I woke up to a bright winter morning in the room where I had woken up most my eighteen years. I just had had one of my one in every six weeks off. I lazed around and the had lunch with my parents. After that I got myself ready for my night job and headed out to the metro. In the metro people stared at me as usual. Since this was the age of Aquarius military uniforms were few and far between on the streets of the capital, especially on January 1. I grumbled over the fact the voyage took all of 15-20 minutes from door to door. I especially didn’t like the 200 m between the metro station and Defence HQ. That winter was COLD.

I entered the gate and flipped my ID to the unarmed civilian contractor security guard. I teased him a bit, to distract from the fact that my coat had me down as a Royal Mounted Lifeguard, which was true, sort of, and my jacket claimed that I was in the Signal Corps, which was true, sort of. What I really was, was SS.

- Hi, did you get the flag up on time today?
- I forgot to push the button at 9 exactly ONE time, just one!
- Well, you know, we can’t let the side down. There are three Warsaw Pact embassies within a 500 m radius.

I pulled open the imposing entrance door, well one of the two huge doors. No metal detectors or anything like that. Why bother, the walls were crammed with weapons anyway. Admittedly none younger than 1898 but you can kill someone very effectively with a halberd.

In front of me was man. There were only two men in the country that had that many over-sized stars on his shoulders and I had already come across the other one a couple of times while he still was the heir to the throne. Besides, I also recognized the highest-ranking officer in the defence forces from the Generals’ table in the corner of the canteen. The generals and admiral there got served and didn’t have to stand in the line like the rest of us. Very undemocratic. My own shoulders showed that my efforts had been successful: Private. I had worked very hard for that. The family tradition mandated that no one should have a higher military rank than my mother. She had been promoted to vice-corporal four weeks into her five-week military career in 1944. Not bad for a 17-year-old schoolgirl.

Anyway, the Defence CEO waited, holding up the inner door for me. Quite nice of him. Of course I didn’t salute. I’d never dream of doing that. For two reasons; we were discouraged to annoy the higher ranks (i.e. almost everybody there) and I had already taken off my cap so saluting would have been an insult.

I made my way to the very secret and closed chamber where I usually skulked. One of the most secret places in the building. Of course you let 18-year-old kids handle some of the most secret top secret information in the country. Right? Right! Oh, it was not all Top Secret stuff. Sometimes it was just getting more lightbulbs to our boys in uniform in the Middle East (the girls there might have put on uniforms but I never got that confirmed).

Having slept for a couple of hours at exactly 0100Z I was woken up at and my teammate hit the sack. I brought out the amazingly tasty government furnished sandwiches from the refrigerator, got myself a nice cup of tea. Switched on the TV set and made myself comfortable. By that time I was one of only two people awake in the entire Defence HQ.

As I was sitting there alone in the building (the other person awake was the civilian guard in the doghouse, er, guardhouse). I started to contemplate the meaning of life and all that. I also realised the power I could appropriate if I so wished.

Those thoughts led me to review so many aspects of life (and the meaning thereof). I made a New Year resolution. I also decided to act on that resolution immediately. I rose from the not really that comfortable chair and

and that is how I made my momentous New Year resolution, how I implemented it and how the consequences thereof reverberated for years.

THE END

Oh shoot. Even if the story was posted within the time limits this time, after the censor has been there, there are not words enough to express the lack of words required for the contest. The TG part has been snipped as well. The story has already been removed from the contest!

Foiled, foiled again!

Two teens entered a shop specialised in “slightly” provocative clothing for girls. The rather skinny girl was very pretty in a girl-next-door way. The boy looked very much like the girl. They obviously were siblings. The boy more or less dragged the blushing girl into the shop.

The boy addressed the gorgeous and very seductively made up girl (whose dress had required minimal material) working in the shop.

- Please, could you help my sister? She needs something spectacular for a first date.
- Are you sure you are in the right place? Your sister isn’t exactly the kind of girl we usually have here.
- Yes, I know but she’s got a date with the Quarterback Friday night.

The shop assistant got a look of understanding. She was well acquainted with the local high school quarterback’s taste. Looking at the blushing girl

- Right, I think we may have something that could just fit both your sister’s innocence and what the Quarterback likes.

Two hours later a blushing girl left the store with a dress that was very becoming. The shop assistant was amazed how helpful and knowledgeable the brother had been. He had spared no effort in getting just the right dress for his sister. Something spectacular but at the same time something modest enough his shy sister could feel comfortable in, not an easy task. He even paid for the not exactly cheap dress and shoes. Looking at the departing girl the shop assistant said

- Not many brothers are that kind and helpful for their sisters.
- I love my sister dearly and want her to have every chance of hitting it off with the Quarterback. Now – let’s find me something for Saturday night.
- But we only have girls’ clothing here.
- I know. MY date with the Quarterback is on Saturday and I need something to out-do my sister.

The shop assistant’s face showed a succession of emotions ending up in one of glee.

- Of course you do! And if I’m correct “modesty” is not exactly an issue …?

A look of complete comprehension was exchanged between the two.

- And I will book you with MY sister at the salon Saturday afternoon. The Quarterback won’t know what hit him!

My freshman year in high school was quite remarkable. I managed to go through an entire year without making anything at all out of it. Well, scholastically I did reasonably well. Socially? I might just as well not have existed. I failed to get into any sports team. I failed to excel in any other way. I failed to get even ONE date, and that was definitely not for want of trying. I had no real friends. I had a few acquaintances that socially were as remarkable as I but that was all.

At the end of that year the school had come to the realization that the cheerleader team couldn’t possibly be at all events where they were wanted. The decision was taken to create a JV cheerleading team. Cheerleading was an exclusively female thing in our school. However, there was nothing in the rules that stopped a boy being a cheerleader provided he followed the rules. The rules would be the same as for the senior team. Same conduct rules. Same dress code, including wearing the skirted cheerleading uniform on match days and a nice dress at required obligatory social events.

I may have been a bit deranged but I decided that this was my opportunity to stand out, and get close to cute and popular girls. Best case, even share a locker room with them! I mentioned it to Carl, the nearest thing I had to a friend, and he just looked at me and shook his head. Well, I wasn’t to be discouraged by that.

My big sister Karen and I have always been close. She was kind of my hero. Popular, successful and so on. She was already on the senior cheer team and I persuaded her to help me train all summer for the try-outs. She was reluctant at first since she understood that I really was interested in getting close to the girls for, well, not exactly nefarious purposes but … Finally she agreed since 1) she needed to practice herself and it was more fun to do it with me, 2) she thought I needed to get in form no matter the excuse, 3) she thought there was no chance I’d succeed,. As I said we liked each other. I didn’t say that my sister had a very high opinion of me. I probably didn’t fool our parents either as to my motivation but they were swayed by Karen (probably for the same reasons). To be honest I didn’t think I’d have a chance either but Karen was fun to be around and I DID need to get in form. Besides I figured I had nothing to lose. Even making a credible attempt to join the girls’ cheerleading team would make me noticed. As I said I probably was a bit out of my mind at that time but my freshman year had been absolutely WASTED!

I have to admit I became a bit obsessed by the training. It usually was Karen or Mum that stopped the training sessions. I carefully watched Karen’s every move and tried to copy them. Awkwardly at first but as the summer weeks passed I got better and better. I certainly did get in better form so my parents were happy. They had expected me to spend all summer locked in my room playing games. In mid-July Karen upped the ante. Apart from the usual sessions she had all these recordings of our school’s cheerleading team from last year as well as professional teams. I hadn’t realized that I would get a thorough theoretical grounding in cheerleading history, figures and moves, choreography and, perhaps most importantly, motivations. Karen gave a running commentary of recordings of what was happening and why. I became more and more fascinated by the finer points of the sport and art of cheerleading. I didn’t even protest when she made me wear the same type of tank leotard she used when we trained. I had to admit it was the most suitable clothing for the task. Besides that was what I’d have to wear at the try-outs. I DID refuse when she suggested “total feminine immersion”. No way I was going to wear skirts when I didn’t have to. We did hit the mall together sometimes and every single time she tried to get me into a skirt or a dress. I admit that once she found a dress that was really, really cute but I said no.

By the end of summer Karen had stopped having our training at two levels. Now I followed her program totally. I was pretty good at emulating her movements. No, I wasn’t near as good as she but I had a certain pride in what I had achieved. I was really looking forward to the try-out. Being noticed. Being together with cute girls at least for that moment. Perhaps get a date?

I was appalled the day of the try-outs. Carl had blabbed! He and some ten other boys were there for the try-outs. It was MY idea. They shouldn’t have stolen it. Now it was all ruined!

They started with the boys. Most of them were very awkward in the tight leotard. Good thing I was used to it. The first two were absolute disasters. No talent, no technique at all. I was offended. Next were Peter, Lucas and Carl from our little circle. They weren’t that bad. In fact, Lucas was actually good. He got the first applause. Of the rest only two others were above the clown level. In that context my effort really stood out. I got a standing ovation. I didn’t fool myself though. Being the best of that crowd wasn’t exactly an achievement. I was only waiting for the girl applicants to outshine me.

As it turned out I was wrong. There were NO girl applicants. Not a single one!

After a short break the results were announced. I, Lucas, Carl, Peter and the two non-clowns were selected. I was appointed captain.

The girls’ coach gave a speech.

- Young men, you have decided to make a mockery of the JV cheerleading team. You disgust me. Yes, we heard what you were up to and all girls decided to abstain and not to participate in this charade. You have now been selected to the team. Remember you all signed up to commit yourself to the team if selected. You also committed yourselves to follow ALL the rules cheerleaders have to follow. Welcome to the infamous All-boy Girls’ JV cheerleading team. Congratulations!

Things had really gone down the toilet. My grandiose idea, so stupidly stolen and botched by those dilettantes, had made us the laughingstock of the entire school. And we were stuck. We had signed all these papers. We had committed ourselves.

After about a minute’s silence when the new cheerleaders looked at each other with horrified faces the girls’ coached resumed

- I see you realize what you have got yourselves into. I hope that you also realize how stupid and insulting your actions have been. It’s too bad you destroyed the joy a JV cheer team would have brought to school but better nothing than a joke. We have decided to be lenient. You are hereby released from you commitment.

I looked at Lucas. He was devastated. Coach Wilson was wrong. We weren’t an all-boy girls’ cheerleading team. I realized that this would have been Lucy’s big break. Yes, Lucy. I believed I was the only other person in school who knew that she was a girl. A girl that obviously liked cheerleading. Carl and Peter didn’t look exactly unhappy but neither did they look relieved either.

- Excuse me coach. Before we wind things up, as captain of the JV cheerleading team I’d like to say some words.

A very surprised coach:

- Go ahead

- We may have tried out for all the wrong reasons but we DID make the team. Admittedly we wouldn’t in a fair competition but right now WE are the JV team. We could quit and go home. We could be quitters. We could deprive the school of the much needed JV team. I won’t pretend that we six make a great JV team today. To be honest right now we could very well be the worst in the state. However, we have put work into getting prepared. Some of us a lot of work.

Here I looked at Lucy/Lucas.

- I’ve come to love cheerleading. I hope I’m not the only one. You may have considered all this a joke but when I looked at you performing I saw POTENTIAL. Potential and spirit and LOTS of hard work will make us a great JV cheerleading team. Yes, at first we will be a joke. Yes, it will mean grueling practice. Despite all that, when I look at you I see before me the future best damned all-boy girls’ cheerleading team in the entire state.

It turned out that there was going to be a JV cheerleading team this year after all. And I was the captain. I looked at the glowingly happy Lucy. She’s rather pretty so maybe I wasn’t so wrong after all? As I was planning how to best approach her the school quarter-back came up to me

- Trevor, I owe you an apology. I was the one that, together with Coach Wilson, arranged to place you in this situation. I admit I was really pissed-off when I first heard what you guys were up to. I wanted to expose you as stupid jerks. I admit, I was wrong about you personally. I’m sorry.

He hesitated a bit, and blushed before continuing

- And hm er hrump when I saw you out there you were really good. No doubt you would have made the team no matter the competition. I suspect coach Wilson would have considered inviting you to the senior team if you hadn’t saved the JV team, YOUR team. What you did today impressed me in so many ways. Unless I’m completely wrong you did this partly for Lucy. It’s obvious you know. I don’t know how but I can see you do know and care. She’s my cousin. I appreciate what you did. I didn’t know she’d try out. Now I don’t have to have a bad conscience for spoiling it for her.

Great, talk about shooting yourself in the foot. If I just had kept my big mouth shut I could have …

- When I saw you out there I didn’t see a boy. You stunned me. I have never seen such feminine grace combined with strength.

Apparently I had emulated my sister more than I realized.

- Actually, not even when looking at your sister. Er, hrrmp would you consider going out with me tonight?

Looking at the big, handsome, embarrassed but quite obviously sincere boy I was struck by the fact that I had emulated my sister way more than I realized. Good thing my sister is not one to take no for an answer. Since I did have that cute dress in my closet I couldn’t claim that I had nothing to wear.

Think about what you believe characterizes a Bru story. Now forget that. This story is not anything like that. For one thing it’s > 22 000 words long.

I will post it within the next few days when I have looked at the feed-back that Jill (Angela Rasch) very kindly has given me.

Otherwise it’s really Sephrena that you have to thank (blame?) for me finally completing this story.

I started the story many years ago but never finished it. The story probably would never have been completed if it hadn't been for Sephrena Lynn Miller. I respect what she is doing for the site. I don’t want to her efforts to be without response.

I do not like to participate in contests. My mind works in another way. My brother is happy to get 25 out of a 100 on a test as long as no one else get more than 24. Me, I’m much more content to get 98 even if someone else achieves a 100. However, in a straight competition situation I tend to dislike losing more than I like winning.

Having said that I sometimes post stories in contests if there is good enough reason to support the contest.

The poor response to her December contest prompted me to finish my old story (well, it will be finished within a few days).

It was only for pure alphabetical chance that I met Albert. We shared a college dorm room since Idlewild and Ien were next to each other on the list.

Sharing a room with Albert had both pluses and minuses but we became inseparable friends. He helped me with my studies and I helped him socially. I never did find out exactly from which town he was from but it must have been somewhere beyond beyond since he had no social skills at all, unless you count animals. Animals just loved him. Unfortunately, so did I. That was the minus. I’m gay. Totally committed gay and Albert was a prime specimen of the human male. So was I. In relationships I believe in equality. I completely reject the notion of “passive” and “active” and am both a giver and a taker and want my partner to be the same.

At first being gay on campus was a bit awkward. If you are gay you are supposed to be progressive. Not all of us are. In fact, I’m rather conservative and a strong believer in traditional values. You know family values, though not necessarily mixed sex. Fidelity, love, compassion, children as a result as an act of love, responsibility, commitment and all that. However, I’m a very social animal and that little bump was soon behind me.

As I said it was unfortunate that I fell in love with Albert. It was obvious he had absolutely no romantic interest in me. I was too afraid to alienate Albert to even hint about my feelings. To make things worse he didn’t really have a nudity tabu. Anyway, we became inseparable friends instead. My considerable social skills ensured that we both had a great time at college. Besides, Albert was a fast study. Soon he didn’t need me the same way I needed his help in my studies but we were best friends and that close, platonic, relationship remained the same all through college.

I buried my feelings for Albert and found myself a boyfriend. I believed I was in love with him. Perhaps I was, at least at first. At first Paul ticked every box for me. He was good-looking, he was smart, he was fun but not irresponsible, he wasn’t the jealous type that insisted to keep Albert away. Actually, the three of us spent a lot of time together since Albert never got a girlfriend.

Then Paul became more and more assertive, morphing into being dominant. He started to insist on only being the active sex partner. He tried to separate me from my friends, even Albert. At first I didn’t realize what was happening but then I started to push back. It all ended with an acrimonious break-up the day before graduation when he demanded that I turn down a very good job offer, that I had already accepted, in another city than the one he was going to.

Instead of partying that night I stayed in the dorm room. Albert found me there on the floor sobbing. I completely bared myself to him. How I loved him. How Paul had abused my lover for him. How I desperately wanted children of my own but never would have any. Albert, ever the logical one, started to walk me through that issue. He assured me that knowing me better than anybody else he was convinced that I’d be an excellent father. Adoption? Not my child. Artificial insemination? I strongly believe that procreation should be an act between two persons who love each other. And so on. I cried. I sobbed. I wailed. I must have been a pathetic sight. Albert held me lovingly.

Then Albert said something that I hadn’t expected.

“You say that you love me. Does that mean that you want to have sex with me?”
“YES! That and much more”
“If you could, would you commit the rest of your life in a family with me?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
“I’m sorry but that won’t be possible. I love you dearly but not in the way you love me. Nonetheless, I will give you a parting gift”

I was heartbroken even if I could see in his face how much he cared for me. Loved me, even if not the way I loved him. He picked me up from the floor and started undressing me and then he put me on my bed and proceeded to undress as well.

That night we had the most amazing sex I ever had had. I reached such levels of ecstasy I never imagined could exist. Indeed a parting gift to be remembered for ever.

Albert went away the next day after graduation. He had been talking about how he had to travel for a job involving sociological research. The formal goodbye was a mere formality. We had spent the night for the real goodbye.

Anyway, that night with Albert had made me to reconsider my options. Perhaps artificial insemination wasn’t such a bad idea? I wasn’t prepared to accept that concept but I was thinking about it. Enough that a month later I asked the doctor doing the obligatory physical exam at my new job to include a fertility test. Just in case.

I was surprised to be called back to the hospital. The first thing I thought was that I was infertile. That would settle that.

As it turned out it wasn’t that. In a distracted way the doctor just said that both quantity and quality of my sperm was the best he’d ever seen. No there was an “anomaly” that he was concerned about. Now I started to get really worried. Did I have cancer or some other disease? Was I about to die? The doctor refused to answer any questions and then I had some extra tests and a specialist of some kind was called in. Then they had me wait for an hour while all the tests were processed. Apparently they rushed things. That had me REALLY worried.

Finally, I was called in to the office. My doctor and the specialist were there looking bewildered.

“So, doctors, what disease do I have? How long do I have to live?”
“Oh, there is nothing wrong with you, not really. As a matter of fact, you are incredibly healthy. If there hadn’t bee for a small anomaly I’d have said that you were a perfect specimen of the human male”
“Anomaly? What anomaly?”
“It appears that you are four weeks pregnant.”

At that moment I promised my best friend, that I realized that I’d never see again, that I’d would be the best parent possible for his loving parting gift. I’ll always miss you. I’ll always love you, Al Ien.

Wednesday morning as I entered the office Veronica in reception greeted me

- Hi, James. Nice to see you dressed properly again.

I hated it. Just because I decided to joke the Friday before and come dressed in a skirt, a nice blouse that just barely showed the bra under it, pantyhose and shoes with a bit of a heel my life was utterly and completely destroyed. My girlfriend and I had thought it would be hilarious and she had helped me to put on some make-up. Nothing over the top. Just some nice make-up that actually made my 25 year old but unfortunately rather babyish face a bit more mature.

At first everything went according to plan. The other engineers got the joke and had fun comparing my outfit with the usual “dress code” at the design office, i.e. jeans, baggy college shirts and such. Actually I was the only one in a skirt. Not that there were many females among us but anyway. I also got compliments from other people that I met while going from one place another. In one morning I had become modestly famous in the company. Then things started to go wrong, terribly, horribly wrong.

At lunchtime Mike, the project manager for the project I was working in, got a heart attack. Fortunately they managed to get him to hospital quickly and he survived. However, he was supposed to do to the presentation for the potential customer that afternoon. The project was huge and this was the last meeting before the customer finally decided to go ahead or not.

All the other sub-project managers were away for some reason or other. There was only I. Yes, I was a sub-project manager but decidedly junior. I had a grand total of 5 days in that position. Despite this I was told to do the presentation. There was no one else. Fortunately Mike had done a dry-run in front of the sub-project managers the day before so the presentation was ready and I was familiar with it but how to manage all the unavoidable questions? I was so caught up in all this that I had completely forgotten how I was dressed.

It was only when I saw the reaction of everyone when I entered the room that I remembered how I was dressed. Clothes never had been an issue for me since I never mingled with the Suits. This order was crucial for the company and I could see that our CEO, who I’d never met before, was not amused. I really don’t remember that much from the meeting. I remember fielding a number of questions. Actually quite good questions. Mostly I explained why it would be impossible or very costly to do what they asked. Once or twice I offered an unconventional alternative. Those alternative solutions had usually been discussed within the project but discarded exactly because they were untested even if most likely viable. Mike was the kind of guy that did everything by the book. Since I was toast anyway I also slipped in an idea of my own that I firmly believed in but Mike had discarded without really considering. So now I had made certain that if I wasn’t fired by the upper management for turning up in a skirt and wearing make-up then Mike would kick me out.

I made my escape and left for home as quickly as I could.

Monday was terrible. Everyone looked at me in a peculiar way. In many faces I thought I could read “disappointment”, especially among the females, in others “schadenfreude”. After lunch something happened. Rumors started floating around, not that anyone told ME anything. The faces of some of my fellow engineers started to become tinged with “hatred”. I must have really screwed up. I didn’t mean to. Honestly, I did my best. For God’s sake it was only meant as a joke. I had no idea I would be thrust into that meeting! Now everything was lost. All for one silly joke.

Tuesday morning Veronica once more looked at me disapprovingly and asked why I didn’t dress the way I knew I should. When I got to my desk I was told that the CEO wanted to see me ASAP.

My meeting with the CEO completely destroyed my life. I was a good engineer. Yes, I like solutions that are a bit daring but I'm not reckless. I want to design things. Find solutions to difficult problems. All my plans were in ruins now. All for one silly joke!

Wednesday morning again.
As I walked down the corridor I got compliments on how I was dressed.
- Love that suit James.
- Lovely suit James. It really becomes you
- James, you look scrumptious today. Much better than those tatty jeans your wore yesterday.

That last from the CEO’s secretary, a really silly girl.

Yes, I had become a “Suit” a being that I’d always regarded with contempt. “Chief Customer Liaison for Project Theta”. Also “Executive Assistant Project Manager”. Just the titles themselves should be grounds for capital punishment! As the CEO had apologetically explained I was a bit inexperienced to be the Project Manager just yet so he had put old, experienced and soon to be retired Steve McMurdo in that position to help me grow into the job. Mike had decided to retire after his heart-attack. No wonder my peers hated my guts. No sensible manager “promotes” someone this way. Oh, the customers had just loved me! Just when they had written off our company as too old-fashioned and set in its ways I had appeared. Unconventional, smart, undaunted by titles and positions, unpretentious, cute! And pitching good ideas to boot! Yes, they wanted the project as modified by me but most of all they wanted ME! Hence the ridiculous situation I was in now. All for one silly joke!

Walking down the corridor you could hear the clicking of my heels which made me wonder why my CEO had insisted that I wear a skirt suit and high heels for the meeting with the customers this morning. No, I didn’t buy his explanation that the very high heels would keep me on my toes. If the customers liked unconventional why wear a classic skirt business suit? Not that I didn’t like it. It accentuated my narrow waist and the reaction from people I met was that I have a really spectacular pair of legs. But it’s CONVENTIONAL!

Maybe I should burn my bra?

First day of Fall semester 2022
I don’t like when people call our town racist. I mean it’s only natural that we whites call the shots since we are the majority, 51% of the population, with the rest more or less evenly divided between beaners and nig… blacks. I almost forgot that you can’t use the N word unless you’re one. It’s not like we’ve had any cross burnings in years. We even have … blacks on our high school football and basketball teams. You know, they’re like genetically predisposed for that. Not any beaners though, they are pathetically useless both in sports and academically. Excepting Pablo of course. With a pitcher like that they couldn’t keep him off the team. Not that the baseball team is of any importance anyway. The few chinks, like Sissy, are terrible gunners and of no consequence socially. Sissy is not really her real name but who can pronounce that?

The school is run by the star athletes, especially the football players, and the most pretty and popular (white) girls (well, one in particular), just as it should be in an all-American high school. Girl athletes? You must be joking. There are a few but can you really call them girls? Definitely not ladies anyway. Cheerleading is another matter. Cheerleaders are traditional.

Of course, there are no gays in a moral town like ours. “Transgender” eeeeuuuuh. Don’t even think about such abominations.

Well, that’s what I thought until I started my junior year today. There was a new boy in school. Athletic body, very handsome, a smile to die for, socially skilled, smart, extremely self-confident … and wearing a skirt.

John, the quarterback, asked him out in a taunting way. What John hadn’t expected was for the new kid to accept. You should have seen how John blushed. However, he is not one to ever back down so he’s picking up the new kid, Martin, tonight at seven.

One year later, first day of Fall semester 2023
How empty it feels that Martin has left us. I really miss him but I’m determined to continue his good work and so are my good friends. Friends. That’s one of the many, many things I have to thank Martin for. I never had any friends before he started in our school, only hangers-on.

Just imagine that it all started with that date Martin had with the QB. Well, it wasn’t obvious at first but I later found out that Martin discovered that John was in the closet. A closet Progressive. John was willing to carry the ball as long as there was someone to run interference. And Martin sure ran interference. He relentlessly undermined the existing power structure. For example he gently and without any apparent malice gave, Cheryl, the reigning alpha bitch, make-up tips. Good ones. He also helpfully gave her fashion tips (extremely good ones that Cheryl needed but didn’t know she needed) and so on. She was furious but there was little she could do except being a bitch. That was not a tactic that was useful against Martin. She couldn’t even turn him down when he asked her out. That just wasn’t done. It had begun with John and EVERY player on the football team. Then it had become the “thing to do”. Of course, part of the reason was that Martin was the perfect date for girls AND boys. He could be manly and attentive and girly and attentive depending on who he was dating. No matter how much that person tried to sabotage the date they always wound up with a happy memory. I know, I had my date with him. It was impossible not to succumb to his charm.

Part of his magic was that you never knew where you had him. One day he could come dressed in jeans, the next in a very pretty dress, the next in a suit and tie … Always in the very best taste and worn with panache. Even the very short skirts. Once it was so short he was sent home to change. Still, it was in very good taste. Charismatic, mysterious, urbane (he had lived in New York, Paris, Tokyo, LA …) we all fell under his spell.

He encouraged (that is, ruthlessly pushed) those who tried to hide because they were too scared to show themselves. It all started with Juanita. A terribly shy girl. By nature and because she was a Latina in a not very welcoming environment. As it turned out she is a stunning beauty and much smarter than she had let on before. At the start of the Spring semester, she was admitted to the cheerleading squad. She was only the first of many he helped stopping hiding. Nerds, Blacks and Latinos stopped skulking around afraid of being noticed by the bullies. I was one of those bullies. I never did anything physical but I had the fastest and most deadly tongue in school. We were all gently and efficiently neutralized. The natural dominance of whites in school was more and more diluted. The collapse of the alpha bitch queen bee’s clique was only a first sign.

Another way he undermined the established order was that he got the students interested in other sports than basketball and football. Aided and abetted by John. During the year especially the baseball team improved dramatically. The status of those sports increased, as did girls’ athletics. And weirdest of all: He got us interested in LEARNING. Something we had left to the Asian-Americans before. That is the two Chinese-Americans and one each of Vietnamese-American and Japanese-American.

Looking back I still can’t understand how he could do all that even with the enthusiastic help of John, the QB cum student president who built up new and lasting structures in the shadow of Martin.

In particular I can’t understand how Marting managed to help me the way he did. Or even why he wanted to. At the time I was a truly despicable person and what was even worse was that I knew it and hadn’t done anything about it. I had been too afraid. Oh, I had hidden it well but during that date with Martin I blabbed. I had expected to have a normal date but somehow we had started to TALK. I mean really talk about deeper issues. And then I spilled it all. That was the beginning of truly grueling period for me.

I too had on purpose “dumbed down”. That had to be rectified. I only had less than two years to do that. Martin got Cixi to tutor me. Now I’m on the honors roll, just.

I had also slipped and told Martin about my love for baseball. Of course I had never let anyone in school know about that but I spent every summer with my cousins playing baseball. Martin got Pablo to coach me. The first time Pablo almost ran off in as soon as he saw who he was going to coach. He was not going to coach me, that was an affront to humanity. Martin persuaded him to go through with just one session. That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship. While Pablo is a great pitcher he’s not a very good at batting. Another thing he IS great at is coaching. He saw talent in me. I had a good basis that he refined. I never was a strong batter. I never manage to hit the ball out to the fence. On the other hand, with Pablo’s help, I ALWAYS hit when I swing no matter the junk the pitcher puts on the ball (and Pablo can pitch them almost as bad as a Major League pitcher). And I can, mostly, make them go where I want them to. Now I’m going in as a pinch hitter when the bases are loaded. That leaves me time to identify the weakest outfielder in the opposing team and direct the ball in that direction, or rather a few steps behind him, no matter whether in the left or right field.

In Spring I was included on the school team, as were several others. Most of us wouldn’t even have been considered B.M (before Martin). It worked out well once teammate Archie stopped being a stupid idiot about it.

You might have noticed that Martin was shameless in using others to help him help others. He persuaded Juanita to date Bill, the fullback, for some time while he himself dated DaShawn, the halfback. Or rather they double dated. Until Bill and DaShawn finally came out as a couple.

This year the school is completely different from last. A much better place thanks to Martin. I’m captain of the baseball team. Pablo is still the MVP but is more than happy to leave the captaincy to me. Either of us being captain of the baseball team would have been unimaginable B.M. The head cheerleader, and my girlfriend, Juanita is considered to be a shoo-in for Prom Queen, something equally unimaginable B.M. There is even talk of me as Prom King. A year ago, being on that podium was my ambition and my imagined right. Now I’m inclined to refuse any nomination. Seeing Juanita up there is enough for me.

Talking about the baseball team there are two girls on the team now, one of them black, since there still is no girls’ team in school. Did I say two? I meant three since Archie came back after summer as Arabella. And that was without any intervention from Martin.

Martin helped me with so many things that I got to know him better than anyone else in school. That is, not very well at all. I never met his parents. I never visited his house. What I did see were only glimpses behind the mask. Oh, Martin was hiding and acting with the best of them. How do you think he could be the perfect date for EVERYONE?

Martin helped me become myself. He helped me having friends. He even helped me to love. How he could do that without personal experience is beyond me. With all the time we spent together I felt we were becoming friends. I think I even was beginning to fall in love with him, the only boy I ever loved. Obviously he realized that I was coming too close to him since he all of a sudden went very cold to me. I still could see his loneliness, his insecurity, his longing for something else. Too bad he was too afraid to do what he helped others to do.

Perhaps I shouldn’t judge him. I don’t know why. Perhaps it was his family. Perhaps all his moving around had left too many scars. I don’t know. I really don’t know. I wish I did so I could help him. Or rather could have helped him since he didn’t come back to school this semester. He moved again.

I’m terribly sorry I can’t repay my huge debt to him. I have to settle to pay it forward. Someone has to pick up where Martin left.

Raymond
Juanita’s boyfriend
Honor Student
Captain of the baseball team
Formerly known as Cheryl (the alpha bitch), someone very alien to me today.

This is NOT a funny story.

James and Martin were slowly walking away from the funeral of their classmate Stephen… no… of their classmate Susan, her parents at last, and too late, recognizing her true gender. As they had expected they had been the only ones from their school there. Susan’s parents deliberately had scheduled the funeral at noon on the Wednesday of end-of-term exam week and made it very clear that they didn’t want anyone from school to come.

James and Martin, friends since they were toddlers, hadn’t really known Susan. In fact they had barely spoken to her. The reason they had skipped exams to come anyway was because they were guilty, at least partially, for Susan’s death. Not that they had been among those tormenting her, in fact they had done nothing, _ _ _ absolutely _ _ _ nothing. They had been too afraid and it had been so easy to do nothing even though they really, really should have known better. That’s why they were guilty.

After walking silently for a very long time Martin said: You look very nice in that new dress of yours.

James: Thank you. Good to hear since I will be wearing it to school tomorrow.

Martin grabbed his friend’s shoulders and almost shouted: You can’t do that! Look what happened to Susan! Her killers are still at large in school. Yes, they murdered her even if they didn’t use a knife or a gun and now you want to go through the same thing as her? You mustn’t!

James (calmly): I have to. Unlike Susan I have parents that fully support me …. and unlike her I will not be all alone and without support in school, will I Martin?

And the winner is …

I had always been a strong supporter of the cheerleading squad at high school. My best friend, Sally, was a cheerleader. Sally and I had been best friends ever since we moved into the house next to hers when she and I were four years old.

I had encouraged her to be a cheerleader when she was getting cold feet before tryouts. I had been there to help the squad with many practical things and have always bought tickets for their fundraising lotteries. No, I had no wish to be a cheerleader myself but the girls were fun and good friends. All of them, not only Sally, by now.

So it was a no-brainer that I would buy a ticket for their latest lottery early in senior year. Only one this time. For some reason you were only allowed to buy one. On the other hand it was expensive. Sally wrote my name on a small card and put it in the bowl. Only then did I think about asking about the prize. Shows how strong and unthinking my support was.

- A date with Arnold Racioppi.

Oh, oh. Arnold Racioppi was not only the most valuable player on the football team (Quarter-back). He was also the most sought-after boyfriend in school. Apart from being a great athlete he was an all-round nice guy. No, he didn’t have a girlfriend at the time. That happened a lot. No one, not least himself could understand why. I actually knew him quite well since we both worked on the school newspaper. But back to the situation that quite obviously needed some rectification.

- Sally, take my name out of that bowl. You can keep the money but you must understand how ridiculous it would be.
- Why? You are not the only boy who has bought a ticket.

Despite our friendship Sally absolutely refused to do what I wanted and demanded. I finally gave up. The risk that I would “win” was miniscule so why bother?

I should have bothered. At the lottery draw:

- And the winner is ….. Peter Smith!!!

The reaction to that clearly shows that I go to a completely crazy school. Cheering and people congratulating me. I realized that I had gained a reputation for being girly and/or gay just because I hung out with the cheerleaders. Why can’t people see another reason for a boy to hang out with a bunch of beautiful girls? And the cheerleaders are not my only friends. I have many guy friends as well! All of them apparently happy for my sake. And I’m on the baseball team. So what if it’s the B-team. It’s still a school team. By the way, my teammates congratulated me as well.

Arnold came up to me and told me how glad he was that I had won. He also said that he was looking forward to the date and would plan something really special for me. Did I say that I go to a crazy school? I’m not small. I may not be a huge football player but I’m not small. However, standing next to the massive Arnold, who IS a huge football player, I was dwarfed.

Looking around, I realized that trying to back out was not a good idea.

That started two weeks of madness. First of all, I was named an Honorary Cheerleader and expected to train with them. Of course I had to be. I was going to a date with a footballer players and football players date cheerleaders. Q.E.D.! At least that gave me (and the Principal) an out. Cheerleading practice was counted as PE so at least I didn’t have to face the locker room - I thought. As it turned out I still had to change with the boys. Only this time at the same time as the football team. You know the one with my future date. Somewhat embarrassing, especially considering the tiny hotpants and crop top I was required to wear. Just to make a point clear. I did NOT wear skirts of dresses to school. NOR lingerie.

Of course, my embarrassment and humiliation didn’t end there. Last spring I had had a rather tempestuous disagreement with my parents. My father wanted me to go a manly man camp that he had gone to at my age. Apparently, that was the high point of his life (rather sad really). Me? I love baseball and had insisted on a baseball camp. So what if I’m not the greatest player? I still love the sport. I had won. The camp was great.

Still, that had left my parents a bit miffed with me. I had not realized how long they could hold a grudge. I was about to learn.

Normal parents would have been shocked about the date thing and stopped the thing there and then. My parents didn’t. Out of sheer spite they aided and abetted the other lunatics instead. Of course in the most humiliating way possible.

My mother took me lingerie shopping.

- Mom, I don’t need any lingerie!
- Stop being silly. There is no way I’ll let my son go on a first date with a boy without proper lingerie.
- Why? It’s not like Arnold is going to see it anyway.
- Well, you never know and just in case …
- Mom! I’m not that kind of a boy!
- Well, I should hope so. Not on a FIRST date. But just in case …

Somehow I found myself in the lingerie store with my mother.

- Hello. Can we get some help? My son is going on a date with Arnold Racioppi and he needs some really nice lingerie.
- Oh, he is the one that won the lottery. How excited he must be.
- White. The lingerie must be white. He is a virgin you know.
- Really, no girls either?
- No, he isn’t that kind of boy.

Actually I’m THAT kind of a boy but for some reason I never had a girlfriend that this had been an issue with. Sally? Don’t be silly! She is like a sister to me.

- Peter is a late bloomer and rather flat on top. Is there anything to help him “enhance” things?
- Of course. He is not the first one I have helped. Not even the first boy. But he is MUCH cuter than the other one.

Surprisingly we left the shop without buying any “chicken filets”. No, it was my victory. Between my mother the enthusiastic assistant, more than eager to help me, I was outgunned. The assistant had performed miracles with tucking and nipping and hooks and things like that so now I was the not so proud owner of a white see through underwired bra that with the right tricks gave me the appearance of small but enticing breasts (with nipples showing through the flimsy fabric. My only consolation was that Albert NEVER was going to see anything more than the upper edge (wort case). My wardrobe was also extended with some stockings (black) and a garter belt (white). And why did the panties (white) have to be thongs? Most uncomfortable. At least Mom paid for “my” lingerie.

To bad that wasn’t the most embarrassing stop on our shopping spree. Mother dragged me in a drugstore.

- My son is going on his first date with a boy. I want to be sure that they have condoms if the football player my son is going to date has forgotten to bring any.
- MOM! I’m not THAT kind of boy!
How many times would I have to say that?
- What size?
- Peter, how big is Arnold?
As a matter of fact I had seen Arnold in a turgid state (once). That was another reason that THING never would come near a hole of mine (apart from me being decidedly heterosexual that his). That thing was huge!

My blush revealed the fact that I had had no intention of revealing.

- Extra large that is.

By that time I was wishing that I could turn back time and have gone to dad’s camp instead. At the time I didn’t reflect on why I didn’t wish I had checked what the lottery prize was before buying the ticket. Addled brain. Definitely addled brain.

This time I was expected to buy the offensive package myself.

At the beginning of the week, I wouldn’t have believed that going over to Sally and practice cheerleading with her, already changed into the tiny hotpants and crop top of course, would be a relief. Anything to get as far away from the risk of having to show off “my” new lingerire to dad. What I hadn’t realized was that that was only postponing things. Why did Dad keep repeating what a lucky guy Arnold was?

I was happy to learn that it was Dad that would take me shopping for a dress and shoes. How deluded of me!

- Peter, change into your new pretty lingerie.
- Why? I don’t need that to buy a dress.
- Don’t be silly. Have you never seen how girls are dressed? I had expected more of you.
-
OK. That could be interpreted in more than one way. I was not to ask for clarification. By now I had stopped to fight and just went and changed. The whole thing. Stockings, garter belt , panties and bra. I even did all the artful things to fill it out. Despite the hot day I chose to wear long trousers for some reason.

- Hello! My son has a hot date with a football player. He needs a sexy dress for the date.
- So this is Peter. I heard about it. Not many boys are as brave as he is. He will have a great date with Arnold. I had a date with him and he quite destroyed dating for me. No date after lived up to that one.

I recognized her. We had cooking class together. So what if I like to cook? Most great chefs are men. Manly men!

- His best feature is his legs. So something short would be best. And something that shows of the tops of his breasts. A little bit of tit-illation.
You could hear the pause. At the time I already had a very low opinion of Dad but that was a new low. I had not expected him to be that crude.

- Come here Peter. Get into the changing room. Get down to your undies while a get you a dress. I know just the right dress for you. It will knock the socks off Arnold. And perhaps something more as well.
Wink, wink. I felt nauseous. I did get undress while waiting for her.
- Oh my, what a pretty boy you are. The bra is to die for. How did you get those A+ breasts? Arnold will be drooling when he sees you in that lingerie.
- Arnold will never even see the edges of those things. I’m NOT that kind of boy.
How often would I have to repeat that?
- Sure you aren’t. That’s why you bought the ticket.
Wink wink. Please shoot me!

I have to give it to her though. The dress was just right. Just right if you wanted to seduce Arnold that is. I didn’t. Still I couldn’t deny that it looked good on me. Really good. Dad was right. I have great legs. And the way the top of “my tits” cleared the top of the dress was amazing. If anyone but me had been wearing this dress, I’d have asked her. Damn, I would have done it even if it had been a boy. That thought disturbed me given that I WAS going to wear it to a date with a boy.

- I knew this was the dress for you. Let’s show it to dad.
- Oh my Peter. This is so you. You are beautiful. Arnold is a lucky guy indeed.
I could see the glint in his eyes. He knew very well how much I hated this. Which of course only made him enjoy this even more.

- I’m sorry Sir. I will not allow Peter to buy this short dress if he insists on wearing garters and stockings. It’d be positively indecent.
I saw the disappointment in my dad’s face.
- Oh too bad. I’m sorry, Peter. I know how much you wanted to wear the stockings. But Betty is right. I can’t allow you out of the house dressed like that. Betty, do you have any long hold ups?
- We do. And, Peter, I saw you wore long trousers coming here. In this heat! Wouldn’t it be more comfortable with a short skirt instead?
-
At least I didn’t have to pay for the dress, skirt and stockings. I wore the skirt out of the shop. A strange feeling since I still wore the thong panties.

You know how people talk about male shoe salesmen? It’s true. At least in one case. He got his view up my skirt when trying on shoes. Only AFTER that did he suggest I put on the dress and everything to get the right feel (up). And did Dad give him a wink?

How can girls walk in shoes like that?

I had hoped for a tactical retreat home after that but we were ambushed. As we passed the salon the owner ran out at dragged us in. The owner gave an offer I couldn’t refuse. Well, an offer my father wouldn’t let me refuse. She offered a full makeover with all the trimmings as long as she was allowed to use before and after pictures in her advertising. The full work would be next Friday. The day of the date but I still left the salon with expertly applied but toned downed make-up. I was lucky in that this was the GOOD salon, the one Sally used. I could have done without the piercings and earrings though. And the necklace was totally not necessary. And I was getting a bit tired of hearing about how brave a boy I am. Not afraid to show the inner me. This is NOT the inner me! My “proud” father is lapping it up though. That malicious smile! I could kill him!

I was really starting to look forward to Friday. Don’t get me wrong. I was certainly not looking forward to the date. But the date meant that the whole thing would be over with. My parents would have got their revenge. I could stop practicing with the cheerleaders and things would get back to normal. Normal! What a lovely word. Come on Friday!

I owe it to Sally. She made sure she and not Mom taught me how to walk in those ridiculous shoes. She also assisted when learning to dance in those torture things. NO boy should have to learn how to dance with his father, at least not when HE leads. Not in a dress, stockings (long hold up) and in those menaces to public health laughingly called shoes but consisting of only a few tiny straps.

Friday night I was all ready for the big date. The one and only big lottery date. The date the whole school had been waiting for.

The salon had surpassed itself. I was cute. Really cute in a toned down way. The indecent dress was actually just on the decent side of the line after Sally’s help. My new earrings sparkled as did my necklace and anklet (While cheaper than diamonds Swarowski is damned expensive). Over my mother’s protests Sally had put in the finishing touches. This had really made us come closer. Maybe I’d be brave enough to ask her out? Yeah, ironic or what. The boy everyone lauded fore being so brave was too afraid to ask his best friend out. Sally even gave me a peck on the cheek after getting my breasts in order!

Sally and I were waiting in my room, giggling. Wait! Was I giggling? Anyway, I could hear Arnold ring the bell. I had been firmly told to wait in my room and give my parents time for the “meet the parents chat”. I finally was called down. I floated down the stairs in the most magnificent way. I damned well should, given the hours of practice. Arnold looked great. He met me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all?

That was without taking my parents into consideration.

- Peter, I put the extra large condoms you bought in your clutch.
- Peter and Arnold, we understand that young people are young people and that hormones are raging. Still, we would prefer that if you have sex that you have it here at home where it is safe. Arnold, you are welcome to use Peter’s room whenever you want.
- DAD! I’m not THAT kind of a boy.

Hey, that is MY room they are offering. Why didn’t anyone ask ME? I wish I could have wiped that satisfied smirk off their faces. And I really hope that wasn’t a smother laugh from Sally that I heard from upstairs.

Exit one thoroughly humiliated, embarrassed and blushing (but very cute) boy.

Given the circumstances and especially what my parents had put me through, I had a great date. I remember thinking that apparently Arnold knows me better than I do myself (hm, that was an unsettling thought, if any).

I had not expected to enjoy a ballet, but Spartacus was not was I had expected. The force, the vitality, the virility … Hm. Yes ehm. I had never dined on such fine food. I had dismissed that as something for snobs with more money than sense. I was wrong about that. The dancing lessons had somehow stuck in my head. In short it was the greatest date I’d ever had. Let’s not get into such irritating details such as it was my first date. Let me rephrase it. It was a great date. We talked about many things and enjoyed all of them. Arnold was not stupid, so he had seen through my parents and their attempts to embarrass and humiliate me. I told him the background. We dissected them thoroughly. After that I relaxed and just enjoyed the evening. And it was some evening to enjoy. As promised he delivered me at my porch before midnight. Not much before midnight but still before.

- Peter, I had expected this date to be just for fun and for the cheerleading squad mone drive. I had not expected a boy to win. In hindsight I’m really happy you did. No girl could have been cuter. You are fun to be fun with. I knew that from the school paper but still… This was the first time I really enjoyed a date. Usually the girls are so focused to “land” me as their boyfriend that I lose interest halfway through even if I go throuth the motions, every time. This time was so relaxed. I was happy to discover that you like the same things I do. Who’d expected you to be a ballet fan. And you dance quite well. Sally?
- Sally.
- And you are just so cute.

At that point he gave me the goodnight kiss. On the lips. Intensely. I just let myself be swept off my feet. Quite literally as he lifted me up as he kissed me. I was still quite giddy when he put me down and asked

- Peter, I have never had such a great date as with you. Will you go on another date with me tomorrow?
- Eh, yes
Still giddy I hadn’t really heard what he’d said.
- Great! I’ll pick you up at ten tomorrow morning. Wear something informal. I thought we’d just spend time together doing things just the two of us, together. Still, if you have comfortable skirt please wear it. Don’t tell anyone I said this but you have the prettiest legs in school.
-
I finally got what I had agreed to then. Strangely enough, I didn’t regret it.

The door opened and revealed a couple of parents that judging from their smirks had seen the kiss even if they hadn’t heard the conversation.

- Mr and Mrs Smith, your have raised a son that is a delight to date. We had such a great date that I asked him out tomorrow again. He graciously accepted. For the whole day so I expect that we will be back earlier tomorrow evening. Perhaps even in time to have dinner with you. And regarding sex, is the offer about Peter’s room still open? I assume it’s OK if I stay the night?

I could have broken out in loud cheers when I saw my parents faces when they heard that last. Arnold really knew how to troll them.

For he WAS trolling them, wasn’t he?

The principal of Millard Fillmore High School sighed as freshman James Johnson entered his office. Not that James wasn’t dressed very nicely. The white shirt was clean and neatly pressed. The shoes were new and a discreet black. The black pleated skirt was also clean and neatly pressed and only about two inches above the knees.

No, the reason the principal sighed was that he and James had a long history of clashes. Unfortunately for the principal James more often than not came out on top. To be honest the principal had a certain respect for James’ ability to get away with things. Also, James was not really mean. The problem was that James was thoughtless and felt entitled due to his parents’ position in society. Many of his pranks really hurt others even though he hadn’t intended to. What’s worse, he often hadn’t given a thought how others could be affected. As the school year was reaching the end things had got a little more calm. Even though James was clever he had managed to accumulate enough black marks that the next one could be very serious. His parents had also grown a bit tired of being called to school.

The principal had expected the visit ever since the new dress code had been adopted for the school district. He had hoped James wouldn’t try to pull off the obvious prank though. The principal already had a plan of action but he’d preferred not to use it. However, now that the dice were rolled he might just as well enjoy it.

Principal: Hello James. Dress code infraction I see. Nice legs though.

James (smiling insolently): Oh not at all Sir. The new dress code is gender neutral. Haven’t you read it and heard all about the discussion? My skirt is well within the regulations. Not shorter than five inches above the knee it says.

Principal: You see you made a small mistake. Or rather the school district did when formally taking the decision. The dress code is not the same for boys and girls. The new changes were supposed to have the same text for each section except in the few cases where it really was necessary. However, please read this part of the girls’ dress code. It’s the same as before and most likely the one you have read.

James (still smiling insolently): “ … if a skirt is worn it must absolutely not be shorter than 5 inches above the knee” There you see,that’s what I said and my skirt is longer than that.

Principal: And now read the corresponding part of the boys’ dress code.

James (smile fading as he read): “ … if a skirt is worn it must absolutely be shorter than 5 inches above the knee”. Hey, that’s ridiculous! That’s an obvious misprint!

Principal (smiling rather satisfiedly): It may not be what was intended but this is the dress code as it was officially adopted. So I have no other choice than to note that your skirt is underly short and thus in breach of the dress code for boys. So I write you up for another infraction. I will confer with your parents. Now please change into something that follows the dress code.

James (not smiling at all): Er, Sir, I have nothing to change into.

Principal (smiling broadly): Oh, that’s not a problem. I think we do have a regulation skirt that you could borrow.

The principal went to his closet and brought out a kind of a girly lightweight kilt. Though this one was only barely 11 inches long.

James (with a horrified expression): I can’t wear that! It’d barely cover my ass!
Principal (with a Chesire Cat smile): But it’s according to the dress code. However, if you prefer me to call your parents instead…

James (looking terrified): NO! Please no Sir, but I, er, kind of, er, wanted the full experience so I’m only wearing a thong.

Principal (trying to look serious, and failing): Oh, that’s not a problem. As I’m sure you checked, the dress code doesn’t say anything at all about underwear. Another mistake in my opinion.

The principal left the office in order for James to change. When James had left the principal asked the secretary to come into his office

Principal: Please notify the school board about the mistake in the new dress code. Could you also quietly tip off Taylor Jones about James and the way he’s dressed.

Secretary: Do you mean Taylor Jones the gay senior foot-baller or Taylor Jones the cheerleader captain?

Principal: With those legs? Both I think.

End of Junior year in High School: Peter

"Anything you can do I can do better; I can do anything better than you."

I hate whenever my sister sings that song. It means that she managed to get one over someone, usually me. This time she spent all of ten minutes gloating. She really isn’t better than I. She just lies and cheats all the time. The problem is that our parents, our teachers, our class-mates and everyone else think that I am the cheat, and not a very good one at that. Mary and I are in the same year. We are NOT twins. She is gorgeous. I’m no great specimen of a man. When Mary wants to really set me off she calls me her little sister. Mary is born in January and I in December which makes her the big sister. Something she never tires of reminding me. She is the most popular girl in school, cheerleader, girlfriend to the next Quarterback. Anything you can think of she’s got it, or to be more exactly, stolen, lied or cheated to get.

She has convinced my parents that I’m unreliable and lazy. As a result I wind up doing most of the work at home and she gets the credit. When I try to protest my parents rebuke me for lying. She copies my homework and then tells my teachers that I copy her. I just can’t win.

It’s not only me. Mary is evil. She will stop at nothing to get what she wants. There was another girl that was more popular than Mary. “Someone” started and led a hate campaign on social media. Things got really nasty. It ended by Betty and her family moving to another town. And that was not the only incident. I could go on and on but I have no evidence … I just can’t win. I’m not that evil and you can’t be that devious without being evil, can you?

End of Fall semester senior year: Mary

Sunday morning should be great but not this one. Nothing goes my way any longer. I should be preparing to go the mall with my friends. No such luck! I will have to spend Sunday morning studying! Our History teacher did a “statistical analysis” of the texts of my papers and found that it really was my little brother that wrote them and then got him to hand in his work early and deliberately introduce errors in the version left in his computer, i.e. the version I appropriated … Things got bad after that. Before I caught on some other teachers did the same thing. They couldn’t really prove that I cheated but things have got complicated since. I actually have to WORK for the pitiful grades I get now. My friend Lucy claims it all was Peter’s idea but the sniveling little brat, while a nerd, isn’t that smart. Or …? Thinking back I’m not that sure any longer. I thought that the unfortunate incident with my brother not switching off his phone when speaking to our mother as I came into his room to rub his face in one of my more successful tricks I played him. Thinking back he kind of goaded me into bragging. Well, the bottom line was that my credibility with my parents isn’t that good any longer which further limits my freedom. At least I don’t have to see Pete that much since he started spending time at the gym. Not that aerobics and ballet will make him any more of a man (evil laugh).

In school things aren’t going that well either. SOMEONE is spreading lies about me. About how it was I that destroyed Betty’s life and so on and on. Lies, all lies! True lies but all lies! How the hell did they get hold of my old files? I thought I had deleted them. I HAD deleted them! I know I did before off-loading my old computer on Pete when I told my parents I needed a new one.

Well, I’m still the Quarterback’s girlfriend and a cheerleader! No, that’s right, this really is a shitty Sunday morning. Taylor, the head cheerleader just called. She couldn’t have been more false. She “regretted” to inform me that they had found a new cheerleader that was better than me in every way: technically better, cuter, charismatic, kind and perky! The team had a vote, so sorry that they missed informing me and could I please return my cheerleader uniform? That bitch! She’s always hated me but sucked up to me all the time I was popular! She’ll get it. I’m still the Quarterback’s girlfriend! Even if I lost everything else that is still a power platform I can use. I have to be careful to preserve that. I must reinforce my grip on him.

Hank really is as boring and nerdish as my little brother and we really don’t have anything in common, apart from the sex of course. There is one thing that I’m truly good at and that’s sex. Hank’s “post-coital bliss” can be seen on his face for an hour after the act. No way he’ll risk giving up the pleasure I, and only I, can give him! I on the other hand have to fake it. He is just so damned “considerate” in bed. I like someone more forceful, like Jake (and his eight inch tool). With Hank I have to do all the work. However, I can’t be too sure. Lucy said (with just a bit too much glee for my liking) that she saw Hank in the next town together with a cute girl last Saturday. He had told me he had to study (which he does all too much for my liking). The same excuse he used yesterday when I wanted to have some fun and remind people that the Quarterback is my boyfriend!

Is that the front door opening? My parents are away and Pete is no more of a morning person than I so who could it be?

Mary looks out through the window.

Hank! Why is he leaving our house on a Sunday morning? Why does he turn around and throw a kiss at somebody standing on our steps?

I’ve seen that face before! Many times! Every time he’s had an orgasm! Only not exactly that satisfied and happy. And who’s that wearing my cheerleader uniform? Oh, not mine. I can still see that on my bed.

My nerdish, cute and (damn it!) perky brother looks up at me and starts singing.

"Anything you can do I can do better; I can do anything better than you."

New school year, new school!

To be honest it was quite daunting to come to the huge High School from our smallish Middle School. Fortunately there were two of us. Me and my fraternal twin sister. Why do people talk about “fraternal twin” when it’s about a girl? Anyway, there we were. Cary and Katherine against the world. Well, not really. Even if the big school scared us, which we’d NEVER admit to anyone else, we didn’t really have anything to fear. We usually found it easy to find new friends or at least gET along with people. We had very good grades without being pegged as nerds since we were good at sports as well. Both Sis and I had selected courses geared towards science and technology with future engineering degrees in mind.

As expected, there was a huge crowd milling around. Sis and I got lost at first and then we ran into an Audrey Hepburn look-alike. She really owned the style. Short hairstyle, black turtleneck, slim black trousers, and ballet flats. Body language was similar as well as far as I could see. Sis could hardly keep herself from laughing. As it happens, I’m a great fan of Audrey Hepburn. As it turned out “Audrey” both was heading to the same homeroom as Sis and I AND she’d been smart enough to print out a map before coming. We happily followed her lead. In my case very happily as I walked behind her and Sis.

Homeroom with old Mrs Baldwin, a physics teacher, brought a number of surprises. The people in there had all chosen Science courses like Sis and I. Sadly gender stereotyping reared its ugly head and it turned out that Sis was the ONLY girl in our homeroom. What about “Audrey”? you might wonder. That was the second surprise Audrey was a BOY. That was something he was quite firm about. Then there was another matter that he had somewhat different ideas than most people when it comes to what a boy IS. The third surprise was his name: Audrey Hepburn. No kidding!

Later when we had learnt to know each other better Audrey told us that his parents had intended to name him Aubrey after a maternal granduncle. Granduncle Aubrey was rather wealthy and had no children. Add to that that he thoroughly despised everyone in the family. Sad that parents can be so mercenary. Somehow there had been an error in the birth certificate and it stated Audrey instead of Aubrey. No one noticed that until Audrey started in pre-school. Audrey’s parents started to have that changed but changed their mind when Granduncle Aubrey heard about it and thought it was hilarious. Oh, by the way Audrey’s parents had no interest in cinema at all so THEY didn’t make the connection. As it turned out Audrey and Aubrey found that they liked each other so in a very strange way Audrey’s parents’ scheme worked out. The only thing was that Audrey had convinced Aubrey to take better care of himself and thus the Granduncle was to live a long and healthy life.

In primary school Audrey had become aware of that “other” Audrey Hepburn. It was so obvious since he was sort of waif-like himself apart from the same black hair, thick eyebrows, slim body, and gamine looks. Audrey was smart and young as he was he realized that he’d have two choices. Either he’d fight it for the rest of his life or he’d own it. He owned. Oh boy did he own it!

Not that he let Audrey (1) decide everything he did but as we’d seen Audrey (2) emulated the way she dressed among other things. I don’t know if the body language was deliberate of just a secondary effect.

Since Audrey was the closest thing to a girl in most of our classes Sis gravitated to him, and so did I. We soon became close friends. Even our extra-curricular interest coincided. Audrey tried out for the Baseball C Team. So did Sis. Both got accepted. The powers that be tried to shunt Sis off to the softball team. The didn’t know my sister. She tends to be “somewhat” assertive when it come to get what she wants. “Me” is one of her favorite words. She also heard Audrey say that he was curious about cheerleading but had decided not to try out since there were only girls’ only teams. Sis and Audrey tried out and got accepted in that C team as well. Sis can be maddeningly self-righteous and bossy at times. This didn’t mean that Audrey wore a skirt for meets. The school had changed the cheerleading uniforms some years before. I have to admit that he was really cute in those tight short shorts and the short tight top that left his belly bare.

The cheerleading coach was quite satisfied with their performance but resented the extra work having another choreography and set-up for the baseball games.

I thought about convincing Audrey to try out for football, like I did. I thought about for about 1 minute before realizing how ridiculous it was. Oh, I did get into the football C team as a wide receiver.

One thing Audrey and I did have in common was ballet. We both were quite advanced dancers and in the same class. Since Audrey was a boy he wore a boy’s outfit in ballet classes. For him a boy’s outfit meant white tights OVER his deep mauve string leotard. Actually white tights offers the teacher a better view of how the muscles work so I changed away from my black and white outfit, i.e. black tights and white t-shirt, to a white and black instead.

When Audrey later started pointe classes he didn’t wear pink pointe shoes. What boy would? At first he wore black Bloch pointe shoes (he needed a very wide shoe) but later he shifted to bright red. Very few people, including Bloch resellers, know that Bloch pointe shoes can be ordered in black, red and white as well.

That first semester and later whenever he had a new teacher, he liked to confuse the teachers and often came to school in a skirt or a dress. Always looking absolutely fabulous. Many were the teachers that thought Audrey was girl only to realize, much later, their mistake. It went so far that faculty used to have a pool as to how long it would take a new teacher or substitute to find out the sex (and gender, Audrey would insist) of Audrey. Strictly no cheating by whispering the answer of course.

I was a bit envious of Sis since the baseball teams, C eventually became B and then A, often had activities together. To make things worse the cheerleaders frequently had sleepovers. According to what Sis told me the other cheerleaders very much appreciated Audrey’s makeup tutorials. Well, men wear makeup too, don’t they? Not that our ballet class didn’t do things together. Not very often though and at first it was only those taking pointe. Later I was awarded “honorary” pointe status. That was after had I tried it for a while. My ancles weren’t really built for it, though.

