I still can make my point about being feminine.”

“OK,” Dad said, “I get your point. It’s just a little disconcerting to see my son being a better girl than my daughter.”

“That’s the point.” I smiled and stood and headed upstairs.

As I approached my room, Karen came out. “Oh,” she said, “I just put your nightgown on your bed. Sweet dreams.”

“Nightgown?”

“Yes, you complained about what I wear to bed and I’m sure you meant to have me and Susie wear nighties to bed… so guess what? …”

She left that hanging as she went into her room and closed the door. Looking in on my bed, I saw a pink confection that I recognized as a babydoll nightie that Karen had received as a birthday present from one of our aunts last year. She had brought it in complete with matching panties.

Oh well, it was in the bet.

I found out what the sticky things in my… I mean the bra were all about. They were some kind of falsie or whatever to make girls look like they had more boob. When I took off the bra, I examined them and figured out they just kind of peeled off… looking at the bra, it would have fit funny without something in it, so I guess it made sense to put them in there. What I found interesting, in a kind of perverse way, was that they stuck on and clipped together and the girls had put them on a little ways apart and then pulled them together to fasten them. The net result was to move the loose skin on my chest together so that it looked like I had some cleavage. Kind of cool actually.

Come morning, I was confused. What the…? Why am I wearing Karen’s nightie? Then it all came rushing back. Dumb bet. A real dumb bet.

Nature called and I answered. As I came back, Karen was there knocking on my door. “Oh, there you are. Here, here’s your clothes for the day. Mom said that I should give you something a little more practical to wear. So this is a plain skirt and blouse. However, your underwear is all girlie… just like you think Susie and I should be wearing.” She handed me a pile of clothes. “I’ll be right back with some shoes that’ll work with that outfit.

Yeah, she was right, the underwear was really girlie. The ivory colored bra and panties matched and were covered with lace. They even had a matching full slip. The blouse she picked out was a simple white blouse with one of those rounded collars. You know the kind that doesn't have any point, they just curve back to the buttons and sleeves were those little short puffy sleeves with the tiny cuff and button you can't unbutton.

"You need any help getting dressed?" Karen called through the door.

Not on your life! "No, I'll be fine," I called back.

"Be sure to put everything on... panties and all."

"I will."

"I could check, you know."

"That won't be necessary."

I pulled off the top of the baby-dolls and began wrestling with the bra. I say "wrestle" because there was no way I could get it fastened behind me. My arms just didn't bend that way and even if I could, the catch mystified me. I took it off and examined the fastener. No big mystery there. Just two hooks that hooked into a couple of rounded horseshoe shaped things. I hooked and unhooked them a couple of time and tried again. Again, I couldn't manage. Maybe it's that this bra is smaller than the one from yesterday and it just won't reach. I turned the thing backward and stretched around me to see if the ends actually met and they did easily. I even clipped them together. Well then, why can't I hook them behind me, I thought as I studied the catch in front of me. Then I had a great idea. Maybe I don't have to hook it behind me. I remembered how they had slipped the straps off my shoulder the day before when they put those jelly things in.

So I spun it around and, with a little effort, I managed to get my arms in the straps and slide them over my shoulders. Looking down, I could see why they wanted to put the jelly thing in the cups. They just looked dumb hanging there all limp and everything. I didn't know just how the things worked, but, if a girl can do it, it'll be easy for boy to figure out. I messed with the clip thingy until I was sure that I understood it. OK, I asked myself, just how do you stick these things on? I slipped my arms out of the bra straps again and made a few false starts at positioning the gadgets until they made the cleavage thing when I pushed them together. Then I clipped them and put the bra straps over my shoulders again. Looking down, I felt proud of myself for figuring out how to do it. I fondled myself a little, fascinated with the fact I had boobs. Finally, I came to the realization that I had to finish getting dressed. I swapped out the baby-doll panties for the ones that matched the bra; I knew enough about how women wore their lingerie that I knew the slip went on next.

Now there's an experience. As the slip cascaded down my body, I got goose bumps. The first day, I was too upset to notice the feeling of the clothes, what with Susie and Karen there taunting and pushing me to put this on, put that on. But today, I took my time and noticed everything. The slip was slick and cool and when it rubbed across the panties, there was just something special about the sensation. I don't know how to describe it. It's just not like anything I experienced wearing boys' clothes. I put the blouse on and fought the stupid buttons. They were on the wrong side. How could they do such a dumb thing? Maybe girls really are dumber than boys and just didn't notice that the buttons were on the wrong side, I thought. I'll have to ask Mom about the button thing. The skirt was a gray, pleated, knee-length thing with a button and zipper. I knew enough to know that the zipper went in back and it wasn't rocket science to know that the waist would be too tight to tuck the blouse in once the button was fastened, but still it wasn't exactly easy to fasten the button and zip the thing up.

Once I was done, I realized that Karen hadn't brought me the shoes or socks. I started for her room and found the shoes and socks sitting outside my door. The shoes were some complicated flat shoe that had a strap kind of thing that laced back and forth over the foot and fastened with Velcro on the outside of the shoe. The socks were lace topped anklet that I knew needed to be folded down. Actually, the whole arrangement was kind of nice, once I figured out how the get the shoes done up. The socks were light and wouldn’t make my feet too warm and shoes kind of felt like tennis shoes, only lighter.

I had to see just what the whole outfit looked like, so I headed for the bathroom where we had a full-length mirror. I could see why she gave me a full slip. The blouse wasn't sheer or anything, but it was thin enough that I could see the lace on the slip through it.

Over all, I looked like a girl, except my hair was a mess. A mass of curls that just didn't have any style. I mean, before my hair didn't have any style, it just hung there and did pretty much what it wanted to. I hadn't had a real haircut since just before Christmas when Mom wanted to get some photo Christmas cards and insisted that everyone look sharp. Since then, I'd had a trim during Spring break and here at the beginning of summer; it had reached my collar in the back and was well over my ears. It kind of looked cool in a punk rock sort of way only the front was kind of a pain because it hung down in my face. But all in all, I liked the long hair thing. But what I saw in the mirror, I didn't like. It reminded me of some old time child actress I'd seen on television, Shirley somebody, from back when movies were in black and white. Only her hair looked like something, mine was just unruly curls. I tried to brush it out without any success. I got really frustrated and headed off to see if I could find Mom. She was in the kitchen pouring herself a cup of coffee.

"Mom, look at my hair! Those girls goofed it all up! What'd they do to it anyway?"

"Oh! That does look terrible. It wasn't so bad yesterday and I thought the curl would relax some overnight. Did you try brushing it?"

"Yeah, it's like it's a bunch of springs and just kind does what it wants to. I'm going to have to shave my head when this is all over."

"Well maybe not. Let me see what I can do."

With that, she scurried off and was back in a few minutes with her shampoo and conditioner.

"They must have left the curling agent in too long or maybe they didn't neutralize it well enough. But with a little luck and a couple of shampoos and another set, we can get the curls to relax into something we can work with. Take off your blouse."

I did, but I've got to tell you I felt really uncomfortable in just a slip and bra on in the kitchen. "Where's Karen?" I asked as I unbuttoned the blouse.

"She and Susie went shopping with Susie's Mom."

"Oh good. That'll keep 'em away for the morning and maybe even into the afternoon."

Mom looked at my chest for a minute then reached out and slipped her fingers inside the bra cup and pulled it back, peeking inside. "Ah," she smiled, "I see you've discovered the secret to your sister's instant bust-line last year."

Mom took me back to the sink and bent me over it again. She worked just like Susie had the day before, only she was a lot more vigorous and washed and rinsed three times. I thought about the flowery smell, but I wasn't about to object if there was a chance that my hair would straighten out. Of course she conditioned it as well, but only once. I guess the conditioner wasn't part of the straightening process.

When she was through, she wrapped my hair in the turban thing and told me, "OK, you can put your blouse on again."

As I started buttoning it I again struggled with the buttons. "Mom, what's with these stupid buttons? They're backwards, you know, on the wrong side."

She laughed. "Well back when the conventions for how women's clothes were made it started out 'ladies' had people to dress them. So the button worked the other way so that the servants could manage them easily. Men, apparently, thought it wasn't 'manly' to have someone button their clothes for them, so the buttons went on the way you're used to."

"But women don't have people to dress them anymore. So why don't they put the buttons on the other side? I mean it sure would be easier to work them."

"Well," she told me as she guided me down the hall to her room, "you may be right, but when you grow up with your buttons on that side you get used to it. Besides it's good practice for when a woman grows up and has little boys that need to be dressed. They're used to the buttons working that way and it's easy to dress them."

She took me into her bathroom and pulled the towel off my head. She brushed out my wet hair and then opened a case I’d never really noticed before, though I’d been in there before. It had rollers in it. Kind of a fancy case for rollers. They must be special, that’s why Karen and Susie didn’t use them, I thought.

She sectioned off my hair, kind of like they did yesterday and started winding the rollers in it.

“Hey, those are warm,” I said in surprise.

“Yes, they’re hot rollers. They’ll help dry your hair while they curl it.”

“But isn’t the object here to take the curl out of my hair?”

“Well, yes, but in order to do that, we need to stretch it out while it dries. These rollers are a larger than what the girls used yesterday and the result will be softer curls. You won’t looks so much like Shirley Temple.”

Shirley Temple, that’s the name of the actress I was trying to remember earlier.

Mom worked deftly and in short order, she had my hair all done up in rollers again. Man, they were they warm. I guess that’s why they call them “hot rollers.” Then Mom got out her blow drier and started drying my hair with that. I was sure that between the heat of the rollers and the drier combined I'd have a roasted brain by the time Mom was through. I didn’t care really, so long as my hair looked better. Now that’s funny. Yesterday at this time, I didn’t care what my hair looked like; I didn’t even think about it, but now it was all that was on my mind.

It must have taken about a half an hour before Mom thought my brain had cooked enough and turned the blow drier to cool and that sure felt good. Another fifteen minutes or so and she said, “Well, you haven’t had breakfast. Let’s get you something to eat and then we’ll see how successful we were.” She pulled a kind of net cap over my head and we headed for the kitchen.

I had some cereal and she nuked her coffee. Twenty minutes later, we were back in her bathroom where she unwound the rollers.

“Yes, I think this’ll be much better,” she said, as she plucked through it with her fingers. She took her brush and started brushing it this way and that. “You know,” she said, “if we want this to look decent, I really should trim it a little to give it some shape or it will never look good.” She looked at me almost pleadingly.

I glanced in the mirror and had to agree. I looked a lot better, but it still didn’t look like much. “OK,” I shrugged.

She draped a towel around my neck, brought in the stool from her vanity and had me sit. Taking her scissors and a comb in hand she began snipping at the back and sides I looked down at the floor and saw she wasn’t really taking much off.

She saw me looking and said, “I’m only trying to even up the ends, so it’ll be symmetrical.”

She then started combing it up from underneath, clipping little bits as she went. After she been all around a couple of times she took her brush and really brushed it. I mean she really brushed it a lot and hard. As she worked on the front, she kept shaking her head. She put down the brush and ran the finger of her left hand into my hair starting at my forehead. She stopped with her fingers arched and the heel of her hand resting on my forehead and grabbed the scissors and clipped off a bunch. Maybe two or three inches. I began to worry just what she was doing. I almost said something when she repeated the process a little bit to the right and then again to the left. After brushing it a bit she nodded and shielded my eyes as sprayed my hair all over with hairspray.

“There, what do you think,” she asked, turning me toward the mirror.

My mouth flew open. I really looked like a girl! I mean, I looked like me only I looked more like my sister than my sister. It was like I had a twin an identical twin sister. Only if I had an identical twin it couldn’t be a sister, because identical twins have to be the same sex or they’re not identical, are they. But still there she was in the mirror, a female version of me. I was so shocked that all I could do for a long while was just stare. Finally, I reached up and touched my hair. Yeah, it’s me, but this hair… Oh… My… God!

“Ah, Mom? Will this go away? I mean what… this is too weird.”

“The girls gave you a permanent. But it’s not as permanent as it sounds. Your curls will relax as time goes on. But odds are that you will always have some wave in your hair until it grows out and you cut it off.”

“But you know after this week, I have to look like a boy again.” I was nearly in tears.

“I know, but don’t worry. There are boys with curly or wavy hair. We’ll just get you a more masculine cut and it’ll all be fine.

I wasn't too sure about that, but I had to trust Mom. I mean, what else could I do now? The girls had done their dirty deed and now I had to live with it. Push comes to shove, I could get a buzz cut, I reasoned.

Mom, true to her word, kept me busy. We tackled the house cleaning. I vacuumed and dusted, while Mom did laundry. To be fair, she gave me my choice and I thought about all the things I'd heard about washing and remembered the time Mike Kowalski had done his own wash when his mother was in the hospital and ended up with pink underwear. I sure didn't want to be responsible for that. I wasn't sure just what Mom did to prevent that, but I knew that she knew some sort of trick.

When we broke for lunch, Mom had me fix it. I just opened a couple of cans of soup and while it was heating, I made tuna salad and fixed two sandwiches. We ate outside again. This time, I wasn't as concerned about people seeing me, because it was Monday and everyone, including my Dad was at work.

After we'd cleaned up from lunch, Mom said, "Well, Francis, I think I'll just turn you loose to cook dinner tonight. Look through my recipe box and pick out something you'd like to make."

I blinked a couple of time and went to box and began thumbing through the "main dish" section. I remember what she said about pot roast and asked, "Do we have everything for pot roast?"

"Yeah, I think so. Only we should have thought about it yesterday," she said, opening the freezer. She studied the package and then got a little booklet. "I think we can thaw this in the microwave."

Our microwave was new and had a "turbo defrost" feature that would thaw out things quickly. Mom programed it with the dexterity of a gamer and popped the roast in. It took about half an hour and required it be turned over halfway through, but Mom said we could just leave it in the fridge till about three and then cook it. Meanwhile our afternoon was open.

"You know Francis, your presentation as a girl is almost perfect."

"Almost?"

"While not every girl wants to be a girlie girl, I agree that feminine is a good thing for a girl to aspire to and feminine girls your age tend to use some make up. You know, while we have the afternoon to ourselves, it might be interesting to see just how far you could take it. You've already got the painted nails; just some mascara and lip-gloss would definitely tip the scales to take away any doubt, should someone see you, that you're a girl and not a boy dressed up as a girl."

"I think I'll pass on that one Mom," I told her.

She smiled. "OK, forget I asked. It's just that I'm having a good time with a daughter willingly experiencing learning womanly arts and makeup application is definitely a womanly art."

"I'm not really your daughter, you know. But I agree that we're having fun with this, but the 'womanly arts' I've been learning so far are things I can use as guy, when I go out on my own. There's one thing I think I should learn, not that I want to do it all the time, but next week, when you do the laundry, could you explain how you keep the things from fading one color to another? I mean Mike Kowalski did his own wash and ended up with pink underwear."

Mom smiled. "A common mistake. You just need to read the label on clothes for a hint. Most say something like, 'wash with like colors.' That means that whites only go in with whites, well maybe really light pastels, like peach, lemon yellow or lime green, in light pastels. And as far as the colored clothes go, it's usually good enough to wash light colored clothes together and separate from dark colored clothes. Jeans, especially if they are new, should be washed separately. Dark reds and navy blues the same. Not so much if they're old and have been through several wash cycles. But yeah, I'll show you next Monday."

I decided that I'd do some reading I'd set a goal of reading ten books over the summer. And so far I'd only read one. I got my copy of "The Hobbit" and without thinking took my usual place in the lounge chair on the patio. I was lost in the story, trying to discover how Bilbo was going to outsmart Gollum, when I heard them (Karen and Susie, not Bilbo and Gollum) in the kitchen.

I put down my book and went to see what they were carrying on about. "You two sound like a couple of magpies. What's got you so excited?"

"Oh, Hi Fran," Karen said, "Susie got the coolest jacket."

Susie looked at her and they locked eyes for a moment and Karen gave a slight nod.

"Come on, it's in the living room we'll show you." They each took an arm and escorted me to the living room. When we reached the door, Karen broke away and dashed to the chair and picked up the jacket. It was a denim jacket with a rhinestone and stud starburst pattern on the back. It was kind of cool.

"Well, hello Fran. I've heard so much about you. You do look really good."

I spun to my right to see Susie's Mom standing there.

"Turn around, let me get a good look at you," she said, making a twirling motion with her hand.

Dumbly, I did as requested.

"My, my," she said, shaking her head. "You know; if I didn't know I wouldn't know. You know, Susie, you've got a lot of dresses that would fit, that you could give Fran. Why don't you take Fran over see what she'd like?"

She'd???

"What a great idea," Karen said, grabbing my hand. Susie grabbed the other and I was propelled right out the front door. I didn't even have time to worry about what the other neighbors might think about me dressed as a girl before I was ushered into Susie's house and on to her room. Susie slid her closet door open.

"Agh! Finally, I'm able to get these frou-frou things out of my closet. My grandmother keeps sending them and I have to put them on for Mom to take a picture to send her. And Mom acts like it's a crime when I want to take them off," she said as she began taking dresses out of the closet and holding them up to me. Some she handed to Karen who laid them on the bed; others, she tossed on a chair. "God, I can't believe that my mother wants me to give this to Fran. These," she said holding up a gaudy little girl dress, "are years old, yet she doesn't want me to throw them away. Well, what she doesn't know won't hurt her. They're all going to be donated to Fran." With that, he relegated the little girl dress to the chair.

All in all, Karen laid eight dresses, six skirts and ten blouses on the bed. All of them were really feminine, but the skirts and blouses tended to be more casual than the dresses.

Nothing would do but that I try them all on. Thank God I was wearing a slip, so I could maintain some of my modesty while I changed outfits. Some of the dresses and one of the skirts went over to the chair because the waist was too tight. I ended up with four dresses and five skirts. All of the blouses were deemed, "a good fit."

My arms were piled high with the clothes and again I had to brave the outside world. As we reached the sidewalk, Mrs. Johansen magically appeared. She was our neighbor on the other side; a young mother leading her little girl toward home.

"Well, hello Karen, Susie," she said as she looked at me curiously.

"Oh, hi, Mrs. Johansen. This is my cousin, Fran. She's visiting this week and the airline lost her luggage, so Susie is loaning her some clothes," my sister glibly lied.

"Nice to meet you, Fran. I hope the airline finds your luggage." There was something about the way she looked at me that made me uncomfortable.

"Let's get you back to our house, so you try on those clothes," Karen continued, though I’d already tried them on. Whatever, it gave us an excuse to get away.

Glad to be away from Mrs. Johansen, I mumbled, "Nice to meet you too," and headed up our walk.

"Let's put those things in your closet," Mom said as I came in.

In my room Mom stood by my closet, which was mostly bare. I was surprised to see a lot of empty hangers in there. I only had two pair of slacks and three shirts that needed hanging up. Well there was the suit that I almost never wore. She took the things from me and hung them one by one commenting on how nice each one was. I was looking around the room and noticed a pile of panties on my bed.

"Mom, what are those there?" I asked, nodding toward my bed.

"Oh, when Karen left with Susie, I gave her some money and asked her to buy you some underwear. It's not sanitary to wear some else's underwear."

Mom hung the last dress and looked pleased with herself. "There," she said, "all set for the rest of the week. You can take the tags off and put your new undies in your drawer. Then come down and get started on dinner."

The panties that my sister bought me were really lacy and in those pastel colors Mom talked about being OK to wash with whites. I couldn't believe the frilly, lacy confections that populated my underwear drawer when I got through. Karen had bought twelve pairs and when I started putting them away, I found there was already a pair in there.

As I fixed dinner, Mom sat at the kitchen table and watched, just to make sure I didn't do anything dumb and to answer questions if there was anything I didn't understand in the recipe.

As I peeled the potatoes, I asked, "Mom, Karen bought twelve pair of panties. Why so many? I mean, I've only got five more days in the bet."

Mom chuckled. "Well, I've always told her, a girl should have a dozen panties at any given time, so I guess she just bought for you like she would for herself."

"Yeah, well, first of all, I'm not a girl and besides, there was another pair already in my drawer."

"That would be the third one from the nylon set I foolishly bought her. When I hit her up on making you wear panties, she assured me that what you were wearing were the nylon ones that she'd never worn."

"She doesn't plan to take back the ones I've already worn?"

"Then it would be her wearing unsanitary panties. So I guess you have fifteen pair of panties."

"Fifteen? What am I supposed to do with fifteen panties after the week is over?"

"I don't know," Mom said. "Some boys like wearing panties. If it turns out you do, then you're all set."

Yeah, right Mom. Like that's about to happen.

"Ah, Mom, I guess I should tell you that when we were coming back from Susie's, Mrs. Johansen talked to us and Karen said I was her cousin and was visiting for a week."

"Well, I suppose she needed to say something to explain your appearance. Did she seem to believe the story?"

"I guess, she said she was glad to meet me and all."

"Well then, no harm done."

I was in the kitchen getting the plates out of the cupboard when Dad walked in. He looked me up and down, studied my face for an uncomfortable amount of time.

"What?" I asked.

"Oh nothing," Dad said and turned to go back to the living room. I was sure I could hear him mumble, "Maybe, just maybe."

At dinner, Dad had an announcement. "Well, it became official today. You all know that I played golf with Mr. Simmons. That was just the beginning. Up until this morning my days were full of meetings. I couldn't say anything until it was official, but at today’s staff meeting, I was promoted to regional sales manager. The corporate CEO flew in to make the announcement himself."

"Congratulations, Hon, I know you've been up for it and that you've worked very hard for it," Mom said.

"Yeah, congratulations Dad," Karen offered.

"Way to go Dad," I put in.

"Well, that leaves us with a small problem."

"What's that dear?" Mom wanted to know.

"Our CEO, Mr. Crenshaw wants to take my family out for dinner, day after tomorrow. I told him my son Frank was gone this and that his 'cousin' Fran was here. He just said to bring her instead of Frank."

I felt my eyes go wide.

Dad focused on Mom. "Is there any way we can get Frank to be an unmistakable Fran?" he wanted to know.

Mom nodded. "I was just telling Fran this morning that with a little makeup, no one would question that Fran was anything but a girl."

"Can you make that happen by tomorrow at five?"

"Wait! Wait," I interrupted. "Can't Fran just go home and Frank, I mean, couldn't I just come home early?"

"I suppose you could, but unless Susie and Karen are willing to tell you to wear your suit tomorrow evening that would mean you welching on your bet." Dad looked at Karen.

"I'd rather see just how girlie we can get him. Susie gave him some really nice dresses today, so finding something for him to wear won't be a problem," she answered.

Well, Mom got her wish. I was being tutored in the womanly art of make-up.

"Why do I need to do this myself? Can't you just put it on for me before we leave?"

"Yes, Fran, I could. But where would be the fun for me?"

"Mom!"

"I'm sorry sweetheart, but I told you before that I'm wishing that my daughter, OK, Karen, would be a bit more feminine, but since she's not and you're Fran for the week… You're my substitute. I'm really enjoying this. I hope you can indulge me."

"Oh, alright. I'll just chalk it up to showing Karen that being girly is 'so easy even a boy could do it.' I'm just scared that I'll poke my eye with this mascara thing."

Mom chuckled. "All girls go through that. Just lean into the mirror, put the brush up to your eye lashes and blink and move it closer. That will give you a feel for just where your lashes are. You can apply it that way if you want, until you get used to how to do it."

Until I get used to how to do it? Like I'm going to need to do this after today.

Karen, of course, told Susie that I was going to be out in public as Fran and that Mom was teaching me how to do my makeup. She was waiting for me when I came down with my makeup on.

"Gosh, Fran, you really look good. I mean for a girly-girl. I'd never want to wear makeup like that, but you look good in it." She was grinning like she was teasing, but I could see some admiration in her eyes. I decided to play it up.

"No big deal. It was easy. I think you'd look good with a little makeup… you too Karen. I don't see what the big fuss is about this feminine thing is." I knew I was laying it on thick. It wasn't easy to do the makeup thing. I had to mitigate my statement a bit to keep from getting called on it. "Oh, at first it was quite a shock, you know all the girly stuff, but now that I'm used to… no big deal. You should try it." There, the challenge. I looked at Mom; she was grinning ear to ear. She knew exactly what I was doing.

"Look, the dress you've chosen to wear tonight needs shoes to look right. My shoes are alright for satisfying the bet, but if we're going to pull off Fran, the visiting niece, you're going to need some new shoes." Mom informed me. "So I think we need a practice run at being in public as a girl. Let's hit the mall and see what we can find."

"Oh cool. I get to take my brother shopping for his own girl's shoes. Can Susie come with?"

Mom saw the panic on my face. "Aaaa, no, I think it should be just Fran and me. She's nervous enough without you two whispering comments and suggesting really inappropriate stiletto heels. And don't pretend that you wouldn't." She??

"Come on Fran. Let's go. You really do need the practice."

There I was dressed in a skirt and blouse, my hair all curled in an array of feminine delight and in full makeup (OK, mascara, blush and lip gloss) walking into a mall with my mother. To say I was nervous would have been the understatement of the year.

"Mom, do we really have to do this? I mean, someone is bound to recognize me as a boy in girl's clothes."

"If I thought that would be the case, we wouldn't be here. Your Dad really needs you to pass as a girl and to do that you need to be confident of your ability to do it. The only way to get that confidence is to do it where it doesn't matter and risk the exposure to see that it really isn't such a risk. Trust me, you look really good and if you'll just relax, you'll do fine. Look, this mall is way across town from where any of your friends might be, so there's no danger that any of them will see you. Anyone who doesn't already know you will never even suspect unless you give them reason to."

"I'm still scared stiff."

"I know honey. We'll just walk around the mall for a bit. Kind of keep an eye on people and I'm sure you'll find that they aren't paying any attention to you. After you get a feel of just how convincing you are, we'll find a shoe store and get you a nice pair of shoes to go with your dress."

As we walked down the main concourse, my eye darted back and forth trying to catch someone looking at me. No one seemed to take a second glance. In fact, I didn't catch very many even at a first glance. No one seemed to be at all interested in me or Mom or what we were doing. I began to relax.

Well, that was until Mom decided to go into a store. I hesitated and Mom stepped back and almost whispered, "It's OK Fran, we're just going to walk through. We might stop and look at a few things. I just want you to get used to being in a store." I nodded and followed her in.

Same scenario as in the mall; no one was interested in us. We strolled through the ladies wear department and Mom paused to look through the dresses a time or two, and then it was back out to the mall. I didn't balk at all at the next store and when we were going through the women's section, we were in the "junior's" dresses and I even joined Mom in looking at them. There were some that were kind of nice.

Mom saw me looking and said, "That one would look really good on you. Do you want to try it on?"

For a moment, I almost said yes. "Mom, no, I'm just looking."

Mom grinned, motioned with her head that I should follow her. To my surprise, we ended up in the shoe department. She started picking up different shoes, much the same way I'd seen her examine tomatoes at the super market. It didn't take long before a young saleslady, approached. Her name tag read "Ann"

"Can I be of any assistance?" Ann asked.

I was nearly ready to faint because I knew what was coming. I was going to have to interact with this woman. I steeled myself to the task as Mom answered her.

"My daughter has a formal dinner to attend and has the perfect dress, but no appropriate shoes. It seems her feet have grown recently and nothing that still fits will do. We're looking for something in an ivory with a modest heel."

Ann smiled and said, "We have some lovely shoes for younger ladies just over here," and led the way across the area. She picked up an ivory, or was a cream colored shoe? I'm not sure how to tell the difference, only I guess "ivory" sounds more elegant. The shoe in question had a slightly pointed toe and the short heel that looked like it had been taller, but got squished down. Just under the shoe, it necked down to a quite skinny size but then spread out to about three times that width. The shoe was open in the back with a buckled strap at the heel.

"This slingback has a sophisticated look and the heel will be quite stable for a young lady who doesn't often wear heels." She handed the shoe to Mom and then picked up another with a slightly higher heel in a lemon yellow. "We have this in ivory as well. The heel is a bit taller, but you notice," she turned the shoe upside down, "that the heel is wider than it is long, giving it a sophisticated look while still adding to the stability." She handed that one to Mom as well.

Turning, she picked up a white shoe that had a really narrow heel. "Now if you want a true classic stiletto, this comes in an off white that would complement the dress."

"I think we should try all three, don't you Fran?" Mom asked, looking at me.

I looked at her wide eyed and shrugged. "I guess."

"Well, since your feet have grown, I guess we should measure your feet," Ann said, addressing me directly for the first time. I just nodded and she gestured toward a row of chairs. I sat down and she sat side saddle on one of those funny little things shoe salesmen sit on and picked up that metal thing they use to measure feet. She slipped my shoe off and had me stand on it. "Nine and a half D," she announced. With that, she stood and headed back into the bowels of the store.

"Mom, there's something wrong with that measuring thingy. I wear a seven, not a nine and a half and isn't a D a wide width? I've never gotten a wide width before."

"Just wait and see. You'll be surprised."

Ann returned a few minutes later juggling not three, but six boxes. "I picked out a few others that are in another display I thought you might like as well," she said as she stooped and put the boxes on the chair next to me. Sitting sidesaddle again, she slipped off the shoe I'd just put back on and taking the first selection from its box, slipped on my foot. "Shall I put the other one on so you can try walking in them?"

Before I could answer, Mom said, "That would be a good idea."

On went the other shoe and I stood and nervously made my way to the table with the display, I turned and walked back and sat down, self-conscious about scooping my skirt as Mom and Ann watched.

"These are fine, let's get them."

"Honey, Ann went to a lot of trouble to bring other shoes for you to look at. You should at least try them on and see if maybe she's found something better," Mom insisted.

I wanted to argue, but the look on Mom's face told me something was wrong.

"OK, I just thought that 'Ann' might want to get to another customer. I mean we're only buying one pair of shoes."

"Oh, don't worry," she told me. "I've got lots of time. Every customer is important. You may be only buying one pair today, but if I can get you what you want and give you good service, you'll be back and ask for me."

Yeah, right, like I'm going to be buying girls shoes again anytime soon.

Out came the other selections and nothing would do, but I put each pair on and walk around. All went fine with me going through the motions until I tried on the fifth pair. They were two-tone sandal with a wedge heel they had muted gold and cream woven straps. What was really surprising was that they felt really comfortable and were by far the easiest to walk in.

"I wasn't sure about those," Ann said. "You said formal, but for a young girl, that may just be formal enough and yet make a statement about her age, as in age appropriate."

The problem was I did like them. I couldn't believe that I almost blurted out 'I want these,' but at the last moment, I bit my tongue and held my piece. I acted cool about it, but perhaps not cool enough.

The last pair were those spikes and I couldn't even walk it them. "I wondered if you could manage them, but I thought you should have the experience."

I gladly slipped out of them. Ann looked at Mom with her eyebrows raised. Mom asked me, "Did they all fit OK?" I nodded yes, "Well, what do you think?" Mom asked. "Which pair do you think we should get?"

"Well, I think that the first pair I tried would be best for dinner."

"But?"

I looked at her and blinked, and then shook my head and shrugged.

"That sounded like there should be a 'but' after it. Something like, '… but I really like…' …"

I just looked at her, not knowing what she was driving at.

Mom looked back to Ann and said, "We’ll take the kitten heel slingbacks and the gold and cream wedge sandals."

If I hadn't been sitting I'd have fallen over. Two? As far as I was concerned, I didn't even need one and Mom was buying two.

"Would you like to wear the sandals home?" she asked. I dumbly nodded and Ann slipped them back on my feet and put my shoes in their box.

