A Different Kind of Prom

By Czolgolz

[email protected]

I wrote this in 2001.

When we were both five years old I told Brenda Anders that I loved her. She told me that she loved me too. I told her that she was pretty. She replied that I was pretty as well. I told her that I wanted to marry her. "I'm sorry," she replied, with seriousness that now seems silly in a kindergartner. "I don't want to marry a man."

"Then I'll grow up to be a woman."

"You can't do that, goofy."

"You watch. I'll grow up to be a woman. Then we can get married."

That, of course, was almost thirteen years ago, and my desire to marry Brenda hadn't decreased at all with time. She certainly was something, with her silky, raven hair, her long, slender limbs, and her delicate, flower-like face. What man wouldn't be attracted to her?

When I asked her to marry me in kindergarten, it had been because she was my best friend. We were inseparable as children. Brenda and Robert, two peas in a pod. Even when her parent's business had taken off and she moved to the wealthier part of town, we had still remained close. All throughout junior high we were friends. Even when she began to blossom into a beautiful woman and I stayed a gangly, freckled twerp, she still stood by me.

In high school, all that changed. Not that she started ignoring me, or we started moving in different directions. No, what happened was Brenda started dating Andy Unger. And Andy made it clear there was no longer room in her life for me.

I remember that day well. We were both fifteen at the time. I had got my mother to drive me over to Brenda's house so we could watch Seinfeld, just like we did every Thursday. Brenda's parents would drive me home afterwards. It was a tradition that had lasted nearly as long as the show.

When I arrived at her house, I knew something was wrong. Usually Brenda would come out of the front door and meet me on the driveway. That day, she wasn't there. Still, she hadn't canceled, so I told my mom to drop me off and that I'd see her later. Little did I know.

When I rang to doorbell, I was surprised to see that Brenda had company. A large, thick-necked boy wearing her high school's jacket was camped out on the living room sofa, where I had usually sat. I was a little offended that she'd invite someone else over on our traditional night together, but I knew I had nothing to complain about. She wasn't my girlfriend, and I guess a guy like me was lucky she even had time for me at all.

Brenda seemed a little nervous at my arrival. "Oh, Rob. Um, I'd like you to meet Andy." I extended my hand to the big jock, but he simply grunted, not even looking in my direction.

"Well, if you'll excuse me for a second " said Brenda, and disappeared into the kitchen. I took up a spot in the armchair, trying to notice that instead of Seinfeld, we were apparently going to watch basketball. Which was funny because, like me, Brenda had very little interest in professional sports.

As soon as Brenda was out of earshot, Andy turned and glowered at me. "Get out," he simply stated.

"What?" I stammered, hoping he was joking.

"I said leave. We don't want you here."

"What right do you have..."

He stood up and towered over me. Waving a fist under my nose, he continued. "Brenda's mine, get it? She ain't yours. Now hit the road."

"Hey, Brenda's my friend, you can't tell me..."

"The hell I can't. I know where you go to school. I catch you around her again..." he violently poked me in the ribs.

I felt utterly helpless. Why was Brenda with this caveman? And yet I knew I was sunk. There was no way I could stand up to this monster. I could run crying to Brenda, I supposed, but what then? He was her boyfriend, and I was obviously someone who she no longer had room for in her life.

Andy backed away just as Brenda returned with some snacks. "Um," I began awkwardly, "I need to leave."

"But you just got here!" protested Brenda. But the relief in her voice was hard to mistake.

"I just remembered something I have to do." I headed for the door.

I was surprised when Andy said "I'll walk you out," in a falsely amiable voice. As soon as the front door closed behind us, Andy looked to make sure no one was watching and threw me roughly onto the driveway. Scraped and bruised, I hobbled to my feet.

"Just a warning," he muttered, and went back inside. Back to Brenda. Back to my lovely ex-best friend. Brenda obviously was oblivious of Andy's treatment of me. But she sure hadn't protested when I left.

As I began the long, long walk home, I reflected. Brenda was a lovely girl. Why would she be romantically interested in a guy like me? I was a nerd, weak, non-handsome, a wimp. She obviously wanted a powerhouse like Andy, someone who could me a real man. This I told myself over and over again. But by the time I got home I had to rush to the bathroom and turn on the water, so my mother wouldn't hear my tears.

I didn't hear from Brenda for another two years. Not until we were seniors in high school. The weeks after I had been roughed up by Andy I held out a half-hearted hope that Brenda would call me up and ask me why I never came around any more. But she never did. She had written off a lifelong friendship with someone, just because he wasn't hard-boiled.

It was because of Spanish class that she reentered my life. It was the day we all presented our commercial, where we each wrote and performed a commercial for an imaginary product in Spanish. Many students elected to present a group project, but I worked alone. I had few friends, and I liked things better that way.

J. Jamison Johnson was presenting. I guess every school has someone like Jamie. He was crazy. Not life of the party crazy, not risk-taking Chuck Yeager crazy, but certifiable. I always expected men in white coats to come drag him off. He never blinked. Never. He complained of voices only he could hear. He'd doze off in class, and awaken with a start, screaming of spiders. On no fewer than four occasions he had to deliver urine specimens to a doctor to prove he wasn't abusing an illegal narcotic.

Jamie had set up a large, garishly painted refrigerator box in front of the class. Grinning into the video camera the teacher was manning, he addressed the imaginary TV audience.

"Damas y Caballeros," he began (I'll translate from now on), are you tired of your bland, wretched lives? Need a change? Tired of your ugly face and potato-sack of a body?" Yes, I thought to myself.

"Then what you need is Dr. Jamie's patented Image Enhancer! Yes, thanks to the research of dozens of German scientists working out of Buenos Aires, our labs have developed the most amazing breakthrough in the subject of image enhancement since Hair in a Can! May I have a volunteer, please?"

Of course, no one raised their hand. That was tragic for me, because Jamie's glance soon fell in my direction.

"You sir!" he shouted like a carnival barker. "What is your name?"

"Roberto," I edgily replied, giving my Spanish name.

"Roberto, please step up here. Tell me, sir, are you happy with your present appearance?"

Since he obviously wanted me to say no, I replied in the negative. It was the truth, anyway.

"Then Roberto, please step into the Image Enhancer and let it work its magic!" Warily, I ducked into the door cut in the side of the box.

Much to my surprise, I realized I was not alone in there. Tammi Jones, a pretty blonde friend of Jamie's was in there as well. I was further shocked to see she was wearing an evening gown. She held a finger up to her lips and winked at me.

"And now," continued Jamie, "the Image Enhancer will work its magic. Robert, would you please come out and show the audience what wonders this great machine has worked on your ugly mug?"

I was confused. What wonders was he talking about? As I made for the door, Tammi grabbed my arm to restrain me. Then she walked out in my place.

"Wow, what an improvement!" shouted Jamie, and the class roared with laughter. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Tammi was supposed to be me, after I had my image 'enhanced.'

"Roberto, would you agree that you are now much better looking that when you entered this machine?"

"Yes!" said Tammi, enthusiastically. Through a crack in the box I could see her twirl and then wink at the audience. "I'm a doll!"

"Another satisfied customer! Thank you Roberto."

"Please," tittered Tammi, "call me Roberta!"

I had a hard time not laughing myself. It was pretty funny, even from my point of view. Too bad Jamie couldn't really invent something like that. Not a sex changer, but something that would make me handsome.

For the rest of the day, I put up with good-natured jibes from fellow classmates. "Aw, he changed back. Too bad, he was cute before." "Hey Robert, they certainly did a number on you. How did you fit in that dress?" "Hey, if you see Roberta around, tell her that about three guys want to ask her out."

I didn't think much of the incident after that. I had practically forgotten about it when I got the call next week.

I had been sitting at home after school when the phone rang. When I picked it up and said hello, I nearly fell out of my seat. "Hello yourself," came a familiar voice.

"Brenda?" I nearly jumped out of my seat with joy.

"Of course it's me. Sorry to call out of the blue like this, but I was wondering if you'd like to get together some time."

Would I? What a question! "Yes, of course. How about tomorrow?"

"Sounds great." We named a place and hung up.

The next day, as I sat in a booth of the fast food place we had decided on, I wondered what had brought on Brenda's desire to give me a call. Was she having regrets about cutting off our friendship like that? Did she want to be buddies again? Was she having some sort of problem that she wanted to talk about? Whatever the reason, I was glad she would be back in my life again.

When she walked in I nearly jumped out of my seat. When I had last seen Brenda, she had been a pretty fifteen-year-old girl. Now, she was a gorgeous, seventeen-year-old young woman. Her long black tresses hung down her back in a simple ponytail. Her long, slender legs peeped out from under her stylish skirt. Her body had continued to fill out, she was now more buxom and curvaceous than I remembered her. Her perfect face broke into a smile when she saw me and I thought my heart would melt.

"Robert!" she called joyfully. She caught my face in her hands and kissed my cheek.

"It's been a long time," I babbled, awkwardly.

"Too long," murmured Brenda, as she sat down across from me. "Robert, I guess I need to apologize "

"For what?" I asked, though I knew.

"For ditching you and never calling you again. That was horrible of me."

"No, you just had your life to live "

"But it wasn't like that. Listen, Robert, I need someone to talk to. I hate to unload on you after all this time, but "

"Please, I'm glad I could be of service." Brenda smiled her lovely smile again.

"Well, I've been dating Andy for about two years now. At first, I thought it would be fun, me a cheerleader, him a football player. But after a few months, I realized that there was something wrong. He's selfish, Robert. Selfish, egotistical, and rude. He never remembers my birthday, never compliments me, never does any nice little things for me. Finally, last month, I told him to shove off. I deserve better."

"Good for you. How did he take it?"

"He was pissed. He said I'd regret it, but I sure don't. I feel freer than I have in a long time." I smiled inwardly. Tough luck, you SOB.

"At any rate," she continued, "last week, in Spanish class, my teacher brought in a tape from your high school. I was pretty surprised to see the face of my old best friend up there. That is until you got changed into a woman!" I groaned. No contact for two years, and now she sees me get a video sex change.

"So I got to thinking. You always remembered my birthday. You'd always notice when I felt sad. You'd do little things for me that made me feel good all day. That's when I got to wondering why I ever stopped being friends with you." She reached over and took my hand. "Robert, I didn't realize it until then how much I missed you. Do you think do you think we could be pals again? Just like old times?"

"Brenda, I've missed you too! Of course we can be friends again." Brenda smiled and got up. "I have to go now. But listen, why don't you come over this weekend? Seinfeld's off the air, but we've got a lot of catching up to do."

I was practically dancing on the ceiling by the time Mom came home that night. Why shouldn't I have been? Brenda was back! We would be buddies again. And maybe no, it was silly to think this, but maybe, after two years with a jerk, she'd be looking for someone who treated her right. Someone like me.

It was stupid, but I couldn't help wondering. I'd play it cool though, the worst thing that could happen would be that we remained good friends.

"So why are you in such a good mood?" my mom asked me over dinner.

"Brenda and I got together today. It was good to see her."

"That's nice. You ought to bring her over here some time." That was my mom. Every time I mentioned any woman, Mom wanted to meet her. I could tell she hoped Brenda and I would get together. I think ever since Dad left, she was afraid I would end up with nobody.

I had Mom drop me off at the appointed time. She wanted to come in and say hi, but I wouldn't let her. I was afraid she'd get into a conversation with Brenda's parents and we'd never get any time alone. I walked up Brenda's long driveway. Even after a couple of years it was exactly how I remembered it: the three story house, the well-manicured lawn, the four or five cars parked in the garage and out front. I was never quite sure what Brenda's parents did for a living, but they were obviously quite successful at it.

Before I could reach the door, there was Brenda, just like old times. She gave me a big hug, and waved to my mother, who honked back at her as she was pulling out. Taking me by the hand, Brenda led me inside.

"Robert," she gushed, "I have to admit, I've really been looking forward to this. Andy really didn't like it when I hung out with my friends, so it's been a while that I've been able to relax with anyone. Can I get you something to drink?"

Soon we were sitting on the couch, chatting as if we did it every day. "So where are your parents?" I asked.

"Oh, they're at work. It's for the best, that gives us more time to get reacquainted."

Soon, much to my chagrin, the subject of the Spanish video came up. "You looked pretty cute in that video," she teased.

"Spare me."

She pinched my cheek. "So what did they use? Makeup?"

"Ha, ha. You know that wasn't really me."

"Of course not. But I bet with a little padding, you'd be even prettier than that girl in the video."

"That's almost insulting, Brenda. Of course I wouldn't be."

"Bet you would."

"No. I wouldn't." I was almost angry. Why was she so insistent upon the subject?

Brenda took me by the hand and pulled me into her bedroom. She then closed the door.

"You know, Robert, I bet you'd fit into some of my things. Why don't you try some on?"

"Are you out of your mind? Why?"

"I want to see what you'd look like." She smiled prettily and played with her hair.

"Nothing doing!"

"Please, Robert? Just a dress, and maybe some makeup."

"Maybe I should go." I was getting a little freaked out here. Why did she want me to dress like a girl?

"Please stay. I'll make you a deal. Let me give you a make-over. If you don't think you look like a pretty girl, then I'll...hmmmm."

"You'll what?"

"I'll give you a kiss." She grinned. I half-smiled. She had just said about the only thing that would have made me even consider such a plan.

"Promise no one will know?" She crossed her heart and made the Boy Scout salute.

"What do I have to do?"

"First, take off your clothes." I guess she saw my shocked expression. "Don't worry, I'll leave the room." She was gone before I could tell her I wouldn't have minded had she stayed.

Watching myself in the floor length mirror on her door, I disrobed. I regarded my slim, freckled body. No muscles, no body hair, no manly stature. Just freckles and orange hair. I wondered if I'd ever need to shave or if I could hope to grow any taller. "Now what?" I called through the door.

"On top of my dresser there's a pair of panties. Put them on." They were colorful cotton briefs, clearly made for a woman. I pulled them on. They were soft and silky against my skin. Obviously, they couldn't contain all of me, I clearly bulged in the front. Luckily, the cold room prevented me from 'expanding' in that direction. "Got them on?" asked Brenda. When I answered yes, I was shocked when Brenda casually walked in.

I tried to cover myself. "What are you doing?"