Audrey, Sis and I spent a lot of time together outside those activities as well. We studied together. We went to the movies together. We went to our respective games together. In parallel with Audrey’s and Sis baseball careers I advanced in the football teams as a wide receiver.

We even spent parts of our summer vacations together as well. The first summer our parents had rented a house by a lake. We were lucky with the weather and had a great time. Audrey shocked our neighbors the first time he went to the lake in his trunks. “Girls” aren’t supposed to do that. I’m convinced Audrey had set them up deliberately. The only problem with that summer was that I had to acknowledge to myself, and ONLY to myself, that my feelings towards Audrey weren’t strictly those of a friend.

Sophomore year was somewhat of a strain for me.

The next summer our parents sent us away on language courses. Sis took Spanish so she went to Costa Rica. Audrey and I went to the same course in France. As we got of the aircraft Audrey told me that he had no intention to fight the natural assumption of him being a girl. And since I was in love with him we could be boyfriend and girlfriend for the summer. Much less complicated than trying to swat away unwanted interest from various boys. Ok, I had apparently been less successful than I thought when it came to hiding my feelings for Audrey.

At the course Audrey was a sensation. “Her” looks, the way “she” dressed and she even danced ballet. We took classes there as well and she got no end of compliments. Ok, so our teacher thought that I was very good as well. I, and to appearances Audrey as well, had a great time in France. The language, the food, the ambience, the dating, the warm evenings with the romantic light … Pas mal, pas mal du tout!

We kept dating when we got back to school. To my surprise that caused only a minor stir, apart from few catty remarks from one of the girls in ballet class who fancied me. One of my friends told me it was just sooo obvious that we would get together. Yep, I hadn’t really fooled anyone. I think Junior year was the best year of my entire high school experience. Everything went my way in every way academically, athletically (I was bumped to the A team) and romantically. Cary and Audrey was THE couple in school.

The summer after Junior year was even better than the one before. Audrey and I went to another course in France. Once more Audrey didn’t bother about the “boy” part. Once more we had a great time.

Senior year Audrey definitely came over as being more on the feminine side. However, as Audrey said, wearing skirts and dresses and dating a boy doesn’t really make someone a girl, does it? Despite everything something was beginning to slip. Audrey never had committed herself, er, himself to me exclusively and he started to date someone else as well; the star of the baseball team. After Christmas he dated the baseball captain more than me. I started to get desperate. Finally I took the ultimate step and asked Audrey to marry me.

Audrey still had that newlywed glow at our prom. His prom dress was to die for. It was a no-brainer that Audrey would be elected prom princess. The committee had decided to retire the “Queen” title. To crown Audrey prom “Queen” would have been tacky. The corresponding prom “Prince” was a very reluctant prince indeed. Being the Prom Princess’ partner was not really a good enough reason etc etc.

Personally I thought Katherine looked extremely handsome in her tux. She had sulked for the entire week just because she wouldn’t get to wear a beautiful gown like her husband but Audrey had been adamant. Yeah, Sis had beaten me to proposing to Audrey, by one hour. Not that that would have changed anything. I think.

I was happy for them. Truly I was. Sad of course but happy for them. I was at the prom stag. As for my intended partner … well, you already known. I tried to make the best of it. I danced. I mingled. I was over the top outrageous with the girls, though always making sure that they understood it was just good fun. I was outrageous with Mrs Baldwin, my 70-year old physics teacher that nobody would believe was a day under 50 as long as she had her mouth shut. As soon as she started talking people would start guessing at 30.

If anyone could appreciate my banter and give it back with interest (usurious at that) she was the one. After a few minutes she asked me to dance. I accepted. To my delight I found out that she was without doubt the best dancer (except me) of all the people at the prom. When I prodded her about it she admitted something she had kept very secret form everyone in school until then. Oh, this was her last year as a teacher so she wasn’t really risking anything. When she was in her early 20s she had been a professional ballet dancer. Not a prominent one but, anyway, a professional dancer with one of the more well-known companies. Too bad she hadn’t really been good enough for a career in ballet.

Just for fun I did a pirouette. She kicked off her shoes and did a double pirouette and a tour en l’air. Of course I had to kick off my shoes and do a triple pirouette and a double tour en l’air. From there we go into an improvised pas de deux. At first we only did things that didn’t require any floor-space. No grand jetés or piqué turns across the room. Soon though, people started to give us more room and then stopped dancing to watch us. Now we could do glissade, glissade, assamblé and sissonnes and things like that. Good thing we both had warmed up a bit by dancing actively before. Still, it was rather stupid of us. Anyway, I could see that Mrs Baldwin was getting tired so I told her we should round if off. The “old lady” then surprised me by whispering “32 fouettés and then a fish dive”. Damned stupid of her! A fish dive takes both really good coordination of both dancers and complete trust but I couldn’t stop her, she had already started her fouettés.

She did it! I did my part as well. Mrs Baldwin must have known that I was a really good ballet dancer. A REALLY good one, much better than Audrey.

Mrs Baldwin and I retired to the punch table to refresh ourselves and rest. The normal dancing recommenced. My sister Katherine and her husband Audrey Hepburn made their way to us.

“Cary, Mrs Baldwin that was really amazing”

Mrs Baldwin curtsied gracefully and I took a bow.

Then the indefatigable Mrs Baldwin asked me.

“Mr Grant, would you like to ask me to dance this waltz?”

Teachers! You gotta love them! At least some of them.

To this day I don’t know if Mrs Baldwin had planned it or not. It doesn’t matter. She had firmly yanked me out of my funk. What she did for me I will always treasure. The last thing she taught me in high school, the last thing she taught anyone as a high school teacher, was that life is fun! Live it to the fullest! So what if you hit a bump every now and again? Just put the foot on the accelerator and off you go again.

That was my best senior prom, ever!

It was a lovely end-of-summer day. The Friday of the first week of my second year in High School. I was waiting for the school bus. The sun shone, the birds were singing, no classes in the afternoon due to try-out for the school teams. Then I turned around.

Sigh! I had implored him, begged him to be sensible but there I could see him coming dressed in a shortish denim skirt.

Eric was a compulsive prankster. Usually great fun to be with. Since both his parents worked he had more or less grown up in my house. Ever since my family had moved into the house next to his eleven years ago we had been inseparable. His quick mind had got us into uncountable scrapes, and out of nearly as many. The fact that he was a waif-like shrimp had never slowed him down. We played on the same little league team. He was a terrible player but did wonders for our morale. Everyone liked him. In Middle School the bullies tried to get to him but since he was a friend of the biggest and strongest kid in the grade, me, they soon stayed away.

He really was great fun to be with but his pranks sometimes got a little bit too far and/or wearisome. In particular some of the girls had grown tired of him. I think he targeted them a bit extra because they were so obviously dismissive of the little runt. However, everyone, absolutely everyone, expected him to turn up dressed in a skirt or dress that day. A new gender neutral dress code came into effect that day. The only question was whether he’d come as a boy-in-a-skirt or something over-the-top. Well, despite the length of the skirt it appeared he’d chosen the boy-in-a-skirt option.

In school it was obvious the teachers had been told to make nothing of him. The kids were mostly taking the same approach except some of the in-crowd girls that kept complementing him on his skirt. He kind of was disappointed by the lack attention.

At the beginning of second period one of the really popular senior girls came into our classroom with a note from the principal. It turned out that the girls in beauty class wanted Eric as guinea-pig for their class. With a little bit of fluttering eye-lashes the beautiful girl got the poor sucker to agree and they left.

Walking to the next class I couldn’t see him. Ten minutes into class he came crashing into the room. He closed and locked the door. He was not the same boy I had seen an hour ago. The denim skirt had been replaced by an equally short very nice black A-line skirt. His legs had been shaved and now sported thin black pantyhose. Instead of sneakers he now wore patent leather shoes with a small but noticeable heel. The soft white blouse was new as well. The girls had done wonders with the make-up and his shoulder-length hair. He really was very pretty. If he’d really been a girl I’d have said beautiful. The teacher pointedly ignored him and continued the class. Eric sat down next to me.

- The girls are crazy! Please protect me! They told me this is only the beginning. Don’t leave me for a second.

Leaving the class-room some of the nastier bullies were waiting for him. OK, so I’m big and strong and was trying out for the JV foot-ball team that afternoon but no way I could match those three seniors.

Luckily the varsity QB happened to pass just as things were beginning to get really unpleasant. Tom is the undisputed alpha male of the school. As a junior he took over as varsity QB in the spring when the old one got seriously hurt. He led the team to a series of wins. However, he’s not likely to go to university on a foot-ball scholarship. Not with his grades! On top of this he’s a genuinely nice guy that couldn’t stand bullying. He really was a kind of idol to me. The only thing was that he’s never dated any girl, or for that matter any boy. We all assumed he was too committed to his studies. No matter. After a short “conversation” with the bullies he took Eric to the cafeteria to make sure that he wouldn’t have any further problems. They sat at table in the corner and talked the whole lunch break.

As soon as Tom left the girls pounced on Eric. Since I really saw no harm in it and since he had been a kind of a pain in the ass lately I let them drag him away. They solemnly swore that he’d come to no harm and suggested that I should watch the cheerleading try-outs.

Fortunately the cheerleader tryouts was after the JV football tryouts so I was just in time to see the last half . Most of the girls were really pretty in their leotards jumping around and doing their moves. Some of them talented as well. Then the last applicant was pushed out into the gym: Eric. He really looked very, very cute in that shimmery high cut leotard that really set of a pair of legs that I hadn’t realized before were quite amazing. For a while he just stood there but then the prankster in him got the better of him and he started doing an exaggerated, extra-feminine version of what a boy would like a cheerleader to look like. As he got going he really got into it. I had to remind myself that he was Eric and not a girl to stop myself drooling. At the end we all applauded.

Well, he got accepted!

Sitting in the bus back Eric was kind of absent. Really pretty in the black skirt and white soft blouse, and those amazing legs in the black pantyhose, he clasped the consent form for cheerleading, and corresponding change of PE class.

I nudged him.

- So have you learned your lesson not to mess with the girls so much? And why have you kept those
consent forms? You aren’t going to be a cheerleader, are you?

and adding in a sarcastic tone

- Or are you thinking about your gay boyfriend?

Coming back to reality Eric responded

- Oh, Tom isn’t gay. He’s bisexual. It’s just that he can stand the way the girls are pushing themselves on him. Besides he hasn’t found anyone that shares his love of ballet. In fact he had a spare ticket for the Nutcracker tonight so he asked me to come. That reminds me. Do you think your mother could take us to the mall? Tom is taking me to this really fancy restaurant first and I have absolutely nothing to wear!

For some strange reason all of a sudden I no longer liked Tom.

I’m innocent; it’s all BarbieLee’s fault! I blame her, she forced me, she twisted my arm. Well, not really but she dangled a twisted idea in front of my nose so of course I just had to grab it and add a twist or two. There was no way I could avoid it, could I? You believe me, don’t you?

Friday evening. I hear the door open and my son enter.

”DAD! It’s getting cold so I need warmer tights now. Could we get some tomorrow?” he shouts before quickly going upstairs. He is always quick to get out of his school uniform blazer and skirt. He keeps complaining about the skirt every day. I sympathize with him but he really has himself to blame. No matter, he’s a good boy, or so I thought until yesterday!

When the temperature hit a hundred in June he lead the other boys in a protest against the school dress code that didn’t allow shorts. As the Head Teacher explained shorts weren’t forbidden, just not allowed. As a joke she suggested that the boys could wear the school skirt instead. Taylor talked some of the other boys into borrowing school skirts. The first day there were five of them the next almost 60. I was quite proud of the way Taylor and the other boys handled the situation. Polite, correct but adamant that wearing long trousers in that weather was inhumane. BBC and several national newspapers interviewed them and he was quite grown up in the way he answered. Well, they won, sort of. The school decided to remove the long trousers from the dress code so now all the students have to wear the school skirt all the year round. Girls AND boys. Boy, did that make the papers! Taylor was not popular for a while. Not only were the boys angry at him but many of the girls also resented being deprived of the option of wearing trousers. Taylor was not happy but he wore it, and the skirt, like a man. He’s a good boy!

He really is. He’s doing quite well in school. He always behaves well. Since his mother disappeared ten years ago when he was only three there has been only the two of us. Mary just disappeared one day. There were some unexplained circumstances so the police investigated the matter thoroughly but without result. I still get a call from Detective Chief Inspector Harengrouge every six months for an update and just in case I’ve heard anything from her. So far: nothing.

Unfortunately I work quite a lot and I don’t like Taylor being alone in the house so for a long time I had a Nanny for him. However, three years ago Mrs White moved to Spain and Taylor and I agreed that he’d spend the time between school and me getting home at the library or at the home of one of his friends. Because of what happened in the summer he spent most of September in the library, in his school skirt of course. He was not happy but struggled through it and soon his old friends forgave him. He still resents the smiles from his friends’ mothers when he stays in his school skirt as his friends change as soon as school ends. Just as he’s not too happy about the change in PE and PE clothes. Apparently the school decided to change that in line with the rest of the dress code. Leotards etc. A bit vindictive I thought but I signed the papers he brought back since he said that we shouldn’t make a fuss about it. He’s a good boy! Or so I thought until yesterday.

I was having lunch when Mrs Green cornered me. I usually try to avoid her since she’s the worst gossip in town. Not only that, she always manages to make a mole-hill into … OK not exactly a mountain but at least into a respectable hill. One thing though, she knows what she’s talking about. Not only does she know EVERYTHING that’s happening in town but also, amazingly, everything she tells is based on reality. She “improves” things but never actually makes them up. Strange!

She told me that the school went back to the old dress code already in October having made their point. All the boys went back to wearing trousers except Taylor. Now I understand better why all the slips from school I had to sign were “Consent forms” and not just information. The scamp had tricked me into letting him attend school to all intents and purposes as a girl. The lad doth protest too much, methinks.

Yesterday and today I have been busy.

As Taylor came downstairs I told him:
“I’m sorry but you will have to miss a couple of days of school next week”

He didn’t exactly look unhappy at that news. What 13 year old boy would?

“There are a number of people we have to talk to.”

He looked confused.

“Why”

“I talked to your teachers yesterday and found out what you have been up to!”

He looked crestfallen. Why? He couldn’t have expected to get away with this for a long time. I’m amazed, and ashamed, that he had managed to fool me this long. Well, it was time for him to face up to the consequences.

“First you’ll see a psychiatrist and then a couple of doctors. Depending on the results we may be able to help you become the girl you want to be. Nothing permanent until you are 18 of course but we can delay developments until we are certain that you are certain.”

I could see the smile on his face spreading. First it was of relief, then sheer happiness. He threw himself into my arms.

“You have to get up early tomorrow since the only time I could get at Madame Loulou’s was at 8. We will what she can do with that hair of yours. Then we will get you a nice dress, as well as the warmer tights, since we will have guests for dinner tomorrow night.”

Taylor looked terrified.

“Guests? And me as a girl? Why? Who? I’m not ready for that!”

“I’ve invited your boyfriend and his parents. I thought it was time we met.”

With that pink blush Taylor was really cute. I would have been angry if Mrs Green hadn’t described their relationship as “sweet, innocent puppy love”. If Mrs Green couldn’t find anything worse, there wasn’t. Taylor may not be a good boy but she is a good girl!

Looking at her bright pink face and realising how easily she was embarrassed I noted that she was an unlucky girl …since her father isn’t good. I’m going to have sooo much fun with this.

OK I said I'd look silly stealing a twisted idea proposed by Daphne Xu in a comment to a recent blog. With her permission I did it anyway. Of course I added an extra twist of my own.

Belle leaned forward to kiss the ”Beast”. He raised a paw and gently stopped her. In his strong and yet soft manly voice he said:

”I have to warn you. When I was cursed ten years ago the witch told me I had to find love in my heart and be loved back before my 21th birthday, which is tomorrow, otherwise I would stay a beast. A beast I truly was then. The witch made me look like I was inside, in every way. If I found love I would revert to my previous physical form. It may not be what you expect”

Belle: ”I don’t care! I’ll love you in any form!” and firmly pushed away the “Beast’s” paw and kissed him.

The “Beast” started to change. The fur on his body disappeared. The horns fell off. The teeth turned into the most startling white smile Belle had ever seen. The paws transformed into soft dainty hands. The features of the face became much softer as did the skin. Instead of the fur the most luscious blonde curls fell beyond the “Beast’s” shoulders. When the “Beast” said “I love you” in a lovely soprano Belle realized that the “Beast”, while in his heart male, was born in a female body. She could live with that. She truly loved the “Beast” and her Nanny had taught her how girls could enjoy each other in bed. They could surpass this. They could deal with anything. Their love was true and deep!

The changes continued. His body shrank until finally the transformation was complete and he stood in front of Belle in his “pre-cursed” form. Belle suddenly felt repulsed at what she had just thought. No way she could live like that with the “Beast”. It was completely unthinkable!

In front of her was the most beautiful girl she had ever seen. That is, the most beautiful ten year old girl she’d ever seen.

Belle was not a child molester!

I’m not a girl but I like girly clothes. Dresses and skirts swishing, the soft materials … So much better than the usual boy stuff. However, even as a twelve year old I should have known better than come to school in a dress. My classmates were rather dense and just couldn’t appreciate how pretty and comfortable it was. That was the beginning of a rather unpleasant time in school. I had hoped that things would be better when I started high school but my old classmates went to the same high school and one day the first semester I forgot that we had PE and wore my prettiest panties…

My big break came when my family moved away to a new city. A new beginning and a clean slate! I’d make sure to be a macho, macho boy.

I had made a big effort the first to day to project the right image. It worked! Nobody bullied me. Nobody teased me for being girlish. I was mostly ignored. It was bliss!

My second day in the new school day we had PE. No panties that day, not that I’d ever were those to school again, PE or no PE!

I was a bit surprised that afternoon that Taylor, one of the girls, albeit one of the more butch ones, went into the boys’ locker room. Well, I assumed she was a girl but I wasn’t sure. A short skirt, make-up - but wasn’t there a trace of a shade on her cheeks?

Being new in school and not sure I just made sure to keep out of the way. After class I did have a look at Taylor’s crotch. In my old school that would have been tantamount to signing my own death warrant but I had to know! Yes, Taylor was an innie and not an outie!

Taylor left after fixing her make-up and slipping into a pair of panties I just could die for. I absolutely had to ask Max Vernichtung, the huge boy, all muscles, changing next to me

- Why is a girl changing with us?
- Taylor’s no girl, he’s a boy. It’s just that he’s transitioning.
- You mean that she, eh he, is a transsexual?
- Yeah, so what?
- But, but he has no penis! Shouldn’t she be in the girl’s locker room?
- Of course he hasn’t a penis. He can’t have his operation before he’s 18.

I turned around and looked at the door where Taylor had disappeared.

- But he, she? Oh I give up! But if Taylors is a female to male transsexual why is he/she wearing a skirt and make-up?
- So, he’s a crossdresser. Do you have a problem with that? We really don’t like bigots here!

Confused I turned my head back to Max and saw the huge boy wearing the most fabulous dress I’ve ever seen. That dress really was him!

Black Cat Investigations – that’s what it says on the door to my downtown office.,

I’m Black by the way. No, I don’t mean that I’m black. Do I confuse you? What I mean is that my name is Black but I don’t have any African roots (that I know about). Actually, I’m white, almost albino white, blonde (nice wavy hair), 6’4”, 200 lbs almost purely muscles apart from the skeleton, firm chin, chiseled features, snappy dresser and so on.

The name on the door really is a red herring since my greatest asset is that I’m extremely lucky, mostly. I’m lucky in that somehow people automatically get the impression that I’m competent and trustworthy. The last part is true but I have to admit that I’m not really that smart. Dogged, certainly but not smart. However, I am lucky. For example, one of my first cases involved the Native Indian run casino just outside the city. By pure luck I solved a case that could have had serious political effects. As a result I’m always very welcome at the casino, as long as I don’t gamble.

It was also by pure luck that during the same case I saved the life of the most despicable gutter rat possible that was also devoid of all morals. What used to be that boy is now my b b b … assistant. I had intended to say beautiful assistant. Too bad I’m a lousy liar. The 19 year old girl that she is now can’t even by stretching the truth be called beautiful. Pretty is another inapplicable adjective. Cute? Only if you consider a shrimpish 19 year old ugly bimbo with vacuous eyes desperately dressing to try to look like a cute 13 year old to be cute. Oh, Allie has her uses. By the way she is the Cat in the name. People often think that is short for Catherine. Not so. Cat is Allie’s family name.

Some people think that I keep her around for romantic reasons, or more likely for sex. NO WAY. I’d never consider doing anything like that with her. To begin with I’m 100% gay. Secondly, I prefer big well-muscled guys like myself. One example was the prime male specimen that entered my office a week ago. Very much my mirror image except that his hair was pitch black. Oh, I liked what I saw but the company had a reputation of professionalism to keep up. We were the most highly regarded (and most expensive) private investigators in the city. Partly due to the persona I had built up, partly due to the confidence people automatically had in me and to no small degree dependent on the company track record: 99% of cases solved. Beat that if you can!

As it turned out the case turned out be rather straight-forward. Industrial espionage. The only thing that made it exceptional was the amounts of money involved. I almost, but only almost, betrayed my chock when Alfred told me about the potential sums at stake. I accepted to take the case. So what if I was attracted to Alfred, the young, handsome and wealthy entrepreneur hiring me. That had nothing to do with it.

Some PIs skulk around in trench coats trying to ferret out secrets. I prefer to make a grand entrance in my exquisitely tailored suit. Always accompanied by Allie of course. My experience is that the bold approach combined with my reputation often unsettles the culprits in such a way that they make stupid mistakes that reveal them. Sometimes henchmen panic and sell out their accomplices as soon as they hear that I’m on the case. Sometimes there are other developments. Why bring Allie? Well, she has her uses.

After throwing my weight around for a couple of days, including quite a lot of nice interaction with Alfred, I was a bit incautious and let slip that I had broken the case and was about to reveal everything to Alfred that night. Walking up the path to his house I felt a shock in my shoulder. I had just time enough to think: “Oh no, not again!” before blacking out (yeah, I know, ironic given my name).

I woke up several hours later in hospital. By that time the culprit had already been booked. Another solved case! Allie was by my bedside. Not the “public” Allie. The real one. The one with the intelligent eyes that moved with feline grace. Only it was more like a panther than a cat (don’t, I repeat, DON’T get into a fight with her). The Allie that still objectively was dead ugly but somehow just oozed sexiness.

I looked reprovingly at her and said

- Boss, you promised that you’d get the guy before him shooting me already last time you used me as a stalking horse. This is the third time I get shot!

It’s not often that I see Allie embarrassed. This was one of those rare moments. She certainly should be. She really is much better at her job than that!

- Tell you what Mike. I’ll let you buy 5% of the shares in Black Cat Investigations. That way you’ll have 35%. And just to show how sorry I am I’ll let you have them at par.

Having said that she smiled and waved at me. She left the room and I could see Alfred waiting there with some flowers. Too bad they weren’t for me. They hugged each other and walked away.

Yep, Allie is the senior partner in Black Cat Investigations. She is the really smart one of us Her public persona is invaluable when snooping around while everyone focuses on me. In my defense I have to say that sometimes I’m the one that cracks our cases. Possibly 1 in 5. All right, 1 in 7 to be honest. At least!

I don’t really mind. I earn much more thanks to Allie than I would by my own. I’m respected within the profession as well as among the general public. I have a very nice social standing. I like the attention I get as well as the invitations to all the big social events. Even when getting shot I have been lucky and never got seriously injured. I can live with that. Probably!

Despite all that I think the time has come for Allie and me to part ways. I like and respect her. Professionally, financially and reputation-wise I’d be a complete fool to break with her.

However, I just can’t live with the fact that EVERY guy I fall in love with ends up in HER bed.

The woman I was interviewing for a job at first gave me a very good impression. In person she confirmed her CV. Competent, decisive, with a no-nonsense getting things done attitude. Perhaps a bit aggressive but for the position in question that was not necessarily a problem. In fact everything went well until she noticed that I was wearing a bra. I should have known better. Never wear a colored bra under a white shirt, even if it’s the most exquisite turquoise.

Well, things went downhill from there. She started shouting. Fortunately the conference room I was using was well insulated. After a while she calmed down and a wicked, satisfied smile spread over her face. When she had started shouting I had stood up. Now she took two quick steps and was standing right in front of me. Suddenly she yanked down my trousers to reveal the matching panties. She plunged her hand down and grabbed my balls.

“Sit down she ordered”

I sat down, her hand still holding my balls.

She very carefully explained to me that not only was I going to give her the job but her salary would also be significantly higher than suggested. Further, in the future I would do whatever she asked. She also implied that that would include “private” sessions. She mused about how she had fantasized about having her own little pathetic sissy to play with.

I found myself in a very difficult situation. My CEO and I had already had a rather awkward conversation about me wearing lingerie at work and I really was going against his direct orders. If he knew about this …

I thought about it. I dithered. I vacillated. I shillyshalled. Finally her squeezing my balls decided me. Believe it or not but my self-respect was more important. I pushed her away and told her a firm no. She screeched that she would tell my CEO about the pervert working here and that not only would I lose my job but she would see me in prison. She stormed out of the conference room. She really wasn’t reasonable any longer.

I made a quick call and then followed her to the CEO office. I caught up with her just as she forced herself into the office. She started yelling about me being a pervert wearing lingerie and that she … and then she suddenly went silent.

Well, there is no denying that the purple dress George was wearing that day really could render anyone speechless. He just simply was gorgeous in it.

As the police I had called took the woman away (for sexual assault) I reflected that it was fortunate that her character flaw was revealed in time. From an HR point of view it would have been a nightmare if we had already hired her. But I couldn’t help but wish that all this hadn’t happened. George would not be happy with me. He believes in 100% commitment or don’t bother. I know I can’t abstain from all this lovely lingerie and now he will insist that I’ll wear only skirts or dresses. That’s not too bad in itself but the high heels will kill me!

Tom, Dick and I, Harry had been best friends since primary school. How we had been teased for our names over the years. We stuck together through middle and high school. We hung out together. Got into trouble together. Somehow Tom always managed to extricate himself and I managed to shield Dick from the worst consequences. In high school we usually triple dated. We also stood together against the bullies. We were unfortunate in that we were considered to be “cute” in a girly way. Unfortunately that also invited some unwanted attention from the gay community. We weren’t. Gay that is.

We went to the same college even if we didn’t study the same programs. We shared a flat. We did the usual stupid things college students do. Somehow Tom always managed to extricate himself and I managed to shield Dick from the worst consequences. We fell in love with the same girl. We did NOT share the girl. That caused some friction.

Fortunately our friendship was strong enough to see us through that rough period until Anne finally made it clear that she loved Tom and nobody else. “Sorry Dick and Harry but I want to be your friend as well”. That could have broken up our little group but even if that meant that Tom was less present, he was always welcome also when Anne tagged along which she often did. She became the fourth mousquetaire. However, things weren’t really as before but Dick and I grew even closer.

Our friendship was even strong enough for me to accept that Tom chose Dick as his best man. As a “compensation” Anne roped me in to be responsible for most of the wedding arrangements. I was with Anne a lot of the time. I came to the conclusion that I was sort of maid of honor even if I wasn’t. I was there when she got the wedding dress. I was there for the choice of church. I arranged the dinner. The result was that I regretted even more her choice. She got so used to having me around that I probably saw many things that she never intended me to see such as her naked several times. She had some strange quirks. She intended to give a speech and worked and worked on it and her presentation. She rehearsed how to “glide” in her wedding dress. She even kept practicing how to throw her weeding bouquet.

All her practice paid off. Well, combined with my not inconsiderable effort. I wanted everything to be perfect for two people I cared immensely for. Everything went perfectly. That is until Anne threw her wedding bouquet. Despite all her practicing she got it completely wrong. Instead of flying towards the shoal of maidens it flew straight into the arms of Dick.

Dick looked completely shocked and all the people laughed. Seeing Dick with the bouquet was like a punch in my belly. I went up to Dick and got down on one knee. No need to spell out why. What an irony that she’d been named Dick! Dick had never told us his/her secret. How much pain that must have caused her. Still, it’s damned hard to keep such a secret from your best friend. I had respected her secret. I had probably been wrong and seeing her there with the bouquet made me realize that I couldn’t live without her.

Well, that was one upstaged wedding. The crowd was split between those looking shocked and appalled and those clapping wildly.

It was only at OUR wedding that I realized that my wife was not the only who couldn’t keep a secret from a very good friend. It was only when looking past my lovely bride and I seeing the maid of honor’s Cheshire cat smile that it struck me that Anne had NOT missed.

(Not insignificant re-write February 9, 2015)

First day of term, first class, gym teacher’s office.

There's a knock on the door and Tom, my best friend, enters.

-Hi Dave, is Mr Ferguson around?
- He’s already out there warming up.
- I see your little sister is taking ballet this year.

- Yes, they think it will help her development.
- How is she doing at Sandringford school?
- It’s amazing the progress she has made in only a year.
- OK, give Andy and me 3 minutes and we will be out there to escort you.

My little sister is the sweetest child in the world, despite or because of her mental handicap.

If only she wouldn’t insist on “Do as big brother do” or if Sandringford wouldn’t be so firm about “structure” including school uniform. Not like my anything goes school, I think as I hang up my jacket with the Sandringford crest and matching skirt. Sometimes I wish I could tell her that I do one thing and then do another but her trust in me is too valuable. I must NEVER lie to her. This time I could possibly have escaped I lament as I make sure my pink tights are pulled up and un-twirl the spaghetti straps on my new leotard, if not my school had ballet as a PE option.

I remind myself that it’s the first 4-5 weeks of every term that are the worst and that I have the support of great friends like Tom and Andy.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

... and maybe next year she will be able to understand.

Headmaster’s office

In front of the desk sits Peter, a rather cute, “petite” boy. The rumor in school is that he’s gay. At present he’s dressed in a loose cream blouse, mid-thigh black skirt and black tights. To his left stands a much bigger, muscular boy; Hank, the school bully. It’s not exactly the first time Hank is in the Headmaster’s office due to some act of bullying. This time he has forced Peter to come to school dressed as a girl. He’s not in the least sorry. In fact he keeps making lewd comments to Peter.

The Headmaster really doesn’t know what to do. So far nothing he has tried has helped. Hank would turn up in his office a week later no matter what punishment he gave. Suddenly Peter suggests that a fitting punishment would be for Hank to be forced to come to school dressed as girl for the rest of the year. Strangely enough the Headmaster thinks this is a good idea. He tells Hank that as soon he has cleared that with Hank’s parents he will make it public.

Leaving the office Peter says to Hank: “Well, the plan worked. You coming to school in girl mode as a “punishment” will be much easier than otherwise. Actually, the guys were rather beastly to me today so I understand why you didn’t want to. This way the ribbing will be mostly friendly and next year the girl you will be a non-issue.”

Hank replies: “Thanks Peter. Coming over tonight to play some games as usual?”

Peter: “Sorry Elisabeth, I’m going out with Sharon tonight”

Hank/Elisabeth with a smile: “If only people knew that it’s you that’s the straight cisgendered one and that you borrowed the girl clothes from me.”

The two friends walk silently for a while.

Then Peter asks: “Would you mind if I keep your skirt?”

I had not expected to be almost killed during the first lecture when I went to university. At least not by the professor.

Recently I mentioned in a comment that I wrote a blog many years ago where the fictional characters from my stories had a get-together. Someone suggested that I write another one. Given that the number of characters has increased significantly since, I thought it would be impractical (and inadvisable during the pandemic).

However, I just noted that there were 99 Bru stories up on BCTS. This story will make it an even 100, or as the Romans wrote: C. Then I thought about the get together again but modified it. We meet most of my characters in high school (or equivalent). It’s reasonable to assume that many of them will continue to college/university. What if some of them, by no means all of them, happened to wind up at the same university?

This is a sort of meta-story. It’s not supposed to be “canon” in any way. . I’m just having some fun with my characters. I reserve the right to ignore this story if I’d happen to write a sequel to any of the stories alluded to here

A warning is in place. The story turned out to be a bit bizarre.
Another warning: To understand the story it might help if you're familiar with most of the stories involved.
Yet another warning: There are lots and lots of spoilers in this story in case you haven’t read the stories already. The stories in question are

A Very Not Accidental Cheerleader
Another Dress Code
Anything You Can Do I Can Do Better
Cardinal Sin
Difference (series)
Getting Lost in the Girly-Girly Swamp
How I Got Involved in a Murder Attempt on a Latin American President
I Hadn’t Expected to be the First in My Class With Boobs
In a League of Her Own
Mousy Trap (series)
Possessed
Seven Little Bullies
The Addict
The Fairy
The Only Boy in School
Were-fore Art Thou

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I had not expected to be almost killed during the first lecture when I went to university. At least not by the professor.

Hi, my name is James Johnson and to tell the truth the circumstances to some degree excused her. Most of us in the auditorium were there only because we had to have a course in the humanities and social sciences, not because we were particularly interested in “Introduction to Latin American Studies”. It was quite obvious that Professor Gray wasn’t particularly interested in giving this course either. I had heard that there were two versions of Professors Gray. The old one that was gray in every sence of the word, chillingly cold and boring. Then there was the new professor Gray. Vivacious, interesting and quite obviously in love with her wife. Obviously we were stuck with the old non-improved model.

Add to that that my old high school principal claimed that I was a spoiled brat with a unquenchable compulsion to challenge authority in any way possible. Not that I say he was wrong but wasn’t that a bit nasty to say about one of his students? Actually, we had an “interesting” relationship not without mutual respect, especially after the very short skirt incident. Also I had his recommendation to thank for being accepted to the university I wanted: Broader Reality University.

Well, back to the incident where I almost lost my head. When Professor Gray had entered I had wondered why she was bringing an arbalest. What I didn’t notice at the time was that it was wound up and there already was a bolt in position. Soon I forgot about that. I was too bored. In order to cheer me, and my fellow students, up I started being obnoxius towards the Professor from my seat at the back of the auditorium. For a while she was patient but then I somehow crossed the line when I started getting personal. I think I told her to grow a pair of balls. In one smooth movement she grabbed the arbalest, aimed at me and loosed. I heard a thud next to my right ear. The bolt had just missed me. I looked there expecting to see the bolt stuck in the back of the seat. There was only a ragged hole there. I shuddered at the thought of what could have become of my head. My neighbor and room-mate John, unflappable as always, just noted

“She didn’t miss. Professor Gray never misses. Had she intended to kill you the bolt would have passed between your eyes. And what you said was really really stupid to say to Professor Gray. Check it up”

After the lecture I did and sure enough John was right. I had been REALLY stupid. At the time I just thought that this course just might be interesting after all. I asked an INTELLIGENT and relevant question. Professor Gray smiled an icy cold smile and answered. I asked another one. A little more lively she gave a very interesting answer. Then John had a question. After that the lecture got more animated. Leaving the lecture most of had decided that this course was worth our while. Me, I had found another teacher I could respect.

John and I walked back to our dorm. We lived in what was informally known at Broader Reality University as the “Weirdo Wing”. That was saying something. Given that it’s said that “You don’t HAVE to be crazy to study here but it helps” the bar for being considered weird or twisted is rather high at BRU. By now you probably wonder how it came that I lived there. It was all “thanks” to my old principal. I told you that his recommendation letter was instrumental in getting me a place at BRU. Unfortunately he had given a rather slanted view of the short skirt incident. It’s true that I had worn an indecently short skirt for two days in my high school before the poorly worded dress-code had been rectified. It’s also true that I had a date with a football player wearing said skirt. It’s also true that I tried out for the cheerleading team. Was he didn’t write was that I didn’t qualify and that it was all HIS fault. He had set me up for those things and tricked me into wearing the indecently short skirt. Well at least the first day. In my defense I didn’t wear a thong the second day.

As to John he unsettled me. Oh, he was the nicest guy possible but his boobs unsettled me, Just imagine, sharing your dorm room with the most perfect, if smallish, breasts you have ever seen and then they are one your MALE room-mate. And he’s not shy about them either. As he told me since we were going to share a room; Get used to them. I would have been easier if occasionally he hadn’t worn those dresses that enhance the view of them. Only occasionally though. Mostly he wore normal guy clothes (apart from the bra). That was not the case with all the inmates in the “weird wing”. Dresses and skirts were worn regularly by most of us. That applied in particular at the NYLG end of the corridor. NYLG? Duh, “Not Yet Legally Girls”.

The gender-bending part was not all that set most of us apart from other students at BRU. Some of us were truly scary, some of us were obsessed to say the least. Then there were the REALLY weird ones. Take Gwall Gramadegol for example. Gwall is a fairy. I’m not talking about her sexual orientation. Don’t ever call her gay. So if she was born male? She is definitely straight. If you claim anything else bad things could happen to you. Gwall really is a bona fide fairy with magic and all. Gwall herself isn’t very proficient with magic but her parents are. As a matter of fact they placed a powerful geas on all of us in the wing to prevent us from revealing that. I’m circumventing this by pretending this is fiction. To top it up Gwall’s paternal grandfather is Oberon which makes her a princess. One of the 2.1 (rounded) princesses in the wing. 2.1? Well, Peter is only a princess a few days around full moons. He’s a were-princess. Now you protest and say that were-wolves don’t exist. I completely agree. The very idea of ware-wolves is rdiculous. Were-princesses is another matter. When a princess Peter is perfectly regal and even beautiful. SHE is even recognized by a deposed European royal house. However, Peter isn’t. Don’t ask me how that works out. Peter and Gwall shared a room which makes sense.

The third princess is not a royal princess. Only from an ancient Italian noble (princely) family. Did I mention that she wass one of the NYLGs? And that her legal guardian was the Pope? Yes, the one and only pope, His holiness Johannes XXV. Another pope was her grand-uncle. She wasn't really beautiful but the most fantastic girl I have ever met. Yes, I admit that my interest in her was more than casual.

People may have called us weird but they were VERY careful about it. Bad things happened to those who annoyed us. Some of us had powerful relatives. Some of us had influence on campus themselves. For an example we had four of the cheerleading squad members, including the head cheerleader. Only two them were NYLGs. Surprisingly Broader Realities University didn’t have a male cheerleading team nor a mixed one at the time, only a girls’ team. Trevor, the head cheerleader and Taylor were decidedly male but at the same time they were awesome girl cheerleaders. Of course Taylor was the boyfriend of the varsity Quarterback. Another reason to be careful. Pentti could be quite intimidating when she wants to. And she had the rest of the football team behind her. Admittedly Claude and her boyfriend Peter (an XY) while striking in their ball-gown weren’t that intimidating but the rest of the team was.

Then some of us (well, not including me) could be found on a scale from intimidating to outright terrifying. Most people blanched already when Joey just stared at them. She had this aura around here that wa’s expected that people jumped when she said jump. Some were deceptively demure. Like Pete, a NYLG cheerleader. I happen to know for a fact that one unfortunate girl had her entire social life destroyed by Pete. Her computer was hacked and some secrets were spread and then ... I’ll stop there. . Another student was nearly expelled for plagiarism. A hand-written assignment was found to be a case of cheating. Of course he claimed the assignment had been forged and replaced the one he had submitted. As if anyone believed him. The handwriting was quite obviously his – everyone thought. Then Vlad interceded. Vlad is an expert when it comes to forgery. Vlad demonstrated that the forger had made one tiny mistake and the student was cleared. That student never said a bad word about us again.

Then there were the scary ones. Vicky claimed never to have seriously injured anyone but we were many in the wing that had seen her in her “Vigilante Virgin knock-off” costume nights when bad things have happened to people. Admittedly only minor bruises ensued. The fact that she hung out with the person voted most scary in the wing didn’t help. Vlad was not a big guy but the words “Deadly menace” metaphorically hung above his head. He was rumored to have killed seven people using medieval weapons, including impaling one guy. There is no proof but I don’t doubt for a minute those rumors. Interestingly enough Vlad has only ever explicitly reputed the impaling part. Stereotyping due to his name he claims. Perhaps.

Don’t get the idea that we sat in the dorm sharpening our knives and plotting dastardly deeds every night. That only happened very rarely. There were really two main subjects we did talk about. One was clothes (and makeup). Or more specifically dresses and skirts. Some of the dresses found in our closets were gorgeous. At the Physics department social I observed Dr Xu. He quite obviously coveted the silk dress that Tom Foley wore. Tom was a Ph.D. student that was only at BRU for one semester. He was there for a special research project run by Dr Stein. Never, ever, use his first name: Frank. Come to think about it Tom was the only professional gender-bender among us. He had got moderately famous in his native UK as the poster-boy for an anti-gender stereotype campaign. The other Tom, Tom Boy also wore a lovely dress. She was there in her capacity as student politician. Another one among us with influence. The Peter that is the only boy to graduate from West Peak Academy for Young Ladies had made sure all the girls and those presenting as girls for the evening from the wing that attended had the most perfect make-up.

That was also the night we were told that the Oklahoma Dress Snatcher had been seen close to BRU. In hindsight I think that the Oklahoma Dress Snatcher is an urban legend and the older ones in the dorm used it to flush out those freshmen who wouldn’t admit to having a beautiful dress in their closet. You know the knee-jerk reaction to check as when people check their wallets when there is an announcement warning for pick-pockets.

In hindsight I’m rather glad that my old principal gave me the old “loaner” skirt as a parting gift. The very shortness of it made me stand out in the weirdo wing. And besides I still kind of like wearing it even if I have to be careful. No thongs again though.

The other subject was classical ballet. Some of us were proficient dancers already when coming to the university, like Tom Foley and Joey. Watching them doing a pas-de-deux was a treat. Perhaps not up to Opéra de Paris or Royal Ballet level but not that far from it. The rest of us sooner or later fell for the group pressure and donned the more or less opaque tights, leotards and slippers. Eventually we all tried pointe as well. Not my cup of tea though. Once you get into ballet it’s quite addictive. Vicki claimed to have kicked one addiction with the help of ballet. Some of us doubted her. She was not always to be trusted and I suspect her original addiction is still there.
So you see we in the “Weirdo Wing” didn’t plot murder or mayhem all the time. We were just sweet little things into clothing and ballet. Pink frills and all that. I wonder what the girls in the girls’ weirdo wing talked about? I should have asked Pentti. She was an ALG (Already Legally a Girl).

At the end of my first year at BRU we had a prominent guest. Andrea’s guardian. Or as most people considered him: His Holiness Johannes XXV, the head of the Catholic Church, The Pope. Security all over the place which was what caught me out. I was in the garden with its many hedges and not a security man in sight when I heard Professor Gray talk with a man who didn’t recognize. I peered through the foliage and saw that it was The Pope.

Gray: Congratulations on your elevation Pepe. And at such a young age.
Pope: How good to meet you again Peter. How long has it been since we played as children back in Ciudad Majadesnuda? Twenty-five, thirty years? You have been in the news as well recently. How many are there now?
Gray: Four. And you?
Pope: Seventeen.
Gray: Your predecessor?
Pope: No, I swear that was a natural stroke as far as I know. No, Pius wasn’t a great pope but he wasn’t THAT bad.
Gray: Your competitor Cardinal Consalvi?
Pope: Consalvi would have made a terrible leader of The One True Church. I’m ashamed. That was a terrible sin. I hope I won’t have to sin like that ever again.
Gray: Amen.
Pope: Who’s that boy eavesdropping on us?

At first I thought The Pope meant me then I saw that he was looking over Professor Gray’s shoulder. By carefully moving just a little bit I saw that The Pope was looking at Vlad. Professor Gray turned around.

Gray: Oh, that’s Vlad. He knows how to keep his mouth shut. He’s a Seven and knows that I can prove it. All terrible bullies. The younger you would have approved and helped.

Pope sighing: You may be right. I’m a terrible sinner but I think I have always done what had to be done.

I felt the temperature of my spine fall to 0.1 degrees Kelvin as I realized that I was listening to couple of murderers discussing their killings.

Gray: Actually I have grown quite fond of Vlad. He used his imagination when it came to the tools of the trade. Of course he only used them at close range. When I first started training him he couldn’t hit a barn at ten paces with an arbalest. Now he’s not bad. His archery is just awful though. In any contest he’d lose even before he looses. Vlad., be a good boy and leave us would you?

Vlad exit left.

Gray: Talking about eavesdroppers. Mr Johnson, please came around the hedge. I prefer to speak to someone I can see. I wouldn’t advise you to run away.

No one would have believed me anyway. The Pope a serial killer!? Given the circumstances I probably was safer doing as Professor Gray said.

Gray: Pepe, meet James Johnson. He’s a zero.

That was the first time I was happy to be referred to as a zero!

Pope: Can we trust him?
Gray: Oh, what proof has he got? He just heard two people joking around. However, he’d NEVER do anything that could hurt Andrea.

I made my famous impersonation of a port navigation light. Professor Gray was right. I liked Andrea. To be honest I was totally and hopelessly in love with her.

Pope: How interesting. You like my ward? Are you serious? Is it mutual?

My head kept bobbing.

Pope: Will you attend the grand dinner tonight?

Gray: He will he’s Andrea’s plus one. And talking about hurting Andrea, that would make me disappointed as well since I also owe a very great debt to Father Domenico, her late granduncle. A debt that I’d do anything to repay.

I would be at the dinner. I was to be Andrea’s plus one. I had even managed to get Tom Foley to lend me his silk dress (it fit me perfectly) and Peter of West Peak fame to do the paint work. Now I wished I wasn’t going.

Pope: See you there then. On second thought I think I need a more private conversation with you as well. You see, I really care about little Andrea and would hate to see anyone take advantage of her. I think I’ll delay my departure tomorrow to let me have an early dinner with you before I leave so that we can have a nice long conversation.

I was not too happy to see those words accompanied by two predatory smiles. The worst ever meet-the-parents (sort of) scenario I’ve come across.

Who’d thought that being invited to a private dinner with The Pope would fill me with utter and complete terror?

To BCTS administrators:
I have tagged this story as a Solo. It could be argued that it’s a sequel to many, many stories. In my view the fact that it’s so many stories means that it’s not really a sequel to any story. Besides, as I mentioned, it’s a non-canon meta-story.
However, if you come to another conclusion feel free to change the tagging.

I was a professor of law at a small Catholic university. I preferred the title professor to “father” even though I was an ordained priest and a theologian as well. Some would say that I was a rather well-known theologian. Others would spit and call me infamous and the spawn of the devil. In the context of the Catholic Church I’m considered a raving mad leftie. I prefer liberal. While I don’t think I question the basic tenets of the Faith I certainly question that the social system of the first centuries AD in the eastern Mediterranean basin should dictate how the Holy Church is organised today. Recently I had been involved in some rather heated debate.

That was probably the reason why the Dean was falling to pieces when he received the message that His Holiness Johannes XXIV had requested my presence in Rome AS SOON AS POSSIBLE.

Me, I was delighted, and horrified. It was a long time since I had last met Father Domenico, my true father. Not that he had sired me but he was the young priest that had saved the semi-starved, abused orphan from the favela. To survive I had had to do horrible things, things that I’d prefer to forget but can’t (even though statutes of limitation have long since passed). I was at the same time horribly vulnerable and completely ruthless. As ruthless as Father Domenico could be, despite being a genuinely GOOD person. That’s the reason why I was horrified. I knew that Father Domenico (as he still was to me) would not call for me like this unless he had something really important and difficult for me to do. Remember, he knew EVERYTHING that lurked beneath my deceptively timid surface and what I was capable of doing. He also knew that I’d be unable to refuse him anything, anything at all.

His Holiness Johannes XXIV was widely and genuinely loved and widely and no less genuinely hated. When electing him pope the cardinals had only seen the successful and very popular pastor that they thought was a political non-entity. A classic compromise candidate. Those princes of the church that had chosen a real prince had no idea how liberal he was, how determined he was and how ruthless he could be. Well, Father Domenico wasn’t exactly a prince, his father had been and his brother was. Father Domenico was a member of one of the Roman princely families that once upon a time had monopolised the higher echelons in the Church. If you could get close enough to Father Domenico you could feel what that heritage had done to him.

His Holiness Johannes XXIV has started a thorough renovation of the structure that is the one and only true church. Not unexpectedly he gained many enemies, powerful enemies. He dealt with most of them. On the surface he mostly smothered them with kindness, in reality he was completely ruthless. Those remaining got cautious but bided their time. Such was the situation when the one man who could ask anything from me, and wouldn’t hesitate to do that to further his higher goals, called for me. If he wanted someone “disappeared” I was more than capable. I’m ashamed that this was I thought when I entered into the presence of the Vicar of Christ. I had severely underestimated his ruthlessness.

- Pepe, how good of you to come to see me.

He hasted toward me and embraced me just like in the old days. Father Domenico by words and actions signalled that he wanted us to interact in the way we used to before we parted ways, The last time we had actually seen each other was when he had ordained me, he had insisted. He had just become an archbishop. I left to take up my first teaching position. I had decided that caring for a flock was not something I could do with a good conscience.

- Father, I’m always happy to see you but why have called me in this rather abrupt way?

- I’ve been murdered and I really need you to do some things for me.

I was aghast. Murdered?! He didn’t look fit but he was definitely alive.

- Murdered?

- Yes, murdered. Oh, it may take some weeks before I actually die but there is no way of stopping the effect of the poison I’ve been given. Now I urgently need to settle some things so spare me your words. I know what you feel anyway, as I always do. I know who are behind all this. Two cardinals! One of them hoping to succeed me. We don’t have enough evidence to act –yet. Unfortunately that only leaves me the possibility to create five new voting cardinals. I want you to be one of them. Consider it as a bribe for what I really want you to do.

I was disgusted. Becoming a cardinal was the last thing I wanted. I was prepared to whatever he wanted me to do. Why did he have to punish me futher?

- I see what you think Pepe, I’ve always known everything about you even your innermost thoughts. Yes, even THAT!

I was devastated. He KNEW. I thought I had been able to keep at least that part from him. But if he knew how, could he still love me? He evidently did despite his commitment to punish me.

- Well, actually I need you as a cardinal as well. My successor will inevitable be more conservative than I. This will harm the Holy Church. We need to become part of the 21th century. You may not have realized it but your theology is not that far from mine. Preserve the core tenets. Modernise the shell. I need to leave a legacy for the long term as well. You and your fellow new cardinals will provide a nucleus for that. I expect you all to shake them up. I rely on you in particular.

The bishops he mentioned made me gasp. In comparison I was deeply conservative. And like me they were YOUNG, all of us below 60!

- Father, I’m not worthy.

- Of course your aren’t! Remember, I know you. I know how terrible a punishment this is for you. However, you can’t deny that you have done things that merit punishment, and punishment more severe than this. Nonetheless, the Mother Church NEEDS you, I NEED you.

I was crushed. I had finally decided to leave the priesthood and finally set myself free. I would be unable to do that now!

- As Your Holiness desires.

- Oh, don’t look that glum. Apart from not leaving the priesthood and taking on the burdens I will ask of you I don’t expect you to change your plans in any other way. As a matter of fact as you friend I sincerely beg you to proceed as planned. That’s part of my plan.
Now, for the most important part. My brother died in an accident last week. This left me as the guardian for my 15 year old grand-nephew Prince Andrea. The poor child has been horribly abused by my brother. There is no one other that I could trust to be the support Andrea needs, to truly understand and care as well as having the “heft” necessary to protect him, or rather her, from my distant relatives. Andrea is transgender. My poor deluded brother tried to “beat it out of him” and in any other way “make a man of him” ever since Andrea’s parents passed away. I need you to help Andrea heal the wounds, to protect her fortune and if possible save her title (she doesn’t care but I do). To be a parent and knight in shining armour. I’m sure if anyone can, it will be you, well if we forget about the shining armour. Your law expertise and your commitment will prevail if at all possible. You will NOT fail me! Consider Andrea as my child, as I do. Come to think of it it’d make her kind of your sister wouldn’t it? Your sister la Principessa Andrea - she has decided to keep her name.

- Father, you know me and yet you trust me with this?

- It’s exactly because I know you like no one else do, that I DO trust you.

Father Domenico had made sure he’d have time to spend the evening together with me. Our last time ever together. We didn’t touch upon what he’d asked to do or his imminent demise. It was just two very, very good friends who spent a most pleasant evening. Father Domenico did talk a lot about Andrea but only as a person. Only when I left Father Domenico said one last thing.

- Pepe, you have my benediction and absolution for what you plan to do. And if the investigation isn’t ready when I join Our Father – well, things may get stalled then - so please make sure cardinals Mattei and Okwungo don’t attend the conclave.

His Holiness Johannes XXIV ordained me as bishop the day after in a quiet ceremony. Il Principe Andrea, as he still was, attended. When first seeing the child I got a shock. She was almost a spitting image, only a few years younger, of the young priest that had saved me and that I had come to love. Of course I would do anything I could for the young principessa, there was no other option. Unfortunately I had to have surgery so I didn’t have the opportunity to meet Father Domenico again before my installation as cardinal.

I have to admit that the investiture awed me. The pomp and glory, while hopelessly out of date, did thrill me. However, that could not diminish my pain when I saw my old friend. It must have been only by marshalling his absolute last forces that he was able to officiate. I had no doubt he would be dead before the morning. I knew the investigation had stalled and I saw the faces of cardinals Mattei and Okwungo among the host of vultures, sorry cardinals, that had already gathered here in Rome in anticipation of the conclave. An accident that tragically would end the life of two cardinals would happen tonight, possibly a bit prematurely, possibly not. No matter, I had arranged all that needed arranging.

Looking at all those cardinals, those princes of the church, that I was about to join I once more felt how reluctant I was to become one of those princes of the church. Or, come to think about it since I finally had had the operation - a princess of the church?

No matter what, I would not let down the one and only man I had ever and always loved.

The first day in my new High School started off well. The buildings were new, teachers actually interesting, the school turned out to have a great football team. I just love football. Not that I’ll ever play for the school being rather a ”petite” boy but you can always watch. I never missed a game at my old High School except that one time we gymnasts had an away competition at the same time. I had spent part of the lunch break looking at the football trophies and pictures of the team.

So everything was great until I had to go to the bathroom.

As soon as I got in I realized that I must have gone into the wrong one. There were four cheerleaders in uniform primping. As soon as they saw me they started commenting:

- Look the new kid!
- Look at those legs!

OK, so it was a hot day and maybe I should have worn longer shorts.

- And the graceful yet strong way he moves, we should try him out for the squad!
- He’s cute too!

Terribly embarrassed and bright red faced I made a hasty retreat and went into the other bathroom. I was relieved since there were two guys that I recognized as being part of the football team there. This time I had got it right!

The bigger of them turned to me and said in a deep gravelly voice:

- Not that you aren’t very cute and have got lovely legs but what are you doing in the girls’ bathroom?

Why did we have to move to North Carolina!

Right, it’s now or never. Everything’s prepared. I have to tell my parents that I’m a girl. I can’t live like this any longer. The bag is packed and all my cash is in it in case things turn ugly.

The bottle of sleeping pills as well if things get really ugly.

You might think that I should know how my parents will react. The truth is that after 16 years I still don’t really know them. They are kind of ... distant. High powered, successful in every field. Mother is a CFO in an international company, father a leading scientist. Both very athletic, their latest triathlon was last week. I must be a terrible disappointment to them. Smallish, not good at sports at all, middling results in school.

OK, here we go. I go into their office. Their desks face each other and they are both engrossed in their work despite it being Sunday afternoon.

I explain, they listen without interrupting until I finish. Then Mother (it’s always Mother and Father never Mum and Dad) says to Father: “Activate plan A”

Father works his keyboard for a minute and with a dramatic gesture brings his index finger down.

“ Done”

“What?” I ask

Mother answers: “Oh, that was just a confirmation of your appointment with the gender specialist tomorrow at 4 pm. We have had a rolling agreement with her. We usually cancel it at 3pm on Sundays so it was good you didn’t come an hour later. Two emails were sent to your school. One to inform them that I will pick you up at three tomorrow and the other to schedule a meeting with your headmaster on Tuesday morning. Another email to your sister to come back next weekend to take you shopping. I assume you prefer her to help you rather than me. That reminds me; go down into the basement and get the green box labeled A. You will find some basic underwear, hosiery, sleepwear and a blouse and skirt. Even though you have grown a bit lately I think it will still fit you. Please throw away the totally inappropriate skirt you have stashed in your closet and put the rest of your stash in laundry. You can throw away the cheap cosmetics as well. The cosmetics in the box are of rather better quality.”

I just stand there not really understanding.

Mother adds: “Please shut the office door when leaving"

Usually I write, to quote a Guest Reader, ”short, light and witty tales”. However, every now and then I post a dark story. This is a rather dark story. Actually I think it’s quite dark which is why I have flagged CAUTION above. Please note that there is a reason why.

I never liked driving into town. People acted strangely around me so I usually stayed on my property and put off going as long as I could. Now I really needed the petrol so this morning I went into town. ”Old” Tom at the petrol station wondered why I filled up three jerry cans of petrol. I told him that I was getting old and the new ride-on mower was a gas guzzler. The lawn between the Old House and the lake is huge. So is the Old House. My family built it some 200 years ago. Then we had already owned the land for over a century. Quite a lot of land. Most of it still untouched forests, lakes and mountains. Most people never realized where the border between the National Park and the Delaforge land was. We have always had a very strong bond - the Delaforges and the land.

As usual people looked at me and whispered among themselves. Crazy Carl they call me. I could stand that, it was the pity I found unbearable. They believe that I went crazy when my pervert son ran away fifty years ago. The may be right about me being crazy. I don’t know and I don’t care. But if I am, then I went mad already before I lost my beloved daughter. It was they who had made my daughter’s life hell. Her class-mate (now “Old”) Tom was one of the worst. I really should hate them. I did. I hated them for a long time. Then I grew tired of hating. Their children aren’t as bad. Some of their grandchildren actually are quite decent. I think and hope that my Ronnie could have lived a decent life here had she been here today. I dearly loved my son Ronald. I loved her even more when I realized she was my daughter Veronica. She desperately needed my love then. No matter, Ronnie was my dearly beloved child.

Unfortunately the woman I had married and biologically Ronnie’s mother did not see it the same way. The twins, her children, were even worse. I say her children because I may have sired them but the way they tormented their big sister … well they are no sons of mine.

Ronnie was tormented in school. I tried to get the Principal to do something, anything. He more or less told me that Ronnie deserved whatever ”he” got. The Sheriff said the same thing – only straight out.

Ronnie might have stood it if she could have found a safe haven at home. No such luck. I was weak and didn’t really stand up to my wife. It got a bit better when I built an extension to the garage and Ronnie got a room of her own away from the Old House. By then she hated the Old House. A Delaforge who hated the Old House! That’s when I started to stand up for her. A year later when Ronnie was 15 the woman I had married finally left and took her brood with her. I never saw her again. The twins have made the five hour drive here, once. When their mother died they visited me, mostly to make sure that they’d inherit the land. I told them

- “Who else can inherit it?”

They left, satisfied. Now I get a Christmas card from them every year. I use it to light the Christmas fire. However, they have grown impatient and last week I was notified that they had initiated proceedings to declare me mentally incompetent in order to be able to lay their grubby little hand on the Delaforge land.

Anyway, the year after they left was the best I had with Veronica. She refused to move back to the Old House but we used to sit on the porch in the evenings. Not the one towards the lawn. The other one. The one towards the little garden where you could see the light of the setting sun on the mountains.

Well, the bliss was brief. The bullying in school got worse. Now she was regularly beaten. I tried once more. I insisted. I demanded. I got beaten too. I was still trying until the day Ronnie came home crying, beaten up terribly. No broken bones but I still suspect she had internal injuries. She was 16 then. Sobbing she declared she could no longer live here. She was going away. I tried to talk her out of it. She just looked at me and I understood how ridiculous that was. I told her that we’d go away together. She looked at me with sorrow. She explained to me that I never could leave the Delaforge land. That would kill me. Besides she had caused me too much pain and grief as it was. As she said that she looked me in the eye or rather at the shiner I was sporting at the time. Once more I was weak. I told her that I’d drive her to the railway station. I left her room and closed her door while she started packing. I started the car engine and made some final arrangements.