Ann stacked the boxes and took the two we were buying to the register. Mom followed and paid, while I sat in stunned silence staring at my feet. What the H E double hockey sticks am I doing? Really wearing sandals home and they're not even the shoes I'll wear to dinner tonight.

"Come on honey," Mom said, breaking my questioning train of thought.

Mom and I stopped for a late lunch on the way home, more practice she said. By the time we left the restaurant, I had gotten into character, as they say in the drama department at school. The truth was I had begun to enjoy the whole experience. It was a kick to be out amongst people and have them treat me like a girl. It was like playing and enormous practical joke on the whole world.

Karen met Mom and me when we came in. "Whadya buy?" she wanted to know. I handed her the sack with the shoe boxes and headed into the kitchen. She opened the one with slingback heels in it; then asked, "What's this?" when she opened the other. "These are the shoes you wore out of the house." I looked down at my feet. "How cool!" shouted Karen when she saw my sandals. "How come you bought two pair?"

"We'd pretty much decided on the slingbacks when Fran fell in love with the sandals," Mom supplied.

Dad stepped in from the kitchen and looked down at my sandals. "Then why didn't you just buy the sandals?"

"It was my idea," Mom confessed. "The slingbacks are really the kind of shoe Fran should wear with that dress, but when I saw the look in her eye when she tried on the sandals, I just had to get them for her."

No one seemed to blink at the feminine pronouns and in truth I didn't think about them until much later. I was afraid that Dad would be angry and make us take back the sandals. I didn't know or is that think about the fact I'd worn them home would preclude the store taking them back.

"Well, Fran, for a week long bet, you’ve amassed quite a wardrobe," Dad observed, shaking his head as he headed back into the kitchen.

Karen was ticked. She had to wear a dress to dinner as well. As I mentioned, she rarely wears dresses. She was acting all snippy toward me until Mom pointed out, that even if there had been no bet, she'd be wearing a dress that night anyway.

"At least now, you have Fran for company," Mom told her.

Karen brightened at that and spent the rest of the drive to the restaurant grinning at me. As we walked into Ruth’s Chris Steak House she leaned toward me. "As much as I don't like this, you've got to hate it worse."

The funny thing was I didn't. I didn't dislike it at all. The dress was comfortable to wear, the shoes were easy to walk in and when Mom and I got through with my makeup, I thought I looked great. OK, for a girl, but still… anyway, after our little outing that morning I was getting real rush being out in public dressed as a girl. Nervous as all get out, but excited as well. It was hard to tell which was the strongest, nervous or excited, or where one left off and the other started. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I was sure that I was some kind of weirdo for enjoying it, but I was pushing that thought way back; I filed it in the "deal with it later" file.

As we perused the menu, Mom said, "I think the petite sirloin and salad would be good for you girls. As a matter of fact, I think I'll have that as well."

So much for the 16 ounce T-bone and baked potato I was eyeing. Oh well, I guess that's what a girl would order. Karen seemed happy with it. Dad's CEO fussed over Karen and me… it seemed that he made a bigger deal over me. He pointed out, over dinner that he was in favor of promoting men who had good relationship with their families. "Certainly your dad fits that bill," he told me. After we'd said goodbye and were walking toward the door, he touched my elbow nodded for me to walk a little way away from the others.

"Your dad confessed about your bet. He explained that he was a man of honor and was raising you to be the same. You are a very brave and honorable young man. The fact that your dad supports you in this speaks highly of him and you for honoring the bet. I only wish I knew my sons would do the same in the same circumstances. By the way, if he hadn't told me I'd have never known." He smiled and shook my hand. "If I'm still CEO when you start looking for a job, apply with us and use me as a recommendation. I'll see you get a shot, even if I have to bring you back to corporate."

Just then Dad noticed I wasn't with them. "Fran, did you get lost. I hope she wasn't being a bother."

"I was just telling Fran of my admiration for the two of you."

My ears were burning and I'm sure my face was red. The CEO and Dad exchanged knowing looks.

"Dad, why did you tell your CEO I was a boy? I thought the whole idea of me getting my hair done and wearing make-up was to make sure he thought I was a girl."

"Look I'm sorry. I didn't know he was going to tell you he knew, but when he told me he was going to be back for both Christmas and the company picnic every year… well the odds he'd see you again was just too great. I had to make sure that when he did there wouldn't be any questions. So I took a bold approach and told the truth."

"God, I was so embarrassed when he told me he knew."

"Well, he's totally OK with it. When I told him, he told me that one of his grandchildren was transgendered. Born a grandson and now was a pretty granddaughter.

The next morning, Karen was up and dressed before I got out of bed. I was just coming back from the bathroom when I saw her heading for the stairs. I took a quick look in my bedroom and saw she hadn’t put out any clothes for me.

“Hey Karen, what do you want me to wear today?” I called after her.

She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned to face me. “Well, since it so easy for you to be girly, why don’t you pick out a nice dress or coordinate a skirt and blouse for yourself? As a matter of fact, you can do that the rest of the week. I’ve got better things to do than be your wardrobe consultant,” she called back in a whiny tone.

I was tempted to put on my regular clothes, since it was obvious she had lost interest in trying to get to me, with outcome of the bet, but I thought better of it. She didn’t say, “Wear whatever you want.” She said, “Pick out a nice dress or coordinate a skirt and blouse for yourself.” And, she indicated I was to do that the rest of the week. OK, a dress or skirt and blouse. I suppose it could have been a test to see if I’d welch on the bet or maybe to see how badly I’d blow it being girly on my own, without her guidance and then she could say that she couldn’t be bothered to dress my feminine because it was so easy to screw up the outfit. So I went online and did a search on teen girl’s fashion. I was appalled at the amount of pants outfits I saw. Don’t girls wear skirts and dresses anymore? What I did learn, was that white and ivory go with almost anything.

So I dug through my closet and pulled out all the blouses that were white or ivory. I found six total. Four white and two ivory. I laid each on the bed, three to a side and then I got out all the skirts. I’m kind of partial to full skirts on girls. You know the kind that are kind of swishy when they walk. So I concentrated on those and laid them over the blouses. I came across a light gold skirt with ivory print flowers. I got a great idea.

I ended up wearing an ivory blouse with that gold skirt. I then put on my sandals the one’d that mom decided to buy that I didn’t need. I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. Something was missing. I opened a drawer and found a lipstick supply. There was one that was only slightly lighter than my lips. I carefully applied some and looked again. Good to go. I’ll show her a coordinated outfit.

With all that happened, the shopping, the lunch and the dinner out, I was feeling pretty casual about being seen by people, so I didn't think anything of it when Mom asked me to get the mail. As I was locking our mailbox back up, Mrs. Johansen walked up carrying her daughter. I thought she was going to check her mailbox, but she just walked up and talked to me.

"You're Fran, right?"

"Ah, yeah."

"Is your time here pretty full? I mean, do you have time that you could do something for someone?"

I wasn't sure just where that would be going, but I did have time. I mean, I was kind of limited as to where I could go.

"I suppose, what did you need?"

"I have a job interview tomorrow and I need someone to watch Christi for me. I'd ask Susan, or Karen, but they've both turned me down before. I guess they don't like babysitting." She continued in a rush, "I'll pay you. I really need this job. I'm sure you know that my husband lost his job and is working in Seattle and can only come home for the weekends and paying for a place for him to stay up there is really putting a strain on our finances, what with keeping up the mortgage on our house. We'd sell, and move up there, but the housing market is so bad we're upside down in the mortgage. So can you watch Christi for me tomorrow?"

"Uh… I don't know, I'll have to ask my m… aunt."

"Could we do that right now? If you can't, I'll have to make some phone calls to see if I can come up with a sitter."

I didn't really know what to do. I really thought she might need someone to help her carry something, or do some, like, five minute chore. "Well, I guess." Shrugging, I went back to the house with Mrs. Johansen following. I went in and thankfully, Mom wasn't in sight.

"You can wait here, and I'll see if I can find my … aunt," I told her.

Mom was in the kitchen making out a shopping list.

"Mom, Mrs. Johansen is in the living room. She wants me, Fran, to babysit tomorrow, so she can go for a job interview," I said softly.

She looked at me and then leaned and looked as if she could see into the living room. She started to speak when Susie and Karen appeared out of nowhere.

"Fran should totally do it Mom."

Mom shushed her and led us all out to the patio. "I'm not so sure that's a good idea. I mean, she could find out that your brother is Fran."

"Not a chance. Our girl Fran here has fooled everyone. No one has even blinked when coming into contact with her. Did the shoe clerk even blink when you bought Fran's shoes?"

"Well, no."

"This whole thing is about being feminine, isn't it? Well, babysitting is practicing to be a Mom; what could be more feminine?"

Mom seemed to consider this twisted logic for a moment and I was afraid she'd tell me something about the bounds of the bet, but she surprised me.

"OK, I'll leave it up to you Fran. If you want to you can. Just be sure that you don't give her any reason to suspect that you're not what you appear to be."

"Is she paying you?" Susie wanted to know.

"She said she would."

"Then if you don't, you're just chicken."

I should have told her that she must be chicken because she'd turned down the babysitting job, but no, my mind just didn't put that together. "I'm no chicken!"

"Then take the job."

“Oh good, you’re here. Come on in,” Mrs. Johansen said as she answered the door. “Christi has been fed and is watching cartoons.” She led me to her living room. “Christi, Fran is here to take care of you while Mommy’s gone.”

Christi looked up and nodded. I was nervous as a cat. I’d never taken care of kid before.

“She’s really a good kid. Easy to take care of; she’s potty-trained, so there’ll be no diaper changing.” I nodded. “Your… aunt said if you had any trouble, you should just call her and she’d come over. You have your cell phone, don’t you

“Yeah, right here,” I replied, holding up my phone.”

“Here’s my cell number call me, so I’ll have your number and I’ll call you if I’m going to be late.” I dialed her number as she got her phone out of her purse. It rang and she nodded. “Oh look at the time. I’ve got to run,” she said as she hurried to the hall closet. I’ll be back in about three or four hours. The longer I’m gone, the more likely it is that they’ll hire me.”

With that she was out the door and it was just Christi and me. “Momma’s gonna get a job,” she said.

“That’s right. She’s gonna make lots of money.”

“Wanna see my dolls?”

I guess that’s the attention span for a two-year-old.

Christi really was a good, and easy to take care of. We had a tea party with all of her dolls and stuffed animals, seven of them. I read three stories out of her books. Time flew by. It was 11:30 when my phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Hi Fran. Hey, I’m going to be a little longer than they thought. They want me to take some kind of aptitude test. That’s a good thing, I think. It must mean that they want to see if I’m suited to the job. Can you make Christi some lunch?”

“Ah yeah, sure. What kind of thing does she like?”

“It doesn’t need to be fancy, just a sandwich and some milk. You can ask her if you want, but I’ll bet she wants PB&J.”

“OK, I can do that.”

“Fix something for yourself. There’s some stuff in the fridge. Help yourself to whatever you’d like.

“Oh, gotta go. They’re ready for me. I’ll call later.”

We were out in the back yard a couple of hours later and my phone rang again.

“Hello?”

“Hi Fran. It looks like it’ll be after four when I get home. They want me to talk to one more person, who won’t be available until three. Even if it’s only five minutes, what with the bus schedule, it’ll be after four, probably closer to five when I get home. I don’t know what I’m going to do for dinner. I have some hamburger thawing in the fridge. I guess it’ll just have to be hamburgers on bread. I don’t have any buns.”

“Ah, look, my mom has been teaching me to cook, I can make meatloaf for you if you’d like.”

“Could you? I don’t want to take advantage of you. I only hired you to babysit, not cook.”

“I don’t mind, I’ve made it before, it’s really easy.”

“Well OK, if you don’t mind. That’s what I was planning anyway. I’ll make it up to you. Look, why don’t you stay for dinner. You will eat your own cooking, won’t you?”
I laughed. “Yes, I do it all the time. I’ll call my mom and let her know. Good luck.”
“Thanks, I hope I won’t need luck, but if that’s what it takes to get the job, then I’ll take it. See you later. You’re a lifesaver.”

“Mom? It’s me Fran.”

“Is everything OK?”

“Yeah, Mom, everything’s alright. Mrs. Johansen just called and she’s going to be late. They had her take some tests and now they want her to talk to one more person. Anyway, she’s not likely to be home much before five. When she worried about dinner being late, I offered to make meatloaf for her. Could you bring your recipe card over for me?”

“OK, I’ll be right over. I’ve got a pot roast going for us. When you weren’t home by one, I decided to do it myself.”

Mom was true to her word. I was looking through the cupboards for the ingredients I remembered when the doorbell rang a few minutes later.

“Here’s your recipe. Do you need anything else?”

“I don’t think so. I was just getting the ingredients ready.”

“I’ll stay until you make sure you have anything.”

Mom followed me into the kitchen and watched, grinning as I got everything assembled.

“She doesn’t have any Worcestershire Sause.”

“I’ll be right back,” Mom said.

I preheated the oven and got a bowl out to mix in. I was taking the eggs out of the carton when Christi asked, “Whatcha doin?”

“I’m making meatloaf for dinner. Your mom is going to be a little late so I’m fixing dinner.”

“You know how to cook?”

“Some things. I’ve made meatloaf before.”

“I like meatloaf. Can I help?”

“OK, let’s wash your hands.”

I pulled a chair up to the sink and helped her into it and we used dish soap to wash up with. I helped her down and had just moved the chair when mom let herself in with the Worcestershire Sause.

“Christi wants to help make the meatloaf. She’s washed her hands and is ready to go.”

“It’s never too early to start learning to cook,” Mom observed. She watched as I plunked the hamburger in the bowl and mashed it down and cracked the egg in to it. Christi looked on with wonder.

“You ready for the fun part?” I asked Christi. She looked up and nodded. “You ever make mud pies?”

“Yeah, but momma doesn’t like me to. I get all dirty.”

“Well this is kinda like making mud pies, only we won’t get all dirty. Let’s see if I can find us some aprons.”

“I know where they are,” Christi announced and hopped off the chair. She was back in a flash with a long white apron and a blue one that didn’t have a bib.

“Alright, I think this one will work for you,” I told her taking the blue one. I helped back onto the chair and had her lay the white one on the counter. I brought the straps over her shoulder, crossing them behind her back and wrapping them in front, crossing them again; I finished off by tying them behind her. It looked a little funny, but it gave good coverage.

“Very creative,” Mom observed. “You going to be OK here? Or do you want me to hang around?”

“No, I’m good now that I have the recipe,” I told her as I donned the white apron. It was plain. None of the fancy ruffles or anything like the penny thing Mom had.

“OK then, call if you need anything.”

“OK Christi, are you ready for the fun stuff?” she looked up and nodded. “What we have to do is mix the eggs and the hamburger really good. We get to do it with our hands.”

I demonstrated and then let her try it. In the end, both of us had our hands in the bowl at the same time. Christi giggled and I laughed.

“This feels really yucky,” she said.

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it?”

We went through the whole process. I measured and she poured and we mixed. While I had decided that I enjoyed cooking, having Christi help made it truly fun. Once the meatloaf was in the oven, I peeled potatoes and cut them up. I had Christi pick out a vegetable and I let her get it ready to go in the microwave.

By the time Mrs. Johansen showed up, we had set the table and mashed the potatoes. I told Christi to push the start button on the microwave. Mrs. Johansen watched in awe as Christi walked over, stretched up on her tippy-toes and pushed the start button.

“Well, aren’t you a clever little girl? How did you know what button to push?”

“Fran showed me.”

Mrs. Johansen looked at me.

“She said she wanted to help make dinner, so I let her help me mix in the ingredients in the meatloaf. But I wouldn’t let her peel the potatoes or work the mixer. I told that I needed to do that by myself. She wanted to do something by herself. So I supervised as she measured out the vegies and put them in the microwave. She needed to be involved so I showed her how to set the time to cook and where the start button was, so she could push it,” I explained.

“So,” Mrs. Johansen said to Christi, “you did the vegies all by yourself?” Christi proudly shook her head yes. “Well, you certainly are getting to be a big girl. I’m so proud of you,” and she picked her up and gave her a big hug.

“Were you a good girl for Fran?”

“Un huh.”

“You were?” Mrs. Johansen looked at me.

“She was great. We had lots of fun.”

“We did momma, we had a tea party and Fran read to me and we had lunch and she let me pick out television after so my lunch could settle down before we went out in the back yard and she pushed me on the swing and everything.”

“Oh my, did you get that out all in one breath?”

Christi nodded and grinned.

“So you and Fran had a good time?”

“Yes momma. Can I have Fran for a babysitter every time?”

“I don’t know sweetheart, we’ll have to see.”

Mrs. Johansen insisted that I stay for the dinner I made and gave me $ 20 besides.

Saturday, tomorrow, all this insanity comes to an end. To my surprise when I came down for breakfast, Karen was nowhere to be seen. I got myself a bowl of cereal and some juice. Mom was out on the patio with a cup of coffee. I decided to join her. I mean, why not. Both our neighbors had seen me up close and personal, so what’s the harm if they see me in the back yard?

“Hey, Mom,” I said as I sat down. “Where’s the pest and her side kick? I expected since this is the last day, they’d be sure to exercise their option to insist I wear something fancy for my last full day as their fashion slave.”

“Karen said something about her and Susie meeting some other girls at the mall to hang out and then they were going to take in a matinee. Since Susie gave you all those dresses, she’s not really taken much of an interest in exactly what you wear. She told me that as long as it was a skirt or a dress and all that goes with it, it doesn’t matter. I guess hanging out with her friends is more fun than tormenting her brother when he’s not responding.”

I grinned. “Well at least that much of our plan is working. I wonder if she and Susie will give in and dress more like real girls after all this.”

“I don’t know. But I want to tell how proud I am of you for the way you’ve comported through all this. By simply submitting and trying your best to comply with the terms of the bet, you’ve taken the wind out of their sails and carried yourself with dignity through it all. In reality, you have the ability to be a better daughter than Karen has ever been. Don’t get me wrong. She’s a good kid and never really gives me any grief, but when a mother thinks of having a daughter, she thinks of doing the things you and I have this last week. I only wish I could take you shopping and have you show the same enthusiasm for it that you do for cooking. That would make it complete.”

I chuckled. “I think that if you and I went shopping and you bought me a dress or a skirt, Dad would think I’d gone completely around the bend. He’d be putting me in touch with Mr. Crenshaw’s granddaughter so we could compare notes.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think your dad would be OK with a son who had a strong feminine side.”

I looked at her in disbelief. “So you’re saying that I could cross-dress after this is all over and he’d be OK with it?” I’d done some web surfing and found out there were men who did just that. Cross-dressed and yet stayed men, unlike Bruce/Caitlin Jenner, and wore women’s clothes when the mood struck them.

“I’m sure it would come to a shock, since you’ve never shown an interest in such things before, but after his rational mind wrapped itself around that and he remembered that you are blood of his blood and bone of his bone, he’d love you just the same and be OK with it.”

“Well I don’t see that happening.”

Mom smiled. “Well, when this is all over, I, for one, will miss Fran. You can’t blame me for wanting more of the daughter I’ve always wanted Karen to be.”

“So where is Dad?”

“He decided to work today, to get up to speed on his new position.”

“So it’s just you and me today then?”

“Yeah,” mom smiled and continued, “my last chance for some mother daughter time with my favorite daughter.”

I finished my breakfast and took my dishes inside. I got out mom’s recipe box to see what I could fix for dinner. Mom came in and saw what I was doing.

“You know, since we don’t know just when everyone will be home for dinner, why don’t we do some stew in the crockpot. We can put in this morning, on high for a couple of hour and then turn it down to low and let it simmer all day. That way when your dad and Karen come in they can just dish up a bowlful and eat.”

“Can we do that?”

“Sure.”

She opened drawer and got out small booklet and showed me the cover. “Slow Cooker Recipes for busy families,” it read. After thumbing through it, she opened it to a page with a stew recipe.

“We got this just after we got married and before our first microwave. We got a crockpot for a wedding gift. I don’t use it much, since I don’t work anymore, but these are tried and true recipes and your dad and I really liked this stew. We’ll have to double the recipe, because this book was written for newly married couples and the servings aren’t all that large.”

She got out some stew beef and did the microwave trick to thaw it and after separating it, she even cooked it a bit on half power. After that, she had me cut up some celery.”

“We’ll cheat a little bit and use some canned vegies.”

I was surprised at just how quickly the whole thing went together. She used beef stock for the liquid and by the end we had a crockpot full of stew that just needed to cook. When we were through it was just after 9:30.

“That’s all there is to dinner?”

“Yep, when we were newlyweds, I’d get it all together the night before and put the crock in the fridge. First thing in the morning, I’d put it back in the base and crank it up on high while we got ready for work and then just before leaving, turn it down to low. It was great to come home to the smell of stew that only needed dishing up.”

I went outside with my book to find out what Bilbo was up to now he’d escaped Gollum. I read a bit, but Mom’s words kept jumping into my head.

“When this is all over, I, for one, will miss Fran,” and “I only wish I could take you shopping and have you show the same enthusiasm for it that you do for cooking. That would make it complete.”

Mom had been great this past week. While she did help the girls in the beginning, she did show me how to beat them at their own game. I was closer to her now than I had ever been. She made this whole ordeal seem like an adventure of some kind. I thought about all the outfits I’d worn this last week and I couldn’t see where Karen and Susie had any complaints about wearing dresses and skirts. They were comfortable, and on hot days they were cool and they were sure a lot more stylish than any of the boys’ clothes I’d worn. I mean, just what kind of fashion statement can you make with jeans or cutoffs? Your only choice was the kind of shirt you wore with it. You know some bands’ concert shirt or some souvenir of a neat place you went to for vacation. The only good thing was I didn’t have worry about coordinating an outfit. Anything goes with jeans and tennis shoes. If I was a girl, I’d sure wear dresses and skirts at least half the time.

No doubt about it I was lucky to have my mom as a mom. With all she’d done to help this last week I wished there was something I could do the let her know just how much I appreciated her. “…take you shopping and have you show the same enthusiasm for it that you do for cooking. That would make it complete.”

I couldn’t believe it when it went into the family room where mom was watching a game show and asked, “Mom, I’ve heard that women sometimes go shopping and don’t buy anything, is that true?”

“Well yeah, when we have time and we just want to get out of the house, we go to the mall and trawl the stores, just to see what’s available. Why do you ask?”

“Well, I really appreciate how much you’ve helped me this last week while I was paying for my stupidity and I got to thinking about what you said.” She raised her eyebrows in question. “Ah… I … ah… you said that if you could take me shopping that it would me it complete, you enjoyment of me being your daughter for the week, I think you meant.”

“Well, yes, I think I’d really enjoy that. Is this conversation going somewhere?”

“I… ah… I want to do something nice for you. I don’t want you to buy me anything but we could go to that same mall where we bought my shoes and you know, do the mother daughter shopping thing. … for a little while. You know while Dad and Karen are gone. But we couldn’t tell them about it ever. OK.”

She got up, wrapped her arms around me and gave me hug like I hadn’t had in years. When she pulled back her eyes were glistening. “Oh Fran, I couldn’t ask you to do that. That was just wishful thinking.”

“You’re not asking, I’m offering. I mean, you showed me that wearing these clothes didn’t have to be torture. I mostly forgot what I was wearing and, well, sometimes it was kind of nice.” I said, looking down.

“You want to do this for me?” I nodded. “Really?”

I kept looking down and shook my head yes. “Mom you do so much for all of us and we kind of take it for granted. You very seldom say what you’d like us to do for you. And well you want to take your daughter shopping and spend a day out with her. Karen won’t do that and after this week, I’ll be your son again.” I looked up at her and continued, “I’ve been out and nobody noticed I wasn’t really a girl, so it’s no big thing for me and I want to do something nice for you. If we can just make sure that Karen or Susie doesn’t find out, I can do it. Heck, now that I’m comfortable in these clothes, I think I’d even enjoy it.”

“OK, temporary daughter of mine. Let me do a little tasteful make-up on you like I did for that dinner at Ruth Chris and slip into something nice and we’ll hit the mall for a couple of hours.”

I was surprised at just how calm I was walking into the mall. Mom and I wandered in and out of every ladies wear shop we came to. We looked at all kinds of things. Mom tried on some outfits and modeled them for me. More than once a sales clerk asked if there was something I’d like to try on and I told them that I was just there to keep Mom company while she shopped.

A little after noon, Mom insisted that we get some lunch. I was thinking food court, only Mom took me to The Cheese Factory instead. I had lunch in keeping with my girl persona. Mom suggested a Cobb Salad. It was mostly greens, but had egg, cheese and bacon. It was really good. So good, in fact, I might just order it again sometime.

After lunch we went back to the mall. I was getting into this mother-daughter shopping thing. I helped paw through the racks to find dresses for mom to try on. In one shop I was showing Mom a really nice dress. It was a conservative cut dress; fitted on top with a full skirt that would be about knee length. It was a soft blue with navy and red print. I thought it would look classy on mom. As she was considering it, a sales clerk who had greeted us when we came, showed up with the identical dress in a small size.

“I’ve been watching you two and I can see that you have a very special mother-daughter relationship. I think you two would look darling in mother-daughter outfits.”

Mom looked at me with a gleam in her eye. “I know you said that you didn’t want me to buy you anything, but I’d love to see how we look together in these,” she said quietly. I could tell she really wanted it. Oh what the hey… I nodded and the sales clerk showed us to the fitting rooms. Mom took one and I took the other. Mom and I both needed help with the zipper, so we met in the hallway and zipped each other up. Out we went to that big three-way mirror that all stores seem to have. We each took a turn looking at ourselves and then squeezed in together for a mother-daughter look. It didn’t work really well. The sales clerk helpfully suggested that if we had a smart phone she could take our picture and then we could really see how we looked. I nearly panicked. Up to now, there was no recorded evidence of my time in skirts. I looked at Mom as she fished her phone out of her purse. I could see by the look in her eye that she really wanted the photo. So, when prompted, I smiled. Not once, but three times in different poses. The one we both liked was with me in front of Mom, a little off to the side with Mom’s arm over my shoulder.

As we went back to change, Mom stopped me as I came out of the fitting room door. “Sweetheart, forgive me, but I have to buy these dresses, even if you never wear yours again, I just have to buy them.” The look in her eye was pleading as if she was asking my permission. I had to go along with it. It would be the only time she could buy this daughter a dress. I nodded and fought back tears as I went out to and pretended to look through the racks again.

We got home about four in the afternoon. Mom carried her bag, so I opened the door. I found out what she meant by coming home to the smell of stew simmering. It was like walking into heaven. We went straight to the kitchen and dished up a couple of small dishes of the stew and ate them. It was only about three spoonfuls each, but oh God it was good.

“We better not eat any more,” Mom told me. “Your dad just might make it home for dinner and we’d better put these dresses away.” She nodded her head in the direction of the stairs; a clear indication I should follow. We went to her room and she took the dresses out of the bag, pushed everything to one side in her closet. She hung my dress in the closet against the wall. Oh my God. My dress; I have a ‘my dress’. Not ‘the dress’ or ‘Karen’s dress’ or ‘Susie's dress’, but ‘my dress’. Mom hung her dress in front of it, covering it and then pushed her other clothes back over, effectively hiding them. It made me sad to think that I had a dress and would probably never see it again, let alone wear it.

Mom turned and saw my wistful look. “I know what you’re thinking honey. But you know there will be times when it’ll be just you and me around the house, and until you outgrow it, we can put them on for a few hours and be mother and daughter again.” It was easy to hear the wistful, hopeful tone in her voice. I just nodded and headed for my room.

I lay back on my bed, book in hand intending to find out if Bilbo would be able to find a way into Smaug’s den but my mind kept wandering. ‘All who wander are not lost’. Isn’t that what Gandalf said? That may be true, but I was lost, lost in thought; torn in two different directions. On the one hand, I wanted to be sure that no one but Mom knew about our mother-daughter dresses. On the other I wanted to wear it and go places with my mother, to let everyone who saw us know that I so respected my mother that I wanted to be just like her. Oh crap, how can I be like my mother, I’m a boy… OK, OK, so I look good as a girl, but I’m a boy and can’t go around dressed in matching dresses with my mother.

I still hadn’t turned a page in my book when Mom called me down. “Set the table, will you dear? Your father just called. He’s on his way home. We’ll eat with him. I talked to Susie's mom and she said that Susie called a while ago and told her that she and Karen were going over to Angela’s and would, and I quote, ‘pig out on pizza’ so she won’t want any stew when she get home later.”

Dad was home about fifteen minutes later and we sat down as an abbreviated family for dinner. “So,” Dad wanted to know, “what did you two get up to today, while Karen and I were out having fun?” I’m sure his “having fun” was tongue in cheek for his part anyway.

“Well, Fran’s week with us is drawing to a close. Since this is her last full day with us we took advantage of the time for a little mother-daughter bonding.”

Dad looked at Mom like she was crazy, and I’m not so sure she wasn’t. But then, if she’s crazy then so am I, because I was right there bonding with her.

“Mother-daughter bonding?”

“You know. Karen’s not exactly my clone. I think she takes after you more than me, whereas since Fran has been on the scene, I’ve discovered a kindred spirit in her. I doubt that that spirit will be in evidence when it’s Frank again. So we just did mother-daughter things.”

“I’m not sure I want to know just what those things were.”

“You probably don’t. Just know that Fran, whether son or daughter gave me a wonderful day that couldn’t have happen if it had been Frank here instead.”

I think Dad was in a hurry to change the subject and I was grateful. Though he didn’t change it much. “I imagine you’re pretty anxious to get this last day over and done with, aren’t you son? Come noon tomorrow, you can put this whole thing behind you.”

Son? I don’t feel much like a son today. “Yeah, I guess.”

“You guess?”

I shrugged. “I’ve really gotten pretty used to the clothes, wearing them 24/7 and all. But I suppose it will be good to get things back to normal.”

Thinking about it, Dad must have gotten pretty used to me being Fran. He didn’t seem to notice that I was wearing make-up and in truth, I had totally forgotten about it as well, that is until I cleared the table and saw the lipstick mark on my glass. It was pretty faint, but there just the same. I suppose most of it had come off when I ate that little bit of stew when we came home. But when I checked the mirror in the bathroom, the mascara and blush were still noticeable. But like you do with most girls, I think he just looked past it.

After dinner, I went back to my room to read again. Actually I think I wanted to put off thinking about Sunday and putting Fran away. I gazed at my open closet door. Whatever am I going to do with all those clothes that Susie gave me? My closet was brimming with feminine finery. For that matter, my underwear drawer had become a lingerie drawer. Karen had put four bras in there, informing me not to bother to give them back because she was two cup sizes larger now.

Sunday morning dawned bright and early. I usually slept in, but I awoke with the robins and couldn’t go back to sleep. I decided that I was going to make a final statement about just how easy and comfortable being girlie was. I put on the frilliest panties and bra that I had, topped with a full slip and the dress I chose was a flirty caramel sleeveless, scoop neck with a knee length full skirt and I wore those sandals that mom bought when we had that dinner to go to. It was the first time I’d worn them since I came home from the store. I reasoned that they were expensive and I needed to get some use out of them. I was struck again with how comfortable they were and easy to walk in to spite the heel. I stopped by the bathroom and found Mom’s lip gloss and smoothed some on, adding just a hint of color and shine to my lips.

I was in the kitchen wearing that penny apron thing and chopping ham when mom showed up with a puzzled look. I stopped what I was doing and poured her a cup of coffee.

“Morning, Mom,” I said as I handed it to her.

“Morning. What are you doing up so early.”