She winked at me. "Oh, stop being so modest. I need to help you with everything else." Soon she was rummaging through her bureau. "Ah, this will be perfect." She displayed for me a white, lacy bra.

"You don't honestly expect me to wear that?" I balked.

"Why not? I do." She then hiked up her shirt, revealing an identical bra, along with her ample cleavage and flat stomach. I went to put on the bra.

"Let me help you," said Brenda, pulling down her shirt. She stood behind me and helped me pull the feminine garment around my arms. Then she hooked it in the back. I felt like I was throttling on the elastic straps. I wanted to look at my reflection, but she blocked my view. "Not yet."

Brenda then showed me a couple of washcloths, which she began wadding up. "Now I need to give you some breasts! That's a C-cup you're wearing there, you know." She stood behind me and gently filled in my brassiere cups with the hand towels.

A funny thing happened while she was padding me. It didn't realize it at first, but I began to get aroused. It was understandable; I mean, there I was, almost naked, with Brenda moving her hands all over my body. By the time I worked out what was going on, it was too late to start thinking about baseball.

Mercifully, Brenda didn't seem to notice how I was filling out her panties. She kept adjusting and readjusting the padding in my bra, until she felt the cups were more or less the right shape. "That'll do for now," she said. "Now let's get you some clothes." As she turned to go through her closet, I quickly moved behind her bed and placed a pillow in front of my hips. I didn't want her to know how much her touch excited me, and I certainly didn't want her to think I found being dressed in women's underwear arousing.

Brenda returned with a light-green skirt. "I think this will look good on you. Redheads like you always look nice in green."

"What does it matter? No one else will see me. Why are you taking this so seriously?"

"Oh, I dunno. I guess I just don't want to do a slipshod job. Now put this on." Grudgingly, I stepped into the skirt. It was a little too small, but I managed to zip it up in the back. Brenda then came at me with a tight little sweater. I pulled my way into it.

"Are you quite finished yet?" For two years I had fantasized about being with Brenda again. Now my dreams were coming true, and the first thing she wants to do it doll me up in her clothes.

"Not finished yet, honey."

"What do you mean, not finished? What more could I put on?"

"For starters, there's makeup."

"Makeup?" I looked in horror at the mascara brush in her hand. "No way. That wasn't part of the deal."

Brenda looked sad. "C'mon, Robert. No one will ever find out. Just let me make up that pretty face of yours."

"Nothing doing. I have my pride."

Brenda looked me in the eye. Then she slid her arms around my waist. "I understand. It's just that I've never met a guy who cared about me enough to let me make him pretty." She leaned her head on my shoulder. "Are you sure you won't think about it?"

At the moment I was incapable of thinking about anything; there was too much blood gone from my head. All I could do was nod.

Brenda sat me down in front of her makeup table. She would not let me look in the mirror. Instead, she stood in front of me and began applying the makeup.

"It's a good thing you don't have a beard," she said as she sharpened an eyeliner pencil. "Otherwise, you'd never look right." I blushed. A lot of guys my age were already shaving, and yet I couldn't pretend to even need to trim a couple of hairs.

Brenda started rubbing foundation into my cheeks. "I've always thought your freckles were cute," she said, "so I won't cover them up too much." The foundation felt cold and goopy and I began to wish that I hadn't agreed to this. It was just that when Brenda had touched me, I felt like there was nothing I wouldn't do for her.

Brenda then moved on to my eyes. The eyeliner felt painful and the mascara was gross feeling. I wanted to wipe it all off, but Brenda stayed my hand. "I'm almost done now. You can wash it all off in a few minutes."

Lastly came the lipstick. Brenda applied and wiped off several colors until she said she found a shade that looked good on me. And that was that.

"Can I look yet?" I whined. In spite of myself, I had begun to wonder just how silly I looked in this getup. Probably pretty damn stupid. But then again, I was the one here with Brenda, not that jerk Andy.

"Not just yet," replied Brenda. "Robert, honey, you're such a sweetheart for agreeing to this. I'll make this up to you." I smiled inwardly, wondering how.

Brenda walked to her closet and returned with a blonde wig. "This was part of my Halloween costume last year. Here, let me put it on you." She draped the long hair over my head. Then she sat behind me and began brushing it. I have to admit that it was a pleasant sensation, just sitting back with Brenda stroking my hair, so near me.

"One more thing." Brenda clipped two black plastic earrings to my ears. "There. All done. Would you like to look?"

I grimaced and turned to the mirror. I don't know what I was expecting, I guess I figured I'd look like a circus clown or something. That's why it took me a few minutes to fully comprehend what I was looking at.

She was uncomfortable, that was for sure. Terrified, even. Her hair was messy and there was something about her makeup that wasn't quite right. But she was a girl. She had curves and breasts, and girl's clothes. I smiled and she smiled back.

I leaned forward to examine this girl in the mirror some more. She did likewise. Her hair was obviously a wig, but it was hard to tell. She had freckles that make her look both cute and innocent at the same time. I stood up and turned around. Could you tell that she wasn't really a girl? It would be hard. There was no sign of any masculine characteristics. No beard, no towering height or prominent jaw.

Was she pretty? It was hard to say. Certainly nowhere near as lovely as Brenda, but from the point of view of a teenage boy I didn't want to think about that any longer.

"So what do you think?" asked Brenda, clearly excited.

"Great," I said flatly. "Now can I change back?"

"So soon? I just finished." She began to pout.

"Brenda, what has gotten into you? This is humiliating for me! I'm putting on my own clothes now." I moved to remove my earrings.

"Wait!" she shouted, almost as if she were terrified that I'd put on boy clothes again.

"What?"

"What do you think of yourself?"

"I look like an idiot."

"No you don't. You look very pretty."

"That's crap. I look like a guy in a skirt."

"No, you look like a lovely young woman."

That did it. "Good-bye, Brenda. I'm changing then, I'm leaving here." I valued her friendship, but not that much.

Brenda grabbed me by the arm. "I'm sorry, Robert. That was rude of me. After I saw that video I got to wondering if I was good enough with makeup to make a guy pretty. I guess this is pretty uncomfortable for you. Why don't you wash off your makeup, and I'll make some popcorn." Her voice was desperate, I think she was afraid she had offended me.

I calmed down. "Thanks Brenda. I didn't mean to get angry."

"It's OK. Oh " Brenda put her hands on my shoulders. "I guess I loose the bet."

"What bet?"

"If you didn't think you looked like a pretty girl, then I'd give you a kiss. And since you obviously don't..." Without warning, Brenda leaned over and kissed me. For a long time. I'd never been kissed before, and all of a sudden the prettiest girl I knew was pressing her lips to mine. And a lot harder than the bet required. Eventually she pulled away. She winked and left. I sat on her bed, numb. She had lipstick smeared on her mouth. My lipstick.

I sat there numb for a few minutes. She had kissed me! A real kiss! I didn't believe that garbage about the bet, all she had to do was give me a peck on the cheek. Or refuse flat out. But she hadn't.

What did it mean? Were we dating now? Or just friends? I had to play it cool. One thing was for sure, though. I couldn't stay dressed like this any more.

I found Brenda in the kitchen, popping some corn. "Hey Robert," she smiled. "I figured you'd have gotten out of those clothes ASAP."

"I will, believe me. I was just wondering the best way to remove this makeup."

"With cream. Hang on a minute, I'll give you a hand."

"Thanks hey, watch the corn!"

"Huh? Oh!" The popcorn was popping over the top of the pot. Quickly, Brenda grabbed the pot by its handle, without thinking that it wasn't insulated. She screamed in pain and dropped everything on the floor.

Forgetting everything but the fact that Brenda had just been burned, I took her by the arm and lead her to the sink. After I had run her hand under some cold water I inspected the wound.

"How bad is it?" she asked, not looking.

"It think you'll be OK. Go put some Bactine on it, I'll take care of this."

After Brenda disappeared into the bathroom I turned off the stove and began cleaning up the spilt popcorn. I guess it wall all the commotion that prevented me from hearing the car drive up.

When I heard the kitchen door open, I froze. 'It can't be.' I thought. 'It simply can't be.' But it was. When I turned, I was standing face to face with Brenda's parents. And I was still wearing her clothes.

Brenda's parents looked slightly puzzled. As I tried to think of some sort of plausible excuse as to why I was wearing their daughter's skirt, sweater, and makeup, Brenda walked in.

"Hey, Mom, Dad. Didn't expect you home so soon." I wanted to cry. Why wasn't Brenda leaping to my defense, explaining that I didn't normally dress like a woman?

"Got off early," replied her father. "I don't believe we've met your friend."

"Oh, this is um Roberta. She came over to watch movies with me."

Her mother started to say something, but then noticed the washcloth Brenda was holding around her injured hand. When Brenda had explained her injury, her parents nearly bowled her over in an effort to examine her. It was only with an effort that she convinced them that she didn't need to go to the emergency room.

I stood there uncomfortably, wringing my hands and wishing that Brenda had never called me. How dare she introduce me as 'Roberta'? Did she think it was funny to humiliate me in front of her family? I'm sure they'd all have a great laugh about it when I was gone.

Finally, I managed to get Brenda alone in her room.

"How dare you!" I barked.

"Excuse me?"

"Calling me Roberta! I guess you think making me look like a fag in front of your parents is a pretty funny joke, huh?"

"Robert, what are you talking about?"

"You probably knew they were coming home, but wanted me to make an ass of myself!"

Without warning, Brenda doubled over laughing. "Oh, Robert, Robert. Forget your male pride. Did my parents seem surprised or upset?"

"Well, no."

"Of course not. Robert, honey, they thought you were a girl! I had to introduce you as Roberta, otherwise you really would have been embarrassed!"

"Embarrassed? What could me more embarrassing that being taken for a woman?"

"Well, being taken for a cross dresser, for one. I'm so sorry, I honestly didn't expect them home for another couple of hours."

"Well I'm going to tell the truth!"

"Why?"

"Why! Um because I'm not a woman!"

"So what logical reason will you give them for being dressed like that? I know it's my fault, but you'll be the one who looks weird."

I hadn't thought of that. "Look, just sit tight," continued Brenda. "No one has to know anything. Our secret."

"Have you forgotten," I seethed "that I live across town? Either Mom has to come and get me or your parents have to drive me home. And I can't very well expect my mom not to comment on the way I'm dressed!"

Brenda's face went gray. "I hadn't thought of that."

"This was all your idea. I can either be humiliated in front of my mom or your parents. I choose your parents. Thanks for nothing." I yanked off my wig and made for the door.

"Wait!" screamed Brenda.

"What?"

"You could...you could spend the night."

"Spend the night?" My anger faded, just a little.

"I'll tell my parents that you're going to sleep over. You call your mom and tell her you met up with a male friend and are going over to watch movies or something. If I remember her, she'll trust you enough to take that at face value. After my folks leave for work tomorrow you can change back and have your mom take you home."

"But I'd have to act like a girl all night!"

"Mom and Dad won't force themselves on us. Just try to talk in a higher register and remember not to scratch your balls." She could tell I wasn't excited about this.

"Not a lot of guys would do this for a woman," she said touching my cheek. "But I know you're man enough to do me a favor. Will you do it, honey?" That was like the third or forth time she had called me 'honey' that night. It was getting harder and harder to tell myself she didn't think of me in a romantic way at all.

"OK," I sighed. "But I'm only doing this for you."

She smiled, and kissed me again. Not as long as last time, but another kiss nonetheless.

Later that night, we both sat in her room talking. It was nearly three. We had watched some movies and had some snacks. Mom hadn't suspected a think when I called her (that's the one good thing about being dull. No one expects you to lie, even when you are). After Brenda had made it clear she didn't want her parents hanging around us, we were left mercifully alone. I still affected a more feminine voice and tried to sit up straight, with my legs crossed.

But now it was bedtime. It had been so nice just to sit in her room and talk, catching up on old times. While I hadn't had a lot to relate, Brenda caught me up on all she had been doing. What interested me most, however, were her stories about Andy. While previously I had thought he was just a jerk, I began to understand he was worse than that. Brenda implied, though never flat-out said, that Andy had come close to being violent towards her on more than one occasion. My selfish motives aside, I was happy that Brenda had escaped that moron.

"Well," said Brenda with a lazy stretch, "I think we ought to turn in."

"OK. I'll..." I stopped short. Brenda had begun disrobing right in front of me.

Off went her shirt. Off came her pants. She was standing there, in nothing but her skivvies. Was this it? Were we about to do it? Oh God, what a night!

Brenda began to unhitch her bra, when she happened to turn and see me. I guess the fact that my jaw was scraping the floor didn't help things. "Whoops!" She smiled. "I've been thinking of you as Roberta a bit too long, I guess." Damn! Oh well.

Brenda pulled on a nightgown, then removed her bra from underneath. She playfully threw it at me. I gulped.

"So, um what should I sleep in?"

She giggled. "Here you go." She handed me a lacy nightgown.

"Don't you have any sweat pants or anything?"

She ignored that. "You'll look cute," was all she would say.

I removed my skirt and sweater. Brenda refused to allow me to remove my bra, saying I needed to keep my breasts, in order to look authentic. Though who would be seeing me, she didn't say. I insisted on getting out of the wig and removing my makeup, however.

Finally, Brenda turned off the light and crawled into bed. I froze. Did she expect me to join her? What if I did and she got mad? What if I didn't and she had expected me to? Fearing offending her, I lay down on the floor. Roberta turned over in bed.

"Robert, does your back hurt?"

"No, why?"

"I was wondering why you're sleeping on the floor. Stop acting so silly and get into bed."

Still in my nightgown, I crawled under the sheets with the most beautiful woman I had ever known. And I still had no idea what to do. Should I make a move or no? She had her back to me, but that didn't necessarily mean she wasn't interested.

Expecting rejection, I draped my arm around her prone body. She snuggled closer to me. She wasn't offended. Gingerly, gingerly I moved my hand upwards.

As my fingers made the first light contact with her silk-covered breasts, she moved away. I felt like the biggest ass in the world. She trusts me enough to let me sleep in the same bed with her, and I immediately go in for the kill.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but she turned to me with a pleasant smile on her face. "Not just yet, Robert. Things are still a little fresh between Andy and I. I'm not ready. Would you mind if we put that off for a while?"

Would I mind? The love of my life asks if I could wait a bit before making love to her and I'm supposed to mind? I could barely stop from doing cartwheels!