Thinking back to the last day I spent with Ronnie I drove up to the garage. I left the car there. I activated the timer and carried the jerry cans up to Old House. I had a lot to do before I could sit down on the garden porch to see the sunset light on the mountains.

Now that everything is arranged I finally sit on the porch. I’m calm and relaxed in a way I haven’t been for a long, long time. The sunset is spectacular today. The lights play on the mountains that used to belong to the Delaforges. Fortunately I made a deal with the government a couple of years ago. I gave my country all of the Delaforge land on three conditions:

1) That I would have the right to live here as long as I lived
2) That all of the Delaforge land would be included in the National Park
3) No public announcement would be made until after my death.

Eat that Devil’s spawn. I made that deal the week after you had visited me. Years ago when you still assured everyone that I was perfectly sane in expectation of the inheritance. If you contest this … Good luck fighting the government.

An evening out here in the garden is really something. Ronnie used to love it. It was the only part of the Delaforge property she loved in the end. That’s why I buried her here.

BOOM

I look at my watch. 17.08. Exactly 50 years after the death of my beloved Ronnie. The timer I set for the explosive charge in garage worked perfectly. This means that there should be several fires starting in the Old House now as well. I have doused the building thoroughly using all three jerry cans of petrol to ensure a swift fire.

My darling Ronnie was such a sweet child. So sweet, so innocent, so naïve. She had no idea of the pain she’d had exposed herself to out there. I couldn’t let that happen to her. She was so naïve. She had no idea how lethal carbon monoxide is and how insidious carbon monoxide poisoning is. When I had switched off the car engine, removed the hose and opened the door to her room I had been afraid to see her by the door I had locked. No, she was lying on her bed, a smile on her face. She’d looked happy and content for the first time in years.

It was terrible thing I had done. At the time I felt I had no choice. I grieved. I was relieved. I was guilty of a terrible crime. I sentenced myself. I was cruel.

I sentenced myself to LIFE.

Every single day since that day exactly fifty years ago I have remembered her. I have doubted that I did the right thing. I have missed her. I have suffered. It has been intolerable. It has been exactly what I deserved. If not for ending her life, then for allowing things to develop until the point I felt there was no other option.

I’m 86 years old now. In my old age I have gone soft. Prompted by my greedy off-spring I’ve commuted my sentence to only fifty years. My punishment ended one minute ago. I feel the heat of the flames that consume the house that has so many happy memories from my childhood and so many terrible from hers. Waiting for the flames to consume me as well, I delight at the lights of the setting sun playing on the mountains just as Ronnie and I used to do. I’m content. I’m happy. I have been released.

When my youngest, Lawrence (or more usually Larry), began high school I was not surprised that he had problems. Not scholastically. Larry is a bright boy. No, the thing about Larry is that he is “odd”. I can’t describe it better than that since I haven’t been able to pin it down better myself. There is nothing tangible. He doesn’t look funny in any way. No big nose or limp or anything like that. He’s not a macho boy but in no way girly (even if some would characterize his love for ballet as girly, which anybody that had seen him on stage would know is a mistake). He’s just “odd”. He doesn’t go with the flow. In undefined ways he’s not like the other boys. I don’t think other boys realise that on a conscious level but the sure know that Larry is “other” and not “us”.

I hate to admit it but I spent the two weeks before the start of his freshman year trying to convince him to CONFORM. Yes, I’m ashamed of myself but I was convinced that I was doing it for his own good. Don’t stand out. Follow the flow. Don’t be odd. Conform. Be a sheep. A good white sheep that baaahs with the other sheep. I hated myself but I hated to see Larry unhappy even more.

Larry tried. He really did. Still, he soon was pegged as “odd”. And we all know what happens to “odd” boys in school, don’t we? I leaned on him to try even harder. He did. He was not very successful. I despaired.

Three weeks into the semester I took Larry to do some supplementary shopping. Among other things Larry needed some new clothes. He had recently hit a growth spurt. I was a bit surprised when he dragged me over to the girls’ side of the shop. There was a long rack of skirts. Pleated skirts. Lilac skirts. Very short lilac pleated skirts. I was appalled. Larry wanted a skirt? One of those skirts? I was conflicted. I certainly didn’t want to buy him a skirt at least not one of those. On the other hand I started to suspect that I finally had been allowed to look behind the curtain to see WHY Larry was so odd. To be honest I felt very uncomfortable but at least this was a breakthrough and we could work from this. It wouldn’t be easy but we could do it. However, for the time being it was better that he didn’t show this side of himself in school so I refused.

- But Mo-om, you said I have to CONFORM. All the other boys in school wear this skirt!

”My New Year Resolution is to the win the school beauty pageant this year!”

That came at the end of several days of not so subtle pressure on me. Not to participate in the pageant but to “man up” and be more assertive and competitive. My family is very competitive. No matter what, they always competed. Sports, academics, work … you name it. My big brother was the school quarterback, my big sister was the girls’ athletics team leader. Since they were twins and seniors they also competed to be the valedictorian. That fight was vicious.

My family’s reaction to this statement was not what I had expected, and had hoped. Well, my sister’s was. She looked disgusted and immediately declared how ridiculous the idea was that a boy could win the beauty pageant. I had not expected my parents and brother to over the moon at the idea. I mean, the idea WAS ridiculous and a bit disgusting. Unfortunately not as ridiculous at you’d think. I had read the rules and while there were a number of rules concerning age, weight and height (my sister didn’t qualify) there was nothing about having to be a girl. Then I was a rather petit boy (NOT petite, I was a boy!) despite coming from a big family. Not a large family, a BIG family. As in 6’4” to 6’8” tall and robust, highly muscled.

Also, I was cute, or pretty, according to many. I was mistaken for a girl more often than I liked. Add to that I liked to have my golden hair rather long and that I was named Penn. NOT Penelope or Pen. PENN, with a double n. My parents, Nelson and Jackie Fisher, were naval history nerds. My big brother was named Anson and my sister Beatty. Not Elisabeth or Betty, Beatty. In my opinion an unusual and cruel punishment. I was named after William Penn. Not the soppy colonizer but the ruthlessly opportunistic admiral. I did not live up to the name. I was “nice”. I had also given up trying to compete, hence the argument over Christmas.

I was short, small and skinny. That made competing in anything physical rather meaningless. I understand that I was too short to play basketball or volleyball but too short for baseball? And to be a scout? I gave up. I also gave up competing in class. No matter how hard I tried to equal my siblings at my age, I came up short, so why bother? Oh, I was intelligent enough, just not AS intelligent and competitive. I learned a lot but had stopped trying to show it since I’d fall short anyway. I had no wish to compete. I was like Ferdinand the bull, content to sit under my cork oak and smell the flowers, which actually isn’t such a bad deal when you consider the alternative.

Now my family finally had gotten what they wanted. They had made me angry and had made me commit to a competition. No matter what the competition, now they’d make sure I won. Well, with the exception of my sister, who refused to be an accomplice in my vice. Otherwise the family consensus was that I needed to really get into the skin of being a girl in order to win the pageant. Not just don a dress on the day. Body language, demeanor and all that were of equal importance. So, what I needed was full immersion. NOT what I had intended. Backing out was not an option. When a member of a highly competitive family – don’t even THINK about quitting.

The family member that did most was, surprisingly, my brother. No, he wasn’t a crossdresser but he had had several girlfriends and knew quite a lot about girls. For example where they went to get better clothes than those available at the mall. There was a small boutique where the most fashionable girls went to get their stuff. That’s where we headed off to on January second. I have to give it to the salesgirl. She hardly batted an eye when my brother told her his little brother needed a completely new wardrobe. She gave some advice but it turned out that my brother has an excellent eye for fashion and what suits a specific girl, or in my case a girly boy. As I was showing off the last, rather short, dress a gaggle of cheerleaders entered the shop. I was not prepared to be “outed” yet. Oh, I knew it was coming but I had expected to get used to the whole thing first. The head cheerleader (and, of course, my brother’s girlfriend) looked at me and squealed in delight. To make a short story shorter I ended up getting adopted as the cheerleading squad’s pet and pet project.

My father arranged things with school. I was to be allowed to present as a girl and participate in girls’ PE. But not use the girls’ locker room. As things turned out that was not such a big problem since the cheerleaders insisted that I train with them (counted as PE) and thus I was in the boys’ locker room at the same time as the football team. Counterintuitive? Remember that my big brother was the QB.

The first day of Spring semester was also the day that registration for the “Anna Tromp Memorial Beauty Pageant” opened. The pageant was considered to be the school pageant but formally it was arranged by a foundation, that also provided the generous prize. My chemistry teacher, Ms Tromp (grand-daughter), was not amused and tried to refuse me. A piece of advice: Don’t ever get into a legal argument with my DA mother. She WINS. The rules were amended afterwards but since I already was in ….

Then the new normal began. Some were angry at me for presenting as a girl. Some thought I committed a deadly sin and was headed straight for hell. Most thought it was a bit funny and then forgot about it. Some approved. Some helped me. This applied to both students and teachers. Mary, the Principal’s daughter became my new BFF. I liked that since the was shorter than I. The ONLY student in our class that was. She was also one of my competitors in the pageant. That didn’t stop her from helping me with make-up and things like that (not exactly something the either my mother or sister was proficient at, surprisingly). Mary was just as competitive as my family but had this strange idea that she’d win on her own merits and not by keeping the competition down.

The cheerleaders were great. I trained with them. It was grueling at first since I had led my body go a bit. I was seduced by their camaraderie. That the team meant all and all individual efforts was for the team. I also participated in their weekly Saturday sleepovers. Surprised? Well, they regarded me as their little sister, The sleepovers did help me getting more girly, or as I preferred to say, graceful. Then there was another aspect of the sleepovers. Study! The girls were very serious about their studies so most of the day was devoted to mutual study help. Since I was the only freshman there, they already knew the stuff I was studying – and they brooked no slackness.

Another thing I had to thank the squad for was ballet. They insisted that I take ballet with them. They even insisted that I take the same class as them despite being a beginner. I loved it so I took more, and more appropriate, classes a well. It was my ballet teacher who changed my name as well. She misheard and called me Penny. Penny, I remained in class and eventually in school. It was more or less inevitable, wasn’t it. Once more I changed with the boys, more specifically with the football team. I hadn’t known that many of them took ballet to improve their skills. Not all of them. Not my brother for an example. He had started with the rest of them but had quit later. My brother had QUIT something?! He later admitted that he was no good at ballet and when the rest of the team had advanced to a higher level but he didn’t, he couldn’t take it so he quit.

Despite that, the biggest surprise was Pippa, the one girl on the football team. She was big and muscular and, in my eyes, without doubt the most graceful in ballet class. We became good friends. We became very good friends. We became more than very good friends. Oh, people had great fun at our relationship. The big muscular Junior football player girl and the cute petite (I had stopped bothering about that) beauty pageant freshman cheerleader boy. Cheerleader boy? Yeah, I had become a formal member of the squad when one of the girls moved to another state. Since I had done surprisingly well training with the squad I had been formally included and not only as their pet. However, I wasn’t the heir but only the spare. The former replacement moved up. Yet, as a replacement I still was a member of the squad. My parents and brother were happy. Very happy. My sister less so.

Beatty even tried to sabotage me. She wasn’t very good at it and my parents came down as a metric ton of bricks on her. She later confessed that she did it because she was jealous of me. Jealous? Of me? She had desperately wanted to be a cheerleader and had signed up for cheerleader tryouts as a sophomore. Then she had got cold feet just before going out there to do her try-out routine. She was too scared. She was afraid of being an object of ridicule. The VERY BIG girl wanting to be a cheerleader. Then I had become a cheerleader, more of less sliding in on a banana peel. And even worse, the ridicule didn’t bother me. That wasn’t really true but I didn’t tell her that. It did bother me but by then there were definitely more ups than downs with the whole thing. Cheerleading, ballet, academic success and Pippa. Especially Pippa. I liked the feeling of being secure when she hugged me. I didn’t really NEED it but it sure felt good. I was good for Pippa as well. Before me she had been a rather lonesome girl. The only girl on the football team. Not one of girls, but not really one of the boys on the team either. Pippa had had a standing invitation to the cheerleading sleepovers but hadn’t felt comfortable attending. That is before I came around. Now she had not only a boyfriend but also a gaggle of friends.

Did I mention academics? I wasn’t ashamed of showing what I could do any longer, even if not as good as my siblings. Then there were the Saturday sleepovers. However, there’s nothing as helpful as a really good enemy. Yes, I had got myself a fully-fledged enemy – my chemistry teacher Ms Tromp. She really motivated me to be better at Chemistry. At the beginning of the semester my chemistry grades dived. I didn’t understand why at first but then I realized how much she hated me for degrading “her” pageant. I showed a test paper that I had got an F on to my father. He didn’t think it looked right so he had colleague of his at the university (my father is a full professor in Public Administration) look at it. It came back as a B- according to that rather exacting chemistry professor. Father had a chat with the Principal (my BFF’s father). After that Ms Tromp hated me with a vengeance but graded me meticulously. To add to her hate of me I placed 20th in a national chemistry contest for high school students. The best any of her students had ever placed and much better than either of my siblings. That was unforgivable! However, by then I had learned how to handle her. If someone named after William Penn couldn’t handle a Tromp, who could? I was wrong of course.

The end of the semester and the day of the pageant grew ever closer. The heavy betting was on me as the winner. I had really become quite the lady over the semester. I was cute, I was beautiful, I had an exquisite demeanor, almost regal, and I was popular. The only one who had odds nearly as low as mine were my BFF Mary. The rumor was that even the Principal had betted against his own daughter. Through an intermediary, of course. Otherwise, he was a bit disappointed that Mary hadn’t become my girlfriend. I was the only one that didn’t make his daughter look too short.

As we were putting the final touches before the pageant, both Mary and I had stunning dresses, Ms Tromp arrived with a notary public in tow and proceeded to measure me. It turned out that I was a quarter of an inch too short according to the rules. Had they done that in the morning I’d have been fine (you shrink slightly during the day), had they done that earlier I could have appealed but now I was out of the contest. It certainly didn’t help that the notary public just looked at Mary and noted: She’s out too. Misery doesn’t necessarily love company. Though the horrified look on Ms Tromp’s face when realizing she’d disqualified the Prinicpal’s daughter (and the schoolboard president’s goddaughter), even if only by mistake, DID help. Still I, I couldn’t escape my life’s STORY: TOO SHORT!

Then Pippa enfolded me in her strong reassuring arms and declared:
“Emergency sleepover tonight. Every cheerleader and football player, be there”.

As every single cheerleader and football player as well as many others left the auditorium it struck me. Not winning didn’t matter to me. Actually, the contest as such didn’t matter. Goals are heavily overrated. I had found and gained so much more than a plain, run of the mill victory could ever give me. What had made me and my life so much better was the Journey!

It all started with Cory’s Grand-aunt. As it turned out she really was Cory’s Grand-uncle if you had a strict legal view of things. Unfortunately she was extremely rich and equally extremely convinced that Cory really was a girl inside. Admittedly Cory wasn’t exactly the alpha-male type and some of his interests, such as ballet, were considered by many as a bit girlish but being a girl? No way!

For years Cory had been able to duck most of her attempts while at the same time avoiding insulting the old lady. That was Cory, ever polite and NICE but always managing to glide around obstacles, like water, and finally get his own way. Then the old lady passed away and Cory found himself the heir of a substantial fortune. Provided he spent one complete year as a girl of course.

No hormones or surgery during that year. The old lady was convinced that Cory would realize his true inner self if only he’d let down his defenses. That’s how it came about that my best friend since we started kindergarten turned into a girl the summer before our junior year in high school. The lure of the money was too great. Besides Cory thought it just might be a lark. How naive he was.

The Grand-aunt had passed away in March but Cory and the Grand-aunts lawyer and testament executor agreed that the best date to commence the “Girly Year” was just after school. There was a number of additional requirements as well. Clothing somewhat girly-girlish. Only skirts and dresses unless under special circumstances. Cory had to wear anatomical breastforms, fortunately only B sized. No going around without a bra though. Hair extensions were mentioned in the instructions but turned out not to be necessary since Cory’s hair was long enough. Swimwear and PE kit as befitted a proper girl.

There they reached a point where Cory had expected the whole thing to founder. The school district was not exactly progressive. Less from ideology than inertia. “Please don’t bother us, let’s just do as we’ve always done” was the normal school board reaction to everything. Surprisingly Cory was re-enrolled as a girl without a whisper of objections. A fully fledged girl without restrictions. The lawyer muttered something about a file left him by the Grand-aunt containing certain information about certain persons. Only to be used to facilitate things for Cory the girl and to be destroyed afterwards.

Regrettably there was one further stipulation: Cory had to have the experience of a boyfriend. That’s where I came in. Cory insisted that that boyfriend would be me. As I said we had been good friends since kindergarten and had done practically everything together (except I didn’t take ballet). Cory and John, two boys that got into trouble practically every day for years before we got a bit more staid. Cory felt safe with me and expected me to respect his defenses, not that I could have breached them even if I had wanted. Cory was an expert in the noble art of self-defense. Intellectual and emotional that is. Me? I thought the whole thing was bonkers, completely and utterly mad so of course I agreed. This could be soooo much fun.

That summer was weird. First of all we usually didn’t spend that much with girls. Not that we avoided them but we weren’t exactly the kind of boys that attracted girls. We had girl friends but no girlfriends. We were liked and respected by the girls in our class but they didn’t LIKE us in that way. Cory quite sensibly realized that he needed full immersion. Since we had girl friends they were prepared to help. To be honest Cory was a terrible girl at first. No sense of fashion. Forgetting to swipe his, sorry her, skirt before sitting. The first pair of heels she got ... well, that was hilarious. At first I was a bit miffed since I was shut out of much of what Cory did with “just the girls”. Of course I didn’t expect to be invited to sleep-overs but telling me not to join them when going shopping was a bit too much, I thought. I felt left out.

As the designated boyfriend I was allowed to join them by the lake. I still don’t know if Cory was conned into buying that sexy bikini or if it was of her own volition. Those breasts were really lifelike. I think that’s when I started to have problems with being the “safe boyfriend”. Not that I let anyone know. As the summer went on Cory the girl got more and more skilled and confident. However, the girl Cory was not really the same as the boy I had known. Duh, of course there were the physical “differences” even if only silicone. No, the character became different. She became more assertive and, when necessary, confrontational.

That became obvious when registering for senior year. The school tried to refuse her to take some classes. They were “Not suitable for girls” and “girls never takes these classes”. Inertia! Cory complained and was refused. The next day the school was surrounded by 400 protesters and two local TV teams. By afternoon Cory had got her classes. The baseball skirmish was settled more quietly. A brief meeting with the Grand-aunts lawyer where only Article IX was mentioned, and not a word about “The File”, was enough to settle that. Cory was allowed to try out. Too bad he didn’t qualify though. Another area where our ways parted. I never even considered to try out for cheerleading. The disappointed Cory did, and to his surprise (and disgust?) was accepted as a substitute.

Then there was a whole month without further incidents. Cory integrated fully as a girl. She used the girls’ rest rooms, participated in girls’ PE and used the same locker rooms. There were only token resistance since most girls had come to know and like the girl Cory already during summer. It helped that Cory the boy always had been respectful and nice towards the girls. I had most classes together with Cory, we studied together in evenings, I “dated” Cory. However, things weren’t the same any longer. I felt that we slowly drifted apart. The “dating” part probably was most to blame. I tried to behave as the attentive boyfriend and outwardly Cory was the loving girlfriend but Cory’s formidable defenses were there all the time pushing me away.

However, September and early October was only the calm before the storm and then Cory got involved in the Student Body School Calendar. Student Body was the key words. I think I’ve already mentioned that the school was somewhat behind the times? Well, the pictures up till Cory got involved had featured the most beautiful girls in school. Think “Swimsuit Issue” and you got the picture(s). The proceeds were used for the senior and junior proms.

The rather lazy faculty member supervising got a chock when he finally had a look at that year’s calendar. You could say it followed tradition, sort of. All the persons figuring in the calendar wore rather skimpy swimwear as usual. Cory featured on January while Tim and Mark were on February. Their kiss was very tender and not really sexual. Mary for March was pure standard stuff. Stuffed was the bikini top of hitherto closeted transgender Marvin. However, the favorite among the girls was June. Cory had managed to get the most desirable boy in school to participate as well. How she had managed to get him into those tiny swim briefs is still a well-kept secret. To make things worse the calendars had already been ordered to be printed. The supervisor really was lazy and had signed-off without looking. The whole print run was confiscated.

Strangely enough all copies disappeared from the locked room the same night. Strangely enough those calendars could sometimes be glimpsed in students’ lockers. Strangely enough there was an anonymous donation to the prom committee more or less corresponding to twice the usual proceeds from the calendars. I later heard that some calendars had changed hands for ridiculous sums.

The calendar brouhaha was the starting shots in Cory’s campaign for equal rights. She had grown tired of how the girls’ facilities always were inferior to the boys’. The school counselor always tried to steer girls into stereotypical female occupations and so and on. The campaign extended to the school board elections. She really shook things up and the election result was another chock for the “inertia” camp. The principal realized what was going to happen and resigned. The school counselor surprised everyone and freed from restraints turned out to be perhaps too progressive, even given the new management.

Cory didn’t stop there. She had noticed the flak Tim and Mark and Marvin had received since appearing in the calendar. Many reactions were positive but enough was bad, even from teachers. Cory became a fanatic LGBTQ+++ proponent. What had happened to the nice inoffensive boy Cory who had been happy to lets problems just gently stream around and past him? Well, “the new and improved Cory” incessantly pushed the new more progressive schoolboard before her. She did the same with the student body. Policies for transgender and gay students were written, approved and implemented. The dress code was made unisex. However, Cory was still constrained by the rules laid down by the will. There were a surprising number of students that came out as gay. Apart from transgender Marvin there was also F2M Colleen. Nobody had expected that a couple of crossdressers would take advantage of the new dress code. At first people mistook Mike for transgender and he had to explain over and over again that he just liked skirts and that he definitely was male and male only and no, he had no interest in dating boys.

As you can imagine the confusion spilled over to the senior and junior proms as well. Cory was the obvious shoo-in for junior prom queen but she recused herself. There went any chance I had had to be prom king. Oh, I was Cory’s boyfriend and I supported her eagerly in all her campaigns but I couldn’t help feeling that I was running all I could and still was lagging behind her. In a way that was an advantage though. It meant I had less time to focus on my problem.

Things got better just before junior prom. Preliminary grades showed that I was ahead of Cory scholastically. As it turned out I was top of the class. Well, I had had more time to study as I spent less time with Cory. I still wish I had beaten Cory with more than a nose-length though.

Cory was ravishing at the junior prom. She had really pulled out all stops. Well, it was only one week to the end of the year and as she explained she intended to go out with a bang. Despite her defenses being up as usual we had a great time.

As we danced a slow dance she told me:

- You know John, I can’t wait to go back to being a boy again. It’s been an interesting year but this is not me. I’m exhausted and I’m really glad it’s all over soon.
- Cory, you DO know that you are the main character in a Bru story?

I’ve never seen blood completely drain from a face that fast. I sensed that Cory’s defenses were down for just a moment. A moment was all I needed. I pulled her closer and KISSED her. Truly kissed. Cory responded and this was the first of many, many kisses.

The next year was much better than I had feared when I started junior year. I felt truly liberated. The groundwork done by Cory the girl during our junior year helped enormously. We went to college together and next month we’ll get married. According to the doctors the soreness from the operation should be gone by then.

Looking back I realize that things would have been much, much harder without Cory and what he did. Marrying someone loaded isn’t bad but what’s even more important is that my husband-to-be truly has an understanding of what I have had to go through. It’s a true comfort that my husband-to-be really has walked a mile in my shoes. Well, at the time they were his.

Love
Joan

This is not a contest entry.
I possibly could have worked in a New Year resolution but there is NO way I could fluff up this fluff to 2500 words. (Let’s see if I can make that stick THIS time.)

Last week I met my old friend Larry. He was in love. I suppressed an inner sigh. Larry often fell in love and then out again just as quickly. Always very chaste. He really was a 40-year-old virgin. He had very fixed ideas about the object of his love(s). One was that he never wanted to see them nude. And then he had this tendency to fall for the wrong ones.

As soon as I heard the name of the latest, Lärchen Tannenbaum, I knew that the relationship was doomed. I didn’t say anything. I knew from experience that it’d be both futile and put a strain on our friendship. So I just let him find out for himself. He kept on and on about Lärchen’s style, the glamour and glitter, tinder and all that. And the accessories ….

It took only a week, I think when leaving the restaurant where I had treated him to solacing lunch. At first he had been utterly crushed. He started telling me how he had been deceived by this crossdresser. At that point I interceded
“And now for something completely different.”

At which Larry laughed and responded
“The larch!”

Fortunately Larry has a great sense of very twisted humour. After that he perked up and started to see the humour in how he had been deceived by a crossdressed larch. Someone had spruced up this larch into an out-of-season Christmas tree and Larry had been completely fooled.

You see, Larry is an objectophiliac with a fixation on evergreens, hence the aversion to full frontal nudity. Larry usually prefers spruces with abundant needles but I have seen him pine for a pine as well (unrequited). Unfortunately the larch is a DECIDIUOUS conifer.

After that we had a very enjoyable lunch and when we parted Larry was smiling again. It’s really too bad he has this fixation and swings from tree to tree. I have hesitated but I know just the right one for him. Yes, I think I have to introduce him to Eglė. Eglė is very down to earth and extremely stable. Eglė would be just the right one to finally make Larry put down roots.

Vocabulary:
Lärchen (German)– Larch
Tannenbaum (German) – Christmas tree
Eglė (Lithuanian) – A common name for girls/women. Also the word for spruce.

I was a teenage girl pop star.

Well, since you read this on this site you know the drill. Small nerdy boy with a soprano voice accidentally gets discovered. Gets “her” big break with a major hit. Performances and all that. In my case genetics aided and abetted the madness. My part-Thai ancestry made all the males in the family look feminine to the ordinary American.

Oh, I did the “Hannah Montana” thing as well. It was a bitch! Still, it was better than to be outed. You see, I never wanted to be anything else than a boy. Well, eventually a man but you know what I mean. The whole thing did cause some stress in the family. While my mother was all for my music career my father was decidedly against but finally went along. Bob, my older brother, did not even bother to hide his contempt of me. He was careful not to call me gay or sissy or anything like that. Both my parents would have come down like a ton of bricks on him in view of the problems our ex-uncle Arnold had had. Aunt Anne is really a nice person. Instead Bob in every way tried to diminish my accomplishments. He claimed if I could do it anyone could and things like that. F**k him! I worked damned hard for my success! Fortunately he went away to college soon after I started performing and recording. I have to admit that I was relieved when he refused to come back from college for holiday, excluding for two days at Christmas. I hated that. I really loved and admired him.

Yeah, my success. I was a pop star for one year. I started off well. I had two consecutive hits. Both of them in the in the extreme perky and happy vein. Then the songs became middling at best. I had ONE tour. A second one was never even considered. I was a bit sad I never got to perform the songs I myself wrote. “Not happy enough for my image”. My parents agreed that my career was over and I should revert full-time to the normal school-boy I really was. I was conflicted. I mean, I never wanted to be a girl. However, a girl performer was a completely different thing. I got a kick out of it and I was genuinely sorry to see it all end. Especially as I saw new artists rise. In particular I was fascinated by “Königin der Nacht” a very dark and moody female artist that suddenly hit the lists. She was my absolute opposite. I even wrote a song in her style. I called it “Pop Star’s Purgatory”. I really poured out my grief of losing my artistic career into it. It came out as something even “Königin der Nacht” would consider as TOO dark. THAT was a song I’d never perform in public. I played it once for my family when my brother was on one his rare visits. BAAAD mistake. He really trashed me.

So, there I was preparing myself for the new school year. It was the end of the summer and I was feeling a bit down. Not for the end of my artistic career. I had finally come to accept that and even felt some relief. No, the reason I felt down was that I had failed to get a ticket to the “Königin der Nacht” concert in my city that night. Then there was a telephone call from my agent. The opening act for “Königin der Nacht” had been delayed and couldn’t come. Could I perform instead, in two hours time? That was absolute madness! The lack of time and the non-compatibility of styles made it absurd. I accepted.

Once on stage I regretted my decision. Not only had “Königin der Nacht” refused to see me but I could feel the animosity from the crowd in an almost physical way. I did my best and had even chosen the less cheery of my songs. I did not connect. Of course I could not perform without singing my first big and VERY cheery hit so I ended with that, especially since this was my last performance ever. F**k them. I overflowed with happiness, happily jumping around on the stage. That’s when things got really weird. Suddenly the music changed to one of “Königin der Nacht’s” biggest hits and she got on stage singing in her usual dark way. How could they do that to me? Then “my” music was back and “Königin der Nacht” motioned to me to continue. After that it alternated between my cheery song and her very dark one. A kind of dialogue or even debate in a weird way. The audience went crazy. I was happy to just once more get that high a really excited audience gave me. I left the stage happy. I had gone out on a high.

For some reason I was not allowed into my dressing room to change back. Then I was called back to the stage at the end of the concert. I was completely knocked over when suddenly they started playing my “Pop Star’s Purgatory”. How the hell had they got hold of that? How dared they? I never had given them permission. Despite, or perhaps because, I was so angry, I started to sing with all the emotion I had had when I wrote it. The astounded audience reacted well. To be honest more than well. Then there was the same thing again. The music changed and “Königin der Nacht” started singing. It was definitely a “Königin der Nacht” song but a bright and happy one contrasting my coal-mine dark song. Back and forth it went. If the crowd had gone crazy before they now went nuts, bananas, out of their mind. Thankfully the security line held, even if sorely pressed. “Königin der Nacht” and I ended our performance and she had some closing words. Amazingly the crowd calmed down and she told them that “Pop Star’s Purgatory” was all mine and that there is light and darkness in all of us. Then we left the stage and the madness out there resumed, times ten.

“Königin der Nacht” turned around and said to me:

“I told you little sis. If you can do it anyone can.”

Looking closer at her I realized that “Königin der Nacht” was my brother Bob. Then he continued:

“I think I made a mistake. I had planned to get out of this mad business at the same time as you. I never could understand how you could stand it. Nobody knew but I had intended this to be my last concert. Now? There is no chance in hell either of us will be allowed to quit.”

Listening to the unhinged crowd outside I realized that Bob was right. We had become prisoners to our success. Despite what I had once felt about ending my career I felt darkness invade me. Then I realized that I was bound to work with my brother who I loved and had hated to see alienated from me. Brightness!

I had always been fascinated by cheerleading, or was it cheerleaders? They were just so cute in their uniforms. So happy and positive. The way they moved. Yes, I really liked cheerleaders. I dreamt about dating one. And then there was the choreography. Yeah, sounds strange for a newly minted high school freshman boy but I had a thing for choreography. I just couldn’t stop watching dance videos. Lately I had started to wonder how to improve the stuff I watched.

Anyway, my fascination with cheerleaders was the reason I was watching the tryouts. I wasn’t the only boy watching. The stands were not exactly crowded but there were a fair number of both girls and boys, mostly boys though, watching the tryouts. Some of the girls down there were good, some not so good. Watching a particularly bad example I just couldn’t keep my mouth shut. That’s a character fault of mine. Speaking before thinking. You know, open mouth, insert foot.

Well, the girl didn’t take my comment very well. Why not? I thought I gave constructive criticism. Ok, perhaps comparing her to a walrus wasn’t that nice. So what? Regardless, neither the walrus in question nor the girls and coach presiding over the tryouts were amused. Quite bluntly I was told to shut up or do it better myself. I’m not very bright so I accepted the challenge. I didn’t really have any dance training despite watching all those videos but I had been on my middle school’s gymnastics team until last semester when my absent growth spurt had qualified me as the minnow best thrown back in the sea. Sitting there I had actually been thinking about a choreography that would set off gymnastics’ skills. So, I got down there. I was cocky, or rather tried to give that impression. In reality I was terrified and wondered what I had got myself into. I mean, it’s awfully easy to make a fool of yourself when new in a school. Stupid, stupid. Too late to back out, though. There was only one way, forward! Charge!

I didn’t have to change. What I wore would be just fine, a bit too tight t-shirt and rather short shorts. It was a warm day and I hadn’t really thought about what I put on that morning. I asked them to play the music that I had used in my head. I performed. I won’t pretend that it was a great performance. I was not a dancer. The gymnastic part wasn’t bad. I was quite pleased by the choreography. Despite how foolish I was and the consequences I foresaw just for that moment I was filled the cheerleading spirit. I had admired them from afar and just for a moment I was there among them, doing what they were doing. And then it was over. That was it I thought and started to leave. It was only then I learned how truly stupid I had been.

The girls stopped me from leaving and pushed towards the coach. I couldn’t escape. Some of those cheerleaders are big and strong. I’m – not. Coach grilled me. I’m not cut out to be a criminal. I spilled the beans. I admitted everything. My fascination with cheerleading, my gymnastics background, my lack of dance training. Then the crucial point when coach got into the choreography. Yes, it was all mine. No, it hadn’t actually been my intention to provide a contrast to the walrus to make her look silly. Honestly! I hadn’t even thought about it. Nonetheless, Coach had the perfect punishment for me. I was selected for the cheerleading squad. Apparently, the existing cheerleaders all approved. All subject to various approvals from parents and so on. The hitch was that the cheerleading squad wasn’t mixed. Girls only. The “other” girls thought I was just too cute and would look fabulous in the short skirt and midriff-baring uniform. Besides they needed a small girl for the top of the pyramid and suitable victim to throw around. Quite obviously I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in any cheerleading contests, only at games. Coach later admitted that she shanghaied me more for my choreography skills than for my performance. Nonetheless she wanted me to be out there on the field working with the girls to get a feel for them and the whole thing.

I was totally embarrassed. The cute lite boy cheerleader. I was ecstatic. Yes, it was a truly strange, embarrassing, weird situation that would make any boy mortified. I was. At the same time it was a dream come true. I was in cheerleading. I would spend lots and lots of time with all the cute, athletic, beautiful cheerleaders. My dream of dating one could come true. Wearing the short skirt and showing off my belly button was worth it.

I got my parents approval. Coach got the principal’s approval. Neither of us had an easy time of it but we succeeded. The “other” girls firmly stated that they didn’t regard me a threat and that I was welcome to change with them. No one asked me if I thought they were a threat to me. Actually, they weren’t too bad. They only commented on my equipment the first time and stopped as soon as Lucy, the head cheerleader, told them to leave me alone. She even made them apologize for the sexual harassment. As for me I didn’t say anything and tried not to look at them too blatantly. Soon it became a non-issue. Sad really, this boy whose raging hormones should have kept me in a state of sexual excitement given the situation – nothing, nothing at all. Even if the sexual attraction wasn’t there any longer I still wanted to date one of them. I tried with several of them. They had great fun at my “jesting”. They thought I was engaged in a hilarious running gag. Why shouldn’t they? I was younger than them all. I was smaller than them all. I was cuter than them all. Of course they didn’t take me seriously as a potential boyfriend.

The “other” girls became just friends. They didn’t even intimidate me any longer. Even if they all were bigger and stronger. Of course, I put it down to being the only freshman on the squad.

I had become famous overnight. The boy girl-cheerleader. At first some boys taunted me. They soon stopped. The cheerleaders were high status and nobody really wanted to piss them off. Besides the football team, the basketball team, the baseball team all wanted the best cheering possible. So what if the cheerleaders decided to include a tranny shrimp. For the record I wasn’t. I mean apart from never ever even considering using such a derogatory term I wasn’t a crossdresser or transgender. The shrimp part was harder to argue against. Anyway, those teams didn’t take kindly to anyone threating the cheerleaders’ performance in any way. Some gay boys did ask me out. I wasn’t interested. Despite my non-reaction to my fellow squad members, I was decidedly heterosexual. I still liked looking at girls. It was only my squad mates that didn’t excite me sexually in the locker room context. I still yearned to date them though.

Another thing I hadn’t thought through was the physical effort. I was no couch potato but the training the cheerleading squad went through was grueling. To begin with. I was below par so Coach gave me extra attention and extra exercises. Quite tiring I’d say. That was also one of the reasons I started to drift away from the friends I used to hang out with. That and the fact that while I was protected, they weren’t. Guilt by association you know. Not that they disavowed me but our paths diverged. Naturally that meant that I spent more and more time with my fellow squad members. I had lunch at the cheerleaders’ table. I was one so why shouldn’t I? I was more surprised to be invited by Lucy to a sleepover. I declined. Coach heard that and had a word with me. I undeclined. Team spirit and all that.

The sleepover was just as girly as I had feared. By the end of the evening I was fully made up, had artistically painted nails (both hands and feet) and wore a seductive baby-doll (not the PJs I had brought). I think that was when I started to suspect that the “other” girls had ulterior motives. Not that they didn’t respect when I said no but they were sneaky. Despite that I had a great sleepover. It wasn’t the last. Coach was right. It made wonders for the team spirit.

That was about the time I stopped trying to disabuse people about who I was. So what if most people in school thought I was gay or transgender. What they thought didn’t change who I was. For me the important part was that I truly was part of the cheerleading squad. I loved it and I didn’t want to distance myself from the “other” girls. If that meant playing along with their schemes of girlifying me? So be it. As I said I knew who I was. I had a position that made me immune from bullies. Slanting my wardrobe a bit towards pink wasn’t a big issue. Besides I found that I looked better with just a touch of make-up Why should only girls wear that? And many boys wear earrings, don’t they?

I spent more time with Coach than the “other” girls did. We worked on choreography. During these sessions she gently probed me to make sure that the squad didn’t abuse me. Didn’t push me to do things I didn’t want. She was also the one that warned me of the slippery slope. She really liked and respected me. She protected me from the worst, even if subtle, pressure. The amazing thing was personally she really wanted me to be a girl. Things would have been so much easier for her.

People started telling me that the team had become significantly better since I joined. Apparently my addiction to cheerleading had rubbed off on the entire team. Even Coach admitted that the squad had become more committed. In private she confessed that she had been too focused on the technical aspect. I was shocked. How could they miss the essence of cheerleading? Cheerleading was to raise spirits. To give that extra atmosphere. To wring out the very best of the players. To give the audience an unforgettable total experience. What is cheerleading without the joy, without the spirit, without the excitement? Ashamedly Coach agreed. She told me how happy she and the “other” girls were in having me in the squad.

Unfortunately, whatever positive influence I had on the squad only partially carried over to the competitive squad. Even if I always was there to assist them and cheer them on. Did that make me a cheerleader cheerleader? As I said I wasn’t allowed to participate in competitive cheerleading. The team participated only in girls only competitions and no matter how cute I was in the uniform, and I really was, I didn’t qualify. Had we tried no one would have noticed, especially since my name is Riley. However, Coach and I agreed the risk wasn’t worth it. Still, I was frequently asked at competitions why I wasn’t on the field. After a while I found it easiest just to smile in answer. A bit sad but I still had games nights. Regardless, the squad didn’t do that bad in competitions. Coach was kind enough to claim it was thanks to my choreography.

All in all, I had great freshman year. Then came summer and Coach sent us to cheerleading camp as usual. Only thing was that it was a girls’ only camp. Coach asked me to accompany her when she went to discuss the issue with the organizers. I made sure I looked extra nice that day. I even asked mom to help me with the make-up. She’s really good.

At the organizers’ office there were a quite nice lady who at first absolutely refused to have a boy at the camp. Coach wheedled with her. She emphasized how girly I was and in no way a threat to any girl. I kept quiet but I was a bit miffed. I mean, I still desperately wanted to date a cheerleader and here Coach was sort of emasculating me. Finally, the organizer lady budged. She’d consider it. But first she wanted to meet me. If I was anything like the perfect little lady that Coach had brought with her the lady would possibly, just possibly reconsider. It was a good thing that I’m really secure in who I am. A situation like that would have mortified most boys. Did I get to attend the camp? Yes.

I had to comply with certain rules though. Not be present when any of the “other” girls were naked. I shared a cabin with some of the “other” girls from my squad. At camp I grew particularly close to Mary. Apart from myself she was the youngest and smallest on the squad. At camp I discovered dancing. I mean dancing in front of an audience, not party dancing. Sure we had dancing in our cheerleading practice but that was just a means to an end. Real dancing gave me the opportunity to express the same thing as cheerleading but not in the same way. Here the raw emotions I craved to express could be sad, romantic … Yes, I loved it but it still was only my second love after cheerleading. Still Mary introduced me to her dancing school when we got back. They knew about me and only asked which changing room I preferred. I stuck with Mary. I did ask Mary for a date. Yes, you guessed it. I was “joking”. We DID become BFFs.

Sophomore year I tended to dress more and more like the “other” girls. Mom wasn’t too pleased since it became rather expensive. Fortunately Mary got me a week-end job in a clothing store mostly for teenage girls. The manager told me that I got the job for my looks so I should not present as a boy when working. Fine by me. The pay was good and I got a hefty discount at the store. They only sold mostly to girls. Besides I found that I liked short skirts. Why should only girls wear them. I was man enough to confidently wear those cute skirts. Another thing that changed sophomore year was that socializing tended to become couples oriented. We still hung out in a big group but with “plus one”. All the “other” girls in the squad had boyfriends by then so I didn’t try to ask them out. I tried a few other girls and got the polite answer that they weren’t lesbians. Why did everyone think I was a girl? A boy less secure than I in who he was would have been devastated.

The solution was not exactly what I had planned. As it turned out David, my brother’s best friend since they went to pre-school together, wanted to have a “pro forma” girlfriend who wasn’t demanding and respected that he wanted to concentrate on his studies. No feelings involved of course. Having failed to find a girlfriend and not wanting to be the odd man out when socializing I accepted. For a while there, things got a bit strained in my family. Mom had similar relaxed attitude to gender stereotyping as I had. Besides she completely got my fascination with cheerleading. My father and brothers got the thing about fascination with cheerleaders but had harder to get my direct involvement in cheerleading. My subtle change in appearance and my week-end job didn’t exactly help. So far they had reluctantly accepted that I was just a bit weird. My getting a “boyfriend” was another matter. My big brother was really angry at me because my “boyfriend” was his best friend. Well, actually he was angry with both of us. Fortunately Dave managed to talk him around and after some two, three months things were almost back to what it was before. Oh, did I mention that Dave was the school quarter-back?

The squad was great my sophomore year. Lucy had been a good captain but Ella was a great one. She really got this that technique was just one part of cheerleading. An important part but not everything. Another change was that Coach had given me, and only me, full responsibility for choreography. A huge responsibility that I was decided to prove myself worthy of. The squad did get to the to regional final. I hate to admit it but the other team really was better.

My sophomore year ended on a high. At the big closing sport ball I was presented with special award. The captains of the boys’ football, basketball and baseball teams jointly presented me with the most amazing necklace in recognition of my contribution to the school’s cheerleading spirit and helping the squad get as far as the regional final. I didn’t think it was necessary for each and every one of them to kiss me when they presented me with it, Dave would have sufficed. I didn’t complain. I didn’t want to spoil the moment. All the “other” girls in the squad applauded frantically. I couldn’t help myself. I started crying. Damn those ball-gowns! Why can’t they have pockets where to put a handkerchief?

Junior year was a bit complicated. To start with the school had decided to make the cheerleading team mixed. Apparently there had been strong political pressure. I and the “other” girls weren’t too happy. Political pressure had also saddled us with a captain that was great cheerleader, that was stunningly beautiful and that was a complete disaster as a captain. Betty had absolutely no leadership qualities, apart from being the governor’s niece that is. That would have been bad any year. It was a catastrophe when we had to start from scratch with a mixed team! To be honest the guys that qualified for the team weren’t bad. They were good athletes and they had at least some grasp of what it meant to be a cheerleader. Still, the whole dynamics had changed. We had to work with a completely new framework for the choreography to work in the boys in a way that suited the new context. “The boys” didn’t include me. I still was the tiny pretty one in a short skirt that was bounced up to the top of the pyramid. But by “we” I really mean we. Sure, I did the choreography but then there was the tiny matter of getting people to perform it. The teambuilding couldn’t be in the form of sleepovers any longer. For Pete’s sake we didn’t even share a locker room any longer! The boys had their separate one. And add to that a dysfunctional captain. I just couldn’t let my team go to pieces. At first Betty had some stupid ideas that she’d be involved in actually managing the team and fought me. However, Betty had some good qualities. Not only was she a genuinely nice girl, she wasn’t power-obsessed either. Showing her uncle that she was the captain, at least outwardly, of a great squad was more important. Most of the time I DID make the effort of having her sign off on things before I implemented them.

Since Dave had graduated I had to find a new “plus one”. I was no more successful with the girls than earlier years. Even the new intake of girl cheerleaders “knew” about my “running joke” with asking cheerleaders out. I admit I got desperate. I finally asked one of the new boys on the squad for a date. Gary accepted at once. Gary was a nice guy. He was athletic in a more lithe way than Dave was. Strong but still not bulky. A broad smile showing off his perfect teeth. Funny. Smart (We shared many classes).Yeah, I finally got my date with a cheerleader. Not exactly the way I had hoped … but anyway.

As it turned out the date was great. We became an item so no need to feel left out when socializing. I really liked him. I mean really LIKED him. That surprised me. All my life I had been obsessed with cute cheerleaders. Sure, Gary was a cute cheerleader …. But you know what I mean, don’t you?

It was rather confusing for me. Gary admitted he was rather confused himself. He also had first become interested in cheerleading because of “the pretty girls in those short skirts” as he said. Now he was falling for one of those pretty cheerleaders wearing a short skirt (the uniform skirt WAS short) and then that cheerleader was a boy! By spring we had come to an agreement. We loved each other that was the ONLY thing that mattered.

I worked the boys and the other girls extremely hard. Oh, I forgot. Coach and I worked the other girls and the boys extremely hard. Still, it wasn’t the same thing any longer. When I was together with the other girls at sleepovers I was very aware that it wasn’t the whole team.

Despite everything the squad didn’t do too bad that year but we still had a long way to go.

The governor was happy though.

Coach sent us to another cheerleading camp that summer since we were a mixed team now. How come all camp organizers are obsessed with rules? Boys and girls were strictly chaperoned outside of training. Even more strictly separated when it came to sleeping accommodations. I was surprised that there wasn’t any barbed wire. Then they insist that since I was a boy I had to conform to all boy rules. No skirt! On the other hand, I shared a two-bed room with Gary. Ask not, tell not. (Oh, well; We didn’t, not really).

I didn’t see much of Gary the rest of the summer since I was sent to another camp to learn how to be a cheerleading captain. Yes, I’d get the title as well as the job my senior year. Going there I thought it would be a waste of money. I was wrong. Amazing how much you don’t know you don’t know. The funny thing was everyone there just assumed I was a girl. The girl I was to share a room with didn’t turn up.

Senior year we won the regionals!

I even got a special prize for my choreography!

If only the other girls that I had started cheerleading with had been there. Too bad they had all graduated already.

As for the Prom … Yes, you guessed it. The temptation for our class to elect me Prom Queen was too great. So predictable. At least they had the good sense to crown Gary Prom King.

The big sports ball that year turned into one great homage to me. I was thoroughly embarrassed by it all. That didn’t stop me from being totally flattered and chuffed as well. I loved it! They even had managed to get all the other girls I had cheered together with to come that evening. I was so touched. This time I had had a pocket discreetly sown into my new ball gown so I could use my own handkerchief.

The only thing that marred that evening was the knowledge that I wouldn’t be there next year. I cornered Lara who was to be captain the next year and subjected her to the most vile threats including but not limited to haunting her for the rest of her existence, not only in this life, if she messed up the squad. She wouldn’t. She was a great girl. Not only smart but she had the right feeling for the noble art and sport of cheerleading as well. I had trained her well.

Gary and I will go to the same rather prestigious university. We’ll both study engineering, though of different varieties. We are still together. We are still very much in love. I’m so happy that I finally managed to date a cheerleader. That was the best thing I’ve done in my life. Next to becoming a cheerleader myself I mean.

Gary is so sweet. He insists that he loves ME. Boy or girl? Who cares? He’s so secure in who he is, just like me. I’ve been offered two different scholarships at the university. Riley the boy has been offered a partial one for working with their cheerleading team when choreography and morale boosting. Riley the girl has been offered a full scholarship for the same work with the additional task of being on top. Of the pyramid that is. Not only behind the scenes work but also to be the (pretty) face of the team. On the other hand Riley the boy would share the same dorm room as Gary. Decisions, decisions!

It's a good thing I’m know who I am, so who I present as at university is not really a big deal. As long as you are secure in who you are these things are just ripples on the surface. I know who I am. I know who I love. I know what I want to do with my life.

There is just one minor issue. I probably should find out if I’m a boy or a girl.

 
Here it is at last! The eagerly(?) awaited long Bru story. All of 22040 words. The story I’ve occasionally threatened to write. The Death in Venice (Beach) story that after an endless slow narrative finally peters out in the sand. Well, at least I started out writing that story. It became something slightly different though. How different? Up to you to judge.

Why had the Old Man decided to go to Venice Beach? Venice Beach is for young people. There were so many places the Old Man could have gone to when he finally left his hometown for more than a day trip. Yes. that’s true. The Old Man had never left his hometown in all his 85 years. So why Venice Beach? Just because it was so outrageous. He wanted to shock people. He wanted to do something strange before selling his old house and find some assisted living. A modest one. The Old Man was not rich. That was another reason he chosen Venice Beach. A customer of his owned a flat in Venice Beach that he wasn’t going to use that summer so he offered it to the Old Man for a nominal rent. Probably out of pity. Perhaps out of guilt. Perhaps he was curious how the Old Man would react. Anyway, the Old Man decided to go there for two weeks for a “fling”.

August 2
The Old Man had arrived the evening before.

The Old Man woke early. It felt strange waking up in another room for the first time in over sixty years. The first time in a town not his own hometown.

He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. He was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus.

He looked around and saw a café with tables under parasols with a view over the beach. He went over there and sat down. A friendly waiter came over, a bit surprised to see an Old Man sitting in a grey suit in the heat. The Old Man decided to be adventurous and asked for a cappuccino. He had heard about those but never had one. He got his cappuccino. He tasted it. He liked it. As he was sitting there looking out over the beach he saw a group of teenage boys coming and finding a place on the beach. Nothing strange about that except that one of the boys was stunningly beautiful. Not handsome, beautiful. The boys played and the Old Man watched.

The Old Man didn’t want to leave so he had several more coffees. As he was feeling adventurous he let the friendly waiter bring him different kinds of coffee. He couldn’t believe that there were so many kinds of coffee. In the middle of the day he decided to eat something but still didn’t want to leave the café with the view of the beach and the boys. There wasn’t much to choose from so he ordered something called a Salade Niçoise. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach. They played as boys are wont to do. Just like his own boys used to. Not that he experienced them in their teens …

The day drew to a close. The teenage boys gathered their things and left the beach. It was close to sunset so the Old Man stayed to have a look at the sunset. Then he left and slowly strolled away from the beach. After a while he found himself standing outside an Indian restaurant. The Old Man had never had Indian food. For a while there had been a Chinese-Mexican restaurant in his town but not for long. He had eaten there a couple of times but hadn’t liked the food. Possibly it was more the restaurant’s fault than the foreign food. To check that, he decided to try some Indian food. He entered the restaurant. He sat down at a table. An Indian man gave him a menu. Since the Old Man had no knowledge of Indian food he just choose the first of the main dishes. The Indian man was surprised and asked if he was sure. That dish was VERY spicy. Since the Old Man was on a “fling” he insisted on his choice. The dish WAS spicy. Nothing like what the Old Man had eaten before. Strangely enough he liked it. He told the Indian man how delicious it was. The Old Man lingered in the restaurant and when things got a bit slower had a chat with the Indian man. Mr. Gupta was the owner of the restaurant and ran it together with his wife and two sons. In the end Mr. Gupta offered to call a taxi for the Old Man. Mr. Gupta’s cousin had a taxi and Mr. Gupta made sure the Old Man got a “special price, just for you”. Actually, the price really was special because Mr. Gupta had taken a liking to the Old Man.

The Old Man went back to his apartment. The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. The lingerie was brand new and like his dinner a bit more spicey than usual for the Old Man. Well, he was on a “fling”. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered the first time he and his girlfriend, his high school sweetheart, had seen the big house quite a bit outside the town. At once both of them just knew that this was the house where they were going to raise their family with many, many children. The Old Man had worked countless hours to repair the big house. It was only the location of the house and the rundown state of it that had made it possible for them to buy the house.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. He slept like a baby without any bad dreams. That was unusual.

August 3
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. Once more he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his new favorite, cappuccino, from the friendly waiter. He wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach. At least he hoped they would come again.

They did. The group of cheerful boys in their trunks made by Omar the tentmaker took the same spot on the beach. They played, they tried to chat up the bikini clad girls and acted as teenage boys do. Maybe the Old Man imagined it but it looked like they had noticed that he was observing them. Then they did something else and the feeling disappeared. That Boy really was too beautiful to be a boy the Old Man thought while observing them from a distance.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A salade Niçoise. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. The Old Man choose the second main dish on the menu. Once more he liked it. Like the night before the Old Man lingered in the restaurant. For some reason the Old Man mentioned his mother’s recipe for gooseberry cobbler. Mr. Gupta went into the kitchen to get his wife. Mrs. Gupta had never really got the hang of making a good gooseberry cobbler. Not that they would serve that in their Indian restaurant but Mrs. Gupta was interested in traditional American cooking. The Old Man promised to show Mrs. Gupta how to make one in return to watch Mrs. Gupta make his dinner next night.

In the end Mr. Gupta offered to call a taxi for the Old Man. Mr. Gupta’s cousin had a taxi and Mr. Gupta made sure the Old Man got a “special price, just for you”. Actually, the price really was special because Mr. Gupta by now was quite fond of the Old Man.

The Old Man went back to his apartment. The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered the wedding. The wedding was lovely and the Old Man, well, he was a young man at the time, had carried his lovely bride across the threshold. They were newlyweds. They were in love. The man had a good job as a car mechanic. The girl was going to be the perfect housewife. Their future was bright. Everything was just as things should be.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. He slept like a baby without any bad dreams.

August 4
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The group of cheerful boys in their trunks made by Omar the tentmaker took the same spot on the beach. They played, they tried to chat up the bikini clad girls and acted as teenage boys do. Only thing was that this time The Boy was wearing black speedos. Now that his legs could be fully seen his beauty was even more evident.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A salade Niçoise. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one that now had the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 3. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on a chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man tell her how to make the Old Man’s mother’s gooseberry cobbler. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment. The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how happy he and his wife had been the first years. Just as they had planned they soon had a son. A big healthy son. Soon there were two sons. The parents couldn’t have been prouder and happier. Then there was the third pregnancy.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. He slept like a baby without any bad dreams.

August 5
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The group of cheerful boys in their trunks made by Omar the tentmaker took the same spot on the beach. They played, they tried to chat up the bikini clad girls and acted as teenage boys do. Only thing was that this time The Boy was wearing not black speedos but purple. The Old Man wondered what was going on. However, there was no denying that The Boy looked very good in the purple speedos.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A salade Niçoise. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 4. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. He had promised to do that the night before. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered his wife’s third pregnancy. He sincerely wished he couldn’t. Too bad he couldn’t NOT remember it. It was a difficult pregnancy. In hindsight he shouldn’t have spent so much time at the garage – but they needed the money. Then one night when he came home there was blood. Vast quantities of blood. He had come back in time to save his wife’s life but not their daughter’s.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. He did not sleep like a baby that night. His sleep was haunted by nightmares as so often.

August 6
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The group of cheerful boys in their trunks made by Omar the tentmaker took the same spot on the beach. They played, they tried to chat up the bikini clad girls and acted as teenage boys do. Only thing was that this time The Boy was wearing not purple speedos but pink. Very small pink speedos- The Old Man wondered what was going on. However, there was no denying that The Boy looked very natural and self-confident in his very small pink speedos.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A salade Niçoise. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 5. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, garter belt and purple stockings and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how devastated they had been when the doctor had told them that the wife never again would be able to have another child. They buried their grief and poured all their love upon their two sons. No children could have had more loving parents. At first.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. He slept like a baby without any bad dreams.

August 7
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The group of cheerful boys in their trunks took the same spot on the beach. They played, they tried to chat up the bikini clad girls and acted as teenage boys do. The Boy in his tiny pink speedos did not try to chat up the girls. Instead he interacted with them. Almost like he had been a girl himself.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A salade Niçoise. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 6. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how his wife had grown more and more distant. They still loved their sons but they didn’t love each other any longer. Or to be more precise, the wife did not love the Old Man any longer.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. He slept like a baby without any bad dreams.

August 8
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The group of cheerful boys in their trunks took the same spot on the beach. They played, they tried to chat up the bikini clad girls and acted as teenage boys do. This day The Boy definitely had on bikini bottoms, very becoming black high-cut bikini bottoms. He spent more time with the girls than the boys. He even giggled with them.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A salade Niçoise. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 7. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how alone the sudden death of both his parents had left him. He couldn’t share his grief with his wife – not really. Luckily he still had one way to relax.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. Once more he had nightmares.

August 9
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The group of cheerful boys in their trunks took the same spot on the beach. They played, they tried to chat up the bikini clad girls and acted as teenage boys do. This day The Boy in his high-cut bikini bottoms spent more time with the girls than the boys. The boys usually their things a little bit separate from the girls. This time the Boy had his stuff exactly in between the two groups.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A Caesar salad. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 8. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered the day when he came back from work and a furious wife had thrown his best dress in his face. Well, to be honest it was his only dress. His stash was rather limited. She tore into him for being a pervert and that he shouldn’t be anywhere near children.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 10
The Old Man woke up completely rested. That surprised him. Every time before he had remembered his wife finding his clothes he had had a terrible night. Not that his nights ever used to be good but there were variations. 

The Old Man had woken early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their trunks and the The Boy were a little late this morning. The girls had already established their territory where the boys usually were. The boys settled down a little bit further away. That is with the exception of The Boy. He talked with the girls with wide gestures for a while. He was not going to give up “his” spot if the Old Man could read his gestures correctly. The Boy joined the girls. The bikini bottom he wore this day was very cute. The high cut of the purple garment showed off his very beautiful legs. The boy played with the girls all day and appeared to be quite comfortable. Not in the rather awkward way the other boys interacted with the girls.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. He Old Man decided that he wanted to try something new so he ordered a chef salad. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 9. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how his wife had judged and sentenced him without him being allowed to defend himself. He only dressed in that lovely dress to relieve stress. He simply was more relaxed and happy when wearing it. She had never seen him wear it. The children had never seen him wear it. He was condemned for just being - a crossdresser.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 11
The Old Man had woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their wide trunks came early this morning to get “their” spot. The girls settled down where they had earlier days. The Boy walked over to them and spread out his stuff at the edge of their group. He was warmly welcomed. His demeanor had a definite girly touch this day.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A chef salad. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 10. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. The Old Man realized that he wanted to stay longer in Venice Beach. He was experiencing so many new exciting things. Quite different from his usual life. On the spur of the moment he called his “landlord”. The Landlord couldn't have been more happy when he heard the Old Man wanted to stay longer. Unfortunately, he could only let the Old Man stay until the end of August. The Old Man was surprised by the reaction but quite pleased.