“I don’t know I woke up when the birds started singing outside. I was wide awake and there was no way I could go back to sleep. So after spending an hour looking at the ceiling, I decided to get up and get dressed. Then when I came down stairs I figured I could make breakfast. I’m doing ham and scrambled eggs. I’ve seen you do it often enough that I could figure it out without a recipe.”

Mom sat and said, “Carry on… don’t let me stop you.”

I smiled and went back to chopping ham. By the time I was done the pan was hot. I poured in the eggs and let them start to cook a little before I stirred them with a fork. I knew from watching Mom that it was a matter of keeping the cooked portion off the bottom so the uncooked part could come in contact with the pan. When there was very little left that was liquid, I dumped in the diced ham and stirred it through. I turned down the heat and put a lid over it, so it would just keep warm. I knew that when Mom did it that was the way she left it so everyone could just help themselves when they wanted to eat.

I made four slices of toast and buttered them. Then I put four more pieces of bread in the toaster to wait for Dad and Karen to show; before putting them down and dished up two plates for Mom and I and took them to the table. I warmed up my coffee and sat down to eat.

“You’ve become quite the domestic. It’s good to know that if I became bedridden, that there’s someone in family that can put a meal together from scratch.”

“Like that’ll ever happen. On the plus side for me, I won’t starve when I’m on my own.”

“All in all, I’d say that this last week has been a positive experience for you. You’ve gotten a peek into the woman’s world that few men or boys ever get. You’ve discovered you have a talent for cooking, and come Monday, you’ll know how do your own laundry, when the time comes.

“And, unless I miss my guess, it wasn’t all unpleasant.”

“I’m not so sure about that last part. It wasn’t terrible, but there were time when I was uncomfortable.”

“Well anyway, I’m proud of you. You comported yourself with dignity through it all and you met every challenge with style. I think you’ve proven your point, that there’s no reason for the girls to avoid all the things you said they should embrace. Though I must tell you that in the beginning, I was rooting for the girls. You displayed a pretty sexist attitude. When they brought you back down in that dress, I thought that it was fair play, but as I thought about it, the permanent was over the top. As the day progressed I saw my son behaving in a way a boy of lesser character would never have.

“You know you could have raised more of a stink and refused to do anything to accommodate them and simply worn the clothes and sat in your room all day. But you didn’t you still participated in the family and you even became more productive.

“Then there’s the way you handled the babysitting challenge. I called Mrs. Johansen to see how you did. She couldn’t say enough good things about you. You really went over the top fixing dinner for her. That just blew her away.”

By that time I was blushing. Just then Dad came in and got himself a cup of coffee. I jumped up and put one side of the toaster down.

“Ah, scrambled eggs and ham. Thanks, hon I’ve got to head down to the hardware store and pick up some thing. Then I’m heading over to my brother’s to help him with repairing that deck before it gets dangerous.”

“Don’t thank me. Fran’s the breakfast chef today.”

“Fran? You fixed breakfast.”

I shrugged. “Yeah. I woke up early and couldn’t get back to sleep so I came down and fixed something simple.”

“Simple would have been to put on a pot of oatmeal,” Dad said. “Anyway no matter who fixed it I appreciate it. I’ve got a busy day and heading out on just a bowl of cereal and coffee wouldn’t have been as good as this. Thanks.”

I rinsed off our dishes and put them in the dishwasher while Dad sat to chow down. Then I brought the pot over to refresh mom’s coffee and refilled mine.

Karen came dragging in as Dad was heading out. “Scrambled eggs and ham?” she questioned. I figured maybe oatmeal when I smelled the toast. What got into you mom? That’s a lot of work for a Sunday morning.”

“Not me, Fran.”

Karen harrumphed and dished up. She made a face when she got the dregs of the pot for coffee. I got up to make more coffee as she ate. When I sat down, Karen looked at me and shook her head.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re no fun.”

I shook my head not understanding.

“When Susie told me what she had in mind and how she’d win the bet to make it happen, I thought we’d have a great week with you whining and complaining about all the girly outfits we’d put you in. But after lunch on Sunday, it was as if you flipped a switch and became the poster girl for girly-girl magazine. Nothing fazed you. God, you even went over and babysat that toddler all day and even cooked dinner for them.

“It’s like you were trying to show up real girls or something.”

Mom nearly spit up her coffee and I couldn’t keep from smirking. I had to take a deep breath to keep from crowing. I decided to rub it in a little. “Well, I just decided that since you and Susie have something against acting like girls and you seemed to be set on showing me how terrible it was; I figured that I would go for it and find out just how terrible it was. But it wasn’t terrible at all. Actually wearing a dress or a skirt is actually comfortable and I can’t see what you have against it. Well ok, you do need to watch how you sit and learn to stoop over instead of bend, but that’s no big deal. And I learned that I like cooking. What wrong with that? Most of the famous chefs are men.

“As far as I’m concerned you have no excuse not to be more girly. If I, a mere boy, can do it, then there’s no reason a ‘real’ girl can’t. You are a ‘real’ girl aren’t you?”

I thought Mom was going to draw blood, the way she was biting her lip. Karen didn’t say any more, just wolfed down the rest of her breakfast; put her plate in the sink. “I’m going over to Susie's” she announced and was out the door in a flash.

Mom burst out laughing as the door slammed. “Fran, my child, that was classic. You’re going to get a lot of mileage out of that, ‘If I, a mere boy,’ line. I’ll bet she’s over there right now telling Susie just how badly this all turned out for them. You really did beat them at their own game.”

“Well, I’m not through yet,” I said as my mind crackled with a new idea. “I’ve got one more card to play.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

“OK, but the girls can’t know about it until I play it.”

“What have you got in mind?”

“When is my week up?”

“Today.”

“What time today?”

“Well, it was noon when your dad headed out for his golf game, so I guess, by the terms of the bet you could put your own clothes on at noon. What’s the exact time got to do with it?”

“I meant it when I said that wearing a dress is comfortable and I’ve kind of gotten used to it. So, I think I might just think it’s too much trouble to change clothes in the middle of the day. I’ll stay dressed like this until I go to bed.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

I was making egg salad when Karen came home about 1:00. She went out and sat on the patio. When I finished the sandwiches, I took one out to her with a diet coke, her drink of choice. She just looked up when I put it on the table. There was a strange look in her eye. She didn’t say anything or even pick up the sandwich. I decided not to make a big deal out of the lack of a thank you and went back inside.

My mother had just come into the kitchen as I came in. “I think Karen wants to be left alone,” I told her. Mom nodded and we sat at the kitchen table for lunch. The rest of the afternoon, I went about my normal activities and kept myself busy. About three, I started dinner. I got real adventurous and tried my hand at fried chicken. Of course I put on that “penny” apron. In truth, I kind of liked the way it wrapped around me, kind of like getting a hug. For dessert I made chocolate cream pie. Mom told me that if I used powdered sugar when I made the whipped cream it would hold up for us to finish off the pie at a later date.

When Dad came in from his ramblings of the day he seemed a bit surprised to see me setting the table for dinner still in girl’s clothes. He looked me up and down.

“Hey son, you know that your week was up at noon today. I’d have thought you’d have been chomping at the bit to get back into your regular clothes.”

I looked out the window to see Karen still sitting there with her book. I knew she could hear us because the window was open. She was trying to act as if she couldn’t, but I did notice she seemed to freeze in place, mid page turn, when Dad asked his question. I smiled to myself. Here it comes, I thought.

“Oh yeah. I thought of that, but decided that there was no sense changing clothes in the middle of the day. What I’ve got on is comfortable, and actually, given the heat today, it’s cooler that my usual jeans and T-shirt and besides, I’ve not really worn these sandals that Mom bought me. I really should get some use out of them, don’t you think?”

Dad chuckled and said, “Well, what you wear is your business now. Frankly, I’ve kind of gotten used to you in skirts.” He winked at me and nodded toward Karen who still hadn’t moved since the conversation started. I got it. Mom had clued him in on my coup de grâce. “Well, those are some nice shoes, alright. Is one wearing going to suffice or do you plan to wear them again sometime?”

I smiled and turned me back in case Karen decided to look in. “I don’t know, if I did, I think they’d look funny if I didn’t wear a dress or a skirt.”

“You have a point son,” Dad said trying unsuccessfully to stifle a grin of his own. “Susie did give you all those clothes, so you’d have plenty to choose from.”

Facing away from the window so Karen wouldn’t see the expression on my face, I caught sight of Mom in the hallway eavesdropping herself. She too was grinning broadly. Obviously she’d put Dad up to this. It felt good to have both parents on my side. When this all started it seemed to me that they were supporting Karen and Susie with no consideration for me. But following Mom’s advice to out girl Susie and Karen and doing it so well, seemed to bring them back to supporting me.

“I do, don’t I?” I observed.

“Well son, do whatever makes you happy,” Dad said, clapping me on the shoulder before turning to leave the room. I saw his shoulders convulsing as he held a hand to his mouth silently laughing.

Karen got up and came in giving me a look I couldn’t read and marched right upstairs. “Dinner in twenty minutes,” I called after her.

That night as I got ready for bed, I was on autopilot. In the bathroom, I brushed out my hair, brushed my teeth and checked my face to see if I had any zits popping up. Back in my room, I carefully hung the dress, which I had meticulously kept clean, back in my closet and grabbed a nightgown off the hook on the back of the door, and went straight to bed.

When I woke in the morning, I wasn’t with it that much better. After relieving myself, I got dressed. When I reached for clean underwear, I had a pair of panties in hand and was about to put them on when I realized that I should be wearing boy’s clothes, including underwear.

Fully dressed, I felt strange. I hadn’t worn pants of any kind for a week. Everything just felt off. I went back to the bathroom and tried to do something with my hair to make it look less girlie, to no avail. Frustrated, I went in search of mom.

I found her in the kitchen checking the contents of the freezer. “Hi Fran… Frank, she said. “Sorry, just a week and I got used to calling you Fran.”

“Yeah, well with the hairdo that I ended up with I still look a lot like Fran. I really don’t want to cut it. Is there anything I can do to take away the girlie look? Some really big rollers or something?”

She studied my hair for a moment. “There may be something we can do. Give me a moment. I’m deciding on tomorrow’s dinner.”

She took a package of meat out and put it in the fridge. “Come on,” she said, with a nod of her head.

I followed her up to her room, where she went into the bathroom and rummaged through the drawers and came out with a spray thingy of Aussie styling mousse.

“Take your shirt off,” she told me. She then pulled back the shower curtain and took their hand-held shower head off the mount and turned on the water. “Lean in here.” She proceeded to wet my hair with some really warm water; then wrapped it in a towel. From a bottom drawer, she produced a blow dryer. After plugging it in, she had me stand in front of the mirror, instructing me to watch what she was doing. Using a brush to pull my hair out straight, she used the dryer to dry it like that.

“This isn’t too good for your hair, but it will straighten it some,” she told me. She worked it for about fifteen minutes. OK, maybe not that long, but it seemed even longer. When she decided she’d cooked my brain long enough (I’m not sure, but I think it was worse than the hot rollers) she then brushed it for another… OK, I’ll not say fifteen minutes, but it was a long time too. After that she squirted some of the mousse stuff in her hand and rubbed it all through my hair. Then she got out a comb and spent some time combing it. She parted it on the left side, combed most of it back, except the top; that she combed over to the right and lifted the front up and a little to the back. When she got through, the end result was a masculine wave on a hairdo that wasn’t exactly masculine or feminine. I guess the word I’m looking for, and I had to look this up, is androgynous. All in all, it was a whole lot better than the girly thing my hair did by itself.

“How’s that?” my mother asked.

“A lot better, but it looks funny.”

“Well, it’s the best I can do. It’ll be fine. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a girl with hair done like that and with the wave in front, it has a boyish look. It’s kind of modified mullet. You know Rod Stewart, David Bowie and Paul McCartney all wore their hair in a mullet.”

I’d kind of heard of them, they were old time rock singers, but I don’t think I’d ever listened to any of their music. I mean they were popular last century, like before I was born.

“But Mom, those guys are ancient. They’re old time rock. I don’t think any of my friends ever listened to their music.”

“Still, they were considered manly men. So your hairdo is OK for a boy, if just a little outdated. If anyone asks, just say that you saw a picture of one of them and thought you’d go retro since you had the hair for it.”

“OK, whatever. Thanks, I guess I can live with this,” I told her, surveying my hair in the mirror.

I started to put my t-shirt back on and Mom stopped me. “Oh, I should have thought of that. If you put your t-shirt on, you’ll muss your hairdo. You should put on a button up shirt.”

“Mom… a button up shirt? This is summer time. If I put on a button up shirt, it’ll be way too dressy. The only button up shirts I have that aren’t super dressy are flannel shirts; they’d be too warm. I really wanted to get casual today; after a week being dressed up… you know Fran never dressed down.”

Mom laughed at my pointing out, “Fran never dressed down,” but it was true. Even the everyday dresses were not really casual clothes. I guess that’s the point that Susie and Karen were making that skirts and dresses are dressed up clothes, but they could wear them some times, couldn’t they?

Mom took my t-shirt and studied it a bit than looked at me. “I got an idea. Maybe there is a way you can wear a t-shirt. She went to her closet and took a t-shirt that was nearly the same color as mine off a hanger. Now I ask you, who hangs up t-shirts. Mine just get tossed in a drawer.

“This t-shirt has a larger neckline than yours. If I help you put it on to keep it away from your hair, I think we can manage to spare the do,” she said.

She stretched out the neckline and I leaned my head into it. She kind of let it rub my face as she pulled the back away from my hair. When it dropped over my chin, she reached in and flipped my hair out from under the neck.

“OK, take the hair dryer and the mousse. You’ll need to wash your hair and dry it every day just the way I did today and then put the mousse in it and style it. Washing it every day will help relax the curls and maybe, if you’re lucky, it’ll be good enough for school come September.”

As I put the stuff in the family bathroom, I looked at myself in mirror and studied Mom’s t-shirt. At first glance, it didn’t look a lot different than one of mine. I remembered that she sometimes wore t-shirts and shorts when we went on vacation. I was glad she picked this one, some of hers have designs on them that sure wouldn’t do for a boy. The fit was a little looser than mine, but not enough so it showed in the way it hung on me. She said it had a larger neckline and looking at it, just to check that out, I could see it. But I don’t think anyone who wasn’t looking for it would notice. I touched the neck. I was looser, more comfortable than mine. I wonder if Mom could get me some more like this?

Now if only my underwear didn’t seem so strange. It wasn’t just strange, the leg openings seemed bind and the waist band just plain felt weird. I don’t ever remember noticing the waist band or the leg openings before. The combined effect was to make them seem uncomfortable. Not grossly so, but just annoying. Oh well, I guess I’ll get used to it, just like I did the panties.

After I ate breakfast, I went back out to see if I could manage another chapter in my book. I really wanted to learn the fate of the inhabitants of Lake-Town. Smaug was in the process of strafing Lake-Town when Karen and Susie showed up in the kitchen. I really didn’t pay too much attention, until they came out on the patio with their cans of soda.

“Well,” said Susie, in an overly loud voice to Karen, “at least the last week got Frank to do something with his hair besides letting it hang any old way it wants to.”

I looked up, perturbed with the interruption of my reading. “I kind of have to, thanks to you guys giving me a permanent. What were you thinking? I might have to shave my head before I go back to school.”

“That would be an improvement to what it was when you went back to school last year,” Karen opined.

“Yeah, well maybe you'd like to have your head shaved,” I rebutted.

“Hey, let’s not argue,” Mom insisted as she stepped out of the kitchen. “You girls need to cut him some slack. He fulfilled his obligations to the bet much better than anyone had a right to expect and he did it with dignity.” She stopped and eyed the two of them. “You were out of line giving him a perm. That was way beyond the scope of the bet. He endured it and showed you that what he wanted from you, should you have lost, wasn’t unreasonable. So you can be gracious,” she continued. I thought I was skating free as she lambasted those two. “And Frank, you need to chill too.” Her rebuke of me was a lot less stringent than theirs.

“Sorry Mom,” Karen said, “you’re right. A perm was over the top, but you do have to admit his hair looks a lot better now than it did before.”

“True, but now he has little choice but to style it every day. You and Susie just have to brush yours out every morning. I’m sure that Frank wouldn’t have even thought of a perm for you guys, much less even had any idea of how to do one.”

Susie decided to be big about it after the chiding. She didn’t want to be on the outs with Mom, Karen was her only friend in the neighborhood and if Mom decided to ban her, she’d have no one to hang out with.

“OK, Frank, you did prove your point. It’s possible for anyone to be girly. I’m sure that Karen and I could manage it too. It’s just I don’t see the advantage. I’ve always been a tomboy. My mother thinks I’ll grow out of it one day. Maybe I will, but maybe not. Some women grow up and still don’t do the girly thing.”

I couldn’t resist. “I don’t know what the big fuss is. Being girly is easy, so easy, even I, a boy, can do it.” Then I decided to soften it a bit. “Look, you don’t have to go all girly, all the time. Just once in a while, when the occasion calls for it. That and maybe add a little girly touch to your tomboy image. I understand that pants are practical for a lot of things you might want to do, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t as a splash of color to your shirts.” I got really brave. “Susie, you’re a good looking girl and you could dress to allow the world to see it and you don’t have to go all frou-frou to do it. That’s all I was saying before this all got started.”

Susie looked thoughtful. “I’m not sure I’m comfortable with being a ‘good looking girl’. I really just want to be average… to blend in.”

I began to get it. Outwardly, she was tough… a type A personality, but inwardly she was a bit shy and unsure of herself. I’d heard the phrase “teenage angst.” I guess Susie was living it.

I nodded. “OK, I’ll cut you some slack. But I’d still like to see what you look like all done up like a girly girl. Maybe for Halloween, next year you can do it for a costume,” I joked.

She smirked. “That’s what it’d be, a costume, ’cause it’s definitely not me.”

I stood up and extended my hand. “Friends?”

“You want to be friends with me? You know it was my idea for the perm and if you’d resisted more, I’d have made your life a living hell.” She harrumphed. “Instead, you took the ball and ran with it, and embraced the girly girl image and took all the fun out of it.”

“Dad pointed out I was dumb to take your bet to start with. He said he knew from the beginning I’d lose, that you had something you were sure of and that if I’d been half smart, I’d have figured it out and turned down the bet. So, in a way, I deserved to get caught up in whatever dastardly scheme you cooked up. Though neither he, nor I, saw the perm as part of the deal. But even with that, I’d like to be friends,” I told her and put my hand out again.

She smiled and took it. “OK, friends. Actually, I kind of liked Fran, she was really easy going and could take a joke. If you could be a little more like Fran, we might just become good friends.” She grinned and her eyes twinkled and I kind of remembered that I started all this because Susie is an attractive girl and I like the mischievousness in her personality. “I’ll tell you what, since you’re so good at it, anytime you wear a dress and get all girly, I will too.”

“Yeah, right. Like that’s going to happen.”

Karen giggled.

“What about you Karen? You got in on the bet, won’t you promise the same? If Frank here goes all Fran on us won’t you get girly too?”

Karen’s giggle became a full blown laugh. She struggled, but did get out, “Oh sure, Fran needs girlfriends to hang out with. Count me in when she comes to visit again.” She could hardly talk for laughing. It was contagious and soon Susie and I were laughing too.

I decided I needed a Dr. Pepper and headed into the kitchen. Walking into the kitchen, I was taken with how underwear just didn’t seem to fit right. They seemed to chafe as I moved, like they didn’t give where they should. I’d never really noticed that about them before. I contemplated it as I leaned against the counter sipping my Dr. Pepper. Until I lost that bet, and had worn panties for underwear, I never really paid any attention to my underwear. For the first couple of days, while Susie and Karen were harassing me, I noticed the panties. What I noticed was the softness and the hugging comfort of them, but then as the week wore on, I noticed them less and less until the only time I really noticed them was in the bathroom or when I was changing clothes.

Tuesday, as I got dressed, I eyed the panties in my drawer. It dawned on me that, what with Karen being over enthusiastic about buying underwear for me there were some in there that I’d never even worn. I touched them lightly with my fingertips. What am I going to do with all those panties? They’re really nice. It seems a shame to give them away. … What the H. E. double hockey sticks am I thinking!

I banished the thought and grabbed a pair of jockey shorts and got dressed. As I pulled the jockeys up to my waist, I noticed the same strange, off, feeling I had yesterday. All that morning, every time I moved, that annoying feeling was there.

That afternoon, I found Mom relaxing on the patio with a cup of coffee. “Mom,” I started, “I think there’s something wrong with my underwear.”

“Wrong? How so?”

“I don’t know, it just doesn’t feel right.”

“Are they too small?”

“No, just kind of uncomfortable, but not really. There doesn’t seem to be any give in them and they just feel weird on me.”

“When did you first notice that?”

“Yesterday when I got dressed. I thought it was just that I wasn’t used to them. I was sure that it would get better as the day went on but it didn’t. And today it’s the same thing. They just don’t feel right.”

Mom looked thoughtful for a while and then said, “You never noticed that before?”

“No, just this week.”

She nodded, “Well, then I think you should experiment and see if there’s some other kind of underwear you would like instead.”

“The only other underwear, I could wear, are the panties Karen bought me.”

Mom raised her eyebrows, tilted her head and shrugged. As if to say, “Well???”

I stewed about that the rest of the day. It was like she was suggesting that I wear panties when I didn’t have to. I’d be wearing them at my choice for no reason. What was it she said when I realized there were fifteen pair of panties in my drawer? "Some boys like wearing panties. If it turns out you do, then you're all set." Yeah, that was it. Oh God, am I going to be one of those boys?

Maybe, I could kind of taper off. You know wear panties two days and jockeys one day for a while then reverse it and then double up on the jockeys and finally slack off on the panties until I’m wearing jockeys full time.

My hands trembled as I pulled the panties on. I kept telling myself, You don’t have to do this. You can just tough out the feelings. You’ll get use to them in time. But I didn’t stop. I pulled them up to my waist and stood taking slow deep breaths. After about two minutes, I sucked my lips between my teeth and pulled on my jeans. I already had on my t-shirt, which I was noticing wasn’t as nice as the one Mom had lent me on Monday. I’d been so busy worrying about my underwear yesterday to notice. I was tempted again to see if Mom couldn’t get me some t-shirts like that one. But that, somehow, was crossing a line. I mean, I needed a shirt like that on Monday, but today… well, I was already wearing girl’s underwear when I didn’t need to, no sense in compounding the girl’s clothes issue with a shirt I didn’t need to wear.

If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. Today, my underwear felt fine, no, not fine, they felt good. But my jeans were rough and scratchy, stiff and kind of confining and they weren’t even new. With a great deal of effort, I put it out of my mind and found things to do to take my mind off what I was wearing.

For something to do, I started helping Mom around the house. It was something I did as Fran, so I kind of knew what to do. “Frank thanks for pitching in. It makes my day go easier. I wish your sister would do this some time.”

“It’s OK Mom. The truth is, I’m kind of bored today.” OK, so that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that I needed something to do so I wouldn’t fixate on what I was wearing.

“Feel free to volunteer any time.”

One of the things Mom asked me to do was bring in the mail. So I got the key off the hook and headed for the mail boxes. As I was coming back, Mrs. Johansen walked by with Christi. She looked at me and gave me the biggest smile. That kind of unnerved me. What made it worse was Christi was grinning too and she even waved at me. I stopped on our porch and watched them cross the street and stand at the bus stop for the bus into town. Wonder where she’s going?

The next day, after I had gone through my, now, morning routine of showering, and doing my hair, I got dressed much the same as I had the day before. I wished my jeans weren’t so binding. Why did I ever think tight jeans were the way to go? Some of the guys wore baggy jeans, why couldn’t I?

I let that pass and went down stairs to get some breakfast and found Mom in the kitchen. Dad had already gone off to work and Karen hadn’t budged from her bed yet.

“Hi Frank, I was just about to have some coffee. Would you like me to fix you some breakfast?”

“Ah, no thanks, I’ll just have some cereal. If we were all here for breakfast, we could do something, but cereal is good enough.” I walked over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. I’d done that when I was Fran, and I kind of liked it. I really did love my mother and, like a lot of boys my age, I had gotten out of the habit of showing it. We had really formed a bond the week before, so I was good with it. She smiled at me.

“I think I like that,” she said touching her cheek. “Are you going to make a habit of it?”

“I… well, I guess I could. You know Mom, I feel closer to you now than I did before I had to pay off that dumb bet,” I said, adding milk to my cereal.

“Well, we did kind of have a bonding experience.” She grinned mischievously. “A kind of mother-daughter bond, but I’m glad it carried over to our mother-son relationship.”

I grinned back. She was teasing, but it was a nice kind of teasing; one that I could enjoy.

“I was watching you yesterday. You seemed more at ease than you did on Tuesday and it seems to have carried over into today.”

“Yeah I am, I think.”

“So did your… discomfort thing work itself out?”

“You mean the underwear.” She nodded. I looked down at my cereal bowl. “Mom, is it really OK to be one of those boys?”

“What boys do you mean?”

“You know, like you said when I asked you about all those… those panties that Karen bought me.” She looked at me blankly. She wasn’t going to make it easy on me. “You said that some boys liked to wear panties and if I turned out to be one of them, I was all set.” She nodded and I knew she understood what I was talking about, but still she didn’t comment. “You said it like it was nothing… then Tuesday you suggested that I experiment with a different kind underwear and I told you all I had to work with were the panties.” I gave her what I’m sure was a pained look.

“You’re experimenting… with the panties, right?” I nodded with trepidation. “You want to know if it’s alright for you, as a boy, not Fran, but as a boy, to wear them.” I was almost in tears. I needed to talk to someone and like I said, Mom and I had formed a bond. I prayed that I had understood her right on Tuesday.

She sat around the corner of the table from me and took my hand. “Frank, last week, you experienced something that most boys, or men for that matter, never experience. You got a taste of the fine things that make up a woman’s life. The variety of clothes and fabric they are made of. I wondered, when I saw the direction the girls were leading the payoff for the bet, if it would affect you. Apparently it did. Now you’re worried about what that means.” She looked me in the eye and I nodded, unable to speak. “I’m here to tell you, it really means nothing. I’m guessing you prefer the panties over the jockeys you’ve worn up to last week. No big deal. It’s just clothes.”

“But Dad, won’t he be upset. I mean he was concerned about me doing feminine moves, you know, like sweeping my skirt under me when I sat.”

“It just came as shock that you did it so easily and smoothly in such a short time. He and I talked that night after you went to bed and we put to rest any concerns we had about just what would be the outcome of this bet. We, jointly, decided that whatever the outcome, you are our child and we love you and we want you to be happy. If you feel better wearing panties; then wear them. It probably wouldn’t do to announce to your friends from school that you like wearing panties, but for us, your family; you just do what feels good, OK?”

I stood and threw my arms around her neck and we hugged. When we were through, I kissed her cheek again.

She smiled as I sat down. “Love you,” she said standing and retrieving her coffee.

Friday, I had every intention of wearing my jockeys again, but in the end, I put on the panties. I stood before my dresser for a moment, second guessing my decision and then I remembered Mom’s words. “If you feel better wearing panties; then wear them.” I did feel better. I fingered my t-shirt and wondered if I asked Mom to get me some like hers with the softer material and looser neck line if that’d be too much. But I let the thought go, finished dressing and went down for breakfast. I decided to help Mom around the house that day and spent most of my time dusting that morning and I even made lunch for us. Mom suggested that I take the afternoon off since there really wasn’t that much to do.

About, 2:00 the phone rang. I looked in the kitchen and Mom was talking to someone. I went back to my book and a few minutes later, Mom announced, “I’m going over to Mrs. Johansen’s. She wants to talk to me about something.”

The phone rang about fifteen minutes later. I answered and it was Mom.

“Frank, could you come over here for a minute?” I was worried.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, wracking my brain to think of anything I may have done or said when I was watching Christi that could have gotten Mrs. Johansen upset.

“No, Mrs. Johansen has a favor to ask you and I told her she’d better ask you herself. I just couldn’t make the decision for you. I’m going to leave it up to you. If you want to do it you can, and if you don’t then she’ll just have to understand. Just come over, she’ll meet you on the porch.”

“OK, I’ll be right there.”

“Hi Frank, thanks for coming.” Mrs. Johansen looked nervous. I waited for her to continue. “I got the job I applied for. They want me to start Monday. I told Christi that I’d have to be gone during the day for work and she’d have to have a sitter.” My brain began to spin. As Frank, I shouldn’t know anything about a job or even know Christi’s name. “I asked her if she’d be OK with it. She wanted to know if Fran would be the babysitter. When I told her that Fran went home and couldn’t’ she insisted that Fran could come back and sit for her. I spent all day yesterday trying to tell her that I could get another sitter. She threw a fit and cried. This morning she just sat in the corner and didn’t want any breakfast. I’m desperate. I need the job so we don’t lose the house. It would only be through August. Jim’s company is expanding down here and he managed a transfer to this site, only it won’t take place until the end of August.

“Christi really wants Fran to sit for her. I’m afraid that if Fran can’t do it, it will traumatize her.”

“I don’t know what I can do. Fran’s gone back home and…”

“Frank, I know that Fran was you. I knew it the day you were taking the dresses home from Susie's. Look, I don’t care if you just like dressing up like a girl or if you’re a girl trapped in a boy’s body, I just needed a sitter and Christi took to you as Fran. I still need a sitter for the summer. Please, if not for me, for Christi. I know from what Christi said and the way you two were with each other that you like Christi and that you enjoyed yourself sitting for her.”

“You knew?”

“Yes. You look really good as a girl and no one who didn’t know you would ever guess, but I’ve seen you around the neighborhood since before Christi was born. Like I said, I don’t care that you were born a boy. Christi doesn’t need to know, but I need Fran to babysit.”

“Can you have my mom come out here? I need to talk with her about it.”

“You’ll consider it then?”

“I’ll consider it, but there needs to be some things worked out and if I do it, I’ll need Mom’s help.”

“You know what she’s asking?”

“Yes, she wants Fran to babysit this summer. She knows that you and Fran are one and the same. She’s beside herself because Christi’s insisting on Fran.”

“You said you’d leave it up to me.”

“Yes and I will.”

“What about Dad and Karen?”

“When I explain it to him your dad will be OK with it. He knows you babysat as Fran. And as for Karen, I’ll give her what for because she instigated the scenario that caused this mess. She’ll explain it to Susie and if they want to spend any time together for the rest of the summer, she’ll see to it that Susie minds her Ps and Qs.”

“Do you really think I can pull it off?”

“I think so. You did it before. Christi’s already made up her mind that Fran is a girl and she likes Fran. Just do what you did before and she’ll continue to do it. But it’s really up to you. Mrs. Johansen will just have to understand if you don’t.”

I looked off in the distance weighing the matter. The fact was I did enjoy sitting Christi and then there’s the money. Any kid my age would like the money. Maybe I’d make enough to buy that new Samsung table I’ve got my eye on, the one with the Nook e-reader in it. I know I took a long time because Mom sat down on the porch step to wait for me.

“OK, tell her I’ll do it.”

Mom stood, gave me a hug and kissed me on the cheek. “You’re a good man, Fran,” she said. “Wait here a minute.” She let herself in the door and Mrs. Johansen came out a few minutes later and hugged me too.
“Thanks Frank. Your mother explained to me how you got hooked into being Fran for a week. You are doing me a big favor by becoming Fran five days a week for the summer. My husband will get a big bonus when he comes back. We’ll make it up to you. But you know, you’re a natural at it. If you were honest I think you’d have to admit you like it, at least to yourself.” She hugged me again.

On the way home, I began to grin. Mom looked over and asked, “OK, what’s going through your mind?”

“You remember when Susie and I made up and she shook my hand?”