That night I pictured it all in my head. I'd be the boyfriend she never had, but deserved. The great guy who was always there. The guy who knew what she liked and how she wanted to be treated. Someday, when she was ready, we'd make love. And then we'd never part.

It was funny, the whole time I was thinking about what a great boyfriend I'd be, it never occurred to me I was still wearing Brenda's clothes.

The next two weeks I was in heaven. Even though we lived a good distance from each other, Brenda insisted that we see each other several times a week. I called her every night. At first I was afraid that I was harassing her, but she would frequently tell me how nice it was to be remembered. Andy had rarely called unless he wanted something.

It was hard to define our relationship at that time. We were friends, that was for sure. But were we more? Brenda would introduce me as Robert. She never implied that we were linked romantically, but at the same time, she never denied it. When we'd run into her friends at the movies or restaurants, it seemed to me that they would assume I was her date.

We never did much physically. She'd kiss me goodnight, but would never let me go further. "I'm just not ready for that yet," she'd say, apologetically. I was patient. Brenda wasn't a tease, I knew she just had to work things out in her head before she could move on. As for me dressing in her clothes, she never mentioned it again.

It was right before senior prom I decided to step up my efforts to make her my official girlfriend. I knew that prom constituted a real date, but I figured I should at least ask her. With Andy out of the picture, she just might say yes to me.

I was bumbling and awkward when I asked, but I managed to blurt out that I'd like to accompany her to prom. She giggled, then kissed me. "I was wondering if you'd ever ask me. Yes, of course I'll go."

I was walking on air all that night! Prom with the girl of my dreams! For once I wouldn't be a nerd! We'd walk into the prom at her school proudly. I'd be there with the prettiest girl on the dance floor.

I didn't mention my achievement to anyone that night, out of fear I'd jinx things. It was a good thing, too. The next night, she called me up, in tears.

"I have to talk to you, Robert. I'll come pick you up. I don't think we can go to prom."

I managed to bite my lip until she had picked me up and we'd pulled out of the driveway. "What's wrong Brenda?" I asked, concerned. She didn't answer. Instead, she pulled the car over to the side of the road and began bawling.

"What? What is it?" Even before she said anything, I knew somehow that Andy was to blame.

She handed me a folded piece of paper. "I found it in my locker today."

'Dear Brenda,' it read.

'I heard you think your (sic) going to prom with another guy. NO WAY! I swear to God that any guy who so much as holds your hand at prom it gonna get his face smashed in. I'm gonna be there ready to pound whatever geek you take. You go with me or you don't go!

Andy'

I was stunned. I knew Andy had taken it badly, but this?

"I'm so sorry, Robert. We can't go, he'd kill you."

"We'll just go to the prom at my school." I felt sick to my stomach. I could only imagine what would happen if Andy decided he wanted to beat me up. He was twice my size!

"He'd just follow me. I'm sorry, Robert, but I can't let anything happen to you. You're too special. We'll just come to my place, play Monopoly "

NO! By God, no! I may be a scrawny shrimp, but I'd be damned if I was going to have Brenda sit home on prom night because I wasn't as manly as Andy.

Brenda had plunged her face into my shoulder and began sobbing harder. Gently, I took her chin in my hand. "Brenda, I'm taking you to that prom." She tried to interrupt. "Don't you see? If you don't come, he'll win! Do you want that? Him controlling your life? I'm willing to stand up to him. I don't care if he is bigger, I'm not going to let you get pushed around." There. I said it. Let's see, blood type, B+, no allergies, I guess I should will everything to Mom...

Brenda stopped weeping. "Why would I think you'd ever abandon me, Robert? But I'm not letting you go. I'm not exaggerating when I say you'd wind up in the hospital."

"I'll take the risk." Gulp.

"No. He'd pick a fight with Mike Tyson if I showed up with him. There's no one he wouldn't pound, except maybe..." she stopped short. Sitting up straight, she wiped her eyes and looked at me.

"What?" I was afraid she'd remembered a macho friend who she could go to prom with.

"Robert, you really did make a convincing girl the other day."

I groaned and rubbed my eyes. "You said you weren't going to bring that up."

"I'm sorry. But well, you did. It was really hard to tell you weren't a guy. And I was just thinking, Andy wouldn't hit a girl."

I instantly saw where she was going with that. "No way," I stated.

"Hear me out. If I made you up pretty enough to pass for Roberta, you could still be my date! I'll tell everyone at school what Andy threatened to do. Everyone will expect him to pound whatever guy I go with. Then, when I show up with a woman, he'll look like an idiot. All psyched up to beat someone up, and he won't be able to do anything!"

"No way. I'm showing up in a tux, not a gown."

"Then I'm not going. You've a braver man than Andy, but that won't do you any good in the ER."

"You must think I'm a real sissy." I was bitter.

"Jesus, do you men ever listen? You're willing to stand up to a guy twice your size, just to protect me. You're three times the man Andy was. But facts are facts and you'll get hurt. Maybe you could just put aside your pride a bit and take me to that prom." She snuggled against me. "I'll even let you lead."

I didn't now weather to laugh or cry. "What will people think? You dancing with a woman, I mean."

"Who cares? I could just get a female friend to go with me, but I'd rather go with you." She flipped my hair.

"Promise no one will recognize me?"

"You won't recognize yourself."

"Then...Christ, the things I do for you."

She pecked my cheek. "Better you should concentrate on the things I'm going to do with you." She licked her lips and started the car.

The next day I showed up and Brenda's house to go shopping for gowns. The indignity of it! A seventeen-year-old guy getting ready for prom by going to a formal dress store! Still, I was doing it for Brenda. It was a chance to make her safe and to show up Andy. But I much would have rather been big enough to stand up to Andy, not small enough to fit into a dress.

As usual, Brenda's parents weren't home and we'd have the whole place to ourselves. When I rang the doorbell, I was both surprised and pleased to see that she was wearing a towel over her hair, another one around her torso, and nothing else. "Hi, Robert. Sorry, I'm running a little late. C'mon in."

Trying to focus on her eyes, I followed. I thought about asking to borrow her towel, a la Chevy Chase in 'Fletch', but lost my nerve.

"I'll be dressed in a minute," she said as she ducked into the bathroom (don't put yourself out on my account). "In the mean time, why don't you go to my closet and pick something out to wear."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't very well take you to a women's clothing store as Robert, now can I?"

"Hang on, I never agreed to this! Can't you just pick a prom dress out for me?"

"Nope. They have to do measurements and such."

"What if someone I know sees me?"

"Don't worry. I'm taking you to a place that you couldn't um that I doubt you've been to."

"You mean, too fancy for me to afford, right?"

She stuck her head out of the bathroom, a guilty expression on her face. "Yes. Sorry."

That was always a point of awkwardness between us. Brenda had a new car, nice clothes, a big house. I lived in a tiny house, wore non-name brand clothes, and didn't have a car. Ever since Dad had run out on us, Mom had struggled to make ends meet. I still had no idea how I was going to afford college.

I slunk into Brenda's room and poked around in her closet, trying to find the least feminine things I could fit into. As if reading my thoughts, Brenda shouted from the bathroom "And no slacks or T-shirts. You have to look authentic, OK?"

I ignored her. I was already wearing a pair of her pants and wasn't going to change again. The pants had fit, much to my shock. Though Brenda was skinnier than me, she had much wider hips, enabling me to slip inside them. I then began searching for a top.

"Here, let me give you a hand." Brenda had returned, dressed in a pair of cut-off shorts and a T-shirt. Even dressed as sloppily as that, she seemed to exude femininity. I knew it would take a lot of effort to make me look half that good.

Brenda handed me an athletic bra. "Just slip that on. After I stuff you, no one will suspect anything if a clerk or someone should get a glimpse of you while your changing." I gulped. If anyone ever figured out my true gender, I'd have to leave town.

After Brenda had given me a nice pair of boobs (this time made up of nylon stockings stuffed with socks) she handed me a top.

"Brenda, I can't wear this!" I gasped, as soon as I had it on. "It doesn't go all the way down!" My freckled belly showed, just a little, between the shirt and pants.

"That's the point, silly. You're so skinny, you look cute in a midriff baring number. Like a red-headed Brittany Spears!" I blushed crimson.

"Now don't get like that," said Brenda, putting her arms around my neck. "There's nothing to be ashamed of."

"Nothing to be ashamed of? It's not even prom night, and already I'm looking like a girl! Maybe we should just call this off."

Brenda placed her mouth very near mine. I could feel her breath on my face. "Robert, do you like being my boyfriend?" I gasped, inwardly. She had said it! We were a couple. I nodded.

"I like being your girlfriend. And do you know why? Because you go the extra mile. You do things for me no other guy would. And after prom, I'm going to show you just how grateful I am." She slapped my butt. "Now no more whining. Let me do your makeup."

When Brenda had made me up that first night, it was sort of a half-hearted job; she hadn't expected anyone else to see me. Today, it was different. Going to a store, even an exclusive private one, required me to look like a seventeen year-old girl.

"This might take a while," said Brenda when she began. "You're coloring is much different than mine, I'm going to have to try a few things before I know what's right."

"Just use a lot," I muttered, fidgeting under the towel she had placed over me. "The more you use, the less chance anyone will notice me."

"That's where you're wrong," replied Brenda, beginning to apply foundation to my face. "Any real woman can go out with no makeup and no one would suspect a thing. If you use too much, people might start to wonder what you're trying to cover up. I'm only going to put just enough one so that you won't arouse suspicion."

Soon, my freckles had faded under a thin layer of foundation and blush. My lips were painted scarlet and my eyelashes were coated with thick mascara. I began to tremble at how smoothly my transition between the genders went. How would I ever convince Brenda that I was man enough for her, if I made such a nice girl?

When Brenda had finished she winked at me. "You look really cute, Roberta."

"Why do you keep calling me that?" I asked, feeling every bit the sissy.

"Because I don't want to slip up and call you Robert while we're in public. Now let me fix your wig and we'll be all set."

Soon we were in Brenda's convertible, driving off to God knows where. Brenda had wanted to drive with the top down, but I insisted we keep it up. What if someone saw me? I nearly died when a carload of teenagers from my school pulled up next to us at a light. I faced the other way until the light turned green. They didn't see me.

As we pulled into the parking lot of a ritzy looking department store, Brenda looked at me in an odd way. "Roberta, you know how I promised not to tell anyone about what you were doing?"

I felt my guts knot up. "You didn't tell anyone, did you? Dear God, you promised!"

"Calm down, honey. No, I haven't told anyone. But at the store we're going to, there's a beautician who has...I guess you could call it a special talent."

"What do you mean, 'special talent'?"

"She does make-overs for cross dressers...oh, don't give me that look!"

"I am not a cross dresser! I am only doing this for you, and I sure don't want to get made over with a bunch of drag queens! You act like this is a lifestyle of mine!"

Brenda lay a hand on my knee and I stopped ranting. "Roberta, I know you don't enjoy this. I just felt we'd be taking an unnecessary risk if we went shopping without help. You never know what could happen. I can dress you up OK, but this woman can work wonders. Will her help, I guarantee we'll have no problems on prom night. No one will suspect a thing."

"I don't know..."

"Please?" Brenda slipped her hand around my bare waist. "I promise, it won't hurt." She batted her eyes at me.

"OK. But I'm only doing this for you."

"I know you are honey. This is going to be a prom to remember."

She grabbed me by the hand and led me inside. I had never felt so self-conscious as I did right then, walking through the crowded department store wearing a half shirt, a female wig, and makeup. I felt like everyone was watching me, snickering behind their hands at my shameful costume.

"Relax, honey, you're doing just fine," Brenda whispered to me. "No one suspects a thing."

"So how did you find out about this make-over lady?" I asked, in an effort to take my mind off my feminine attire.

"She's a beautician. My mom uses her. She once mentioned that she occasionally did make-overs for female impersonators. So when I decided to take 'Roberta' to the prom, naturally I made an appointment for you."

"You did what? You said you didn't tell anyone!"

"Calm down. I didn't give your real name. Really, you need to learn to relax a bit."

I placed my hand over my 'breasts' and breathed heavily. "I'm sorry. You come here dressed as a man with the world staring at you, and see how calm you are."

Brenda looked mischievous. "I'll tell you what. You calm down now, or I'll yank that wig of yours off, right here in front of everyone."

I was horrified. "You wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?"

I thought about it. "No, I really don't think you would."

Brenda sighed, I had called her bluff. "OK, I wouldn't. But if you're this nervous on prom night people are going to think something is up. Now here's our stop."

We had come to a secluded corner of the large store, a tiny glass-fronted door lead into what appeared to be a ritzy beauty salon. Brenda pulled me by the hand up to the reception desk.

"I have a one o'clock with Mary Ann," she told the clerk.

Soon we were joined by a smiling, middle-aged woman. "Brenda," she twittered. "It's so nice to see you. How is your mother?" They exchanged banalities for a while. "And this must be Roberta," continued Mary Ann. She squeezed my hand. "Well, shall we?"

We were led to a back room of the beauty parlor. When Mary Ann shut the door behind us, we were shut off from the rest of the store, free to talk in private.

I looked around. The compact room seemed to contain everything needed for a complete make-over: sink, basin, makeup table, sewing kit, swatches of material, and a changing screen. I was about to breathe a sigh of relief when someone walked from behind the screen.

It was a pretty blonde girl, about my age. She was curvaceous, maybe even slightly plump, but as cute as could be. She wore a tight sweater which accentuated her ample bosom, and tight slacks through which the pleasing shape of her rear-end showed through. Her hair was in a simple ponytail, and she wore only enough makeup to accentuate her features. "Hi, Mom," she smiled when she saw Mary Ann.

"Hi Crystal. You know Brenda, and this is Roberta. She needs a little help passing as a woman for prom night."

Crystal winked at me. "She sure doesn't seem to be having any trouble now. But when we're through with her, she'll forget she was ever a boy."

At that moment I wished Brenda had never called me. My humiliation had never been so absolute. Dressing like Roberta for Brenda was one thing, I was only doing it to help her. And Mary Anne wasn't that big of a deal, she was only there to help. But no one said anything about telling my secret to this teenage goddess! To make matters worse, Crystal clearly thought I was doing this out of enjoyment! Had anyone bothered to inform her how I had been coerced into doing this? How I was protecting Brenda? No, they just let her think I was some kind of transvestite! I began to question how much I cared about Brenda.