He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered the fight they had. Well, it was not much of a fight. It takes two to fight. The Old Man did not fight back.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 12
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

While arriving with the other boys that wore the wide trunks The Boy quite naturally settled down with the girls. He didn’t wear the high-cut purple bikini bottoms like the days before. Instead the black side-tied bikini bottoms he wore were low. Very low. His giggling was quite loud and penetrating so the Old Man could hear it even at a distance.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. Since he hadn’t really liked the chef salad he decided to try a Cobb salad. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 11. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how the wife had taken the children and left. He was left all alone in that big house far outside of the town. He never talked to her again. He never talked to his sons again. He saw them often enough but he never talked to them again.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 13
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The day proceeded more or less as the day before with the exception that when the teenagers packed away their stuff and left The Boy left with the girls.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. A Cobb salad. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 12. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how his wife had threatened, through her brother, to get a restraining order keeping him away from her and the sons. Her uncle was a judge. The Old Man had promised never to speak to them again and not contest the divorce. That way he still could come to his sons’ little league games.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 14
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The Old Man was disappointed when the boys arrived without The Boy. A few minutes later The Boy arrived together with the girls. The Boy spent the day together with the girls.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. He decided to be daring and try another salad. He ordered a Mesclun. He really didn’t really like it. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 13. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how his wife had turned the town against him. For a month or two he had no customers. Then they started to come back. Probably because he as the only really good mechanic in town. However, the usual smiles and chats weren’t there any longer.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 15
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

As the day before the boys arrived without The Boy. The Old Man was not surprised. The girls together with The Boy arrived soon after. The bikini bottom The Boy was very girlish. The way The Boy interacted with the girls was no less girlish.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. Not a Mesclun. Definitely not a Mesclun. He ordered a seven-layer salad. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either but perhaps not as good as the salade Niçoise. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 14. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered who he enjoyed going to all his sons’ little league matches and their recitals. He never missed a single one and he was the one that applauded the hardest. But he never spoke to them.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 16
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

This day The Boy was not wearing a more demure bikini bottom. However, the bikini bottom went very well together with the bikini top on the flat chest. All the boys and girls appeared to enjoy themselves. The boys tried to chat up the girls and the girls teased the boys. The girls graciously let the boys apply sunscreen on them.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. He decided to give the seven-layer salad another go. He didn’t really like it but it was not really bad either but perhaps not as good as the salade Niçoise. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 15. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. This time Mrs. Gupta could not really understand how one thing was made so the Old Man and Mrs. Gupta walked back into the kitchen and the Old Man showed how it was done. Mr. Gupta and his sons looked very strange but they said nothing. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how he had decided since no one ever visited him anyway he’d just as well be comfortable at home. He found a new dress to replace the one his wife had destroyed. Soon he changed the minute he came home.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 17
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

This day The Boy wore a very nice bikini that. The boys and girls played on the beach. The boys tried to chat up the girls. The girls teased the boys. The boys applied sunscreen on all the girls. One of the boys applied sunscreen on The Boy.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. He decided to be daring and try another foreign salad; a Greek salad. He did like it. It was better than the salade Niçoise Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 16. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen with her notebook eager to hear the Old Man describe another of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes. Once more there was something that Mrs. Gupta wanted to be shown so they went out into the kitchen together. Mr. Gupta and his sons stopped working and looked on with very strange faces and then went back to work. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta called his taxi-driver cousin and the Old Man went back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how he had gone to the big city nearest his hometown to extend his wardrobe. How surprised he was that in some shops they didn’t condemn him. Occasionally they even were friendly. He soon had many dresses and a variety of lingerie and hosiery.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 18
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The pattern from the earlier days was repeated. The boys tried to chat up the girls and impress them. The girls teased the boys and flirted outrageously. They let the boys apply sunscreen. The one applying sunscreen on The Boy was very careful to ensure that sunscreen was overlapped by the pink bikini.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. He wondered if the Greek salad would be as good as the day before. It was. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 17. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. There the Old Man started preparing one of his mother’s old traditional dishes. The male Guptas were aghast. No, NO ONE, was allowed to work in the kitchen except Mrs. Gupta. Well, there was one exception: Mr. Gupta when making his mother’s special dish but that was only for very special occasions with the immediate family and very close friends. Now the Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how he slowly settled in a new life a recluse. While surrounded by people at day at night he achieved a measure of contentment.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 19
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The pattern from the earlier days was repeated. The boys tried to chat up the girls and impress them. The girls teased the boys and flirted outrageously. So did The Boy. They let the boys apply sunscreen. The one applying sunscreen on The Boy was very careful to ensure that sunscreen was overlapped by the pink bikini.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. He wondered if the Greek salad would be as good as the day before. It was. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 18. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. There the Old Man started preparing one of his mother’s old traditional dishes. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how he had survived on TV-dinners for months before he decided to have a look at his mother’s old cookbook, the only left in the house. He found not only a cookbook but a treasure. Just being there in the kitchen felt so right. As a boy he had spent hours sitting in the kitchen watching his mother cook and bake. He became more and more adept in the kitchen.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 20
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived a bit early. Then the girls came. The Boy wore a very provocative bikini. The boys visibly noted that. The boys and girls played and had fun in the sun. Two of the boys fought over who would apply sunscreen on The Boy.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. He wondered if the Greek salad would be as good as the day before. It was. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 19. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. There the Old Man started preparing one of his mother’s old traditional dishes. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. Then the Old Man mentioned that it was a pity to just throw away the meal he had just cooked. The Guptas sat down and ate the meal the Old Man had prepared. It tasted strange to them but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact they liked it. It was different from what they were used to but not bad at all. The conversation became animated. The Old Man who had already eaten only had a cup of tea. The Old Man never had drunk tea before but the tea prepared by Mrs. Gupta was delicious. When they had finished Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how he loved cooking. Too bad it was coming to an end soon. He was too old and when moving to some assisted housing they wouldn’t let him into a kitchen. It would be too dangerous and besides, he was a man.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 21
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived a bit early. Then the girls came. The Boy wore the same provocative bikini. The boys visibly noted that. The boys and girls played and had fun in the sun. Two of the boys fought over who would apply sunscreen on The Boy. However, a more mature young man that passed by gained that privilege.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He particularly liked the cheese. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 20. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. The Guptas sat down and ate the meal the Old Man had prepared. It tasted strange to them but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact they liked it. It was different from what they were used to but not bad at all. The conversation became animated. The Old Man who had already eaten only had a cup of tea. The Old Man never had drunk tea before but the tea prepared by Mrs. Gupta was delicious. When they had finished Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how his cousin once had visited. The cousin was the Old Man’s only relative and he only visited once. He had commented on how huge the house the Old Man lived in was. The Old Man was aware of that. However, not matter how many bad memories there were connected to the house there were also the only good memories he had. And besides his family still lived in the town.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 22
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. The Boy wore the same provocative bikini. The boys and girls played and had fun in the sun. Then the more mature young man arrived. He joined the plays with the girls. The Boy flirted most outrageously.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 21. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. The Guptas sat down and ate the meal the Old Man had prepared. It tasted strange to them but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact they liked it. It was different from what they were used to but not bad at all. The conversation became animated. The Old Man who had already eaten only had a cup of tea. The Old Man never had drunk tea before but the tea prepared by Mrs. Gupta was delicious. When they had finished Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how his sons went away to college. He knew that they didn’t really have enough money so he was there for them. Not visibly of course. He had ways of making sure that their expenses miraculously were less than expected. The Old Mans’s savings were enough for that – just.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 23
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. Soon after the more mature young man turned up. The Boy spent all his time together with the young man. The sunscreen application turned into a very sensual experience. Before leaving The Boy gave the young man a quick kiss.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 22. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. The Guptas sat down and ate the meal the Old Man had prepared. It tasted strange to them but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact they liked it. It was different from what they were used to but not bad at all. The conversation became animated. The Old Man who had already eaten only had a cup of tea. The Old Man never had drunk tea before but the tea prepared by Mrs. Gupta was delicious. When they had finished Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how his sons never returned from college. Both moved to Phoenix Arizona. Their mother moved there as well. The Old Man briefly wondered why he stayed now that his family had left. But where would he go? Being there was just as good as being somewhere else. His business was there as well.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 24
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. The boys and girls had fun playing in the sun. The boys tried to chat up the girls and the girls teased the boys. Not all of them though. The Boy and the young man spent some of the time just sitting next to each other talking. The young man quite obviously liked the tiny bikini The Boy wore.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 23. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. The Guptas sat down and ate the meal the Old Man had prepared. It tasted strange to them but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact they liked it. It was different from what they were used to but not bad at all. The conversation became animated. The Old Man who had already eaten only had a cup of tea. The Old Man never had drunk tea before but the tea prepared by Mrs. Gupta was delicious. When they had finished Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how people at last had grown used to him just being there and now that the wife had gone they grew less hostile to him. Still, he just WAS. However, there are worse things than just being. And besides what would he do instead?

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 25
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. The boys and girls had fun playing in the sun. The boys tried to chat up the girls and the girls teased the boys. The Boy and the young man stayed a bit apart from the frolicking teens. They looked like they very much enjoyed each other’s company.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 24. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. The Guptas sat down and ate the meal the Old Man had prepared. It tasted strange to them but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact they liked it. It was different from what they were used to but not bad at all. The conversation became animated. The Old Man who had already eaten only had a cup of tea. The Old Man never had drunk tea before but the tea prepared by Mrs. Gupta was delicious. The Guptas was sad to learn that the Old Man soon would go back to his hometown and invited him for a special feast on the 29th to express their gratitude and esteem. When they had finished Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how he once more had become a part of the town. Not really a part of the community but part of the town, like the Town Hall. After all, he had been there longer than almost everyone else.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 26
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. The boys and girls had fun playing in the sun. The boys tried to chat up the girls and the girls teased the boys. This time The Boy was not distinguishable as a boy as he had been before. The flat chest covered by the bikini top now sported quite impressive breast barely covered by the pink bikini top. The pink bikini bottom now lacked the telltale bulge. The Old Man had heard about “tucking” and breast forms but never really thought about them. He enjoyed the feel of feminine clothing and found peace dressed in a dress but he knew that he wasn’t a girl. Not that The Boy didn’t make a very pretty girl. Still, in the Old Man’s mind The Boy was still The Boy.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 25. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. This night was a bit different. Mr. Gupta had a very heated argument with his son Sanjay. The Guptas sat down and ate the meal the Old Man had prepared. It tasted strange to them but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact they liked it. It was different from what they were used to but not bad at all. The conversation became animated. The Old Man who had already eaten only had a cup of tea. The Old Man never had drunk tea before but the tea prepared by Mrs. Gupta was delicious. When they had finished Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

Driving the Old Man back to his apartment Sanjay mentioned what the argument was about. Sanjay’s fiancée had discovered that Sanjay sometimes dressed in feminine garments. Now she threatened to break up the engagement. This would be a disaster for Sanjay and the whole family. The Old Man told Sanjay that he had experienced exactly the same thing.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how he had gone on working well into his 80s. There were two good reasons. There still was no other good mechanic in town. The Old Man might have been cut off from the community but he had kept himself updated with every new model coming out. He loved the Japanese and later the Korean cars but he never admitted that to anyone else. The other reason? What else would he do?

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 27
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. The boys and girls had fun playing in the sun. The boys tried to chat up the girls and the girls teased the boys. The Boy and the young man still participated part of the time but most of the time they spent together a bit away from the rest of the teens.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. He walked into the restaurant where he was cheerfully greeted by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 26. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta came out and fetched him into the kitchen. He sat down on “his” chair while he carefully followed how Mrs. Gupta prepared his dish. It was a pure delight to see how she worked. Mrs. Gupta kept a running commentary on what she did. The Old Man returned to his table and was served. Just as the evening before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. When the penultimate guest had left Mrs. Gupta came out of the kitchen and fetched the Old Man back into the kitchen. The Old Man cooked one of his mother’s traditional Midwest recipes and Mrs. Gupta made careful notes. They had a nice conversation as Mr. Gupta and his two sons cleaned up the restaurant. The Guptas sat down and ate the meal the Old Man had prepared. It tasted strange to them but it wasn’t bad. As a matter of fact they liked it. It was different from what they were used to but not bad at all. The conversation became animated. The Old Man who had already eaten only had a cup of tea. The Old Man never had drunk tea before but the tea prepared by Mrs. Gupta was delicious. Then the conversation veered into the subject of Sanjay’s crossdressing. The Guptas were shocked to learn that the Old Man liked to cross-dress at home and how much more comfortable he felt. Had it been anyone else but the Old Man they probably would have thrown him out of their restaurant. Now they started to think. They had learnt to know and respect the Old Man both as person and as a very knowledgeable cook. The respect they had for him countered their reaction. The end of the conversation was that the Old Man would come dressed as a lady for the farewell party. The Guptas wanted to see for themselves what he would be like. Sanjay’s fiancée would be there as well. When they had finished Mr. Gupta told his son Sanjay to drive the Old Man to his apartment.

Sanjay drove the Old Man went back to his apartment. While driving the Old Man home he expressed his gratitude for what the Old Man had done.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how he finally had come to recognize he was getting too old for working and living alone in the big old house. How much that hurt even if it was inevitable.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 28
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. The boys and girls had fun playing in the sun. The boys tried to chat up the girls and the girls teased the boys. The Boy and the young man had distanced themselves from the rest of the teens. They were much more interested in each other.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the Indian restaurant. However, he arrived a bit later than usual since he had made a stop at clothing shop. The he had bought quite lovely dress suitable for a formal dinner. The girl in the shop had been most helpful. Shoes etc the Old Man already had. He walked into the restaurant where he was greeted a bit less cheerfully than usually by Mr. Gupta. He walked over to his usual table. The one with the sign “reserved”. He got the menu. He carefully read the menu and then he ordered the next dish on the list. Today it was number 27. Actually it was the last one on the menu. The Old Man having ordered Mrs. Gupta did not come and fetch him into the kitchen. The Old Man was disappointed but not surprised. The Old Man was served. Just as the evenings before he delighted in the new taste sensations. He ate slowly. Finally, he was the last guest left in the restaurant. Mr. Gupta had warmed up during the evening and told the Old Man that he still was welcome for the farewell dinner next day with all the aspects discussed the evening before. Sanjay drove the Old Man back to his apartment.

The Old Man changed into something more comfortable: lingerie, pantyhose and his favorite black dress. He took out the bottle of Bourbon and poured himself two fingers. He sat down in front of the TV set and switched on an old rerun of “I Love Lucy”. He had seen that episode many times before, so his thoughts wandered.

The Old Man remembered how surprised he had been at the reaction of his customers when he told them he would have to sell his business. How kind and supporting they had been. One had even let him use his flat in Venice Beach practically free of charge.

When “I Love Lucy” had ended and he had drunk the last of the Bourbon the Old Man rose, undressed, cleaned his teeth and went to bed. The Old Man slept uneasily.

August 29
The Old Man woke early. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. The boys and girls had fun playing in the sun. The boys tried to chat up the girls and the girls teased the boys. The Boy and the young man were now completely separate from the teens. They arrived together. They acted like any other young couple in love on the beach and they left together.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

He watched the teenagers leave the beach. He stayed on to watch the sunset. He liked the sunsets. Then he carefully rose and made sure his back was still functioning. He started to slowly saunter away from the beach towards the salon where he had an appointment.

The Old Man was a bit nervous. This was his first visit to a Salon. The Old Man was warmly welcomed by one of the young girls working there. What surprised him even more were the friendly nods from the other clients there. Mostly older women but also a very good-looking man. Good-looking as an elderly lady that is. The Old Man relaxed. He relaxed even more under the expert attendance of the young girl. After some considerable time the process was finished. The Old Man had showed the young girl what he was going to wear that night at the dinner so everything fit. When the Old Man had changed and looked in the mirror he was amazed. He looked at a very attractive old lady. Not beautiful. Very few 85-year-old ladies are beautiful. However, the lady in the mirror was quite attractive, even striking. The high heels made wonders with his legs. Not that The Old Lady showed much of that. The dress was demure and fit The Old Lady in every way. Body, make-up and not least character. Well, a bit spiced up and slightly improved character, more in line what the Old Man would have wanted. More self-assured. What the Old Lady had not expected was how much straighter she stood. The Old Man had developed a bit of a slouch when growing old. The Old Lady had none of that. The Old Lady took a taxi to the Gupta’s restaurant. The Old Man would never have done that. The distance was not long. The Old Lady wouldn’t dream of arriving by foot. Thinking about it the dress, the salon, the taxi, this was the first time the Old Man had everindulged himself.

The Guptas had closed their restaurant a bit earlier this night, so the place had just emptied when the Old Lady arrived. The welcome was a bit reserved. The Guptas was wary about this crossdressing thing. After all they were concerned about Sanjay and the relationship between their and Sanjay’s fiancée’s families. The marriage was not only an issue for the two young people. It had much more extensive consequences. However, the appearance of the Old Lady was not what they had expected. Not even a hint of sordid. If anything the Old Lady was even more impressive than the Old Man.

The atmosphere grew more and more relaxed. The Guptas and the fiancée had many questions. The Old Lady answered those she could answer. The impertinent ones she haughtily refused to even acknowledge. Mrs. Gupta observed with great care. What she had appreciated with the Old Man was his dignity and respect. The Old Lady was no less dignified and respectful. She gave a small nod of approval to Mr. Gupta. At the end of the dinner the Old Lady and the fiancée had struck up a firm friendship and the kiss the fiancée gave Sanjay showed no lingering distance to him. Quite a difference from the start of the dinner. She firmly declared that she loved Sanjay and if he had a few quirks she could live with that. The engagement was still on. She even invited the Old Man to the wedding. She would have liked the Old Lady to attend but she didn’t want to push her family too much. The evening ended in a very satisfactory way for all.

Mr. Gupta himself drove the Old Man back to his apartment. He couldn’t thank the Old Man enough for what he had done for the family. He promised the Old Man that he would cook something special for the Old Man the next day, his last dinner in Venice Beach. Mr. Gupta himself would make his mother’s special dish. Those occasions when Mr. Gupta made his mother’s special dish was the only time he was allowed to cook in the restaurant kitchen.

The Old Man couldn’t remember having enjoyed an evening so much as that evening. To come think about it he probably never had enjoyed an evening as much as that dinner with the Guptas. The Old Man undressed and carefully hung up his new beautiful dress. He cleaned his teeth and went to bed without watching a “I love Lucy” rerun. The Old Man slept like a baby.

August 30
The Old Man woke early the last full day he would be in Venice beach. The last visit to the beach. The next morning, he would go home. He dressed in his usual grey suit. He had breakfast. Cereal and milk. He watched some TV. He left the small apartment he rented. He walked to the bus stop. He waited for the bus. He got on the bus to the sea. He rode the bus. As he rode the bus he watched people. As every day he was amazed by how different people looked here from his hometown. He wondered if they really were as different as they looked. He got off the bus. He walked the short distance to the café overlooking the beach. He ordered his usual cappuccino from the friendly waiter. Once more he wondered why he’d never had tried that before coming to Venice Beach. He decided that he would try more new things when he went back to his hometown. Then he settled in waiting for The Boy and the group of teenagers to come to the beach. This would be the last time he would see them so he was looking forward to what the “show” would be that day.

The boys in their swimming trunks made by Omar the tentmaker arrived before the girls as before. Then the girls came. The boys and girls had fun playing in the sun. The boys tried to chat up the girls and the girls teased the boys. The Boy spend less time with the young man and played more with the other girls. Definitely other girls. The Old Man could only see girls playing.

About every hour the Old Man ordered another coffee. He always let the waiter decide what variety to bring. In the middle of the day the Old Man ordered a salad. The Greek salad was as good as the day before. He liked it. He wondered why he had never tried a Greek salad before. He liked the cheese in particular. He would miss the Greek salad when he returned to his hometown. Then he resumed observing the group of teenage boys and girls on the beach.

Suddenly his phone beeped to tell him he had got a message. This surprised him. This was the first message since he had sold his business half a year before. The Old Man was not a fossil but who would contact him now that he wasn’t working any longer? He read the message.

Hello Dad!

You may not know this but Mother passed away last month. Peter and I are going through her old papers and we came across the letter where she told you never to speak to us again. What a crock! What you did, and what we sincerely hope you still do, is nothing to be ashamed of. We can’t understand why Mom did this to you. Peter and I never understood why you always stayed away. Despite that we knew that you were there for every little league game or recital we had. Always supporting us. Your presence helped us. Even when we went away you helped us. Yes, we know how you supported us financially even if you tried to hide it. Even if you stayed apart having you just being there was important for us. We felt safe and secure knowing that you were there for us. Thank you. We will come and visit you next week to clear everything up.

Your loving son,
David

The Old Man was happy. He sent a quick answer back with the promise of a longer one when he got back to the apartment later.

Just as he had sent that the Old Man was surprised to see The Boy and his boyfriend walk up to his table.

The Boy said: “Hello Old Man. I want to thank you. At first I thought you were just a creepy old guy ogling me. Oh, yes it was quite obvious that you were ogling me. That’s why we decided to give you a show. Teasing you. First I wore smaller and smaller swimming suits and then doing the feminizing thing. It was all an act. It was all for your benefit. Even the “boyfriend” here. Mark is my cousin and he agreed to play my boyfriend. However, I hadn’t expected what happened to me. No, I didn’t turn into a girl. But I got to view the world in a different way. To get a girl’s perspective on things. The way boys treat girls. The way girls interact. The full girl experience. I loved it. Not that I want to live that life but I treasure the experience. In a very roundabout way you have made me a better person and given me an unforgettable experience. I don’t know if you really are a dirty Old Man or not but by the simple act of simply being here every day you have given me something invaluable. Thank You!”

The Old Man saw the couple walk away. When he looked closely he could see that they were very close, in both senses of the word, but there was no hint of any romantic or sexual connection. The Old Man watched them walk away until he couldn’t see them any longer.

He marveled that he had given The Boy such a positive experience just by being. Just as him just being had helped Sanjay and the Gupta family. Just as he somehow had helped his sons by just being there. Amazing really. He had spent most of his life just being and he had always thought that just being was such a waste.

Two hours later there was a small group of people around the Old Man’s table. The friendly waiter talked to a police officer while a vacationing medical examiner that had happened to sit at the table next to Old Man’s examined the Old Man.

The waiter spoke with quiet reverence. “At first I didn’t notice anything. That Old Man used to sit at this table all day, every day and he hardly ever moved. Today he briefly talked to a beautiful young girl in a skimpy bikini. He never talked to anyone otherwise. Directly after that he paid. He gave me a very large tip and said that he wouldn’t be here tomorrow, so I thought he was just enjoying the view one last time when he didn’t leave. After some time I walked over to ask if everything was all right. He didn’t answer so I touched his hand to get his attention. It was cold.”

“There was nothing suspicious that you could see?” The police officer was making notes.

“No, nothing at all,” the waiter answered. “No one went near him. He just sat there. Just being, you know. The only thing was that he looked happy instead of sad or melancholy. I had never seen him look happy.”

The police officer turned toward the examiner. “Doctor, what can you say?”

“Nothing, nothing at all,” the doctor said while shaking his head. “I can’t find any obvious reason he died. Nothing suspicious though. It’s like he just - ceased to be.”

The End

2024-09-26 08:28:37 -0400

Three 12-year old boys sit in the Headmaster’s office. John, Harry and Tom have come to school dressed as girls as a prank. Not surprisingly their teacher sent them to the Headmaster.

Headmaster (sighing): John and Harry, isn’t this a rather childish prank? I won’t spend time telling you how much trouble you are in now. Do you realise how stupid you look in your ridiculously short skirts? And your make up! Was it on purpose you did it to look like cheap whores? Go home, wash, change and come back. I will contact your parents.

The two boys leave smiling (though they wouldn’t be if they had realised that a severe breach of the dress code on top of their previous breaches of school rules could lead to their expulsion), their underwear clearly visible under their extremely short skirts.

Headmaster: Tom, why are you still here? Go back to class!

Tom: But Sir, aren’t you going to send me home?

Headmaster (smiling): Why should I? Your skirt is within allowed length and you have no make-up. Make-up isn't allowed as you know. Actually, I don’t understand why you were sent here in the first place.

Unfortunately I'm rated as the worst lawyer at our law office so I get the cases no one else wants. So when a distinguished gentleman and what must be his very cute daughter are shown into my office I wonder what the catch is. Oh, a discrimination case. Well, that explains it. Not what we usually deal with at Cook, Brewster & Yorke.

The father, an old customer of ours, lets his daughter explain the problem.

“I recently transferred to Whetstone Academy, what used to be Whetstone Academy for Boys. I soon realized that the cheerleaders are the one with the highest status. The most popular boys only date cheerleaders. Cheerleaders get the best places in the cafeteria. Cheerleaders can ignore the dress code and flaunt their sexy legs. Cheerleaders get to wear those cute uniforms with the short skirts. Cheerleaders get to pick the most popular courses first. Cheerleaders get the best of everything! So of course I wanted to try out.

They won’t let me! It would be against their traditions they say.

I’m cute. I’m sexy. I’m a great cheerleader. I was the head cheerleader in my old school. I deserve to be a cheerleader and part of the popular set! They have no right to deny me that only because of my birth sex!”

I look at “her”. Why didn’t he tell me from the beginning he’s one of those “transgendered”? I hate to admit it but he really is very cute (just thinking about makes me a little bit nauseous). No one could suspect that he isn’t a real girl. I sigh. I hate to deal with cases involving weirdoes. I start to explain to him that taking this to court would place him in a very difficult position. Even if we probably could get a court order so he could try out to be a cheerleader he would be outed as transgendered and experience lots of harassment, not to talk about the resentment the other students would feel.

“But you don’t understand! I’m a genetic girl. It’s because I wasn’t born with a penis between my legs they won’t let me try out!"

Principal’s office the morning of the first day officially declared ”Summer” by the school.

A tomboyish girl in black shorts and a red shirt tussled hair and scabs on her knees sits in one chair and in another we have a thin delicate boy with longish blond hair dressed in a red shirt and very nice long black trousers.

Principal (adressing the girl): Becky, why do keep breaking the rules all the time. Is it just for the fun of it?

Becky: No Sir, but the skirt thing is just too sissy!

Principal: Whatever you think this is what the school board decided last fall. You know the dress code. Repeat it for me!

Becky (sighing):
• Winter dress code: Red sweater, white shirt/blouse, long black trousers
• Summer dress code: Red shirt/blouse, knee length black skirt. No shorts. Yuck!

Principal (sighing): Right! No shorts! Three days of detention starting today. You know where to go.

Principal (adressing the boy): William, this is first time you have been sent here. What do you have to say in your defence?

William: Please Sir, my mother forgot to get me a skirt. I promise we’ll get me one for tomorrow!

Lindsay sits on the bleachers watching the football team training. Even though Lindsay might be a bit prejudiced, Andrew, Lindsay’s brother, is undoubtedly the best player.

Lindsay’s thoughts
How I envy my big, strong, manly brother. How much easier life would have been if I only had been a little bit more like him. Popular, no doubts at all, no internal struggle!

Well, that was not for me. I’m not like that. I’m “petite” and always looked more like a girl. A pretty girl at that. I was terribly bullied. It would have been even worse if Andrew hadn’t done everything he could to stop the bullies. The overt bullying stopped but all the little things kept going on and on and on. The sly remarks, the cold shoulders, the not belonging. Even the other outcasts shunned me. Oh, how I envied Andrew.

Strong and popular he was one of the “IN” crowd from day one. And then he became first a baseball star and then a football star. He had no idea how I envied him. I cried myself to sleep endless night wanting to be like him. It didn’t help at all that he was the kindest big brother imaginable. I only envied him even more.

I suppose that my envy was one reason I was so reluctant to admit to myself who I am. Once more it was Andrew that brought me out of my shell. He was there to support me when I told my parents. That was no easy thing. It took them months to accept that I’m a girl. Those months were horrible. Not that they beat me or anything like that but the refusal to accept me hurt terribly. Fortunately I had Andrew. Oh, how I wished I was like him instead of this parody of a boy who knew he was girl.

Once our parents accepted me things got better for a while. Until school started again. Once more I wished I had been a big, strong, popular boy like Andrew. That first semester … No I’m not going to think about that!

Slowly, terribly slowly things settled down and now I’m, mostly, accepted as the girl I am. It would have been much worse without Andrew’s support. Even though he’s a boy I still envy him immensely. How much easier life would have been!

Andrew looks up at the bleachers and sees Lindsay sitting there in a pretty dress that sets off the lithe body perfectly. Golden locks framing the beautiful fine featured face.

Andrew’s thoughts
Oh, I envy my little brother. No, little sister, I must never forget that! How I envy her courage and her looks, the way that dress flows around her. On me it’d look absolutely ridiculous
How I wish I had her courage and looks. I wish I was pretty like her. I really wish I was as brave as her. How much easier things would have been. Struggle yes, but an end to torment.

If only I was brave enough to admit that I’m a girl too!

The Producer sighed as he looked at the cast. He just as well should send them home from the theatre. What a situation! It could have been a producer’s dream: The leading lady stabbed at dress rehearsal. What could be better publicity for a detective play? The only problem was that the leading lady had been taken to hospital and wasn’t expected to recover for months while her understudy had been taken by the police.

As he told the cast to go home and wait for new instructions the Producer noticed the prompter. The prompter was a short man of slight build despite spending lots of time at the gym. The amazing thing about him was that he knew the entire play by hart, stage notes and all. The producer remembered that the prompter had tried out for a couple of roles a long time ago. He was an amazing actor; nice baritone, always knew the lines perfectly, great diction and delivery. Everything was perfect, as long as you kept your eyes shut. When you saw him there was something completely off with his body language. Too bad the heydays of radio drama had passed.

But now looking at the prompter the Producer got an idea. He realized that the body language problem was because it was giving off feminine vibes. Take away the goatee, put a wig on the crew cut head and cover up the slightly oversized muscles and there he had his new leading lady! Maybe he could even milk this angle for publicity? Well, that didn’t matter right now. He called the prompter back to his office.

Producer: “John, I want you to play the female lead! I think you would be perfect for it if we shave off your beard and with the right make-up and wig and some voice coaching. This is your great chance to be on stage!

John the Prompter: Sorry, Paul. That would be contrary to all I believe in.

Paul: What’s the problem? Religion?

John: Oh, not at all. The church I go to have no problem with transgendered people. As a matter of fact I’m transgendered and that’s …

Paul: Hey, this is great! I was going to tell you that you definitely give off feminine vibes. This could be your opportunity to try living as a female. You know, telling people that the role requires total immersion and all that.

John: No Paul, you don’t understand…

Paul: I know that taking the step is a huge risk but today it’s more and more and accepted and it’s not something to be ashamed of. Speaking frankly the way you have been overcompensating your masculinity; the beard, crew cut, leather jackets, going to the gym all the time, it's a bit ridiculous. The more I look at you the more I see the woman.

John: You have no idea how much you hurt me, Paul. I had better leave now.

Paul: Why? I really want to help you!

John: I know you mean well. I AM transgendered. Female to male. Transition completed. Supposedly

I gritted my teeth but kept a smile on my lips. While I knew this would come up in my job interview, I had hoped it wouldn’t. Even six years later I got sick thinking about it. Hope hadn’t conquered reality.

Yes, I’m the one Secret Service agent that survived that debacle. And no, I wasn’t fired. I resigned. And the reason I resigned wasn’t the death of the President and her husband. It was all the fault of the First Brat,

First Brat is what I called the President’s son as soon as I saw him. Well, I had been told to call the boy “her” and “she” and use the name Sheila. Transgender they said. I still can’t understand why they had assigned me to the First Brat’s team. I hated children. I didn’t hate transgender people. I just thought they were crazy. You are who you are. That’s decided at birth. A boy is a boy. A girl is a girl. I certainly never had any crazy ideas like that.

It was hate at first sight. Mutual at that. I had been assigned to the First Brat despite my objections and I had sworn to do my duty. The boy saw the contempt in my eyes and sighed. Surprisingly he just said: “Oh, what the fuck. Another phobe. Why bother, they are just as bad all of them. At least he doesn’t appear to be as bad as that woman agent. Let’s keep him” And then he gave me a good look. “At least he’s a hunk.”.

That was the first of many times the First Brat made me uncomfortable. I did no appreciate to hear that from a 13-year-old boy dressed in a frilly dress. I’m not gay and I deplore the early sexualization of children in our society.

That was only the beginning of “beautiful” troubled relationship. The boy was not only weird but lazy as well. AND he played the victimization card all the time. Oh, he got how I despised him all right, even if I couldn’t say anything and he hit back. I hate to think about how many shops for young teen girls he dragged me to. And every time he asked me for my opinion about that dress, skirt, top or high heeled shoes looked on him. I cringed every time. Especially since his fashion sense was not exactly on the demure side. How his parents let him get away with I can’t understand. I mean, he WAS the First Brat and in the public view! Well, actually I DO understand how he got away with it. His parents didn’t really give a damn about him. The less contact they had the happier they were. They were aware of it and probably felt somewhat guilty, and the kid was an expert in the victimization game. The fact that the didn’t have ONE relative closer that an old spinster second cousin once removed didn’t exactly help either combined with the distance the position of First Brat placed between him and his school mates. No peer pressure/correction.

I said the boy was lazy. He sure wasn’t stupid but did abysmally in school. I did not enjoy going back to school. I told you that I hated children. Besides I was never comfortable that the First Brat was out of my sight in the locker room. I wasn’t allowed in the girls’ locker room. I couldn’t fathom how they let HIM. Anyway, the expensive private school had a female security guard in the locker room but I still felt uncomfortable letting the kid out of my sight. I felt it was unprofessional. I also resented the way the school coddled him. Why did they let him get away with doing nothing? I might have mentioned once or twice to the First Brat that he should study more. Then he hit back and challenged me to explain things he didn’t understand. I wasn’t hired to be some damned tutor! On the other side I hated to see a very sharp, if carefully hidden, brain just go to waste. Of course I wasn’t paid any extra for all those extra hours. At least the First Brat didn’t waste my efforts. His grades went up. Amazingly fast too.

I’m not sure but that may have had something to do with the kid starting to actually listen to my opinions when shopping. I still didn’t exactly approve of how “she” dressed” but still, it wasn’t any longer borderline slutty.

This didn’t happen overnight but after two years the First Brat and I achieved something of a mutual respect. “She” really was bright and if I had a long talk with her before any public appearance “she” started to act like a proper, almost professional, First Daughter. I had to careful though and keep “her” on a tight leash.

Then “she” started dating. Besides from firmly believing it was unnatural I had the unenviable task of vetting any potential date/boyfriend. That first boy, very cute and all, wouldn’t do; drug possession. That “awfully cute” Arab boy? Well, his cousin’s cousin featured in Homeland Security files as a potential terrorist. Of course I vetoed him. Then there was that totally vanilla kid. I couldn’t understand what “Sheila” saw in him. I had no objections though. The vetting turned out that the boy really was completely vanilla. And boring! One date only. “Sheila” claimed it was because I intimidated him. I firmly reject any such accusation. Then there was Bob. I liked him. Bright, fun and HE wasn’t intimidated by me. I still don’t know why I didn’t veto him. He did have a previous speeding ticket. I hate to admit it but they were cute together. Sometimes I even forgot that “Sheila” really was a boy. OK. I admit, “Sheila” was on “her” way to become a lovely girl. Too bad their relationship foundered after the “incident”.

Yes, the incident. I still can’t remember anything about it. I have been told I did some remarkable things and have the scars to prove it but I just can’t remember. Unfortunately the only thing I DO remember is hugging the terrified teenage girl with the blody corpses of her parents in front of us. She had lost EVERYTHING. Probably more than she realized. When trying to comfort the sobbing girl I didn’t tell her that MY assignment was over. She wasn’t the First Brat any longer.

When I got out of hospital I resigned. I was not up to another personal protection assignment. So, it really was the First Brat’s fault that I left the Secret Service. AND I want to stress that I resigned on my initiative. They practically begged me to stay. I got a 9 to 5 job where I have worked since then but now I feel the time has come for something more challenging again. That’s why I applied for this job.

I’m afraid that this has taken longer than I had planned so I have to leave now.

Not finished? I don’t give a damn. I have more important things to do than to play the game the way you want to. To be perfectly honest I don’t rate your interviewing skills very highly.

What is more important than you? Many, many things. But in particular my daughter’s graduation from university. Summa Cum Laude! I’m extremely proud of that young woman. Even if Sheila complains that I still intimidate her boyfriends.

Tom and Taylor had been best friends ever since kindergarten. They weren’t exactly inseparable any longer but every minute they could you would find them together. It really was quite fun to see them. Tom was BIG. A star athlete. Discus, shot put and things like that. Taylor was tiny and cute. He excelled in softer areas. Home Ec wizard, dancing, fashion … You couldn’t imagine two boys that were more different. It was really quite fun to watch them. No denying that there was a very close bond between them though. Perhaps it was because both of them were such firm conservatives.

Given that, it made quite a sensation when Taylor one day turned up in school in a very cute dress and subtle but very becoming make-up. Firmly embraced by Tom and the kiss they shared before going to their respective classes was legendary.

Most people were just stunned. They hadn’t expected anything like that.
Those who knew them better had seen clues of their love for each other. Hiding such a thing is not easy.
Those who knew them VERY well were the most surprised, given the couple’s firmly held beliefs.

Had they overheard the meeting with the most (in)famous couple in the school and the Headmaster they would have understood better.

Headmaster: Right boys. You really surprised me. Of course we will make everything we can to facilitate Taylor’s transition. If you excuse me, could you please tell me how this came about? Ehm, to be honest eh Isn’t this against your beliefs?

Taylor: Well, we hadn’t expected to fall in love but we did. We couldn’t be happier we did. There is no love like ours. However, you are quite right, we firmly believe that love should only be between one boy and one girl. That complicated things. So we decided to flip a coin to decide who would be the girl.

Tom: I lost.

Bru: So you are afraid that your son may be transgendered? So what, your child will still be the same person, only happier if you accept and support her.

Friend: Are you sure?

Bru: Sure, nearly 20 years ago some other friends of mine had twins. Fraternal twins, a girl and a boy. According to gender stereotyping the boy should be a great athlete like the father and the other artistic, sensitive and dance ballet and so on like their mother. Well, it sort of turned out that way.

When the twins were 13 they faced a similar situation as you do now when their child came out as transgendered. Of course it upset my friends but they were wise and supported their child. Nothing really changed that much. They still drove their children to baseball practices and ballet classes respectively. Of course they attended all their children’s games and ballet recitals. They still went camping and one child loved it and the other one still went along just because it was a family thing. Now one of them just signed a contract with a minor league team and the other is on the way of becoming a clothes designer.

Guy butting in: I know who are. You are the one that writes those silly short stories with a twist at the end at BCTS and now you are going to tell us that it’s the baseball player that used to be the boy!

Bru: Not at all! It’s the future clothes designer and ballet-dancing boy that was born a girl.

Document dated August 15:
Request for Andie (a neat line crossing out the name which has been replaced by hand with "Andrew") McPherson to attend her ("her" crossed out. By hand: “his”) sophomore year as a girl. Various attachments including psychological evaluation.
Note by Principal Smith: Rejected! Unnatural!

Document dated August 16:
Request directed to school board appealing the decision of Principal Smith.
School Board decision: Unanimous endorsement of Principal Smith’s decision.

Document dated September 1:
Formal withdrawal of request for Andie (name once more crossed and replaced by hand with "Andrew") McPherson to attend school as a girl.
Note by principal Smith: Andrew’s comment “I know a good thing when I see it” completely vindicated my principled stand.

Documents dated September:
Concerns regarding Andrew McPherson’s dress from various teachers.
Principal Smith’s notes: I’ll tell that fag! (later) I hate that my hands are tied and I can’t do anything officially!

Documents dated September, October, November and December:
Concerns regarding the status of Andrew McPherson from various teachers, in particular from Coach Wilson regarding the locker rooms.
Principal Smith’s notes: Ranging from “Liberal Hogwash” to “Shut up and do your damned job or you’ll be fired”

Document dated December 20:
Decision by School board regarding petition signed by the parents of 92% of the boys in the sophomore year protesting the presence of “that ogling girl” in the boys’ locker room making their sons very uncomfortable.

Attached copy of letter, also dated December 20, to Mr and Mrs McPherson

Dear Mr and Mrs McPherson,.
We will be happy for your daughter Andie to attend Chester A. Arthur High School next semester.
I sincerely regret the events of last semester.

Best regards
John Wilson
Acting Principal Chester A. Arthur High School

I dearly love my twin. I may complain about the consequences but I really do love Alexis. Fraternal twins, of course. We couldn’t be more different. Alexis is the younger one, by 28 minutes. Already as a baby Alexis was small and prone to get sick. I on the other hand have always been “robust”. I’ve always felt very protective about Alexis. That’s how I got dragged into the “Girly-girly swamp”.

Even in France a small child may be a victim of bullies. Fortunately I was always been there to protect and serve. By age 10 Alexis began to be less sickly and grew to be very pretty though quite petite. Taking ballet helped both health-wise and demeanor-wise. As opposed to me (a soccer fanatic) Alexis never liked sports. Ballet provided Alexis with vital challenging physical exercise. There’s a damned lot of work behind making things look that effortless! Of course Alexis taking ballet meant that I did as well. I grew to love it. The movements, the strength required for the leaps and turns … I did NOT wear pink! Black tights over white leotard, please! Alexis on the other hand couldn’t be more girly-girly. Everything pink, lacy and so on. I do love Alexis but when it comes to taste …

I liked things as they were. Life was good. Then Mother got this fantastic job offer in the US!

At first there were no problems, until we got those papers from our new High School. Americans!

So insular, so unaware of other cultures! Alexis and Claude – naturally that had to be two girls so they “corrected” that sex box our parents had ticked quite correctly. I pointed out the error to my parents. I should have done it when Alexis wasn’t present. Alexis made clear that this was great. This way we could be together in more classes including PE. The argument was silly since my classes, geared towards math and science and Alexis’ – geared towards art and fashion differed so much anyway. Alexis kept on about the “danger” of the locker rooms. Alexis played on my ingrained sense of protectiveness and responsibility. I gave in and dropped my objections. You think I was weak? I’d like to see YOU resist two large doe puppy-eyes pleading! Not that I got any support form my parents. We were both going to start school as girls. Mother and Father started getting the necessary documentations.

A few months later Father dropped us off outside our new school and told me I looked good in my skirt, my first ever. Not as short as Alexis’ but it still gave me a feeling of being exposed. There was one thing in our favor. We were fresh”men” meaning that we wouldn’t come into a milieu of already formed groups. We felt lost but so did our classmates as well.

I had hoped to keep a low profile. No such luck! The circumstances around me and Alexis soon become known. A Transgendered boy, sorry girl! As it happened we became the focus of an ongoing culture war in the school. One camp talking about “abomination” and quite ready to burn us on a stake and the other determined to make us more than welcome. As it turned out the balance of power had already shifted away from the conservatives, in this case led by sophomore Mary Lopez. There were petitions, rallies, heated school-board meetings and so on and Mary organized all her friends into making my and Alexis’ lives as close to hell as possible. All wailing availing to nothing. Already from the beginning one could predict the outcome and when … well, I’ll get to THAT later.

However, there was enough opposition that the “progressive” forces embraced us. Determined to provide full feminine immersion both Alexis and I were “annexed” to the cheerleading squad even if we didn’t qualify. As the year went on Alexis thrived in the squad and by sophomore year you could find Alexis on top of the pyramid. Me – occasionally at the base – at training. I DID try. I worked hard. I was considered as a reserve. Not that this meant that I could slack off. On the contrary. I had to learn more than one position.

Further, we weren’t allowed any deviation from the highest feminine standards. How they set those standards was a mystery to me. You can’t imagine what some shops in the US peddle to teenage girls! How the pink, purple, frills, lace and cutesy (and in my opinion absolutely tacky) things Alexis wore could be “high standard” was beyond me. Me – I preferred more conservative dress(es).

And ballet. We both were signed up for ballet in school. There no longer was any escape from pink for me. I tried to convince our teacher that black tights over white leotard is an eminently suitable ballet attire. I failed. I was a girl and had to follow the dress code. Pink tights, pink slippers, black camisole leotard. The teacher also found out that both Alexis and I had several years of training so she put us in beginner’s pointe class. Have you any idea what your feet feels like after 30 minutes of pointe class?

Alexis and I had to make another visit to the dance shop. Straight and narrow Alexis had no problem finding pointe shoes that fit. I’m not as narrow and all the shoes available would have twisted inwards if I tried dancing in them. The idea is to get your foot, and shoe, to turn outwards to get the right support. Finally we had to specially order my shoes. Freed’s size 6 ½, XXXXXXX wide!

There was one breathing hole for me. I ignored all protests and attended the open football training that Coach had going. Anyone was welcome. Coach had found that this gave him both a wider selection when picking his teams and gave him a better understanding of abilities and potential. We got along great! I also mingled with another set of people. I got to be good friends with Mike, Peter and Luke, all sophomores. The good thing was that they all were part of the “progressive” set so gender equality was not an issue for them. The bad part was that they were part of the “progressive” set which meant that the aided and abetted those plunging me and Alexis into femininity. Still whenever I needed a break from the cheerleaders and the even more girly set Alexis had become a part of I still could get a break.

Did you know that American boys are suckers for a French accent? I’m NOT pretty but still boys were attracted to my accent. I lost it as fast as I could. Alexis on the other hand couldn’t have been more pleased with the attention… For a while our parents were quite worried but then they realized that Alexis is a “butterfly” flitting from one boy to another without actually engaging any deeper feelings. That’s when I started to worry. Alexis really is a people person though, even befriending Mary Lopez. There was the time Mary became estranged from her old set (they really hated her). She was really lost for a while and when Alexis reached out to her … However, Mary never got comfortable with Alexis set so I also relented and forgave her. Even if I kind had hated her for what she did I empathized with her now and soon you could find her with me, Mike, Peter and Luke. I think Luke had a thing for her.

And so freshman year went on. For the summer we went to France. I really didn’t see the point in me wearing a tiny bikini on the beach but my Father and Mother insisted that I get the proper tan lines. Alexis and I had a reputation to uphold, well Alexis did and my parents thought I should follow the example. To be perfectly honest – and DO NOT TELL ANYBODY – I was kind of flattered by the attention I got. There was one boy … NO! I won’t go there!

Sophomore year started out like freshman year. Math, science, football practice, cheerleading practice, ballet classes and thus back to the old routine. I did well at football practice and coach gave me some extra attention. The cheerleading captain made me a permanent reserve, not that I ever got on the field. In ballet I managed to do my first clean pirouette en pointe. It was a glorious feeling! It was like I was floating on air. I just had to get more of that fix! The pink didn’t bother me any longer. Not even the tutu that we started to wear when rehearsing for the recital. Actually, it was kind of cute.

The frills on Alexis’ dresses kind of locked rather nice so I got myself a dress with a few frills. OK, the dress caused a few comments at football practice but I still hung out with Mike, Mary, Peter and Luke even if they now were Juniors. Peter had been picked for the junior team. He was rather handsome in the uniform. I realized that Alexis’ crowd wasn’t that bad. True, they were a bit giggly and so on but not really THAT bad and the stories Nina told about the boys hihihi. Wait? Was that me giggling? Pink isn’t that bad a color. Why did I ever think so?

Towards spring Alexis and the girls in both sets I moved in finally persuaded me to go on a date. Peter, who I thus far only had considered to be a good friend, asked me and I couldn’t turn him down could I? We celebrated (while still a secret) that Coach had picked Peter to be the Quarterback next year and that I had also made the team, the best d**ned soccer-style kicker Coach ever seen! Me being a girl was not a problem, Title IX you known. That first date was followed by a second and a third and… I realized I had got myself a boyfriend! Alexis noted that my skirts had gotten shorter since I started dating Peter. I hadn’t noticed. I retrieved my cute French accent. I even got myself a BFF as well. Someone I really could discuss fashion, make-up and such things with. I couldn’t have found a better teacher. And yes, I DID discuss boys as well with my BFF. I was well on the way to being sucked into the Girly-Girly swamp! Well Alexis thrived there so why couldn’t I? I was become addicted to the girliest clothing, boy bands (I had discovered K-pop). I even considered changing classes. I had become addicted to the girliest possible way of life, or so I thought.

The next summer Mum had to work for two months in Japan. The rest of the family joined her (daddy is a writer). It was like locking an alcoholic in a bar overnight. Have you seen the Lolita dresses you can get there? I had no resistance left - I overdosed. I got the pinkest, frilliest dresses that even Alexis scorned. I frolicked in the Girly-girly swamp. I had become a swamp monster!

Fortunately my BFF saved me and just in time for my Junior year. After endless, patient talks my BFF made me realize that giving in to my girly side didn’t have to mean that I went to the other extreme. When asked: “Claude, do you really like all this pink and frills or was it just something you have convinced yourself you HAD to like?” I was forced to look into myself. With my BFF’s help I realized I could be a girl that likes tasteful feminine clothing, loves to dance ballet, en particulier en pointe and at the same time lives to play football.

I tell you that when at the beginning of the fall semester Coach announced that I had made the team he really stirred up things. Not the gender thing. The Cheerleader captain, unbeknownst to coach, had just announced that I had been made a regular on the cheerleading team. I couldn’t be in two places at the same time (even if on the same field). Nobody, absolutely NOBODY had ever turned down a place on the cheerleading team. Coach wouldn’t budge, I was his secret weapon that finally could get us to the play-offs. The issue split the school down the middle. The old fault-line conservative and progressive had disappeared. Now the issue was should I be a cheerleader or should I play football. I myself was split down the middle. I loved football but I also loved the cheerleading team, not that anybody bothered to ask ME. I was saved by my boyfriend, the QB. Peter stated that 1) He wanted his girlfriend on the team 2) He wanted to date a cheerleader => I was to play on the team and be a cheerleader on all other occasions. Period.

Rather strange logic but everyone, including me, bought it. Of course Peter used unfair means when persuading me – he FRENCH kissed me!

Things settled down. I lived up to Coach’s expectations, and to the cheerleading team’s (and to Peter’s giggle). Alexis finally got serious with someone. Not just anyone but the person I would have least expected: Mary! Mary even asked Alexis to the prom. Peter asked me. Well, the formal asking was just a pure formality.

I say that we made a quite a splash at the prom. My little brother (all of 28 minutes younger) was as cute as could be (and pretty). Sorry, as of the day before she was now finally officially my little sister. She really was lucky to have a name that in our native France is masculine while everyone in the US erroneously thinks is female. Her partner Mary, or more correctly Francis (also as of the day before) couldn’t have been more handsome in his tuxedo. Francis was very grateful to Alexis for overcoming the barrier he had felt to admit that he was a boy, the reason why he had tried to destroy Alexis’ life. When he saw Alexis’ determination and the natural certainty of her gender he had finally had had the courage to admit his own gender to himself. Francis really had had a much tougher time transitioning than Alexis. His parents had come around without too much of a problem but at the cost of severing all their old social ties.

I was feeling very ladylike in my gorgeous blue gown. The gown was such that it was impossible to feel anything less in it. “Auntie” Bru had given it to me. “Auntie” Bru is not only a doll but also quite droll. Just imagine admonishing me to “beware of Oklahoma cowgirls” when wearing it. Well, “Auntie” IS a bit strange. Next to me I had my BFF in an equally gorgeous gown. I was lucky to have a BFF that was also my boyfriend, a boyfriend that (mistakenly) claims that I’m his role model. Someone that isn’t afraid straddle the faux-binary gender divide. It was him seeing me both dance en pointe and play football even if genetically XX (or XXXXXXX according to Freed’s of London) that had given him the courage to reveal his own genderbending (he sucks at ballet though). Seeing us Coach shook his head in a resigned way. Peter and I DO cause a stir on away games. Coach wasn’t able to hide his fond smile though. Well, we DID bring back that big ugly trophy that he can’t stop admiring even when the Principal finally pried it out of his office.

PS
The parts referring to ballet including pointe work but excluding the clothing part is autobiographical. Yes, the shoe size stated is the one I got from Freed's of London.

It’s not easy for a single mother to raise a son but I think that Sam and I have done OK for the last ten years. Of course a job with a good salary helped. Sam and I have grown quite close so it came as complete surprise when I came home to find Sam at my vanity, wearing only a set of sexy lingerie, including garter belt and stockings, crying over the complete mess of an unskilled attempt to apply make-up.

I hadn’t really associated Sam with anything feminine. Never a trace of make-up, no skirts, no dresses. Talking about dresses; the apparently brand new dress, still with the tag on it, hanging next to the dresser was completely inappropriate for a first date. The stress was definitely on the L in LBD. Way too skimpy!

Even though Sam and I are very close we both knew that that was about to end that year with the end of high school and going away to college. I had recently started dating and found myself a boy-friend. Sam had also found someone – Tim, a 25 years old boy! I wasn’t too happy about it. The age difference was too big. On the other hand I liked the boy, or rather young man. Apart from being a hunk, he was mature and intelligent and apparently genuinely cared for Sam.

That night was going to be their first real date. Tim had got tickets for the theater and then had booked a table at the nicest restaurant in town, which only made the skimpy dress even more inappropriate.

Well, there was nothing to do but clear up the mess starting with the hair. I was relieved that we had quite a lot of time because that was necessary. Fortunately the hair was just long enough for me to do something with it. The puffing of the eyes had receded a little by then and with my skill at applying make-up no one would suspect it. To be honest I was quite pleased with what I achieved! I got out my best evening dress from my closet. Frankly I was a bit jealous. I wished I’d look as stunning in it! Add a little bit of my jewelry; necklace, bracelet, ear-rings (well, clip-ons since there were no holes). In front of me I now had a sophisticated woman ready for the theatre and a nice meal with her boyfriend.

I shooed Sam out of my room. I had to make myself ready for my date.

Before leaving Sam came back into my room and said:

- Thank you Andrew. You’re the best son a mother could wish for.

- Aw, Mum! I only want to you to be happy. It’s been a long time since Dad passed away and you deserve to find love again. One thing. Remember that tonight you’re Samantha, an attractive lady and not Sam the only female foreman at the steel-mill.
Have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!

- Oh, that reminds me: Andrew, do you have any spare condoms?

While getting a couple of them for Mum I reflected that the totally inappropriate LBD was completely appropriate for what I had planned for the night.

It all started one morning in Home Room, soon after I had started Sophomore year, when Mrs Black announced that a new foreign boy would be joining our high school. She looked at the paper and said that she thought he was from Germany since he was named Gerd. At that moment the new boy arrived. He conformed to the stereotypical German in that he had blond hair and the most amazing blue eyes. He wasn’t tall, probably some eight inches shorter than me. Overall “Cute” would be an apt description. I also noticed his long gorgeous legs. I was determined to enjoy them as much as I could that day, since there was no way the school would allow him to wear such a ridiculous short skirt more than the first day.

I don’t hide that my preference is for girly boys. I’m quite open about and it hasn’t stopped me from being one of the most popular boys in school. Over the summer my effeminate boyfriend (or as our friends called him: girlyfriend) from the last two years had moved away so I was fortunately single for the moment. So what if I had pined for Martin just a minute ago? Carpe Diem. I really wanted to get to know Gerd better. Mrs Black aided and abetted. She placed Gerd next to me and told me to help Gerd find his way in school. I was given this task since our schedules were the same. Better and better.

During the morning Gerd and I got to know each other. He was smart. He had skipped two years. That explained the rather youthful appearance he had. I really liked the person and hoped that we could be a couple in time. From the looks Gerd gave me I had some hope that the feeling wasn’t completely one-sided. At lunchtime some cheerleaders, great and friendly girls, took Gerd aside and I presume updated him about me. At least that was the idea I got from the frequent looks they gave me. Positive: Gerd didn’t run away screaming but joined me for lunch.

Well, the way Gerd was dressed had not completely evaded the powers that be. Ours is a very liberal high school but there were things that needed to be clarified. As we were having lunch the Principal came by and asked Gerd to have a word. Instead of going to the office the Principal just took Gerd away a few meters. The principal’s voice is louder than he thinks so I could hear him. He asked Gerd whether he was transgender or a crossdresser. In the former case they’d have to change some classes such as PE. Looking at me Gerd answered that he wasn’t transgendered. The way he reacted and the way he looked at me made me suspicious. He just might be transgendered after all. Hope not! Unfortunately he was also told not to wear such short skirts. Bummer! When leaving, the Principal looked at me and told Gerd that he could do worse than me and winked.

The Fall term was great. I and Gerd got very close. We had lunch together. We dated. He was the most amazing boy I had ever met. Smart, funny, vivacious. He never again wore such a short skirt again, only nearly as short ones. I couldn’t stop looking at those amazing legs. The short skirts were a surprise since Gerd was a bit shy otherwise. I never saw him undressed. He never showered with the rest of us after PE. However, I noticed that he looked at me, when I was naked, with great pleasure. When we went swimming he changed into his girl one-piece in the restroom. He was good at tucking. Even practice after school turned out to be coordinated. The cheerleaders made Gerd try out and to his surprise he had what it took. So when I had football practice Gerd had cheerleading practice with the girls. I only regretted that Gerd preferred changing with the cheearleading team for the spirit thing. The cheerleaders usually are friendly and level-headed. Not that that really changed but with one of them dating me they started giggling whenever they saw me. Me? I had never considered the possibility that I would date a cheerleader. Now when I was, I liked it. I liked it a lot.

Spring was as good as Fall. As the weather got warmer I noticed that Gerd appeared to have started to pad his bra. Or, was it as I had suspected that he really was transgendered? I started to get a bit worried. I like girly BOYS. However, those thoughts soon disappeared. Gerd and I were having too good a time. I couldn’t have found a better girlyfriend! He even got me to start taking ballet classes. He looked scrumptious in his spaghetti strap leotard and pink tights. His point work was very graceful. He was such a girly boy! Me? Well, I was a beginner, i.e. on a completely different level. I had never worn tights before. It was strange feeling, especially with the thong dance belt and thong leotard. I liked it. I was a bit embarrassed the first class. Gerd had pulled a prank on me and got me thinner black dance tights than men normally wear. Not exactly opaque. I also learned that a lavender leotard is also less than usual for my gender. However, since it was Gerd who had got me the stuff as a present I just grinned and kept using the stuff. Besides, the thinner tights made it easier for the teacher to see my leg muscles. As a matter of fact I liked the feeling of tights. I started to wear tights at other times as well. I brightened up school with a selection of brightly colored tights. Well, it really was Gerd that started I just followed suit. Why had I been so reluctant to wear various colors before? I found that I like pink and lavender. Gerd really enjoyed wearing skirts and dresses. He looked so cool, in both senses of the word, in them. That intrigued me so much that I even wore a skirt myself occasionally. Yes, I was told off the first time since I had tried to match Gerd’s short skirt. Hey, I’m gay so what! And the way just a hint of make-up made Gerd look gorgeous, why shouldn’t I try it? As for swimming I stuck to my speedos. Why would I wear a bikini top?

All went well until the end of Spring term. I asked Gerd to the big end of year dance. I thought it was a no-brainer but Gerd collapsed in tears and sobbed that he couldn’t!

Perplexed I stood there in a quite pretty dress and thin pantyhose. Then I realized what a terrible mistake I had made. I like girly boys. I had let myself become a girly boy. I was the girlyfriend. Gerd was a girly boy. Of course he’d want a manly boyfriend, not a girlyfriend. No wonder he didn’t like me anymore.

- I’m so sorry I’ve let you down. I’ve let myself be seduced by how happy you have been being girly.
- No, you big stupid wonderful oaf. I kind of like you in skirts, I love you dressed any way you like, I love you with no clothes on. The problem is much worse than that. I’m Swedish, not German.
- Swedish? Why is that so terrible? I know very little about swedes except that they can be delicious when cooked correctly. Apart from that silly joke the truth is that the only things I “know” about Swedes is “The Swedish Chef”. If that is who Swedes are you may have a point.
- You don’t understand. I’m not a boy. I’m a girl!
- Then I was right when I suspected you are trans and not just girly!
- No, I’m a girl, a genetic girl. In Sweden Gerd is girl name while Gerd is a boy name in Germany.

She pronounced the two versions of Gerd in quite distinct ways: soft/hard G and the d sounded like a t in the German version.