“Yeah, I was right there.”

“Do you remember what she said?” Mom stopped and looked at me. “She said, ‘anytime you wear a dress and get all girly, I will too.’” It was Mom’s turn to grin.

“And Karen too; she said she do it too. Looks like you’ll get what you wanted after all. When you get girlie to sit for Christi, they’ve said they’ll do it too.”

We had a good laugh as we walked up to our porch.

So that’s how I spent my summer as Fran and how I really won the dumb bet that I lost. My only worry is that I’ve really grown accustomed to wearing dresses and skirts. Heck I found it easier just to stay in character and sleep in the nightie that Karen gave me. On the hot summer nights, it was a lot cooler than the PJs I usually wear.

Oh, I did get to see Susie and Karen dressed up a few times. Mom even took the three of us girls to a movie; one across town so we didn’t chance running into someone we knew. I found that I liked having strangers treat me like a girl and Susie and Karen got a kick out of it too. I didn’t insist on the girls getting girlie every time I put on a dress, but three or four weekends we got dressed and did some girlie things or sometimes it was just sit up in Karen’s room and do each other’s nails. Nails, one reason it was just easier to stay in character all summer.

I’m not sure just how I’m going to feel about boys’ clothes when I go back to school; especially since I’ve already decided to wear panties. Thanks to Karen, I’ve got plenty of them. But I’ll just have to learn to like it or not… anyway, there’s no way I can let my friends at school know I spent my summer as a girl babysitting a little girl, having tea parties and playing house. But they’ll sure be jealous of my Samsung tab four 10. It’s really cool.

The most disconcerting thing was after Mr. Johansen came home, I happened to run into Mrs. Johansen and Christi at the grocery store. When Christi saw me, she broke away from her mother and came to me.

“My daddy’s home again and he says he wants to take mommy out on dates so they can get to know each other. Will you be Fran again and babysit me when they go out?” she asked in the innocent way little kids have.

Well, I guess that I didn’t fool as many people as I thought I did. It turns out that mom felt it was necessary to explain to Mrs. Johansen about me, and she told mom that she was sure it was me when she saw us coming back from Susie's with all the clothes, but didn’t know about the bet until mom told her after I’d accepted the job. But she said she didn’t care; she knew me and decided that if I wanted to be a girl, that was OK with her and Christi accepted me as her babysitter.

I guess I’m not through wearing dresses and being honest with myself as Mrs. Johansen suggested, I wouldn’t have been through even without Christi’s parents needing a babysitter again. I’ve come to like hanging out with Karen and Susie, especially Susie. She’s been acting really friendly lately… to both Fran and Frank. I don’t know where that will go, but I really want to see if it’ll last through the school year. Maybe I’ll ask her out. I’ve got the money to spring for some burgers and a movie. The only question is, will she want to go with Fran, or Frank?

Full Disclosure

Ron is a twenty something cross-dresser. As he grew up he witnessed the birth of the Al Gore’s “Information Super Highway”. And was an early participant in such groups as alt.fashion.crossdress and alt.support.crossdress. From the information garnered there, he’s convinced that if he’s ever to have a successful marriage he needs to tell his intended before he proposes. He’s tried three times and each time has resulted in each of them walking, if not running away.

Is there any hope? Can an understanding wife be found?

I really thought it’d be better with Julie. She was nothing like Carol or Janet. No, ours was a mature relationship. I knew more about her than any other person I’d ever met. We were meant for each other. Unlike Carol.

Carol and I met on spring break our junior year in college. It wasn’t really supposed to be a long term relationship. The whole thing was an accidental meeting. I can’t remember how we met. I suppose that she was at one of the endless parties that go on in Fort Lauderdale on spring break.

I woke up in a strange motel room in a double bed and beside me was a very cute coed. Looking around, I saw my best bud, Mike, on the other double bed with raven haired beauty. I was the only one awake and probably wouldn’t have been if my bladder hadn’t demanded I drain it at that very moment. I didn’t know either girls’ name and I doubted if Mike did either.

I slipped out of bed and took care of business. I got back in bed quietly. Hey these girls had gone to bed with us and as far as I was concerned, I didn’t want to queer the deal. Let the good times roll. That’s why we went to the spring break capital of the United States in the first place, to get laid and I didn’t mind a repeat performance.

Imagine our surprise when we learned that Carol and Sue went to the same college we did. What’s more, Carol and I grew up in towns that were about an hour apart. What should have been a spring break fling turned in to a steady date, or maybe that should be a steady lay… whatever.

Well, I was born in the early 80’s and as I grew up, I watched the birth of the “information super highway,” as Al Gore put it. Early on, we didn’t have it in our house, but our high school was one of the first that actually had computer labs. And our local library had computers that allowed the general public to access the Internet.

I was too paranoid to do it at school, but the library was a different story. After learning how to use a search engine I got up the nerve to put in the word. I went early in the morning and was waiting as they opened the doors. Still, I was nervous. I looked around carefully as I typed. While AltaVista ground out its search I looked nervously around.

Eventually, I came up with the newsgroups alt.fashion.crossdress and alt.support.crossdress. What a find! Suddenly I was part of a community. I wasn’t the Lone Ranger. I wasn’t some weirdo with no connection to the rest of society. There were hundreds, possibly even thousands, of people, guys, just like me. These two bulletin boards allowed me to communicate with them. It was like thousands of dollars of therapy I couldn’t even ask for. I learned that sex is what’s between your legs and gender is what’s between your ears. I also learned that Christine Jorgensen wasn’t atypical. But that there were many, to many to enumerate, gender points along a continuum between masculine and feminine and it didn’t matter what your sex or even sexual preference was, your gender could be anywhere along that continuum. What a relief!

After I had my therapy, I began to ask questions about the future and I wasn’t the only one. A lot of these guys out there had been married, most still were. Most also had hidden the fact of their unusual gender from the spouse. Many had been found out and that created a very difficult situation. To make a long story short, it was the consensus of opinion, among those on the bulletin boards, that it was better to tell prior to marriage than after and it was far better to tell, than to be discovered. The advice was simple. Learn all you can, have documentation to back up what you learned and pick a time when things were calm in the relationship and present it in a calm, cool manner, much like a sales proposal.

As easy as it was to say, it still took courage to do and I was lacking in that department. Going online again, I learned that I was not alone there either, but I was still convinced to get the job done, if I ever wanted a long term relationship.

So here I was in this accidental, hopefully, long term relationship with Carol. I wanted to marry her and I wanted to do it right after we graduated college. I thought, what a perfect time and place, but on spring break. Women get all mushy when you remember minor anniversaries and tie significant events to them. I’ll tell her on spring break and then propose marriage. She’s cool, a free spirit, she’ll love the in your face aspect of having a transgendered husband.

Well, “the best laid plans of mice and men…”

It wasn’t to be. It seems that some one got a hold of a “Girls Gone Wild” video and sent it to her dad. He didn’t appreciate his daughter flashing her boobs to all and sundry.

She was through with finals and I had one more on Friday. I called her on her cell phone to find out she was at the airport waiting her flight home.

“Hey, Carol, where are you? I went by your dorm and your roommate said you’d left already.”

“My folks are ticked about last spring break and if I don’t come home and spend it there, they’re going to pull the plug and won’t pay for the last term of college.”

“Bummer, I was hoping we could talk over spring break. Maybe I could come home with you.”

“No, not a good idea. They know about you and that we met at spring break. You wouldn’t be well received.”

“Well, it’s important. It’s about our future.”

“What about it?”

“Well, I thought that since we’ve hit it off so well … well, we might…” No dummy, you know the drill she needs to be told before you ask that one. “Look, I’ve got to tell you something about me and then ask you an important question.”

“Well, go ahead.”

Suddenly not having to look her in the face while I admitted my transgendered nature seemed appealing. “I… well; I really like wearing women’s clothes. I’m not gay or anything, I just like wearing the clothes and, well I want to marry you and I thought you should know before I asked you to marry me,” I blurted in one breath.

Dead silence greeted my pronouncement. After what seemed and eternity I spoke again.

“Carol? Are you still there?”

“Ah, yeah, I’m still here. You… you like wearing women’s clothes?”

“Ah, yeah.”

“Oh, OK.”

I knew she’d be cool with it.

“Ah, look, my cell battery is about dead and I want to be able to call mom when I get home, so she can come get me. I’ll talk to you later.”

The phone went dead as she broke the connection. That was the last I heard from her. I don’t know how many messages I left her. I didn’t have her home address or phone, so that was all I could do. Come the next term, she wasn’t at school. Her friends told me that she had opted to finish school at a college closer to home.

Lesson to be learned. Don’t do it over the phone, especially when the person is going away. Looking back, a relationship that found its start in alcohol and was based on sex probably wouldn’t have lasted anyway.

Life went on; I graduated school and found my niche in business world. Then I met Janet. She was a great girl with pleasing looks and a personality that just wouldn’t quit. We had a lot in common, movies, music, literature, art and even religion. We seemed a perfect match.

This time I was fully prepared. I had invited her to dinner, cooked a scrumptious meal and had two books by Peggy Rudd and a whole list of web sites bookmarked on my computer. After dinner dishes were in the dishwasher and soft music was on the stereo I went into my spiel as I poured us an after dinner cordial.

“Janet, I think we’re approaching a time in our relationship when we kind of need to talk about just where we, as a couple, are going.”

She smile and said, “I agree. I know that what we have between us is special. I’m glad you feel the same way.”

Perfect. “It’s time that we begin to bare our souls, because if we are to continue, then we should look at a life together.” Why didn’t I want to use the word “marriage? She just smiled and waited. I think she could tell I was working up to something and she wanted to hear me say it.

“I really think that there can’t be any deep dark secrets in a good relationship and to that end, I’ve prepared myself to tell you my deepest secret so that you can properly judge if you want to continue with me.” I sounded cool and confident, but inside I was all butterflies. “What I have to tell you is often misunderstood and to help you understand, I have two books by a psychologist, a renowned author on the subject for you read after I tell you and tonight, we can look at some web sites on the Internet, if you like.”

Here she got impatient. “What is it? You make it sound like you carry some genetic defect or something.”

“Well, some think this may be genetic, but there’s no research to support that idea. But I digress.” Here I got on my knees before her and took her hands in mine. “Janet, I know you’re going have a lot of questions about this. That’s why all the prep on my part. There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to say it right out. I’m a cross-dresser; I like to wear women’s clothes, no, I need to wear women’s clothes sometimes.

“To answer the two most common questions: No, I’m not gay and no, I don’t want a sex change operation.”

She just looked at me blankly for a few minutes while I let her digest what I had said. Finally, she shook her head. Stood, walked to the door and let herself out without even saying goodbye.

Boy did I get that wrong. I had been going to ask her to marry me. I had a ring and everything. I was anticipating shock and questions. Like I said, I was prepared. I had my ducks in a row. All the paperwork and information everything. She didn’t even give me a chance to show her any of it.

I let her sleep on it and didn’t call her until the next evening. When I did, it rang five times and went to voice mail. I left a message. Calling back a couple of hours later had the same results. The next day when I called it rang once and then the line went dead. I tried sending her a text and it just sat there and never indicated that it was received.

I gotta tell you that sent me for a loop. Janet had been very supportive of gay rights so I thought she’d be OK with it, but she never contacted me and since it was evident that she’d blocked my number. I simply let it be.

I stayed clear of any relationships for a year. Oh, I did pick up a girl now and then at a bar… I mean a guy has needs, but I never went looking for a girlfriend.

Then Julie fell into my life. I didn’t expect it, it just happened. I was having lunch in a crowded restaurant downtown. I was sitting a table for two and had just ordered when another waitress came over and asked if I’d mind sharing my table as one of their regulars needed to get lunch and back to work. I understood that. I was on a time restraint myself, so I said I didn’t mind. I’d planned to simply eat and leave even though I really had a half an hour coming. The waitress showed a blonde woman to my table.

She smiled kind of sheepishly. “I’m really sorry for barging in on you. I stopped to pick up something at the drug store and they only had one checker with long line so it took way too long when I got here, there were no tables available. So when I looked around to see if anyone was getting ready leave I saw you were sitting alone and I asked if they would see if you’d mind sharing a table.”

“Not a problem. I’m kind of in a hurry myself. I’m working out of a client’s office while I troubleshoot some networking problem and I want to get back myself. So I’ll be leaving as soon as I get through eating.”

We introduced ourselves and made small talk over coffee. When my meal was delivered I started eating. A few minutes later her order was delivered and she started in on it. We talked very little while we ate. When I was through, I put a generous tip on the table and made my goodbyes.

The next day I went back to the same restaurant. Since I was unfamiliar with the area, I didn’t know of any other place to eat. I stepped in and before they could seat me Julie walked in.

“Oh hello. I see you’re back.”

“Yeah, I’m going to have to string new network cable, so I’ll be here about a week or maybe four days if I’m quick about it.”

Just then a waitress came up and asked, “Table for two?”

I looked a Julie, she said, “I don’t mind the company. Dutch treat of course.”

I smiled and told the waitress yes.

This time neither of us felt the need to rush. We had a pleasant conversation and relaxed over lunch. I ate faster than she did and lingered over coffee as she told me about her job.

As we left she said, “I eat here every day. It’s always crowded at lunch time and I’m sure they appreciated us doubling up on the table.”

“Well I’ll be back tomorrow at about the same time. If you’d like to have company for lunch again I wouldn’t mind.”

She smiled and said, “OK, the same time tomorrow then.”

By the time I was through with the job it was like we were old friends. Julie was really forward as I was getting ready to leave. She handed me a card with her number on it and said, “Call me sometime.”

I wasn’t sure if I would. She was a really nice person, but I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend and why else would I call a woman? I’m sure if I did she’d interpret it that I was.

Interestingly enough she was on my mind when I ate my lunch the next week. Finally at the end of the week I fished the card out of my wallet and called her.

“Hi Julie, it’s me, Ron. Your lunch partner from last week.”

“Oh, hi Ron. How are you? Meet any other girls who thrust themselves into your space?” The tone of her voice made it clear she was amused by how we met.

“No actually, you’re the only one. How about you?” I teased. “Find any more hapless schlubs eating alone and help yourself to the other seat at his table?”

She laughed and said, “No, I don’t make a habit of it.”

“Well I’m glad you did. You turned a weak of dreary lunches into an enjoyable time.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“The reason I’m calling is that I’m about to have a dreary dinner tomorrow night and I thought perhaps you might want to liven that up for me.” What a dumb way to put that. I hadn’t asked if she was busy or not. I mean I’m sure I’m not the only guy that might call her for a date.

“Tomorrow night?”

“I’m sorry; it’s kind short notice… so…”

“No, it’s alright. It so happens I’m free and was going to have a dreary dinner myself.”

“OK, is 7:00 alright?”

“7:00 is fine.”

She gave me her address. And we started dating.

The dating went well. We were really compatible. I purposely took it slow with her, wanting to develop a strong relationship before I sprung my secret on her. She was on a little faster track than I was and about six months into our relationship, she invited me to a barbeque at her parents place.

To say I was nervous would be putting it mildly. But my nervousness was unfounded. Her mother and father received me well. Her mother was impressed that I volunteered to bring potato salad. I just fixed our family recipe. It’s always been a hit where ever it was served.

Her father welcomed me at the barbeque to assist him. Really, all I did was kibitz and fetch him another beer. That and talk with dad. He was great. We had similar interest in sports teams, camping in the great outdoors, fishing and we both liked our steak rare. So we hit it off.

Even Julie’s younger sister, Eileen, seemed to like me. “You’re a lot more mature that most of Julie’s boy friends have been,” she told me when we found ourselves talking while everyone else was busy for a few moments. I found out later that the two other boyfriends that Eileen had come into contact with flirted with her to a point of embarrassment. Julie had wisely not introduced them to her parents.

That was the first of many outings with her family. I was stoked to know that I was the first guy, since high school, that Julie had brought home.

Well, one thing led to another and I was ready to try it again.

Just like last time I was prepared. The books, the websites all were waiting when Julie arrived at my place in the late afternoon. Now you know that web had matured and so had I. I was part of a real community through a couple of websites devoted to transgender people and I had chatted with many of them and considered them friends, albeit online only. I was feeling very confident this time.

I started my spiel and when I got to about the point where Janet had walked out, Julie interrupted.

“I thought you were working up to asking me to marry you….”

“I am,” I interrupted, “but before you can answer that, I think you need to know what you’re getting.”

“Well, look, I’m sure that I could come to terms with this, but my dad. Oh, my dad! He’s the world’s biggest homophobe. If I came home and told him I was marrying a cross-dresser he’d go ballistic.”

“Well, we don’t have to share this. There’s no reason for anyone to ever have to find out, it could just be our secret.”

Taking a different tack, she asked, “Just how often is ‘sometimes’?”

“Oh, I don’t know maybe once or twice a month or so.”

“So you want to marry me and you expect to keep cross-dressing after we’re married?”

“Well…”

“I mean you’d quit if I asked you too, wouldn’t you?”

“Ah, that’s just it, I can’t quit.”

“Have you tried?”

“Well not exactly, but when I was in college, I abstained for long periods and it nearly drove me nuts. It was either cross-dress or drink, and I did a pretty fair share of that. It wasn’t good for my grades, so I found ways to cross-dress in private.

“And I’ve talked to lots of guys who’ve tried. It’s called purging. They throw away all their clothes and make up and shoes and everything and go cold turkey. Only it doesn’t last. The longest I’ve heard of it lasting is a year. Some guys don’t even make it for a month. Sooner or later, they go out and buy it all again and are right back at it.

I really didn’t expect her to say her dad would freak out. When I’d met Julie’s folks before. They seemed to like me and from what I could tell were pretty tolerant toward the LGBT. I suppose it would be possible that when it came to their family, they may be a bit less tolerant. Things like that take on a different light when it’s your family. I remember watching “Guess Who’ Coming to Dinner” on late night TV when I was kid.

So the upshot of the evening was that she did take the books home and had looked at the websites I had ready to show her, only there wasn’t as much questioning as I was expected.

Way earlier in the evening than I’d imagined, she was ready to go home. She left without giving me a definite answer and only promised to think about it. So far it was the best result I’d ever gotten so I was hopeful.

I shouldn’t have been. She canceled our plans for the next weekend citing some conference for work that had come up and she really needed to be there. After that our phone conversations were stilted and she often told she’d have to call me back and never did. Over the next month we had only seen each other once when I made it a point to go to her favorite restaurant for lunch and caught her there. She seemed flustered as we ate.

Then it started. My phone calls went unanswered as did my text messages. It took about two weeks of that before I was willing to admit to myself that it was over. I was devastated. She was perfect for me, her family really, genuinely liked me, but her concern about her dad was apparently to big a hurdle to get over.

I moped around for the following month. I didn’t go anywhere but to work. Even my lunches ended up being acquired from drive throughs so as to avoid the off chance of meeting disaster.

Then one Saturday I really needed to get a new pair of shoes. So I headed out to the mall and found a shoe store. My salesman was in the back bringing my shoes when Eileen walked up.

“Hi Ron. How are you?”

“Oh… hi. I’m here getting a new pair of shoes.”

She looked around as if surprised. “Really? Imagine that; getting a new pair of shoes in a shoe store.” She grinned impishly.

“Ah, yeah, kind of dumb statement.”

She moved on. “I’m doing the same thing. Julie always said you had a good fashion sense and I thought I'd ask your opinion on these,” she said indicating the navy blue pumps she had on.

“Very nice. They look good on you.”

Just then the salesman came back and started to fit me with the pair I’d asked to see.

“Those look good on you too,” Eileen told me.

I agreed.

“I’ll take these,” I told the salesman.

“Would like to wear them or your old shoes.”

There was a bit of distain in his voice. I wasn’t surprised. I was wearing my everyday shoes that had long since gone out of style, not to mention that the soles were wearing a bit thin.

“I’ll wear these.”

The salesman looked happy as he put my old shoes in the box and started to hand it to me.

“Perhaps I’ll just leave these with the cashier. I believe your girlfriend has enlisted your help. It’s been my experience that you may be here awhile.”

I looked at Eileen a bit embarrassed. “Look, I’m sorry about that.”

“No,” she said smiling, “it’s OK. But he was right; I have enlisted your help. Would you help? I’m looking at three different pairs and I can’t make up my mind.”

So I agreed and followed her back to where her salesperson was waiting.

“First, you need to see the dress I’m trying to match them to.”

She took a great looking navy dress out of the bag and held it up to herself. I could tell at a glance that it would fit her like a second skin. And I knew from the time I’d gone to the beach with her family that her first skin looked great (she favored bikinis) and that this dress would only enhance the shape she was in.

“Are you planning on wearing it some place formal, or are you planning on going clubbing?”

“Well that’s the problem. I’m invited to a wedding, but after, I think some clubbing may be in the offing.”

“Well the shoes you have on would be great for the wedding, but way to stuffy and high heeled for dancing. So if you’re going to wear it to both, you’ll need at least two pair of shoes.”

“I like your thinking.”

I looked at the remaining shoes. The second pair to get my nod was a pair of slingbacks with clunky heel that she could wear dancing all night. We made our way to the cashier with her two pair and we each settled up.

As we left the store, she said, “I was just about to get some lunch. Nothing fancy, just a selection from the food court. How about I treat you to some Mexican? I know you like it and the taco stand up there is pretty good.”

“Well, I don’t know.”

“Please? I’d like to talk to you. You’re the first guy I’ve ever met that understands a girl’s need for more than one pair of shoes.” I was still hesitant. I’m sure she knew that Julie and I were no longer an item and I didn’t want it to get awkward.

She wasn’t about to take no for an answer. She grabbed my elbow and ushered me to the escalator that led up to the food court.

Once we had our food and were setting at the table. She opened up the conversation. Which made sense, since she was the one who wanted to talk.

“Julie’s a fool.”

“Wha???”

“If she had any sense, she’d still be your girlfriend, if not your fiancée.”

I blinked at her. Apparently Julie had told her about my marriage proposal. I had to wonder if she’d spilled the beans about my cross-dressing as well. I think my concern was written on my face.

“Julie told me all about why she broke up with you and she’s a fool.”

“She told you all about it?”

“Yes, and as far as I’m concerned, it just makes you more interesting. If some guy I was dating was as great a guy as you are and told me, I’d have just shrugged it off.”

“Even given that your father is ‘the world’s biggest homophobe’?” I put finger quotes around the phrase.

“Is that what she told you?”

“Well yeah. She said he freak out if he found out about it.”

Eileen laughed a little.

“Nothing could be farther from the truth. Dad’s best friend from high school came out as gay and they’re still buds after 30 years. And one of mom’s nieces is a lesbian and she’s welcome when we host family get-togethers. It’s Julie that’s the homophobe. She always tried to be gone or come up with someplace to go when Dad’s friend came over and she avoids our cousin when the family gets together.

“I wonder if I could get you to do me one more favor.”

It was a sudden change of subject, but I welcomed it. With what she’d just said, I was having a mental meltdown.

“What favor do you need? Are looking for a hat to wear at the wedding? You don’t strike me as a hat kind of girl.”

“No, what I need is a plus one for the wedding. I’m not seeing anyone right now and I don’t want to ask an old boyfriend because there’s none of them I’d like to start up with again.”

“You want me to be your plus one? What about Julie? What would your family say about it? Everybody will see it as a date. Won’t they think it improper for you to go with your sisters ex?”

“Well, I could care less what Julie thinks. As for my family, I hadn’t planned on say anything to them about you, unless after the wedding you think I’m such sparkling company that you want to ask me out. I think that they won’t really have a problem. And ‘everyone’,” she made finger quotes, “can think what they want. I refuse to live my life to make ‘everyone’,” finger quotes again, “happy. It’s hard enough to make myself happy, so I just concentrate on that.”

“Well as far as you being ‘sparkling company’ I think that’s a given. But I wouldn’t ask you out without some sort of conformation that it wouldn’t alienate you from your family.”

“The only person that I might have trouble with would be Julie and there’s just enough sibling rivalry that I wouldn’t mind her being upset. Besides she’d get over it.

“But please, be my plus one. I don’t want to show up with no one and there’s no one else I’d consider. Sonja is one of my oldest friends, I can’t miss her wedding.”

“Can we do it without any of your family knowing? Are any of them coming to the wedding?”

“I don’t know who all she’s invited, but I’m sure she didn’t invite Julie. She’s never cared for her and the feeling is mutual.”

“What about your parents? Could she have invited them?”

“She could have.”

“I really want to help you out, but I don’t want to cause trouble for you or worse yet have someone make a scene at your friend’s wedding.”

“OK, I’ll see what I can do.”

She dug into her purse and came up with her phone. She punched the screen a few times and put it to her ear. I started to say something, but she held her finger in the air and I waited.

“Hi Mom. I just got through shopping and I’m having lunch… Yeah, it would have been better to have one of my girlfriends go with me, but it’s all done and I did come up with someone to help me; with the shoes anyway… You’ll never guess… Nope; guess again… OK spoil sport I’ll tell you but you won’t believe me. Ron… Yes that Ron; one and the same…

“He was in the shoe store getting some shoes himself so I asked him to help me. You know that Julie said he has a great fashion sense… Well she was right and what’s more he understands about why women need more than one pair of shoes.” She laughed. “I’m having lunch with him right now, my treat for giving me his time and help.

“Anyway, you know how I’ve been stressing over who my plus one will be for Sonja’s wedding… I think Ron would be perfect. I know him and like him and we don’t have a past that needs ignoring… OK, so yes, I’ve picked some duds, but that’s what’s great about Ron, he’s a known quantity. So what do you think? Do you see any problem with me taking Ron as my plus one? … So did you and Dad get an invitation? … Are you going? … Well yes, I thought you would… Well anyway, Ron is willing but he’s concerned that you guys might have a problem what with him being Julie’s ex… That’s what I told him… Well, I suppose Julie could have a problem, but they’re not together any more so as far as I see it, Ron’s fair game. But you know it’s just a plus one for a wedding. It’ not like we’ll be an item just because he was my escort… I thought so too. You want to talk to him? …

“Here, Mom wants to talk to you.”

She handed her phone to me.

“Hello?”

“Hi Ron. It’s so nice to hear your voice again. We’ve missed you smiling face around here. When you and Julie were dating you were almost a fixture around here.”

I didn’t know what to say so I just let her keep talking.

“Eileen seems dead set on you being her plus one. You’re not going to disappoint her, are you?”

“Well, I don’t want to cause any trouble.”

“There won’t be any trouble with Rich and me and if you’re worried about Julie, it’s her problem. She shouldn’t have broken up with you. So will I see you at Sonja’s wedding?”

“If you’re sure there won’t be any trouble… I mean Julie…”

“Julie’s not going and if she tries to poke her nose in, I’ll put her in her place. If Eileen wants to keep company with you, Julie’s given up any claim on you so she can just mind her own business. So, once and for all, are you going?”

Her tone booked no vacillating. It was a simple yes or no question.

“OK, I’ll trust you and go.”

“Good. Let me talk to Eileen.”

I handed the phone back to Eileen. “She wants to talk to you.”

“I take it you talked him into it… You know he’s such a gentleman… Oh, I don’t know… I haven’t really thought about it. But I wouldn’t mind...” She looked at me and laughed a little tinkle and there was a sparkle in her eye. “Time will see, mother, time will see. Well I think I should get going. I should let Ron go too. I’ve used up enough of his weekend. See you tomorrow

“Well, thanks. You don’t even know what day the wedding will be. It’s two weeks from today. Two in the afternoon at St. Michael’s on Claremont Street.”

It was my turn to laugh.

“No problem. It’s not like my social calendar is crammed full. You want me to pick you up?”

“Do remember where I live?”

“Are you still in that place on Kelly?”

“You do remember. Come by about 12:30. With me expecting you then, I just might get ready by one.” She smiled a one hundred watt smile. We got up and she gave me a quick hug. “See you then,” she said as she gathered her shopping bags.

“Umm, you clean up nice,” she said as she answered her door. You’re right on time. With a little luck I’ll be ready in less than twenty minutes. There’s beer and wine in the fridge, help yourself. I’ll just go and finish my makeup and put on my dress and I’ll be ready.”

I watched her disappear down the short hallway. Damn she looks fine in that robe. … Give that up Ron, she’s Julie’s younger sister… there’s no future there.

True to her word, she was back out in just nineteen minutes. I’d check my watch when she made her estimate. Not that I was thinking of timing her. It was just a reflex action.

“To quote a smart person I know, ‘umm, you clean up nice’. Seriously. That dress looks fabulous on you. Oh, and I love your shoes.”

She chuckled. “You goof. You picked them out if you remember. Anyway, I’ve called Uber. I’m sure that there will be alcohol at the reception and I thought that it would be better to take Uber home rather than try to keep track of how much we drank so we could be sober enough to drive home.”

A very responsible girl, though I’d not had a problem with holding my drinking down since college. I’d come to the conclusion that I really enjoyed myself more if I kept my wits about me. But she’d already called Uber and I wasn’t about to argue with her. It really didn’t matter.

The wedding started nearly on time and it was Catholic High Mass, which takes an hour. I do’s were said and we were off to the reception, held about a mile away. Sonja made a beautiful bride and I have to say I was jealous of her dress. I’d love to be able to wear something like that. But then being jealous of a woman’s dress was nothing new for me. The fact is I was jealous of Eileen's dress, but I sure don’t have the body to pull that skin tight number off. Too broad at the shoulders and narrow at the hip.

Being a Saturday evening, we had trouble getting Uber, so there were nearly a hundred people ahead of us when we lined up to go through the receiving line. At last I met Sonja, the groom and her parents, his parents and her grandparents. Eileen was thirsty so we headed straight for the punch bowl.

We saw her mom and dad. When they saw us, they came over.

“Well hi ya, Ron,” her dad said shaking my hand. “It’s good to see you again.”

“Hi, Mr. and Mrs.…”

Her mom wasn’t going to be satisfied with a handshake; she interrupted me and pulled me into a hug.

“Now you know we’ve asked you to call us Rich and Lori.

“We’ve missed you. Feel free to stop by and visit us anytime. No need to wait for one of the girls to bring you by.”

“She has a point son; you gave me that recipe for brisket. I’ve never done a brisket before I’d love to have you come by and supervise my first attempt. I hear there’s as much an art to fixing brisket as there is a science.”

“I’d love to, we’ll have to compare schedules and set a time. You know it’ll take most of the day.”

"Well, in that case we should make a day when ESPN has something good on, so we’ll have something to do between the times we’re tending the brisket. I’ve watch a couple of YouTube videos on it and it seems there’s a fair bit of down time while the meat simmers.”

“True. That’s why I haven’t fixed a brisket since I moved out of my folk’s house. I don’t have the right kind of barbecue either. I’ve only got a little two burner on the balcony of my apartment.”

“How about week after next? Should be good weather and the US Open will be on. I know you like golf.”

“I think I can make it. How big is the brisket?”

“It’s a three and half pound brisket. I thought I’d start small for my first one.”

“If you want to eat the brisket for dinner, we better get it in the grill by about eleven. We’ll want to let it rest a bit before we carve it.”

“What about seasoning? How long will it take to get it ready?”

“About an hour and then we’ll need to let it rest to absorb the seasoning a little. We’ll need a smoke source. My dad used to use a pellet tube smoker, but you can make a suitable smoker kit from a disposable aluminium pan and some foil. I can pick up some cherry chips. I have friend who’s about to have cherry tree pruned back and I’m supposed to go help him cut up the limbs next week.”

“Well, if it’s going to be an all-day project, why don’t you come for breakfast?” his wife put in.

“Excellent idea. We’ll expect you at about eight then.”