No one seemed to notice my agony. Mary Ann was glancing me over, giving me a precursory inspection. "This is going to be easy," she smiled. "But we still have a lot of work to do. That silly wig will have to go for starters. Crystal, why don't you run over to Mr. Chad's and pick up something more Roberta's natural color?"

Crystal smiled, picked up her purse and was gone. "Now," continued Mary Anne "as for her dress..."

"Hold it right there!" I shouted. "Brenda, take me home this instant. Find someone else to take you to prom."

Brenda looked genuinely shocked. "Roberta, honey, what's wrong? I thought we'd discussed..."

"Discussed? No, you discussed. You had me believing that the only way I could go to your prom was as a girl! Then you drag me out here for a make-over, and tell half the world my secret!" I turned to Mary Ann. "Did you even bother to tell your daughter that I was forced into doing this? I doubt it! You must have just let her think that I'm some kind of teenage drag queen! She probably thinks I'm going to prom with a guy!" I felt like crying. Things weren't improved when both Brenda and Mary Ann started giggling.

"You poor thing," grinned Brenda, caressing my cheek.

"You didn't tell Roberta?" Mary Ann asked Brenda.

"No, you always warned me not to tell anyone Crystal's secret."

I was confused. "What secret? What are you two laughing about?"

At that moment Crystal returned, carrying a shopping bag. Mary Ann placed her hand on Crystal's shoulder.

"Crystal, dear, Roberta is a bit embarrassed that you know she's really a boy." Crystal seemed to think this was also hilarious. I wanted to run away, the sight of my girlfriend, the beautician, and the pretty blonde girl all laughing at me was just too much.

Crystal sat down beside me. "Roberta, I'm sorry if that freaked you out. I assumed you knew something about me, but I guess you don't."

"What? What don't I know?"

"That my real name is Christopher. I'm no more of a girl than you are."

I thought she was joking and rolled my eyes at her. But she just smiled and nodded.

I looked her over a second time. Those breasts, could they just be padding? That adorable face, was it nothing more than makeup? That feminine giggle, the result of careful practice? Did those tight jeans hide a maleness much like mine?

"How? Why?" I stammered.

Crystal winked at her mom. "Why don't you tell her?"

"OK," Mary Ann sat down next to her 'daughter.' While Crystal touched up her makeup, I listened to Mary Ann's story of Crystal's creation.

"About two years ago, when Crystal was fifteen (and known as Christopher), my husband was killed in an accident. He was the breadwinner in the house, and when he died, I didn't know what to do. I mean, I was forty years old, no skills, and a teenage son to support. I figured that maybe I could make a little money as a beautician. Unfortunately, I couldn't afford to go to beauty school. So I practiced at home.

"I couldn't practice on myself, and I only had so many friends I could impose on to let me do make-overs on them for hours at a time. I only had one alternative." Crystal smiled and waved her fingers at me.

"Obviously, Christopher refused at first. I mean, what kind of fifteen-year-old kid wants his mother to practice feminine beauty techniques on him?" Crystal giggled. "At any rate, he finally agreed. I don't think there was anything he wouldn't have done to help out the family." Mary Ann gave Crystal a one-armed hug.

"Every night, I'd spend about three hours turning my son Christopher into my daughter, Crystal. That may seem like a lot of time, but keep in mind I was trying to break into an industry I knew nothing about, with no training at all. I waitressed during the day, worked nights at a factory, and in my free time I tried to learn all the beauty secrets I could. Christopher was a real trooper, being willing to become a girl every evening, just to help me out.

"Finally, I began applying for jobs. I never realized how hopeless my dreams had been. No one was interested in a middle-aged woman with no experience. What's more, in this line of work you have to have a huge portfolio of makeovers you have done. All I had was Crystal, and I wasn't about to display photos of her.

"Eventually things got so bad that Christopher agreed to allow me to show off photos of Crystal. That, at least got me some interviews. But things didn't help much. Crystal looked beautiful, but she was just one facial type. I had to prove I could make-over women no matter what they looked like.

"I think I would have given up my dreams had my car not broken down and I had to have Christopher borrow a friend's car to pick me up."

Crystal giggled, and began to recite the story where Mary Ann left off. "So there I was, sitting in this office, listening to some gay beauty parlor owner tell Mom why he couldn't hire her. He holds up a picture of me as Crystal, then pauses. He looks over at me, then back at the photo, then at me again. His eyes get huge. Mom and I are terrified, obviously he figured out where Mom got her model. I was so relieved when he didn't mention it.

"But a week later, Mom gets a call from a friend of the hairdresser. Seems he has always wanted to look like a woman, but was too afraid to go to a beauty parlor. The guy Mom interviewed with told him about Mom's talent for beautifying men, and so he had called her. The guy paid five hundred bucks just for one make-over and photo session.

"After that, our phone never stopped ringing. People were calling from all over, begging to be made into women. It was pretty hysterical. Mom busts her rear learning the secrets of feminine beauty, and most of her customers are men!"

"But you!" I asked impatiently. "How come you are still dressing like that?"

"Well, when Mom started doing this full time, it was obvious that she needed an assistant. And since she couldn't afford to hire one, I worked for her. But we soon realized that something had to change. Men coming for female make-overs didn't feel comfortable with a teenage guy watching them; it made them ashamed. So before I knew it, I was going to work as Crystal."

Mary Ann resumed the story. "Crystal was an expensive investment. I had to pay for all kinds of makeup, cosmetics, and of course clothes. You never realize how expensive a teenage daughter can be until you've had to buy all her dresses in one week! Still, once Crystal was my assistant, all my clients felt at ease. And if they ever wanted proof of my talents, Crystal could simply take off her wig."

My head was spinning. "So how often are you dressed like that?" I asked the boy who was prettier than most girls I knew.

"Well, I haven't stopped dressing like this for over a year now. At first, I only did it evenings and weekends. But it was such a pain constantly changing from one identity to another. Soon I was Crystal non-stop, from Friday afternoon until Monday morning. I began to make friends as Crystal. I found myself almost thinking of myself as a girl. Finally, Mom began to worry that puberty would make it impossible for us to continue the ruse. I mean, if I grew a beard, I couldn't very well be her model, could I?

"We decided that the best course of action would for me to begin taking doses of estrogen. We figured that I could postpone the onset of male characteristics until I left for college. I was dressing like a girl so much by that time, it wasn't really a big sacrifice. We only made one mistake: we bought the hormones illegally, without consulting a doctor. And I ended up taking a just a bit too much."

"What happened?" I breathlessly asked.

"Well, I did end up going through puberty. Just as the wrong gender." Crystal began giggling so hard she couldn't go on. His mother continued.

"About half a year after Crystal began the hormones, I began to notice how it was gradually getting easier and easier to make him over. At first I chalked it up to experience, but soon I realized that wasn't the case. My son really was changing.

"His skin got softer. His hair grew silkier. I noticed him starting to fill out, the way a young woman would. I'll never forget the day I bought him his first bra. Obviously, he had to change schools, there was only so much you could cover with heavy clothes."

I was dumbfounded and scared. I hoped that my innocent foray into the other side of life would never go this far. "So what are your plans now?"

Crystal toyed with his blonde locks. I realized that his hair, unlike mine, was natural. "I'm not sure," he mused. "I really want to go to college next year, but I guess I should go back to being Christopher before then. I guess this summer I'll stop the estrogen, start taking some male hormones, and get on with my life."

"So," piped in Brenda, "now that you realize you are among friends, can we please get started?"

That was the last thing the three of them said to me the whole rest of the afternoon. I might as well have been a mannequin, for all the attention my opinions were given. After I was told to disrobe, I simply sat there shivering in my underwear, while the ladies decided how to do to me what had been done to Christopher.

The first thing Mary Ann said she must do was to give me a feminine figure. This was accomplished by squeezing me into a girdle so tight that I could barely breathe. "God, could you loosen that a little?" I begged. No such luck. "We have to pour you into a tight little prom dress," Mary Ann tittered. "Now," she said, turning to her 'daughter,' "what should be done about her chest?"

"Well," said Crystal, staring at my bare chest, "since there's no chest hair, why don't we use the glue-on kind?"

Glue on kind? I soon found out what that meant. Mary Ann slathered my chest with a goopy, yellow fluid. "It's a sort of epoxy," she explained. "It's powerful, but it comes right off with a little alcohol."

"But what exactly " I began. Then I saw Crystal coming towards me with a big grin. In each hand she held what appeared to be a woman's breast. Obviously fake, but they certainly jiggled and moved like the real thing (at least as the Playboy Channel would have me believe). "They're made of silicone and painted like the real things," said Crystal. "They won't pass close inspection, but under clothes they look very convincing." She pressed them to my chest and instructed me to lay back while the glue set.

"Are you sure they won't slip or anything?" I babbled.

"Oh yes. I used them myself until the hormones gave me my own." I glanced at Crystal's chest out of the corner of my eye. Though not huge, Crystal's boobs were certainly beauties. I couldn't believe they were growing on a guy.

"As long as she's laying down, why don't we get started on her makeup," suggested Mary Ann.

"Why do you keep calling me 'her'?" I complained. "You act like I'm really a girl."

"I apologize," smiled Mary Ann. "So many of my clients think of themselves as women that I always use feminine pronouns. Don't let it bother you."

I glanced at Brenda across the room. I expected to see her smirking, giggling at my discomfort. To my shock, she was smiling at me sweetly. She caught me looking at her and she winked at me. This made me relax a bit. Her approval meant a lot to me.

Mary Ann and Crystal spent the better part of an hour practicing the art of the make-over on me. As my boobs were still drying I couldn't sit up to see what they were doing. Lipstick, mascara brush, sponge, cotton balls, and eyeliner pencil flew before my dazed eyes. I even stoically submitted when they shaved my legs and armpits with electric clippers. Finally, it ended.

"Let me see," I begged, trying to look in a mirror.

"Not just yet, dear. Let's get you dressed first so you can see the finished product. Now sit up and see if your chest holds."

I climbed to a vertical position. My chest felt heavy; small wonder with my new appendages. While you could still see where they were attached, they looked eerily realistic. If I squinted, I could almost imagine I had grown them myself. I had to touch one to make sure it really wasn't mine.

"There you go," said Crystal. "Try not to look at them too much when you go out. It's tempting to glance at them, but you'll only draw suspicion to yourself. They'll be enough guys staring at them anyway."

I grimaced. "Anything else?"

"Be careful of them. Those are C cups, so you stick out more than you used to. Nothing's more embarrassing than knocking over your drink with your chest. Now lets get you dressed."

Brenda squealed with delight when she saw the gowns they had picked out. "Oh, Roberta, these are to die for! Oh, I wish I could dress you up like this all the time! Too bad you can only choose one."

"Yeah. Too bad."

"Now none of that, Ms. Pouty," chastised Crystal. "Try to enjoy yourself."

I looked the gowns over. "All of these show too much skin!" I whined.

"You have such a graceful back and shoulders," said Brenda. "You should really show them off."

I burned with humiliation. Graceful? That had nothing to do with clothes or padding. Obviously she thought I had a natural feminine quality about me. She'd have never said that to her thuggish ex. Obviously I wasn't the man he was.

And so, my back still to the mirrors, I tried on dresses. And accessories. Strapless dresses. Dresses with spaghetti straps. Off the shoulder, backless dresses. Dresses with ruffles and bows. Dresses that swept the floor, dresses that only came down to my knees. Dresses with full sleeves, dresses with none. Dark pantyhose, see through pantyhose, fishnet hose. Necklaces and bracelets. Clip on earrings. Purses. Even a variety of bras, to support my new cleavage without being seen. Finally, everyone (except me) came to a consensus.

It was in the form of a sleeveless, teal-green number. One shoulder was covered with ruffles, the other revealed my bare, freckled shoulder. It reached the floor. There were no bows, but there were lots of ruffles. My hose were light and my heels were black. I wore clip-on silver earrings and no other jewelry.

"Can I look now?" I pleaded.

"Just a minute," said Crystal. She then topped my head with a wig, a red one, more or less the same color as my own hair. "All set," she said.

I closed my eyes as the moved a full length mirror in front of me. I didn't know what I feared more: that I would look like a guy in drag and be suspect at prom, or that I'd look like a girl and never be a man in Brenda's eyes again. I looked.

And there she was. Roberta, Brenda's prom date. A cute, freckle-faced teenager, all dolled up for the big night. Thin, pale arms, skinny waist, and a surprisingly ample chest. She seemed nervous, and a little unsteady on her heels. Her makeup was flawless, obviously professionally done. I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

"So what do you think?" Asked Mary Ann. She looked hopeful. Obviously she took great pride in her work. It would be mean to tell her what I really thought of what I'd become.

"Very convincing," I commented. "You'd never guess."

"To say the least," said Brenda, sneaking up behind me and planting a kiss on my neck. "You're a doll, Roberta!" A doll. That's what she thinks of her boyfriend. I wondered how long we'd be together, before someone manly took my place.

"You'll have to return the afternoon before prom," Mary Ann informed me. "If you think we did a good job now, just wait until we get through with you next time!" Yippee.

Mary Ann and Crystal left to look after other, more traditional customers in the beauty salon, leaving me to change back into the outfit I had come in.

"Well, I hope this makes you happy, Brenda," I said, not without a trace of bitterness.

"Happy?" she asked. She then pounced on me, pinning me against the wall, and began devouring me with kisses. Our lipstick smeared together. I felt closer to her and more turned on than every before. Abruptly she pulled away and looked down. I followed her eyes. My arousal hadn't only men mental. I was now expanding my dress in a most unladylike manner.

"We'll have to do something about that when we go out," she laughed. "Get dressed, then we'll go home."

Soon the day of prom was upon us. I didn't know whether to be happy or miserable. I mean, that day several years ago when Andy threw me out, I never would have guessed that I was going to be the one taking Brenda to prom. Brenda had been talking about it all week, subtly mentioning that the fun we were going to have wouldn't end when the dance was over.

But it all seemed ridiculous. I mean, I was going in a gown! I was going to try to look curvaceous and pretty. How could I enjoy prom like that? I kept hinting that we'd have more fun if I went in a tux, but Brenda would always remind me of Andy's threats. I wished I were manly enough to stand up to her.