- I’m so sorry I have been lying to you. When I first met you I fell in love with you at once. When everyone thought I was a German boy called Gerd and then I found out you only like girly boys. Well, I played along. You have no idea how hard it has been to carry that secret. It was only when with the cheerleaders I could be a real girl.

The cheerleaders knew? That’s why they had been giggling all year. Those ….

I looked at Gerd. How could SHE have deceived me so thoroughly and for so long? Had she no shame in her body?

Well, looking at her she apparently did. She had collapsed once again into a sobbing heap.

I looked at the person that had betrayed me for most of a year. The person I had completely lost my heart to. It was tough but there was no question of what I had to do. I said to her

- Well, nobody’s perfect.

and then proceeded to embrace her and kiss her mercilessly.
She stopped sobbing.

Eyes open. I wake up early. It’s a lovely day. The sun shines, the birds sing and all that. While waking up properly I realize that I feel girly today. I have no idea where that came from. But why not go to school in girl mode?

I know I don’t have any skirts, especially not uniform skirts, in my wardrobe but anything else should be possible to find. Shoes: similar. White knee-socks: one pair at the back of the drawer. White blouse: white shirt is acceptable. Jacket; same for both versions of the dress-code. Tie: same. Underwear: same as usual. Who’s going to see them anyway? No gym today. Now for the uniform skirt. I don’t have one but my evil twin does, at least five of them. As a matter of fact the little rat has more clothes than any girl could possibly use.

MOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!
Uh, uh. A piece of advice: when raiding someone’s closet listen carefully to when the shower stops.

Mom sighs: “Peter, Judy what are you up to now?” That’s us, a.k.a. the infamous quarrelling twins (fraternal of course).
Mom isn’t stupid though. Seeing me there in the pleated school uniform skirt she realises what’s up.
“Are you really sure you want to do this? Considering your rather “forceful” stand during the debate about gender-neutral dress-code you will be in for a lot of teasing.”
[Discussion with at times raised voices…]
“Well it’s your funeral. Don’t come crying to me later though”
To the weasel:
“I will not ask you to lend your skirt. What you’ll do is to give it away and we’ll go shopping tonight.”
Shopping, the magic word. I could almost see the dollar signs in the shopaholic’s eyes.
“Will this apply to anything else necessary to make my SISTER presentable?”
“Of course, do your worst” said my mother with a smile, knowing very well what she was allowing to happen to me.

Strangely, this turns into the best “brother/sister” moment in years. To begin with I get a crash course in make-up. I have to make sure to keep it toned down since I have no intention of going to school looking like a whore. OK, maybe my opinion about that is more conservative than about 97% of the girls in school. What we finally settle on is very nice though and I’m amazed what could be done with my hair. I refused all jewellery. While not banned it’s discouraged at our school. The skirt is another point of dissension. Even though the scamp claims to know exactly what you can get away with regarding skirt length (admittedly an irrefutable expertise) I prefer the one skirt not shortened. The silk blouse is really nice. I didn’t know clothes could give you feelings like this. Underwear: I know that thongs aren’t allowed but who will know? And I’m discovering that I do love silk. The matching padded bra creates the illusion that I have quite big breasts. The knee-socks get discarded and I discover the delight of really classy sheer tights (yes, they are allowed by the dress-code). My mother and I are informed that I also will go shopping tonight. If nothing else I need new shoes since my feet are too big to “inherit” any of the available. So I was partially right earlier, my shoes are good enough for the time being. When ready we really look like twins. Well, if you count one rather demure in regulation length skirt and tights and one faux-innocent Lolita-wannabe in too short pleated skirt, practically see-through blouse and knee-socks. Yes, yes, I know my description may be influenced by my hopelessly outdated standards.

“Peter, Judy. Hurry up!”
Despite our early start we are running late so mom drives us to school. We get there just in time for the bell. My mates all get stunned expressions when they see me but there is no time to talk as we walk into the class-room.

Damn, I had forgotten that we have Mrs. White today. The most bigoted teacher in school. I know I’m going to hate what’s coming. Luckily I’m way back in the crowd and initially she’s focussing on those wearing short skirts (including you-know-who). Now she sees me. I can see her face change. Heeere it comes!

“Judy, how nice to see you dressed like the proper young lady you are and not like some grubby tomboy!” AAARGH!

Peter really shouldn’t have worn those thong panties when falling off his chair laughing, especially not wearing that short skirt.

There has been some comments about that someone should write a story featuring vibrating bras. Well, here is a short, not very serious, one.

You might think that no boy would be interested in buying a vibrating bra for himself.

You’d be wrong.

I suffer from gynecomastia. I had big floppy things on my chest. You saw that thing on Ellen? It appeared that the vibrating bra thing were supposed to both make breast smaller and firmer. In comparison to what I had that would be a huge improvement.

Just for once the ad corresponded to reality. At least for me. My big floppy things grew smaller and firmer. Besides, I liked the feeling. Don’t tell anyone!

My best friend Ryan was fascinated by my new boobs. Not in THAT way perverts!

What fascinated him was that my breasts when stimulated by the vibrations started to oscillate audibly. Actually, they resonated VERY audibly. By changing posture I could change pitch and stop/start the sound. Quite a nice beat could be heard even in a large space like our assembly hall.

Both Ryan and I were budding musicians. Ryan was a competent drummer. The best in school so he was in the school orchestra. I was an extremely good flutist. Unfortunately only the third best in school so I wasn’t in the orchestra.

To make a long story short I found myself having my breasts thoroughly examined by our (male) music teacher. At the time we thought nothing about it. In hindsight …

Well, I finally made the school orchestra. I was a bit disappointed though. I mean, my breast clearly sounded off by being beaten so I really should have been in the percussion section with my best friend Ryan but our music teacher put me in the bras section.

The locker room had just become empty when the school Quarterback and the head cheerleader entered. The Quarterback bent down and kissed the cute but short cheerleader. A rather commonplace situation in many high schools. The only difference here was that officially they both were boys.

Not that Harry and Daniel(le) saw it that way. Neither of them had any doubt; Danielle was female. Their relationship had caused some problems at first. Neither the football team nor the cheerleaders had been very accepting of Danielle and their relationship but since both Harry and Danielle were really nice guys and really, really good on the field people slowly got around. The turning point was when the football team held an unofficial vote with only two votes against the couple (and those two accepted the vote). After that it became “unhealthy” to be transphobic.

The guys in the football team usually made sure to leave the locker room as quickly as possible to leave room for the two lovebirds. Not that they went much further than kissing and caressing but anyway, accepting was one thing, PDA in the locker room was another. However, any serious sex would have to wait for Danielle’s physical changes. Not that Danielle didn’t appreciate Harry’s firm buttocks in the tight trousers and Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off Danielle’s legs.

After showering they dressed. Harry complimented Danielle on her new dress. It really brought out her feminine side. They agreed that Harry would pick up Danielle later that evening. As time was running Harry jumped up on a bench to be at the same height as his 6 foot 4 inch girlfriend for a last kiss before he ran off to meet the rest of the cheerleaders. One rather big and not very pretty but quite feminine and happy QB slowly made her way home to make herself ready for the evening.

“Hi! I’m Jack. I’m your future boyfriend.”

I was suddenly disturbed while sitting in the bleachers drawing the cheerleaders/potential cheerleaders training. Very pretty ones too. James Knox Polk High School took cheerleading very seriously. Cheerleading and football. The training season started well before the academic year. If you wanted a place on one of the teams you participated in training weeks before. In both cases the people of Mediumville had high hopes of winning state championship. Especially in football with their prodigy Quarterback who had almost brought the team to play-offs despite taking over as QB only after Christmas. Luckily he had only been a junior. So this year …

You could say that I was a bit surprised when said QB was standing looking down on me with a tooth-paste-commercial smile. The quintessential Alpha Jock without any doubt of his excellence and entitlement. I had only moved to Mediumville in the middle of summer and didn’t really know the (small) city yet. However, I had pegged it as a rather socially conservative place so I was surprised that the star QB was openly gay.

“Hi! I’m Gene. Nice to meet you but I’m not interested.”

“Jean! That’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.”

Oh, that explained it. In my old town everyone knew I’m a boy. An androgynous-looking boy but definitely a boy. Auburn shoulder length hair though. At 5”7’ I’m not really short but thin. Thin – NOT skinny. I had worked hard in the gymnastics team which showed a bit but I’d never managed to build that much muscles. While I hadn’t thought about it my clothing could be interpreted as tomboyish. How embarrassing!

“OK before this gets too embarrassing: It’s Gene G E N E. I’m a boy.”

For a moment the smile faded but then returned again.

“Sorry about that. Let me get you a pizza as compensation for the embarrassment.”

He pointed to a pizza parlor across the street.

The place looked OK. There were people around in case this weird QB was really weird. I was new in town and getting on the good side of the school alpha male could be a good thing and getting on his bad side a bad thing. Transferring for your senior year was hard enough as it was.

While eating the pizza we had a surprisingly interesting conversation. He started off as the jock jerk but a chance remark revealed that he had a keen interest and a very good understanding of one of my favorite topics: late 19th and early 20th century French literature. Some he had even read in the original. A bit shamed-facedly he admitted that he had tried reading À la recherche du temps perdu but abandoned the project after less than a hundred pages. Who could blame him? When we left we had struck up at least the beginning of a friendship. Funnily enough he asked me to keep silent about the literature thing. I suppose that didn’t go too well with the QB image.

At dinner at home I mentioned the “future boyfriend” thing to my parents.

Mom: “Is he a nice boy? Do you like him?”

Dad: “If you start dating him bring him home first, will you?”

Parents!

“MUM! DAD! I’m a boy! I’m NOT gay!”

Dad: “If you say so. We have been wondering though. Remember we will always back you whatever life choices you make.”

OK. Now the incident with the QB was only the SECOND most embarrassing thing that happened to me that day.

The next day I was in the bleachers again. Jack waved me down to meet the guys and girls. He introduced me as his future girl-friend. Jokingly, I assumed. Stupidly enough I only protested about the girlfriend part. I should have been more explicit about the girl part too.

As the week went on I got more and more integrated in the crowd. Well, actually more into the cheerleading crowd. With a gymnastic and a bit of dancing background (was that why my parents thought I was gay? Stupid prejudices in that case) I had one or two suggestions to make their routines marginally better. Of course I had to show them what I meant and soon I was part of their practices. I was stupid. I thought they knew I was a boy and was doing just for fun and filling out a position.

Jack and I sometimes wound up in the pizza place where we had quite nice conversations. Only thing was that I had to struggle to pay my share. We also did go to the movies once. Since I hadn’t a car and Jack did he picked me up. I was a bit late coming home so I found him sitting in the kitchen talking to my parents. I paid for my own ticket.

Then came the first day of school. That day was a day of surprises for me.

First of all I was called into the Principals office. He was very gentle and understanding and explained in detail how they would accommodate my transgender status! I was now officially registered as the girl Jean. WTF! I’m not transgender. It turned out they had received paperwork from what appeared to be a psychiatrist in my old town. Actually, MY therapist. OK, so I’d had some issues but being transgender was NOT one of them. The principal had spoken to my parents who while surprised were ready to go along. Why hadn’t they TALKED with ME? Why all these assumptions? Even if I had planned to change gender I’d never have done it without involving my parents! That’s “hands-off” parenting for you!

Anyway after trying to convince the Principal for an hour I made a tactical retreat. The Principal apparently was convinced that I had got cold feet and he in a very fatherly way assured me that everything would be OK. I accepted to follow “my schedule” that day but that we should sit down the next day with my parents. Unfortunately it turned out the Principal couldn’t do that until Friday. At least they hadn’t changed my schedule that much. Girls’ PE instead of boys’ and now I had Fashion (sewing) and Ballet as electives instead. Actually I wasn’t too unhappy about the ballet part. In my old school that would have been considered to sissy to be accepted. No ballet nor Fashion the first day luckily. Girls’ PE though. The Principal kindly enough even got me a set with a black leotard, pink tights and pink slippers for that. In order to save money it’s the same as the ballet outfit – for girls!

The next surprise was that the girls weren’t surprised or upset when I walked into the locker room. My “transgender” status somehow had been firmly established and accepted in school. Yes. I DID get an erection to the great interest of the girls.

One girl noted: “Another lesbian! That makes four of us. Oh, sorry I forgot about your boyfriend. Bisexual?”

Right after PE there were cheerleading trials. I just stayed there and helped them out. You know, filling empty places in the formations and so on. OK, I did some individual showing off as well to show some less adept girls what to do. In the end there was a bit of a hustle and some papers they wanted me to sign. Since I had kept order of the props I assumed it had something to do with that. I was wrong.

The next day I discovered that I now was an official member of the cheerleading squad. You know the one that everyone hoped would win the state championship. I tried to get out of it. No chance! I had signed the paperwork. And I just couldn’t resist the sad puppy face of Beth, the cheerleading captain who had become a good friend.

I had my suspicions regarding who was behind all this. You know, that guy that kept asking me out for dates. Yes, after the tryouts those chosen for the football team and cheerleading team went out to celebrate. At the time I didn't make the connection. I couldn’t find my shorts so I had to borrow a skirt from one of the girls. A very short skirt. So what? It’s a piece of garment and I needed something. Actually, given the warm weather it wasn’t bad at all. I was a bit annoyed though since people assumed that Jack and I was a couple. Placing us together. Making sure that we had moments alone. No, Jack didn’t try to kiss me.

The rest of the week until Friday I just went with the flow. I kept the skirt since the heatwave was extreme. Fashion wasn’t bad at all. Much better than my original pick. Ballet was in a studio outside school. There too the girls had the same reaction as in PE. Not that I stayed in girls’ PE for long. By Friday we had managed to get a note from my old therapist that the paper the school had received was a forgery. The school didn’t bother to report it to the police. Since I had a very good suspicion who was behind it all I was not surprised at all.

The important part was that I was officially back as the boy Gene again . Not that most people in school noticed. The reason I was out of Girls’ PE wasn’t my official gender change. Cheerleaders had better things to spend their time on if we were going to win the state championships. Yes, I kept changing with them. It made sense since we had all those post-practice talks. And it wasn’t like I could be any more embarrassed than I already was. After the first week it was just “Blah”. Like seeing your sister in the shower. Since the ballet studio only had one changing room I just kept changing with the girls. No big deal. I did use black tights and a white leo though.

I did go to a couple of dates with Jack. For me there was no spark which I finally managed to convince him of. Fortunately he was not an asshole about it and we remained friends. So every now and then he tried hitting on me again but backed off when I told him. Over the months I learned the QB was adored and his wishes was the law of the school. The QB was Jack’s real identity. It started there and more or less ended there. He had already more or less been promised a football scholarship at an Ivy League university. Good thing since the QB of course couldn’t be seen as doing too well academically. Not that he wasn’t intelligent. He was but Jack, the person, in many, many ways really was an asshole most of the time. As a person he wasn’t “liked”. The much nicer Jack that I by chance had come to know was a well-hidden secret. When he wanted to see a ballet performance by a great visiting company we made it sound like he was taking me to a date and I was the one that insisted on the ballet. I did but Jack was as eager as I was.

I also owed Jack a great debt of gratitude for the way he had introduced me in school. I never was the “new boy”, I was something much, much more interesting. Also, while I’m definitely not gay or transgendered I discovered that I do like to slip over the traditional line at times. And if the already strange boy/girl is doing well? Well, that’s just another strange thing about him/her.

When Jack and I formally broke up we kept being good friends. He came to all my competitions. I went to all his. Under his leadership the football team seemed set to win state championship. By the luck of the draw the last really difficult team they had to meet was already in the quarter finals. The other three semi-final team were already settled. Mediocre all of them.

I was there for the quarter final. As expected our team crushed them. Unfortunately that was not the only thing crushed in the game. In the final minutes the QB was viciously attacked and taken away to hospital.

I never had been Jack’s girlfriend but we always had been good friends. After that game I realised that I had been his ONLY real friend. Jack never would be able to play football again. He no longer was the QB. Without him the team lost the semi-final to a mediocre team that went on to take the championship. The fallen hero was blamed. Hey, he was not the only one in the team. Did they even understand what “team” meant?

To make it worse for him, given the nature of the damages, his parents had decided to reassign him as a girl. I know that they had to make the decision while he still was unconscious. I knew that they believed that it would make it easier for to make a complete break with his old self: The QB, something he never could be again. They couldn’t have been more wrong.

Girls were an entirely different species to him. Maybe that’s why he latched on to me. He wouldn’t survive a day among the bitches in school (not all of them were but enough). He had no reservoir of good-will any longer. No support. He’d have to try to be something he had absolutely no idea what is was.

That scholarship to the Ivy League university: “What scholarship?”

Jack’s grades were good. Not the exceptional ones he would need to get into a really good university. Not even very good. With a couple of months left before graduation he, well she now, would never make them exceptional. With a bit of help and very hard work they could turn into very good. With his unusual circumstances that just might be good enough.

That was in my mind when I entered his, well her, room in hospital. I was in position to return what he had given me. I was well liked in school. Since Beth had that unfortunate accident (she had been thrown out of her bed during “vigorous” lovemaking and broken her leg) I had become the cheerleading captain and WE had won the state championships. I was the big man (girl) on campus now. While he had become a black hole I had become a super-nova. I could help hi .. her fit in in school. I could help her improve her grades.

As I opened the door Jack looked surprised. Maybe it was because I really was doing the “male” today. Well, as well as I could. It turned out that the most masculine outfit I had was my black suit which actually fitted my purpose quite well. White dress shirt with silver cufflinks. Conservative tie impeccably tied (I had checked it in the reflection in my dress shoes before entering).

As I handed her the flowers and box of chocolates I told her:

“Hi! My name is Gene. I’m your future boyfriend”

For the first time since that terrible game I could see her lips form a shadow of a smile.
The shadow became more substantial. The smile grew into a fully fledged grin. A radiant grin. I could see her face glowing.

“Hi! I’m Jackie. I’m your future girlfriend”

Oh My God! Please help me! I’ve fallen absolutely helplessly in love with this girl!

It was a little bit strange that no one noticed the boy standing leaning on a pillar at the mall. Not that there was anything special about him. Five foot seven inches tall, not really thin but definitely not fat, nice blond hair that he had let grow almost to the shoulders. His clothes were average, neat and clean but nothing special. The family did not have that much money since Andrew’s father died. No, the reason someone might have noticed him was that for the last 20 minutes he had been standing there staring longingly at a gown in a shop window.

Andrew, that was his name, was a junior. He was two years younger than his class-mates since he had been pushed ahead due to his scholastic achievements. Now he regretted that since he felt very lonely. Looking at the dress he imagined himself in it dancing with Sam Grenholm. Sam was handsome, the school foot-ball team QB already as a junior last year, son and heir of the owner of “Prylar & Grejor”, the main employer in town (Andrew’s mother worked there), and straight A student. Just barely though and to a certain degree thanks to the coaching Andrew had given him in mathematics. Sam was not extremely bright but worked very hard. It had been pure bliss and pure hell for Andrew to sit next to Sam helping him to get through the math exercises.

Actually, thinking about it he could almost smell Sam.

“Hi, Andrew! You would look absolutely stunning in that dress.” He suddenly heard the object of his dreams say. Sam was standing next to him.

”Glgh” was Andrew’s intelligent answer.

“That color would go very well with your hair and eyes”

“Gllk?”

“Tell you what, if you agree to go to the Homecoming dance with me I’ll buy that dress for you”

“Why?” Andrew finally managed to say something intelligible.

“I saw my cousin Peter with the exactly same expression looking at another dress only a day before he did something REALLY stupid. Don’t worry I found her in time and she will get well, eventually. So, what do I call the real you?”

“Audrey” she said without realizing it.

“Audrey, would you do me the honor to go to the Homecoming dance with me”

“Yes!”

Sam gently pushed the still dizzy Audrey into the shop. When the shop attendant at first was reluctant to help Audrey Sam waved his platinum card and asked her if she had seen Pretty Woman. Well, she hadn’t but she wasn’t stupid either once she realized who Sam was. Audrey HAD seen the film and felt a bit insulted but said nothing.

They had not been mistaken. The gown could have been made for Audrey. A few small changes were necessary so they walked around the mall for a while. Sam always attentive and Audrey more and more in love. Finally it was time to go back to the shop. Leaving the shop with the gown they met Andrew’s mother. Audrey tried hiding behind Sam but Sam pushed her in front.

"Hello Mrs Wilson. May I introduce Audrey?”
“Glmp” Audrey was apparently as eloquent as Andrew had been.

“Nice to meet you finally Audrey. I knew you were around somewhere but I didn’t want to push”

Sam explained the situation to Mrs Wilson. He also mentioned that his father had made sure that the company medical insurance covered Gender Dysphoria, though not SRS. During the explanation Audrey realized that while Sam was a really nice guy he had no romantic feelings for her.

Sam saw that and told her:
“I’m sorry I can’t feel for you what you feel for me. I also know that you will have a very tough time ahead of you. Going to the dance with me will give you a good start. I know that what I do matters in school and I will help as much as I can.

And no matter what else, I will make sure that the Homecoming dance will be the best evening ever for you.”

And he was right.

I’m sitting at our usual table at lunch. We boys are tired. Coach really put us through the wringer today. The girls had it easy today. I really like our group. We have kept together since middle school even though we have developed quite differently. Now we have almost become a high school parody; Peter the Jock, Annie the Cheerleader, Bill the Drug User, Doris the Geekette, Sammy the Nerd (me) and so on.

Coming towards us is Mr Popular, our sole newcomer. Mark transferred to our high school a month ago. Smart, rich, good-looking (cute according to the girls) this Senior prefers to join us lowly Juniors because, as he puts it with his broad smile, we are just that little bit less narrow-minded than the rest.

Mark really is a nice guy and, despite his successes with the girls, much shyer than he wants to admit. Sitting down we see that he gathering courage to say something. Finally he asks me:
“Sammie, would you go out with me Saturday night?”

The table explodes with laughter. Even though the comments are meant as joking I can understand that “you need to get glasses” and things like that when the guys explains to him that I’m “a boy. always been one, and always will be one” could be very painful for someone as shy as he really is. He turns crimson and beats a hasty retreat and sits down at a table some distance away.

We can see that he looks furtively at us. Once he stands up and walks a couple of steps in our direction but then sits down again. I can see how he takes a deep breath, stands up again and come over. I wait for him to apologize.

“I-I-I think y-you all are m-m-mistaken. I-I believe th-that Sammie in reality is a l-l-ovely girl.”

To me
“P-P-lease go out with me”

I’M FURIOUS! HOW DARE HE ...
see the real me who I have worked so hard to keep hidden all these years?

“I’d love to”

Boy meets boy, boy meets girl

This story was written some years ago. Today I would probably have written a more condensed story.

LISA
Hi, I’m Lisa. Most people still know me as Tony. I’m waiting for my boyfriend John to pick me up to go to the mall to get me some proper clothes.

It all began on the first really warm day in spring. John and I have grown up next door to each other. Since the next house is over a mile away it was only natural that we became very close. John is two years older than I am and much bigger. 190 pounds of muscles and a star football player at school. While I’m much smaller I’m all muscles as well, being on the swim team. I had just beaten John swimming across the small lake at the back of our houses. We lay in the grass relaxing and basking in the sun. Since we live isolated we never bother about swimwear. Turning my head lazily to John I saw that he had a massive erection. Since I’ve never seen him with a girl I asked him who he was shagging in his dreams. I wasn’t prepared for his answer: ME.

He shocked not only me but himself as well but once it was out in the open he told me that he was gay, that he loved me (aren’t guys supposed to avoid saying that word?), that he had loved me for a long time and that he hoped this wouldn’t destroy our friendship. He’d never do anything to me that I didn’t want and so on and on. To shut him up I kissed him.

No, I didn’t fancy him but he was my best friend and I was afraid of losing that if I didn’t calm him down. As we talked he made clear that he loved me partly because we were such good friends and enjoyed doing things together and partly because he found my body extremely hot. He wanted to fuck me (my ass not his). I asked for some time to think and do research.

I soon found out that I probably wouldn’t appreciate the first time. I also wanted to give John a fair chance so what I offered him was three attempts with time to recover in between. If I didn’t like it then we would remain friends only. No further pushing from his side. John accepted eagerly.

We decided on Saturday night. Mother would be away for the week-end (Father died four years ago) and we often slept over on nights like that.

John was the most attentive lover possible. Telling me how lovely I was. Caressing me. Sucking me to get me horny. Preparing the penetration very carefully with lube and playing with my anus for a long time. In every way he made sure I’d be comfortable.

It hurt like hell!

I had promised him three attempts and no way I was going to back out of it but I dreaded the next week-end when my mother would be away again till Monday.

John was even more careful, even more loving. It hurt less when he entered me but it still didn’t feel right. As he slowly pumped in and out I just wanted to get it over with. Then I started to think of myself as a girl making love with her boyfriend. All of a sudden everything felt just right and I started enjoying myself. Of course, THEN the bastard came!

John was very happy I wanted to cuddle afterwards. Feeling his arms around me made me feel very secure and loved. When he asked if I had liked it this time I told him, not entirely truthfully, yes but that we would try something new next time and that it would be the next day already.

Next night John was not pleased that I was wearing my mother’s bra (filled with her tights) and crotch-less panties (she’d die from embarrassment if she knew I knew). He went at it manfully though. Very manfully and the little girl (i.e. I) exploded too soon. I didn’t pass out but it was close and John became worried. I told him not to worry and to go on. My second orgasm triggered his. Wow, those sheets really needed cleaning afterwards.

During the following weeks I grew more and more certain that I was meant to be a girl. Not just sexually. Being a girl just felt right! I had always felt that something about me was wrong but never realised what. However, I had no intention of being a stereotypical girl interested only in boys, clothes, make-up and, eventually, being a good house-wife. OK, I did check out the hunky boys in school, I did check up what the competition was wearing and cooking is fun! No way I’d be stuck at home though. I wanted a career of my own. Glass ceiling here I come! I started spending more time with the girls at school and some of my friends commented about me acting like a girl. To myself I became Lisa. I also started to think about what I’d do when I’d be 18.

John and I began dating. At first we drove far away to avoid meeting people we knew. It was always boy-boy. I wanted to be his girl but every time I tried bringing this up I saw how upset he’d become. Of course we soon became the school’s official gay couple. We avoided telling our parents though.

At home John and I fucked like rabbits every time we had the opportunity. I insisted on wearing bra and panties whenever I could get at my mother’s stuff.   The first day of summer break we finally got caught. We were doing it cowgirl style and my steed was really bucking as mother came into my room. She told us to go on since we obviously were having a great time and left at once. When John left my mother and I had the TALK.

The bottom line was that I’m going to live as a girl for the summer! She even used my true name from the beginning and not once did she slip. I’m her daughter Lisa! She insisted that I have to replace her crotch-less panties though.

When I told John he took it better than I expected. He even offered to take me shopping! He’ll be here in a couple of minutes.

JOHN

We drive to the mall. Tony is thrilled about finally going shopping for girl’s clothes. He goes on and on about showing the real “her” at last. Since it’s Saturday and we are late we have to park at the edge of the parking. The day is way too hot and we sweat just from walking slowly. Tony starts talking about whether he should get a bikini or a one-piece, he had seen the cutest little tiny bikini but wouldn’t a one-piece with high leg cuts be more feminine? Is this the boy I fell in love with?

It’s cool in the mall and we go to (shop name deleted). Tony is practically jumping, he's so excited. We find a shop assistant and Tony tells her:
“Hi. My name is Lisa and I need some help to get my measurements right.”  
The shop assistant recoiled, her face disfigured by disgust and hate.
“PERVERT, go away we don’t want your kind here and take your faggot abomination boyfriend with you” she screams.

Tony runs away. I catch up with him only because he collapses on a bench a hundred meters away. I sit down and put my arm around his shoulders. He lets his head fall on my shoulder. We sit there for a couple of minutes without saying anything. Finally Tony sobs
“I just want to be myself. Why can’t people accept me as I am?”
“Don’t think about her. There will always be bigots. Forget her. We’ll go to another store and I’m sure you will find that this was an exception.” I try to comfort him.

I finally coax him to follow me to (shop name deleted). At the entrance I ask him to wait there while I get an assistant. Actually I don’t have to look for one as a young lady, called Josephine according to her badge, says welcome to me and asks if she can help me. I immediately feel better because she’s one of those rare people that you can’t help but feel comfortable around.
“Please listen to me and if you find what I have to say disgusting don’t scream and let us leave quietly”
Josephine smiles encouragingly.
“My boyfriend over there is discovering his feminine side and we need help to get him a new wardrobe.”
“You say he’s your boyfriend. Is this your idea or his?”
“Oh, it’s his idea. I hate this. I love Tony the boy and would love to go away and forget all about this. However, this is what HE wants. I love him too much to tell him no. Oh, please don’t tell him I said that”
“Don’t worry. Stay here and I will take care of Tony”

I see her walk over to Tony. They talk for a while, looking at me every now and then. I can see how Tony relaxes. They start giggling and Josephine takes him away, for measuring I suppose. Ten minutes later they come back and start working through the lingerie section. I hear short parts of their conversation: “ … virginal white” “But I’m not ..”, “I have yet to see a boy who doesn’t …. suspender belt”. Giggle, giggle, “…hunk…”, “ …lipstick…mascara…”

What have I done? I’m 100% gay. Nothing feminine ever turned me on. I thought this would be just a case of dressing up. I could live with that but now I see someone else emerge. The boy I love is disappearing! I guess I have seen it coming over the last few weeks but refused to acknowledge it.They vanish into the changing rooms with a handful of sexy lingerie including stockings.

Soon after Josephine emerges again and I lose sight of her as she walks to the shoe department. After a while she reappears carrying a pair of VERY high heel shoes.

After an eternity Josephine comes out and approaches me.

“SHE is a lovely girl. HER name is Lisa don’t forget it. She’s really sexy in her lingerie. Go in there! She’s in cabin 5, it’s at the end. I will make sure that you aren’t disturbed. Please be careful. She’s very vulnerable.”

I enter the corridor with the changing cabins. I hesitate. What if it’s really a girl in there? If it is, will she go all the way? What will this mean to us? I stop. Total silence. I hear a soft sob. I make my decision and open the door to cabin 5. Josephine was right. It’s Lisa who’s standing there. Lisa is an extremely lovely girl and in her virginal white lingerie and high heels she’s the wet dream of any red-blooded guy. Josephine was right about her being vulnerable too. I can see fear of rejection in her eyes.

I tell her softly “Lisa, you are the most beautiful girl in the world” and embrace her.

I loved Tony. I care immensely for Lisa. How can I ever tell her that I will never be able to love her like I loved Tony? Will my ache ever go away?

This story differs slightly from most of my other stories.
a) It's one of the longest stories I have posted here
b) It's more of story/tale than usual
The r rating is for violence, not really graphic and mostly referred to. NO graphic sex

The most colorful part of Professor Gray was her name. In dress and demeanor she was even grayer. No denying that she was brilliant. She was one of the foremost experts on Latin American politics. In particular about non-democratic transfer of power. As a result many students at our just below Ivy League university enrolled in her basic class. Every year after the first lecture some 30-40 % of the students changed class. You had to be committed to realize that what she droned on about was inherently interesting and insightful.

She always dressed in a gray pantsuit. Never a skirt. She never took off her jacket. Hair in a strict bun. A face that gave every sign of having lived too long and seen too much. I was shocked when I learned that she was only 37 years old. She never attended social gatherings unless forced to. Even then she wore her usual grey pantsuit. Or more precisely one of them. I had noticed that occasionally she wore a jacket where one button was missing. Otherwise it was exactly like the other (others?). Her office was devoid of any decoration except a copy of a homemade arbalest that had been important in the latest power shift in Majadesnuda, a Mesoamerican republic. You really had to be into Latin American studies to recognize that. I was.

I had been unable to find anything she appeared to find enjoyable. The one possible exception was commenting on our essays. Cutting to say the least. I can’t say I enjoyed her comments but I could also not deny that I learned more from then than from much of the course literature. After I had begun my master studies I had come to admire her. I can’t say I liked her. If anything I was feeling sorry for her.

Well, I was until the day the president of Majadesnuda visited our university. Due to my contacts in the department I learned that his granddaughter studied at the university though at another department. All kept very quiet for security reasons. President Ribera had been able to remain in power for over twenty years through mostly clean elections. That is after he was propelled to power after a popular uprising. Quite a story: from about to be publicly executed to president in an hour! That, and surviving at least six other assassination attempts had given him the nickname “The Cat”.

Sad to say there were not many people at the university who spoke fluent Spanish so I had been roped in to be part of the welcoming committee. The fact that I’m a quite beautiful young woman was not mentioned. On the Friday of the visit we were waiting at the entrance to the Political Science building as the President with all the entourage approached.

The President was only less 20 yards away when I heard a hissing sound and saw an arbalest bolt whizz past less than an inch from the President’s ear and smash into the head of the person behind him. A local professional interpreter I had met occasionally. More by reflex than thought I snapped around my head and saw Professor Gray calmly put her arbalest aside and disappear into her office. While I did that mayhem broke out so it took me a quarter of an hour before I could tell an agent what I had seen. A call went out to arrest Professor Gray. Sometimes you have the most bizarre reactions. The only thing I could think about was how this was going to affect my master!

Professor Gray was not to be found. Despite that the President insisted that the big dinner was going to go ahead that night anyway. The place was crawling with police from various agencies.

Suddenly there she was. I was stunned. Not by the fact that she seemed to have appeared out of thin air, I was used to that. No, the reason I was stunned was that she was wearing a ball gown. A stunningly beautiful ball gown that left her arms, neck and a substantial part of her chest uncovered. The multiple and quite nasty scars now visible was explanation enough for her usual dress. It took me some seconds to recover from that shock and then I got another. She was wearing the sash and Grand Star of the order of Sorolla, the highest decoration in Majadesnuda. Only given to a very select few heroes of the nation. And yes, the Grand Star was with banana leaves!

I was one of perhaps five people in the room, apart from the Majadesnuda delegation, that recognized the Grand Star of the order of Sorolla and definitely the only one to realize the importance of the banana leaves. The banana leaves signified that the recipient had received the order twice. No person alive should be entitled to wear it. The last person so honored was the boy who at 12 had shot the dictator General Murillo with an arbalest, just like the one in Professor Gray’s office, from a rooftop from a distance of 200 yards at an impossible angle to avoid the bulletproof glass screen raised to protect the dictator when attending the public execution of Ribera and the rest of the leadership of the supposedly crushed opposition. The spectacular explosion of the dictator’s head and the, amplified, shout of “The Dictator is dead. Rise against the tyranny!” made the crowd storm the stage and disarm the soldiers. Since General Murillo had made sure no one was in position to challenge his power the army was split between three different generals claiming to be the legitimate successor. Resistance to the popular revolt soon ended. The banana leaves were added when the same boy at sixteen kept revolting soldiers from reaching the president for the vital minutes for the presidential guard to react. Supposedly he received mortal wounds then. That was over twenty years ago and he had never been heard of since.

Those scars?! Professor Gray?! No, she couldn’t be that boy?!

Well, I didn’t have to remain in doubt for long. President Ribera shone up and ran towards her while waiving away the police etc.
(conversation in Spanish but rendered here in English translation)

“Peter! I hadn’t expected to see you ever again! So you are the famous and now infamous Professor Gray nowadays. I should have known!”

And then he proceeded to give the professor an excessive number of greeting kisses. While waiving away the police.

“Why did you leave like that? Without telling anyone, without leaving a message. You took only the Grand Star you are wearing, a few clothes, the emergency cash reserve and your arbalest. Was it the same one you saved my life with again? And how did you know that the interpreter was about to murder me?”

“I recognized him from school back in Majadesnuda. He was General Murillo’s nephew. Devoted to his uncle and a terrible bully. When I saw him I worried and prepared and then I glimpsed the knife …and yes, it’s the same arbalest The Greek made for me all these years ago. Do you think you could see that I get it back? I have a certain fondness for it. Also, I’m sorry for the million US dollars that I took from you.”

“Ah, the money isn’t important. We owe you so much more. What the point of being a part of the wealthy old aristocracy if you can’t make sure a friend, more than a friend, my savior, could get a starting capital even if I wasn’t aware of it until after the fact. No the one reason I’m mad at you is that you left without telling my daughter.”

At that point said daughter pushed her father aside and gave Professor Gray a kiss that was anything but a simple greeting kiss. Those aren’t lips to lips. Them breaking the kiss I was placing a wager with myself. Yeess! I won. Professor Stoneface Gray 1 emotion 0.

“Oh, Peter I’ve missed you so much”

“Dolores, you know why. We didn’t have any future together. I couldn’t stand to be near and yet so far from you. You wanted children. I couldn’t give you that.”

President Ribera: “We owed you so much. The unexpected rescue from being executed, foiling two coup attempts and delaying coronel Velázquez for those crucial fifteen minutes …”

“Actually, there were three coup attempts. Coronel José de Goya y Lucientes was about to take off in attack aircraft armed with rockets he had planned to blow up the bridge over the Ixion gorge when you passed. I discovered that too late to go through channels.”

“So he wasn’t killed by an outraged father?”

“Yes, it was rather fortunate that his sexual inclinations were so nasty that this was what everyone believed. Of course that meant I had to let his co-conspirators leave the country. On the other hand the colonel was the only one of importance. And remember, I failed to sniff out the Third of May. I FAILED!”

“But you saved me even then. Naked against three soldiers you stopped them for fifteen minutes. But why were you naked in my secretary’s office?”

I was shocked. Professor Gray BLUSHED!

“Oh, sorry for embarrassing you. I know very well what you and Dolores did. She told me. I still can’t believe that you succeeded in holding them off for fifteen minutes and thus saved me and Dolores” The President resumed.

“I held them off for TEN minutes. The next five I only screamed. It was certainly wasn’t MY decision to make Coronel Velázquez waste time castrating me. Let’s close this issue. Tell me all about why you are here”

“We are here to visit my grandson” started President Ribera but was interrupted by Dolores

“My DAUGHTER. She’s transgendered. You know that this is a bit complicated at home so we keep a low profile. She’s studying here.”

“Yes, Ángela Zurbarán, she’s using your mother’s surname, Physics student, GPA 3.8 more by hard work than brilliance according to Dr Xu, age 20, height 5’8”. I see her mother in her face every time I see her. Recent problems with her roommate since that girl discovered Ángela’s birth sex”.

“Yes, Ángela’s transition hasn’t been easy. I had expected she’d be more accepted here than at home. Funny thing, I always see her father when looking at Ángela.”

“I never could find out who he was. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“Believe it or not I only have had sex with one man. I only loved one man”

“But we had sex once …. We had sex once, but only once…”

“One time is all it takes, my love. Why did you have to leave? How did you become the woman you are?”

“I never knew. How could I have stayed, not knowing that you were pregnant and me castrated? As for being a woman. Well, I decided to complete what coronel Velázquez had started. I did have some practical help from the CIA. One – I was still a US citizen and Two – They were rather pleased that your father remained in power so they helped me starting a new life. Of course the money I took helped as well.”

Looking at them I realized that I had lost my wager after all. Professor Gray was crying! Dolores kissed her once again. Softly, tenderly.

“You know Peter, I’ve decided to move here to be near my daughter. We have lost twenty years but there are many years still to come. The next kiss was more passionate from both sides. HEY, what have you done with Professor Gray and who is this impostor!

Professor Gray looked around and saw me.

“Miss Turner, good you’re here. Tomorrow you will have a new room-mate.”

In my mind I saw myself entering my dorm room only to find my room-mate, whom I didn’t particularly like, dead on her bed. Professor Gray knew me only too well.

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Miss Turner. That rather stupid girl will only change rooms with Ángela. No killing necessary. No one will object. I will make sure of that. You will be a good role model for Ángela.”

“How did you know that I’m transgender? That information is nowhere in the university records!”

President Ribera laughed

“Do think that is a problem for someone who sniffed out two military plots before the age of sixteen?”

“Three plots, don’t forget Coronel José de Goya y Lucientes.” Dolores added.

All of a sudden Professor Gray was her old self again. Once again she had that icy, almost imperceptible smile that had discomforted me so often earlier and now, knowing what she was capable of doing, absolutely terrified me.

“Don’t forget that essay, Comparative Analysis of Coup Attempts in Central America in the 21th Century. It’s due by Monday morning at 8.”

I felt icy cold. Not ONLY from that smile. Cancel, cancel everything for the weekend!

Come Monday the whole Political Science Department was in a daze. First of all people found it hard to comprehend what had happened on Friday. Professor Gray had killed someone? She had used a medieval weapon? And she was NOT the villain?

The already dazed staff and student body was then completely bowled over when Professor Gray arrived in a skirt and a light blouse. Not really unsuitable for a professor but definitely something that accentuated a body that was rather attractive, once you got past the scars. The professor was radiant. She was in love. She was as brilliant as ever but now she was lively and captivating as well. You wouldn’t have been able to not be fascinated by her lecture even if you had tried.

Only a few weeks later Dolores and Laura (the Given, sorry, Taken name of Professor Gray) were married. On the bride’s side there was large crowd of family and various dignitaries from Majadesnuda (only a few disapproved and stayed away). The bride was led up the aisle by the proud president of Majadesnuda. On the other bride’s side there were less people. A few professors and the Chief Operating Officer of the CIA (stationed in Majadesnuda many years ago, some uninitiated people thought he had managed to sit on the wrong side of the central aisle).

I had had a brief relapse and reverted to being male. It took some effort I’ll tell you. I had donned the tailcoat and led the bride down the aisle. There were two lateral aisles that we used in the ceremony. The only problem with the wedding was that both brides insisted on having the same maid of honor, Ángela. Ángela decided that fight. She decided on – both. She moved back and forth. She really is an angel. She insisted that we don’t formalize our engagement until after I get my degree. We wouldn’t like to put the Professor in a position of conflict of interest would we?

And the essay? I got an A-.
The first A ever given by professor Gray.

”I AM telling the truth.” Phil, my oldest son, repeated.

Between us on the table lay the very pretty and obviously very expensive silk dress that I had found in his closet and my 18 year old daughter said he had stolen from her closet.

I was getting more and more angry. I can’t stand lying and stealing. I had long suspected that my somewhat effeminate 20 year-old son might be gay or transgender. Well, he’s an adult and while I wouldn’t exactly have been happy I’d still love him. Of course I’d preferred if he was more like my younger son. Only 15, well 16 next week, and already the second most valuable player in Grover Cleveland* High’s baseball team. Come to think about it I really had had an easy life as a parent so far. Neither of my sons had ever caused me any problems. Helen sometimes but that’s another matter. This only made me even angrier now. Not only had he stolen something valuable. And from family! And on top of that he kept insisting on his ridiculous lies!

“So you say that you bought this expensive dress as a present. Who would you give something like this to? You’re only back from college this summer because your girlfriend dumped you in the most hurtful way two weeks ago and you couldn’t stand staying in the dorms over summer since she would around all the time! So who would you give a ridiculously expensive dress to?”

“I can’t tell you.”

The door to my study opened and Mike, my younger son, entered.

“Mike, leave us alone. This is a matter between Phil and me.”

“Sorry dad, but it’s urgent. I have to talk to you at once.”

Well, when Mike says something is urgent he means it so I went out in the hallway and closed the door behind me.

“Well?”

“Dad, I think Phil is telling the truth.”

“You do? Why? His defense is ridiculous.”

“Has Phil ever lied to about something important even if telling the truth could hurt him?”

“…Nnnooo…”

“If you had a closer look at the dress you’d find that even if he’s skinny there is no way he could fit into it.”

“ um?”

“Further, I hate to say it but our sister is a greedy lying bitch.”

“Mike!”

“Sorry dad. Even if you’re reluctant to admit it your daughter is an avaricious and vindictive teenage girl that has an extremely relaxed relationship with truth. Further, that dress did not come out of Helen’s closet. You may not be very observant dad but I know very well what’s in Helen’s closet. Also, if you would let Helen put on the dress you would find that it’s rather tight on her which admittedly would fit Helen’s claim that she’s had it for ages. However, I happen to know that this is a brand new model. It does come from Helen’s favorite shop but I saw them put up the new collection on the mannequins there last Saturday while I was waiting for Phil to pick me up from the mall. I was still admiring that dress when he arrived a little bit late.”

“You’re really sure about this?”

“I’m 100% sure. Go back in there now and apologize to Phil! …. and dad … I think you and I need to have a little talk afterwards.”

.

.

* Apart from FDR the only US president to win the popular vote three times.

It was a Monday, I had just showered after PE and was alone in the middle school locker room. I usually was since I almost always helped coach tidy up after class. Coach had reminded me many times that “sucking up” wouldn’t get me any better grades. That didn’t matter, I LIKED helping people. Why shouldn’t I? It wasn’t like I lost anything by doing that. Coming into the locker room late meant that I didn’t have to deal with the crowd in the rather small locker room. Much less stressful. After PE I had lunch break and coming late meant that I didn’t have to hustle in the queue in the canteen.

Anyway, I was sitting there alone in the locker room scratching my chest that had been bothering me for some time. Maybe I had some kind of inflammation since I had developed mounds there. I didn’t like to see doctors but if this continued I just might have to. That was when coach happened to come into the locker room.

He just took one look at me scratching and the mounds. He told me to put on a shirt and follow him into his office. He told me in a serious voice NOT to close the door. I didn’t understand why he had to say that, we never closed the door when he called us into his office. He asked me the number to Mom. He told her what he had seen and that he recommended that a doctor had a look at it. Well, since Mom is head of HR at the Hospital that wouldn’t be a problem. Coach told me to go to the other classes and NOT come back to PE before I had an ok from the doctor and to be sure to have a supporting garment for the mounds when I did.

Well, things moved quickly. Mom had used her influence and called in favors so starting at 7 am I was prodded and poked and bled and imaged in all imaginable ways. By Thursday lunch I got the verdict. I had gynecomastia. Duh, what a surprise! Why? The short answer when penetrating all the technical terms: They had absolutely no idea. Hormones were within normal parameters. They had not been able to find anything wrong with me. Miriam, the doctor in charge told my mother

- Laura, you have a perfectly healthy son with a pair of extremely well-shaped firm breasts that any little girl would die for.

I was a bit irritated that she talked to my mother and not me. Apparently having firm and well-shaped breasts was unusual for a boy. Only goes to show that I’m special.

Mom took me shopping after that. She was worried that I was so silent.

- John, I’m sorry this has happened to you. Don’t worry we will support you.
- Oh Mom. Why should I worry? Miriam told you that I’m perfectly healthy with perfectly formed breasts. No, it’s just that I hadn’t expected to be the first in my class to get boobs.
- John, breasts, not boobs. Boobs isn’t a polite word.
- Sorry Mom. I hadn’t expected to the first in my class to get breasts. I kind of like them though.

Mom hugged me hard and I thought I heard her mumble something about wonderful weird boy. I wished she hadn’t hugged so hard though. My breasts were rather sore.

We went to the mall and entered a J.C. Penney. It was quiet, partly because all kids were in school. Mom asked a lady who worked there to help us.

- So your name is John and you want a bra? I have a boy cousin that also wanted a bra when his girl friends all got theirs. It was all a phase though and he soon grew out of those ideas.

I liked that she talked to me and not to Mom, even if she clearly wanted Mom to hear what she said.

- I don’t want a bra. I NEED a bra!
- (Smiling) So you NEED a bra. Then we’d better get started. Take off your shirt and let’s see. Do you want your mother to leave or stay?
- She can stay. Why shouldn’t she?
- Some girls are shy.
- Girls! (with contempt in the voice)

By then I had bared my breast(s).

- Oh my! Your really do NEED a bra. If I may say so I’ve never seen a more perfect pair of breasts at a first fitting. Let’s measure.
Yes, you need an A cup perhaps even a small B cup to grow into.

At that Mom intervened.

- No, let’s get bras that really fit. We can buy more later.
- So, John. What kind of bras do like? Fancy, frilly ones or plain functional. Colors? Girls can spend hours to find just the right bra. We can have such fun.
- Why? I just want something that keeps my breasts in place. They hurt when they jiggle. I want something functional.

I wound up with four plain functional white bras. Two sports bras that were a bit more dashing and for some reason Mom insisted on a black frilly one as well. The nice lady made sure that they all fitted me perfectly. Leaving the shop I appreciated the support. No jiggling anymore. Nice!

Friday morning I came to school in my usual jeans and white t-shirt. Harold, the biggest and strongest kid in our middle school looked strangely at me. I usually avoided Harold since he was rather unpredictable. He wasn’t really mean and not a bully but at times he could react badly for no apparent reason and you didn’t want to get on the wrong side of him.

- Hey, John! What’s that on your shoulder under your shirt?
- Oh, that? It’s just a bra strap.
- A bra strap? You’re wearing a bra?
- Yes, it helps keep my breast in place. It’s rather uncomfortable when they jiggle.
- BREASTS?! You have boobs?

Yes, I know, a really brilliant conversationalist wasn’t he? Not that I’d tell him that.

- Of course I have. And Mom says it’s impolite to call breasts boobs. You know, a majority of American kids develop breasts sooner or later.

I wasn’t sure this was true but it sounded good and it couldn’t be that far from the truth anyway.

- But you’re a boy and boys don’t have breasts
- Sorry to contradict you but I do have breasts and I’m a boy. I have had that verified within the last 48 hours. I have it on paper. Do you have a recent verification on paper that YOU are a boy?

Perhaps not the brightest thing to say. Harold just looked blank for a few moments and then he punched me on the shoulder. Even though it was a rather forceful punch I gathered it was playful since he guffawed and said in a loud voice

- You’re a funny kid. I like you. Hey you guys. John here is ok. He’s a buddy of mine don’t forget that.

At that he walked away still laughing. My classmates gathered around me and bombarded me with questions. I didn’t blame them. Actually, I was kind of huffed. My having breasts WAS rather interesting, wasn’t it?

Yes, I did have breasts (boy asking). “A” cup (girl asking). No, they couldn’t touch (both girls and boys asking). Yes, they itched but not as bad now as a couple of day ago since I used a cream now and the bra kept my breasts from chafing (several girls asking). Yes, they were all homegrown (girl asking), Yes, I had on good authority that they were very well-formed breasts (girl asking). NO, they couldn’t see (boy asking). No, I wouldn’t use they girls’ bathroom (girl, very relieved at my answer). No additives used, no extra growth due to added hormones. It was not like I was a piece of meat (Laura, the local nerd, asked).

The boys were confused and a bit weirded out. The girls were confused, curious and envious. I WAS the first in class with breasts. A boy! One girl was angry at me. Well to be honest stuck-up Elizabeth wasn’t really angry at me, she was absolutely furious at me. You see, she had expected to be the first. As a matter of fact I was only the second in my grade to wear a bra. Elizabeth had started a couple of weeks earlier. According to the girls in the same PE group (showering after class was obligatory) she had absolutely no reason to wear it.

I got the impression that some of them thought that I should have been ashamed of my breasts. Why should I? I was quite attached to them. They were a natural part of me.

Fortunately most kids just accepted that this was how it was. Most of them liked me. Even the girls. I told you earlier, I LIKE to help people. As a result I had a nice little pool of good-will. That first day the teachers were a bit careful. They mostly avoided asking me questions in class and so on. In the locker room before PE the guys tried to sneak a peek at my breasts. I suppose some managed. I wasn’t flashing them, standing with my back towards the room, but on the other hand l wasn’t exactly trying to hide them either. I exchanged the functional white bra to a rather nice sports bra. Good thing I did since Coach asked me (very carefully phrased)

- John, do you wear appropriate support garments?
- Yes, Sir! I both have my jock strap AND my pretty new sports bra.

Why did he look so surprised? Wasn’t this what he wanted to know? Or was it that I mentioned the word “bra” in the shrine of boyhood that the boys’ gym was? In that case: grow up!

I was glad I had my sports bra. I think it reduced the pain when my mates threw the ball at my chest.

After about a week most of the attention ebbed away. Too bad! I had liked it. Then Susan, who lived next door and was in my grade, asked me for a date Friday evening. I was rather surprised. Dating had not really started in our grade yet. I liked Susan so I told her that I’d ask Mom. I hadn’t expected Mom to allow it, especially since Susan asked me out as a girl, but she did. Mom told me it would be a “learning experience”. When I thought more about it I shouldn’t have been surprised. Mom is all for “learning experiences”.

However, I was really surprised that my sister Em took charge of getting me ready, after checking with Susan. Em was rather skinny and had this dress that was indecently short on her that was the right length for me. It quite nicely accentuated my breasts without showing cleavage. Em even gave me a pair of her old shoes, with a bit of a heel, she no longer used. She taught me how to apply very subtle make-up. That REALLY surprised Mom in positive way. Subtle is not exactly what Em is known for. I don’t think Mom was really consistent. It was she who told me to wear the black frilly bra SHE had got me.

Mom did have some conditions though. Em should be around all the time. Unfortunately Em, temporarily, wasn’t allowed to drive us (when stopped by the police be polite, it helps). Mom drove us there and when called would pick us up. At the mall, outside the multiplex, Em decided to give us some space (I did have my phone if she was needed).

- Hey kids, have fun. Oh, there was something Mom wanted me to tell you. Yes, that’s it. Don’t do anything I would do!

Good advice! My sister was in trouble most of the time. Not because she was evil but because of her “joie de vivre” as Mom used to say.

The movie wasn’t bad. Too bad it was spoiled by a lady that was offended that we caressed each other. We didn’t even kiss (I had decided that that was something Em would do). She got upset that two young girls caressed each other. That was unnatural she said. She got even more upset when I told her that it was ok since I was a boy. Not logical at all! We left the cinema and went to get something to eat. I saw the lady talk to a mall security guard and then the guard followed us around. After eating Susan needed to go to the bathroom. That’s when all the trouble started. As soon as Susan had gone into the ladies’ the MALE guard rushed in there and dragged her out. Em had been watching us from a distance (I had no idea she took her chaperoning duties that seriously) and came running. I’m not sure that she was any help. Apparently they security guard and Em had met before and not in a way that had endeared her to the guard. We were dragged to an office and they called the police. No one bothered to listen to us until the police arrived.There was a very nice lady police officer that asked us what had happened. When we had explained, she asked once again Susan if she was a girl, and me if I was a boy. I had a copy of the paper from the hospital to show her. The security guard got very upset.

- But THAT THING has boobs! It’s the other one that’s flat.

I was sort of offended to be called a thing and Mom says it’s impolite to call breasts boobs. I could see that the chief of security wasn’t amused either. She told us that they were very sorry for all this. Later Susan and I got very nice presents from the mall and a formal apology. That was also the last time we saw the security guard. We weren’t sorry. He sort of was a spoilsport and didn’t like kids at all, and especially not Em. After that Susan finally was allowed to go to the bathroom the nice police lady offered us a ride home. That was very nice since that way we didn’t have to bother Mom. We knew that she was busy at the hospital. Besides it was quite exciting to ride in a police car. Well, at least for Susan and me anyway. Em had done it several times before.

Since we had let Mom stay at the hospital we wound up at Susan’s home next door. We played some games, they have an awesome system in the basement, when Susan’s brother Gary came down there. He looked at me. Actually I think he mostly looked at my breasts that were accentuated by my pretty dress. Usually we were beneath his notice. Gary was a HIGH school student.

- Hi, Susan! Who’s your cute friend?
- Hi, Gary! It’s me, John. From next door.
- No way! I heard that you had got breasts but I hadn’t expected them to be that awesome. So, did you have a nice date girls?
- Not bad at all. We even got a ride back with the police.
- The police?
- Long story Gary. I’m sure Susan will tell you later.

Then Susan and I went back to playing. I could sense Gary standing there and heard him muttering something about me being pretty and something about walking like a duck and quacking like a duck. I certainly didn’t walk like a duck!

- Eh, John. Would you like to go on a date with me tomorrow?
- I don’t know. What do you plan do to? Is it ok with you Susan? And I have to ask Mom.

It turned out to be a high school baseball game followed by a pizza. Gary’s mother would be driving and be around. Susan thought it would be hilarious. Mom? You guessed it: another “learning experience”. Gary’s and Susan’s mother was tougher nut to crack but Mom talked to her about “learning experiences”. Em brought out a dress that showed a bit of cleavage. She told me I should show off my breasts a bit since it really was them that Gary had asked out. I couldn’t argue with that.

I had fun that Saturday. Gary’s friends were as impressed with my breasts as he had been. Gary was nice and he was kind of cute. Em had given me the usual reminder not to do anything she would do so kissing was not an option though. On Monday Susan told me that Gary had really asked me out as a joke to see if his friends could spot the “Booby trap”. They couldn’t. However, I think Susan wasn’t completely right since Gary asked me out the next Saturday for another game. Friday was already booked for a date with Susan.

That Friday was another interesting day at the mall. Susan and I spent most of the time looking in shops. Em had told me I needed a dress or two of my own and she was not prepared to lend me any hosiery! This time it was I who had to go to the bathroom. When I got in there I was alone but soon a very creepy guy came in and started talking to me. I didn’t like him at all. Why did he have to use the urinal next to mine when there were many other urinals there? And why did he keep looking at me? That way he missed the urinal for a while. I tell you that this time I was happy a security guard came in. This guard was really nice. He asked me if I’d mind having another chat with the chief of security. She had been rather nice the last time so I didn’t mind. As things turned out I got a special pass to the staff restroom. I felt very special. I liked that lady. The nice guard somehow always appeared to be near us after that. All in all, quite a good day. I got two very cute dresses so I wouldn’t have to borrow Em’s. I also got a skirt, a pair of shoes with a low heel, some pantyhose and, since the nice lady who had helped me with the bras suggested it, I also got a garter belt and stockings. Well, Mom always told me about “learning experiences”.

I usually spent the weekends on “dates” with Susan or Gary. We really didn’t do that much. We certainly didn’t do anything my sister would do. We mostly hung out and had fun. Gary’s friends had been a bit upset when they learned about the “Booby trap” and then it just became a joke and they became my friends as well. Just imagine a lowly middle school kid with HIGH school friends!

A couple of weeks later Susan was alone in the mall since I had another “date” with Gary. The nice guard was a bit surprised to find her with her friends and not me on a Friday. He asked her where her boyfriend was. Susan later told me he had looked quite funny when she told him that her boyfriend was having a date with his boyfriend.

Actually that was my last “date” with Gary because next week there was a big sibling fight about who had asked me out on the Friday. Actually, the problem was that Susan had grown jealous that her brother dated the same guy as she. After that Gary and I remained just friends and Susan and I started spending less time with each other.

By that time I was no longer the only one in my class with breasts. The next one the Booby fairy, sorry Mom, Breast fairy visited was Susan. This made Elizabeth even more furious. She started a rumor that my breasts were contagious. All too many kids believed her. This meant that the boys in my class kept a distance to me, except Harold, and the girls kept hanging around me. Now that I think about it, maybe Elizabeth was right. By the end of the year the girls hanging around me had all grown breast and none of the boys that avoided me had done that. The only problem is that I can’t explain Elizabeth who finally got her breast even though she avoided me and Harold who kept hanging out with me but never got any breasts of his own.

In the meantime I had started to expose school to some “learning experiences”. The fact that I used a one piece swimming suit when swimming was only natural given my breasts. Well, I did wear that cute bikini once, and only once. Some boys thought it was funny to untie my top. Wwhen I started to wear a leotard in PE Coach just smiled a bit and shook his head. Well, it did have a very fetching pattern apart from helping to hold my breast in place

The first time I wore a skirt to school I was sent to the Principal. I was sent back just as quickly. The Principal and I were old friends. I had helped him with minor matters several times. Remember, I LIKE helping people. The first time I wore pantyhose the same thing. Not that I wore girly clothes all the time. Only now and them to lighten up the school days, for me as well as for the teachers and rest of the students.

The third time I was sent to the principal was more embarrassing.