Well, there I was committed to a full day without either of the girls being involved. I wondered what Julie would think of me hanging out with her parents.

Someone who knew Eileen had come over and they had been talking while plans were being made. Eileen took my hand and gave a gentle tug.

“I’d like to introduce my escort for the afternoon,” she said to her friend. “Lela, this it Ron Perry. Ron, Lela Jorgensen.”

“Nice to meet you Lela,” I said.

“Nice to meet you too. I haven’t heard Eileen say anything about you before. Did you just meet?”

“No actually we’ve known each other…”

“He’s a family friend,” Eileen put in. “I was at my wits end trying to come up with someone to bring. Since I caught Jeremy messing around, I’ve been a social pariah. Jeremy spread those awful rumors about me. I ran into Ron while I was shopping and he was kind enough to give me a man’s opinion on what I was buying and it struck me that since I knew him from before that Ron would be a great escort for today.”

I rightly presumed she didn’t want Lela to know I’d been her sister’s ex-boyfriend. I guess nobody wants to be known for taking someone else’s leavings.

The bride and groom had catered a buffet and it was being served so we all made our way to the line. We ended up sitting with her mom and dad. Her dad and I continued our plan for the brisket. It was like it was before, only instead of Julie sitting next to me, it was Eileen. I’d been afraid it would be awkward, but it wasn’t. They acted as if nothing had happened.

After dinner, Eileen asked, “Are you going to ask me to dance?” when the band began to play.

I stood and made a theatrical bow. “Would you do me the honor of being my partner for this dance?”

She just shook her head, grinning and stood to accept.

“You’re a good dancer,” she told me.

“If you think this is good, wait until they play a slow tune. Anybody with a sense of rhythm can look good in this kind of dancing.”

“Oh, you mean you can do more than the hold her tight and shuffle your feet fair that guys are famous for?”

“I’ll have you know that Mom insisted that I take dance classes my senior year in high school so that my prom date wouldn’t have to suffer that kind of dancing like she did. Unfortunately, very few venues feature classical dance music any more. But a twostep works for most slow tunes and to spite popular opinion, it’s more than the afore mentioned shuffle. If they play some slower numbers, I’ll show you.”

When the fast music was done and the band began to play slower songs, I notice more of the older generation got out on the dance floor. Eileen’s parents among them. They looked good and the dance floor.

When we finally took a break, Eileen told me, “You’re right. Dancing with you is better than any of my past boyfriends. Even the fast tunes, but you really shine when it comes to the slow, romantic songs. Most guys seem to think that slow dancing is a kind of foreplay.”

During one of our breaks, Eileen asked, “Are you going to let me meet her?”

“Her??? Her who?”

She leaned in, “Your alter ego. Does she have a name?”

“Oh, that her.” I looked around to make sure that no one was in earshot. “I’m a regular on a couple of web sites I use the name ‘Veronica’ that I shorten to ‘Ronnie’.”

The bride and groom bugged out around seven. They invited us to stay as long as we liked since they paid the band to play until eleven or until no one was left. Since the majority of the guests were above thirty, dare I say forty, the party began to break up around nine.

Some of Eileen's friends were going out after and we were invited along. On the way to the club, Eileen got her sling backs out of her oversized purse and changed shoes.

“Why don’t you lose the tie? It’ll make you look less formal and more like you’re ready to loosen up a little.”

I took of the tie and started to put in my jacket pocket.

“Here,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’ll put it in my purse. It’ll cause a lump in your pocket. You can get it back when you take me home.”

Eileen’s friends were a little younger than Julie’s friends that I’d been accustom to hanging out with. Julie had been a year older than me and Eileen was two years younger, hence the younger crowd. In high school or maybe even in the first two years of college it might have made a difference, but when you’re over twenty-five, not so much.

We finally called it a night a little before one and got Uber back home. With Eileen’s friends all being in a drink buying mood, it was a good thing we’d decided to take Uber.

When we got to Eileen’s house she invited me in. “You probably want to hang out for a while. If you’re feeling like I am, you’ll need to let some of the alcohol settle before you try to drive home.”

As she let us in, I took stock of my condition, I decided she was right. I probably would have made it home OK, but I certainly didn’t want to risk a DUI, since I needed to be able to drive to client’s sites to trouble shoot their networking problems.

“I’ll make some coffee. Sit down and turn on the TV we can watch for a while. I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the kitchen. I picked up the remote, sat on the couch and turn on the idiot box. I channel surfed and settled on a black and white movie. I recognized the stars and I’m sure I’ve seen it before but I couldn’t come up with the title. I kind of zoned out and was brought back when she brought me a cup of coffee.

“Black with sugar, no cream, if I remember right.”

She did, that’s the way I take it. We sipped the coffee in silence while the movie droned on. Finishing my coffee, I sat my cup on the end table. I stretched arms across the back of the couch and leaned my head against the wall.

I wonder how long I’ll have to wait for the buzz to die down. I’m really tired right now.

I woke up about three-thirty or so with Eileen leaning against me dead asleep. The movie was long since over and some other one was on. I decided that I was sober enough to drive, but I didn’t want to wake Eileen. So I carefully got up and gently laid her down, putting a throw pillow under her head. I lifted her feet on the couch and put the afghan, from the back of the couch, over her. I found a piece of paper and left a note and let myself out. I couldn’t lock the dead bolt.

The lock in the knob will have to do.

I was immersed in complicated install in a new building for the next week and a half and didn’t think much about that night. On Thursday Mr. … I mean, Rich called me to remind me that he had the brisket thawing and was looking forward to my help on Saturday.

“Lori says to tell you not to eat breakfast, just come on over any time after eight and she’ll whip us up a nice brunch.”

That’s how I ended up parking on the street near their house at quarter to nine that Saturday. Rich answered the door.

“Hi, come on in,” he said stepping back to clear the way. He turned toward their kitchen and called out, “Lori, better get cracking on those omelets. Ron’s here and he has a hungry look in his eye.”

“Hi Ron,” Lori said and engulfed me in a hug as I came into the kitchen. She turn to Rich and said, “For your information, the omelets are all done and in the oven keeping warm.

“Sit down Ron; I’ll get you some coffee. Black, sugar; no cream, right?”

She knew she was right and didn’t even look for me to confirm it. Rich already had his coffee and sat at the end of the table. Lori brought me my coffee.

“You guys want to get the brisket on before you eat or after.”

Rich looked at me.

“What time do you want to eat dinner tonight?”

“Probably not ‘til about six.”

“You got the rub ready to go on right?” I said looking at Rich. He nodded. “Then we’d better eat first. If we put it on now, it’ll be done about three or four.”

“As I remember, you liked Spanish omelets,” Lori said, putting plate with a large omelet and two slices of bacon in front of me and another for Rich.

“You remember correctly. But any omelet you fixed would be good. I’ve always enjoyed your cooking.”

“Pity Julie didn’t take after me. She can cook, but she doesn’t enjoy it so she makes simple meals. But Eileen, now that girl can cook. She very innovative. She’s shown me how to improve on a few of my signature dishes.”

“Did I hear someone mention my name?”

I turned to see Eileen coming down the hall toward the kitchen.

“Eileen; I didn’t know you were coming. Sit down you can have my omelet; I’ll make another for me. It’ll only take a minute.”

“That’s OK, Mom. I’ve had breakfast. You go ahead and eat. I just came by to bring Ron his tie. He forgot it at my place when he left after Sonja’s wedding.”

Lori look at me and winked. A knowing smile appeared on her face. I knew what she was thinking. Eileen gave her mother a hug, fished in her purse and produced my tie and handed it to me as she went to give her father a kiss on the cheek. Rich looked at me and raise his eyebrows.

“I need to use the powder room,” Eileen informed and headed upstairs.

Lori brought her omelet to the table and set down grinning at me. I could feel the color rising in my cheeks.

Rich put his hand on my arm and said, “It’s alright son. My girls are big girls and out on their own. They’re both very practical and I trust them protect themselves and choose wisely.”

“Ah, look, it’s not what you might think. She invited me in to stay long enough to sober up so I could drive home. I fell asleep sitting on her couch. When I woke up, she was asleep so I left her a note and went home.”

It was Lori’s turn to put her hand on my arm. “Ron, if you’re trying to protect her reputation, there’s no need. We know she’s not a virgin. In this day and age, it’d be quite unusual for a girl her age to be one. Are you sure you two aren’t an item? I mean I was disappointed when Julie announced she wouldn’t be seeing you anymore. We’d be happy if you Eileen hit it off. Wouldn’t we Rich?”

“Match making much? First you tell him she’s a great cook and then you prod him to admit they are really dating. But yes, Ron, we wouldn’t have any objection.”

“Look, don’t get the wrong idea. I think Eileen's a great gal. Good looking, great sense of humor and personality to match, and now I find out she’s a great cook, but don’t you think it’s be a bit awkward, what with me being Julie’s ex? That’d be bound to cause some friction between the two of them”

“Don’t worry about that…”

“Leave the poor guy a lone. Let him enjoy his breakfast,” Rich interrupted.

After brunch Rich and I set to getting the brisket in the barbeque. He had a disposable aluminium pan and some foil. We spread the chips in the bottom and covered the top with foil and then punched a generous amount of holes in it. We put it in the grill and turned on the two left side burners and watched the temp rise. It took a bit of finagling but finally got the temp to settle in at about 250 F. Then it was time to work on the brisket itself. A generous application of the rub and we put it fat side up on a baking sheet. With the brisket in the grill, we were free to watch the Open.

It was a bit early for beer, so we each grabbed a Dr. Pepper out of the fridge and settled on the couch in the family room. We chatted as the players worked their way around the course.

Eileen came up behind the couch and put a hand on my shoulder. “Typical man. Drink in hand and watching whatever sport that happens to be on. Good thing it’s not football season, you guys would be at odds with each other about which team to root for. So, who’s winning?”

“They haven’t shown the leader board yet.”

She sat, but wasn’t facing the TV, like Rich and I. The three of us chatted as Rich and I half watched the game. Let’s face it, golf isn’t that exciting and if you don’t watch closely you don’t really miss that much. But I was able to keep track.

Lori joined us with some nachos. The day wore on with Rich and I checking on the brisket temp every hour or so. Lori was the consummate hostess keeping us with fresh drinks and snacks.

Long about two o’clock, she asked, “Anybody hungry? I could whip us some tuna salad.”

“Well since I had at breakfast at a decent hour, I could stand a sandwich. I’ve been smelling that brisket for the last hour and it’s made me hungry,” Eileen informed us.

Rich and I allowed as we could find room for a sandwich.

It was time to check the temp, so Rich and I were out on the patio doing just that when from inside, I heard Julie’s voice. “Is that Ron’s car outside? What’s he doing here?”

Rich and I looked at each other.

“Your father invited him over to help him barbeque a brisket.”

Julie mumbled something I couldn’t understand.

Lori replied, “Just because you have decided that you don’t want to be with him doesn’t mean that the rest of the family has to shun him. After all it’s our house and we can invite anyone over we want. Now, are you going to stay for dinner? There’ll be plenty of brisket to go around.”

“Ah… no, I just stopped by to ask if I could borrow your roasting pan. I’m having some friends over for dinner this coming Friday night and I don’t think my roaster is big enough for the size roast I’ll need.”

“Help yourself dear.”

I heard some rattling around in the kitchen. I assume it was Julie getting out the roasting pan.

“Did I hear right? Your fixing dinner for friends?” Eileen’s voice asked from the family room.

“Yes. You needn’t sound so surprised. I can cook, you know.”

“Well yes, but you really aren’t into it that much. I didn’t think you threw dinner parties. Cocktail parties are more your style.”

“So I’m branching out,” Julie said obviously heading for the front door.

A few moments later we heard the door close rather sharply.

“Did you guys hear that?” Eileen asked as she came out to the patio. “She’s never thrown a dinner party ever. She’s had a boyfriend for dinner but never a group of people, much less enough people to need a big roaster.”

The next time both Lori and Eileen were out of earshot, Rich pulled me aside.

“Look Ron, sorry about the blatant match making. Lori really likes you and, well, we all thought you and Julie would get married. Lori had kind of already counted you as a son-in-law. I think as a result, seeing you in Eileen’s company has her mouth running ahead of her common sense.”

I debated telling him that that’s what I thought as well, but I held back. I wasn’t ready to have the conversation that answered the obvious question, ‘what happened’.

“Yeah, OK well, I like you guys and I appreciate that you, especially Lori might think of me as acceptable as a son-in-law. It’s really an honor, most parents of a girl look on her boyfriend with a jaundiced eye. But really, I count Eileen as a friend. That’s why I went with her to the wedding. It’s also the reason I agreed to go with her and her friends clubbing, because she asked me to cover for her so she didn’t have to fend off guys wanting to hook up.”

“It’s alright son, I believe you, but I’m afraid that Lori has fantasies of you as part of the family. I hope she’s not coming on too strong and that we’ll remain as your friends as well.”

“Well, Rich, we are on a first name basis. I’m honored that you two would want me as a friend. I’ll cut Lori all the slack she needs. I’m sure she’ll come to the realization that Eileen and I are just friends sooner or later.”

The brisket came out juicy and tender. The flavor was superb. I don’t take any credit, Rich did the rub and he didn’t exactly follow the recipe that I gave, but close. His changes made a subtle difference in the flavor neither better nor worse. It was great. Eileen said that it was great and that I should teach her how to do it when she got a place where she could have a big grill like her dad’s.

We all set around talking after dinner. Over desert, Lori made apple pie, Rich had another proposal for me.

“Have you set your vacation yet?”

“No, and they are after me to do so. I’ve got seniority at my level and they don’t want to approve anyone only to have me want the same week and then have to bump them.”

“Why don’t you take the last week in July? That’s when we’re going. We’re headed for Cove Palisades. We’ll be taking the motorhome and towing the boat. It would be nice to have a car in case we decide to do some sightseeing or need to run into Bend. If you come, you could drive the Suburban.”

“What about sleeping arrangements?”

“OK, you’ve got me, we planned this vacation when you and Julie were still together and I made arrangements to borrow my neighbor’s trailer. We’ve reserved two side by side campsites. We were going to tell you and Julie the day she dropped the bomb. We agonized about what to do. We decided to keep both reservations in hopes you’d patch things up. Now if we cancel, it’ll cost us; we’ll lose the reservation fee. I could use a fishing partner. Lori, bless her heart, likes to eat fish, but doesn’t enjoy fishing herself.”

“Sounds tempting. I think I’d like that. I’ll put in for the time Monday morning and get back to you. I’m 99% sure that I can get the time.”

It was about a month later on a Friday that I got a text from Eileen.

Eileen: Hi Ron, I got your number from Dad. Hope you don’t mind. Need a favor.

Ron: What kind of favor.

Eileen: You’re the only IT person I know. My laptop has picked up a bad virus and I don’t know what to do about it.

Ron: I’m going to be late at work tonight. Will tomorrow do?

Eileen: Tomorrow’s fine. Do you want to come over to my place?

Ron: Actually, it’d be better if you brought it to me. I’ve got all my diagnostic tools here. If I need to look up something, I’ll have a fast internet connection to work with.

Eileen: Great. Shall we make it early? I may have plans for later in the day. You don’t have a hot date that night, do you?

Ron: No date at all, hot or not. About 9 tomorrow will work.

I texted my address and went back to work.

I could have gone to her place, but the odds were that I would end up bringing it home. There was likely to be a lot of files that needed to be verified.

“Hi Ron. I feel really like a real dope, picking up a virus like this. I don’t’ have any idea where it came from.”

“Come on in. I’ve got coffee, do you want some.”

“Sure.”

“I’ll let you fix it yourself,” I told her as I poured a cup. “I don’t have that flawless memory for such things that seems to run in your family. I don’t have any fancy creamers but there’s milk in the fridge.”

“Got any chocolate syrup?”

“Yeah.” I got the Hersey’s Special Dark bottle out of the cupboard.

“Good, if I have to settle for milk, I’ll make a mocha.”

I took her laptop from her and left her to doctor her coffee. Over at my desk, I had two bootable CDs ready. They each had a host of tools I could use to find the bug. But her laptop didn’t have an optical drive. I had been meaning to get the two drives on to a bootable thumb drive. It looked like it was time to do it. I plugged in the first CD in the drive and a fresh thumb drive in and set it to work creating the bootable thumb drive. Meanwhile, I opened her laptop and pushed the power button. When it came up, I asked, “What’s your pin?”

“1995.”

I paused “That’s the year you were born isn’t it?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I know Julie’s birthday and that you’re three years younger than she is. You really should have chosen something a little more imaginative, or at least mixed it up a little.”

I keyed in the pin and brought up windows. It was really slow. I watched the rotating dots until I was sure it was going to hang, but it finally came up. It took over two minutes to show all the shortcuts on the desktop and even then something was still buffering. I waited to for it to settle down. Then connected to the building Wi-Fi. They had a great firewall. I should know. I put it in for them. I didn’t use their Wi-Fi myself, because I sometimes worked from home. While the firewall was great, the Wi-Fi speeds weren’t. I’d paid to have fiber brought straight into my apartment. The fiber the building used was the basic plan and Wi-Fi was available throughout the building. Individual apartments could opt to have individual fiber lines to them at whatever speed they were willing to pay for.

Eileen’s laptop labored just to bring up her home page. After trying to call up a couple of websites, I turned it off. I checked on the progress of the thumb drive. It had a ways to go.

“OK,” I said “It’ll take a while, but so long as your OS isn’t damaged beyond repair, I should be able to fix it.”

“How long.”

“To find the problem; not too long, but first I have to transfer my bag of tricks from two CDs to a thumb drive, since your laptop doesn’t have an optical drive. Once that’s done it’s an unknown. Anything from an hour or two to the rest of the day depending on what we find... If we’re lucky, the software can fix it, if not… I don’t suppose you’ve set any recovery points.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Recovery points?”

“I’ll take that as a no. We may need to reinstall the OS. I’d rather not do that. If we go that route, we run the risk of losing anything you’ve installed since you first initialized it.”

The only thing I’ve installed would be my office suite.”

“Do you run any kind of maintenance software?”

“No, I wouldn’t know how.”

“That will probably work in our favor. With any luck the install programs will still be there. Before we do anything drastic, I can probably move those off C drive onto D and reinstall them on C when we’re done. I’ll need to move your data as well. If I can do that, I’ll be able to recover all that.”

“So what do we do while we’re waiting?”

“You don’t need to hang around. I’ll let the software do its work and make the necessary repairs and text you when I’m done. So you can do whatever it was you said you might need to do.”

“Oh, well, I’d like to stay.” I tilted my head and looked at her. “I was hoping to meet Veronica.”

I was stunned. “You want to meet Veronica?”

“If you remember, at Sonja’s reception I asked you if you’d let me meet her. You never said no. You kind of sidestepped the question.”

“No one has met her.”

“So I’ll be the first. I like that. It makes me feel special.”

“I don’t know, I … ah… well I wasn’t prepared.”

“You do have the clothes here don’t you? I mean everything you need is in the apartment, isn’t it?”

“Well yes, the only time I indulge myself is at home. I… ah… I sometimes work from home and when I do, I like to do it as Veronica. But I’m not ready to come out of the closet just yet.”

“I’m not asking you to come out of the closet, I’m asking you to let me in the closet.”

I stammered for a bit.

“Why don’t you go into the bedroom, change into Veronica?”

Am I ready for this? Am I ready to reveal my Veronica side to someone? … Oh hell, she already knows about it. Ready or not, go for it.

The fact I’d made that decision didn’t mean I wasn’t nervous as hell. I thought she’d laugh at me. I think I’m pretty good looking as a girl, but then I’m biased. When I look in the mirror part of me sees what I want to see.

In the bedroom I had to answer that age old question… what to wear. Not that I had a huge wardrobe to choose from. The trouble was over half of what I had was something teenager would wear and the rest wasn’t really in style for anyone. In the end, I chose a simple pleated skirt and white blouse. Classic look I guess. I decided on some two inch wedge sandals rather than my four inch heels. I went to my en suite to brush out my hair. It was just long enough to look feminine when I brushed it out and teased it a little, but short enough I could comb it back behind my ears. I wasn’t the only techno-geek to wear long hair, nor was it the longest I seen on guys at the electronic shows I’d been to. I had studied make up enough to know how to do full make up, but I subscribed to the less is more theory and went with light lipstick and mascara. It’s not like I was going out anywhere.

Nerves were the order of the day. I thought my heart would beat out of my chest or that I’d pass out due to hyperventilation, but I managed to get out to my living room before either of those things happened.

“Veronica, Nice to meet you at last. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Let’s not get silly. I’m the same person regardless of the packaging.”

“I know, but I thought I should validate your presentation. You look pretty good, actually. I was afraid you come out with garish makeup dressed like some teenaged tart. But really in that outfit, you could blend it. Though most women your age opt for pants.”

“I’ve always thought if I wanted to wear pants, I’d dress in drab.”

“I’ve worn men’s pants before. Trust me, there’s a world of difference. Women have a much wider selection of pants styles to choose from. So, when you’re doing your Veronica thing, what do you do?”

“Pretty much the same thing as I do as Ron. Which means I ought to get busy on your computer.”

Eileen grinned as I went to my desk and extracted the thumb drive and booted her laptop from it.” I set an anti-virus running. With two drives totaling over a terabyte it could take a while depending on how much space she was using on D drive.

I then went to my kitchen and got a fresh cup of coffee. I turned, rested my butt against the counter and took a sip. I admired the lipstick print on the rim of the cup. I tried really hard to ignore the fact I had an audience and act naturally. I’m not sure I was successful. I was conscious of every move I made and tried to make it as feminine as possible.

“You know, with a few minor changes, you could go anywhere and do anything any other woman would do,” Eileen observed.

“Huh?”

“While your hairstyle is the very shortest a woman would wear, it’s passable, but would call attention to you. You should let it grow a bit more and have it styled. You’re fortunate that you have no noticeable five o’clock shadow; you could still do with a little contouring to make your cheek bones look a little higher. And then there’s the matter of your deportment. As good as you look; you still walk like a man. It’s not that all women strut like a runway model, but as a tranny, you want to avoid close scrutiny. That means everything you can do to reinforce the feminine image is good. But it’s a balancing act. Everything in moderation, look and act feminine without going over the top and calling attention to yourself.”

“You’re singing out of the tranny’s hymnal. Where’d you learn so much?”

“Well, when Julie came crying on my shoulder about you wanting to cross-dress after you got married, I did a little research. That’s my job you know I do research for a publishing house. It’s my job to see that writers aren’t plagiarizing. While I don’t know much about the care and feeding of computers, I do know my way around the internet. It is, after all, a fount of knowledge for those who can navigate skillfully. Once you get past the porn, and there is a fair amount of porn, and get down to what individuals are all about, that’s the one thing they all have in common when it comes to being out and about, feminine but able to go unnoticed in a crowd.”

“Out and about? Not too likely. One look at me and someone will scream ‘Man in a dress’. While I enjoy dressing this way, I’m a realist. I’m far from feminine.”

“Would you let me do a little work on your face? Just to let you know what’s possible with the right kind of makeup?”

“You mean you want to trowel on enough plaster to hide all the imperfections? By the time you get enough makeup on me, I won’t be able to talk or smile for fear of putting a crack in it.”

She laughed.

“I think you’ll be surprised at just how little is needed. It’s not a matter of how much, but of what and where. So how about it? Just for fun?”

“OK, but you did come here with a sick computer. I’d better check on the progress. Let me see how it’s doing and then you can have your fun.”

When I came back, she had put her purse on the table, which I had just noticed was that same oversized one she had taken to the wedding, and emptied what must have been enough to fill half of it. There were bottles and jars and palettes little squares of colors. It was obvious she came over here with this in mind.

She pulled out a chair and indicated I should sit. She picked up a heavy piece of paper that was covered with a lot of skin tone patches and held it up to my face.

“Yep, I think I guessed right.”

Putting the paper down, she opened a bottle of something with a sharp, almost antiseptic smell to it. Saturated a cotton ball and began wiping my face. When she had finished, she wrapped a large cotton towel around my chest, tying it behind my neck. She then opened a rectangular compact looking thing. There was a little sponge with it. Using her finger, she daubed spots of all over my face. Here it come, the plaster to fill in the cracks, I thought. She then used the sponge to smooth it all in. First coat done. I wonder how many before she gives up.

To my surprise, she stopped with one. But she wasn’t through. Next she had me close my eyes and using a large puff, she patted a large amount of powder on my face. To finish it off, she used a large fluffy brush to brush it all off. I guess it didn’t do what she hoped. Maybe it’ll take another coat after all.

But no, she opened on of the smaller pallets of color and wiped two different shades on each of my cheeks and again with the brush to brush it all off. Harder then she thought, I bet.

Next there was the same treatment for my eyelids from another pallet, complete with brush taking it off. What surprised me was that when she brushed the stuff off, she didn’t try something else.

After replenishing my lipstick with a slightly different shade, she announced, “All done. Go have a look.”

I blinked at her, got up and headed for the bathroom. I couldn’t believe what I saw in the mirror. Oh make no mistake; it was me alright, but me if I’d been born a girl. I stared at the image, unable to look away for… I don’t know minutes, hours, certainly not days, but it could have been for all I was aware of anything else.

Finally, as my senses returned, I noticed over my shoulder in the mirror Eileen was leaning against the doorpost, arms folded over her chest with a smug look on her face.

“I don’t understand. It looks like I don’t have any makeup on, but there’s a world of difference in the way I look.”

“When I was in college, I belonged to the drama club, just so I could go to the plays for free. I couldn’t act my way out of a wet paper bag, so I became the makeup mistress and assisted the wardrobe mistress with costuming. Making stage makeup look that natural, and still be seen in the second balcony, is difficult. Daytime make up is a snap.”

“But I look like I was born a girl.”

“That was the idea.”

“I didn’t think it was possible.”

“When it comes to makeup, I do the possible immediately, the impossible takes a little longer.” She smiled. “Now, if your hair was just a little bit longer and styled and you had some clothes that weren’t out of style ten years ago, I really could take you anywhere.”

“That may be, but the real question is would I be brave enough to go. Look don’t get any ideas, but can you teach me to do this myself?”

“Sure, what’s in it for me?”

“No charge for fixing your computer?”

“I was hoping for a date. You know go to dinner and movie.”

“You mean you and me like we were in a relationship? I mean you and me… Ron me… on a real date.”

“That’s exactly what I mean. You know the first time I saw you I thought it was a shame Julie got to you first. And now she’s through with you, I’d like to take up where she left off.”

“There’s a few obstacles to that idea. The big one is named Julie. Don’t you think she’d have a hard time accepting you taking up with her ex?”

“Maybe, but when she told me about why she was breaking up with you she walked out with in a huff when I told her that was no reason to throw away perfectly good guy and said I wouldn’t. As she left, she said over her shoulder, ‘You’re welcome to him. See how much you like it when he’s your boyfriend.’ So if she wants to make a big deal about it, I’ll just remind her she said I was welcome to you.”

I was flabbergasted. The idea of Eileen and I becoming a couple had been the furthest thing from my mind.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve never considered you and I… well… as anything but friends.”

“I kind of got that hint, when you didn’t stay over after Sonja’s wedding. You could have you know.”

I really didn’t want to put her off, but this was so far out of the box thinking for me I had trouble assimilating it.

“Eileen, like I told your folks, you’re a great gal and I like you a lot. But when I first met you, I put you in the friend box because you were Julie’s sister; my girlfriend’s sister. Please forgive me if it takes a bit for me to move you out of that box and put you into the possible girlfriend box.”

“Are you saying you couldn’t ever love me?” she challenged.

“No, not at all. But I need to realign my thoughts about you first.”

“Well then, let me buy you a dinner in return for you fixing my computer and we’ll try out the relationship idea with no stress. I happen to think I’m a better catch than Julie.”

“Well I said there were obstacles, plural, more than one. What about this?” I said, waving my hand down my front, indicating the way I was dressed.

“I think I’ve demonstrated I don’t have a problem that.”

“But what about your folks? I mean if you and I become ‘an item’ as your mother puts it, and Julie takes offense at me being around after she’s discarded me, isn’t it just possible she might tell your folks?”

“I suppose. We’ll just have to tell them first.”

“Do you really think that a good idea?”

“Better than Julie telling them. I’m willing to bet they’ll take it in their stride. Their only concern will be if I know and can accept it. Once that’s out of the way they’ll decide it’s between us to settle.”

“How can you be so sure? Julie said your dad would freak.”

“She also said Dad was a homophobe. But as I told you before, he’s not.”

“OK, I’ll accept the invitation of you buying me, the Ron me, dinner and exploring just how something between you and me just might work out. But I can’t promise that I’ll be gutsy enough to tell your folks. When I proposed to Julie I told her that they didn’t have to know.”

“Well, that’s one place where we disagree. I think it imperative that they know. Just like you thought it necessary that Julie knew before marrying you. If they are to accept you and I together, they should do so knowing everything.”

I said that we could agree to disagree for the moment and that I’d consider everything she’d said and then changed the subject to more about me and the transformation she’d wrought.

We spent the rest of the day together, that is Veronica and Eileen. I ended up showing her the rest of my wardrobe and she had a good laugh at some of the nearly fetish wear I’d accumulated. We talked about nylon vs cotton panties and all manner of things I’d never been able to talk to anyone about. Somehow, in the midst of all that, her computer got fixed. More due to the tools doing a lot than me performing an exorcism.

“Thanks for agreeing to drive. The mechanic is still working on my car. He assured me that it would be ready by four, but it turns out that the parts house sent the wrong alternator. Now he says the best he can do it by end of day. Read six o’clock. Our dinner reservation is for five-thirty.”

“Where are we going?”

“Normandie, tenth and SE Ankeny.”

“Never heard of it.”

“Really? It’s taken over the space that Rue had. Kind of the same but different. Rue never seem to take, but Normadie is like a twenty something magnet. They get rave reviews.”

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of Rue either.”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“Not for a while.”

“Well, you’ll love it!”

“What’s their menu like?”

“A little of everything. Pretty heavy on sea food, but they have ribs to die for. Trust me, you’ll find something to tempt your taste buds.”

“Wow, this place is really busy. Good thing you’ve got reservations.”

“I’ve been here before. Good luck getting in if you don’t.”

The hostess greeted us at the door and took Eileen’s name.

“Ah yes, party of two. You requested an outdoor table.”

“Yes”

“Right this way.”

She led us to a small table for two tucked under the overhanging building. It was right on the street. The neighborhood would be described, I think, as urban industrial chic. It had obviously been an old business district that had seen some renovation. The building the restaurant was in was new, probably in the last ten years. Above were yuppie apartments. I guess you could describe the clientele as yuppies. Eileen had been right. Mostly twenty somethings seriously casually dressed.

The hostess placed the menus on the table and said, “Your server will be right with you,” and smiled. “Can I send some drinks over?”

“I’ll have a glass of Sauvignon Blanc”

“A glass of whatever you have on tap will be fine.”

Eileen sat down and picked up both menus and held them close to her chest.

“Now, don’t look at prices. Just order what looks good to you.”

I sat and raised an eyebrow. “Miss Got Rocks are you? Don’t tell me that this is one of those place where if you have to ask how much it is, you can’t afford it.”

“No, nothing like that. Most of the menu is quite affordable; it’s just that some of the selections can be a little spendy. They offer an eclectic cuisine featuring fresh food. But whatever we have, it’ll be worth the price.”

She handed me the menu. I scanned it. I know she told me not to look at the prices, but that made me look all the more. She was right; some of the offering were a bit pricey. One that made me cringe was, “Family Style Tararind Braised Short Ribs (Feeds 2+) … $78.” At that price the ribs had better be to die for. Most of the seafood was over $25 a plate. Even if I thought Eileen could well afford it, I’d not be having anything that costly.