The plan was that Brenda would drop me off at Mary Ann's beauty salon in the early afternoon. Mary Ann and Crystal would give me a make-over, while Brenda readied herself at her own house. She'd then pick me up and take me to prom.

If Mary Ann and Crystal were careful when they first transformed me, they were absolutely meticulous this time. They took care of every detail. They scoured my skin for even the slightest hair, which they quickly plucked with tweezers. They filed my nails down to perfection, then delicately painted them red. My makeup was applied, removed, and reapplied. They forced me to walk back and forth across the dressing room until they concluded that my walk was sufficiently feminine. They coached me on my speech. I don't exactly have a manly voice, so it wasn't hard to sound like a husky-voiced girl.

The most embarrassing part of the ordeal came when Mary Ann revealed that Brenda had told her about my erection the previous time. I hid my face. "Nothing to be ashamed of," said Mary Ann. "But we do have to cover it up." She handed me a pair of rubber panties. "These should be tight enough to contain anything." I struggled into them behind the screen. They were almost painfully restrictive, but tight enough that I didn't have to worry about anything showing up when I was dancing close with Brenda.

After about three hours of preparation, I was finished. Brenda arrived at that moment, in a cloud of perfume. We stood in front of the mirror and stared.

Brenda had worn her hair up. Her dress was strapless, exposing the top of her ample chest and silky, bare arms. Her gown glittered due to the sequins sewed into it. She looked lovelier than I had ever seen her. At that moment, I would have done anything for her.

She was looking at me intently. "Wow, Roberta, you're beautiful. My God, you put me to shame!" I regarded my reflection. The green of my dress accentuated the red of my wig. My freckled shoulder and arms stood out smooth and weak. The prosthetics gave me an hourglass figure. I really did look kind of cute.

"So what do you think?" asked Crystal, looking rather cute himself in a simple skirt and top.

"Great job. I don't think anyone will notice."

"I'll say!" agreed Brenda. "I'm walking into prom tonight on the arm of the most beautiful girl I've ever seen!"

"So am I," I smiled. We both blushed a bit.

"I have something for you," I told Brenda. Reaching into my gym bag, I pulled out a small box. I removed the corsage I had purchased for her and pinned it to her wrist. It was the one manly gesture I could make that evening: buying a flower for my date.

Brenda looked like she was about to melt in my arms. "That is so sweet! I can't remember the last time anyone bought me a flower. Andy never..." she stopped short. She knew I didn't like hearing about Andy, even in a negative sense.

"I have something for you, too," giggled Brenda. Wouldn't you know, she had bought me a flower as well. A white carnation, with green tinge to match my dress. As she pinned it to my wrist, my humiliation was complete: my date pinning a corsage to me. What could be more girlish?

"I'm so jealous," sighed Crystal. "Wish I was coming as well." I wondered what was going on in Crystal's mind. It seems that there was more to the ruse then helping out Mary Ann. I wondered if Crystal would follow through with the plan to return to manhood after high school.

"Try not to break too many hearts, girls," smiled Mary Ann as we left.

I was silent as Brenda drove me to her high school. Since I knew almost no one at her school, I was certain no one would recognize me. But what if they saw through my disguise?

"Brenda?"

"Yes, Roberta?"

"You don't think anyone will realize I'm a guy, do you?"

"I don't think they'd believe you if you told them."

"What about Andy?"

"Who?"

"Andy, you know, your ex. The reason I'm dressed this way." After all the trouble I went to, it certainly annoyed me that Andy had slipped her mind.

"Oh oh, yes of course. I'm sure he'll be angry, but what can he do?" Two weeks ago she'd been scared to death of him, now she didn't seemed concerned. Too late now, we had arrived.

I braced myself. "Tell me again why I'm doing this."

"Because you care about me enough to swallow your pride and be there for me when I need you."

"Are you sure we have to do this?"

"You know, my parents are in Chicago this weekend. Maybe after prom we could try out the new hot tub."

"I didn't bring my swimsuit."

"So?" Brenda hopped out of the car. Numbly, I followed.

I looked around at the crowd milling in front of the high school. Dozens of young women, looking exquisite in their dresses. Dozens of young men, looking both handsome and uncomfortable in their tuxes.

I looked wistfully at a guy who was even shorter and skinnier than me, arrive on the arm of a girl just as pretty as Brenda. Why wasn't I that guy?

"Brenda!" a feminine voice squealed. I turned to see a group of three lovely girls, obviously friends of Brenda, approaching. "So glad you decided to come!"

"Candy, Cindi, Angie! I wouldn't have missed it for their world." She kissed each one on their cheek.

"So are you double dating tonight?" one of the girls asked, smiling at me.

"Not exactly. Remember how Andy threatened to punch out anyone who showed up with me?" The girls nodded, angrily. "Well, I'd like you to meet Roberta my date for the evening!"

There was a stunned silence. This was it, how would they react? I breathed a sigh of relief when they all burst into joyful laughter.

"That's so wonderful!" one of them giggled as they all hugged both Brenda and myself. "Andy can't fight with a woman, can he? Good thinking!" I began to feel relief. Not only was I passing as a girl, but also no one seemed to think Brenda's plan was odd. We all made our way to the front door.

"Brenda!" I recognized the fingernails-on-chalkboard sound of the voice, even before I turned around. There was Andy, as ugly and burly as I remembered him. This was it.

"Oh, it's you," said Brenda, with bored contempt. Brenda's friends glowered at Andy.

"Yeah, me. Your boyfriend. What are you doing here? I thought I warned you."

"We broke up, Nimrod. I'm enjoying prom, without you."

Andy turned red. "So you wanna spend the night alone, eh? Fine. I'll be here when you get bored."

"Oh, I didn't come alone," smirked Brenda.

Andy literally bellowed. "Where's the dead man? Where is he?" He balled his hands into fists. I was glad Brenda hadn't let me come as Robert, that would have been deadly.

Brenda smiled sweetly. "Right here. Andy, this is my date, Roberta. Roberta, Andy."

"Charmed, I'm sure," I managed to stammer, appearing more confident then I felt.

Andy stood there for a few seconds, trying to decide if we were joking. Roberta linked her arm with mine. "Come, Roberta, let's get a table."

"What the hell!" screamed Andy. "Are you some kinda lesbo freak?" He was furious.

"No, I just wanted to go to prom with someone nice. And a better dancer, I might add."

Brenda apparently thought that would be the end of things, but she was wrong. With bruising pressure, Andy grabbed both of us by the arm. "You sick perverts! I ought to slap some sense into both of you!" I looked to Brenda for help, but she was petrified. Andy's jealousy was obviously much more intense than she had anticipated.

"I ought to take the both of you and show you what it's like to have a real man!" Oh dear, God, this wasn't happening.

"I'm getting a teacher!" screamed one of Brenda's friends.

At that moment, I was aware of a large presence behind us. Andy looked up at something over our shoulders and released Brenda and myself. We rubbed our arms, painfully, then turned and looked.

Two big high school guys were standing behind us. One was quite handsome, he reminded me a bit of George Clooney. He was tall, his tux was neat, and he had an easy smile. His good looks were marred slightly by a butterfly bandage across the bridge of his nose.

Next to him stood a guy who appeared to belong in the 'assent of man' exhibit at the museum. He was a huge barrel chested guy, whose arms seems just slightly longer than his legs. I got the impression it took conscious mental effort for him to stand on only two feet. His tux was too small; his hairy wrists poked a good length out of his sleeves. His brow was large and bony, and a missing front tooth completed his simian appearance.

"What's up?" smiled the handsome guy. "Andy, the way you were hollering, you would have thought they'd canceled the Flintstones."

Andy shook with rage. "I'll tell you what's up, Gabe! Brenda shows up to prom with another chick! She's turning into some kind of faggot sicko!"

Gabe, the good-looking guy, chuckled. "Just like on Jerry Springer, eh Jay?" he nudged his ape-like companion, who grunted.

"I'm not about to let my girlfriend go to a dance with some lesbian slut!" barked Andy.

"Now hold on there, slick," said Gabe. "I seem to recall her dumping you a while back. I think you need to back off, just a bit."

"Who's gonna make me?"

Gabe continued to look Andy in the eye. He was still smiling with his mouth, but no longer with his eyes. Jay cracked his knuckles. It sounded like a string of firecrackers going off. "Maybe you ought to go on inside," suggested Gabe, coldly.

Andy vacillated for minute, wondering if taking on the two big guys was worth it. It wasn't. He stormed off in the direction of the parking lot. "You'll come crawling back!" he screamed back at Brenda.

We let a collective sigh of relief. "You were fantastic," gushed Brenda. I turned around to thank her and realized that she wasn't talking to me. She was talking to Gabe.

"It was nothing," he humbly replied. "Now why don't we all go inside?" Brenda smiled at him sweetly. I followed alongside Jay's hulking frame. I burned with humiliation and anger. Here I am, prom night, dressed in a gown and heels, and Brenda's gushing over another guy! Maybe he did drive Andy off, but I was the one making the big sacrifice.

We entered the crepe paper festooned gymnasium. Much to my annoyance, Gabe and Jay joined us at our table. Soon everyone was talking and laughing. Everyone except me, that is. It seems Brenda had practically forgotten that I was her date. It was just as I feared; here were two guys, football players no less, stealing Brenda away from me, right under my nose. And I could do nothing about it! Even though Brenda was supposed to be my date, I couldn't act jealous, not without making Brenda look like a homosexual.

The worst humiliation was yet to come. I had assumed that Brenda would at least dance with me. No such luck. As soon as a slow number started, Jay asked, in a series of barely coherent monosyllables, if Brenda would like to dance. Foolish me, I had expected her to protest. Nope, without so much as a look in my direction, they were out on the dance floor.

I wanted the evening to be over. How could Brenda do this to me? Convince me to become Roberta, then waltz off with another guy! I winced when I heard her giggling at something Jay had said. Accounts of the latest mammoth hunt, no doubt.

I became uncomfortably aware that Gabe and I were alone at the table together. Poor guy, he had probably hoped to dance with Brenda, only to have his friend beat him to the punch. In an attempt to lighten the mood, I asked him a bit about himself.

He was seventeen, like myself, and a football player of course. Not egotistical, he kept trying to turn the conversation to things about me. I quickly demurred; Roberta didn't actually exist.

"So," he said, apropos of nothing, "would you like to dance?" I was too stunned to reply. Just when I thought the evening couldn't possibly get any worse, just when I'm at my lowest peak, sitting there in a prom dress and heels with my date dancing with another guy, this happens!

"Oh, you don't have to do that," I joked, praying he had only asked out of pity for me.

"No problem," he grinned. He stood up and offered me his hand. Not tonight, buddy.

"No thanks, I don't feel like it."

"C'mon, it's prom night. You have to dance."

"I said I don't feel like it." Embarrassed, Gabe sat down again. Conversation died.

As the night wore on, I began to feel sorry for Gabe as well as myself. He had just risked a fight with Andy to protect us, and I wouldn't even dance with him. Well, his tough luck. I already had a date. Of course, she hadn't even looked in my direction for half an hour. She hadn't even noticed me

I looked over at Gabe, who looked terribly bored. Maybe if we danced, Brenda would get jealous.

I waited until the DJ played a fast number, one that we couldn't possibly slow dance to. Then I stood up. "Let's go," I said.

I refused to let him take my hand as we entered the dance floor. Since the music was so fast he had no call to touch me, and soon we were tearing it up. I was never the greatest dancer, but I managed to move in time to the beat, more or less. Standing a couple of feet in front of Gabe, it wasn't hard to imagine that we weren't even partners. Before I knew it, we'd been dancing about an hour.

In spite of myself, I was having an OK time. Every slow number, I'd sit out. Gabe danced with a couple of his friends, I turned down a couple of offers to dance from other boys, much to my chagrin. I lost track of time and was surprised when the DJ announced the last dance of the evening.

This was it. If I were to get in one dance with Brenda, it had to be now. I gazed across the gym till I saw her. Much to my horror, she was in Jay's arms. And her head was resting on his shoulder. My fury was absolute.

"Shall we?" Gabe had snuck up on me. I was too pissed to say no. He gingerly placed his hands on my hips, I placed my hands on his neck. I'd be damned if I was going to sit out the last dance. I'd give Brenda a piece of my mind after this. Not a chance in hell I'd ever want to see her again.

"Mind if I cut in?" It was Brenda. She looked at us shyly. My blood boiled. After everything she put me through, now she wants to dance with Gabe as well? Just to make sure I see her with not one, but two guys?

Gabe shrugged, and moved towards Brenda. "Nope," she smiled. "I figure I should get the last dance with the person I came with." She gently took my hands in hers.

I guess my shock showed. "So who should lead?" Brenda giggled. Logically, it should have been me; I was the true man. But of course, Brenda led. Why shouldn't she have? She controlled everything else in the relationship.

Just when it seemed my date had actually remembered me, it was over. The DJ thanked everyone, and the house lights went on. Couples began straggling towards the door.

I had hoped something of the evening could be salvaged. I had fed my mother a line of bull about spending the night with a friend (good thing she never asked to meet these imaginary friends). Brenda and I could be together all night. Maybe I could count on some alone time.

Nope. Gabe and Jay insisted on escorting us out into the parking lot. I kept my arms tight against my body so that Gabe couldn't take my arm.

"Well, ladies, the night is young," said Gabe in his suave voice. "What say we have a late night snack?"

I swear Brenda was going to agree. I know she was opening her mouth to say yes. It was at that time I took my only stand of the evening.

"No, I'm sorry, we can't," I stated firmly. "It's almost my curfew." Then I quickly added "and Brenda's my ride." At this point, I didn't know if I could count on Brenda not to ditch me for her handsome friends.

"Um, yeah, we have to go." Brenda sounded almost regretful.

"Too bad," said Jay, his longest sentence of the evening.

"Well, Red," said Gabe, looking at me, "I really enjoyed myself." Red? He's trying to give me a cute nickname now? Oh God, how I wanted to go home. Then I saw something that made me realize that I would be dumping Brenda as soon as we were in private. She was kissing Jay!

Not with tongue, but she was kissing him! My own date, kissing another guy. I started to head for the car. Gabe blocked my way.