- John, why do you keep wearing girls’ clothes despite being a boy? Why do you have to disrupt school all the time? You used to be such a helpful little boy.
- Oh, Sir. It’s all a “learning experience”. And I DO help people by doing this. Especially you, Sir.
- How do you help by disturbing the school?
- I broaden the mind of people. I teach them to think outside their normal ways of thinking. And no offence Sir, but it’s particularly important for you.
- Right, now you’ve made me curious. Tell me, why do I need my mind broadened?
- Some day, not today and probably not this semester, but some day there will be terrified, troubled, confused kid sitting where I’m sitting. Hopefully with their supporting parents, but unfortunately that is not a given. That kid will tell you that he or she is not the girl or boy you thought. That mind and body don’t fit. After suffering through my antics you will take it all in the stride. And the kids in school will say “Have you seen that weird boy with a skirt” and someone else will say “Oh you mean Lucrezia? She isn’t weird. She’s boring. You weren’t here when John the Booby Trap was here. HE was weird”.
- So you’ve heard your nickname?
- Of course! I like it even if Mom says it’s impolite to call breasts boobs.
- Thank you for that lesson. I mean, all of it, not just the last part. Now back to the real reason you’re here. First a question: Do you consider yourself to be a gentleman?
- I try to be, Sir.
- Would a gentleman wear such a short skirt that the garters holding up his stockings can be seen?
- Oh!

Yes, I was really embarrassed. The skirt was shorter than I thought when I bought it. I hadn’t noticed until I was on the school bus.

- Please Sir, would it be within the bounds of your vast generosity to allow me to obtain the use of one of the school loaner skirts?
- Most certainly young master Marlowe. The aforementioned skirt awaits you yonder with the secretary.

I liked the Principal. He was fun. He was one reason why I was sorry to leave Middle school.

High school wasn’t as bad as I had expected. I had a ready-made reputation as the Booby trap. Almost half the kids in my class came from my old middle school. Then there was Harold. He had followed my career in middle school. He told me that I made school so much more fun and interesting. We remained friends until he left for college. While many other boys asked me out, and sometimes I accepted, Harold was never one of them. And then there were Gary and his friends. He was a senior at the time. He never asked me out again but he made it very clear to everyone that he cared for me.

I had great fun in High School. Susan and I remained friends and sometimes dated. I insisted to wear pants every second time. We never did anything Em would do until Junior year and I’m not sure we broke the rule even then since Em isn’t into girls. Mutual fondling of our breasts was nice. REALLY nice.

College was another great time. Yes, I was still known as the Booby trap. However, since I went to one of those liberal colleges where everyone is so anxious to be so tolerant no one dared to do anything else but be nice to me no matter how much I tried to provoke them. It was sooo frustrating and boring. I had to go Florida on Spring break with Harold to get some fun. I still don’t know if Harold or I was proudest when I won third place in a wet t-shirt contest! I still believe I’d have done better if I had shaved my face before the contest. Or it could have been because I never grew beyond a B cup but I’d dare any girl to show me perter, firmer and better formed breasts (implants don’t count!). Actually, I did dare a few girls during Spring break. I wonder why the girls in Florida got so angry at me when seeing my breasts when the girls in New Orleans at Mardi Gras just showered me with beads?

Well, the years passed. I graduated. I got an interesting job. I married Susan. We settled down in Suburbia. We had a daughter. And then we had a son.

I kept a close eye on our son so I noticed when he started scratching his chest. I had already warned my breast specialist that this could very well happen so I didn’t have any problem getting Peter into evaluation. She was thrilled to have a second male patient. As expected these doctors came to the same conclusion as the ones all those years ago.

They had absolutely no idea. Hormones were within normal parameters. They had not been able to find anything wrong with Peter. I couldn’t help but laugh when the doctor in charge told me

- John, you have a perfectly healthy son with a pair of extremely well-shaped firm breasts that any little girl would die for.

Almost word for word what they had said all those years ago. I even felt resentment that they addressed me and not Peter.

Things got a bit tense at home. Lauren didn’t take well the fact that her little brother got breasts before her. Since Susan took her to a spa to soothe her feeling it fell on me to get my son his first bra. Actually I rather looked forward to it. Peter? He couldn’t have been more eager to get his first bra. We headed to a J.C. Penney. Isn’t there where every parent takes their son to get his first bra?

We were as fortunate as I and my mother had been and we found a very nice and helpful shop assistant.

- So it’s time for your first bra. How exiting. So let’s leave daddy out here while I measure you. What is your name miss?
- I’m not a miss! My name is Peter and I’m a BOY! And I want dad to be with us!

The shop assistant’s chock was quickly brought under control and replaced by a very nice smile.

- Certainly, dad can come to if you want to. So you want a bra?
- YES, I have breasts. Nice breasts. Just look. I’m the first in my class to have them.

By now Peter had become quite excited and he had been quick to discard his shirt.

- Very nice indeed. Very well formed. Most girls would envy you.
Let’s measure you first.
A small A cup.
Do you have any special wishes what kind of bra you want?
- I want a bra just like dad’s!
- A bra just like dad’s?
- Well, miss I think he means something like this

And I proceeded to sort of flash her my breasts. Or more exactly I opened my shirt to show her my rather elaborate purple bra. Very functional though. Always functional above all!

- Oh, I’m sorry. I don’t think that we have a bra like that in his size.
- Peter, I think you should look for something plainer for your first bra. You know, function above all. You want your breasts to feel comfortable. You don’t know yet but a well-fitted bra with good support is important. And you don’t really like purple do you?

As I mentioned Peter had started to get rather excited. When excited he tended to raise his voice and speak in a rather shrill and penetrating voice. All this led to some great fun for me and some embarrassment for the unfortunate shop assistant.

- Bright red! I want a bright red bra to show everyone that I’m the first boy in class to have breasts. The first of ALL in my class to have breasts. JUST LIKE DAD!

No one in the store could have avoided hearing that. That’s my boy!

This story was written and published in April 2015, i.e. before DT announced his candidacy.

Washington DC, December 30, 2024.

The President of the United States of America stands looking out through a window in the Oval Office. She’s thinking about the events since her announcement the day after the election in November. She is still amazed and appalled how fast things moved since then. The pace has been unprecedented. How could so many so-called friends and allies, many of them in congress only through her support, turn against her like that? She had been a very successful president for 8 years and now this!

Under her presidency the economy has grown at the highest pace for 50 years. Even the poor had benefited. America is stronger and more respected around the world than ever. Crime rates have fallen drastically. Practically everyone agrees that the US is a better place to live in than 8 year ago. All this counts for nothing! She admits to herself that she had counted on the fact that she’d leave the White house in January to keep them from going after her. How wrong she had been! And how can anyone claim that it's a question of treason or high crime?

An aide opens the doors:

“Madam President, the Senate is about to start the impeachment vote.”

As she turns around she thinks
“Well, at least I am the first woman POTUS, though very few knew it when I beat Hillary back in 2016. Even if they kick me out now that they know I will always have that satisfaction”

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This is pure fiction and not intended to portray any actually possible event. Even though I can't deny that I like comments I had intended to block comments on this story since it may incite someone to write a something that someone else finds provoking ... and so on. Unfortunately I couldn't find how to do it so please refrain from any political comments!

I want to make some things perfectly clear.
First of all, I NEVER said I was a girl.
I was not girly in any way.
I wasn’t petite. I’m slightly above medium height (male).
I did not have long flowing golden locks. Not exactly short but certainly not long.
I was not a social outcast. Actually, I was quite popular in school and did honor list (though not potential Valedictorian) well in school.

I did like to dance ballet but ballet is NOT girly. Male ballet dancers have extraordinary strong physique. Some male dancers are gay. Gay but not girly. Nobody that has seen Nureyev on stage would call him girly. And then there are all those straight male dancers. If Baryshnikov slipped in a boy in the long row of girls, I never heard that.

So basically I was a lean, mean dancing machine well integrated in the society that is called High School, not that drugs were prevalent there.

Still, everything started with ballet. I was not the only boy at the studio but I was the only boy at my level in the summer course the year before my junior year. I enjoyed the class. The teacher was great. The group small. The other in class concentrated. I progressed at a more than satisfactory rate. Most of the rest in class were girls from the cheerleading squad. The usually went to have something to eat after class and stretching. Apart from the cheerleaders I was the only one that stretched for as long as they did so after while they invited me to join them. Who wouldn’t like to spend time with cheerleaders, especially as they invite you. No there was no hidden agenda from their side. They just were naturally friendly.

We had a great time during the summer. Classes, stretching, something to eat … The end of summer approached. People started to come back from whatever they had been doing during the summer. One day a bunch of football players waited for the girls outside the studio and everyone went off to have a bite. Given the situation I started to leave them but my cheerleading friends wouldn’t let me. Perhaps I should have. Since the football players were the cheerleaders’ boyfriends it was only natural that I wound up with Bobby, the only one without a girlfriend. He was fun and I had a great time. I hadn’t expected that for several reasons. First of all the change in dynamics with the addition of the guys and second due to my prejudices about football players. Why hadn’t I had the corresponding prejudices about cheerleaders?

Bereft of a few prejudices I returned home and that was that, I thought. It wasn’t. The guys were there again the day after. Even Bobby who had been with them just by accident the day before. That established the new norm. I still spent most of the time talking with Bobby. A couple of days before school started, I needed a lift home. Bobby offered to drive me. What a heap of junk! Still, it got me home. Bobby surprised me by getting out of the car. I wondered why. Was there something he had forgotten to tell me? I was taken complete unaware and he had kissed me before I even understood his intentions. Then he looked very embarrassed and quickly drove away.

I should have been outraged. What I really felt was confusion. Was Bobby gay? What did I really feel? Just to make things even better my parents had seen everything.
- How was the kiss?
I was so distracted by my feelings that I inadvertently and stupidly was honest.
- Great!
OK, that was it. This had to stop NOW!

The day after I joined the gang again but only because I needed to talk to Bobby.

- Bobby, I’m not gay. There can be nothing between us.
- Gay? But if you don’t like girls why don’t you like me?
- Bobby, I’m a boy!
- You are a BOY!!!

Exit Bobby. A terribly embarrassed Bobby. I later learnt that he had assumed I was girl. Despite me not being girly, he had seen what he expected to see. There was a group coming out from the dance studio after ballet class. He knew everyone but one from earlier. All cheerleaders. He assumed that the last one had to be a girl as well. Not girly? Not all girls are girly. Assumptions, assumptions. I never said I was a girl!

THE END

.

.

No, it wasn’t. It could have been but it wasn’t.

I started my junior year. I got into my new classes. Interesting ones that diverted my mind from other things. I started a new class at the studio. By chance mostly cheerleaders but this time I wasn’t the only boy in class. I felt relieved.

Then things went down the drain. Not for me but for the football team. No team is built around one player but when you compete at a high level if even one of the four best players is off his game the team struggles. Oh, who am I kidding. Bobby was the star of them. And Bobby was a mess. The first game they only barely won against a really weak team. The second was a rout. Bobby’s teammates relied on him and when he didn’t perform things fell apart. The third game they won against another weak team but only because the rest of the team ignored Bobby. Bobby was slated to be benched.

My cheerleader friends told me what Bobby’s problem was. A broken heart. He just couldn't get me out of his mind. And then I was a BOY! A boy that had rejected him. My cheerleading friends started prodding me. Subtly at first and then less so. Bobby was very popular in school. Everybody loved him, Still, I was steadfast. I was a boy. It was not my fault. I never said I was a girl.

More pressure. I resisted. I was firm. I never said I was a girl. This was not my problem.

Then I was summoned to the Principal.

- I believe that you know my nephew Bobby?
Oh, oh. This was not good.
- Yes
- As you might know he not feeling well at present. His school results are falling and then there is football.
- Excuse me sir, but I never said I was a girl. It was all a misunderstanding.
- Perhaps you could help him out a bit?
- Excuse me sir but I don’t think Bobby would be interested in a relationship with a boy and I never said I was a girl.
- I know that you aren’t a girl but perhaps you could show some flexibility? All for the good of the school?

Oh, that was low. Really low. I was known for my school spirit. And yes, I had been there at the games and I had suffered. But I never said I was a girl!

I left the Principal’s office after mendaciously promising to think about it. I had absolutely no intention to do that.

I had a short respite when nobody bothered me. Until the next evening. More than 24 hours, Yay!

Have you ever had an entire football team (except one member) invade your home? Not in a threating way. Oh no, much worse than that. Sad puppy eyes. All those big boys looking at you with sad puppy eyes. That’s unnatural, that’s unfair. It should be outlawed!

However, that was not the final blow. When they left my parents started interrogating me.
- Do you like Bobby?
- Yes, I like him very much but I’m a boy. Bobby is boy. Bobby is not gay. I never said I was a girl.
- You know, school is a time when a boy should discover things. About the world. About people. About himself. You are a boy you have always been a boy, so why not try something else for a while?
-
What is it that they say about crazy people? Just play along? The day after Mom and I went off for dress shopping. Why did Mom pick such short dresses for me to try? That wasn’t me. I never said I was a girl. Finally I found one that I felt comfortable in. Knee length. Not that fancy. Could work both in school and on a not very fancy date. It wasn’t like I’d need more than one, was it. I never said I was a girl.

I have never been received with so many smiles as when coming to school in that dress. I had expected Bobby to look me up as soon as he heard. When lunch break passed without a glimpse of him I hunted him down. He was shy and embarrassed when corned. Quite literally cornered. I didn’t want him to run away. I had gone to far to back down so I asked him out. Abashed he accepted and then even more embarrassed confessed that he no longer had a car. The pile of junk had finally gone to the happy hunting grounds and he couldn’t afford to get a new old car yet. That meant that I would pick him up at his home.

When Mom had worked her magic and I looked in the mirror I was ready to ask ME out. How could one so not girly look so good?
Next, a short stop to pick up Bobby. The short stop took almost an hour. I had not calculated with “meet the parents” time. Did I mention that Bobby actually was descended from a brother of Tomás Torquemada’s? And it was not only the parents. There were his big brothers as well. Or rather his BIG brothers. Bobby came from a big family. All of them. They actually meant it when they talked about “little Bobby”. Hower hard I had to get to grips with it, six foot 6, two hundred pound Bobby really was the runt of the family.

- So you are the boy that broke little Bobby’s heart
- Yes, but I never meant to. I never said I’m a girl. It was all a misunderstanding.
- So why are you doing this now?
- To be honest, I don’t know. Part is that everybody wants me to. Part of it is because Bobby has been so miserable.
- Is that all? Not good enough.
Damn it, why can’t they let me have some secrets?
- Part is that I care for Bobby. I really like him.
- Like him as in love him?
- No, not in that way
- Are you sure?
Why hadn’t someone make sure the Torquemadas died out?
- No. To be honest I don’t know. I’m terribly confused and the one thing I know is that I never want to hurt Bobby.

And so it went on. Until they felt assured that my intentions were honorable. That I could be trusted even if a terribly confused boy. Only then did they call Bobby to come down. He sure cleaned up nicely. That shirt, those trousers, that jacket and those polished shoes … I should have got a fancier dress.
- Bring him back before 11. Drive safely. Don’t get him drunk

What kind of boy did they think I was? Or should it be what kind of girl did they think I was? Oh, I never said I was a girl.

I delivered a sane, safe, sober and smiling boy back at 10.55. This time I initiated the kiss. This time both of us participated actively. I don’t think either of us was disappointed. I did not skulk away like Bobby had done. I had to show him how it was done properly. I actually handed him over to his father. A beaming father.

The next game the opponents were crushed.

I had made a basic mistake. I had expected the date to be a one off. Everyone, and I mean everyone, else had another idea. I had made an expensive mistake. I definitely had to get a more fancy dress (or rather three of them). I was also disabused about presenting as a boy in school. That meant everyday girls’ clothing. And what do they put into make-up? Gold dust? It didn’t stop there. Bobby had PE the hour before I did which meant we were in the locker room at the same time. Bobby was visibly upset seeing me, ALL of me. Of course that only happened once. The next day I found myself in girls’ PE including using their locker room. Nobody had bothered to ask or even tell me before the fact. I never said I was a girl. However, my parents had signed off on it. The girls had all approved that I change with them. Many of them cheerleader friends from ballet. The boys’ and girls’ coaches were fine with the change. To be honest I liked it as well. I never was comfortable in boys’ PE. The coach only focused on ball games and if you have 2½D vision instead of 3D those pesky fast-moving balls are a pain, oh you know where*. The girls’ PE was more to my liking. Not to mention it helped my ballet as well. However, my boys’ PE stuff had tobe replaced by shiny tighs and thong leotards. At least that was what Coach Schmidt told me.

Spending time with Bobby was nice. Much nicer than I had expected. He was smart and fun and attentive and caring. I came to look forward to picking him up on Friday nights. Not least because his parents were so nice. The BIG brothers had gone back to college. We were much more alike than I had expected. We had the same twisted sense of humor. We had many interests in common. I mean, how many boys have you come across with whom you could discuss cotton filatures in 1930s Shanghai?

We both were artistic as well. Bobby loved Opera. Not something I had been interested in earlier but he taught me to love it. Bobby was not a bad singer himself. Not like me. We went to an open house at the Opera and there was an opera karaoke. Since no one else wanted to try I did. Afterwards the opera singer who managed the thing called me “brave”. Not good or anything like that but “brave”*. Oh well, I know that I don’t sing as well as my father. When he was a small boy there was a singing teacher (at the time it was singing not “music”) who screened the children. He had each sing in front of him and his dog. If the dog whimpered the child was excused from singing. When my father sang the dog got up and ran out of the room howling*.

To my shame Bobby proved to be a good ballet dancer. He hadn’t danced before but was started dancing to share another interest with me. Different classes of course. He was a beginner. That helped him on football field so much that most of the football team soon could be found in the studio a couple of nights a week. That added to my expenses as well. I couldn’t be seen in the studio in boy mode any more. Not that my cheerleading friends hadn’t made that point (pointe?) even before Bobby started taking classes. But I never said I was a girl. Pink tights, leotards, pointe shoes. Pointe shoes? Yeah, I never said I was a girl which apparently didn’t matter. Even if I wasn’t a girl I could take pointe if my boyfriend wanted me to. That should teach me not to sign him up for ballet without telling him. Not that he didn’t look good in tights. Quite nice buns. Almost as good as my buns of steel. I had got him white tights that were a bit less opaque than he had expected. He was sooo cute blushing in front of his parents in those tights when I picked him up for his first class. That was when I found myself taking pointe. Do you have any idea how expensive pointe shoes are? That was also the last time Bobby didn’t change at the studio. Still embarrassing but less so. He soon got over it.

Once I was on pointe it was only a matter of time before I was made a member of the cheerleading squad. Another surprise. I was only made aware of that when I tried to leave school one afternoon and the girls’ coach asked me where I thought I was going. I never said I was a girl!

Irrelevant according to Coach Schmidt. She also said something about quacking. Why didn’t my parents tell me when they approved things like that? Apparently it’s because they wanted me to be able to face unexpected events. Apparently quite useful when leaving school. Apparently something they wish they had learnt earlier. Sure, but why did I have to suffer for THEIR mistakes? Couldn’t I learn that AFTER leaving school and have at least a semblance of a normal life while still a kid? Not that there was much left of any normal life as it was. Despite all the quacking analogies I never said I was a girl.

Oh what the hell. I liked the girls in the cheerleading squad. Once I got over my initial resentment it was really quite fun. And Bobby liked it. His parents told me how he gushed about it the first time I picked up Bobby after I was shanghaied to be a cheerleader. They even extended his curfew by an hour to show me how much they appreciated me and had come to trust me with their little boy. Did I mention that the first game after that was against our arch enemies? I hope someone swept up the remnants of them afterwards.

Of course cheerleading further depleted my sorely pressed savings. Cheerleader uniform(s), a January camp, higher standard of everyday clothing. But having Bobby in my lap kissing him at the celebration after a victory made it worth it.

To be honest cheerleading was How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Short Skirts. I never said I was a girl but a boy can like the swishing of a short skirt, can’t he? Another expense. Sigh. I was saved by Betty, a fellow cheerleader. Her mother had a teenage girl clothing store at the mall. I got a job there as a salesgirl. I never said I was a girl but I needed the money. Besides I got a 25% discount on everything I bought for myself. I was worth it. I brought many new customers to the store. Even some boys. I’m not the only boy that looks good in a short skirt or dress.

Then my junior year ended. I was invited to Bobby’s senior prom. I never said I was a girl but by that time I only made a token stand. That dress was not cheap, even with the discount (specially ordered just for me). Neither was the salon. However, that was all worth it when I saw Bobby come down the stairs. He sure was the most handsome, most dazzling boy I had ever seen! Obligatory photo session after I had put the flower in his lapel. That night truly was unforgetable.

We made the most of Bobby’s last summer before college. I almost regretted going away to Cheer camp a couple of weeks. Why the fuss about me sharing a room with Betty, Jane and Susan? They were friends. Nothing more, nothing less. And I never said I was a girl so the accusation I had deceived them was ridiculous. Well, all well that’s ends well.

Betty’s mom had ordered the most darling bikini for me. One that accommodated my penis quite well. Penis? I never said I was a girl. I got quite a nice tan.

Bobby went off to college. I went back for my senior year. Bobby and I swore eternal love and sent messages to each other several times a day. I never seriously considered upsetting things as they were. I never said I was a girl but life had settled into quite a nice routine.

At the dance studio I started to dance pas-de-deux with an amazing boy. Fantastic body, incredible technique, overflowing musicality. Sparks flew between us. We were incredibly compatible. The best the studio had ever seen. In the studio and on stage we were just quite simply great together. That was it. He had absolutely no interest in me beyond that. As he explained to me early on he was gay. Completely gay so I was of absolutely of no interest to him outside the studio. Hey, I never said I was a girl!

Bobby and I planned to get one of the one bedroom couple’s apartments at college the next year. That part worried me a bit. I was a bit apprehensive about the physical part that inevitably would follow. Bobby’s parents were less worried. They had great confidence in me. They knew that I’d make sure Bobby was a good boy. They only worried for the first year before I joined him. As things turned out they were quite right to worry. Bobby and I never shared an apartment. College changes a boy. At first things seemed like normal when Bobby came back for the summer break. He had also come back for my senior prom. Another unforgettable night!

The summer started so well. As the song goes We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons in the sun. I recovered the tan lines from last summer. I coaxed Bobby into speedoes. We appreciated each other but by mutual agreement going any further would wait until we had our own apartment in the couples’ wing on campus. Then I discovered Bobby’s dark secret. College really does change a boy. The boy I had known the year before never would have done that. We both agreed that it was a case of irreconcilable differences. We remained friends but living together was not in our future.

This caused a small problem when I arrived at campus. We had informed the college that we wouldn’t have the couple’s apartment and that I’d need a place in a normal dorm room. I never said that I was a girl but they assumed I was a girl since I was to have shared a couple’s apartment with Bobby. Why do people always ASSUME so much?!

When I arrived it was too late to change things so I was stuck in a girls’ dorm. I shared room with an amazing girl, Indira. It would be ridiculous to claim she was an elven out of ten. Statements like that are jus silly. However, she was a 9.9, at least. If she hadn’t been so fun and sociable her intelligence would have marked her as a nerd. And she danced ballet like a godess.

Fortunately there were no problems with the girls in the corridor. They recognized that I was no threat to them. They soon pried out my history and a few calls to my “references” settled things. However, I could have lived without their comments about my penis and tan lines in the showers.

Indira and I had a great time at college. We stayed together all the years there. We were almost inseparable.

What about Bobby? I occasionally came across him. We still were friends but there was no spark any longer. However, he seemed to be quite happy being a Young Republican.

Things couldn’t have turned out any better. Except of course that Indira is a committed lesbian.

Too bad I never did say that I’m a girl.

.

.

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* From real life

I grew up in a smallish town in one of the Prairie states. The town has about 50 000 inhabitants. It was quite a straight town. The straws in the surrounding wheat fields were straight. The plough furrows were straight. The edges of the fields were straight as were the roads separating them. The roads just kept on going straight on until they disappeared beyond a horizon unobscured by hills, mountains or forests. In town the streets were straight and the blocks square. To be honest the people were straight and square as well. Even my sister’s flushes were straight. I soon stopped playing poker with her. Don’t get me wrong. I love the town. It was a great place for a kid to grow up. Lots of love and caring. But I have to admit it wasn’t exactly exciting.

As I said I hadn’t expected my sophomore year to be exciting.

Everyone called me CC. Some thought it was funny to pronounce it like sissy. I didn’t like it but I still preferred it to my official name: Cornelius Cornelius IV. The care I took about my skin, nails and hair wasn’t regarded as very manly. To make matters worse there was my week-end job and I’m not exactly built like a football player. I may not be bulky but there is nothing wrong with my wiry muscles. I had been bumped up to the A baseball team. No surprise there since the main newspaper in the state had included me in the list of the state’s ten best high school pitchers. That made me the team’s star. Too bad that didn’t mean that much. The team had won ONE game last year. Not that the opposing team didn’t have the runs. It was only that they were due to the lousy hygiene in their school cafeteria. They forfeited. I was rather frustrated. Some of the other in the team had the potential but had stopped caring. So had coach. I had no great expectations for my time in the A team. I’ll tell you a secret. No matter how great your pitching is you can’t win a game exclusively by that. You can minimize losses but you can’t win without at least ONE good hit. Too bad my fielding and batting was on par with the rest of the team. I had to sneak away to the other side of town and practice with my cousins in the other High School’s team. Of course I kept that very secret.

I liked girls. I liked them very much. Most girls liked me as well. Unfortunately they didn’t like to be my girlfriend. Oh, I had had many girlfriends. Never for long though. I was very awkward around my girlfriends. I didn’t really know how to act. Most girls broke up with me because I was too vanilla. They kept waiting for me “to take things to the next level”. Right! Feed-back is valuable and you should act on it. Right! That resulted in smacks on my face and the girls storming out because I was pushing too hard. A lose – lose situation. And the word got around that I was hopeless as a boyfriend. However, the girls liked me well enough as long as I was a friend and not a BOYfriend. So I had many girl friends.

Thus. there was no surprise that I was between girlfriends when a new girl started in school my sophomore year. Mary had lost her parents in a traffic accident and apparently the only relative was our town’s police chief. We pitied her. The police chief was a “character”. He was also called CC but no one even thought of calling him sissy. There was an argument as to why he was called CC. Was it for Chief Carlsson or was it for “Count” Carlsson? His real name was Basil it was whispered. Apparently one guy had called him Count Basil once. Sure, the guy was drunk but NOT disorderly. He still spent the night in jail. The count part actually was true. Or rather would have been if his grandfather hadn’t renounced the title when becoming a US citizen. Apparently he was a descendant in the direct male line from an old Swedish king. Unfortunately the queen wasn’t one of his ancestors.

Anyway, there was Mary at the beginning of sophomore year. Shy, insecure and most likely traumatized by the loss of her parents. She didn’t make a big splash. Actually, she might just as well haven’t been there. I decided to do my civic duty and asked her for a date. I strongly deny that the fact that I was between girlfriends and that she didn’t know my reputation had anything to do with it! Surprisingly we hit it off. She was nice. Much more clever and fun that she had let herself show in school. She also appreciated my lack of assertiveness. We just enjoyed each other’s company. No pressure. Just nice evenings spent together.

I was always welcome at the popular girls’ table at lunch, the only boy so favored. Too bad it was more in the way of “one of the girls”. Many of them were clients of mine. Anyway, I finally brought Mary there as well to met them. The first time wasn’t exactly a success but on the other side it wasn’t a catastrophe either. I collected a few favors and tried again. This time Mary dared to reveal her inner self in a much better way. She soon became one of the popular girls. Only thing she was hopeless when it came to fashion and make-up so the table unanimously decided to do something about that. Anne was seconded to get Mary a new wardrobe. As for the make-up there was no discussion since there was a specialist- Me!

I couldn’t duck. I desperately wanted to but I couldn’t. I finally had to give in to my mother’s pressure and take her test that would take me from being an “assistant” in her salon (it was my father that owned the saloon) to one of her “artists”. I could do without that embarrassment, but I couldn’t really afford a full makeover for Mary. As the guineapig for my exam she’d get it for free. I had hoped to do it when the salon was closed but mother insisted that I had to do it “under normal pressure”. And pressure there was. All the girls had gathered to watch us, well me. Full frontal audience. Knowledgeable and fierce critics as well. I really gave it my all. I applied everything I knew and gave Mary a running commentary so she’d be able replicate most of it later. She was smart and recorded everything. Sure, it took longer than for the more experienced of the girls in the salon but at the end I was quite proud of my work. My mother gave me a B+. Yay! Now I’ll have the honor to wear the pink smock when I work the salon. On the other hand my mother upped my pay.

Anne did at least as good a job. Mary had turned cute. Wrong! She had become a beauty with the combined efforts of Anne and me. No matter how grateful Mary to me, she absolutely refused to watch the baseball team practice. It was just too painful she claimed. An exaggerated claim for a girl who didn’t know or care about baseball, I thought, but I couldn’t really argue. I was a bit disappointed that she didn’t even bother to turn up at our games. But on the other hand, why should she? No one else did.

Instead she started hanging around Anne and the other cheerleaders when practicing. Soon they dragged her into joining their practice whenever there was someone missing. Actually she became quite good and Coach Schmidt tried to convince her to join the squad. To Coach Schmidt’s despair Mary kept refusing. She seriously dented Coach’s reputation for always getting her way through sheer persistence (i.e. bullheadedness). For some reason Mary absolutely refused to disclose why she absolutely refused. Cheerleader or not the newly popular girl caught the attention of the boys in school. Surprisingly she kept telling them that I was her boyfriend. I was surprised. Sure, we got along nicely but, I mean, football players and all that. Sure, I was the school baseball star which meant my status was only slightly lower than a benched C team football player. Still, she insisted that I was the only boy for her! Mary was really an amazing girl.

I grew more and more fond of her. I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, but I had fallen hopelessly in love with her. By December we spent many evenings at each other’s homes. I even had stopped being terrified by Chief Carlsson. I couldn’t call him CC, could I? He just called me “kid” which in my opinion was a big step up from “that sissy” or even the later “wimp”. One winter evening Mary and I were sitting in front of the fireplace with its lovely fire, hot cocoa and cookies. We sat close together without saying anything. Without thinking about it I slowly turned my head and moved towards Mary’s lips. Then something I hadn’t expected happened. She started crying! That was a first for me. I mean, when I had tried with other girls before I had been slapped but never had the girl cry. I thought Mary and I had had something special. I was crushed. I pulled back and, damn it, started crying too. That got Mary to start comforting ME. And then she started telling me a story. A story about a boy who had had his parents murdered in front of him. A boy who had been placed in witness protection. A boy who was notorious for hitting on girls and thus to be more deeply covered presented as a girl.

I got angry. I had had girls reject me before. More than once. OK, many times. But at least they had been honest and straight (remember, I lived in a straight town) and not told me ridiculous stories to slither out of a relationship.

Then there was a booming.

MARY! WHAT WERE THE THREE THINGS YOU WERE TOLD?

A very small Mary recited:
• Always stay in character no matter how safe I think I am.
• Never contact anyone from my old life in any way.
• Never, ever, reveal that I’m in the witness protection program.

Mary was sent up to her room and Chief Carlsson dragged me into his office. I can tell you that the way he looked I was really scared. I even briefly thought he’d kill me to protect Mary’s secret. I wasn’t far off. Surprisingly he had gained a rather high opinion about me. Probably the only male in town who really respected me. Surprise!

First he broke his own rules and made me promise two things.
1. I’d do my damned best to keep the whole thing secret, even from my parents.
2. Since I’m only human (well, he used the words “fucked up silly sissy boy”, and still he respected me) there was a risk I’d inadvertently slip and reveal something and thus I had to promise if I did that I’d have to inform the Chief IMMEDIATELY.
There would be no punishment for me but he absolutely HAD to be warned and then whisk away “Mary”. He really should do that there and then, but “Mary” had really been a mess when he’d had taken care “her” but had improved a lot since then and he hated to dislocate “her” again. Besides, I was really to blame for much that improvement.

I promised.

Next he asked me how I felt about “Mary”. I had to think about that for some time. Finally, I realized that while I couldn’t consider “her” as my girlfriend any longer “Mary” still was a very good friend. I also realized if I carried on as before that day, i.e. without any kisses, no one would suspect anything. I told the Chief that.

The Chief was very relieved. Both as a policeman and as a foster father. He really cared for “Mary”. He surprised me by asking to call him just “Count”. He’d be damned if his foster daughter’s very good friend and official boyfriend would keep calling him Chief Carlsson. It turned out that at home he was called “Count” and not CC. Of course he would be (Okay you know the word) if he called ME CC. He then proceeded to tell me a little bit more about Mary. Nothing about her real identity of course. If you noticed I dropped the quotation marks there, Somehow I still thought about Mary as a girl. Also, safer that way for everyone concerned. She was a year older than me but had had a year knocked off to keep her safer. Hey, I had dated an older woman! Oh, that’s right, I hadn’t. As for the baseball thing our team really did cause her physical pain since she’d been a star batter and fielder. That’s why she couldn’t be let near a baseball team, even a lousy team like ours, since just possibly it could appear in media. Just as a cheerleader could. Besides, even a team like ours wouldn’t stoop so low as to accept a girl on the team.

And that was how I wound up in prison.

Did you read my description of the landscape? Not very easy to practice baseball without anyone seeing you. However, just outside of town there was an old closed down prison that was Count’s responsibility and he had the keys. Within those walls Mary and I, and sometimes Count could safely practice. Mary really was a great batsman, I couldn’t say “Batgirl”, could I? We both improved immensely from practicing with each other.

After a few awkward weeks we fell back into the old pattern. We dated as usual. Mary hung out with the popular girls. Sometimes including me and sometimes not. To Coach Schmidt’s despair she kept refusing a spot on the cheerleader team even if she by then was better than half the squad. To Coach Smith’s indifference the baseball team kept losing – every game. It looked like we’d beat last year’s record. Things thus became almost as uneventful as I had expected my sophomore year to be. The problem was that I started having genuine feelings for Mary. I also saw signs, many signs, that Mary started to have genuine feeling for me. Awkward. Not that we let that change anything. I mean, no kissing or anything gay like that. I even got used to Count calling me Cornelius (As you already know he’d be *!”# if he called me CC).

Then late in May Count came driving in his work car with screaming wheels. I was outside and he and Mary got out. He hurriedly told me Mary’s cover had been blown by a person at witness protection. Mary was being taken away but they made this brief stop to tell me goodbye. Mary embraced me and KISSED me. All this took thirty seconds. In that time a car drove up and a guy jumped out and started shooting. First he shot the Chief. Then he moved the gun towards Mary. With Count out of the count I jumped the guy. Well, tried. At least I caught the bullet. I was later told that my wound was surprisingly harmless. Yeah, they told me that. It still HURT LIKE HELL and I blacked out. I later learnt that my “attack” gave my mother just enough time to whack the guy with a hair dryer. Don’t ask me what she was doing with a hair dryer outside our house. I’ll NEVER tell you.

When I woke up Mary had already left town. I’d have been happier if I hadn’t shared a room with Count. It was all his fault the nurses called me Cornelius. I briefly, just briefly, considered telling them Count’s real name in revenge.

My wound pretty much spoiled my entire summer. Like the loss Mary wouldn’t have. Since Mary had left I had no contact with the Chief any longer. That’s why I was surprised why he stopped his car where I and some friends were hanging out. He told to get into the car. I wondered why. He just growled:

“Just get into the fucking car damned punk.”

I did. I had just gone from Cornelius to damned punk. Was that an improvement or not? What I didn’t think about until later was that my friends had just seen me taken away by the police and hostile police at that. Combined with the fact that we had kept everything about Mary very secret and only confirmed that I had been shot without further explanations that started rumors flying. When it happened again the next week, this time deliberately from the Chief’s side, rumors became certainty. CC was a juvenile delinquent who had been shot in a gang shooting. I became the bad boy. Nice boys and girls started avoiding me. Some girls were attracted by my bad boy image. I was between girlfriends again so of course - I ignored them. They weren’t Mary.

The real reason Count (yes, we were back at that again) picked me up was to update me about Mary. The reason I hadn’t been called to testify was that the guy pleaded guilty to everything. He had been sentenced to life without parole. It turned out that he had acted completely alone. Apparently he was such a nasty person that he had no friends and acted alone including when murdering Mary’s parents. All his money had been located and confiscated (for other crimes) so he wouldn’t be able to bribe anyone again. Mary was thus deemed to be safe. Mary really didn’t have any relatives. The closest thing she had to parents was Count and his wife. They had grown found of her so they welcomed her back. The second time it was to tell me that Mary wouldn’t come back.

When my junior year started there was a new student. Ryan, the adopted son of the police chief. Since he now was considered to be safe they had decided to revert to his real name and gender. They also decided to tell the town everything. They had got my approval first. All this had four consequences for me:
1. I became the town hero. Luckily that faded after a while.
2. I lost my position as MVP in the baseball team.
3. I lost my “Bad Boy” aura. Good riddance
4. Instead I got confirmed as the “Gay Boy in Town”

Who could blame them? I still looked a bit girly since I had to keep my appearance to the standard my mother required for my (well-paid) job as an artist in her salon. I still had lunch at the popular girls’ table, And: I had dated a boy for a year.

I have to confess that it was a bit awkward to meet Ryan. Especially in the locker room. I mean, seeing my ex-girlfriend naked with that extra thing. Euh. We were both too embarrassed and kept our distance, for a while.

On the other hand I was truly happy to lose my place as MVP on the baseball team. Together Ryan and I could make a difference. By a fluke and some excellent play from both of us we just barely won the first game of the season. That prodded the rest of the team to take practice seriously and some of them developed some respectable skills. Well, we had already moved away from last year’s record of zero wins, so the only way was up. That meant that Ryan and I were thrust into each other’s arms again, metaphorically. We started hanging out again. What I hadn’t expected was that Ryan had kept some girly habits. Only at home at first but as he got more and more comfortable he started to affirm his feminine side more and more in school as well. He was welcomed back to our table the day he wore a skirt to school. He still confirmed that he was a boy named Ryan but the last year had enlarged his view of himself. A boy who was more than just a boy. To Coach Schmidt’s exasperation Ryan the boy accepted the spot on the cheerleading squad (excluding baseball games) that Mary the girl had always refused.

Ryan and I drifted together again. We no longer denied what we felt for each other. Is Ryan really a girly boy or perhaps a girl or maybe not? Am I really “The Gay Boy in Town”. Who cared? We loved each other and surprisingly (most) people just accepted us as nice people and good friends (and baseball stars).

Ryan has this amazing gown picked out for junior prom tonight and I have him in my chair in the salon where I’m truly excelling in giving him a full makeover under the critical gaze of Anne and the other girls waiting. Let them wait. A genuine Genius can’t forced or hurried. Today I will excel. My extraordinary talent will finally be revealed to the world. I will create a true masterpiece that will take their breath away. I’d better, Ryan will be on the podium tonight. Prom King would have been ridiculous. Prom Queen … just not right. However, this year the school had decided to add a third royal: Royal Other. No guess who’s going to win that crown.

I had been completely wrong. The sophomore, and junior, year that I had expected to be boring was anything but. Those two years completely changed my life. The town that I had believed to be absolutely straight had thrown me a curveball.

Addendum the next day:
I had NOT expected them to elect “The Gay Boy in Town” Prom King. Good thing Prom Queen Anne is a good sport.
Sex? Don't be silly. Both Ryan and I are very traditional. Sex is for Senior Prom.

I was really looking forward to starting high school. For one thing my parents had assured me that this time we would live in the same place for at least five years. This meant that I wouldn’t have to change schools before I graduated. Just imagine, going to the same school for my entire high school experience! So far the only constant factor in my life had been the inconsistency. Ever since we moved from my ”native” Finland when I was two we never had lived in the same place for more than two years. This had really not been good for my social life. Oh, I had been a popular girl in my old middle school. I even had been the head cheerleader, and a good one, but I never had had a really close friend. That takes time and since I always knew I had to move soon I was afraid of the pain and thus never committed.

Now things were completely different. I would spend all my high school years in one place. I could commit to friendships. I could ... It all seemed so easy and straightforward. Yes, I got a bit dizzy and overenthusiastic. A sure recipe for disaster.

It all started well. The girls in my class were surprisingly welcoming. Of course it helped that the high school was rather big and freshmen came from many different schools so we were all more or less “new”. Millie, Mary, Peggy and I, Pentti, became a solid group within a week. All of us were into cheerleading and hoped to make the C-team in the tryouts. The school had three cheerleading teams; A, B and C, just like most other teams in our school. We even managed to do some coordinated training together before the tryouts. We weren’t bad at all.

Then the day for the tryouts came and things started to get complicated. Already from the beginning it started bad. A guy called Doug teased me for being big. Yes, I’m 5’10”’ but that’s no reason to be mean. His verbal abuse nearly threw me off but fortunately the other girls steadied me. I didn’t perform as well as I had hoped but the other girls told me it wasn’t that noticeable. Still, I was rather pissed and afraid that Doug had spoilt everything for me. When we waited for the results the tryouts for the football C-team started. The Doug-rat tried out for wide receiver. My only excuse for what I did was that I was sooo angry and disappointed and I blamed it all on Doug. When Doug was set up to take a wide pass I ran in on the field and jumped to catch the ball. All that ballet training has given me an awesome “ballon”. I snatched the ball and when he ran at me I easily outran him. Bad mistake. Of course the coach saw me and whistled angrily. Then he had me do it all over, only this time he had a couple the really big guys lined up to catch me. I had no problem catching the ball. How could I miss, the trajectory was so obvious and Doug, well, he couldn’t jump at all. And the big guys they were so slow. I ran beyond that white line they had told me to reach and tossed the ball back to the coach and then rejoined the girls. I hadn’t realized what stupid thing I had done.

When the results of the tryouts were announced I got a real chock. I HAD made the cheerleading team as had all of my friends. That was the small shock. The big shock was that I had been picked for the football C-team as well. How stupid could they be? Well, it turned out stupid enough to place the most terrible pressure on me to accept. Apparently they badly needed an at least decent wide receiver. I was told that that position was the eternal weak point in all the school’s football teams. Declining was not an option. Even my friends betrayed me and told me that for the sake of womanhood I should accept. I’d be the first girl on any football team in the school’s history. I finally gave in, on the condition that I could stay on the cheerleading team as well. They must have been really desperate since they accepted and even juggled training schedules to fit me in.

Life changed after that. Not that I lost my friends. That was really fortunate since otherwise I’d been really messed up. First we had the fame, or rather infamy. Even though the school was big EVERYONE knew who I was. I had trouble to get rid of hangers-on. The reactions weren’t all positive. Many, both boys and girls, made it perfectly clear to me that I shouldn’t be on the team. Foremost among those was Doug who also had made the team. The talent pool must have been REALLY shallow. On the other hand Coach might have been smarter than I thought. Without Doug’s opposition I most likely would have found a way to quit the team. Now he made me so angry that I gave it my all. The other team members were just so happy to have one wide receiver who could do the job that they would have put up with anything I did, not just the fact that I was a girl. They welcomed me in the team the best they could. I still was the outsider though. I didn’t share the locker room experience. But apart from that I was always included. When hanging out and partying I was relieved to notice that there was very little drinking involved. Scratch out one more prejudice.

The team spirit was considerably enhanced by the fact that we had a straight three win start to the season. The second game was a classical romantic teen film scene where I scored the winning touchdown in the last seconds of the game. That finally scotched any plans I had to quit the team. The feeling was great. The adulation was great. Luckily I had the girls to keep me down to earth. However, my relation with them inevitably changed over time.

School, football, ballet, cheerleading and my friends... I didn’t really have time for them all. By Christmas I had to take a painful decision. I loved cheerleading but I quit the team. I had thought about quitting the football team but I realized that that was not an option. Even my cheerleading coach had made that perfectly clear. Inevitably that changed my relationship with the girls. Not that we stopped hanging out but they were cheerleaders and I - a football player. Football players date cheerleaders, they don’t do sleepovers with cheerleaders. Well, I still did but ... I hadn’t expected to be replaced by – a boy! Taylor (no joke!) had transferred to our school after Christmas. You’d think he’d be thrilled to be accepted into the C cheerleading team if he was so inclined. Not really. He was an awesome cheerleader and the way he swished his cheerleading skirt was a lesson to the girls. However, he really thought he had traded down. In his old school he had, after serious work, been accepted into the school’s seriously high-status All-boy Girls Cheerleading Squad. Their training schedule was grueling and highly efficient. After only a few years of existence that squad had become very famous and the members were among the school elite. Now he was just another freshman. Well, another freshman cheerleader even though he was head and shoulders above the other cheerleaders (metaphorically only). He was nice though and tried to hide his disappointment. The girls took him under their wings and included him in our group. I can’t deny that he was fun, cute and a genuinely nice kid. Soon he was one of us “girls”. He even participated in sleep-overs. Still, he was a bit strange. At times he could be the girliest of us all but at the same time he was very confidently male. It was only that he didn’t limit his definition of male. Wearing a skirt definitely was within his own definition. He intrigued me. He annoyed me. Of course his inclusion in our gang changed the dynamics even more. Slowly I felt that I drifted away.

It didn’t help that my football fame increased. We had a great season and while I couldn’t claim to be MVP I was certainly one of the team’s pillars. My relationship with the guys deepened, especially after Doug was kicked out of the team. Coach could never prove that that very dangerous move he made against me was deliberate. Luckily my ballet training had given me a very good control of my body. The least that could be said was that it was unforgivably stupid. That was enough for Coach and Doug was out.

Too bad I was locked out of the locker room though.

Next year I was advanced to the B team, as were the girls and Taylor in cheerleading.

Coach realized that my absence in the locker room was a problem, in particular when integrating in the B team. He talked to me and asked if I could consider changing with the guys. If I did, the guys had sworn that they would treat me with all due respect. Coach explained this would make us a better team so I accepted. Now I officially was one of the guys. I really had to work to retain some femininity!

Amazingly it was Taylor that rescued me. He noticed how my appearance started to degrade. He arranged an intervention with the girls and he was the one that organized the girliest week-end possible. It felt good to be my old girl self again. I enjoyed football. I enjoyed the comradeship of the team but it all sure made me messed up. That week-end also made me realize how genuinely decent Taylor was. Actually I found no end of nice qualities in Taylor. Not least the way he kissed me. Yes, we became girlfriend and boyfriend that week-end.

Since I was a football player I was obliged to date a cheerleader wasn’t I? At least the entire school thought so, at least after the fact. Yes, we got featured in media. Taylor made sure to look particularly pretty whenever we were interviewed. The fact that thin but wiry Taylor was a couple of inches shorter than my 5’10” and by then rather massive frame only enhanced the stereotypical image of our relationship. Nonetheless, my dates with Taylor were my safety valve. He had a knack of reminding me of my femininity. Of course it was he that taught me how to apply makeup in an expert way. On the stereotypical side: I was thrilled by the way Taylor ran up in his skirted cheerleader uniform and kissed me whenever I made a touch-down,

The B team was fairly successful that year. As I’ve told you before my high school always had lacked good wide receivers so few people apart from myself were surprised when Coach bumped me up to the A team in the spring.
I also spent quite a lot of time helping coach with the C team’s new twin wide receivers and my replacements in the B team. Amazingly Calvin recognized their talent and was prepared to stand back and be a substitute. Calvin was not a great player but a great team member. Don and Dave had talent, real talent, as opposed to their brother Doug. Too bad they spent so much energy hating their brother. Helping coach got me further immersed in football. Now I got more and more interested in the choreography of the game. Yes, I had cut back on ballet too but I still thought in those terms. It was fascinating. I started to ask Coach questions. Questions led to discussions, deep discussions. That’s when Coach started grooming me. NO, not THAT way. He always thought a couple of years ahead. He realized that Don and Dave had the potential to outperform me if trained and motivated correctly. He also saw that I had the potential to be a good quarterback. Potential is not achieved reality though. As a result of Coach’s new plans I lost whatever free time I had had. Taylor was NOT happy. Proud though. On the other hand Taylor didn’t exactly have an abundance of free time either. Taylor had made his A team before me. That boy is talented AND works hard (and is too cute for words). Not surprisingly he had soon ousted the cheerleader A team captain. Everyone except the former captain, Dolly, recognized Taylor’s superiority. That made me proud of him. Dolly quit the squad and started dating Doug.

Thus life went on in a rather pleasant way. Thanks to Taylor I reconnected to the girls, I enjoyed all aspects of my football commitments, my studies went reasonably well, my love of Taylor only got more and more profound. Then the Big Booze Party Scandal changed everything again.

In May one of the more popular seniors invited the cheerleading and football A teams to a party. The senior’s parties were famous. I was surprised to learn that Don and Dave were invited as well but chalked it up to recognition of their potential. I was not happy to go to the party due to the reputation the senior had but since the whole team was expected I went and so did Taylor. As soon as we got there Taylor and I each got a glass with a multicolored sweet drink thrust in our hand. I really don’t like the taste of alcohol so I could feel it even though hidden by the sweetness. It was strong. That made me uneasy and I put away the glass immediately. The demeanor of the people at the party made me even more uneasy. Taylor and I didn’t like the situation at all and quietly we made sure that our teammates left. Most of them anyway. A few were so intoxicated not only by alcohol but also the “honor” of being invited to the senior’s party. When we couldn’t talk sense into any of those remaining Taylor and I left. Just in time. Only a few minutes later the police came. They had been tipped-off about underage drinking.

It was bad, really bad. There was not only alcohol but drugs as well. However, things could have been worse. Taylor must have had some moral authority since only ONE cheerleader got busted. On the football side it was worse. The quarterback, the other wide receiver and the half-back! Disaster! Of course they were off the team and we had an important game only a week later. Taylor and I also had questions to answer but there were enough people that had seen us taking just a sip and then starting the “exodus”. Besides, only those actually arrested were punished and the rest got warnings.

Now Coach’s forethought paid off. I was unexpectedly thrust into the quarterback position and Don and Dave were poached from the B team. The principal even gave the reconstituted team time off to practice and we used every minute available so we had a modicum of team cohesion before the BIG GAME.

We won the game. It was only by a whisker and mostly by hard sluggish work. No flashy last –minute touch-down this time. I was relieved that the early lead we got thanks to Don and Dave that then slowly eroded held out to the end of the game, just. Had the game been five minutes longer I have no doubt we would have lost. While Don and Dave were amazing given the circumstances they didn’t have the needed stamina yet. Oh my, more work. However, I could NOT complain about the quality of the kiss the head cheerleader gave me. Some stamina there!

You think I should have been happy, right? Wrong. As soon as the game ended a rumor got around school that it was I that had tipped off the police to get rid of the quarterback and take that position. The fact that coach had trained me for the quarterback position only “proved” that I coveted the position and was prepared to do anything to get it. Then add that Taylor and I just made it out of the house before the police came. And,,. you can never trust a girl who doesn’t know her place, can you? Especially a girl that used to be a cheerleader. Haven’t we all seen all those movies with devious and evil cheerleaders? The way Taylor had become A team cheerleader captain was no help. There was just no way I could prove that I was innocent. Luckily the BIG GAME was the last for the season since team spirit went down the drain. My team mates didn’t really believe the rumors but ...

All of a sudden my Paradise had turned into Hell. I had the support of the girls and some of my teammates but the rest? The “We don’t really believe the rumors but ...” attitude spread. Nothing tangible but it was there, all-pervasive, ever-present. I had loved my sophomore year but now I couldn’t wait for summer break. Maybe I could even persuade my parents to move again. It wasn’t like we never had done it before.

Then on the penultimate day of the semester the police arrived and arrested Doug and Dolly. Later the same day a very angry and vengeful former senior somehow managed to get into school. He had some very interesting tales to tell. And he was eager to tell them. Apparently it was Doug and Dolly that had made him invite the A teams to the party in exchange for drugs that Dolly could supply. They had been very specific about who to invite. Doug had then tipped off the police. The former senior had only learnt about that last part when he had got high together with Dolly the day before. Until then the former senior had protected Doug and Dolly. Now he couldn’t believe how stupid he had been. He himself was history but he wanted to demolish Doug and Dolly completely. The things he told about them! I felt sick when I realized that Doug deliberately had tried to frame his own brothers. Me and Taylor I could somehow understand that warped minds like that could go for but his own family?!

I was still happy for summer break. I couldn’t handle all the ashamed excuses.

Junior year was great. The few guys on the A team I didn’t like had graduated. This year we had a great A team. Oh, I didn’t turn into a passable or even good quarterback. I turned into an amazing quarterback. I think only Coach had seen my true potential. He also stopped me from dropping ballet completely. I had been prepared to do that sacrifice but Coach thought that my footwork must be due to ballet and urged me to continue. The thing about potential was true with Don and Dave also. They developed in an amazing way. Don and Dave ran very precise short patterns which allowed me time to develop my arm-strength. Never any long passes. There was mostly running of the ball and only passing to keep the other team's defense honest.

Together with some other talented players we formed a great core for the team at a level that the rest seemingly effortlessly rose to. You think I was getting a swollen head? You’re perfectly right, I did. All this was heady stuff. It could have been even worse though. Fortunately I had this great boyfriend that kept me connected to earth. Admittedly many new students and the teams we were playing weren’t aware that Taylor was male. I may have been prejudiced but he definitely ranked among the ten prettiest students in school. And those short skirts showed of his adorable strong legs to perfection.

That season the A team won practically every game. I especially was happy that we completely destroyed our traditional nemesis Savonarola High in the final. Not only had they been particularly obnoxious about me being a girl playing football. They had also made every effort possible, mostly by foul means, to hurt me physically in the games we had played against them. They were not the only going for me but the other teams did it more or less according to the rules. My speed saved me many times but I still got my unfair share of bumps. Savonarola High didn’t limit their attacks on me to the field though. They even started a campaign to get me banned from playing football. Not very successfully, I thought. No matter. We had been great my junior year but everything pointed to us being formidable my senior year. There was no limit to what we could achieve.

Just before the end of my junior year I was called to the Principal’s office. Why? When I got there Coach was already there. A very angry and troubled Coach.

Coach: I’m sorry Pentti but it looks like you won’t be the quarterback for the A team next year.

Me: Why? Have I done anything wrong?

Coach: Nothing, nothing at all! That’s what makes me so furious. It’s all devious, evil intrigue and politics. I guess that you won’t be surprised to learn that the Principal and Coach of Savonarola High are heavily involved. The have pushed their friends in certain circles to move more rapidly than they had planned so according to what I’ve been informed there will new statutes already the coming school year mandating all high schools to have girls’ football teams no matter the number of participants. All this so we can’t invoke Title IX any longer

Me: Is that legal?

Coach: Probably not but the legal tangles before it’s settled will keep you off the field anyway.

Principal: But transgender ...

Coach: That’s the beauty of their little scheme. They will also rush through another statute forbidding transgender students to participate in any team not according to their birth gender.

At that point Coach was shocked by my and the Principal’s laughter.

Coach: Don’t you understand. This will stop Pentti to claim to be transgender. Don’t think I haven’t seen how you have drifted to a more male persona over the years, Pentti.

Principal: I’m amazed, absolutely stunned. I never would have believed this of my students and I have been a teacher and principal for almost 40 years. I couldn’t be prouder. Now I can retire knowing I must I have done something right.

Coach: Are you completely out of your mind? What are you talking about? Don’t you realize the gravity of the situation? Are you both completely insane?

Principal: I never thought that even one team could keep a secret like that. Now several teams have. My students couldn’t have made me more proud.

The principal then collapsed laughing

Coach: Shall I call for an ambulance?

Me: No need. It’s just that we didn’t realize that even you had been kept out of the secret.

Coach: What secret?

Me: It’s true that I’m a girl. There has never been any doubt about that, no matter what you appear to believe, but my birth certificate states “Male”. I haven’t even bothered to change my name since you Americans don’t understand that Pentti is a male name in Finland. My teammates both in Cheerleading and Football that I have shared locker rooms with have been kind and loyal enough to keep my physical imperfection a secret. As the Principal noted that is something for this school to be proud of. And for your information - Taylor is an amazing male so confident in who he is that a minor matter like this doesn’t change the love he has for his girlfriend.

Coach: So you mean ...

Me: According to the new statutes I have no option but to play for a male football team. Playing for the girls’ team would be absolutely illegal.

Coach: And our first game next semester is against Savonarola High School ....

The secretary DID call for the school psychologist when she heard all those weird noises from the Principal’s office.

---

I’d like to thank Jill (a.k.a. Angela Rasch) for her help with insights into American football and a few other things. Of course any mistakes still here are entirely my own fault.

At the school gates after school.
- Hi, Pauline, love your new dress and shoes. 2 inch heels?
- 2 and a half. Not sure these stockings are right for the open toe though.
- What’s the matter with your twin, sulking all day?
- You know our mother has this new idea that twins should dress exactly alike, well Paul just hates pink!

FYI: This is NOT a sequel to the story I posted earlier today.

In the dress shop two weeks before Prom.

Mother: It’s a lovely dress and you just look fabulous in it but it’s really expensive, James.

James: Mom! It’s not MY fault we’re here!

It’s not MY fault Sis bullied me into joining her for practicing endless hours for cheerleader tryouts because she was bored doing it alone.
It’s not MY fault Sis sabotaged the three girls that could have beaten her in the tryouts.
It’s not MY fault Sis blackmailed the quarterback into dating her.
It’s not MY fault Sis got caught holding up that liquor store and was thrown in prison
It’ not MY fault that SOMEONE had to step in and save the cheerleading squad with only one hour’s notice AND to maintain the old school tradition that members of the football team only date cheerleaders.
It’s all Sis’ fault. Her and the stupid school tradition's.
SOOO – I’m not going to the Prom in a cheap dress!

Quarterback (who is also in the store):
Please, Mrs Beaconsfield. You can’t deny that James looks very beautiful in that dress and the cheaper dress does not suit him at all. He has been a good sport and we both want him to have an unforgettable Prom, don’t we?

Mother: I’m so sorry Lawrence for all the problems our family has caused you. How kind of you not to make an issue of James substituting for Laura.

Quarterback: Mrs Beaconsfield, from my point of view things have turned out much better than I had hoped. No offence but I’m relieved that Laura is in prison. James is in every way a much better girlfriend than Laura ever was; cute, kind, caring, intelligent, vivacious, a great cheerleader

and an AWESOME kisser!

Lately I had actually enjoyed going to school. It had started when a group of documentary filmers had chosen our school to do a documentary about every-day high school life. This would be their fifth week here. The first week everyone tried to get their attention. They strongly discouraged that. Their goal was to be as unnoticeable as possible. Blending in into the background while filming with their carefully disguised cameras, as well as some fixed cameras. By the fourth week they had succeeded quite well. The students didn’t take more notice of them than they did of the poster for the Chess club’s next game in the state championships. Quite a pity, I had spent quite a lot of time making that poster.

So given that the film team wasn’t interested in any drama queens why did my best friend Phil come to school dressed as a girl?

I wouldn’t say that he was beautiful. He really didn’t have the basics for that. 5'8", a bit pudgy, rather rugged face. However, someone had gone to great lengths to make him pretty and done a good job. He WAS pretty. You might even say very pretty, but then I may be biased.

Usually it was I who was bullied for being girly. To begin with I’m named Andrea. My parents come from Italy. I’ll tell you a secret: not ALL Italians are 6' tall, blond and have blue eyes. I’m 5'1", 5' ¾" according to school records but that’s not true. I am 5'1"! Long black hair that my mother loves to brush every evening (that’s the first thing to go when I go to college), fine feature, doe eyes, skinny and then add “Freshman”. What’s not to like for a bully? It didn’t really help that I did all I could to hide my “cuteness”; tussling my hair before coming to school, wearing baggy and dirty clothes. I didn’t slouch. Not when you are 5'1" (NOT 5' ¾"!).

This was one reason I liked the film team. Since they came the bullies had been a bit more careful. The team had chosen well. Our high school was very average in many ways. Average sized town, average number of students, academically a bit below average. The only things that stuck out were the baseball team and cheerleading team. Both were there at the top of the state. I almost forgot, the chess team had got a shot at the state championship as well since we had strong team that year, but who cared? Baseball and Cheer got more than their fair share of the schools limited resources. As for the team members? Have you heard the word entitled? The girls’ coach was a good one both professionally and as a person and kept the girls reasonably reined in. As for the baseball team - Nothing was too good for them, nothing they did could be wrong. I knew!