“This is quite a menu. I don’t really know what to have.”

“As I remember, you like crab. You could have the Parisienne Gnocchi.”

“What kind of knocky?”

“Parisienne Gnocchi, French dumplings. Here.” She pointed it out on the menu. I’m glad she pronounced it I’d never have come close. I hesitated. “You looked at the price, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t help it. I’m not sure what all the other stuff is that goes with the crab.”

“Chanterelles are mushrooms, Miso Butter is a flavored butter; very good, Shishitos are mild peppers and Scallions are a vegetable similar to mild onion or leeks.”

I still hesitated. They were $21 dollars.

“OK,” Eileen sighed. “If you’re not sure about the peppers, how about Croque Maame Beignets? That’s only $9 or $11 when you add the crab.”

She knew it was the price that got to me. If it was the peppers I could just pick them out. I found it on the menu and it looked pretty benign. There was only one thing I didn’t recognize but it was made with chives and I knew what chives were.

“OK that sounds good.” I hoped I didn’t offend her. But I just couldn’t let her spend that much on me.

Just then the waitress showed up with our drinks.

“Are we ready to order?” she wanted to know.

Eileen spoke right up. “I’ll have the Marinated Albacore. Ron, you said you’d like the Croque Madame Beignets with the crab, didn’t you?”

“Ah yeah.”

“OK then, Marinated Albacore and Croque Madame Beignets with Dungeness Crab,” she said scribbling on her pad. “Back soon.”

After the waitress cleared the area I had to assess the damage I’d done.

“I hope you aren’t insulted. It’s just my Scot’s blood runs thick. Spending over $20 a plate for dinner… well I’m not wasteful even if it’s someone else’s money.”

“That’s alright. I really think you’d have liked the Parisienne Gnocchi, but I can see that between the unusual sides and the price how you might balk. Let’s put that behind us and enjoy each other’s company.” She lifted her glass and said, “A toast to burgeoning friendships.”

We clinked glasses, “To friendships.”

The dinner was very good, the service was immaculate. By the end of the meal, I decided that spending time socially with Eileen was a good idea. She was far more fun that Julie had ever been. She had a mischievous sense of humor and a ready smile that she didn’t mind sharing. In general, her personality was infectious. A joy to be around.

“Well, thank you for dinner. I’d have never found this place on my own.”

“The night is young. Feel like a movie? We’re near the Lloyd Cinema. I’m sure that we could find something we would both enjoy.”

“OK, but only if you let me pay. You’ve spent far more than I would have charged you to fix your computer.”

“Deal.”

“What looks good to you?”

“As I remember, you said we could find something we’d both enjoy, so it’s a tough choice. The question is do we want go for schmaltzy or adventure.”

“Lots to pick from in either category. I’d say adventure.”

“I’ve heard good things about ‘Jumanji: The Next Level’. Everyone who’s seen it says it even better than the one with Robin Williams. I think that would be tough to top.”

“I could do ‘Jumanji’.”

I normally prefer sitting near the middle of the theater, but the movie was popular and the only seats available were either in the first five rows, or the last three. Near the screen just doesn’t do it for me.

“Hope you don’t mind sitting so far back. I get headaches if I sit too close.”

“Don’t mind at all,” she said taking my hand.

Umm, holding hands. Is she trying to tell me something?

We got seated just as the lights dimmed and the preshow advertisements started. She slipped her arm under mine and took my hand again.

She leaned in and asked, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what do you want to know?”

“Are you afraid of me?”

“Afraid of you??? No, nothing to be afraid of. Why would you ask that?”

“I don’t know, you just seem to be keeping me at arm’s length. Let me ask a different question. Please be brutally honest. Do you think I’m good looking?”

I’m sure I stammered a bit. I’d never had a girl ask that so directly.

“Well of course all the women in your family are good looking.”

“OK, I’ll put you on the spot. Am I as good looking as Julie?”

“I’d say so. You both have hair to die for. You’re both fit and … pleasing to the eye. But…”

“I knew there’d be a but.”

“But… you are by far the better looking.”

“Flattery will get everywhere. Do go on. What makes the difference?”

“Well Julie is a nice enough girl. She has all the attributes I’ve listed and she has a good personality, but it doesn’t really change how I feel about her. Your personality, on the other hand, enhances your beauty.” She looked up at me raised her eyebrows. “Taking that into account, comparing you and Julie side by side, you come out on top, hands down.”

She smiled and snuggled into me much in the same fashion that I’d discovered her after Sonja's wedding.

The movie started and I was almost immediately in agreement with the “it’s better” crowd. The game upgraded from a board game to an RPG and all the players were sucked into the game, but they didn’t stay as themselves. They became their avatars. Instead of their world being invaded by things from the game, they were in the world of the game. Far better special effects and an engrossing storyline that ranged from whimsical, as one of the girl’s avatar was an older male scientist. And the mousy, shy girl was a killer femme fatale, to edge of your seat adventure. Like any game you only get three lives. And no one knows what happens if you lose all three lives and they don’t want to find out. They find a kid in the game who had vanished 20 years ago without a trace and his dad had become drunken recluse as a result. I’d give it 5 out of 5 stars.

Eileen spent the first part of the movie cuddled in the position she’d started in, somewhere along the line she grabbed my bicep with her free hand and gasped as one of the characters lost their first life. I put my arm around her and she calmed down when the character came back. It seemed awkward to remove my arm, so I left it there.

“That was a great movie,” Eileen observed.

“Yeah it was, I’m glad you suggested it.” It was early yet and I really didn’t want the evening to end, so I asked, “Do you want to go home or would you rather get a drink somewhere and listen to some live music?”

“Oh, I’m in no hurry to go home. A drink and live music sounds good.”

“You’re the social person. Help a guy out and point me toward a good place.”

“How about a great place instead?” I cocked my head and looked at her. “White Eagle Saloon always has great music. It’s just off Interstate on N. Russel.”

“Sounds good.”

Since I was driving, I was careful to moderate my drinking, not hard to do without Eileen’s friends buying drinks left and right, as we soaked up the tunes in a truly fun venue. Somewhere around 11 or so, I suggested call it an evening.

I took her home and walked her to her door. Even though she had a good buzz on, she managed to walk well and keep her decorum until we reached her door.

She turned to face me as she unlocked the door and said, “I had a really great time. We should do it again sometime.”

“Only if I pay the next time.”

“I’d love that.”

She then surprised me by snaking an arm around my neck and kissing me full on the lips. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it. The very act got a reaction that I’m not sure I was comfortable with considering I was trying to keep Eileen in the friend zone.

“Would you like to come in,” she asked after ending the kiss none too soon.

I smiled at her. Hell yeah, I’d like to come in. “I don’t think that would be a particularly good idea.” She looked disappointed. “We’ve just been out consuming adult beverages and if I came in, you might regret it in the morning. Can I take a raincheck?”

“I doubt if I’d regret anything we could do, but don’t think I’ll forget you asked for a raincheck.” She gave me another quick kiss and stepped inside, turning to give me a seductive look.

“Goodnight, I’ll call you,” I told her.

I made a mental note to follow through on that. I waited until Tuesday to do it though.

“Hi Ron,”

“Hi Eileen. I thought I’d like to call and see how you are.”

“I’m great, now that you’ve called. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten you promised to call.”

“No, I didn’t forget. I just wanted to be sure you’d have had time to reflect on our date.”

“You mean you thought I might regret having asked you out?”

“There is that possibility. I haven’t always had great luck in the dating game.”

“One loss isn’t bad luck; it’s the breaks of the game.”

“It wasn’t just one loss. Julie was number three.”

“Number three?”

“Yeah, my college girlfriend took a hike when I tried to tell her about me and then there was my first serious girlfriend after I graduated. Her departure made it look like the first one had only drifted away.”

“Oh, so that makes you a three time loser.”

“You could put it that way.”

“Well, remember, I know about Veronica and have even met her before I asked you out. So I’m not taking a hike on that account.”

“No, you’re not. That has me a little confused. But look, you said you’d like to do it again. So I take it that you’d be up for another date?”

“Just say when. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, the weather is supposed to be good this coming weekend, so how do you feel about a day at the beach?”

“I love the beach. Saturday or Sunday?”

“I was thinking about Sunday. Some place not too crowded, say Rockaway Beach?”

“Where’s that?”

“North of Tillamook a little ways. If that’s too crowded we could come back south to Barview Jetty. And if that’s not enough, we can go south of Tillamook and do the three capes tour.”

“Sounds like a full day.”

“Yeah, if you’re up for it, we could start the day with breakfast at Coleman’s on the way to Tillamook and finish up with dinner at the Pig and Pancake in Seaside.”

“I’d love it. What time do you want to head out?”

“Since we’re starting with breakfast Say… seven? That would put us on the beach by nine.”

“Sounds good. What should I wear?”

“Something casual, slip on shoes, but bring a warm jacket and a light windbreaker. You know how the coast is. It can be sweltering in the valley and chilly at the beach.”

So began my courtship of Eileen. Three weeks later, her folks twigged to the idea we were “an item” as her mother put it.

Her dad called a month before our scheduled joint vacation.

“I hear you and Eileen have been keeping company.”

“Ah, yeah, I hope that’s OK with you guys.”

“It's more than OK. But I’ll warn you. Her mother is already thinking of you as family.”

“Well, I won’t rule that out, at this point, but we’re still in the early days of dating. Who knows what we’ll find out about each other?”

He laughed. “Just thought you should know so that the next time you see her so you’ll be prepared. Anyway, since we’ve determined you and Eileen are seeing each other, I suppose you won’t mind that she’s invited herself on the vacation.”

“Ah, no, I think I’d enjoy her company.”

“I’ll let her come along so long as you promise that her being there won’t interfere with our fishing.” I could hear the twinkle in his eye.

“I promise. I think that Lori will be glad for the company when we’re out on the lake.”

“I think you’ve got that right. Why don’t you come over after work on Friday and figure on staying the night. We can get everything ready for an early start on Saturday?”

“Sounds good to me.

“Hi Ron, come on in. Rich is out in the drive beside the house, getting the trailer you’ll be sleeping in ready. Grab yourself a beer and go on out to help him. You can leave your things here at the bottom of the stairs,” Lori told me when she answered the door.

“Hi Ron, you’re just in time. Would you prefer a sleeping bag or should we make up the bed?”

“No need to get fancy for me. If you make up the bed, I’ll probably just throw my sleeping bag on top and sleep in it.”

“Well Lori thought we should give you options, so I’m making up the bed. I think she thinks that you and Eileen just might…”

I held up a hand. “I, ah… think I’d feel a little uncomfortable with anything like that with you and Lori in the next camp.”

He smile at me. “You know, we’re pretty liberal. And we don’t have any illusions about our girl’s love lives. They’re grown women you know.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You’ve also noticed that they have all the attributes that make a man attracted to them.”

“I have, but still… I think there won’t be a need.” I was blushing a bit.

He clapped me on the shoulder.

“I don’t think we need to do much. This is intended to only be a bedroom. We’ll top off the water and I’ve already filled the propane so you can have a hot shower and use the john, but you’ll be eating with us.”

“Alright. What do we need to do yet?”

“Let’s go inside and see what Lori’s got lined up for supplies that need to be put in the motorhome.”

Eileen showed up as we were stocking cupboards in the motor home. After greeting her folks, she came over and gave me a hug and a quick kiss on the lips.

“I’m really going to enjoy this vacation. Just think eight whole days in the greatest company in the world.”

“You’re folks are pretty good company alright. But I’d think that after being raised in the family you’d be so used to it you really wouldn’t notice.”

“I was talking about you silly. Of course I like my folks company. They’re the greatest parents in the world. But I do suppose I do take them for granted. They’ve always been great parents, so they’d have to do something really spectacular for me to notice.” She giggled. “You do know that I love you Mom and Dad, don’t you.”

“Of course dear,” Lori said and came over to give her a hug, “and we love you too. We even love that weird sense of humor you have.”

Over dinner we discussed it and decided that we’d take the longer route there, out through the gorge, in deference to me towing the trailer. The Suburban had plenty of power for it, but opting for fewer long pulls up hill would just make for a more pleasant drive. It only added about forty-five minutes to the drive. And we had plenty of time. If we left by ten in the morning, we’d still get there in time for Rich and I to get some fishing in that evening.

So after a hearty breakfast we hit the road, actually a bit early. Eileen opted to ride with me, so I didn’t have to drive alone. Besides she and Lori could keep in touch by phone if anything came up. I’m not going to say I wasn’t glad to have the company.

It was a gorgeous day to take a drive. We were almost to Cascade Locks when Eileen said, “I suppose I’d better tell you.”

“Tell me what?”

“About Julie.”

I had a feeling this conversation was going to be like pulling teeth and it wouldn’t be good.

“What about Julie?”

“We were over for Mom and Dad’s anniversary and the subject of this trip came up. I hate to say it, but you were right. She’s not happy about you and I dating. She got me alone and read me the riot act about dating you. She, ah… she called you some unpleasant names and told me if I knew what was good for me I’d break it off before Mom and Dad found out about you. She also asked how I could trust you knowing what she told me.”

I was quiet for a few minutes.

“So are you going to break it off with me?”

“Not on your life. She’s a bigot and I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But you should know that the innuendo was there that she’d tell Mom and Dad if I didn’t. So I think we’d better figure out how to tell them.”

I took a deep breath. “OK. I suppose you think it should be on this trip.”

“The sooner the better.”

“I’ve never been successful and telling anyone without them freaking out.”

“I’ll help you. You remember, I told you I’m in research and I’m good at it. In my luggage I’ve got about a ream of print outs from some really well known organizations about the transgender condition. So we can over whelm them with information and logic.”

“Let’s not do it the first day, OK? If it doesn’t go well, I don’t want it hanging over the rest of the week.”

“I was thinking of Wednesday or after. That’ll give you time to look at what I’ve brought and organize it.”

“Yeah, I’d like to do that. That would give me time to work out just what to say.”

I tried my best to put the bombshell that Eileen had dropped on the way out of my mind. But it was lurking there in the back of my head.

Rich and I did get some fishing in that evening from about six until dark. I almost did lay it aside completely.

When we got back to camp, Eileen gave me hug and a light kiss. During the hug she whispered. “I put the paperwork in the silverware drawer in your trailer.

I spent a couple of hours after everyone else retired to the motorhome going over the print outs Eileen had compiled. I’ll give her this, considering the short time she had to work on it; she did a great job of pulling together both professional and lay material that gave Trans a mostly positive spin. However most of the professional papers were closer to a neutral. They left impression that it was really benign and nothing to be concerned about, except by those who were Trans.

That sent my head spinning. I slept fitfully that night. As a result Rich came banging on the door at first light. It seems I’d turned off my alarm and hesitated too long to get out of bed and managed to fall back asleep.

I immediately knew what had happened and hollered out, “Gimme a minute I’m on the pot.”

I scrambled out of bed and pulled on some pants, grabbed a shirt. In the john, it sat to relieve myself as I put on my shirt. I pulled on my boots, grabbed my wallet and stumbled out the door.

“I saw your light on late when I got up to drain the old bladder. Here.”

He handed me a cup of coffee. I breathed in the aroma and took a sip.

“Thought you might need that. What kept you up so late?”

“Oh, it’s one of my old habits. When I’m working on a difficult problem for work, I sometimes wake up with the solution and I have to get up and write it down or I’ll lose it by morning.” It was a lie, and I hated lying to him, but truthfully I do, do that.

“You gonna be up to fishing this morning?”

“Yeah. Have we got a thermos of this?” I asked holding up my coffee.

“Yes we do.”

“Good I’ll be sure to wear my life jacket in case I doze off and fall overboard. If the coffee doesn’t wake me up, falling in the drink will.”

“That’s the spirit.”

We actually managed to catch a nice string of fish between us. We looked forward to trout for dinner.

That night we play Mexican Train dominos, roasted the obligatory s’mores and generally had a good time. I managed to hold the problem of telling them at arm’s length. At one point, Eileen and I went for a walk down by the reservoir and enjoyed the moonlight over the water. OK, so there was some hugging and kissing going on.

So it went the next few days. Slowly over that time, I managed to ready myself for the big reveal. Not to say I wasn’t nervous, because every time I thought about telling them I broke into a cold sweat. I was more concerned for Eileen than for myself. I was used to being a loner. I’d just go back to that if things went south. But Eileen would have to choose between me and her family. That should never be the case. If she chose family, I’d be devastated. If she chose me I’d feel guilty. If they weren’t at least accepting it was lose-lose situation.

Thursday evening rolled around and I found I couldn’t concentrate on the game we were playing. Rich noticed.

“Say Ron you’re off your game here. Come to think of it you seemed to be preoccupied all-day. What’s up? Got something you’d like get off your chest?”

Boy did I. I looked at Eileen and she gave me a hint of a smile and a slight nod of her head.

“There is something I should say to you guys. But before I do I want to tell you how much I respect you and I… ah, I hope what I’m going to say well set well with you.”

“I’ll get the paper work for you,” Eileen said to me and headed over to the trailer.

We all watched her go. When I looked back at Rich and Lori, the both had questioning looks.

“Paper work?” Lori said. I saw the hint of a smile on her face.

I don’t know what she’s thinking, but whatever it she’s way off base.

Eileen made it back in record time, manila envelope in hand. Lori got a puzzled look on her face when she saw how thick the envelope was. Rich was stoic.

I gave Eileen a weak smile and pulled the papers an inch or two out of the envelope, found the one I’d dog eared and pulled out the four above it sliding the rest back in.

“Eileen told me that Julie confided in her why she broke up with me. From what you’ve said about it I take it she didn’t tell you.”

“No, when we asked, she just said she didn’t want to talk about it. We kind of thought that sooner or later she might tell us, but she hasn’t.”

“Yeah, well she wasn’t the first one.” I jogged the paper against the table. “She’s likely to tell you because Eileen and I have been dating. I’d rather you heard it from me. There’s something about me that any woman I want to marry should know before I propose. From Julie’s reaction I’m sure that when she gets around to telling you, it’ll be pretty slanted toward the negative. Most people thoroughly misunderstand it.”

“So what is it?”

“It’s not easy for me to talk about it, but these two papers are a pretty good representation. This one,” I handed it to Rich, “is a professional paper by a noted doctor in the field. And this one,” I handed it to Lori, “is by a person involved in the situation.”

They each scanned the papers. Rich was done first.

“OK, I know about transgender. We had a guy transition at work last year. I’d worked closely with him, after transition, I still worked closely. I can’t say much really changed. He went from a slight built he to a slight built she. Except for clothing choice, nothing else change. Are you telling us that you are transgender?”

“In the broadest sense of the word, yes.”

“This paper speaks of a gender spectrum. Everything from fetish cross-dresser to transsexual, with infinite points in between. Where do you see yourself?”

“That’s a good question. Growing up, I thought of it as a kind of hobby, kind of like acting in community theater. But when I did my research back in high school, there wasn’t a lot online by professionals. What information I got came from bulletin boards frequented by cross-dressers. They pretty much convinced me that this was something that wasn’t going away. I tried and found they were right. Since they knew what they were talking about there, I considered that what they said about relationships was also right. They said that it was only fair that when getting ready to pop the question I should tell my intended all about it so she could make an informed decision.”

“You tried that with Julie and she didn’t take it well,” Rich offered.

“Yes, but getting back to your question, Lori. Terminology has changed and grown as the Trans community has evolved. Right now, I’d say I’m what is known as gender fluid. That is I don’t hate my male body, but I have femme side that is a mile wide. Internally,” I tapped my head, “I’m more feminine than masculine. Carl Jung, a psychologist from the fifties, postulated that there was something masculine about every woman and something feminine about every man. Those of us who are Trans tend to embrace that part of us. It becomes a consuming factor in our lives and influences everything we do and say.”

“So you’re saying that you don’t want have any surgery then? Just express your feminine side by…?”

“By wearing women’s clothes… often.”

Lori took a long look at Eileen who had been silent since saying she’d get the paper work.

“When Eileen said she was getting the paper work I almost thought she was going to get your marriage license… that you two had run off and gotten married.

“So, Eileen, you’re fully aware of all this then?”

“Yes, I’ve even met Veronica.”

“Veronica?”

“Ah, that’s what I call my alter ego.”

“So,” Rich inserted, “what are your intentions with Eileen. You had intended to marry Julie. Are you planning to, or maybe you have already proposed to Eileen and that’s why you’re telling us now?”

Eileen jumped in. “No, Dad, he hasn’t proposed, but I wouldn’t mind if he did.” She looked at me. I could feel the cold sweat start to trickle down my back.

I can’t say that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. But there was the Julie hurtle to get over.

“I’m not sure what to say. A relationship with Eileen is a little awkward in my mind. The way Julie and I broke up made it clear that she couldn’t accept me in her life.” I looked wistfully at Eileen. “I wish I’d met Eileen first.”

Rich spoke up. “Look son, you being transgender to whatever degree you are, is between you and Eileen if you’re to have a relationship.” He looked at Lori. “I think we are in agreement that whatever the two of you want it is OK with us. We like you and would be proud to have you in the family.”

“So,” Lori asked, “are going to propose to our daughter? She’s as much as said yes already.”

“What about Julie?”

“Are you still in love with Julie?”

“No, when she rejected me that pretty much killed anything I felt for her. Frankly, up until I started dating Eileen, I was hallow inside.”

“And you’re not hollow any more?

“No, but I see Julie as a problem.”

“Don’t. Julie’s a big girl. If she has a problem then she needs to grow up a little,” Rich said emphatically.

“You haven’t answered my question,” Lori reminded me.

Talk about pressure. This time Rich didn’t come to my rescue.

I looked at Eileen and thought about it. She was really everything I wanted in a wife. She was easy on the eyes, laughed easily, smiled a lot and most of all, she accepted me just as I was.

“Eileen,” I said getting down on one knee. “Please don’t think I’m being pressured in this, because I have thought of it before. I don’t have a ring, but would you marry me?”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, but she was smiling. She looked at her mom and then her dad. I didn’t look, but I think they both nodded.

“I’d be pleased to.”

“You know that Julie’s going to be difficult about this.”

“I’m counting on it. For seventy or so years, I intend to rub her nose in the fact that she had first dibs on the great guy I married and turned it down.”

I stood and she threw her arms around me and kiss me a toe curling kiss.

Rich stood and clapped me on the back when we broke. “Welcome to the family, son.”

“Not officially yet,” I told him.

“Official or not, you are family,” Lori assured me.

I insisted that we not rush into it. I wanted everybody involved in the decision to have time for the cold light of day to shine on what we’d decided. So it was nine months (I had envisioned a year, but Eileen couldn’t wait) later that I was at the front of the church and it was Eileen walking down the aisle on her father’s arm.

It was a small ceremony her parents, my parents and a few close friends.

I wasn’t there, but I’m told that Julie pitched a fit when she told her parents why she’d broken up with me and they simply said. “We know. If Eileen wants to marry him that for her to worry about not us.”

She called Eileen in a rage shortly after and said, “He’s not going to change you know.”

Eileen’s answer was, “I hope not. I love him just as he is.”

Finis

Steve is a precocious ten-year-old, usually given to doing just what Steve wants to. He lives with his mother and 12 year old sister, Martha. Martha is quite opinionated. She has stated flat out, on more than one occasion, that she would rather have a sister than a brother.

In fact, she always treated him like he was a sister from the time she first started playing with him. Steve seemed to remember there was a time when they would play house. Martha would play dress up with their mother’s clothes and would pull his tee shirt off and put one of her dresses on him. She would be the mother and he would be the daughter. It also seemed to him, that Mom made quite a fuss over her “new little girl.” When Martha was 10, she was allowed to have her own finger nail polish. She would put some on and invite Steve to join her. They often played together, since Steve didn’t have anyone else to play with. Knowing about nothing else, he played with dolls; that is until one day, when he started the second grade, he told one of his school friends about it and they made fun of him. All of this, Steve could remember only dimly.

Martha was in charge when the two of them got home from school. The rule was that they went into the house as soon as they came home and stayed there until Mom got home. They weren’t to go outside the hedge or have friends in. Mom liked the house because of the big hedge that kept the yard private. Only the gate in the front allowed anyone to even look in and in the back yard there was only a portion open to the neighboring yard. An old man lived there and kept to himself.

Martha always called Mom at work to report in. If Steve were late coming home Mom would know. Martha was not happy to have to watch after Steve. On rainy days he made her life miserable. He would run back and forth play noisily with an imaginary friend while she preferred to play quietly with dolls or some quite game. He wouldn’t do that since the teasing he had taken in the second grade. She usually encouraged him to play outside, if the weather would permit it. Mom didn’t like that too much. He tended to get his clothes dirty. He liked to build forts in the hedge and crawl under the porch. There he pretended to explore a cave or some such thing.

That caused a struggle to keep him in clean clothes for school. With only five pairs of jeans to his name, he had to wear each pair for two days each week. There was no chance of washing to make them stretch. They didn’t have their own washing machine so Mom took the wash to the Laundromat on Saturday.

Spring break came and Friday, Steve did his usual stunt after school. Knowing that tomorrow was wash day, he threw caution to the wind and played under the hedge. This, even though it had rained earlier that day. That meant all but one pair of his pants was dirty.

Saturday Mom had no more than left for the Laundromat when Steve had gone out to the hedge again. Mom came home just before noon and made soup and sandwiches for lunch.

“Steve!” Mom called out the back door. “Lunch is ready. Come in and wash up.”

Steve came in as he was told and went straight to the bathroom. As he was lathering his hands his mother appeared in the doorway.

“Steve. You are a mess. What have you been doing?

“I was playing in my fort under the hedge.”

“Well those clothes are too dirty to wear to the table. You had better change, before you eat.”

After lunch Steve went out to play. His mother called after him. “Try not to get so dirty this afternoon. Your clothes have to last for a week, you know.”

The admonition fell on deaf ears. Steve was already planning his defense from the Indians as they attacked his fort.

Later that day, he came in for dinner and Mom lit into him as soon as he hit the back door. “Steven James Murdock! Just look at yourself. You’re mud from head to toe. You get right to your room and change. They’ll be no more playing outside for you today, young man.”

As Steve headed out the door to play after breakfast his mother caught him by the arm. “Today, you’ll not play under the hedge. Do you hear me?”

Steve hung his head. “Yes ma’am,” he replied.

Not being allowed to play under the hedge, he went straight to the porch. He lay down and slid under and began digging out between the house and the edge of the porch. He wished he had a proper shovel. He only had a coffee can. He scooped up the dirt and threw it under the steps. He hoped to make an area deep enough to stand up in. When he heard Mom calling him into lunch, he left of his task and crawled out.

“Steve, I thought I told you not to play under the hedge.”

“I wasn’t under the hedge.”

“How did you get so dirty then?”

“I was digging under the porch.”

“Do I have to watch you every minute? I washed just yesterday, and already you’re down to only two pair of pants for the whole week. You had better do better than that or you’ll be naked before Wednesday. Go change your clothes and wash up for lunch.”

Before he got up from the table his mother admonished him. “No digging under the porch. OK? You’ve got to make your clothes last.”

Steve nodded and headed out the back door. Under the porch he heeded his mother’s words and didn’t dig. What he did do, was rearrange the loose dirt so that it packed under the steps more tightly and gave him more room to dig out.

As he went in to wash up for dinner, he noticed that his pants were dirty. So he slipped into his room and put on another clean pair of jeans so that Mom wouldn’t be mad at him. It began to rain during dinner so Steve stayed inside and watched T. V.

The sun was out in the morning so Steve started out to play. Mom caught him just before the door. “Don’t play in your fort today and don’t go under the porch. You don’t have enough clothes to keep up that kind of playing. Steve sat in the back porch wondering what else he could do out here. His eyes caught the maple tree that grew against the hedge. He thought he might be able to see the whole neighborhood from the top of the tree. He hurried up the slight incline to the base of the tree. Using the hedge to help him reach the bottom branch, he began to climb up the trunk.

Sure enough, he could see all the way to the fire station from up here. If he looked the other way he could see the signal light where the Safety Patrol made everyone wait, coming this way, from school crossing.

“Steven!” Mom called. “You get down from that tree this instant. I don’t want to worry about you falling, and getting hurt while I’m at work.”

Steve hurried down. Mom was in no mood to bargain with. Reaching the bottom branch Steve chose to jump rather than climb down the hedge. He landed well, flexing his knees but as he straightened up his footing gave way on the rain soaked grass and he slipped on his rump and slid down the incline. As he slid, he rolled over and even ended up with mud on his face.

“Oh Steve. Go jump in the tub. You’re too dirty to just wash up.” Inside she called to Martha. “Go in your brother’s room and bring a change of clothes to the bathroom for him.”

In the bathroom Mom drew a bath while Steve stripped off his shirt and shoes. She even put bubble bath in it. “Finish taking off your clothes and soak in here a while. You have ground in dirt from the last three days. I want to see you sparkling clean, before I leave for work,” she told him.

In the hall she called to Martha. “Where are Steve’s clean clothes?” Martha appeared at Steve’s door.

“He doesn’t have any clean clothes. Everything is in the dirty clothes.”

Mom just looked at the floor. “Well, you’ve plenty of clean clothes. You’ll just have to lend him some of yours.”

“Mom if I lend him my pants, he’ll just go out and muddy up the knees. You know that his jeans never come really clean in the knees. I don’t want my pants to end up like that.”

“Well,” she said, loud enough for Steve to hear. “Then give him a dress to wear. That will keep him inside.”

“What about underwear? You know he doesn’t wear any.”

“You have plenty of panties. Let him wear some of them.”

“What shall I give him to wear?”

“They’re your clothes. You decide.”

Martha picked out a yellow dress she had gotten two years ago for Easter. It was really too small on her. She could get into it but she really didn’t have enough room to move in it. If he ruined it she wouldn’t feel too badly. Then with a smirk she got out a pair of pink panties with lace down one side. As she held up the dress she remembered it needed a slip. Going to her closet, she surveyed her selection. There were four to choose from one was very plain. The second was her newest. She didn’t want to lend that to him. The third had lace around the hem and on the top. The last had a two-inch ruffle around the hem and lace all around the top and embroidered flowers at the bust. If Steve was going to wear girls’ clothes, he ought to really go all out. She took the clothes to the bathroom and opened the door. Reaching around the door without really coming in, she hung them on the hook on the inside of the door.

About an hour later Mom called to him from the living room. “Steve you can get out now. I think you’ve had enough time to soak clean by now.”

“Mom,” Steve called back. “Do I have to wear this stuff? It’s the most girlie stuff she’s got.”

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” she called back. “You have to borrow Martha’s clothes, so you’ll just have to take whatever she’s willing to lend you. Put everything on and don’t forget the underwear.”

Begrudgingly, Steve put on the panties. He was surprised by how they felt. Not usually wearing underwear, he didn’t have any idea what to expect. If boy’s underwear felt like this, he wished he had worn it all along. But they were all lacy and frilly and PINK! The slip! He was tempted to leave it off. It was altogether too girlish. But Mom had said, “Put everything on…” He put the slip on and then the dress. The silly thing buttoned up the back. Who, but a yucky girl, would want to wear anything that was so hard to get into? He struggled a while and was totally frustrated when Martha knocked at the door.

“Mom wants to know what’s taking so long in there.”

“I can’t get this stupid dress buttoned.”

Martha opened the door. “Here, let me do it,” she offered. He turned and she buttoned the back and tied the belt in a bow behind his waist. “Your hair is really wet,” she said, reaching for a towel. “Don’t you dry your hair when you get out of the bath?”