Now that I play the scene back in my mind, it seems like there was so much I could have done to prevent it. I could have jumped back, or ducked, or slapped his face, or anything. But I froze. Who could blame me, it's not like a boy had ever tried to kiss me before.

It was over before it began. His face moved in, our lips touched, he backed off. And my life would never be the same. Till the day I died, I could never erase the fact that I had kissed another guy.

It took all my self-control to compose myself. Wordlessly, I got in Brenda's car, ignoring Gabe calling "Maybe I could call you some time?"

When Brenda slid into the driver's seat, I expected her to say something. Anything. Sorry for abandoning me, sorry for making me dress like that, thanks for my patience, something! But she was silent. She simply smiled all the way home, humming one of the songs she had danced with Jay to.

It was only when we pulled into her garage that the realized I had kept a stony silence the whole way home. "Roberta, honey, is something wrong?"

I was so mad, I could barely get the words out. "Something wrong? I don't know, let me see. You force me to dress up like a girl, parade me around in front of your friends, I nearly get my face bashed in by your ex, and then, after that, you spend the whole evening with another guy! Yeah, I guess something is wrong!" I didn't even mention getting kissed by Gabe; some things are too humiliating for words.

"But Roberta," protested Brenda, "I had to dance with Jay. I mean, he really helped us out there! I couldn't deny him a dance."

"A dance, sure. But did you have to spend the whole evening with him?"

"Well, I kind of lost track of time. And then you seemed to be having so much fun dancing with Gabe..."

I was so furious I wanted to smash something. "I was dancing with Gabe so I wouldn't have to spend the whole night watching my date dance with someone else. Thanks for penciling me in for the last five minutes of prom. I'm going to change back into my boy clothes, then I'm calling a cab. Goodbye forever." I meant it too.

Brenda looked stunned, then scared. "I'm sorry Roberta...I mean Robert. I guess when it came down to it, I was afraid what people would think if I danced the whole night with a woman."

"And you didn't stop to think how I'd feel, getting dressed up like a girl and then ignored?"

Brenda touched my cheek. "I guess I didn't think. I guess I wouldn't blame you for dumping me."

"Is that what you want?" I was still angry, but I wasn't sure I was ready to walk out on her anymore.

"No. That is exactly what I DON'T want. I've had so much fun with you all this time, honey. I didn't realize it at first, but you're everything I want in a relationship. If you feel like leaving, I suppose I deserve it, but I'll still be here waiting if you change your mind." Brenda placed her arm around my bare neck. Soon we were kissing.

Just as my hand started to play with the zipper down the back of her dress, she pulled away. "I have a surprise for you," she smiled.

"What kind of surprise?" I asked, remembering what she had said about the hot tub earlier.

"Come on inside. I'm going to change first. Your surprise is in the hall bathroom, under the sink."

As Brenda disappeared into her room, I slunk into the bathroom. What kind of surprise would it be? I eagerly threw open the cabinet under the sink. There I found a beribboned box. With no time to lose, I tore it open.

Inside was the silkiest, laciest, more feminine nightie I had ever seen. It would leave almost nothing to the imagination. My sequestered manhood began to strain against the rubber panties. Brenda obviously intended to wear this for me! And, I supposed, take it off for me as well! Tonight I would become a man. To think I ever thought about breaking it off with her!

Still in my gown, I dashed over to her room. I'd give her the nightie to slip into, then I'd begin the arduous process of removing my makeup, nail polish, and fake breasts. Gently, I knocked on her door.

"Enter," she whispered, sensuously. As my eyes adjusted to the darkened bedroom, they nearly popped out of my head. Brenda lay dreamily on her wide bed. She was wearing her earrings, her panties, and not a stitch more. She dreamily ran her red nails over her bare side.

Nothing else existed for me at that moment. I forgot about my dress, or the lacy garment that Brenda was going to put on for me. All I could think about was touching my dream girl. But when I moved toward her, she motioned for me to halt.

"Not one step closer until you put that on," she said, gesturing to the skimpy lingerie I was holding.

I was flabbergasted. "But I thought I thought this was for you!" I whined.

"Nope. Roberta was my date for prom, and I'd really like to see her in that."

"Aren't we carrying this a bit too far?"

"If you don't want to play by my rules, Roberta, then that's your choice." She gestured to the Monopoly board on her table. "I'll let you be the Scottie dog."

She had to be bluffing. Prom was one thing, but this? I moved toward her. Wordlessly, she picked up her bra and began to put it back on.

What could I do? After everything I had already done this evening, I wasn't about to stay a virgin just because I wouldn't wear some lingerie. "I'll be right back," I gasped, then ran off to the bathroom.

Yes, I knew what a sissy I'd be by doing this, but after prom, it's not like I had much pride left. The thought of actually touching Brenda's body made every other thought slip away. Quickly I removed my dress and hung it up. With great happiness I removed my heels and nylons. I ripped off the rubber panties and tossed them in the garbage. I wanted to remove my fake breasts as well, but that required alcohol and I didn't want to waste time looking for some. I slipped myself into the feminine lace and looked in the mirror. My wig and makeup were still perfect. Only a slight bulge at the crotch and a thin seam where my boobs attached gave me away. I sauntered into Brenda's room.

"Oh Roberta, you look so darling. Come here, honey. Come here and let me hold you." And now, dear reader, the rest I leave to your imagination.

Part Two: A Different Kind of Coed

And so the school year drew to a close. Brenda, true to her word, never mentioned prom again. She happily introduced me to her friends as her boyfriend. I was on cloud nine. Nothing could stand in our way now, she hadn't heard from Andy since prom. I should have been happy, but

But we were out of high school now. Brenda, with her great grades, extra-curricular activities, and volunteer work had no trouble securing scholarships. I, on the other hand, was in a world of hurt. My grades were good enough to get into college, but not quite good enough for anyone to want to send me for free. I hadn't excelled in any sports, and I wasn't president of any clubs. I was poor, but not quite poor enough to get a grant in that respect. My only option was to get a student loan. But I couldn't.

I wanted to open up a small business when I graduated, I felt that's something I could excel in. But that required a MBA, which would require six or seven years of college. And when I finished with that, I'd need a loan to get the business off the ground. With all that borrowing money, I'd be fifty before I was out of debt. Better I start working now and pay for school up front.

But there was Brenda. She had always wanted to study law. And she had just been accepted into an excellent pre-law program in Washington State. It was too good an opportunity for her to miss. And it was on the other side of the country.

Brenda seemed as heartbroken as I was. "Why don't you come with me?" she asked, the day she found out about her scholarship. "Just work in Washington, in a few years you can start school."

"I can't, honey. Here I can live at home, free food, rent. There every cent I earned would go to living expenses. And I can't live with you in the dorms, can I?"

"Then I'll get an apartment. I'll buy your food, give you some spending money " she stopped short, realizing how condescending that sounded.

"Listen, Brenda. I'm going to bust my butt for the next couple of years until I can get into school. I'll make it there."

"And we'll just be apart all that time? I don't think so!" For a second I thought she was going to break it off with me. But I had underestimated her.

"Robert, I don't need to go all the way to Washington. I can go to the community college."

Now it was my turn to get angry. "You are not going to throw away your dreams on account of me! An opportunity like yours doesn't come along every day."

Brenda put her arm around me. "A guy like you doesn't come around every day, either. Just hang tight, Robert. I'm going to figure out a way to take you with me." Then she shut me up with a kiss.

Just when it seemed that Brenda was going to leave me, she shanghaied me on the street and drove me to her house. "I have some incredible news, Robert! I've been researching some scholarships for you. Guess what? I applied for one in your name, and you've been accepted!"

It would have been appropriate had a choir of angels descended from the heavens singing 'alleluia,' but I was happy enough as it was. "You're kidding! I thought I went through the scholarship book cover to cover!"

"I know a trick or two. You've got a full ride. Just maintain a B average and don't get into trouble."

"Brenda, I don't know how I can ever think you."

"Um, you might want to hold off on that."

"Why?" We had reached her house.

"Come inside, Robert. There's something I need to tell you about this scholarship. Something not so good."

I felt nervous. "What?" I asked, when we were in her bedroom. "Will I have to work in the dining hall or something? No problem." Brenda looked grim.

"Robert, have you ever heard of the Virginia H. Booth Memorial Fund?" I shook my head.

"Once a year, the university gives it to a young woman."

It all came clear. "You have got to be joking!"

"Listen. Full ride, no questions, no strings but you'd have to, um, play the part."

"Play the part?"

"Be Roberta full time, for four years."

"Brenda, what is with you and making me a sissy? I'm sorry, no scholarship is worth that. Nothing is worth that!"

"Including me?" I looked at my girlfriend. She looked like she was about to cry. She grabbed me by the arms so hard it hurt. "Robert, I'm not losing you. Not for college, not for anything."

"Calm down, Brenda."

"Calm down? The hell I will! You're the only man I've ever loved! Do you love me, Robert?"

"You know I do."

"Then what more do we need?" She laughed, a high pitched, crazy sounding laugh. "Can't you just pretend for a few years? Aren't I worth that?"

"Brenda, it's not about you."

"Then here's the deal, Robert. If I can't take you with me, I'm staying here with you."

That frightened me. "And do what? Work at the mall? Take night school classes? Is that what you want?"

"I want you! Either come with me or I stay!"

I began to fear Brenda would do something crazy. "Brenda, let's say, just for a moment, I went with you. What would it involve?"

"You'd live as a woman, full time. You'd dress like Roberta, go to class like Roberta, become Roberta."

"Easy for you to say. What's in it for me?"

"A college education. And me. Is that worth anything to you?" She started to cry. Not bawling, just tears streaming down her face.

"Brenda, don't do that."

"We'll even room together!" she said, desperately. "People with think we're friends, only you and I will know the truth! Say yes."

"But what will my mom say?"

"She won't know! When she visits you can dress as Robert and pretend to be living with a male friend. I'm sure we'll meet someone who will help us out."

"What if she stops by unannounced?"

"She lives so far away she probably won't visit more that a couple of times a year. And would she risk flying all the way out and missing you because you went for coffee? Trust me, she'll always call ahead."

My head ached. "I'll do it, Robert," Brenda persisted. "I'll drop out today if you want me to."

"I don't want that."

"Then you'll come with me?"

"I didn't say that."

"One or the other. Be Roberta or I quit school. Or dump me, if that's what you want."

None of the choices appealed to me, but I wasn't about to lose Brenda or ruin her life. "OK. I'll do it. But I'm only agreeing to a year. After that maybe we can figure something else out."

Brenda laid her head on my shoulder and I hugged her while she wept.

That's how I found myself entering my new college dorm wearing another navel baring shirt, short shorts, and heels. Brenda had spent the summer shopping for new clothes for me. I now had enough hose, skirts, dresses, and jewelry to last me through the next millennium. I left home a few days before I was supposed to arrive at college, just so I could spend a weekend at Brenda's house, getting all made up.

"This is going to be for a lot longer than one night, so you really have to look the part," said Brenda as she gave me my umpteenth makeup lesson. "I'm not going to be able to do this for you, so you might as well learn now." After many hours under the makeup lights, a thousand changes of clothes, and two industrial sized cans of hair remover, Brenda pronounced me pretty enough to go out in public.

Up until the moment we arrived Brenda continued placing 'finishing touches' on me. She had forced me to grow my hair longer so she could teach me how to style it like a girl's. She treated me to a full body wax at Mary Ann's salon. And the very last day before we left for Washington, she made me get my ears pierced.

So now we stood, taking in the small dorm that would be our home for the next year, at least. It wasn't much to look at, just two desks, two closets, and two twin beds. "We'll have to push those together at night," giggled Brenda. One bonus of this room was it had a private bathroom. I wouldn't have to worry about someone seeing me in the shower.

"Brenda, why am I doing this?"

She took my hand. "Nervous?"

I nodded. "I had to lie to my mother; she things I'm off pledging a frat somewhere. Everyone around me thinks I'm a girl. Do you really want a boyfriend who shares his earrings with you?" My new role in life obviously hadn't done much for my low self-image.

Brenda kissed me. "You're the boyfriend I want. I don't care about anything else. With you by my side then I can't think of a single other thing I want out of life." She started to kiss me again, but there was a knock at our door.

I opened the door and shrieked. There stood Crystal, Mary Ann's buxom son. "Hi stranger," he smiled.

Crystal obviously hadn't gone through with his vow to return to manhood before college. If anything, he looked more girlish than before. He had lost some weight, making him look less girlish and more womanly. He must have still been taking the hormones; the low-cut shirt he was wearing showed off a great deal of cleavage. He was the very picture of a pretty young coed.

I grabbed him by his hand and yanked him inside. "Crystal! My goodness, I certainly never expected to see you here!"

"I could say the same for you! What happened to 'this is just for prom night'?"

Brenda brought Crystal up to speed about my monetary troubles and our solution. "So how about you?" she continued. "I thought you were just trying to help out around the beauty salon."

Crystal smiled coyly. "I know. I always figured I'd become Christopher again before I went off to school, but I kept putting it off. Finally, the application deadlines had arrived, and I was still using the girl's locker room. I guess it won't kill me to experience my freshman year as Crystal."

"What did your mother say?" I asked.

"She told me not to break too many hearts." Crystal was lucky he didn't have to explain things to her mom. I knew mine wouldn't be that understanding if she found out.

Soon we were all giggling and catching up on old times. Crystal, much to our disappointment, wasn't living in the dorms, but a small apartment off of campus. He promised he'd get together with us every day.

With Crystal's help, Brenda and I began unpacking our things. "So, Roberta," quipped Crystal as he put away some of my lingerie. "Is this the college experience you dreamed of?"

I reddened. "The part about living in the girl's dorms wasn't in my plans. But dating a beautiful woman was always the dream." Brenda winked at me.

Crystal excused himself to go to the bathroom and touch up his makeup. When I was certain he couldn't hear us, I turned to Brenda.

"You don't think that could happen to me, do you?"

"What?"

"Start thinking like a girl like Crystal does?"

Brenda laughed. "Crystal obviously was thinking like a girl for a long time. He loves it, he wouldn't do it otherwise. You, you just want to be able to shower with me in the morning."

There was another rap on the door. Brenda shouted 'Come in.'

In walked a very handsome young man. He was tall, blonde, well proportioned, and carried a clipboard. His good looks were marred by one thing: he only had one arm. His left one was missing just below the shoulder. His shirt sleeve was pinned shut, I tried to keep myself from looking at his amputation.