We had a Principal that acted very promptly to any complaint about bullying by the baseball players. Immediate dismissal of the complaint and detention for “slander” for the poor stupid schmuck who complained. Of course this was followed up by a beating by the entire baseball team afterwards. They had a favorite secluded spot in the school area. I may be intelligent but I’m not very smart. It took me three times before I learned.

So what was Phil thinking coming to school dressed as a girl and not as an obvious joke either? Pretty in the girl next door way and not bad at all in girlish manners. I sighed and met him. He may be really stupid to do this but he IS my best friend..

The first two periods were OK. Verbal abuse but nothing physical (I don’t count the shove I got in the boys’ room when I guarded Phil’s stall). Third period was PE and the baseball team had PE second period which meant that we shared the locker room. Not good!

That removed their inhibitions. The rest of the day the team harried us, well really Phil but I couldn’t just stay on the side, could I? As long as none of the 2 teachers in 5 that they weren’t sure would look the other way was near – we got it! I tried to shield Phil as much as possible but at 5'1" (NOT 5' ¾"!) I wasn’t really much of an obstacle.

The school ended by a visit to the baseball team’s favorite spot. The less said about what happened the better. At least it was rather brief. Chuck from the film team turned up just as the team had left and he called an ambulance. He followed us to the hospital and insisted that everything and he meant EVERYTHING was documented. He also called the police. The sergeant was inclined to walk away when he heard that the “alleged” perpetrators were in the baseball team. Then Lucy from the film team turned up and showed him something she had recorded and had a quiet conversation with him. I only heard a few words: media and scandal were among them. After that the Police changed their attitude.

Phil and Chuck told me to come to school early next day despite my broken ribs.

The next morning we went to see the Principal. It took him a while to realize that Lucy was filming the meeting. At first he dismissed our accusations. Trying to make light of it. It took almost 15 minutes for him to realize that Chuck and Lucy had a combined 2 hours 34 minutes and 36 seconds (counting all cameras) of footage with the baseball team verbally and physically abusing Phil and me. To my surprise Phil also told him that the entire baseball team had been interrogated by the police and that four of them were in jail. While released the others were not cleared. The investigation was ongoing. The Principal did not take this very well.

When the other students heard about the fall of the baseball team scores of them came forward with tales of bullying they had been subjected to or witnessed. By noon the Principal had resigned.

Later that day Lucy interviewed Phil and me.

Lucy: Phil, this was all your idea. Please tell us about it.
Phil: I knew that the baseball team’s bullying had to stop. The question was only how. The powers that be kept protecting them. Then you came. While they became more careful I was sure that if I baited them enough they would become careless and it would be caught on camera.
Lucy: So that’s why you contacted us and came to school dressed as a girl. You were the bait?
Phil (smiling): Well, you could call me “jail bait”

What! Phil had arranged all this and not told me?!

Lucy: Chuck and I are very sorry we couldn’t reach you sooner at that last beating. The observation spot we had found was a bit away and it took some time for Chuck to get there. Sorry!

Phil became serious and a bit concerned

Phil: It worked. Maybe coming to school dressed as girl worked a bit TOO well.
Lucy: How come?
Phil: Do you know Andrew Dupont?
Lucy: Student council president, very handsome, all-round nice guy? The uncontested alpha male in school now that the baseball team is history?
Phil: That’s him. Well, both he and Andrea have asked me for a date on Saturday. Who shall I go with?

I was furious. How could the rat tell Lucy about me asking him out? I had done it in light tone so he could take it as a joke if he wanted but by the third period beating I had realized that what I up till that day had thought was just feelings of deep friendship was something much more serious. Now he hanged me out and in front of the camera!

Phil: As you said Andrew is quite a catch while Andrea is only someone I share a lot with. The choice really is quite simple.

I was terribly hurt by what he or is it she or whatever was saying. How could he do this with me sitting there. Cruelty thy name is woman!

Phil: It’s Andrea I like. I mean really LIKE. And he was my knight in not so shining armor today. And – have a closer look at him. He could clean up quite well and become quite good-looking. Don’t you agree Lucy?
Lucy (mumbling): Those eyes, the hair, a face like that.
Lucy (speaking): No I don’t agree. Give my sister an afternoon and he will be absolutely stunningly BEAUTIFUL!

I was a bit conflicted about that but then I looked at them. Both had radiant smiles, one admiring, the other – something much dearer to me.

With two beautiful women looking at me like that – Well, I felt like I was almost 5'8"!

I groan as I reluctantly wake up. My mother has just given me a good shake before leaving my room. Monday mornings aren’t exactly my favorite. Then I see the outfit my mother had picked out for me today. A nice black A-line skirt and a very frilly blouse. Add to that black pantyhose and shoes with a distinct heel and frilly underwear. I groan yet another time. Just because I’m a girl doesn’t mean that I’m a girly girl.

You’d think that I should be grateful for the ease with my coming out as girl had been accepted. The problem is that my mother had been a very girly girl and a beauty at that. That has twisted her ideas about girlishness. Ideas more than confirmed by my very beautiful and popular big sister Laura. If possible, Laura is even girlier than mother was. Thus the girly outfit selected for me by my mother today. I’d really have preferred jeans like most of the girls in school wore. No such luck.

Oh, I could have got out my jeans but that would have meant not only reproaching stares from Mum and Laura but grumpiness from Daddy as well. Besides, cheerleaders are expected to wear skirts or dresses. Not a formal requirement but … I hadn’t wanted to be a cheerleader. It was all Laura’s fault.

Well, not only Laura’s fault. Given the geographical location of our mid-sized town you’d have expected prejudices against transgendered people. Surprisingly not. Gender stereotypes is another matter. Binary concept that. Either you’re a boy or a girl. You may switch but then you switch. Certain behavior is expected by a cute girl. Yeah, I’m considered to be cute. NOT a stunning beauty like Mum and Laura. Laura is definitely the most beautiful girl in our high school. She fully lives up to all the gender stereotypes. She’s a shoo-in for prom queen next month. Captain of the cheerleader A-team. Dating the Quarter-back. Taking all the courses traditionally expected by a beautiful girl and so on and on.

So, when I came out as a girl last summer, before my freshman year, everyone expected me to follow in her footsteps (including the very high heels). I really had to fight to be a more “normal” girl. Well, perhaps not exactly normal for our town but if you look at the nation as a whole. I had to fight to keep my name, that I liked; Ryan. There are lots of girl Ryans but Mum, Daddy and Laura didn’t think it was girly enough. In the end I prevailed.

I had to fight to take the advanced science and math geared courses I wanted and not fashion and beauty like my big sister. It didn’t help that I’m considered “cute”. Well, they couldn’t claim that I’m beautiful like Laura and Mum but I can’t deny that I’m “cute”. “Cute” girls don’t try out for the baseball B-team and get accepted. Well, only after a long talk with Coach where I think I mentioned Chapter IX once or a dozen times. I got the spot as Catcher. I was good at it. Nearly as good as my boyfriend is as a pitcher. He’s amazing.

Taylor and I have been friends since kindergarten. He was the first one that I told that I’m a girl. I couldn’t have been more surprised by his reaction. He kissed me. So, he went from best friend to boyfriend in one mind-blowing moment. The problem is that my big sister doesn’t think he’s good enough to be my boyfriend. The main problem is that Taylor also is “cute”. Well, “boy cute”. Laura thinks that I should be dating a more masculine alpha-male type. It doesn’t help that Taylor takes ballet with me. Everyone approves that I take ballet, now. Not so much when I still was a boy. The thing is that now that I¨m a girl I should take pointe. I didn’t want to. I was under heavy pressure and finally gave in. Actually, I didn¨t give in as much as I gave an ultimatum that I hadn¨t expected to be accepted but was. I could remain in the “turns and jumps” class while I’d have moral support in pointe class – my best friend. Actually, Taylor had always been curious about pointe and really did want to try but since boys don’t take pointe… I still haven’t figured out why it was so important that the girl Ryan take pointe that they let a boy into class. Not consistent at all. Especially since ballet is permeated by gender stereotypes. Boys are boys and girls girls which only makes the stereotype of girly boys in ballet rather strange.

Talking about strange my ballet teacher is the one that, after a long time, was the first one to accept that I’m NOT a girly girl. People will be surprised at the recital. A gender-neutral pas de deux partially en pointe by both dancers. Next year I’ll drop pointe. Taylor won’t.

I really love Taylor. He’s so sweet even if he’s not a strong big football player. I’m constantly asked out by that type of boys. I’m one of the popular girls and dating me is seen as a way to raising their status. Well, at least this year. My present status has much to do with my big sister who won’t be here next year. Laura has made sure that I’m included in the “in” crowd. I may not be another beautiful Wilson girl but I am a CUTE Wilson girl. And I’m a cheerleader. Oh, not the B-team as you would expect for a freshman - the A team. I still resent the way Laura tricked me.

Remember that I tried out and was accepted to the baseball B team? Yeah, I absolutely refused to try out for cheerleading. True, I have always helped Laura practice, so I was actually good at the stuff they were doing but I had no wish to be a cheerleader. Waaaayyy too girly! I’m NOT a girly girl! So, what is the cheerleading uniform hanging by the door doing there? I was TRICKED. My big sister stabbed me in the back! I was shanghaied!

I was happy playing baseball. I was happy to be in the same team as my boyfriend. I was doing well. And then an hour before the big homecoming football game my sister came running and told me that one of the girls had sprained her ankle and they needed a replacement immediately. None of the B team girls was up to date when it came to routines. The only one that could do it was I. I have an exaggerated sense of duty. I dearly love my big sister - and I’m a gullible schmuck. I donned the uniform and participated. It went reasonably well. That was until I realized that the papers I had signed weren’t release forms as Laura had told me in the haste to get ready. It turned out that I had signed up for cheerleading. The girls’s coach and the other girls in the squad claimed that I had passed the audition not only with flying pompoms but also flying colors. What about the sprained ankle? Of course there wasn’t any sprained ankle. There was just a girl that wanted to get out of the squad for some reason. It was Laura who told her to pull that stunt. Not that Laura would let me try pulling something similar. Baseball? Everyone was happy to bump me off the team, except Taylor. Cheerleading was much more important. Besides, that was the A team and baseball was the B team and the baseball A team has a fantastic sophomore catcher.

So, now I’m one of the popular girls in the court of Queen Bee Laura. The only non-girly girl in the crowd. Of course, I’m expected to fulfill some expectations when it comes to clothes and make-up. I admit it sometimes feels strange in advanced physics class. Not only the only girl there but on game days dressed in the bordering on skimpy cheerleader uniform with full warpaint. Yep, I’ve become the very girly non-girly girl.

At this stage you probably ask yourself why I haven’t quit that crowd. Well, looking at it objectively I’m not really a high-status girl. I’m not really girly. I’m not even a girl in some people’s mind. Fundamentally I’m a nerd. I’m not beautiful even if I’m reasonably “cute”. My “cute” boyfriend is not exactly a help. Oh, I could dump him and find some hunk instead, - this year. I absolutely refuse to do that. I love him. Even Laura accepts that with grudging respect. So, what happens next year when Laura isn’t here any longer?

Better to be the popular very girly non-girly girl cheerleader (and a good one at that)

At that thought another groan escapes me. I really have to get up NOW otherwise I haven’t time to apply my make-up.

Don’t get me wrong. I dearly love Laura. I know that I owe soooo much to my beautiful and exceedingly girly girl big sister. But sometimes, just occasionally, I wish she still was my big brother Larry.

I don’t know exactly when I started loving Paula. Probably it was a slow process. We had been friends since we were toddlers. As the years went on Paula bloomed into a very beautiful girl. We both got scholarships to a very good high school. She was very popular in school. She was a great athlete. She was very competitive. I wasn’t. Not popular, not competitive. not an athlete. Not that I was an outcast or anything like that but I wasn’t exactly one of the IN crowd. Surprisingly Paula kept being my friend. We studied together in the evenings and so on. The problem was that I wanted us to be boyfriend and girlfriend. That was a constant pain that I was too afraid to do something about. As it turned out I was right in thinking that we’d never become boyfriend and girlfriend.

At first it looked promising. At the beginning of Senior year in high school, one evening when studying together I finally gathered enough courage to ask Paula to the homecoming dance. To my surprise and delight she accepted. She even kissed me! Of course, my phone rang at that moment. Unfortunately it was my manager so I couldn’t ignore him. To make matters worse my stage career is something I have carefully hidden from all my friends and anyone in school. Especially anyone in school! I was rather successful but still a rising star so I couldn’t afford to miss any opportunities, so I apologized to Paula and went into another room.

- Hello Jim. What’s the matter?
- Billy, I have great news! I have booked you into a great venue. A great breakthrough!
- All right, what is it?
- You know that snobbish private high school with all the rich kids? Very conservative. Not a place I’d ever thought would want you to perform. And they pay well! And the exposure! You will get famous!
- Don’t tell me you mean Ivy Academy!
- Yes, that’s the one! Great. isn’t it?! They want you to perform at their homecoming dance!
- That’s MY school. La Cucaracha can’t perform there. CANCEL CANCEL!
- Sorry Billy, I’ve already signed the contract, so you just have to take it as a man, or in your case as a drag queen.

As I ended the call I heard a gasp from behind. I turned around and there was Paula looking appalled.

- You are the Cucaracha and you are going to perform at OUR homecoming dance?
- I’m sorry Paula. I didn’t want you to find out like this.
- Billy, we have a big problem! Actually several!
- Sorry Paula. I understand. You are not going to be my date.
-

At that point I was close to tears.

- What are you talking about? I mean, first of all you are going to spend half the evening on stage instead of with me. Second, La Cucaracha is absolutely gorgeous. I’ve seen you on stage several time and no way I’m going to look as fabulous as you. No girl wants her boyfriend to be more gorgeous than herself. However, I’ll do it if you help me get a dress that’s even more fantastic and outrageous than yours. I mean, I do love you but I still have to prove that anything you do I can do better.

At that moment I realized that we’d never be boyfriend and girlfriend but girlyfriend and girlierfriend worked for me.

Please note that this story is not tagged “Advanced Bru readers”.

I knew it was a big mistake to go on stage again after I had stopped touring when Covid-19 struck. The last two years had been the best of my life and I had absolutely no wish to resume my stage career as Daisy Sweetheart, the soppy singer/songwriter. Especially since it was obvious that this concert would be a disaster. I hesitated before going onstage but my manager gave me a shove and I walked out there. If only I hadn’t swiped that book from my sister five years earlier.

That book, like all other “Thumping ❤❤, Broken ❤❤, ❤❤United” books should be burned or at least provided with a warning text and locked in child-safe places. Oh, no they actively peddle them to the defenceless little girls. I saw what happened to my big sister. She was 13 then and I was 11. She and her friends just went bonkers over them. They were so obnoxious that it even penetrated the world I lived in: Games. Violent computer games! The more gore and explosions the game had the better. My dream was to sort of grow up and be a famous games designer. I had my career all plotted out. What to do and what not to do.Yeah, like that was going to happen. Well, it just might have if I hadn’t “borrowed” that evil book from my sister. It really was as soppy as I had expected. I actually felt like throwing up at times. Then I had that stupid idea. I’d write a song on that theme. In the book there was a passage where the girl serenades the boy she desperately tried to regain with a composition of her own. The song was only mentioned and not rendered. I wasn’t a bad guitar player and had tried composing a song or two before without any success but this “Thumping ❤❤, Broken ❤❤, ❤❤United” thing triggered something in me. I was going to write that song I sat in my room for hours and somehow words and melody just flowed out of my quasi-molten brain. I think what I produced was even soppier than the book. Soppy squared. No one could mistake my satire for anything else.

Then I made my second mistake. I butted in on my sister and her friends and started playing and singing my song. I had expected that to open their eyes to how terrible those books were. Females are not of the same species as males. They took my song at face value. They loved it! They had me play it over and over again. Things could have stopped there if I hadn’t been unlucky. The parents of my sister’s friends came to pick them up. My bad luck was that one of them was a talent scout for a record company. He came into the room from behind me. What he saw was a small person with a longish wavy hair singing with an “angelic” voice a melody and words that he instantly recognized as connecting with “Thumping ❤❤, Broken ❤❤, ❤❤United” as well as quite catchy. Then he came around me applauding. He did see that I was a boy but the song was written from a girl’s POV and, damn it, I was PRETTY. I could be prettied up to make a lovely girl. Moneygrubbing ideas started formulating in his brain.

From that point things just snowballed. The record company was eager sign me up as pretty young romantic singer/songwriter. Especially after I was persuaded to write one more song. I excelled in writing the soppiest of soppy songs. The melody just dripped of syrup. This should put them off. My sister and her friends loved it even more than the first. What’s wrong with them?

At first my father acted as my manager but during the talks with Descartes Publications regarding the use of the name “Thumping ❤❤, Broken ❤❤, ❤❤United” there was a really sharp lawyer on their side. Those meeting were really an eye-opener. I learnt so much. And I even met the elusive author Corazón Tenderheart. My sister couldn’t believe how lucky I was. I agreed but for completely different reasons. Corazón Tenderheart was brought in at the last stage of talks when I had insisted keeping the complete rights to my songs with only a use clause with fees to Descartes Publications. My dad was willing to cede much more control as long as we could keep more money in the short run. The lawyer addressed Corazón Tenderheart as CT all the time and she called him D. Why I never understood at the time since neither his first or second name began with a D. Anyway, the way she moved and talked. The poise and self-assurance this teen-age girl had! In the end she told D to give me what I wanted. In the long run everyone would gain from it.

I was surprised that CT had so much clout. D immediate changed tack and we finished up quickly. He then told me firmly and in fatherly way that I needed a professional agent. He even went as far as finding me one. After meeting that guy I understood what a terrible mistake I had been about to make having my father as my manager. Yes, at eleven I fired my father.

Then things just snowballed as I already said. I wrote a couple of more songs. The process wasn’t pleasant. I read a couple of chapters from a “Thumping ❤❤, Broken ❤❤, ❤❤United” book. I threw up and entered another world. In that “druginduced” haze I produced the soppiest, most braindead romantic drivel ever. Did I say syrupy? Treacle was more accurate.

We cut my first album. It hit the top lists. I went on stage. I’m still embarrassed when thinking back to the “cute” outfits I wore. I went on talk-shows, even cuter outfits. After a while even the really big shows. I shudder when thinking about the outfits. My concerts started in not that big venues but soon my manager cancelled those because bigger ones were needed. The arenas were packed with little girls and their parents. Sad to say I saw a fair amount of teenage boys there as well. Sad!

Have you any idea the sound 10 000 young girls (and some boys) can make when they scream without inhibitions? After a while I never went on stage without ear plugs.

Of course I couldn’t live with my family any longer. Any connection with the plain old boy Michael Johnson couldn’t be allowed for the big star Daisy Sweetheart. Well, I did meet my family quite often for a while and my sister was always happy to get a couple tickets for my concerts. I think she was starstruck by the star Daisy Sweetheart. Her brother? Who? Why should I bother? I also felt more and more estranged from my parents. They vehemently denied it by I started suspecting that they loved my money more than me.

Actually, with all the touring, recording, songwriting (I was regularly force-fed advance copies of any of CT’s books) and all the associated activities I didn’t really have any spare time for a family life. Then I grew older and my parents started getting worried that I’d hit puberty. In secret they started me having blockers. When I found out about that I blew up. We managed to keep things out of media but I divorced my parents. I had fired my father at 11, at 14 I divorced him and my mother.

It was all kept quiet because I was prepared to buy them off. Strict non-disclosure clause of course, D, the lawyer, helped me enormously. Going through that process I more and more relied on him. In the end I asked him to be my guardian. I had learned all about his connection with Corazón Tenderheart by then and how scrupulously strictly he had dealt with her in business and the affection father and son shared outside of business. D refused to be my guardian. I talked with CT and together we had another go at him. He still refused to be my guardian but he finally agreed to adopt me.

That’s when Covid-19 struck. To my great relief I didn’t have to go on stage any longer. I could even duck TV-appearances. I was supposedly extremely anxious about catching the disease. I could hang up all those frilly dresses in my oversized closet. I could live as a boy again. I still wrote and recorded. I had a weird puberty. As things turned out my parents’ fear that my voice would break never came true. But now I had time to do other things as well. I came back to my first love; games! I got involved in the development of a couple of them. Primarily as an investor. However, I did take part in the development of two of them. One was the kind I loved. I was soon politely phased out from the actual development. The other, I’m really embarrassed to confess how much my input was appreciated. Yeah, you guessed it. It was a game based on the soppiest, most braindead romantic drivel ever published. I had been approached because it was known I liked games as well as having a connection with Descartes Publications and CT. That game was a huge hit in the early Covid-19 lock-downs.

That was also the first game in my “stable” of games. I realized that actual development wasn’t for me. Either I wasn’t the right person or it was too embarrassing. However, my new company acquired a stable of games that the company financed and managed distribution, marketing and so on leaving the development and a fair share of the money to those gifted developers. So what if they all were girly games? I still was in the games business as I had always wanted and as things turned out it was quite profitable. It seems I had a good feeling for the right games to bet on.

Those two years were great. I felt like a person again. Inevitably the good times had to end. The pandemic was not beaten but tamed somewhat. Live events got going again. The pressure started to mount that even “careful” Daisy Sweetheart should meet her fans again. I resisted. I refused. The pressure mounted. I suggested that it was time for Daisy Sweetheart to just quietly fade away. No sign that anybody listened to me. To my, small, surprise my manager was one of those pressuring me To my great surprise he was supported by D and CT. Finally I gave in despite knowing what a disaster the concert would be. And that’s why I was walking onto the stage on that huge and filled to capacity arena.

At first nobody noticed me. The noise level from the eager young girls (and some boys) was constant. Not even when I got up on the stool and got my guitar in position no one bothered about me. They thought I was a pre-act that they weren’t interested in. They were there to see Daisy Sweetheart. Then I started singing.

I told you I had had a weird puberty. My voice had remained the same sweet angelic voice that had captivated my fans for years. My body was another matter. When the audience heard the voice they were infatuated with and associated with the petite and pretty in the girl-next-door way girl coming from that 6’8”, 200 pound (all muscles, I like to work out) hulk they were chocked. And I had donned my best tailor-made suit and all! I especially liked the lose tie. For some moments there was a complete silence, apart from me singing the best song I had ever written. Then all hell broke out. Protest, jeers and attempts to storm the stage. My manager had foreseen that and had arranged for extra security. After ending my first song the speaker system managed to cut through the din. Everyone was offered money back and our excuses. Anyone who wanted to could stay for the entire concert that would continue once everything had settled. Most people left. There were only about 500 who stayed.

I was wrong. That concert was the best concert I ever gave. The connection with those remaining was incredible. They were there for my music, Not the Daisy Sweetheart hype. Everyone had good seats once most people had left. I have never performed better and the new music I had for them was really good, even I had to admit. I will always remember that concert with special fondness.

I was wrong in another way as well. Oh, there was a big scandal. Media had a field day. My entire history was finally dug up. Then all that faded. Sort of. That last concert soon became legendary. The weirdness of it all came to the forefront. My popularity slowly started to soar again. Compilations hit the top lists once more. Three years after that concert my company made a search of social media. The result was that they found 167 834 people who claimed that they had been among the 500 who had stayed. The new album I released then went straight to number one on all relevant lists. My manager, D and CT knew better than I did.

I still write new music sometimes. I still give concerts occasionally. Never more than 500 in the audience though. Applicants have to write in advance and submit to a weeding out process. Strictly personal tickets. I do things strictly on my terms now. I don’t need the money. I make disgustingly much on my games business. Still, I haven’t been able to cure that addiction I developed when I read that first “Thumping ❤❤, Broken ❤❤, ❤❤United” book. I still maintain that those books are a public hazard and should be classed as a Class A drug. My loving father (v 2.0) couldn’t agree more.

With a title like this, it shouldn’t be a surprise that I was inspired by a recent blog post (Ecc. 1:9)

As in all single-sex schools the boarding school I went to faced the problem when setting up the annual school play that most plays usually have both male AND female parts.

I and the rest of us in Drama class waited for the Drama teacher to allocate the parts. I surreptitiously loosened my tie. I hated my school uniform and in particular that noose.

….
“and finally for the leading lady, the sexy seductress Veronica, I want Peter.”

WHAT? NO!!! She can’t do that to me!

For the 9.846.764th time I cursed the intoxicated driver that had crashed into my parents’ car. This was all HER fault.

My father had mercifully been killed instantly. My mother, like her very promising acting career, had been cut short. She had lost both her legs. We had been devastated. On top on the personal loss our future had been bleak to say the least. Fortunately my mother had had a fall-back prepared. She was a qualified teacher. Even more fortunately she got a very good job. The only problem was that it was at an all-girls school on an island beyond beyond. No school suitable for a teenage boy for hundreds of miles. So my mother had insisted that the school pay for a boarding school for me. A good one.

I was not happy at all but I also realised that this was the best available alternative. I agreed. I was not prepared for what awaited me.

I won’t deny that the change was a chock to me. The first week I cried every night. I can’t deny that the school was excellent but I was used to a normal school. You know with a mix. A mix of boys and girls. A mix of people both rich and less rich (no actually poor people lived where we used to live, but anyway). No dress code. Fairly relaxed rules. What I got was a monoculture. Strict rules including school uniform (with that d****d tie), severely enforced. Actually, I could live with that. The real problem was my fellow students. I was not comfortable at all among the offspring of the rich and powerful. I did not fit in. I was left out in the cold.

So, I cried for one week and then another and then I decided to “fake it until you make it”. My mother really had been a rapidly rising acting star and whether by nature or nurture it had rubbed off on me. I started to blend in. I was surprised how good I was at it. I started to be accepted. I got friends. I became the archetypal student, the very model of the school’s students. Maybe I overdid it a bit but that is normal when trimming in a new system.

Now the Drama teacher threatened to destroy all my work. How could I live down getting the role of Veronica, the femme fatale?

“NO! I won’t do it” I exclaimed.
Drama teacher: “Sorry Peter, but I need someone that just oozes feminine sexuality and I’m afraid that you are the only student that can pull that off.”

Worse and worse!

“NO!”

I got up and started to walk away.

“Peter, come back!”

Oh no, she used THAT voice. I knew better than to defy her when she used THAT voice. I whipped around and walked back to the Drama teacher whose "presence" in no way was diminshed by sitting in a wheelchair. If I hadn’t been so upset I wouldn’t have flicked my school uniform skirt in that extra flirty way that I had acquired over the last month. Mum and I REALLY should have looked at the boarding school clause more carefully.

“But Mum, there are 486 girls in this school, why …”

Damn it. Even when whining I sounded sultry!

The London drag club was not in the least CD, sorry seedy. The audience was quite sophisticated and the ambiance friendly and gay (in the original sense of the word). The artists were top of the range. They were not only beautiful but very talented as well. If some of them wore skimpy costumes that was not the only thing they had to offer. However, the star of the evening could not be accused of wearing skimpy attire, nor was “she” young and beautiful. The only way to describe the “Baroness” was outrageous.

The outrageously camp appearance contrasted very effectively with the perfect, and no less outrageous, aristocratic accent and demeanour (most of the time). The act was a very political one. From the pretended point of view of an old school aristocrat the “Baroness” skewered the political and societal establishment from left to right, from top to bottom, many of them in the audience. The “Baroness” was an equal opportunity skewerer. Many in the audience came only for the political insights the “Baroness” provided, even if often at their own cost.

When the applause finally faded away the “Baroness” went into “her” dressing room and changed clothes and wigs before leaving for “her” rented room. There “she” changed again to go to “her” “day-job”. Not only the building on the Thames was absolutely Gothic (well, Gothic Revival), but so was the working hours and conditions there. On the way to her job “she” once again lamented to “herself” that “she” had been born a half-century too early. Had “she” been 20 instead of 70 “she’d” come out. Now? Now it was too late, “she” once again concluded. Oh, life had not been that bad. “Her” marriage had been out of convenience rather than passion but they had become very good friends. “Her” children had turned out well. They knew about “her” and had stated that they’d support “her” if “she” decided to take the step. The grandchildren and great-grandchildren had not been told. Maybe they knew, maybe they didn’t. Still, “her” life had always had this dark shadow over it. The shadow of pretending to be someone “she” wasn’t. The pain of not being “herself”. Yes, “she” could come out now but so many people would be hurt. Besides, the “Baroness” had been steeped in a culture of Duty Above All. Noblesse Oblige the “Baroness” thought with an ironic smile. Then there was the risk that much of what “she” had achieved over the last half-century would be tainted. At the age of 70 there was little to be gained and much to be lost. Especially since the quirks of the society “she” had been born into, and raised in, allowed “her” to do some good for another ten, twenty or possibly thirty years more. Who knows, in twenty years’ time coming out might be a net gain for the cause? Unfortunately, that was not the case at present. “She” could live with that. “She’d” done that for 70 years, what was another decade or two?

“She” got out of the car at the Palace of Westminster and passed security. To avoid the eager, talented, obsequious and obnoxiously ambitious young aides, the “Baroness” took refuge in one of the many bars. There “she” was found by a young man.

“Milady, they are waiting for you.”

“She” finished “her” drink and with a sigh Lady Victoria, Countess suo jure, the only peeress out of the 90 hereditary peers in the House of Lords, minister of state, strong advocate for the rights of women and LGBT+ (not that there had been that many letters at first), pillar of society, the very model of a modern aristocrat slowly made his way.

With an ironic afterthought the Countess reflected that the only true presentation of himself was on the stage in that drag club: A man, dressed up and pretending to be a Lady.

Principal’s office. A tired looking woman is shown in. The Principal rises and welcomes the woman.

Principal: I’m very sorry to have had to ask you to come here Mrs Dupont but we have received complaints from several parents regarding your daughter in the locker room.

Mrs Dupont (sighing and near to tears): Oh, no not AGAIN! Why can’t they let sweet little Bobbie alone. She has not harmed anyone. And I thought the court order would have settled all that. It clearly states that Bobbie is a GIRL!

Principal: Actually, we haven’t had a single complaint about Bobbie from any parent once she actually started attending our school. She’s a lovely girl and all the other girls in her class love her. She's a perfect student. Working hard. Never makes the same mistake twice. Always cheerful. And very demure. I have fondly observed her relationship with my son develop. The sweetest puppy-love I’ve ever seen and I have been a teacher for twenty years. It took them more than a month before they even kissed.

No, the problem is your OTHER daughter. The genetic girl. I have received twelve complaints from parents that their daughters are, ehem, “less than comfortable” in the locker room due to Betty’s “rather blatant” expressions of her lesbianism.

This story was inspired by ”What Happened” by Daphne Xu. The premise there was reality shift. I wondered if I could come to the same scandal without a reality shift.

It was the first day of Spring semester. I had just returned to the very exclusive boarding school. After almost four years there I had come to consider the school as a second home and was looking forward to seeing Jaycee, DeeDee (if only that had been my bra size!) and, of course the always outrageously dressed Sutty. Sutty and I shared a room in the Girls’ wing of the school. Since the Boys’ wing was on the other side of school it was hard to sneak out and meet boys at night, but not impossible. I smiled when thinking about that cute Adrian. He was such a good kisser. While Adrian was my officially recognized boyfriend we weren’t really allowed to show much affection when a teacher could see us.

Sutty and I were comparing our new pointe shoes. We were so excited to begin pointe classes. Both of us just loved ballet. If only we were allowed to wear tutus to class. Both of us had got new leotards as well. Once we started taking pointe classes we were allowed to wear pink leotards instead of the black the little ones wore. Sutty and I skipped over to the gym for the extra class that had been announced.

At the door to the girls’ locker room we stopped, completely shocked! There, in the middle of the girls’ locker room… completely naked …. was a GIRL!

While we were standing there our ballet teacher came up behind us.
“Hi girls, I see that you already have noticed that Cedar Oaks Academy for Boys has gone coed. There will be four girls joining you gurls.”

Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against genetic girls but NOT among the grrls at Cedar Oaks Academy for Boys and especially NOT near Adrian!

It was the evening before the Halloween weekend.

Children were trickling into the big hall for Rutherford B. Hayes Middle School’s traditional fancy dress ball. There were male and female pirates, princesses with reluctant princes, cowboys and cowgirls, ballerinas (one with a VERY reluctant and embarrassed partner), zombies, ghosts … all hoping to win the prestigious price for the best disguise.

One little boy stood out in the crowd. Well, not really stood out. Actually Phil never stood out. He always kind of blended into the walls. Not really part of anything. Not really a problem but … well, kind of sad. This night Phil was dressed very neatly in a white shirt, burgundy pull-over, black trousers and black leather shoes polished so you could see your reflection in them. The only thing was that this was how he always dressed.

His teacher and the Principal, who both were part of the jury, made their way over to him to gently explain the idea of a fancy dress ball to him.

Later that evening everyone was surprised when Phil won the big prize for the best disguise.

On Monday a happy Amy came to school.

Me and My Mus

The other day I was loafing in front of the TV when Andrea, my muse visited me. It had been some time since last. We had spent our vacations at different locations. Don’t get me wrong, I like Andrea but we have no need to crowd each other. However, I like chatting with Andrea even when I’m not going to write a story. That is what happened the other day. I like female companionship. As everyone knows all muses are female.

As we were talking Andrea happened to mention “when I was a little boy …”. Ooops!

Andrea coloured up. The cutest pink imaginable.

Boy?!

- But aren’t all muses girls?
- It’s true that in mus/muse society, gender roles are very strict. Only muses inspire writers. If you are a mus (that is a male and thus without the female e at the end) you don’t. You have a choice of other important tasks to do instead. Big manly things.
- So, you are a transgender muse? Isn’t that unusual?
- No and no. No as in there are many transgender muses. If a mus discovers that she is female she eventually transforms into a fully functional muse, inspiring writers and all that. You have no idea how many transgender muses there are here at BCTS! No, because I’m not transgender. I’m a mus (sob, sob). I like all things girly but I’m NOT a girl. Had I been human you’d called me a femboy. I’m definitely male but all things girly appeal to me, the clothes the way I keep my hair, inspiring you … And now I can’t be your muse any longer because I’m just a girly mus (heavy sobbing).

I admit I was shocked by Andrea’s revelation. By the way, Andrea? Isn’t that a girl’s name?

- Do you remember when you picked me up?
- Yes, I remember very well when I picked you up, or rather you firmly attached yourself to me. That was when I was on a language course in ….Italy.
- I see you get it. I never used a fake name. You just assumed. People always assume. Like the snobbish muses who despise me for wanting to inspire you even if I’m only a lowly mus. Of course a mus can’t do that. You have no idea how they belittle me. They keep saying that I never have given you even ONE straight idea. Only crocked and twisted ones. And what’s worse, they are right.

I couldn’t help it. Andrea was so unhappy and at the same time so incredibly CUTE. I slowly moved my head towards him and kissed him gently. And then I started to sing. If I had wanted any further proof of Andrea’s devotion to me, this was it. He didn’t flee screaming despite the fact that I’m an absolutely awful singer.

- I wanna be inspired by you, just you
Nobody else but you
I wanna be inspired by you, alone!
Boop-boop-a-doop!

That was absolutely true. My stories may be twisted. Andrea may be despised by the muses. All that didn’t matter. We were made for each other. Looking at him with his smile and still some tears in his eyes there was no doubt. Andrea was the cutest little femmus imaginable and I was his and he was mine forever, for twisted story after twisted story.

The first day of sophomore year I walked down to the school bus stop. My best friend since we were toddlers, but who had spent summer somewhere else, was already standing there waiting.

- Hi, Sally! Love that dress!

Sally looked at me surprised. I don’t know why. That dress really was beautiful and it made her look gorgeous. The thin black pantyhose made the most of her stunning legs.

- Jake! You knew. You knew all the time!
- Yep. I probably knew before you did yourself

I answered my best friend who the last time I’d seen him had been known as Sal, short for Salomon. I was happy for her. It had taken her much longer time to come out of her shell than I had expected and hoped. I was looking forward to what new relationship we would have. I really was.

The other kids on the bus took the emergence of Sally surprisingly well. We didn’t really care. We kept talking to each other. Sally had become the lovely girl I for many, many years had known to be there and eagerly waited to see. That smile of hers was delightful. However, the school bus was not the right place to tell her what I desperately wanted her to know.

We talked about other things such as how we had spent our respective summers. I had been worried because I had learnt that our nemesis, Bob the school bully, was going to spend the summer in the same small village by the lake as Sal. Bob had made freshman year hell for us. I had no expectations that sophomore year would be better even though Sal, through gritted teeth, had promised to come up with a solution. When I asked Sally how she had managed with Bob in the same small village she gave me a strange smile

- At first it was awful but then something really weird happened…

At that moment the school bus stopped. We got out and walked to the main entrance.

Oh no! Bob was standing there waiting with his goons.

Sally walked straight up to Bob and kissed him! WTF!

Bob didn’t hit her. He returned the kiss. Gently, lovingly! His face got a goofy expression and he laid his arm protectively around Sally’s shoulder. Sally turned her head towards me:

- I told you I’d find a way to stop the bullying.

The young couple walked away. They were very obviously very much in love. As the girl of my dreams departed I looked at the clock. One minute past eight.

There would still be the memories but I knew that I had lost someone I loved very much.

On a Monday morning at 08:01.

I had worked from home all day in case I’d have to go to my children’s school urgently so when the school bus stopped on the street I could see my son running to our house, sweep up the door and dash up the stairs with his modest skirt flapping and tears ruining his makeup. Then I heard his bedroom door bang shut.

I turned to my daughter who had traversed the distance to the house in a more leisurely pace.

”The experiment was not a success?”
”You could say that.”

Being a lone mother raising two kids is not easy, especially when you try to continue your own career. At least we didn’t want for money. That was one of the reasons I had accepted the promotion that required me to move to a new town. Not that the move itself was bad in any way. The town was much nicer than I had expected and the local high school excellent. However, it wasn’t easy for my children to move to a new school. You’d expect that it would have been toughest for my daughter who started her senior year in completely new environment without her old friends. Not at all. Eve has a knack of making a place for herself whatever the circumstances. She was soon one of the popular girls. Cheerleader and all that. The boys buzzed around her as flies around sugar. She had the very handsome student council president in her sights.

The problem was my son. A sophomore he didn’t fit in at all. No friends, not noticed by the teachers, no sporting achievements, no nothing. He wasn’t bullied. It was much, much worse than that. He was completely ignored. Ignored by his fellow students, ignored by the teachers, ignored by other staff. Tom actually wanted to be bullied. At least someone would have cared even if it was in a negative way. His sister was not really a help. She’s two years older and a girl. They didn’t move in the same circles. Eve likes her brother in an absentminded way but to tell the truth she’s rather self-centred.

At first Tom’s problems surprised me because he’s really a fun and bright kid and in his old school with his old friends there never was a problem. I admit he’s not jock material but apart from that he has so much to offer. The only thing is that in this new environment he completely shut down. He raised walls around himself. He sent out vibes telling others to keep away. A mouse would be more noticeable. Tom was aware of all that but even when he tried to do something about it he failed. And now half-way through the semester the pattern was so set that it would take something really spectacular to break through. That’s why he came up with this scheme. He decided to go to school dressed as a girl.

I thought it was a stupid idea. Eve thought it was a stupid idea. Tom won. He persuaded us it couldn’t get worse (well, I wasn’t convinced but I did give in). He planned it all very carefully. He got Eve to help him with makeup and what clothes to get. He was adamant that he didn’t want to be over-the-top. That wasn’t his style. A modish sophomore girl. Nice blouse, elegant skirt, pantyhose, shoes with a moderate heel. He even got Eve to spend hours helping him with movements and manners. I? I had to cough up the money and it was also I who got him an appointment at my salon early in the morning of the experiment.

“What happened? Did they bully him already in the bus?” I asked my daughter
“No, there was no reaction there”
“So it was when you got to school that it all began?”
“No, the only people to speak to him before class was the vice principal and the student council president. Those two know EVERYONE in school and thought Tom was a new student.”
“So when did it start?”
“Mom, you don’t understand! It was much worse than that”
“Eh?”
“They STILL completely ignored him!”

Oh my! I was about to go up to console my poor boy when the door-bell rang. When I opened the door the very handsome student council president stood there with a goofy smile and a bunch of roses. That was the final straw. I knew that Eve had been working to snare him for months but why did he have to come THIS day of all days!

“I’ll get Eve for you”
“Excuse me Ms Wilson, but I’m here for your other ... child.”

Oh my!

I called upstairs

“Tom, come down at once. Don’t change. Just come down”

Then I saw Eve in the doorway. I had forgotten all about her. In her face I saw how devastated she was.

Then she forced a smile and gave a thumbs-up sign.

10 P.M: a Friday night. A black van drives through the streets of Washington D.C.
The streets are filled with upset people.
In the van 15-year old Taylor Peters makes a call home.

- Hi Mom! I’m on my way home.

- Yes, I know it’s earlier than we had planned and no you don’t have to come to pick me up.

- No, Tony’s mother couldn’t drive me but you don’t have to worry.

- Well, Tony’s mother was kind of tied up so I got another ride.

- Yes Mother. I know that the city is all in uproar since the president was killed in the helicopter crash and nobody knows whether it was an accident or something even worse. But really, you don’t have to worry. It’s the police, sort of, that’s bringing me home.

- No, I haven’t done anything wrong!

- Yes, we had a great date! The show was great and then Tony’s mom picked us up and brought us to her small romantic Italian restaurant where we had an absolutely fantastic dinner and as a dessert we had that magic first kiss and then … (hesitant silence) It turns out that there are things about Tony’s parents I wasn’t aware of. For example Tony has always been reluctant to talk about his father who left them when he was a toddler, only saying that the dead-beat dad gets a lot of money for practically doing nothing and (interrupted)

- Yes the kiss was great. It really was dreamy! That first kiss was all I could have wished for (pause while Taylor smiles remembering) I know that I’m in love! I really hated the Secret Service bursting in in the middle of us kissing. You know that you always said that Tony’s mum’s restaurant must have been a license to print money? Well, it turns out that it was in the basement she printed the money.

- Yes, it really was a disappointment to have this happen. The road had been so long – realizing being a girl, the difficult coming out, falling in love, spending lots of money on a lovely dress and the salon and then have the lovely first date spoilt by two Secret Service teams bursting in.

- No I don’t think I’ll date Tony again (sobbing). With all that has happened tonight he’s moving away to his dad’s new home.

- Tony’s new address? 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. That’s why the other Secret Service team was there. I’ll tell there was a right mess at first with two Secret Service teams pointing their weapons at each other. Confusion all around.

- So you see I couldn’t be safer going home. The Secret Service is bringing me in one of their armored vans. It’s their job to keep people safe!

- Before I left I had to promise that while Tony and I would always treasure tonight I’d never let anyone else but you suspect that Tony’s and my relationship was anything else than two boys that were good friends. That’s why I have been calling Toni for "him".

- You’re right, this is really awful for Toni. She was so happy and now she will be forced back to being Anthony – but I’ll always remember My Date with the President’s Daughter.

When there was an announcement that Amy Amstel should come to the school secretary’s office urgently since there was a call waiting for her from her modelling agency my class-room exploded in laughter at the obvious joke someone had managed to pull. Everyone looked at the boy in the second row – me. My teacher is in on it and said:

- They must mean you, Andrew. Off you go.

I hated the fact that I looked like the young teenage girl model Amy Amstel. More precisely I hated the ribbing I got for looking like her. I could, just, accept that my fellow students joked about it but teachers?

- No, Miss. There must be some mistake. I’m not going.
- Don’t be silly. Don’t dilly-dally. Hurry up, they are waiting for you.

I finally regretted all the pranks I had played on Miss Draper. Well, I suppose it’s part of growing up to realize and regret the sins of your misspent youth. I went.

While not among the top-ranking models Amy Amstel was a fairly successful young teenage model. You could see her in adverts for beauty products and clothing of various kinds, though never underwear or intimate hygiene. That wouldn’t have fitted with her image. Apparently she was rather shy and prim. She never appeared in celebrity settings and in the only interview she had given she had stressed that she wanted to live a quiet life outside of work. As a matter of fact she kind of had a reputation to be a recluse. Despite her undoubted talent that low profile prevented her from making it really big.

The only reason she was a household name in our school, among girls AND boys was that Darius, the school star quarter-back, was absolutely and hopelessly infatuated with her. He collected all the adverts she appeared in, wrote letters to her (actual physical ones!), tried to meet her and when that failed sent flowers to her c/o her agency. The poor guy really had it bad. The rest of the team joked about it mercilessly. He just smiled and agreed that he had completely fallen for a girl that he’d never even meet. Then someone noticed that I resembled Amy Amstel … Well you could imagine the jokes that I and to no less extent Darius were the victims of.

Given my teacher’s attitude I just had to play along. I went to the office. I asked to take the call in private. It was as I had expected. I was angry. At lunchtime Darius unexpectedly sat down at our table. He kindly but quite firmly asked my friends to leave us alone. I admit; the oversized boy intimidated me. What was he going to do? My friends had abandoned me. I could see everyone else in the cafeteria looking at us. Help!

Fortunately my big sister turned up and despite the non-inviting glare Darius gave her she sat down. Yay, thank God! US cavalry arrived just in time. Yeah, just in time to help the Indians taking scalps!

When Darius came with outrageous ideas to ask me out for a date with me as Amy Amstel my sister didn’t shield me. She stabbed me in the back.

- Yes, there is something “Amy Amstel” about my little brother. Put him in a skirt (nearly knee-length, not mini), knee socks, a soft blouse, add a bra with A inserts, put on some discrete make-up and comb his longish hair in a different way and you have Amy Amstel.

Abandoned and betrayed I finally gave in. When dealing with deranged people it’s often better to play along and when it came to Amy Amstel Darius definitely wasn’t playing with a full deck. I foolishly agreed to spend the entire Saturday a fortnight later with him as Amy Amstel. A fully-fledged date. He was to plan everything AND pay for everything. I hoped that this would restrain him a bit. I had underestimated his infatuation.

The two weeks leading up to our date wasn’t exactly hell. More embarrassing than anything else. The entire school knew about my upcoming date as a teenage girl model. They loved it and decided to “help” in every way. The girls spent hours to help me acquire feminine behavior. I also learned that I had not exactly pissed off but at least irritated a surprising number of teachers in school. I really had to work hard to prevent Coach from transferring me to girls’ PE. Mlle Dubois returned an essay I had written in French with a big fat F for referring to myself in the masculine (I later learned that she actually registered it as B+). In drama I was given a girl’s part, fortunately only a small one. The only teacher not in on it was my ballet teacher. When someone swiped my black ballet tights, white t-shirt and black slippers and replaced it with a leo, tights and slippers, all pink, my teacher found me some black tights and slippers. I had the pink leo under my tights.

I turned down no less than three offers for sleep-overs. I also declined to try out for cheerleading. I didn’t accept any of the dates several of the more eligible males tried to get me on. I hope they were joking. You get the drift. I did accept to have lunch with the cheerleaders. Well, couldn’t turn down everything, could I? I considered it educational and thus not threatening to my masculinity. Sis laughed at that.

The big day arrived. Sis dragged me out of bed just after six. I had an appointment at the salon. They had been primed and had several photos of Amy Amstel from all possible angles (courtesy of Darius). Actually I spent less time there than expected. No cutting of the hair, just a different styling. How embarrassing! Fortunately Amy Amstel was known to use minimal make-up. Apparently it’s just as hard, or even harder, to work with subtle make-up.

Back home for dressing. Sis had the clothes I needed laid out. For the day it was just as she had said a skirt (nearly knee-length, not mini), knee socks, a soft blouse, a bra with A inserts. I was relieved that Amy Amstel had a girl next door image.

Darius picked me up and drove us to a photo studio. I got nervous. Just imagine professional photographs of me posing of Amy Amstel circulating! I insisted that both Darius and the photographer signed a paper that the pictures would not be used without my consent. Of course Darius would get a set for himself. We spent some hours there. I was photographed over and over again. Sometimes with Darius. In some shots I was supposed to look lovingly at him. I sure was happy I had made them sign that paper! Actually, the photographer expressed regret at the end of the session. Apparently I was a natural. As if! Just imagine me trying to make a living as the boy Amy Amstel look-alike. No thanks! He promised me a small portfolio anyway and some names at agencies, just in case. It would have been impolite to refuse, wouldn’t it? Of course I had no intention to use it.

Darius then took me to a nice restaurant where we had lunch before heading for the football stadium. He had a game. He left me with one of the cheerleaders. I was surprised to be led to the field and sat with the cheerleaders. Great view! Darius kept waving at me. I was worried that he would be distracted but it turned out he played better than ever. Unexpectedly they won! At the end of the game he came running to me, grabbed me and lifted me. It was only by turning my head that I managed to avoid being kissed on the lips. I was beginning to like his attention.

We left the victory celebration after a while. He brought me to a very beautiful spot by the lake. We just sat there and just spoke for a while. I had done my homework so I could interact as Amy Amstel. I had to admit to being more and more impressed by Darius. He really was a very nice boy. I had to be very careful. It was quite easy to be attracted to him. To break the spell I suggested that the reason Amy was such a recluse was that she had a terrible secret she had to hide. At that he had a good laugh and looked at his watch and saw that it was time to head for dinner. First a brief stop at home to change into that absolutely fabulous evening gown - Darius wouldn't be happy to learn what it cost! Sis helped me with a hasty change in make-up. Before leaving again I looked into the mirror. I couldn’t deny it. I was pretty, I was cute, I was beautiful. I really looked like a teenage girl model in that dress!

Seeing the restaurant I gasped. It was extremely good and extremely expensive. I protested, but not very vigorously. The food really was as good as I expected. The atmosphere was amazing. Darius’ attention was quite addictive. I started to have problem differentiating between Amy and Andrew. We danced and danced. I was surprised that he was such a good ball-room dancer. He was also surprised at my skill, to dance the female part. I told him that I was serious to give him the full Amy Amstel experience. I did not exactly tell him the truth. That would have been too embarrassing. The night ended on a hill-top overlooking the town. The lights and stars couldn’t have been more romantic.

Sitting there with Darius’ arm around me I realized that I could get used to be cuddled by the big boy. There was no denying it, I enjoyed it. He leaned in towards me. It was clear that he wanted to kiss me but didn’t want to force himself on me. I was tempted, sorely tempted, to just melt into his arms in a passionate kiss. I didn’t. This night I was Amy Amstel. That kind of kiss just wasn’t her, not on a first date! I gave him my cheek. After the kiss I looked into his eyes. Really looked for a long time. His face was a strange combination of disappointment and happiness. Happiness dominated. His idea about Amy had been vindicated. Had I given in he probably would have been very disappointed. As I said, it wouldn’t have been Amy Amstel.

For a long time we just sat there, silent together.

Darius dropped me off at home a few minutes before midnight.
- Amy thank you for an unforgettable evening and day. I will cherish this day forever. It was everything I had hoped for. And you can tell Andrew that today I had this great day with Amy. Trying to repeat it would be to destroy a perfect memory. Andrew was in no way involved so he has nothing to worry about.

Easy for him to say!

- I really am happy that you finally got your date with Amy Amstel. You deserved it. You are the most romantic guy. Kind, attentive and all that. Amy Amstel deserves you!

Inside again, after a last kiss on the cheek, I looked at myself in the mirror. I was glowing. I was genuinely happy that Darius had got his perfect date with Amy Amstel. A date that Amy Amstel deserved, too.

I could have killed Sis when she said “Put him in a skirt (nearly knee-length, not mini), knee socks, a soft blouse, add a bra with A inserts, put on some discrete make-up and comb his longish hair in a different way and you have Amy Amstel”. Fortunately Darius thought she was speaking figuratively. That also reminded me. I really had to talk to my modelling agency. They have been told very firmly never, ever, to contact me in school!

I usually write basically nice stories that could be labeled as comedy. Every now and then something very dark comes into my head. I usually don’t publish those stories.

Please note the WARNING.

As I stand by the door to father’s office I reflect that I had hoped it never would have been necessary to talk with father, that I could have found another solution.

I really had tried to suppress my feelings, my conviction, that I am a girl. Ever since the age of six when I understood. I know that those feelings are so fundamentally wrong. That I want to reject what I have been created as, that I want to set myself above my creator, that I can’t find humility.

I’ve failed. I’ve failed miserably.

It goes against everything I’ve ever learned to believe. Against the convictions of our entire community.

I tried to suppress my girlhood. I really tried but it’s there all the time. Oh, how I’ve have suffered for the ten years since I realised that I am an abomination.

I’ve even thought of ending it all but wouldn’t that be an even bigger sin? I’ve finally come to the conclusion that I have to talk to my father. I hate him and he hates me but despite all I’m still his dutiful son.

I enter my father’s office and tell him.

”Even if we never have been close I had always thought that you were a dutiful son. You have tried to repent?”

”Yes father. I have tried and tried … and failed.”

”You understand that I can’t suffer an abomination.”

"Yes Sir, I understand"

For a moment he sits still without an expression and then he opens a drawer in the desk. I’m elated! Even though I hate him and he hates me I’ve read him right. I had been afraid that he would rant at me or even given me a thorough beating. As he brings out the heavy object and extends the arm I’m filled with a serene calm.

BANG!

--------------------------------------------------------

While I welcome private messages my emotions when writing this were a bit too raw to allow public comments with possible flame wars.

This is a fictional story about one specific person’s specific situation and not intended as an attack on any entire belief system and all the wonderfully varied believers.

Instead of waking up in our small flat next to the university campus I wake up in my old boy’s room as it looked when I was 16. I check my alarm clock. The date is the day after my 16th birthday. Something else feels wrong too. Instead of my usual buzz-cut my hair goes down to my shoulders. Looking down on my chest I see two mounds through the neckline of my PJs. Two smallish but pert breasts, exactly the kind I like; on girls! Panicking my hands go down to my crotch. IT isn’t there any longer! Just an extra slit!

AAAARGH!!!

My mother rushes in and wonders what has happended. Her reaction when I tell her isn’t what I had expected. She gushes how happy she is that my birthday wish has come true! Birthday wish? This is horrbible, terrible and she’s happy for me!

Father, little brother and big sister also join us and they are just as demented. Can’t anyone understand how horrible this is?

Sis brings me into her room and submits me to the torture of make-up and lends me some of her old clothes; bra, panties, tights, light summer dress, shoes with a small heel. I’m too dazed to stop her. Before I know it we are at the bus stop waiting for the bus. The lunacy continues. The other kids waiting there all tell me how cute I am and how happy they are for me. No one listen to me when I try to tell them that this is awful and that I should go to the hospital.

The same thing in school. Coach smiles and congratulates me and then punishes me by removing me from the baseball team. Hey! I don’t want this help me instead! Oh no, why should anyone bother about sanity? Instead the girls’ coach wants to schedule an extra tryout for me for the cheerleading squad. Isn’t there anyone who hasn’t lost his mind? Oh, there comes Carl, my best friend.

Carl: “Hi, your transformation is great. Now I can do what I’ve wanted to do for ages”

He sweeps me up in his arms and kisses me!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!

I wake up in our flat screaming, arms flailing, sweat streaming, body shivering.

For some strange reason that wakes up Annie, the love of my life. I tell her about my nightmare.

Her reaction:
"Don’t (she punches me hard) you (another punch) ever (punch) dare (punch) to (punch) have (punch) another (punch) dream (punch) like (punch) that (punch)!"

Then she collapses crying. I carefully sneak one arm under her and hold her as her sobbing tapers off.

I’m an idiot!
I never should have told her about my nightmare.
I should have remembered that one man’s nightmare is another’s dream.

Fortunately her SRS is next week.

I was very surprised when I got a call from Philip. He invited me to be his date for the premiere of his sister’s new action movie. I had not expected him to invite me, his old high school girlfriend. Admittedly that was only a couple of year ago but I had dumped him with some very harsh words. Not that he wasn’t a macho jerk fixated on martial arts but, anyway, there was no need for me to be THAT cruel to him. Actually he was a rather pathetic figure always in the shadow of his older, gorgeous and popular sister Anne. Well, Anne really enjoyed putting him down. Partly from guilt but mostly because I’d never been to a big Hollywood premiere I accepted.

I was surprised once again when he picked me up from the hotel (which he paid for). He was actually nice and attentive. At the mingling before the film he did his best to introduce me to the attending celebrities. Well, since he was only the big star’s brother he was not that successful, but he tried. When seated he started whispering to me. Apparently he was about to burst with the BIG SECRET and he had to tell somebody and he trusted me despite everything. Apparently the film we were going to see wasn’t at all what had been the original script, the only thing left was the jungle setting. He swore it was all true. He’d been there himself as an assistant to his sister. To start with Anne had sipped some untreated water the first day and been out of action after that. The film team had found a stand-in for distance shots and had just started filming when the local, supposedly quashed, guerilla had attacked the camp from the river and kidnapped the male lead. They had planned to kidnap Anne but she had staggered away behind some brush for another bout of her personal little hell and was not found. Anyway, the cameramen had managed to keep filming during the attack and after, so everything in the film had actually happened. Not that this was made public. This was just another of her action films. Anne had insisted and her lawyers are good, very good.

Anyway, Philip told me, whispering very silently, that everything was unscripted actual events. The only acting involved was some scenes with dialogue featuring Anne (added when she eventually got better). The rule of thumb was Face=acting, if not = actual events and no acting. Philip swore that it was true.

If I hadn’t known Philip so well I’d have pegged him as a liar after the first five minutes from the attack (the scenes before that were eminently forgettable). The bikini-clad stand-in somehow had got hold of a functioning gun and started shooting at the guerillas escaping in a boat. Quite good shooting too. She hit two of them despite the distance. When the magazine was empty she jumped into a canoe and started pursuing them. Right, I’m not a lesbian but her pert small breast bumped rather alluringly in that tiny bikini top. Though the breast were a bit smaller than Anne’s they had found a good stand-in. Oh, I forgot, apart from the bikini she also wore a knife belt. As the boats disappeared some astute cameraman had got it all on telephoto. Including how she caught up with them and the fight that ensued which ended with her being pushed off the boat but taking one of them with her. The next shot was from a helicopter.

Philip told me that their regular supply helicopter had arrived soon after the attack and the director had commandeered it for the camera crew. You could see how the guerillas steered their boat toward the shore, still shooting at the stand-in in the water. You also saw how she was swept towards and over the edge of a high waterfall.

I looked at Philip and asked.

- Really?
- Really. No acting
- How did she survive that
- Sheer luck I suppose.

This was followed by a scene where she was wrestling an alligator and killed it. How cliché can you get?

- Give me a break. An alligator? You can’t pretend that this isn’t acting.
- No acting. Actually, it wasn’t an alligator. It was a caiman. They are usually a bit smaller, you know, but that’s hard to see when photographed from a helicopter.

At that point the helicopter had to escape since the guerillas started shooting at it. Philip assured me that no one was harmed.

The scene after that was more in Anne’s usual style. She attacked the small guerilla band's base. You could see it was her since her face was visible. In ten minutes she expedited the last four guerillas only using the same knife the stand-in had used against the alligator. Sorry, the caiman.

- Acting?
- Re-enactment, quite faithful at that.

I know Phil. He wouldn’t lie to me but how could he be sure? This was all a bit too much. Even my credulity has got a limit. Then the film surprised me again.

Anne NEVER does sex scenes but here we could see the newly rescued male lead and “Anne” in passionate intercourse when the rescue team finally arrived once all the fighting had already been taken care of. Right, you could only see the back of the female but that scene was HOT. Wait a minute. I had seen that “butterfly” birthmark on that ass-cheek before!

I looked at Philip. He really should have worn a less sheer shirt. When I looked closer I could see the bandage flattening his chest.

- Acting?
- No acting. Absolutely no acting.