“I dried it a little bit. I usually just comb it and let it dry naturally.”

“That would explain why your hair usually looks like straw. If you’re going to wear my clothes, you should look good in them. Let me do something with your hair.” She reached under the counter and got out Mom’s blow dryer and began drying his hair, brushing it as she did. His hair came nearly to his collar and was very full.

About fifteen minutes later he trudged to the living room and threw himself down on the couch. His arms were folded across his chest. Indignation was very apparent on his face. Martha had squirted him with perfume. She often did that when he invaded her space while she was in the bathroom. But this time he had been there first and she really got him. He was almost choking from the blast. He thought she was still messing with his hair when she reached to the counter and picked up the spray bottle and squirted his neck on the right side. He spun around and she got the left side. Both of them were good hits.

Mom came in from the kitchen. She studied him a while. “Stand up and turn around,” she said, finally. He did. “You look good in that dress. Almost as good as Martha. Why the sour face?” she continued with a slight smirk on her face.

“She squirted me with perfume. Not just a little, but a lot,” he protested. “It’s bad enough she has me looking like a girl. Now I even smell like a girl.”

Mom got serious. “You look nice and smell nice. Maybe, by the time you get your own clothes back, you’ll appreciate the feeling and not get so dirty all the time.”

“When can I have my own clothes back,” he challenged.

“Not until Saturday, at least, I won’t be able to get to the Laundromat before then.”

“I’ve got to dress like this all week?”

“Yes. You’ll just have to learn that you have a finite amount of clothes and that it’s your responsibility to make them stretch until wash day. I’ve told you before that you needed to keep clean better. Maybe a week in dresses will convince you that your pants have to last from washday to washday.”

Steve sat down in a huff again. Mom picked up the remote for the TV and tossed it to him. “You might as well get used to watching television. I doubt you’ll be going outside anytime soon. Mind you do what your sister says while I’m gone.” With that, she walked to the door and put on her coat. “Martha. You pick out something for him to wear tomorrow and see it gets in his room before he goes to bed.”

“OK. But I get to choose what it is, right?”

“That’s right. They’re your clothes you choose what you’ll let him wear. Bye, I’m off to work.”

Martha smiled. There’s mischief in her head. She went straight to her room and began picking out clothes. She would need five pairs of panties and five dresses. He could tradeoff between the slip he had on and the one with the lace top and bottom. Picking through her underwear drawer, she chose five pairs, all in pastel colors and with lace or embroidery work on them. She laid them on her bed and went to her closet.

There she carefully searched through the dresses. She ignored the pants, blouses and skirts. Although, if it was for a longer time, she might have considered a skirt or two. Each time she decided on a dress she would take it out of place and hang it on the left. She took the spare slip and hung it with the dresses on the left. She took a pair of panties, the slip and one dress and put them into Steve’s room. It was a short, blue, cotton dress that would strike him just above the knees. It had an empire waist line and a full “A-line” skirt. Puffy cap sleeves and a boat neckline topped it off.

When she came back to the living room Steve complained. “My feet are cold and all my socks are dirty too.”

“Wait here,” Martha told him and went to her room again. Shoes and socks! She had forgotten all about them. He would need them to complete the outfit. She picked out a pair of yellow socks with lace cuffs and a pair of yellow patent leather flats to match the dress he had on. She also picked out a pair of white knee socks and black patent leather flats for tomorrow. She stopped by his room and dropped off the shoes and socks for tomorrow.

Coming into the living room, she knelt down and pulled the socks on for him and slipped the flats on him. “Oh man,” he complained. “Yellow shoes and lacy socks. Couldn’t I wear your old tennis shoes or something?”

“You heard Mom. You have to wear what I tell you. They’re my clothes. If I have to share them with you, I get to pick out what you wear.”

“It’s going to be a long week,” Steve moaned. He moped around the rest of the evening and went to bed early without being told.

Martha came by his room before he went to sleep. “Steve,” she called through the door. “Are you in bed?”

“Yes.”

“Did you hang up that dress?”

“No.”

She opened the door and flipped on the light. Her dress had been tossed across the bed with the slip. She noticed that the panties weren’t in evidence and assumed that he still had them on. She opened his closet and hung up the dress and slip. “There is another dress and slip in here for you tomorrow and there are clean panties and socks in your top drawer. The shoes for tomorrow’s dress are under your bed. See you in the morning.” She marched out and turned off the light.

In the morning, Steve didn’t get dressed, but came to breakfast in his pajamas. Mom had fixed pancakes and eggs. He was still sulky and got careless. He managed to spill his plate on his lap. Both tops and bottoms of his pajamas were soaked with syrup.

“You already got milk on your other pair Sunday. I guess Martha will have to loan you something to sleep in now.”

Martha grinned and went to her bedroom immediately. There she picked out a knee length nightgown with two layers of nylon tricot and another of chiffon and lace. She took it in and put it under his pillow. Steve came in just as she was leaving. His pajamas were soaked where Mom had mopped the worst of the syrup out.

He closed his door and took off the pajamas. The panties were wet too. Good thing Martha had brought him some fresh ones. He took them off and opened the drawer. The new ones were powder blue with a rose on a patch of lace. Well, at least they weren’t PINK. He opened the closet and took out the other dress. It had the other slip hanging on the hanger with it. He put on the slip and pulled the dress over his head. At least this one didn’t need to be buttoned up the back. He was still hungry and most of his breakfast had been salvaged. He remembered that his feet had been cold in the kitchen. He also pulled on the knee socks and fished out the shoes Martha told him to wear.

In the hall, he got a glimpse of himself in the full-length mirror. He looked ridiculous. Except his hair not being fixed right, he looked just like a girl. He was sure that Martha was enjoying making him look like a girl. It was no secret she would rather he had been her sister. Last night he had noticed that his hair was all puffed out to look like a girl. He stomped in to the kitchen. “Mom. Look what she has me wearing. I look just like a girl,” he complained.

Mom looked at him. “I think you look fine. That is except for your hair. Martha, after breakfast, take him into the bathroom and to do something with his hair. You had it looking so nice yesterday.”

“Tell her not to spray me with perfume today,” Steve said sitting down to his breakfast.

Mom looked at him and grinned. “Perfume goes with the territory. If you’re going dress like a girl what difference does it make if you smell like a girl.”

Steve rolled his eyes. They were both enjoying this. Sure enough, after breakfast Martha had him in the bathroom brushing his hair. He was beginning to regret letting his hair grow so long. It was too easy for her to make it look like a girl’s. This time she got out one of her barrettes with a real ribbon bow on it. It went on the left side.

“Are you through now?”

“Almost,” she said picking up the perfume.

“Oh no,” he protested backing away. He’d have run but she had carefully put herself between him and the door.

“You know what Mom said, ‘Look like a girl, smell like a girl’”

He put his arms down. She came and sprayed once behind each ear. Pulling out the neckline of his dress she put a little on his chest. Lifting each arm she sprayed the inside of each elbow and dowsed him heavily on the left wrist. “Rub your wrists together.” She ordered. He obeyed. She turned him around and sprayed the back of each knee.

Steve was mortified. He walked sullenly back to the living room. Mom was reading the paper and looked up. She smiled at him. “That’s better. I like your hair, like that,” she said. “You’ll have to have Martha fix it like that every day.”

“Great,” Steve said plopping on the couch.

“You smell nice too,” Mom observed.

After a long silence Steve took advantage of Martha not being in the room. “Mom,” he began. “I’m really sorry I got all my clothes dirty and I know that I have to wear Martha’s clothes, but really, she has plain panties. She has me wearing the pink and blue ones with lace and flowers. And I know she has a plain slip instead of this.” He pulled up the hem of his dress to show the lace. “The one I had to wear yesterday was worse,” he continued. “For that matter, why do I have to wear a slip at all? Or… I could wear pants or shorts. If she’d just loan me some pants, I have tee shirts I could wear.”

“Look. She doesn’t trust you to wear her pants. I can’t say I blame her. She’s right. You consistently get your knees dirty. All your pants are permanently stained at the knee. This is supposed to be a punishment. The more you dislike it, the more it will be effective.”

“Well what about the hair and the perfume? Isn’t that going a little too far? She’s trying her best to make me a girl.”

“She’s doing a good job too. You look very nice. If you were a girl, you couldn’t look better.”

“You mean you don’t care that she’s doing her best to make me like a girl? Next thing you know she’ll want to put fingernail polish on me.”

“You used to like that. You even asked why you couldn’t have your own bottle like she did. Remember?”

Steve’s face reddened. It was true there was a time he wanted to wear fingernail polish.

“That’s a good idea Steve. I think I’ll do that,” Martha said from the hall. She came in carrying her polish. Steve shot a look a Mom. He got no sympathy. “Let me have your hand,” she said sitting on the arm of the couch.

“Mom, do I have to?”

“You’re wearing her clothes. I’d say she has the right to say how you look in them.”

Steve held out his hand and looked at Mom. “You both are enjoying me looking like a girl. You’d rather have a daughter instead of me, wouldn’t you?”

“There have been times of late. I have wished you had been a girl. It looks like I’ll have my wish for a week at least.”

“You’re putting me at her mercy. I have to dress in whatever she says, wear my hair however she says and let her do whatever girlie thing she wants to me.”

“That’s about it,” Mom replied with a smirk.

Martha painted his fingernails, first one hand and then the other. He had to sit still for over half an hour while his nails dried. “Don’t mess them up or I’ll just have to do them over,” she had warned him.

“Steve, you should really keep your legs together when you’re wearing a dress. Especially when it’s as short as that one,” Mom commented when she came in from the kitchen.

Steve looked down. His legs were spread wide. He put them together and his mother pulled the dress down a little. “You should also smooth your dress when you sit down so it will cover as much of your legs as possible. I know Martha has you wearing pretty panties but you really don’t want to show them off. It’s enough that you know they’re pretty.”

She left for work, leaving him at Martha’s mercy. He was sure she didn’t have any. She fixed him lunch and he had to help her with the dishes. “Here Stephanie,” She told him, “let me put this apron on you.” It was Mom’s most feminine one. It was really more ornamental than functional.

After lunch she talked him into playing jacks. She called him “Stephanie” all afternoon. He didn’t even object. He knew it wouldn’t do any good. He also played with her dolls. He’d have thought at 12, she’d be just about through with dolls. But she seemed to have a real attachment to Barbie and Ken. She had all the accessories. She even had the dollhouse, the sports car and motor home. She had him on the floor all afternoon playing with them. He had to admit that when he put them in the sports car and pushed them along the floor it wasn’t a lot different from playing with his cars. He even found himself having a good time and entering into the spirit of the playtime.

Mom called from work to remind Martha that it was time to start dinner. Mom had precooked everything really. Martha just had to re-heat it in the oven and dish it up. They watched television after dinner until bedtime. Martha had sent him in with the admonition to hang up the dress and slip. He opened the closet and took off the dress. Monday’s dress was gone and another hung in its’ place. It was lavender with a wide yoke collar, trimmed in lace and buttoned up the back. He would have to have help again. The more feminine slip hung with it. He stripped down to his panties and went to the bed. He always kept his pajamas under his pillow. He found the nightgown. He shook his head and put it on. Just then he heard Mom’s voice. She had come home early. The power had gone off at the store so they just locked up and went home. Stephanie went to the living room.

“Mom look at the nightgown she got me. I know she has pajamas. Couldn’t I wear the pajamas to bed?”

Mom was hanging up her coat. She turned to look at him. “I think you look cute in that nightie,” she told. “Besides, remember, it’s her clothes. She gets to decide what she will loan you. Now give me a kiss and get to bed.”

In the morning, he decided to dress before coming to breakfast. He just couldn’t bring himself to wear the nightgown around the house. It was just too frilly. Although he did kind of like the way it felt on him. He couldn’t explain it but there was definitely something pleasurable about the feel of it. He took it off and folded and put it under his pillow. He went to the dresser and opened the drawer. His fresh panties were yellow and had lace along the leg bands in front. The socks were white with lace cuffs, he put them on. Also the fancy slip and the lavender dress. He buttoned the top button and stepped out into the hall. The bathroom door was open and the light was on. He walked to it. Mom was brushing her hair.

“I can’t do up the buttons myself,” he told her, turning around.

Mom obliged and buttoned the dress, tying the belt in a bow. Then she began brushing out his hair. She opened a drawer and found a barrette with a matching ribbon on it. It not only had a bow but the tails of the ribbon were long and dangling and the bow itself was set in a bit of lace. Mom ratted his bangs, sprayed them with her hair spray. They stayed all puffed up. She gathered the sides and the top of his hair and put in barrette so that the ribbon hung down in back.

“Perfume today?” she asked picking up the bottle.

He surged his shoulders. She sprayed him behind each ear and on the wrist and he rubbed them together.

“You look really nice today. That dress becomes you. It’s a good color for you,” she told him. “I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute,” she continued walking into the hall. Steve stepped out into the hall and looked at himself in the full-length mirror. His mother made him look even more like a girl then Martha had. He had to admit he was a good-looking girl.

Martha was in the kitchen when Mom got there. “Steve really looks good this morning,” Mom told her.

“He looks so good I call him Stephanie,” Martha commented. Then almost off hand, “It’s shame we don’t have some pictures of him as Stephanie.” After breakfast Martha and Stephanie were sitting on the floor playing jacks. All of a sudden, there was a flash. Stephanie looked up. Mom had just taken a picture.

“You two looked so cute sitting there. I just couldn’t resist taking your picture. I want to remember this. Stephanie, come out on the back porch. I want to get a picture of you, in the daylight.”

He got up. Mom was off the deep end. He hoped the film would never be developed like last year’s vacation trip to the beach. Out on the porch, she had him pose on the top step. First just standing there; then down a step turned a little with his foot up on the next step and his hand on the rail. Next she had him sit on the steps about halfway down. Reminding him to keep his knees together she snapped the last picture in the roll. They went back inside.

Mom took the film out of the camera and dropped it into her purse. “There’s a place near the store that gives same day service. I’ll just drop it by there, and pick it up on my way home,” she explained and got ready for work.

That day it was more Barbie and Ken. That evening Martha had an embroidery project she had been working on and got Stephanie to help her with it. At bedtime Stephanie was amazed. Sometime though the day, Martha had exchanged yesterday’s dress with yet another one. This one was yellow chiffon. There was a note pinned to it. “Wear the same slip you had on with the lavender dress,” it said.

In the morning he could smell the eggs and bacon when he got up. He decided to go ahead and eat breakfast before dressing. With today’s dress what was the difference. He went to the bathroom first and brushed his hair. He didn’t try to make it look good or anything. He just brushed it straight and went to the table. After breakfast he got dressed and Martha met him in the hall. She herded him into the bathroom where she fixed his hair and anointed him with perfume. On the way out of the bathroom, he turned to look at himself in the full-length mirror. With that dress, he might as well have gone around in the slip. It showed right through.

When he came into the living room, Mom called him to the couch. “Look at these pictures,” she said holding them out. There they were. Stephanie and Martha playing jacks on the floor, Stephanie posing on the back porch. He was amazed just how much he looked like a girl. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn it was two girls in the pictures.

“I got some more film. They turned out so good I want to get some more today. That dress never looked so good on you, Martha. I think it becomes Stephanie. Martha, why don’t you put on one of your new dresses and I’ll get some pictures of you both.” Martha headed for her bedroom. “Meet us on the back porch. I want to get a couple of Stephanie, alone,” Mom called after her and started for the back door.

Stephanie followed her out. These pictures will be his ruin. Somehow, someone, who shouldn’t, will see them.

“Mom, do we have to have pictures? I mean, you have those from yesterday. Isn’t that enough?”

“Oh come on Stephanie, you’re only here for a short week. It’s just that you make such a good-looking girl. I only want some pictures to remember this by.”

“I’m afraid that someone will see them. In one dress only, I could claim that it was for Halloween or something. If you have pictures of me in more than one dress, that’ll blow that excuse. Whoever sees them will want to know, what I’m doing wearing dresses.”

“Look I’m going to take pictures. I’d like them to be nice. Be a good girl and pose nice. Remember to smile.” She started taking pictures again.

There was no use protesting. Mom was over the edge. She had it in her head that she just had to have pictures. They were pretty much the same as yesterday, until Martha came out. She had on a yellow dress and white tights and matching yellow shoes. She had taken time to fix her hair and had on a yellow bandeau in her hair. Mom had them pose together. She must have taken ten pictures in all. Then she had Martha take two pictures of Stephanie and Mom. That was the end of the roll.

Inside, Mom dropped the film in her purse again. She kissed them each good-bye and left for work. Stephanie was sullen all morning. Finally after lunch, she relented and began to enter into the playtime with Martha. By the time they had dinner, Stephanie was really getting into Ken & Barbie. So much so that when Martha sat down to watch television, “she” played with them alone.

In the morning, there was a pink dress in the closet. It had big puffy cap sleeves with bows set in them and white trim lace sticking out from under the hem line with a matching bow two inches above. In his drawer, more pink panties. These had lavender roses on each side of the front panel. Instead of socks, there a pair of white tights like the ones Martha wore yesterday. Try as he would, he just can’t seem to get them on. He thought that they would just pull on like socks or pants. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get them passed his knees. Finally, he gave up. Donning his slip, he went in search of help. The bathroom door was closed. He could hear someone in the kitchen. Swinging the tights from his right hand as he walked, he went straight in there.

“How am I supposed to get these on?” he asked pointedly.

“Here, I’ll show you,” Mom said pulling out a kitchen chair and turning it to sit in front of her. She indicated that Steve should sit in it. He did. Mom took the tights and leaned over the back of the chair so that she was holding them in front of Steve. “You gather the leg like this. All the way down to the toe,” she demonstrated. “Now bring up your leg and point your toe.” Steve complied and she pulled one leg up to his knee and let go. “You do the other side.” He gathered up the other side just as he had seen her do. Then he put his heel on the edge of the chair and slipped his toe into that leg and let the fabric slip through his fingers like she had done. When he had it at his knee she said. “Now stand up and pull each leg up a little at a time.” Steve complied. He was amazed. One little trick and it was simple. He finished pulling them up to his waist and went back to put on his dress.

This dress buttoned up the back again, but Steve was determined to figure out how to do the buttons himself. Martha did it somehow. If she could do it, he could too. With some concentration he buttoned up the back as far as he could reach and then went into the bathroom. It was deserted now. He turned his back to the mirror and looked over his shoulder as he tried to reach the not yet fastened buttons. He realized that he was only one button short of being able to reach them all. Pulling the dress up a little, he buttoned the one he couldn’t otherwise reach. After that, it was a snap. He tied the belt behind his back, watching in the mirror. Then he brushed his hair, back combing the bangs the way Martha had done. When he was finished, he opened the drawer the barrettes were in and picked out one. They were a little clumsy to operate but he managed and started for the kitchen. Almost unwillingly, his eye caught the perfume bottle. He looked at it for a long time. Finally, he shrugged his shoulders and sprayed some behind each ear and on his wrist and rubbed his other wrist on it.

They had breakfast and then Mom showed him pictures from yesterday. It was amazing. He and Martha looked like sisters. “I’m going to treasure these pictures for a long time,” Mom said. “For a week, I have two daughters.”

Then she got out the camera and they started another photo session. There was the usual posing outside. Stephanie alone first, then Stephanie and Martha. That was followed by Mom and Stephanie. Then inside, Mom got Stephanie and Martha playing with Ken and Barbie. That completed another roll. It went into her purse and she left for work.

Martha got out her sewing and started to work on that while Stephanie continued to play with Ken and Barbie. He had them dressed for tennis, then to go horseback riding. After that they were at a fancy dance and Barbie wore her best gown. All the while, Martha watched with satisfaction. She was pleased that she had a sister, even if it was only for a little while.

Finally, Saturday rolled around. Steve had begun to wonder if it was ever going to get there. He knew he would have to wear a dress at least for the morning, but it wouldn’t be long now until he could wear pants again. That made this morning special. He bounded out of bed, with a light heart. He opened the drawer to get his underwear out. Martha had made some kind of mistake. There were two pairs of panties. One was blue with white lace and the other was blue with flowers. He grabbed the ones with the lace and discovered they also had ruffles of lace across the seat. No matter. He couldn’t be daunted today. Today is the day he can wear pants.

In the closet were a sheer white blouse and a red jumper that zipped up the back. The slip designated for today was the fancy one. He put them on and pulled on the white knee socks. After fixing his hair and putting on perfume, he almost skipped on the way to breakfast.

Mom got out the camera after breakfast and there was another photo session. After dozen or so pictures she went to the Laundromat. Stephanie occupied himself with Ken and Barbie while he waited. About two hours later, Mom came in dragging her laundry cart with her.

She began the ritual of laundry sorting. Each of the “girls” was given a stack of clothes to take to their rooms. When Stephanie came back to get the second stack, Mom had news for him.

“Sweet heart, I’m sorry. But it seems I spent so much money on film and developing, I didn’t have enough to wash all of your jeans. Here are three pairs. If you wear a dress again tomorrow, and are careful through the week, that should last you until next Saturday.”

He would have to wear a dress again tomorrow… Oh well. He could survive another day. It had been five already. One more wouldn’t hurt. He took his jeans back into his bedroom and began to put his clothes away. He dumped all the socks into his drawer at once. As they went in, he saw that they landed right on that extra pair of panties. Oh well, it didn’t matter.

The day went by without incident. He played jacks with Martha for a while. Then, after lunch, they got out Ken and Barbie again. When they got bored with that, they got out some games and played them on the kitchen table.

After dinner Mom asked Stephanie to help with the dishes. They talked while they worked.

When they were through, Mom looked at him with a serious face. “I’m really sorry you have to wear a dress again tomorrow. I just didn’t realize how much I was spending on film and developing until I began counting my money at the Laundromat this morning.”

“It’s OK Mom. I’m used to it now. One more day, won’t kill me.”

“You’re such a good sport. You’ve indulged me my little fantasy and let me take pictures of you. I know. I’ll bake a cake this evening and tomorrow we’ll have a going away party for Stephanie. Would you like that?”

“I always like to eat cake,” Steve said.

She gave him a big hug. “That’s my girl,” she said. In the living room, she said to Martha, “Why don’t you lend Stephanie that dress you wore to Cousin Sue’s wedding tomorrow. We’ll have a going away party, for Stephanie.”

“OK, that will be fun,” Martha agreed.

When Steve got ready for bed, he hung up his dress as usual and put on his nightgown. Then he thought, “Oh yeah, I have pajamas I can wear.” He hesitated and decided to go ahead and leave the nightgown another night. He was going to be wearing a dress tomorrow anyway.

In the morning, he went to breakfast before getting dressed. Mom gave him a big hug and kissed him on the forehead.

“Well today’s the last day we get to have Stephanie with us. It’s going to be a special day. After breakfast, why don’t you take a bubble bath before you get dressed?”

So it was, he did just that. Mom came into the bathroom and filled the tub for him. She put in some of her special bubble bath for him. It smelled really good. Almost like perfume.

“When you’re done put on your slip and call me. I’ll fix your hair. I want it to look really nice today,” she told him as she closed the door. There were his clean panties and slip on the hook behind the door. He soaked in the tub for a while and then washed his hair. He got out and dried himself, pulled on the panties and slip.

“Mom,” he called out the door. “I’m ready.”

She came in all smiles. She gave him another big hug. Out came the hair drier and she began blow drying his hair. She ratted it all over and sprayed it with hair spray. It was all puffy and really made him look like a girl. Then she sprayed perfume on him. “Come on,” she told him. “Martha has your dress lying on your bed.” He remembered that dress. It was really fancy. It had cap sleeves with long extensions that were sheer and had a little slit at the wrist that had to be buttoned together to make it fit tight. The top of the dress was satin and was cut in a yoke neckline that was pointed down ever so slightly in the middle. The skirt was very full, with built in petticoats. It came down to the mid-calf. There were matching tights. Mom handed him the tights.

“Do you remember how to put these on?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He sat on the bed and gathered up the left leg, pointed his toe and slipped it in up to the knee. He did the same with the right leg and standing he pulled them up. They were nearly sheer.

“You managed that as if you had been doing it all your life,” Mom beamed. She helped him on with the dress, taking care not to mess up his hair. There were different shoes then he had worn before. These had little straps at the heel. The heel was narrow and raised about an inch. Not quite high heels, but not flats either. He put them on. His ankles wanted to wobble a little when he walked, but he could manage well enough.

“Let’s see how you look,” Mom said, stepping back. “Turn around for me.” Stephanie turned around slowly. “You know when Martha wore that to Cousin Sue’s wedding she had on lipstick and mascara. Come to the bathroom with me.” Back in the bathroom Mom got out her make-up and applied the lipstick and mascara for him.

“Come look at yourself in the mirror,” she said leading him out into the hall. Stephanie faced the full-length mirror with Mom standing behind. “Have you ever seen a better looking girl? Stephanie, you’re beautiful. Let’s get some pictures.” She led the way out to the back porch.

She took pictures in all kinds of poses. Sometimes on the stairs, sometimes in the yard, there were even some at the maple tree. Martha had on a really nice dress too. She got into some pictures. Of course, Mom got into some as well.

By the time they got through taking pictures, it was lunch time. Martha and Stephanie occupied their time playing games at the table, while Mom fixed lunch. In the middle of the afternoon, Mom got out the cake she had baked the night before and took some more pictures. First of just Stephanie and then of Stephanie and Martha around the cake before she cut it. They all had cake and ice cream and fruit punch. Then Mom gave Stephanie a present. It was a gold locket. Inside the locket were two of the pictures of Stephanie. Just the face cut down to fit into the locket.

“I thought maybe you might like something to remember your week as a girl,” Mom said. Her eyes were shining as if she might cry. Stephanie looked at the locket. It was beautiful. He almost had tears in his eyes. He never expected anything. “Here let me put it on for you,” Mom said taking the locket. She walked behind him and put the locket over his head and fastened the catch behind his neck. Next she took some more pictures. That finished the roll. They all sat at the table and played games until dinner time.

After dinner, the atmosphere calmed down and they watched television. Finally it was bedtime. Mom helped him take of the mascara. In the bedroom, he took off the dress and hung it carefully. Then he stripped to his panties and put on the nightgown. He made a trip to the bathroom. On the way back, he remembered. He was going to wear his pajamas to bed tonight. By the time he got there he had decided to just go ahead and sleep in the nightgown.

In the morning, Mom came and woke Steve for school. He got up slowly. He had gotten used to sleeping in and had a hard time waking up this early. He took off his nightgown, folded it and put it under his pillow. He went to the dresser and opened the top drawer. He was still a little foggy in his thinking. He dug out the clean panties that were there and changed into them. Then he went to his closet. There was no dress. Not even the one he wore yesterday. There was no slip. He stood looking in there for a moment. “Oh!” he thought. “School today. I need jeans.” He dressed for school, leaving the panties on.

He felt very sneaky at school. He hadn’t planned to wear the panties, but in his muddled thinking, he left them on. It was rather neat, when he thought of it. No one knew he had just spent a week as a girl and now he was still wearing panties, as if he were a girl dressed in boys’ clothes. Sometimes girls did that.

When he came home from school he didn’t go outside to play. Instead he sat on the couch for a while, watching Martha play with Ken and Barbie. After a bit, he played with her. After all, it had been fun last week. He didn’t have to tell anyone he did it.

That night, when he got ready for bed, he remembered his pajamas. He was amazed how coarse the flannel felt after spending a week in nylon tricot. When he got in bed he found the nightgown still under his pillow. He didn’t want to take time to give it back tonight, so he put it into his drawer next to his other pair of pajamas.

In the morning, he deposited the panties in his dirty clothes. There were none in his drawer. It seemed funny, not to be wearing any underwear. All day at school, he was conscious of that fact. By afternoon, he wished he had some on. He never noticed it before, but the inside of his jeans was rough. It didn’t feel particularly good rubbing in that private area. On the way home, he felt strange. He actually wanted to wear panties.

That started him thinking about last week. He had liked the lavender dress. Mom was right; it was a good color for him. What’s more, he looked good in it. He didn’t have anything that color. He’d have to wear a dress, to wear that color again. Of course he had looked best on Sunday when he wore that special dress. But then, Mom had done some special thing with his hair and the make-up didn’t hurt either. Those sheer tights really felt good on his legs. It had been kind of exciting while they were out back taking pictures. The wind blowing around the corner of the house had caused his dress to sway. He could feel the wind creep up under the skirt and blow around his thighs. “Oh hold on here!” he thought. “This kind of thinking is crazy.” He actually missed wearing dresses and yesterday, he had played with dolls and rationalized it away. Was he turning into a girl?

At home he went out and played under the hedge in his fort. That thoroughly trashed that pair of jeans. That was all right though. He had gotten two days out of them. When he got up in the morning, he didn’t relish the thought of going another day without panties under his jeans. Yet he had done it all the time before. He wasn’t going to ask for panties. He’d just tough it out. When he came home that night, Martha invited him to play with Ken and Barbie.

“No,” he said even though he wanted to. That was girl thing. He dressed as a girl last week, so he acted like a girl. This week he was all boy. “I’m going outside.” Outside he crawled under the porch and began digging with his coffee can. He was like a man possessed. He dug with a fury. When he got hungry, he came out. He had spent almost two hours lost in the digging. His jeans were shot. After dinner, he put on his pajamas. He noticed that he was tender where the crotch of his pants rubbed.

In the morning, he went to the bathroom as soon as he got up. When he came out, Martha went right in behind him. He could hear Mom in the kitchen and Martha’s door was open. He slipped in and snatched a pair of panties. He quickly went to his room and put them on. He finished dressing in a hurry, lest anyone catch him in the panties. It was a pleasing sort of thing, wearing panties with no one knowing; his private secret. A joke on everyone and no one knew. The next day, he didn’t have an opportunity snatch another pair, so he wore the panties a second day.

When he came to breakfast, Mom admonished him about trashing another pair of pants.

“That’s your last pair of clean pants young man. You’ll have to make them last until Saturday morning,” she told him sternly. “You don’t have any extra pairs this week.”

It was raining when he came home, so he was confined to the house. He sullenly sat and watched television, steadfastly refusing to join in Martha’s play. He might be wearing panties, but he was a boy. That evening, he watched for an opening to snatch a clean pair of panties for the next day. He waited until Martha went to the bathroom. Girls always take a long time in there. He sneaked passed the bathroom and quietly slipped into her room and accomplished the task without her noticing.

Friday after school, the weather had cleared. He decided to go outside. As he went through the kitchen, he noticed that Mom had left the pictures from last week out on the kitchen counter. She must have been looking at them before she went to work. Steve studied them. He had made a good looking girl. He looked at the one of him playing with Martha. In spite of himself, he had had fun dressed as a girl. Next he spotted the picture of him with the locket. He turned and went to his room. He got out the locket. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes. What good was it to have this locket, if he could never wear it? He put it on and slipped it under his tee shirt.

Out on the porch, he took out the locket and opened it. There was Stephanie looking back at him. With a rage, he snapped the locket closed and put it under his shirt. He went directly to the front porch and crawled under it. There, he sat on the edge of his hole. Tears dripped from his cheeks. He leaned back and got a couple of dirt clods and began rubbing them into his jeans. He continued until his jeans were absolutely brown. Then he went back inside and sat on the couch.

“Mom will have a cow when she sees your jeans,” Martha told him.

“I don’t care,” he said sullenly.

Mom called at dinner time. Martha answered and the first thing she did was rat on Steve.