"Hello ladies. You must be Brenda and Roberta," he said, checking his clipboard. "My name's Chett Rogers. I'm the student advisor for this group of residence halls."

"I'm very pleased to meet you," said Brenda, gently shaking his hand. I instantly felt jealous. I think Brenda sensed it because she immediately backed off. "And this is my friend, Roberta." Chett shook my hand.

"Well ladies, I'll leave you to your unpacking. Just wanted to let you know that I live in room one in the men's dorm across the way. Just stop by if you have any questions or problems."

Before we could answer, Crystal came out of the bathroom. He stopped short when he saw Chett. They both blinked and stared at each other for a couple of seconds.

"Um, hi, um, I'm Chett," stammered the student advisor, suddenly much less poised than he had been a few seconds ago.

"I'm Crystal," he replied. They shook hands and seemed to hold on just a little bit longer than custom dictated.

"I'm the student advisor," continued Chett, self-consciously. "Do you live in the dorms?"

"No, I don't," replied Crystal, seemingly disappointed at the fact. Brenda and I commenced to snickering under our breaths. They liked each other!

Chett seemed at a loss for something to say, but didn't seem eager to leave, either. He leaned against a desk, slipped, and dropped his papers all over the floor. His lack of a second hand caused him a bit of difficulty getting things squared away. I bent over to help him and was nearly bowled over by Crystal rushing to help him first.

"I'm almost done here," said Chett, regaining his composure. "Would you, um, like to grab a cup of coffee or something?"

"I'd love to," said Crystal, before he had finished the question. They left without saying goodbye.

"Oh, that is so cute!" squealed Brenda.

"I'm not so sure," I answered.

"What do you mean? They make a nice couple."

"They might think so. But Chett has no idea of Crystal's secret."

Brenda paused. "I hadn't thought of that."

"I just hope he's careful. If Crystal gets in too deep with that guy, or any guy, he could find himself in a lot of trouble."

A month had passed. My first month in college, and more importantly, my first month living full time as Roberta. While I never truly got used to the idea, I have to say I grew more accustomed to it. One of the hardest things about it was getting ready in the morning.

Like most guys, I had been used to just flopping from the bed to the shower, then out of the shower to getting dressed and leaving. Not any more.

First, I had to spend about twice a long in the shower as I had before. Now that my hair was long, it too much longer to wash. Then there was the matter of shaving my legs and armpits. I found this chore particularly odious. True, many women nowadays opt for the 'natural' look, but I wasn't about to do anything that would make anyone suspect I was really a guy. My legs were smooth every day.

Then came the hair. For the first week of school, Brenda forced me to practice doing my hair an hour every night until at last she agreed I knew what I was doing. Soon I was a bit on an expert on women's hair styling. Sometimes I would even do Brenda's hair.

Next came the makeup. Brenda experimented on me for hours until she found the perfect colors for my pale, freckled complexion. Eyeliner, lipstick, and mascara were all part of my daily routine.

The hardest part was picking out my clothes. I had no sense of fashion, so I relied on Brenda to pick things out for me. Of course, this meant the most feminine things she could possibly find. My rubber sex-hiding device worked overtime, scrunching me into those tight jeans. I found myself doing sit ups every night, since nearly every outfit I owned showed of my tummy. Not shaving for a day wasn't an option, not with all those sleeveless shirts Brenda made me wear. And of course, I barely remembered what a pair of flats looked like.

But it was all worth it. At night, when Brenda would step out of the bathroom wearing nothing but her underwear, the way she bought us matching lingerie, waking up in her arms--I would have done anything for her.

One afternoon, as we sat in the student union studying, I noticed Brenda smiling at me in an odd way. "What?" I asked, looking up from my book.

"There's a couple of guys over there. I think they're giving us the eye. Oh my God, here they come!"" I froze. How I hated all the extra attention I got from men!

I remember very little about this pair, other than they were obviously interested in Brenda and myself. They introduced themselves. "Hello," said Brenda. "I'm Brenda." I seethed internally. Why did she have to be such a flirt? I never expected her to cheat on me, but she always seemed so ready to invite interested men over to talk to us. I was about to get up and leave when Brenda spoke again. "And this is Roberta. My girlfriend." There was a long pause. Had I heard her correctly?

The guys suddenly found they had something else to do and left in a hurry. I grabbed Brenda by the arm. "Did you mean to say that?" I asked, both shocked and delighted.

"Of course. I've been thinking about all the sacrifices you've made to be with me. You're the one who has to live as someone else. The least I can do is let the world know how much I love you. It might keep the guys away from you, at any rate."

"But Brenda, what will people think?"

"They'll think that we're in love. And it's the truth, isn't it?"

"But won't you be embarrassed?"

"Of you? Not in a million years." She then kissed me, in full view of the student union.

I quickly learned that there is a difference in the way society sees male and female homosexuals. While gay men still bear the brunt of societies prejudices and fears, lesbians are looked upon more as a novelty. When Brenda started introducing us a couple, we got a lot of surprised (and sometimes ignorant) responses, but very little wrath. Still, I would have much rather been a normal couple.

Crystal hung out with us quite a bit. Unlike me, Crystal rarely, if ever mentioned his true gender. He honestly seemed to want us to pretend he was a normal eighteen-year-old girl. Brenda and I never said anything to the contrary.

Crystal and Chett, the one-armed student advisor, had hit it off right away. "He's such a sweetie," Crystal told us after their first 'date' together. "He's smart, funny, and so cute!"

"So," asked Brenda, "did you kiss?"

Crystal blushed. A few days later I caught them sitting in a bench on the quad, most definitely kissing (and then some!). I felt I had to say something.

"Crystal," I ventured, when we were alone together. "What's up with you and Chett?"

"I think he likes me," giggled Crystal.

"That's an understatement. So ?"

"So what?"

"So have you told him?"

"About what?" asked Crystal, with an expression that showed he knew exactly what.

"About the true state of things."

Crystal got up and began pacing. Without looking at me, he spoke. "What do you have to bring that up?"

"Because I'm worried about you." I placed my hands on his shoulders.

"I'll be fine. We're just dating."

"He has a right to know. The longer you carry this on, the worse things will be when he finds out."

He turned to me. "We're just dating. I'm not going to marry him!"

"True. But can you honestly say you're being fair with him?"

Tears streamed down Crystal's cheeks. "What's wrong with me? Just a few years ago I was a teenage boy! Now look at me!" His curvy frame and well made up face did little to suggest masculinity.

"Crystal, do you enjoy being a girl?" Crystal hung his head.

"I don't know. But the longer I do it, the longer I want to do it. Maybe I should just drop out of school and change back to Christopher."

"Do you want that?" He shook his head.

"Then don't. I only became Roberta because I was afraid of losing Brenda. I think you became Crystal because you're pretty damn good at it."

Crystal smiled at me. "You really think so?"

I pulled him over to the mirror. "Tell me you don't see a sexy young girl there."

"Nope," replied Crystal, "I see two." I ducked away, ashamed.

"So, what do you plan to do?" I asked Crystal.

"I don't know. You really think it's unfair for me to keep dating Chett, don't you?"

"It's unfair to both of you."

Crystal sat down on my bed. "Look. Chett seems like a confident guy, but It's only been a year since he lost his arm. Drunk driver. He was engaged at the time and she dumped him. Instead of being there when he needed her, she just returned the ring and never looked back.

"He needs me, Roberta. I can't leave him now. He's hurting inside, and I think I'm helping him. I can't dump him."

I sat down next to Crystal and put my arm around his shoulder. "It's your choice. Just be careful."

That night, Brenda and I lay in bed in each other's arms. I enjoyed the feel of my girlfriend next to me. When we made love, it was the only time I felt even slightly manly. Tired and spent, we caressed each other and talked.

"My parents called today," mentioned Brenda. "They wanted to know how I was getting along with my roommate."

"So what did you tell them?"

"That we were closer than sisters." We both giggled. Then I winced.

"Something wrong, Roberta?"

"It's my back. I think I overdid it at the gym today." Staying skinny had recently become an obsession with me; a beer gut would give me away in a second.

"Turn over." Brenda began to rub my naked back.

"You know," she continued, "you should take some vitamins." She kneaded my flesh. "I picked some up today, why don't you take some?" I consented, not really thinking about it. Brenda gave me two tablets with a glass of water, and insisted that I take them every day.

Chett was surprised when he learned that Brenda and I were more than roommates, but he ensured us that he was a 'modern type of guy' and he wouldn't think of us any differently. I wondered. The number of guys who had crassly asked me if they could watch Brenda and I make out (or more) left me wondering if every man didn't harbor some kind of woman on woman fantasy.

At any rate, Brenda, Chett, Crystal, and myself started spending a lot of time together. It was sort of like double dating, but sort of not. Looking back, we certainly were an odd menagerie: me, pretending to be a girl, Brenda, pretending to be a lesbian, Crystal, pretending to be a girl as well, and Chett, thinking he was dating a woman. If Chett was sensitive about his missing arm, he had no idea that he was the most normal person in our group.

I never tried to urge Crystal to tell Chett the truth again. But I continued to hope that he would make a clean breast of it. The longer they stayed together, the deeper their feelings would be for each other. And I didn't think Chett would be too happy if and when he found out about things.

It all came to a head one October afternoon. We were going over to Crystal's apartment to barbecue for the last time that year. He had a little grill set up on his back patio, it was usually a lot of fun. But when Brenda and I arrived we could hear Chett and Crystal yelling before we rounded the corner.

"No, I don't understand!" shouted Chett. "We were doing so well, why do you want to end things all of a sudden?"

Crystal seemed heartbroken. "I don't want to. I just have to."

"You just have to? Sorry, you'll have to do better than that." Brenda and I stood at the side of the building, wondering weather or not to announce our presence. We were obviously hearing something private, but we were also expected.

Crystal continued. "I like you, Chett, but things are getting too serious. I want you to back off."

"Is it someone else?"

"No, nothing like that."

"Is it because of my arm?" Crystal was right, he was awfully paranoid about that.

"Chett, of course not!"

"What else could it be? You just must have gotten tired of dating a freak!"

"Chett, stop it!"

"You wanna leave me? Fine, everyone else does. But don't think I'm some sort of mutant! I'm a man, damn it!"

"So am I!" I ventured a peek around the corner, to see how Chett had taken the unexpected confession. He stood there, stunned, half-expecting Crystal to be joking. Crystal, facing in my direction, saw me.

"Brenda, Roberta, would you mind taking a rain check on dinner? We have to discuss some things."

Brenda and I retreated back to the dorm. "What do you think is going to happen?" I asked Brenda.

"I don't know. I'm sure Chett never expected that."

"You don't think he'll get violent, do you?"

"I doubt it. But now that he knows he's been making out with a man for two months, he's not going to be happy."

"What should we do?"

"Wait. Say, Roberta, you don't look so good."

I was rubbing my belly. "It's my stomach. It hurts. I feel all bulky."

"You're just retaining water," joked Brenda.

"Very funny." Still, what she said wasn't far from the truth. I did feel fatter. I had gained weight in my hips and chest. I had to start exercising more.

A few hours later we got a phone call. "It's Crystal," said the voice on the other end. "Could you come over?"

Brenda and I hurried over. Crystal breathlessly answered the door. "It's going to be OK," he told us, before we even had a chance to sit down. "Chett understood. He was shocked, but he wasn't angry."

"That's great news!" I said, hugging him.

"Um I guess."

"What's wrong?" I asked, on my guard.

"Roberta, I'm sorry. But when I was telling him about me I let it slip about you, too."

I was horrified. "You had no right!" I snapped.

"Please don't be mad. I didn't want him to think I was some kind of freak. He really took it well. I think he was more relieved that this wasn't about his arm."

"You promise he can keep a secret?"

"He won't tell."

"You can't be sure!"

"Would you like to hear it from him? Give him a call."

Wordlessly, I dialed his number.

"Hello, Chett?"

"Ah, Roberta, I wanted to talk to you."

"Yes. Chett, you recently heard something about me "

"Roberta, please don't worry. Crystal explained everything. I swear, that's a secret that will die with me."

"You mean it? I can't live my life wondering if anyone will find out "

"I swear. I won't tell anyone about you. Or Brenda for that matter."

"About Brenda? What about Brenda?"

"You know that she's secretly a guy, like you and Crystal."

"She's...?" I paused. "I appreciate that, Chett. Talk to you later."

"What did he say?" asked Brenda.

"He said he would never tell anyone that the three of us are really men."

"That great...what? What did you say?"

"He wouldn't tell anyone that we were really three guys."

Brenda looked at Crystal in horror. "What did you tell him?"

"Well," Crystal smiled, slyly. "When I told him about Roberta, I felt so guilty. I decided to tell him the same thing about you so he'd realize it wasn't such an odd practice." I was trying not to laugh by this time.

"How dare you!"

"It was an accident. Trust me, he won't think less of you."

"That's not the point! How can I let someone think that I'm some kind of some kind of..." Brenda became aware that we were looking at her very pointedly.

"Some kind of what?" I asked.

"I mean, I don't want him to think that I'm a...um I mean, how would you like it..." she petered off. There was nothing she could say that wouldn't be an insult to the both of us.

I put my arm around Brenda. "Lighten up, hon. Welcome to the club!"

Brenda sat down and sulked. I ignored her. "So Crystal," I continued. "Now that Chett knows your secret, are you two still going to date?"

He shook his head sadly. "No. He was happy that I didn't dump him because I thought he was unappealing, but he won't take me back. Having a male girlfriend was more than he could take."

That night, I lay alone in my bed. Brenda had made no pretense of joining me. I wondered how long she'd give me the silent treatment.

"Hey Brenda," I said with an evil smile, "what's wrong? Jock itch? Or did the Rams loose again?"

Brenda responded by creaming me with a pillow. "That's not funny, you jerk!"

"I think it is. Now you have a slight idea about how I feel."

"At least you're supposed to feel like a guy in a dress! I am a girl!"

"I'd appreciate it if you would remember exactly why I'm dressed like a girl." Brenda shot a pathetic look in my direction. I pressed on.

"I gave up my gender to be with you."

"Can't we just tell the truth to Chett?"

"Nope. If he realizes you aren't a guy, he might suspect the same thing about me and Crystal. Then Crystal would be back to square one with him. You're going to have to live with it."