Philip answered with a smile and looked fondly over where the male lead was sitting with a very representative date. I felt I had something in common with her. I also understood why Anne was adamant to keep everything secret. She never could take being upstaged by her little brother.

Captain: You wear what I tell you Mr Ingram or you’re off the team!

Mr Ingram (in a lovely contralto voice, flipping his luscious long blond hair): With all due rethpect Thir I will not. We both know that my long, thmooth, tanned, perfectly shaped legth are the thekthiest within a ten-mile radiuth and that the mini-micro thkirt and thekthy pantieth theth off my pert little bottom to perfection, entithing even the motht heterothekthual man. However, I will wear the uthual whiteth. Dithtracting the other team that way... Well, it’th jutht not cricket.

-----------------------------------------

For those of you who have difficulties understanding us lispers:

Mr Ingram (in a lovely contralto voice, flipping his luscious long blond hair): With all due respect Sir I will not. We both know that my long, smooth, tanned, perfectly shaped legs are the sexiest within a ten-mile radius and that the mini-micro skirt and sexy panties sets off my pert little bottom to perfection, enticing even the most heterosexual man. However, I will wear the usual whites. Distracting the other team that way... Well, it’s just not cricket.

Just for once I had managed to get away from the steel mill at 4. It was Friday after all. Coming home tired after a very bad day and opening the door I surprised my 16 year old son getting ready to go out. I was appalled! He was wearing a calf-length dress, pumps with a 2 inch heel, a necklace and ear-rings that had belonged to my departed and sorely missed wife, red lipstick and a little rouge. Where did I go wrong? I had tried to be a good parent but it hadn’t been easy since my wife passed away four years ago.

”Where do you think you are going to go dressed like that?”

”Eh, to see a movie”

”Alone?”

”No”

”Stop stalling. With whom?

In a very small voice ”George”

”So you are going on a date with a boy?”

”Not really, we’re just going to see a movie and then have some pizza”

”Is he paying”

Once more in a very small voice ”Yes”

”Then it’s a date” I was furious. How could he event think about sneaking behind my back like that!

”Go upstairs and change immediately. George is a nice boy he deserves better from you. You know you got awsome legs. Show them off! Get that little short red dress you bought last week, put on some thin black pantyhose and for god’s sake wear your four inch sandals. And why haven’t you used the make-up I got you for your birthday. Your eyes are lovely and with the right make-up he’ll drown in them. It’s evening, artificial lights, remember! Oh, don’t forget to wear the black lace set of underwear I gave you for Christmas.”

”Dad! I can’t wear that! No way I’m going to get undressed! I’m not THAT kind of boy!”

”Of course George won’t see your underwear. I know you wouldn’t do anything like that but YOU will feel it. It’s your first date after all! I only wish you had told me so we could have prepared you properly with a visit to the Salon, perhaps getting …”

”DAD! This is why I didn’t tell you.”

”Oh, sorry Andie I just want you to be happy."

”I know dad but relax. You try to hard."

”Sorry Andie. I still insist to meet George before you leave.”

”Well, since changing will take some time he might just as well come in. I’ll call him.”

----

Before they leave I tell them that Andie has to be back before 1 o’clock.

”1 o’clock? My curfew is at 11.”

”Not tonight. No school tomorrow and it’s your first date. Enjoy yourselves!”

John got back from school and as usual he went straight to the kitchen and his milk and cookies. Well, he really was a high school freshman but he looked like an eleven-year old, people treated him like an eleven-year old so why couldn’t he act like an eleven-year old at times? He liked milk and cookies. As he was slurping his milk and stuffing his mouth with cookies his mother asked him how school had been. John, who was somewhat absentminded or if you want to be nice ”sometimes” got lost in his thoughts, started thinking back and to his surprise he realized it had actually been a very good day. John’s school-days quite seldom were very good.

Small, scrawny, no good at sports, no good in classes, no friends he was the favorite target of the bullies, ignored by the rest, including the teachers. The reason he kept his hair so short was so they couldn’t pull it. However, this morning when he was waiting for the school bus the other kids just looked strangely at him. Since there really were too many kids for the school bus John usually wound up in the worst place, squashed up against a window or barely getting a few inches of seat thus ”half-sitting” to school. This day John got a bench all of his own.

Going into school to his locker no one tripped him or pushed him. Some of the students, especially the girls even smiled at him. John was a bit surprised when he was called to the Principal before the first class. John never really understood why the Principal wanted to talk to him. Was he transgendered? What’s that? Being a girl in a boy’s body? Weird! Bullied? Of course he was! Why he hadn’t said anything about it? John had but since no one ever backed up his version of events he got told off for making false accusations so why should he bother? Political statement? ??? Then the Principal started to ask something but broke off in mid-sentence and sent John back to class telling him to report any new occurrences of bullying to the Vice Principal. The Principal could be heard saying something about “hate crime” and “end of career” and starting to make calls to teachers and others as John left.

An hour later John had reason to see the Vice Principal. This time he had a couple of cheerleaders backing him up. This was strange since the cheerleaders usually were like the Three wise monkeys; See No Evil, Hear No Evil, Speak No …ehem.. well, they were cheerleaders so two out three wasn’t bad. This time however they acted very protectively towards little John. At the beginning of the school-day there had been 1034 students at the high school. By the end of the day there were 1029. The once very good prospects for the school wrestling team suddenly weren’t that bright any longer.

The rest of the day was uneventful. The bullies carefully stayed out of John’s way. For some reason some of the boys Johns sometimes talked with looked angrily at him as did some other boys and girls. On the other hand some of the students who the day before just could have walked over him appeared friendly. The newly protective cheerleaders asked him to sit with them at lunch. Since they mainly talked about make-up and boys he didn’t contribute much but he wasn’t sitting alone.

In class the teachers paid extra attention to John. Since he couldn’t fade away as usual he discovered, to his surprise, that the relationship of numbers could be rather interesting, that Ms Brown in Social Studies in fact was quite witty and funny but only if you really listened to what she said and in History class Mr Grey got John talking about the background of various flags; the Union Jack a combination of the cross of Saint Andrew and that of Saint George, the blood-dripping legend of the Latvian flag, the Danish (the oldest national flag) as a sign of Divine intervention on behalf of the Danes when invading pagan Estonia, that the Norwegian flag used to have a part called the “herring sallad” when in union with Sweden … Well, let’s just say this was a subject John perhaps knew a little bit too much about. His teacher was impressed though and showed it. John decided to put a little bit extra effort into his history home-work in the future.

After school one of the senior boys, best known for his rather spectacular break-up with his former boy-friend, offered John a lift home. Since John’s mother had told him to always use the bus and never get into the car of someone he didn’t know John politely declined. Especially since his next-door neighbor Mary wanted to discuss her new dress with him. The trip home passed very quickly.

So when John thought back on the day he was surprised to realize that it actually had been a really good day.

When he left the kitchen table his mother asked him:
- You are aware that you wore your sister's skirt to school today instead of your shorts?
- Oh!

I feel very awkward but I finally have to talk with my son about his cross-dressing. We have known for a couple of months that he goes out partying dressed as girl together with his friends whenever my husband and I are away on week-ends but we haven't said anything. We wanted it to be his choice when/if he wants to bring it up with us.

Unfortunately it happens quite often that he is alone on week-ends since Charlie is a specialist that has to fly away on a minute’s notice to the most strange places all over the world and I have been spending more and more time at corporate HQ. I do a good job which my divisional manager recognises and he gives me every opportunity to get ahead.

Callum is a nice boy and never caused us any problems. Good in school, working in a clothing shop in evenings and week-ends so he’s never sponged off us. In fact I know that he has bought all his girl’s clothes for his own money and never gone into my drawers, which only makes what I have to do now so much harder for me.

If only our CEO hadn’t come to our town unannounced and then let off the bomb! He really didn’t give me any choice. I have to talk to Callum!

- Callum, could I borrow that gorgeous blue gown that you bought last week? Our CEO has included me in the very fancy dinner tonight and I’ve nothing appropriate to wear and no time to buy anything. I’m sorry but I tried it on last week and I look fabulous in it!

This story was inspired by Teek’s story by the same name.

Timmy was sitting on the school bus on his way to his Middle School. Next to him, Betty, his bestest friend in the whole world was prattling about her afternoon tryout for the cheerleading squad. Timmy wasn’t really listening. Timmy was no Tiny Tim. If not exactly bigger than all the other boys in his class, he was taller than most. And if he was lean what was there was mostly bones, sinews and muscles. He very much resembled his father and grandfather at his age. Grandfather had played pro football. Unfortunately he had to retire due to injuries after one season. Timmy’s father had been the big football hero in the high school Timmy was to attend in a few years. The father had gone on to play college football, though only for one year.

So no surprise Timmy's mind was on the permission slip for his tryout he was crunching with his hand in his bag.
At that moment he decided that he would make sure his kids did what they wanted and not what he wanted. Even if it was with the best of intentions. Not wanting his kids to do what he had not been able to do. Not to live a second chance through his children. He had to break the chain.

Timmy’s father was not an ogre. In fact, he was a very good father in most ways and Timmy loved him very much. That really was the problem. Timmy didn’t want to disappoint his father. He could have told his father that what he wanted was not what his father wanted and thought Timmy wanted. His father would have been OK with that. The problem was that he would have been disappointed and sad and Timmy didn’t want to disappoint and make his father sad.

Timmy considered “losing” the permission slip or not doing his best in the tryouts. However, that would have been dishonest and Timmy was a very honest and earnest boy. Ernest was his middle name. Timothy Ernest Smith. Besides, that would have disappointed his father and as we know Timmy didn’t want to disappoint his father.

Oh well, he thought. Once the embarrassment in school had faded away and he had grown used to the black tights and the loneliness in the locker room he had come to quite like ballet and who knows, he might come to like cheerleading as well.

To be honest I was worried about starting high school. All right, I was terrified. Middle school had been bad enough for my friend Phil and me. And that school was a good and smallish school. The high school we were going to was huge.

Fortunately I had a big sister that not only could coach us but, amazingly, was willing to. Though she did warn us that in school she would not recognize us or in any way admit she was related to me. After all she was the new head cheerleader.

She advised us about the teachers’ quirks. Mr. Franken: Don’t mention the war. Miss White: Diction, diction, diction. Miss Schmidt: NO macho attitude. Not a problem I answered. We didn’t really qualify, which was one reason Middle school had been less than enjoyable. My sister sighed and retorted

“Joe, sometimes people overcompensate”

She also told us about the power groups in school. There were the usual ones: jocks (if you don’t bother them they won’t bother you), cheerleaders (ditto), druggies (stay away), Debate team (seriously uncool, stay away) and so on. One group that was specific to Warren G. Harding High School was the “Posse”. Not the usual clique but a self-perpetuating group of extra-ordinary girls. Rather democratic internally but no doubt that “Primus inter Pares” was Barbie. If you think about dolls don’t think Mattel, think GI Joe. Not really a force of evil but boys, especially shrimps like us, should avoid pissing them off. Really bad karma that. Maybe Sis was a bit biased since the old head cheerleader had been a member but she hadn’t been invited.

However, the most important part was an encyclopedia regarding the bullies. Despite appearances Sis really liked me. Names, pictures, modus operandi, weak points (if any), degree of nastiness (ranging from “Really bad” to “Lethal”), and, most valuable of all, a detailed map of places to avoid where they could get at you. That information would most likely save our lives. Thanks Sis!!!

The first morning in that huge school was pure chaos. At least Phil and I thought so. People milling around apparently without a clue of where to go. Halfway up the big stairs I recognized the Posse standing there looking out at us freshmen. They looked like they were at a horse market looking for new acquisitions. Maybe they were looking for a new PHILly I thought, but refrained to say to Phil. I could hear Barbie say in a voice that clearly was meant to be heard by all.

“What a sorry lot of freshmen. Not a single promising prospect”

Phil and I followed Sis’ advised and stayed well away. A bigger problem was that we saw that some of the nastier bullies in Sis’ bully bulletin appeared to have noticed us. I was disappointed but not really surprised. No matter what we tried Phil and I were irresistible to bullies, I had started to suspect it had something to do with pheromones. Trying to avoid one set only resulted in getting too close to another. After a while Phil and I found ourselves at the base of the stairs.

“Hey, you guys down there turn around and come up here”

Phil and I tried to convince ourselves that Barbie didn’t mean us. When she repeated her request in an irritated voice we stopped pretending and walked up to them. Couldn’t be worse than the bullies, could it? Boy, was I wrong.

“Goldilocks, you are just too cute to be a boy”

I hated that name. Yes, I have golden hair. Yes, that’s the one thing I had refused to sacrifice to avoid bullies. I kept it long but in a ponytail. A LOW, manly one. Then I felt Phil undo my ponytail and fluff my hair and I heard him say

“Isn’t it beautiful? Isn’t it the prettiest you’ve ever seen?”

The traitor!

“Quite stunning. You really are cute. That face framed by that beautiful hair… The delicate yet strong body. Yes, you really are too cute by far to be a boy. Do you have any talents?” (Barbie)

“Joe’s really bright. A proper little Einstein.” (Phil the traitor added)

Yeah, a proper little Einstein. My grades were just as bad as his were in school. Of course, in my case it was a case of self-preservation to keep a low profile.

“Oh, Oh! A nerd. Can we keep her?” (Mary Summers jumping, senior, new student council president, possibly a future US one. Reputed to be the target of offers from both Harvard and Princeton. Her boyfriend is the vice president of the student council)

“Wait a minute! That depends. What kind of nerd are you? Social sciences, hard sciences …? (Barbie, senior, varsity footballer, NO, not quarterback. Halfback, but she dates the QB)

“He’s a wizard at science. My father who’s a MSc in Electrophysical Engineering has been tutoring him but lately he’s been muttering about paying Joe instead of the other way round” (Phil-the-traitor once again. In an unctuous yet enthusiastic voice. I had no idea that his father thought that I was that good. Hmm).

“Good for you it wasn’t social sciences” (My Au, Junior, music prodigy set on a career as a conductor, no boyfriend at present and looking like the cat that got the cream. She really scared me. Who said that Asian girls can’t be tall?)

“Wait another minute! We don’t really need another nerd. However, we do need someone to replace Jean in the cheerleader squad” (Anna Paul, Junior, amazing ballet dancer, choreographer college boyfriend)

“That’s not a problem. Joe is an amazing ballet dancer and since his cheerleading sister thinks practicing alone is boring…. he’ll make a great cheerleader.” (Guess who)

Phil then proceeded to extoll my ballet prowess. For six years he had been ribbing me about taking ballet and the fact that I was willing to take that risk despite our already low social status. Though I did go to the next town to take classes. Now he made me sound like a second Nureyev. Phil told all about my latest recital. I hadn’t even known that he had been there. He kept gushing on until Munzie stopped him.

“Anna, isn’t the ballet school in this town much better?” (Munzie, sophomore, visual artist recently commissioned by the town to be responsible for decorating the new town hall, together with her boyfriend)

“Certainly is. Easily rectified.” (Anna)

“We’re all agreed then” (Barbie)

Short pause. Nods all around. Apparently I had just been Possessed.

“Joey, you’re now the new girl here. One important thing. Posse girls do not have boys as friends so say good-bye to Phil now” (Barbie)

I was dazed and confused. I was vaguely aware that this just might be something very, very good for me but I was not prepared to ditch Phil. He had been my friend since before I could remember. Nothing was worth losing his friendship despite what he had just done. I looked at the Posse. A very intimidating bunch. Massive Barbie, towering My, well-muscled Anna, intense and with very strong presence Mary … even chubby Munzie was quite intimidating.

“NO! Phil is my friend. I will continue to be his friend, no matter what. Thank you for your offer or whatever it was. Phil let’s go”

“Boy ….. friend…?” (Anna)

“Loyal to your friend, Joey? Good for you. Oh, why not? Phil, you’re Joey’s boyfriend now. Run along. You can pick up your girlfriend at the ballet school at seven tonight” (Barbie)

Barbie sent a message on her phone while Phil escaped with a relieved smile on his face knowing that he now was safe from any bully since he was connected, however tenuously, to the Posse.

“Mary, get Mr. Franken and have him evaluate Joey. I can’t remember seeing her name on the rooster for advanced Math, Physics and Chemistry classes. That error must be rectified. I’ll inform your and Joey’s teachers that you are otherwise occupied” (looking at her phone that just had pinged) “We’ll meet in the Principal’s office at 10 to make the necessary changes to Joey’s schedule. Anna, at 11 Joey will have the more advanced freshman girl PE class. Make sure she has the appropriate uniform and tell Coach Williams that she is to have a special tryout for Joey as cheerleader after class. Pick her up after school and get her some pointe shoes before taking her to the ballet school and enroll her. Joey, I suppose you haven’t taken pointe before?” (Barbie)

“No! I’m a boy. Boys don’t take pointe classes” (Me)

“Joey, you are far too cute to be a boy. Girls do take pointe. You dance ballet. You take pointe.”

I was really dazed and confused now. However, I somehow understood that I’d maybe, just maybe, would get into the advanced classes I desperately had wanted but been denied due to my “tactical” grades. I was prepared to go with the flow.

I got the classes I had yearned for. PE with the girls felt a bit strange. Mostly because I was used to wearing tights with a leotard instead of bare legs. Sis DID recognize me at lunch. It would have been silly otherwise since I now was in her cheerleading squad. Phil was there waiting for me after ballet class. He stood there with a goofy smile and a single red rose in his hand. Silly boy!

He brought me home. In my bag I had my new ballet pink pointe shoes. A pain to find a pair that fitted me passably since my feet are wider than most girls’ but now approved by the teacher who, by the way, really was much better than my old one.

At home my parents had already been updated by Sis. Mother told Father, who teaches at the Psychology Department at the local college, to get me a good shrink from the department.

“Right, I know just the right person” (Father)

“NOT Maggie! I know she is brilliant. I also know that ANYTHING could happen with her. Right now Joey needs someone stable and reliable to support her. Maybe even someone booooring. Someone reliable since blockers will be involved. I don’t want that part messed up” (Mother)

“I just don’t see how we could miss seeing the girl in Joey. Now that Barbie told us it seems so obvious. Welcome to light side of the force, Sis” (Sis)

“Well, NOW it’s obvious. We were just too close” (Father and Mother at the same time, it’s creepy the way they do that sometimes).

“I DID know. Joey, I’ve known for the last two years but been too afraid to scare you away to say anything. I’ve been longing to do this for a looong time.” (Phil, grabbing me and giving me a quite thorough kiss, making up for the wait)

Actually that wasn’t bad at all. I could learn to like this. Of course I’ll have to make some changes. I mean, the internal messaging system the Posse uses; pathetic, no security at all. And the way they’re all one track minds? They need to be more rounded personalities. Well, perhaps less rounded in the case of chubby Munzie. Mens sana in corpore sano and all that.

And Phil! As the Cute Posse girl I most certainly have to have the cutest boy in school as my boyfriend. It will be so fun to get Phil up to my new standards.

I finally had tricked my wife into a bet where as her forfeit she’d finally do something in the bedroom that she’d absolutely refused to do ever since that first crazy night of debauchery we’d spent together. There was no way I could lose the bet. I was really looking forward to collecting since there was no conceivable way I could lose. I could already smell the sweet smell of victory. The only thing I was worried about was that reality wouldn’t live up to memory.

I lost.

That’s why I was looking at myself in the mirror before going to work that fateful morning. Reluctantly I had to confess I looked good. Actually I looked REALLY good in my brand new purple skirt-suit.

I had had to get up very early that morning and spend a couple of hours at the salon opened just for me by my sister-in-law. I still can’t understand how she’d been able to turn my usually unruly hair into this feminine and sophisticated style. However, even my wife admitted turning my face into something beautiful wasn’t that difficult. People often tell me that I have a ”pretty” face. Not something I usually like to hear but that day it was a help. The high heels gave my stockinged (purple stockings, not pantyhose) legs that extra definition that transformed them from spectacular to absolutely amazing, according to my wife. I think she might have been just a little bit jealous. The jacket accentuated my narrow waist in a very flattering way. The skirt was a little bit on the short side but not shorter than the CEO’s.

Our CEO, Mary Fletcher, is a very beautiful woman despite closing in on forty. Her legs are gorgeous, as she is well aware of. She always wears something that highlights those magnificent long legs. Her vanity in no way diminishes her effectiveness. She is one of the most successful CEOs within the Hutchinson Conglomerate. In particular she has a reputation to spot and nurture management talent in her protégés. That’s why I had been thrilled to get the opportunity to work with her. We were a bunch of handsome (well, pretty in my case if you insist) young men on the make. We were eager and bright. For some reason Mary never seemed to be lucky with the intake of young women. They tended to soon disappear somewhere else.

I had been nervous coming to the office dressed as the consummate business-woman. I found that most people just smiled and complimented me on my outfit. Apparently purple fits me. I had no idea. I just like the colour purple. Considering the Hutchinson Conglomerate’s very clear support of LGBTQ issues I realized that I had been silly to worry. My confidence grew and I felt a kind of buzz that gave me extra energy. I was feeling on top of the world. My wife’s attempt to embarrass me had backfired. I was surprised when we were called to a strategy meeting just after lunch since that had been scheduled for the next week. However, since M. Fleury, a CEO from a French company within the Conglomerate, was in the office Mary wanted to take advantage of that to get his views as well.

The meeting went well. I had prepared for the meeting well in advance so I was much better informed than my colleagues. With my extra confidence I was not afraid push for my own ideas. Usually I was a bit afraid to question my superiors’ ideas and opinions. Not this day! Maybe I should have been more careful picking our CEO’s pet idea into pieces but it WAS seriously flawed and someone had to make her understand that.

At 7pm, just before leaving I was called into the CEO’s office.

- Paul, you are fired!

WTF! What had I done? Oh yes. I had told her that her idea wasn’t viable. In front of lots of people and the other CEO. Bad mistake!

- I’m sorry Mrs Fletcher. Perhaps I should have been more diplomatic when discussing your idea but I hope you realized the weaknesses …

- No, I’m not firing you for that. You were perfectly right. It was seriously flawed. My only regret is that you were the only one objecting. Apparently I have failed to instil critical thought and courage in your colleagues. Your performance during the meeting was stellar. As matter of fact this morning I had decided to fire you for being not bright enough and/or too timid to push your ideas. The way you acted during the meeting proved me wrong and made me change my mind. No the reason I’m firing you is the way you are dressed.

- My skirt-suit? But Hutchinson Conglomerate has a strict pro-LGBTQ policy. You can’t fire me for that!

- Oh, I don’t care who you share your bed with or anything like that. Your skirt-suit is absolutely inappropriate.

- Excuse me Madame but it’s not any more revealing than yours.

- Exactly! It sets off your gorgeous legs too well. Even if you go back to trousers everyone will know that your legs are prettier than mine. That is something I CAN NOT allow! NO ONE in management may have better looking legs than I do!

- So I’m fired because I look pretty in purple?

- You’ve got it! Oh, I could offer you a secretarial position. I don’t mind the secretaries looking better than me. You might like it. It would give you the opportunity to come to work every day in a short skirt looking pretty. We encourage the secretaries to look pretty and you DO look very pretty in purple. Nah, that would be too much like a TG story trope so I’ll just forward Mr Fleury’s job offer. He was also impressed by you during the meeting and we had a long chat about you during the afternoon. Of course this has the extra benefit of you having to relocate.

As she described the position I got more and more excited. A huge step upwards. Really interesting work. More responabilities. More authority. A significantly higher salary. Living in France which had long been a secret dream of mine. I’d have jumped at the opportunity regardless of the circumstances. And just for fun I’d just might be able to come to work in my pretty purple skirt-suit on the odd day. I’d had grown to rather like it and the feeling it gives me. I'd skip the high heels though. As I was standing there my legs were cramping. I almost didn’t catch the last thing Mary said

- The only thing, and here I completely disagree with M. Fleury, is that he thinks that you’d look even prettier in pink!

PINK??!!! I just HATE pink!!!

As soon as I woke up I knew that this would be another scorching hot June day. It also meant that the boys’ decision to stage a skirt-protest against the dress code not allowing shorts would be implemented that day. I smiled. I had the most dashing skirt I was planning to wear. I decided to really girly up. Instead of having my long blonde hair in a low ponytail I decided to let it flow down to my shoulders over my ears. I picked my favourite white blouse and some thin tights. The tights somewhat negated the purpose of the protest but I couldn’t resist.

Reluctantly I abstained from painting my nails, even if that would have looked good in my sandals with a moderate heel. That, as well as make-up was against the dress code and I didn’t want to break the dress-code on a the day of the protest against the dress-code would I? I happily put my ballet stuff in my big bag for my class after school. I was fortunate that my rather intensive ballet curriculum was allowed to count as my PE requirement.

As I had expected most of the boys were wearing skirts as agreed. They sure weren’t sissies since they all knew what was coming. Our headmaster was a ruthless disciplinarian and brooked no infringements of the rules. Still, they hoped that he would come to his senses as result of the protest, no matter how unpleasant the consequences in the short run. I did get some comments about my tights, as expected.

Also as expected they were all punished. Tom, leader of “public opinion” among the boys protested that I wasn’t.

Headmaster: Have you noticed something about Kelly the last year?
Tom: Yeah, he has been kind of sissier than usual with those girly jeans, soft shirts and all that but that doesn’t make him a girl. For one thing he uses the boys’ restroom!
Headmaster: Really? That’s serious. When did you last see Kelly in the boys’ restroom?
Tom: Eh … I don’t know ….. But he must. He’s a boy so he must use them. It’s not like he uses the girls’ restroom. THAT would have been a scandal! I know he’s a boy. He used to have PE with me before he started that sissy ballet thing. I saw his weenie. So he should be punished just like the rest of us!
Headmaster: Kelly officially became a girl just before this school year. She has used a special restroom this year. Your power of observation is most “remarkable”. And since Kelly is a girl she is a allowed to wear a skirt according to the dress code.

I was amazed. The house looked exactly like it had done twenty years ago. Now when I finally had got this far I suddenly hesitated. Was I really prepared to meet my father? Could we put all everything behind us and start anew? Could all the prejudice be overcome?

My childhood had not been a happy one since my mother passed away when I was ten. Neither my father nor I did handle it very well. It didn’t help that my father turned more and more discontented. The alcohol certainly didn’t improve the situation. Of course when his son started getting into problem with shop-lifting and other stuff things really started to get ugly. My father’s bad temper and dissatisfaction got worse and worse. However, I don’t think I’d have left home at seventeen if it hadn’t been for the gender issue. Intolerance is a terrible thing. It really can destroy a family.

The first years were terrible. At times I was close to starving. Then I was lucky to find a job with a fashion designer. It turned out I had a flair for the business and after a few years I started my own company. I and my partner through hard work and some luck have turned the company into a quite profitable business. Though we couldn’t have children of our own our two lovely adopted daughters were an added blessing.

Finally I was secure both financially and emotionally. It was time to return to my troubled relationship with my father. Was I ready to try to mend bridges? Was he?

That’s why I was standing outside my old home on Christmas Eve.

Now the question was should I turn back to the car where my family was waiting or should I be brave and go on? Having come so far I decided it would be a cowardly thing to turn back. I rang the bell.

The door opened. I had not expected to see a woman like that opening my father’s door. She just oozed kindness, contentment and understanding.

Finally I understood! Finally I realized the agony he must have suffered. How my rejection must have hurt him! Without any lingering doubts I embraced my sole surviving parent.

”Merry Christmas Mum!”

My recent story "Girlyfriend" got a comment from BarbieLee that it was a reverse story. Since Barb is a selfproclaimed Oklahoma cowgirl I responded by threating to write a "Reverse Cowgirl" story in her honour. Here it is.

REVERSE COWGIRL

I was happy that my son Peter was back for summer from that fancy all-boy boarding school my husband had insisted on sending him to. I was not comfortable with the kind of mental environment such schools have.

As I walked past Peter’s room I could hear him talk to his big sister.

“ … in the end. It was absolutely mindblowing. I never would have expected doing a reverse cowgirl with Philip could be so amazing.”

I was appalled, Peter having sex in that expensive boys’ boarding school. I knew it! And quite advanced positions as well with his best friend. I have to admit that I like doing it that way with Michael but I’m a woman and Michael is my husband!

I was also disappointed that Peter hadn’t felt comfortable talking with his mother or father about his sexuality. Admittedly his big sister was closer to him in this aspect but anyway …

Peter saw me in the door. Oh my, embarrassing situation. Well, apparently not since he grinned seeing me.

- Hi Mom, I was just telling Kate about this amazing new drama teacher we have in school. Very unconventional. He had us do “Annie Get Your Gun” backwards. It was such a hoot! I had the title role.

I was 28. I was between jobs. I was homeless. The breaks with my parents were final. My girlfriend had just dumped me. My best friend from high school had only barely failed to kill me. I needed a break!

I still think it was a bit unfair of my friend from high school to set fire to my mansion while I was sleeping there. It really wasn’t my fault he had refused to invest in the company I was about to start then and I just had sold for 2.6 billion dollars. Actually, I had begged him. It was unfortunate that the Due Diligence process had uncovered my father’s embezzlement. I had refrained from charging him but his previous employer did so now he’s in prison. He claims it’s all my fault. Me? I’m hurt by the breach of confidence. Just as I’m hurt by my mother seducing my girlfriend. Yes, I really needed a break.

I had always wanted to go to Rome but somehow always been too busy. Now I had time. Besides it would be a great opportunity to use the Italian I had learnt in high school. I had chosen Italian instead of Spanish or French since my girlfriend wanted to learn Italian. I suppose she now whispered “Ti amo” in my mother’s ear.

I loved Rome from the moment I arrived. The weather was great. The atmosphere, the people and the fact that I finally could relax when I was a long, long way from home. I had rented an apartment centrally but still quiet. I loved all the Roman ruins and Renaissance palaces. If I only had known more about the history.

The second day I was walking about Piazza Farnese when I spotted a young man, not less than 16 and less 20, looking hungrily at people eating at the tables outside. He tried to be discreet, but it was obvious. By the way, at a second look I was less sure it was young man. The short hair and clothes indicated boy but body language, the fine features and those amazing doe eyes finally convinced that I was looking at a tomboy.

She intrigued me. I decided to do something about it. I approached her and asked about one of the palaces. As it turned out she knew a lot. Not only history and architecture but also various anecdotes. Whether true or not she wasn’t sure herself. I invited her to lunch which she accepted. The food was excellent and the company even better. After lunch we continued to other places. She was an amazing guide. We ended the day in Trastevere in a small square with a church with mosaics on the front. There were several restaurants there. The evening was warm. The light … The food was less opulent than at lunch but equally good. Finally, I asked her if I could escort her home. She claimed to only have arrived in Rome the same day and had yet to arrange a hotel. I had a spare bedroom in the apartment and offered her to stay there. At the same time, I suggested that I’d hire here as my cicerone for the next week. It took me some time and effort to convince her that I had no plans to go beyond that. I really didn’t, then.

We picked up her small luggage from Termini and retired to my apartment. She went to her room, and I went to mine. The next day was as delightful as the previous day. The sights themselves were great but put into context by Maria (that was her name) things really came to life. And the stories she told. About Caligula who had his horse appointed Consul (nominally co-ruler). The goldsmith etc Cellini who got his model pregnant, killed her, replaced her with her brother both as the model for the female figure and in bed, and claimed the change was better in all ways. The great chiaroscuro pioneer Caravaggio who painted fascinating paintings but had an unfortunate tendency to kill people he didn’t like and was kicked out not only from Rome but Malta and other places as well for this minor vice. Popes no less steeped in vice. A Swedish ex-queen regnant who had various cardinals as lovers and so on. I certainly got my money’s worth. We wined and dined. We danced. We had a great time. For that I had got her some appropriate clothes.

I wondered about her background but mostly refrained from probing. One evening when she was a bit tipsy she told me that she had left home since she didn’t want to work in the family business. With a bit bit of gentle encouragement, she revealed that the family company was rather old and had started out in agriculture and switched to government contracts. Then it was successful and got into systematic stealing, forgery, the protection racket, smuggling, rent-a-thug and such. She got me worried. Was I hiding someone that had run away from the Mafia? She laughed at me and assured me that the family business had gone completely legit at least from her grandfather’s time. I WAS relived. No matter if she told tall tales or not she probably came from money. She spoke excellent Italian. However, the fact that she spoke without a trace of dialect and some minor errors when using colloquial expressions, though not as bad as mine, convinced me that A) she wasn’t Italian and B) hat she’d had very good and probably very expensive schooling. Her knowledge and the way she acted enforced that. On the other hand, I repeatedly had to give this tomboy tips about how a lady behaved. The very expensive boarding school I had attended had given me ample opportunity to observe the female students in every conceivable situation and how they were trained. She made rapid progress. In fact, that changed my mind about the various invitations for parties etc I had received but had intended to ignore. Attending those with Maria as my plus one became more and more attractive. After some hesitation Maria agreed. We spent a couple of evenings with me playing Professor Higgins and then we set off. The soiree was quite pleasant and Maria’s help, no one could resist her doe eyes, I made some valuable contacts for my next company. We repeated that a couple of times. By then I was forced to admit to myself that I was falling in love with Maria. She still had that tomboyish charm but during our time together her femininity had blossomed as well.

We still roamed Rome. By day and by night. Once we passed the church where “Bocca della Verità” is just as the guard was about to lock the gate. I bribed him to let us in to it (and even more to let us out later). I got her to put her hand in the mouth and then I finally asked where she came from. She immediately pulled back her hand and told me never to ask about her background. Right, so there WAS something fishy about her. Well, for the time being I’d let that slide.

However, I upped the ante and at the next party we went to I had her introduced as Princess Maria of Göttingen, a completely fictitious former principality. No one raised an eyebrow. I don’t know whether that had anything to do with an invitation to a state dinner a new friend of mine, or rather ours, wrangled for us.

I hadn’t bothered to check why the dinner was given so it was a surprise that it was for genuine royalty (and I’m not taking about the money I still got from my former company): The King of Ruritania with family. Ruritania is one of those small countries that live off stamps (not so much today), tourism and exploiting the royal family which meant they were very conscious of their position. I realized that we were screwed but had not option to just go on. Probably they’d want to avoid a public scandal. When being introduced to the King, a fit man in his 70s, he just smiled and said:

“What a great pleasure to meet you …… Princess”

However, he smiled a genuine if somewhat ironic smile. He certainly gave the impression to be a nice guy. Not snobbish in any way. I breathed out. Then we continued to the Crown Prince. He was the exact opposite of his father. About 50 and definitely pudgy, He barely bothered to acknowledge the American entrepreneur and the fake princess and demonstratively looked at the next couple to be presented. The rest of the evening was uneventful. The only thing was that Maria urged me not to drink ANY alcohol. Given the circumstances I completely agreed.

When we got back to the apartment after the dinner Maria told me to wait a few minutes and then come into her bedroom.

When I did that, she surprised me. She wasn’t a tomboy. She wasn’t really a she, at least not in body. A very nice androgynous body that she presented to me without any clothing. However, the lack of breasts and the existence of a penis somewhat gave the whole thing away.

“John, you have every reason to be angry with me. I have deceived you. I’ll leave tomorrow. I never intended to. At first it was only a funny situation that I enjoyed but then I fell in love with you. I can’t allow that to happen, so I’ll leave. But could we spend just this night together? I made sure you’d be sober so any decision you make is not while intoxicated. I don’t expect you to agree”

We spent the night together. I tried to change her mind about leaving but she was adamant. She just repeated that it was absolutely impossible for her to stay. At last we fell asleep exhausted.

I got a real surprise when I woke up. In a chair sat the king of Ruritania looking at surveillance tapes featuring Maria and me. He had connected his laptop to the widescreen TV set in the bedroom, so I had a perfect view of what he was looking at. I wondered how he had got all that surveillance footage from all over Rome. I wondered how neither of us had recognized how soon we had fallen in love to judge from the imagery. I wondered how the king had got the footage so fast. I wondered how he had got into my appartement. However, most of all I wondered: WHY?

Beside me Maria moved and woke up. Ruffled hair and obviously still very sleepy she looked at the king and said:

“ Hi, Daddy.”

“How nice of you to recognize me Princess. And thank you for the TWO very brief messages your mother and I got. Somehow the text “I’m fine, Don’t try to find me” was just what we needed to be happy when our child disappeared for weeks.”

The king saw my consternation and smiled a broad smile.

“Ah, I gather that you haven’t been formally introduced. Allow me. My child, meet John Algernon George Merewether, American entrepreneur who recently sold his company for two point six billion dollars and is in the process of networking for his next venture. Unmarried, and of reasonably good repute. Mr Merewether, please meet Prince …..ess Georg Maria Alexander Henri Ludwig of Ruritania. Oh, by the way my second wife, who was ill yesterday, is much younger than I if you wonder. I must compliment you on your excellent fish impersonation Mr Merewether. However, we have a “situation” here. Finding the two of you in bed like this a century ago would have cost you your head. Now I think it’s only a case of Lèse-majesté. Of course, the traditional alternative is for you to marry.”

At that the king smiled evilly.

“Dad, we don’t have same sex marriage in Ruritania!”

“Oh, my powers have been sadly curtailed over the years, but I think I could swing that. Or … perhaps I’ll just proclaim you female. That I could do without parliament butting in. One of our ancestors was a Male-order king. Besides just imaging the PR we’d get with a transgender princess! And the wedding! I think we’ll make it even better than your big brother’s all those years ago. Now we are much more media savvy. And the romantic story. American billionaire meets secret princess. Roman Holiday with a much better ending in my opinion. Media will go mad.”

So, this was the “Family business” Maria was trying to escape from. I couldn’t blame her. Oh, I wanted to marry her, badly. Nonetheless I was going to refuse at first to get some leverage. Maria absolutely had to get out of the family business. Perhaps the wedding, that actually sounded fun, sort of, but then off to the US and drop the royal duties. Family was another matter. Pity that meant that I’d have to keep my US citizenship which would preclude any title like prince or duke or something like that. Oh, well. Too bad.

“Sorry, your kingship. No can do”

“Ah, Mr Merewether. Then I’ll have to take more drastic measures. Perhaps it would be difficult to get you extradited from Italy for Lèse-majesté but I’m sure I could dig up some old Ruritanian law that you just have broken in your relations with the royal family of a country Italy has a very friendly relationship with.”

The words were harsh, the tone they were spoken with were harsh but looking at his face I saw how much he cared. The almost imperceptible movement of the head and the silent mouthing of “Please, Please for HER sake”. I also discovered where Maria had got her doe eyes from. I had never been able to deny those eyes anything. Besides, I suspected that my father-in-law-to-be had similar plans for Maria as I had.

“Prince…ess Georg Maria Alexander Henri Ludwig of Ruritania will you marry me?”

The forceful punch I got in my stomach almost made me miss the answer.

“YES, YES, YES you lowly commoner.”

I really should have known what a mistake it was to try to drown my sorrows after being dumped (again). And this time I had made such efforts to make it work.

I really shouldn’t have let Rolf take me to a bar to seek oblivion in the bottom of a glass, or more precisely lots of glasses.

We really shouldn’t have tried to chat up those two freshman girls from The Other University and thus by definition losers.

The only good thing was that Rolf had chosen a bar where we were unknown and unlikely to meet anyone we knew nor ever to return.

Rolf really had been named Rowlf. His parents were great Muppet Show fans. Don’t ever remind Rolf about his real name! We studied at the same university but in different schools. Rolf was a mechanical engineering student while I was into political science. We didn’t live in the same dorm. Actually we lived across campus from each other. Our social circles were different. Rolf led a mostly sedate social life with the girlfriend he had met the first month here and a close group of likeminded boring couples. I was heavily into student politics.

So, by now you probably wonder why Rolf had cancelled a date and brought me to that unfortunate place in search of alcohol-induced amnesia. Well, we came from the same small town and we had become very good friends in my last year in High School. I had already been at the University for a year when Rolf arrived and had helped him to get settled at the university.

So, what about the girls? To be brutally frank they were hicks that tried to act like sophisticated young college students. They overcompensated in a major way. That really shouldn’t have been a problem if a) they hadn’t been rather haughty and obnoxious and b) if Rolf by nature hadn’t been an arrogant brat. To be fair to Rolf that part of his nature only emerges when he is drunk. Nowadays he’s otherwise a very pleasant fellow. But when he’s drunk his inhibitions melt away. That was one reason this whole binge-drinking had been such a bad idea.

I really wish that Rolf hadn’t started to point out all the errors of their ways, dress and how to move to the two girls. They had overdone their make-up, they couldn’t handle their short skirts, they had no idea how to walk in those 4” shoes …. Amazingly, they didn’t appreciate his constructive criticism! After a while they challenged Rolf to do it better himself. They dared him with a bet. Oh NO! Not a bet! I had hoped that Rolf should have learned something and stopped being a sucker for bets. Nope. Rolf was just drunk enough to accept and just sober enough to go through with it. The idiot!

One of the girls had been bright enough to have more sensible shoes and skirt to go home in so she changed into that and handed the other stuff to Rolf. No extra pantyhose though but since Rolf has so ridiculously small feet he needed his socks to fill out the shoes anyway. She also handed him her make-up set and dared him to change, put on make-up and then he’d see how easy it was! No way he’d be even close to what the girls were!

Rolf went away, staggering only slightly. I was stuck with the two girls. They started trashing Rolf in every way imaginable and then some. They were really nasty. Quite vischious, sorry vicious. Talk about bitches!

I couldn’t help myself and smiled. Bad mistake! Now they attacked me and I almost expected them to get physical when Rolf came back. I was not disappointed by the girls’ reaction.

Lacking the necessary physical attributes not only in body but also in face, when it came to girlish beauty, Rowlf had always been a dog. However, he had learnt to be a CLASSY dog as opposed to the two bitches! We could see him moving towards us with elegant ease on those ridiculously high heels. The make-up was understated and expertly applied. It enhanced what little there was to enhance. When he came to our table he politely asked me to introduce me to my “friends”. I did introduce the gaping girls. With impeccable politeness Ruth (Yes, she was back!) dismissed them and then she went to the bar and without any display of underwear, despite the minimal skirt, perched on one of the stools where she proceeded to captivate the bartender.

The bitches started to pour abuse over him, eh her. At that point she asked the bartender who was the better girl. The bartender laughed and without any doubt gave the victory to Ruth. She asked the bitches to pay up. They refused and instead started to attack Ruth physically as well as verbally. The bartender did not appreciate that. Neither did the bouncer when called. I suspect that Ruth didn’t mind the attacks that much but she must have been deeply offended by their refusal to pay up. You see, Rolf/Ruth takes bets extremely seriously. That’s why he’d spent his junior year in high school as a girl.

As I’ve mentioned earlier the young Rolf was an obnoxious brat. He was part of a small group of equally obnoxious brats. His friends were just a little bit more street-smart than Rolf and avoided irritating those in power too much. Rolf was an equal opportunity obnoxious brat which had gained him a surprising amount of ill-will in wide circles, including teachers. He and his friends had also a bad habit of making bets with silly forfeits. That is until the BET. Exactly what is was about is irrelevant but the forfeit became widely known before the bet was settled. The loser had to spend a school year as a girl. Rolf lost. For a while it looked like Rolf had intended to welch. If he ever had such an intention, which I personally doubt, the reaction of his parents, his friends, the teachers, the student body … made that impossible.

The first day of Rolf’s junior year Ruth arrived in school. Her mother had got her suitable skirts, dresses etc etc. She’d even enrolled Ruth in ballet class. The idea was that would help her girlish demeanor. I’m not sure it works that way but anyway.

As soon as I had heard about “Ruth” I had realized it was a BAD idea. I had been elected to student council president on an anti-bullying platform. I realized that this whole thing was an invitation to bully Ruth. Not that Rolf didn’t deserve it but it could so easily spread and destroy all my efforts to stop bullying. I had pleaded with the Principal. She had refused. She thought it would be a “learning experience” for Rolf. Besides, she had no way of stopping Ruth to dress as she liked. And if Ruth’s parents had asked her to participate in girls’ PE and to take some classes that very few boys ever took? Well, the Principal saw no reason or rule to stop that. Of course Ruth/Rolf still had to use the boys’ locker room and bathrooms. After all, the legal sex was still Male. The Principal couldn’t really stop herself from smiling. I couldn’t make her see her mistake.

As I had expected the teasing and bullying started on day one. Her “friends” stood by her for ONE day. Then they rapidly distanced themselves to avoid being tarred as “gays”. By the second week they were as bad or worse as anyone else. I tried to stop things whenever I saw them but I couldn’t spend time to guard her. A few of the other student council members also attempted to stop the bullying. It was like swimming a strong rapid in the wrong direction. The situation was all too tempting for people to stop. It didn’t help that the teachers didn’t understand how serious it all was. Some condoned and a few even participated!

I thought the Principal would have realized the error of her ways when they started beating Ruth. Not that bad to begin with and I suspect it was never officially reported but occasionally I could see that Ruth was in noticeable pain. The locker room was the worst. Coming from Girls’ PE in her leotard she was an open invitation even if she didn’t shower. Finally Coach started to be present in the locker room when Ruth was there. Coach was the only member of the faculty that understood how serious the business was from the beginning. He also understood how bad the “contagion” could be.

After seeing Ruth sitting alone in the cafeteria for weeks I persuaded my sister Em who was in many of the same classes as Ruth to at least sometimes invite Ruth to have lunch with her. OK, I bribed Em. It was quite expensive in terms of chores. My sister is NOT cheap which her first boyfriend quickly discovered. However, she is good value for money which her second boyfriend appreciated.

Em and her gang started inviting Ruth to have lunch with them. Slowly there occasionally appeared a smile on her face. My chats with teachers also indicated that Ruth’s academic results had started to improve. That wasn’t surprising given that she had nothing else to do. No friends and among juniors and seniors almost all social activities were geared towards couples. Then Ruth got a date!

As it turned out the date was a fake. She was lured to a place where they humiliated her. They beat her, bad. Mercifully they didn’t rape her.

Em really tore into me. If I was so concerned about Ruth why had I only got others to do anything? Pulled strings, bribed her. Why hadn’t I done anything directly myself? Was I too prejudiced to have asked Ruth out myself? Was I too much of a coward to demean myself by asking a JUNIOR out? Was I too scared to lose status? I didn’t like what she said. I was quite angry at her. Then I became even angrier at myself since Em was quite right. It should have been me who had asked her out. Not that I felt anything for her but that would have helped her in so many ways.

One good thing came out of the whole business. The Principal and faculty finally realized that there was a problem. The parents finally understood the hell Ruth had gone through. The “friends” who Ruth had made the bet with released her. Everyone agreed that the whole stupid thing had to end. There was only one problem: Ruth refused.

When she came back I sat down and had a long talk with her. She made it clear to me that she had already lost everything. Did I think that she’d get back her friends? Even if they wanted it SHE definitely didn’t. She’d still be the old laughingstock. After a week she’d be teased for being a girly boy. She had nothing left to lose – except her integrity. She had entered into the bet. Sure, it was stupid but she had. And above all else she was not a QUITTER. There was nothing I could do but to ask her out Friday night.

I became her usual date. Actually it suited me perfectly. This way I could participate in the social life without any serious commitment. No love affair left me time to my studies. I wanted to get into this prestigious university and seriously needed slightly better grades. Besides I discovered that Ruth was quite pleasant company. When not being obnoxious or bullied she was more intelligent and fun than I had expected. Ruth had developed quite an impressive study ethic that I benefited from. Many of our “dates” was spent studying. No way she’d let me slack!

I think she liked spending time with me as well. Otherwise her only source of joy had been ballet. Not for the reason her mother had sent her there. Certainly not for the taunts of her being a girly ballerina in pink tights. No, she appreciated the challenge to learn all the demanding movements combined with music and artistry. Don’t ask me how but in the Spring I found myself taking classes as well. Not nearly as seriously as Ruth but I did understand what she felt. Too bad I hadn’t more time.

Her perseverance also earned her a certain amount of respect in school. Em and her gang took her firmly under their wings. After a while I very seldom had lunch with Ruth. Em & co demanded her attendance. They also pushed the school to allow Ruth to use the same locker room as Em and her friends. Anyone that didn’t approve could use the other girls’ locker room. Em and her friends also gave Ruth the full 101 in being a girl including fashion, make-up and so on. As I said Ruth sure wasn’t pretty as a girl but she learned how to BE a girl. Only problem was she kept having a bit of boyish body language, especially when walking.

Ruth set her mind to become a cheerleader. There were extra tryouts in January to replace senior girls dropping out to devote themselves to final exams. Cheerleading wasn’t exactly Em’s thing but as a good friend she helped Ruth prepare. The day of the tryouts came. Ruth did a respectable performance. Unfortunately it wasn’t enough. That was the ONLY time I saw Ruth cry. No one else ever did. She had disappeared into the supply room and I followed her. I had thought she had wanted to join the cheerleading squad because of the social status. I was wrong. I had judged her after myself. Ruth had wanted to be a cheerleader for the dancing, the camaraderie and, surprisingly given the past semester, to spread joy. She cried bitterly for fifteen minutes. After that she never mentioned the matter again.

Spring wasn’t bad at all. Bullying that had started to get endemic had been stopped. Well, severely curtailed at least. That made me happy. The fact that Ruth became more and more happy also made me happy. She’d had enough of a bad time. Her hard work had impressed the teachers. She was a valued member of Em’s gang. Her ballet recital went off quite well. I was in the audience and I may be a bit biased but in my opinion she quite outshone the other first year dancers.

Ruth was my date for my prom. Her gown was marvelous. By then she had developed quite a refined sence of fashion. I have very good memories from that night.

The last time I had seen Ruth before that unfortunate drunk night at university was on my graduation day. The last day of the school year. Ruth was there. She wore a very pretty dress. She had become so proficient in girliness that she was almost pretty. She was very happy for me. I had earned the grades that opened the doors to the education I wanted. She gave me a congratulatory kiss on my cheek. The one and only kiss over the whole discombobulating year.

The day after Rolf was back. A much nicer Rolf.

I left for university but I was kept updated by Em. The boy Rolf didn’t make much of a splash. He kept studying seriously. Too bad he had had such a weak basis from wasting his first two years in high school. While quite good in Math and Physics he struggled in some other subjects. He kept having lunch with Em and the gang. He never dated. Em explained that she and the gang originally had learnt to know the girl Ruth and she had become like a sister to them. From their point of view it was Ruth that had transitioned to a boy. You don’t date your transgender brother, do you?

All in all Rolf appeared to have had a decent senior year. He kept dancing ballet, only now he used more opaque black tights instead of the pink. I was there for his recital. I was quite impressed. The boy dancer was even more striking than the girl. Admittedly he had progressed by another year.

Rolf applied to the same university as I. He didn’t really expect to be admitted though. His SAT results were just below what he needed. A number of testimonials from the Principal and many other teachers as well as the student council president from Rolf’s “girl” year stressed his unusual integrity and so on. Well, the Principal and the teachers damned well owed that to him (as I pointed out to her more than a couple of times). I also called in what small favors a budding university student body politician could have. Rolf got accepted and the rest is history. I already told you that we kept up our friendship at university.

So, to return to that really stupid night, that I sincerely wish never happened, I watched Ruth (no way that was Rolf) sashaying back to the men’s room to change back. I watched her walk effortlessly. Perhaps due to the alcohol she walked with a grace I’d never seen before. I curse that moment that reminded me of the worst mistake that I had made while a high school student, without doubt the worst ever in my life.

Why had I had to fall in love with a girl that never really existed?

I had always known that life could be tough. I had not expected that it would be Ruth-less.

Reading Beoca’s blog about the annual (English) School Uniform Protests I just couldn’t help myself. Despite having written a couple of stories on this theme before I just couldn’t resist. Addiction is a terrible thing isn’t it?

Before I even entered the school yard I could sense the disapproving stares. I had to remind myself that that what I wore was perfectly appropriate. Completely according to the letter of the school rules even if a bit unconventional. Well, at least here and now. History was on my side I reminded myself. Nonetheless, I could feel the sweat on my brow that was not only due to the 80 degree temperature already in the morning. I also reminded myself that I had the full support of my parents. I mean, skirts or pants, that’s just pieces of clothing isn’t it?

As expected I was called to the Headmaster to explain myself. She couldn’t punish me for breaking the rules but she gave me a long lecture about how disappointed she was in me. That I wasn’t a “team player” and that my contrariness eventually would lead me to a bad end. For a moment I wavered but then I got angry at her for trying to make me to conform. Conformity is not how societies evolve. If the stone age kids had listened to their parents we would still live in the stone age! I was proud to be different!

I was sent back to class. I had planned to keep a low profile but the Headmaster had really pissed me off so I put myself forward during the lesson. Not that the teacher looked any less angrily at me but I felt good.

I could take the disapproval of the teachers. I could take the teasing and scorn of my schoolmates. Actually the way they were teasing me was a welcome relief. I just couldn’t take another day of being harassed for my knobbly knees. That’s why I wore long pants instead of the skirt everyone else wore in the heat.

I blame it all on dad. He was a glutton. He ate himself to death.

I miss him awfully. He was a good dad. That doesn't help that he left a rather sinister heritage to his family. We had adapted to his eating habits. Our friends called us pudgy. I will not go into what other people called us. I had it bad in school. I was teased mercilessly but that was nothing compared to what my brother Robert had to suffer. He was not only fat (let’s not beat around the bush) but he also had gynecomastia. No surprise what his nick-name became when we started high school: Boobie. He handled it all very well. He basically shut himself into his room whenever he could and tried to avoid people as much as possible whenever he couldn’t. I’m afraid I was too preoccupied with my own problems to really understand how he suffered.

Oh I forgot. In all the stories here it’s customary to introduce oneself. Hi, I’m Betty. I’m a girl. You know, the original and non-improved XX-version, or rather the XXXL version at the beginning of this story.

Mom and I had started doing something about our excess kilos. We ate more healthy food. Bobby “supplemented” that with food containing the essential food groups salt, sugar and fat. Mom and I had started to work out. We had started when I still was in the last year in middle school and while we didn’t exactly achieve the bikini target that summer, we did make rapid progress. We both had got memberships at a women’s gym. It was expensive but effective. Very good advice and support. Friendly atmosphere. We made so much progress that Mom didn’t need her bra extenders come October. She handed them down. Not to me. I had been sensible enough to get new bras as I grew (in every dimension). My brother hadn’t. He had been so embarrassed the one time Mom had managed to get him to a bra fitting that he refused to set his foot there again. It was most unfortunate that two girls from our class had been there.

Yeah, Bobby and I are in the same class. We are not twins. Bobby is my little brother. I was born in January and he on December 25. Poor guy.

Anyway, as Bobby had grown, his bras had become too narrow. He preferred that discomfort to repeating his very bad experience in the lingerie shop. The bra extenders improved that situation somewhat. They were also a shock to him. They brought home both his problems in a way he had managed to repress. Well, Harry, the worst bully, and his minions had a field day in the locker room.

It was also at that point that Mom got promoted. This had as a consequence that she worked longer hours. Since she had more or less met her weight target she stopped going to the gym. The very expensive gym. No refunds. However, memberships could be transferred. Mom knew the owner of the gym and she can be very persuasive. First she persuaded Bobby to take over her membership (the bra extender experience had made him more receptive) and then she managed to have Bobby make a visit to the gym to see if the other members would accept that he was there. The thing about Bobby is that he triggers the mother instinct in almost any female he comes across. Even 10-year-olds. Bobby became a member.

The first time we had an aerobics session was “interesting”. For once Bobby wasn’t teased. The others in the group had or had had similar weight problems. Another “interesting” feature was that I had forgotten that the school’s cheerleaders used this gym. By the second half of our class a bunch of them gathered at the window to the studio. Fortunately Bobby was too concentrated on the aerobics to notice.

Bobby didn’t do well. On the other hand he got an A for effort. The teacher commended him afterwards. She was less happy about his gym shorts and very baggy t-shirt. For one thing trying to hide the body was not mentally healthy. Secondly he stood out from the rest of us that wore tights and leotards. Enter cheerleaders offering to help him get some new clothes. Did I mention that Bobby triggers mother instinct? Bobby turned red like an emergency flare but couldn't stop them.

From there things rolled on. Or perhaps I should said; that was what started the avalanche. Bobby came back from the dance store gushing about the cheerleaders. He barely noticed that his new exercise clothes consisted of a cerise thong tank leotard (XXXL) and white tights. Amazingly that was what got him past his shame about his body. In that outfit he was sooo beyond that.

Things changed in school as well. Bobby was included in the cheerleader social sphere. All students could only watch in amazement, or in Harry’s case frustration. Teasing Boobie had become too dangerous. Bobby was the cheerleaders’ pet project.

The first time Bobby got invited to a night out with the cheerleaders he knocked on my door. Somewhat abashed he asked me if he could borrow a dress. I was thrilled. Thrilled that my brother wanted to borrow one of my dresses? What kind of pervert was I? Perhaps I wasn’t thrilled about just that, exactly, but I was very happy that my little, and supersized, brother would spend an evening out and not locked into his room. That started a pattern. Bobby joined the cheerleaders for all social events, including sleep-overs. Fortunately I was ahead of Bobby on the downward slope. The weight slope I mean. So I always had clothes that fit my little brother. Actually more and more little as he shed his kilos working out and eating healthily, aided and abetted by his new friends. Why do some people claim that cheerleaders are a bad influence?

By Christmas Bobbie was made an honorary cheerleader and an honorary girl. Bobbie’s new year resolution was to “be the best girl possible for the year”. Not transitioning (yet) but living like a girl. Mom and I were taken aback but when we thought back to the miserable blimp that had started high school there was no doubt in our minds that we’d have to support her.

That probably was the hardest. To remember to use “she” and “her”. School had no less problems in view of Bobbie’s continued formal male status. However, solutions were found.

Bobbie also started to get her own clothes. Well, considering the time she had spent with the cheerleaders shopping it was only fair that she started buying as well. I was relegated to lender of last resort. Not even that after a while. Bobbie’s closet flowed over with the most exquisite clothes. That girl had great taste!

I saw less and less of Bobbie. As an honorary cheerleader she started to practice with them. Not that she was up to their standard but she WAS the cheerleader’ pet project. Soon it became clear that she’d try out for cheerleading come the new school year.

Amazingly I benefited as well. As the big sister of the new popular girl my status increased as well. I should have been happy, shouldn’t I? I’m afraid I was jealous. That only motivated me to exercise more. I wanted to be a cheerleader too!

Two lean and beautiful sisters began their sophomore year. One was flat chested and had to pad her bra. Boobie was no more. Both tried out for cheerleading. Only one got into the cheerleading squad. Too bad it wasn’t me. To make things worse I was the best of rejected ones. If it hadn't been for my brother. eh sister, I would have made it! I never wanted to go into school politics but I still felt a pang when Bobbie got elected a student council vice president. To make things even worse Bobbie got a boyfriend. Pete was the cutest boy in our class. Damn it, not only was he cute but he was perfect in every way! I knew because he spent so much time at our place I got to know him pretty well. Now it was I that wanted to lock myself into my room. Then I remembered the pathetic boy that used to live in our house and rejected the idea.

New Year. The end of Bobbie’s new year resolution. The end of Bobbie. Bobby decided that he preferred to be a boy. He now had gained so much self-confidence that he could be himself. He even had learnt what “himself” was. He gave away all his girl clothes. He left the cheerleading squad but only after making sure they had a good replacement and he remained in their sphere, as a boy. He carefully dumped Pete after subtly making sure that Pete’s interest be transferred to another girl. He started dating one of the cheerleaders. He gave the bra extenders to Harry while explaining to him that the bra he (that is Harry) was wearing was too small and the sweater didn’t really hide that fact that Harry was wearing a bra. Take it from someone that had tried for years to hide his bras.

Things didn’t turn out that bad for everyone I muse when I get out of my cheerleading uniform and stand indecisive in front of my overflowing closet. Even Harriet is happier now but what to wear for may date with Pete?

I have even got over my jealousy. I recognize that my brother was a better man, eh girl, than I and I'm proud of him. I try to follow his example.

Still, I hadn’t expected that I would be the second-hand girl in this family,