“Mom said, I’m supposed to get you into a dress, even before we eat. You have to wear girl’s clothes again, all weekend,” she told him marching off to her room. Returning she look at him with a smirk on her face. “Your dress, your slip, and… your panties are in your room along with your tights and shoes,” she told him in a snotty tone. Steve went to his room. The dress was lying on his bed along with a slip. It was the blue one he had worn last week He put the panties in his drawer. He noticed that two other pairs and two pairs of lace cuffed socks were already there. That meant there was a dress in the closet. He looked to check. The lavender dress and the yellow one from last week were there along with the other slip.

Smiling, he changed into his sisters’ clothes. After which, he went to the bathroom and brushed out his hair and put in the barrette. Anointing himself with perfume he went out in the hall and checked his appearance. He turned a little each way. Stephanie was back! Smiling a self-satisfied smile, he went to dinner. After dinner, he happily joined into Martha’s play time.

That night when he went to bed, he put his pajamas back in the drawer and slept in the nightgown again. In the morning, he awoke to the smell of bacon & eggs. Mom had a way of gently coaxing him out of bed on the weekends. He had to go to the bathroom. While in there, he brushed his hair, putting in a barrette and doused himself with perfume. Mom gave him a funny look when he sat down at the table.

“I see you decided to sleep in the nightgown last night.”

“Martha said I had to wear girl’s clothes all weekend. Didn’t that mean at night too?”

“Well, I did say I was going to make you wear girl’s clothes all weekend. I’m glad you are resigned to it. But what’s with the hair and the perfume?”

“Well, I thought you would make Martha do it to me, so I thought I might as well do it to myself. I feel better about it when I do it myself.”

“That makes sense. You’re right. I most likely would have had Martha do that to you.”

After breakfast he went and put on the yellow dress. He would save the lavender dress for Sunday. It was his favorite. Mom saw him coming out of his room and motioned him into the bathroom. There she touched up his hair. She gave him a hug and kissed him on the forehead.

“You be a good girl today. OK?” she told him. He looked at her and nodded. He noticed her eyes were watery. It was as though she was about to cry, but she was smiling.

Mom left to do the wash and Stephanie played with Ken and Barbie while Martha did her embroidery. That’s how she found them when she came back. Steve noticed when she gave him his clean clothes that all five pairs of jeans were clean.

After dinner, Mom had Stephanie help with the dishes. She put that apron on him. The one that was more ornamental than not. It made him feel like a girl … however that felt. Mom thanked him and gave him a big hug when they were through. It seemed to him that she didn’t want to let go. She never hugged him like that when he wasn’t wearing a dress. Oh, not that she never hugged him, it was just that the hugs she gave him when he was dressed like this were … different. Like they were more important to her. Or … he was more important as a she?

On Sunday, he put on the lavender dress. He added his locket. How often would he get a chance to wear it openly? When Mom noticed, she gave him another one of those hugs. She smiled at him afterward. She acted like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. She just took a Kleenex and wiped her eyes. He and Martha played together all day. After dinner, they were all in the living room. Martha was sewing and Stephanie was playing with Ken and Barbie. Steve looked up and noticed Mom looking at him.

“You know, I think I should have you wear a dress more often. You and your sister haven’t had a cross word all weekend. Come to think of it, you got along beautifully all through spring break.”

Steve looked down and could feel the color rising in his face. He quickly busied himself with setting up the doll house.

On Monday, he put on his extra pair of panties before he dressed. Then that evening he looked for his chance to get a clean pair of panties. It didn’t come until bedtime. He grabbed a handful of her plain ones. She had so many, he was sure that she wouldn’t notice three or four missing. It wasn’t like she kept them neatly in her drawer or anything. They were all jumbled on one side and the colored ones on the other. After this evening, it was a sure thing he couldn’t count on a regular opportunity to get fresh panties.

All that week he wore his sister’s panties. It rained most of the week, so he played inside. He only used only three pairs of jeans. He expected some comment from Mom. He thought sure she would compliment him on his keeping his clothes so clean all week. She said nothing. It was like it didn’t matter. She did give him a hug on Saturday, but it wasn’t like the hugs she gave Stephanie. Not once did she look at him with tears in her eyes, acting like she was so happy she couldn’t stand it. He needed to be rewarded, so he slept in the nightgown that night. On Sunday, he just made sure to get dressed before breakfast.

That night at bedtime, he got a chance and snatched another handful of panties. This time, he got six. He hoped that wasn’t too many. Too bad if it was. He couldn’t risk another trip into Martha’s room to put them back. He didn’t put them in his sock drawer. He hid them under his tee shirts in the second drawer.

On Monday, Martha wore the blue dress he had worn. That set him to thinking about his week as a girl. He remembered fondly how he had looked in the mirror. He remembered Martha teaching him to do embroidery. He couldn’t remember her ever taking time to teach him anything before. And Mom. She had treated him like a princess. She made a fuss over him, hugged him all the time kissed him on the forehead. She had complimented him on how good he looked almost every day. Steve liked the attention. Twice more that week, he slept in the nightgown.

He thought. “It would only take one pair of pants a day to make Mom punish him by putting him in dresses for the weekend again.” That day, after school, Steve purposely ran across the wet lawn in front of the school. It was so wet it splashed mud clear up to his crotch. When he got home he looked at his jeans in the mirror. “One down, four to go,” he thought.

The next day at lunch Steve found a spot that was still damp on the play ground and ran across it. He intentionally slipped and got big grass stain on the rump. Wednesday, he managed to spill chocolate milk on his lap and didn’t bother to try to sponge it out. Instead, he spent the rest of lunch recess in the bathroom leaning against the heater to dry it in. Thursday, by a lucky accident, he caught his pants on a screw in the school bus while they were on a field trip. By Friday, he was running out of ideas for “accidental” happenings. It wasn’t until an hour before school was out that it came to him. He stuck his finger in his nose and found a tender spot with his finger nail. It wasn’t bleeding much, but he leaned just far enough forwards to let it drip on his pants. Every time it stopped he worried it just a little more. About five minutes before school was out the blood flow became stronger and the teacher noticed it on his lip. She sent him to the school nurse. She packed his nose and sent him home. Mom knew he had ruined at least three pairs of jeans. When Martha called her, true to her nature, she reported that Steve had a bloody nose and that it was all over his jeans.

“Steve,” she said, while Mom was still on the phone. “Mom said to get some clean pants on and put those in the bath tub in cold water.”

“I don’t have any more clean pants. They’re all dirty. Really dirty.”

“He says they all dirty.” She paused. “OK. I sure will.” She hung up the phone. “Well congratulations. You’ve done it again. You’ve won another weekend as a girl.” She was beaming. She was gone about five minutes. “Your wardrobe in your closet and your dresser. You have four dresses to choose from and three pairs of shoes. I couldn’t make up my mind so you can choose which of them to wear when. Besides, I want to see how well you can coordinate your outfits. Mom said and I quote ‘Get him out of those jeans. He’ll have to wear dresses this weekend. He’ll just have to learn to take better care of his clothes.’ Welcome back Stephanie. Mom wants those jeans soaking right away so don’t drag your feet changing.”

Steve marched straight to his room and surveyed his choices. There was the yellow dress from girl week Monday, the green from Sunday, the yellow chiffon from Thursday and the pink and white from Friday. Both slips hung from the hook on the back of his closet door. He chose the green one backed up with a pair of white lace cuff socks and the black flats. When he got the socks he noticed that there were five pairs of panties. All of them the fancy ones with the lace and flowers sewn on them. There were also four pairs of socks and two pairs of tights, white and yellow. He figured to wear the Yellow chiffon tomorrow and the pink and white on Sunday. In the bathroom he fixed his hair and sprayed on perfume.

The nightgown seemed to have a permanent home in his top drawer. He exchanged it for his pajamas under the pillow and wore it to bed that night.

When he came in to breakfast on Saturday he hadn’t bothered to dress. Mom was just dishing up his eggs.

“Well,” she said, “you’ve done it again. I hope you enjoy wearing your sister’s clothes. I’m glad you didn’t manage to ruin more than one pair a day or I would have had to send you to school in a dress.” She didn’t comment on the nightgown. She seemed to accept it as inevitable when he was doing a girl weekend. She probably thought it was Martha’s idea.

After breakfast Steve changed his panties. He didn’t use one of the fancy one but got one of the two plain ones he had left over from the previous week. He decided on the yellow tights to go with the chiffon dress. Underneath, he wore the fancy slip and toped off the outfit with the yellow flats.

He played jacks with Martha that morning while Mom did the wash. In the afternoon, they played with Ken and Barbie. In the evening, Martha got out her embroidery. Stephanie was so engrossed with what she was doing that Martha got out the next piece she intended to do and had “her” work on it.

On Sunday they saw Stephanie in “her” nightgown at breakfast again. Before coming to breakfast “her” hair was brushed with a barrette in it and all the right places had perfume on them. When Steve finally got dressed, it was in the pink dress with the white tights and black flats. It almost seemed natural to go to his closet and put on a dress. It wasn’t so much like a punishment when he just picked a dress to wear. Instead of being told “this is what you are allowed to wear.”

When Martha was in the bath tub, Steve went to her room and borrowed a fresh supply of panties for next week. He was pretty confident. He actually counted out five. He peeked out into the hall to be sure Mom wasn’t in a position to see him and then walked quickly to his room. Once there, he hid the supply in his tee shirt drawer.

He was able to get by the weekend in pants. He thought he was never going to wear a dress again. He’d just sleep in the nightgown a few times a week. Surely, that would take care of the urges he had developed toward that. All was well and good, that is, until Monday after school. He was teasing one of his friends, who started chasing him. He ran across that muddy front lawn. Later, he looked down at himself and saw the mud splattered all over his pants. “One down and four to go,” he thought. Then he caught himself. He had started this week with only four pairs of clean jeans. “Two down and three to go,” he corrected himself. That made him smile. It would be easier if he wanted to do it this week. He had four days to go and only three pairs of pants. He only needed to short circuit two more pairs to be without pants by Saturday.

When he got dressed in the morning he remembered that he only had three pair pants. If he didn’t want to wear a dress this weekend, he would have to take care. That morning, Martha spilled her cereal. It was just dumb luck the milk missed her all together and ran off in his lap. She had thoroughly soaked his jeans.

“Well you had better change out of those pants. Between the milk and the sugar in it they will be worthless,” Mom told him. He went to change. His panties were soaked to so he changed them as well. As he put them in the laundry basket, he thought. “Three down and two to go.” It was a dumb thought. After all, he wasn’t trying to trash his pants. Why was he keeping score?

“Are you going to have enough jeans to last through? You already dirtied an extra pair this week.”

“Yeah, I think so. I have one more pair. If I wear these today and tomorrow, I can wear the other one Thursday and Friday. I can wear that one Saturday morning until you get back with the laundry.”

“Well, I guess that will work. But don’t forget. You have to get the maximum use out of each pair.

Tuesday it rained. But the sun was out Wednesday afternoon. After school, he played under the hedge. That pair of jeans fell to a similar fate as those from Sunday. The hedge always left jeans only fit for the washing machine. At breakfast Thursday, Mom cautioned him. “Remember that pair of pants has to last through Saturday morning. You haven’t left another pair in even usable condition this week.”

Friday after school it was raining. He was running to make it to the safety patrol crossing before the light changed. There was a gooey mud puddle at the corner. In an instant, it occurred to him that he was wearing his last pair of pants. If they got dirty he would have to wear a dress tomorrow, probably even for the whole weekend. He could easily jump over the puddle if he space his steps right. His right foot landed in the near edge and his left foot landed in the far edge.

Martha was faithful in every respect to her own nature. She made her nightly report to Mom. “Steve got his pants muddy on the way home. I saw him do it.” She paused. “I’m sure he knows. He is just sitting at the kitchen table.” Another pause. “I’ll do it just like last time. I’ll see you when you get home.” Martha was smirking when she looked at Steve. “I’ll have your wardrobe in your room in a few minutes. Then you can change,” she told him as she headed up the hall. Steve followed her turning into the bathroom. He washed his hands and face. Then he brushed his hair and put a barrette in it. Satisfied that it looked all right, he sprayed a little perfume behind each ear and on his wrists. “Your dresses await you.” Martha called from the hall. In his room, Steve found a similar assortment as last time. He chose the green dress. It was a pinstripe plaid with lace sown across the chest.

In the living room he sat down and played with Ken and Barbie. He dressed Barbie in a ballet dress and pretended she was the star in a big production. He had missed this. After dinner, Martha joined him. When it was time for bed, he traded his pajamas for the nightgown.

Mom gave him a disapproving eye at breakfast. “You know, every time you do this, it costs me extra at the Laundromat,” she told him. “Most of the time it’s not a big deal, but it’s just after the first of the month and everything is due. I just don’t have enough to wash everything you own. I’ll just have enough to wash three pairs of your jeans. Last time I did that you trashed the last pair Friday. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was on purpose.” Steve was a little concerned. He had done that on purpose before, but he hadn’t done it on purpose this time. It was just bad luck Martha was as much to blame as he was. He wouldn’t have been tempted if she hadn’t spilled her cereal on his fresh pair of pants Tuesday. Even if he had splashed that gooey puddle, he would still have had another pair of jeans to wear.

“You better get dressed now. You’ve been wearing that nightgown for a while now. At least off and on. Put it in the laundry before I go,” she told him.

Today, he wore a red dress with a built in white, transparent apron, knee socks and the black flats. Mom softened after she came back from doing the laundry. She had Stephanie help her with the dishes after lunch.

“Thanks for all the help, sweetheart,” she told him and gave him one of those hugs. “In spite of the extra cost, I like a visit from Stephanie.”

This confused Steve a little. He was being punished, yet his mother was happy with him. He decided not to think about it.

That evening he sewed on the project with Martha. They watched television together. Mom surprised them with some ice cream just before bedtime.

Sunday morning, Steve put on the yellow dress and white tights. He kind of liked wearing tights. These didn’t feel quite a good as the sheer ones, the ones he had worn with the dress from Cousin Sue’s wedding. Still, they were neat. That day, Stephanie was in full bloom. She invited Martha to play jacks in the morning. She offered to help wash lunch dishes. In the afternoon, she played alone with Ken and Barbie. Most importantly, she slipped into Martha’s bed room and picked up a fresh supply of panties for the following week.

Steve was determined to go a while without wearing a dress. He was very careful the first week and made each pair of jeans last two days. Twice he slept in the nightgown through the week and all three nights of the weekend. In the second week, he managed to use only four pairs between Sunday, and Saturday. Monday was Memorial Day. There was no school. Holidays always made him restless. He had to go outside to play, to spite the rain the night before. He had worn a fresh pair of jeans that morning. They weren’t so fresh by lunch.

He had four pairs left on Tuesday. He wasn’t really thinking about how long his jeans had to last. That is until lunch. He chose to play touch football with bigger kids. The ground was a little damp and he ended up with a grass stain on another pair with only one day on them.

In the morning he had to face Mom. “Well, Steve,” she said, when he came to breakfast. “It looks like you’re on a roll again. Keep up this average, and you’ll be wearing dresses again this weekend.”

Steve kept quiet and sat down to breakfast. Martha finished up before him and went to the bathroom. Mom was busy getting tonight’s dinner started. As Steve was putting his dishes in the sink, she asked him a favor.

“Steve, I want to make a stew for dinner tomorrow. To do that, I’ll have to start it tonight when I get home from work. Would you be a dear, and get my stew pot out from the cupbored in the corner. It’s all the way in the back on the bottom shelf.”

Steve got down on his hands and knees. He had to slither around and contort himself half inside the cupbored to reach it. He sat it on the counter when he stood up, pulled up his pants. Mom was sitting next to the table. “Thank you sweetie,” she said, holding her arms out. Steve went over and she gave him a hug. She had ulterior motives.

When she hugged him, her left arm slid up, lifting his shirt a little and her right hand found the waist band of his pants. The right thumb and forefinger caught the elastic of his panties. She relaxed her grip and looked him in the eye. “Steve, are you wearing underwear?” she asked giving the elastic a little tug. Steve’s eyes got big. He swallowed hard and slowly shook his head yes. “I saw them while you were getting into the cupbored. What happened? You found out during spring break, that you liked wearing Martha’s panties, didn’t you?” Steve looked down and shook his head again. “I thought there were a lot of her panties in the wash this last month… Is that why you’ve been trashing your jeans every other week? You like wearing dresses.” Steve just stood looking down. After a time, Mom put her finger under his chin and lifted his face. Looking in his eyes, she continued. “It’s OK. You won’t get in trouble if you tell me the truth. Am I right? Do you like wearing dresses?” Steve’s lips quivered as he shook his head yes one more time. She gave him another hug. A big one. She didn’t let go for a long time. Before she did, she gave him a kiss on the top of his head. “Well do Mommy a favor. Don’t get your jeans dirty today. There’ll be a surprise for you when you get home from school.

Steve did as his mother said. His jeans were almost as clean when he came home as they were when he put them on that morning. He didn’t find a surprise. He thought maybe she forgot, or didn’t have time. Well, it didn’t matter. Now that she had guessed what he was doing, he wouldn’t get away with it again. She would find some other way to punish him.

When Steve sat down to breakfast in the morning, Mom was all smiles. She looked at him expectantly for the longest time. When Steve finished eating, she couldn’t stand it any more. “Did you like your surprise?” she asked.

“I didn’t find a surprise,” Steve said, wide eyed.

“It’s in your room. Let’s go look.” She took him by the hand and walked briskly to his room. Once there, she opened his closet. Steve had worn the same clothes as yesterday. He hadn’t needed to get into the closet. It was full of dresses, skirts and blouses. Not just four or five. There must be a dozen outfits in all. There were three slips hanging on the hook behind the door. Steve looked, his mouth hanging open in surprise. “And here,” Mom said opening the third drawer of his dresser. He had kept mismatched socks in there. They were gone. Instead there were a dozen or so pairs of panties on one side and several pairs of girls’ socks and tights on the other. “Look under your bed,” Mom beamed. Steve found four pairs of girls’ shoes. “You don’t have to trash your pants to wear dresses anymore. Just put on whatever you like whenever you want to. Only don’t go outside unless I ask you to. I think everything should fit. These were all Martha’s last year. They were supposed to go to Goodwill last September, but, somehow we missed the pickup day. Her current clothes are just a little big on you, so these should be OK. If something is too tight, just let me know; I’ll see if I can let it out a little.”

Mom gave him another big hug and kissed his head again. She went back to the kitchen. Steve looked around and couldn’t believe what had happened. Mom had figured out why he had trashed his jeans so regular. Instead of being mad, she gave him his own girl’s clothes to wear.

He was in a daze all day at school. He could hardly concentrate. Every time he would relax his thinking, he would get a picture of all those girl’s clothes in his closet. “Just put on what ever you like whenever you want to,” she had said. Could she really mean that? If not, why, then, would she have put all those girl’s clothes in his room?

When he went to bed that night, his pajamas weren’t under his pillow. Instead, there was a nightgown. Not the one he had worn before. This one was shorter. It had thin shoulder straps that were almost all ruffles. The ruffle continued all the way around the neck line. The hem had matching ruffles and would hit him somewhere in the upper thigh. The sides had slits up each seem all the way to the waist line and there were matching panties. The panties had matching ruffles across the seat. He looked in his dresser, where he kept his pajamas. There were three other nightgowns, besides the original. He put on his new nightie and slipped out into the hall for a quick look at himself in the mirror. He could get used to sleeping like this. Even if he didn’t wear dresses every day.

“Up and at ‘em Steve. It’s time to get up. I’ve got breakfast ready,” Mom said from the doorway.

Steve rolled over and squinted. “OK, I’ll be right there. He waved his arm at her. He had had the strangest dream. He dreamt that Mom had figured out about his ruining his pants and put all kinds of dresses in his closet and all kinds of other girl’s clothes in his dresser. It’d be really cool if she did. He sat up and looked down … he just stared and his lap. This nightgown, the one he had on, it was in his dream. He bolted to the closet. It wasn’t a dream. It was for real.

“Come and get your breakfast before your eggs get cold Steve,” Mom called from the kitchen.

Steve hesitated. He almost went in the nightgown, but changed his mind. Quickly, he opened his third drawer and grabbed a pair of panties and put them on. He pulled on yesterday’s jeans and grabbed a shirt. He buttoned it on the way to the kitchen. Martha was already eating. Steve sat down and started on his plate of scrambled eggs. When Martha went to the bathroom to finish getting ready for school. Mom brought a cup of coffee to the table and sat across from Steve. He looked up. She was smiling like she knew a secret or something. “Is Stephanie going to visit this weekend?” she asked. Steve just shrugged his shoulders. “Well, you know, she’s always welcome,” Mom said heading for the living room.

School was a blur. Steve couldn’t concentrate on anything. Mom had invited him to wear a dress. Somehow he hadn’t quite settled in his mind what happened. A month ago, he had never even considered wearing girl’s clothes. Now without even making any kind of decision about it. He had a closet full of dresses and free license to wear them. It all seemed so foreign, yet so inviting. What had become of him? Was he … Yes! He was. He was looking forward to wearing a dress. He really wanted to wear a dress! He had never really admitted that to himself. Steve glanced at the clock. It was past three o’clock. School would be out soon. He could go home and put on a dress. He began to tremble ever so slightly. He realized that he had been staring off into space and mumbling. He began watching the students for signs they had noticed him. He had thought so hard about it he was almost sure that somebody surely had guessed his thoughts. Or … he was really afraid that he had mumbled something loud enough for someone to hear.

The bell rang and startled Steve. He was shaking with excitement. He virtually ran all the way home. Martha always beat him home by a wide margin. Her classroom was on the other side of the school. She had better than a block head start on him. Plus, he usually stopped to look at a bug or watch a bird fly or almost any other distraction that could occur on the way home.

Today, she was just opening the door when he ran up on the porch. He was actually in the house ahead of her. He went straight to his room. He opened his closet and began for the first time to really inventory the clothes.

There were seven dresses, six skirts and eight blouses. He hadn’t noticed before, but there were three sweaters. The dresses ranged from pretty, but plain to fancy party dresses. The skirts were mostly school clothes that Martha had worn and the blouses were like the dresses. All things considered, he could wear some different combination for a month without repeating.

He chose a blue dress with white trim and laid it on the bed. He surveyed the slips he picked out one with a lot of lace. He wasn’t sure why, but the lace just appealed to him. There were all kinds of socks to choose from. He picked a pair of knee socks. Stripping out of his shirt and jeans, he put on the slip and dress. He pulled on the knee socks and turned down a little cuff just above his calf muscle. The shoes he chose were a pair of “Mary Jane’s” Martha had hardly worn. They looked brand new.

He went to the bathroom and brushed out his hair. He put in a barrette and doused himself with perfume. Checking out his appearance in the hall, he smiled, turned on his heel and walked triumphantly to the living room. He was watching television when Martha came in from the kitchen.

“Why are you wearing that dress and where did you get it?” she demanded.

“’Cause I want to and out of my closet.”

“That’s my dress, or at least it used to be. I gave it to Goodwill last year. Did you steal it out of the bag?”

“No, I got it out of my closet.”

“How did it get in there, if you didn’t put it there?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask Mom?”

“I will, in the morning. I’ve already called her and I can’t call again unless it’s an emergency.”

In the morning, Steve woke to the smell of frying bacon. He got up and stretched. He looked down at his short nightie and smiled. If Martha had trouble with his dress last night, this should really freak her out.

He went to the bathroom and brushed his hair out. As he turned at the end of the hall, he heard Martha’s door open. “Wait until she gets to the kitchen,” he thought.

“Hi, sweetie. That nightie looks good on you. Do you like it?”

“Un-huh.”

“I just put your eggs on the table. They should still be warm.”

He sat down and started eating. Martha came in and did a double take. She slowly sat down, keeping her eyes fixed on Steve.

“Mom,” she started, with a strange tone in her voice, “where did Steve get that nightie? I know I put it in the Goodwill bag last year. He was wearing one of my old dresses last night too. It should have been in the bag as well.”

“Oh, don’t you remember? We missed the pickup day.”

“Yes, but didn’t you call and see about them getting it another time?”

“They told me to contact the Boy Scouts. The Scouts never returned my call, so I stored the bag in the basement. I just forgot about them until Tuesday this week.”

“Why does Steve have them?”

“Well I decided to put them in his closet. It was getting to be a strain on your wardrobe to have him wear your things every other week.”

“OK… But why is he wearing them now?”

“We made a deal. So long as he doesn’t trash too many of his jeans, he can wear them as often as he likes.”

Martha studied Steve while she ate her eggs. She didn’t say anything more. Steve finished and put his plate in the sink. He went to his room and put a clean pair of panties and the lacy slip. He got out a skirt and blouse. He had seen Martha wear that combination last year. The blouse had a lacy collar and full bloused sleeves. The skirt fit close to the hips and was pleated all the way around below that. He put on the blouse and then the skirt. Belatedly, he decided to wear a pair of tights. Hiking up the skirt and slip, he pulled them on. He quickly figured out, it would have been a lot easier if he had put them on before the skirt. He put on his shoes and went to the bathroom and put in a barrette with a long flowing ribbon. Anointing himself with perfume, he went to the living room and started playing with Ken and Barbie.

Mom left to do the wash and Martha sat down to play with Steve. After a while, she looked up at him and smiled. Steve wondered what that was all about. She reached over and gave him a big hug.

“Stephanie,” she began, “I really like having you as a little sister.” Martha had never hugged him before. Neither had she shown any sign of approval at all. Steve looked at her and blinked. “I can’t wait until summer starts. Then you can be my sister every day, all day.” She smiled as she put a different dress on Barbie.
Steve thought, “Her sister every day, all day? Could happen.” After all, Mom liked him a lot more dressed this way. Martha seemed to like it. He never got into trouble for getting his clothes dirty, when he was wearing a dress. And the locket. He had forgotten about the locket. He could wear the locket anytime he was dressed like this.

On Sunday, he wore another blouse and a jumper. Martha had liked jumpers. Steve could see why. They were so easy to get into. Just pull them over your head. In the evening Martha brought Steve some more blouses and skirts. “Here,” she said. “I meant to put these in the Goodwill too. I just forgot. I was going to wait for next year, but you might as well have them now.

All next week, when Steve got home, Martha had a dress laid out for him to wear. She always prompted him to change as soon as he came in. On Saturday mornings, he would put the girl’s clothes he had worn in the laundry. Mom never complained about the extra wash. On the weekends, he would sometimes catch Mom looking at him with a wistful smile. Two or three times each weekend, she would give him one of those special hugs. He never received this kind of attention when he was wearing pants.

When school was out that year, Steve came home and put on a dress. The dress buttoned up the back. As he was buttoning it, he remembered how he and complained about buttons in the back. “Who but a yucky girl would want to wear something so hard to get into,” he had thought. Indeed. Girls weren’t so yucky after all. Martha got her wish. He was her sister all day every day.

That summer, Steve became bored with sitting around the house and ventured out in the backyard. On one such occasion, he was surprised by the voice of young girl. It turned out to be the new neighbor. The old man had moved out and she and her mother moved in a month before. She was very friendly and jumped right off the porch. He couldn’t get away from her. Her name was Darlene.

At first, Steve was scared. But she made him relax by treating him like a girl. Steve told her that he wasn’t allowed out too much because he had asthma. After he went inside, he found it was exciting to be around another girl. The next time he was alone, he went out in hopes she would show up and she did. The fourth time he arranged to be out to meet her she told him that she went to his school and knew who he was. She was in the grade behind him. She assured him that she wouldn’t tell anyone he wasn’t really a girl. She also promised not to tell anyone at school that he dressed in girls clothes. They became good friends. Her mother liked him (her).

Stephanie was soon a regular at her house. All summer long he was in and out of there on a daily basis. Mom was upset when she found out about the girl next door. It happened as a surprise. He had told Darlene that his mother knew he wore dresses. He had bragged that she gave him a whole wardrobe. One Sunday afternoon, Darlene knocked on the door. Mom answered.

“Hi, I’m Darlene. I live next door. Can Stephanie come out and play?”

Mom was shaken. Then she collected herself and said. “Hi Darlene. Why don’t you come in a minute? I’ll see if Stephanie wants to play outside.” She went to the kitchen where Stephanie and Martha were playing Sorry. “Stephanie, your little friend from next door is here. She wants to know if you’d like to come out and play.” Then in a lower voice. “How does she know you?”

Stephanie hung his head. “I was outside and she saw me. I didn’t know that the old man next door had moved. He was never outside. I didn’t think anyone would see me. But Darlene just jumped off her porch and came right over. I couldn’t help but let her talk to me. I told her my name was Stephanie.”

“I’m going to want to talk to you about this later. You’d better have her play in here with you. I don’t want her mother seeing you.” Stephanie didn’t tell that Darlene’s mother had already seen him.

He went to greet Darlene. “Hi Darlene, my sister and I are playing Sorry. Why don’t you come and join us. We just started another game. If you take two turns in a row, you can catch up with us.”

“OK.”

Darlene spent the afternoon and even stayed for dinner.

“Well Stephanie,” Mom said with a stern look on her face. “So you went outside, after told you not to? Why on earth did you do that?”

“I was bored in the house. I just went out and sat on the steps. We did that a lot during spring break. That’s where you took all the pictures. I thought no one would see me.”

“Well, now you see why I told you to stay inside. Now what can we do? Next year, at school, she’s liable to recognize you and tell everyone about you. Oh God. I’m sorry I ever gave in to the temptation to have another daughter.”

“Don’t worry mom. She already told me that she recognized me and promised not to let anyone know about that.”

“How did she recognize you?”

“She’s a grade behind me in school. She used to live just two blocks the other side of school. The old man who lived next door was her grandfather. He went to live in a nursing home and gave the house to her mom and her.”

“Well, that’s fine for her, if we can trust her. What about her mother? She may recognize you.”

“She thinks I’m a girl. She said it was nice that Darlene had a girl to play with here. There were only boys in her old neighborhood.”

“Her mother has seen you?”

“Yes. She came out to see who Darlene was talking to. She likes me. She even invited me in to have some iced tea.”

“And you went?”

“I didn’t see what else I could do. I had to keep her thinking I was a girl.”

“And she didn’t suspect anything?”

“No. She said I was a very well behaved young lady and that she would be glad to have me come over and play with Darlene anytime.”

“Anytime? Have you gone back again?” Stephanie hung his head and shook it yes. “Well, I guess it’s gone from you can wear girls clothes anytime you’re at home, to you have to wear them. I hope you really like them.”

So, with that, Darlene and Stephanie became thick as thieves. Their relationship grew and Darlene’s mother took Stephanie to the movies. After that, mom even reciprocated. Soon Stephanie was seen all over town. She was even taken down town and tried on dresses.

When school started, it was back to the old routine. Steve at school and Stephanie at home. And so it went. Days became months and months became years.

During high school they dated. By then Stephanie was quite comfortable out amongst people. Darlene’s mother thought Darlene didn’t have a boyfriend. When she finally discovered the truth in Stephanie’s junior year, she was taken aback. She forbade Darlene from seeing her again. Then relented. She remembered what an honest person she was and how he had steadfastly refused to spend the night. She finally became convinced that Steve was all right and Darlene was allowed to go out with him again.

After high school graduation, Stephanie enrolled in community college. Steve used his initials on the college enrollment card and attended class in a dress. Darlene applied for admission in the state college the next year. The year after, Stephanie transferred. Both girls pledged a sorority and were accepted. Darlene was instrumental in keeping Stephanie’s secret.

On graduation, Steve and Darlene became engaged. They were engaged for two years while Stephanie studied for his masters. They were married one month after he landed a job in a computer firm. Since he could telecommute to work, he worked as Stephanie.

Oh. By the way, Stephanie made beautiful bride.