I got up and put my arms around Brenda. She still wouldn't face me. "C'mon honey. For me?" She looked at me grimly, then smiled in spite of herself.

"For you." We kissed, then helped each other off with our clothes.

In the sweaty aftermath, I looked down at my body. Brenda noticed and asked me what was up.

"Living as a woman is starting to mess with my head. I feel like I look girlie, even when I'm naked."

"How so?"

"Well, my skin seems a lot smoother, for one. And my hips are bigger. And my nipples, they seem bigger, as well. And..." I paused.

"Robert, Jr?" asked Brenda.

"So you noticed. I had a real hard time getting it up tonight. I'm sorry honey."

Brenda kissed me. "Shut up. I'm sure it's nothing, you're just getting into your role. If it would help, we can make love like women from now on. With our mouths." Brenda began kissing me on my chest. My extra-sensitive nipples felt like they were going to burst. Why should that be? I put the thought aside and just enjoyed Brenda's touch.

A few weeks later, Crystal held a party at his apartment. About fifty people showed up. Crystal had become quite popular on campus. I'm sure none of his new friends suspected that he was really a man.

Midway through the festivities, I sat on a couch. I hadn't been feeling well lately. I felt all weak and fragile. But at the same time, I was gaining weight, especially in my chest. I'd been exercising like nuts but still hadn't managed to shed my excess poundage.

"Hey, wanna dance?" Jesus, not again. I had grown to hate parties, seems like every guy and his brother wanted to 'get to know me.'

"I'll have to ask my girlfriend," I smiled back at him, looking over at Brenda in a meaningful way. He backed off, just like every other guy who realized there was no chance of me sleeping with him. Not feeling like fending anyone else off, I joined Brenda.

She was deep in conversation with a very inebriated Chett. "You don't understand," she insisted. "I'm not really a guy."

Chett hiccuped. "I understand. Gender is all in the mind. You're whatever sex you believe yourself to be."

"No, I mean, I was born a woman!"

"And I was born a man. You live how you want to live, you don't owe me any explanations." He swerved off to join some friends.

I tapped Brenda on the shoulder. She squirmed, caught in the act. "It really chaps your ass that Chett thinks you're a man, doesn't it?" I asked as we sat down.

"Yes, it does. I know that may insult you, but I can't help it. I'm sorry honey, but I can't stand being thought of as a male, for any reason, by anyone."

"You're nearly ask crazy as I am. Want to dance?"

The party ended several hours after midnight. Brenda had ridden back to the dorm with another friend, I had stayed until the end. Now, the only ones left were me, Crystal, and Chett, who was passed out drunk on the couch.

"What a mess!" sighed Crystal, looking at the wreckage of his apartment.

"I'll help you clean up."

"No, you get on home. I'll take care of it in the morning."

"So what are you going to do about him?" I gestured to Chett, flat on his back with his one arm draped over his face. "Stick him in a cab?"

"Not in that state." Crystal gingerly removed Chett's shoes, then draped a blanket over him. When he thought I wasn't looking, he bent over and kissed Chett's cheek.

"I'm going to head on out of here, then," I said, pulling on my coat.

"You'll be OK? Good. I'm going to take a shower and call it a night." Crystal hugged me, then took off for the bathroom.

Feeling guilty about leaving all the mess for Crystal, I went into the kitchen to do a few dishes. It was funny, really. Chett and Crystal made such a good couple. It's too bad Crystal really wasn't a girl, then he could date Chett, no worries.

As I filled up the sink, I heard Chett stir, then get up. I waited for him to join me in the kitchen, but then realized he was headed in the opposite direction. 'Must be going to the bathroom,' I thought. The bathroom? Oh, dear God!

Still tripping on my heels, I made it to the bathroom, just as Chett closed the door behind him. I stopped, not knowing what I should do. The water wasn't running, but Crystal had had plenty of time to disrobe.

I placed my ear to the door. I heard Crystal and Chett gasp with surprise. There was a long, long pause. Then I heard Crystal giggle, followed by the sound of the shower starting. Then someone turned on Crystal's waterproof shower radio. I took my cue and left.

The next day I didn't even wait for breakfast before I called Crystal to find out what had happened. He asked me to meet her for breakfast in the cafeteria.

I found him sitting alone at a table, an untouched bowl of cereal in front of him. He was staring off into space, a dreamy expression on his face.

"Crystal?" I ventured, joining him. "What's up?"

Crystal turned in face towards me. He was dressed in jeans and a blouse, no makeup, no jewelry. Even like that, no one would have taken him for anything but a young co-ed. He smiled at me. "Hi, Roberta."

"So speak! What happened?"

"Well, Chett walked in on me, right when I had undressed. I was standing there, not a stitch on. If he ever had doubts about my...you know they must have ended at that minute.

"I expected him to leave, all grossed out. But he just took me by the shoulders and kissed me. Then he gently shoved me into the shower while he undressed."

I was surprised, but happily so. Maybe it had been the alcohol, but Chett had shown that he wasn't opposed to a relationship with Crystal. I pictured Chett and Crystal, naked in the shower, man and woman.

"The things we did Roberta, the things he did to me, the things I let him do. The way he touched me, the way he kissed me, held me...

"I always looked on being Crystal as a temporary part of my life. Every time Mom asked me about it, I told her I was just experimenting, seeing life from the other side of things. Now after Chett, after last night I can't go back. He forced me into a decision, he made me chose the road of femininity. I'm just going to become more and more of a woman. More and more of his woman."

I couldn't help it. I reached over and gave Crystal a big hug. "So what are you going to do now?"

"Chett wants me to be his girlfriend. I'll give you two guesses how I answered. I'll stay in college, save my money, and after a few years I'll have an operation to make me a full time woman."

"Crystal, you're going to be great."

"So how about you? Can I make you a reservation at the hospital with me?" she joked.

"Oh, Lord, no! I'm just doing this to be with Brenda, womanhood means nothing to me."

"Are you sure?" asked Crystal, looking at my clothes pointedly. The cold weather had set in; I was wearing an angora sweater, jeans, and boots. My hair hung luxuriously down my back, and I had recently added another set of earrings. As usual, my face was all made up.

"Of course I'm sure," I said, nervously playing with an earring.

"That's too bad. You sure make a good girl."

"Well, after this year, I'm going to figure out a way to go back to being Robert." Of course, I didn't have the slightest idea how to do that yet.

Crystal smiled and took a small pill bottle out of his purse. "Anything wrong?" I asked.

"Oh, no. They're just my hormones. Got to look good for Chett, don't I? Hey, where are you running off to?" I didn't stop to explain. The pills Crystal was taking were exactly the same as the 'vitamins' Brenda had been feeding me.

I cut class and returned to my dorm. Brenda wasn't there, and I disrobed, taking off the sex-hiding device last. I regarded my nude figure with contempt in Brenda's big mirror.

How could I have been so blind? Did I not notice how soft my skin was getting? How my muscles were wasting away? How I now had hips as wide as Brenda's? And my breasts! While I had succeeded in flattening my belly, my chest had expanded. I had had to buy a smaller pair of fake tits to accommodate my growing chest! How dark and wide nipples now were! How sensitive they had become, Brenda loved playing with them, she knew how it turned me on.

How stupid I had been! My own girlfriend, sneaking me estrogen! She must have thought seeing me grow boobs was a funny joke! That making me impotent was hilarious! How could she have done such a thing? I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

I was interrupted from my thoughts by the very object of my anger. Brenda had returned to pick up some books for her next lecture.

"Hey, honey," she smiled, not noticing my furious expression. "Ooh, all naked! Well, I have a few minutes "

Her smile turned to fear when I hurled my bottle of pills at her. "What in the hell is this? What the hell are you trying to do to me?" I shrilled.

"They're ... they're vitamins," she protested lamely.

"Vitamins my ass! It's these vitamins that gave Crystal her C cups !"

"Roberta, honey, let me explain," she moved tentatively towards me.

"Back off, you bitch! Haven't you done enough to me?" Brenda cowered. I began to pull on some clothes. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't notice? Did you honestly think I wouldn't mind? I hate you!"

"Roberta, honey, please listen!"

"There is nothing you could say that could make this all right! There is nothing you could say that would make me forgive you! There is nothing you could say that would make me not hate you!" I finished dressing and slammed the door after me, vaguely aware that Brenda was weeping.

I roamed around campus for about an hour, seething. I wanted to scream, to holler, to rake my soft skin with a wire brush, anything to feel manly again. I plotted how I would return to being Robert. I'd have to drop out of school, of course, no long would I be Brenda's 'kept woman.' A few months off estrogen and I should look like a man again.

Eventually I got tired of tromping around in the cold December air and wandered over to Crystal's apartment. He wasn't home, so I slouched morosely around his door, wishing that I were a smoker so I could get some comfort from a cigarette.

Crystal eventually returned from class and immediately noticed something was wrong. "Hey, Roberta, what's up?"

"I'll tell you what's up!" I shouted, shoving Crystal into his apartment. "Brenda's been slipping me female hormones, that's what!"

Crystal looked surprised. "You didn't know?"

"No, she told me they were vitamins. Hey, wait a minute, you knew?"

"Well, Roberta, the changes have been fairly obvious. I didn't think you got that cute little butt of yours from exercising."

"Why the hell didn't you say something!"

"It never occurred to me you didn't know! I figured it was none of my business."

"Thanks for nothing. I'm the only eighteen year old guy I know who's growing tits."

"Now calm down," said Crystal, handing me a cup of tea. "Why did Brenda do this?"

"To humiliate me, I suppose."

"That's supposing a lot. She didn't strike me as the dominatrix type."

"Well, can you think of another reason? Jesus, I can't even get an erection. She's chemically castrated me!"

"That's a little harsh, nothing permanent has been done. She didn't give any sort of an explanation?"

"No, I didn't give her a chance."

"Maybe you should at least hear her out."

"Crystal, you make a great woman. There's nothing wrong with that. But I'm not like you, I don't enjoy this. Brenda's betrayed me in a way I can never forget."

"Just talk to her. If you're still mad at her afterwards, you can always move in with me. I'll help you get back to manhood."

"Thanks Crystal. I knew that you, unlike some others, were my real friend." I made my exit.

At the door to our dorm, I paused. What should I say? Tell her I was moving out, and I not to bother saying anything? Or should I try to be mature and allow her a few minutes to try and explain? I felt unreasonably nervous and it wasn't hard to figure out why. Brenda had such control over me I could never resist her. What if she convinced me to take her back?

Well, after what she had done, it wasn't likely. I barged into the room. At first I thought she was gone, the room was dark. Then I saw her. She was collapsed in a heap on the floor, wearing nothing but her jeans and her bra. Her hair was tangled and she was positioned in such a way that she seemed unconscious.

Instantly, my thoughts of revenge were replaced with my overriding concern for Brenda. I rushed to her side and turned her over on her back. I noticed a half-empty bottle of vodka on the floor next to her, the cause of this sorry state.

Brenda's eyes shot open at my touch. It was hard to describe the look in her eyes, it was a combination of despair and terror. She weakly grabbed my hand. "Roberta," she mumbled, "Roberta...please...please."

Knowing I could never leave her in this state, I helped her to the bed and removed her clothes. I dressed her in a nightgown and tucked her in. She barely stirred, I think she had passed out again. But when I turned out the lights, she spoke.

"Roberta, are you leaving me?"

"Yes, Brenda. I am." She answered with a pitiful groan.

"Please, Roberta! Don't leave me! Stay the night just the night," she started crying again. I pulled up a chair next to her bed and held her hand until she fell asleep.

The next morning I woke up Brenda with a gentle shake. "You stayed!" she said, rubbing her eyes.

"Not for long. That's why I woke you up, to tell you goodbye."

Brenda painfully sat up in bed. "Can't I explain?"

"I doubt it. But if you want to say something, you might as well."

Brenda stood up unsteadily and took a chair. I had never seen her like this. She no longer seemed like the woman who was running my life, but like a beaten stray dog, looking for a place to die. It was the first time I remembered seeing her unsure of herself.

"Roberta, I know what I did was unforgivable. But I don't want you to think I did this because I didn't respect you. I did this because I love you." I snorted.

"Roberta, when I was five I had this uncle. He used to baby sit for me a lot; you know how often my parents are gone. One day he came into my bedroom and well, you can guess.

"It went on for five years, Roberta. Five Goddamn years. He had me so convinced it was all my fault. I was nearly eleven before I told anyone." Despite my anger, I touched Brenda on the shoulder. I had clue she had had such a tragic childhood. I hated myself for not knowing, not doing anything to help her.

"I could never relate to men after that, not even my own father. I feared men. I hated them. But at the same time I could never forgive myself for what my uncle did. I knew it was stupid, but I felt like I deserved what happened. When I started dating, I'd latch on to the worst men I could find. Men who treated me badly, ignored me, made me feel as worthless as I felt. Andy, of course, fit the bill perfectly.

"One day, I decided that enough was enough. I had done nothing wrong, so why was I punishing myself. I told Andy to shove it. I decided I was through with men like him. I wanted someone decent, someone caring, someone who'd enjoy holding me as well as getting naked with me. Of course I thought of you.

"You were everything I wanted in a man, everything I deserved. That first time I saw you after all those years, I knew you were the one I was going to fall for. The first man in my life who ever treated me right.

"But honey, even that wasn't enough. You treated me like a queen, but every time you touched me, every time you'd hug me or kiss me on the cheek, I was revolted. Not because of you, but because of your gender. My experiences with men have made it impossible for me to ever physically love a man.

"I've been with a woman before, does that surprise you? It only lasted a few days, but I really enjoyed it. No bristly hair, no overpowering muscles, no whisker burn, just all soft and smooth and curvy. What I wanted was a woman to love me, but I already loved you.

"God, it was such an insane plan. I figured if I could put your brain into a woman's body, then I could make my best friend the girl of my dreams. What could be wrong with that? Every time I dressed you like a woman, I was hoping you'd tell me you loved it. Don't you think I could have had some friends watch out for you at prom? Don't you think I could have loaned you money to go to college? What I wanted was to feminize you in such a way that you'd never be a man again."

I touched Brenda's cheek with my varnished nails. "Brenda, I had no idea. I can't believe you did all this just to be with me! But facts are facts: I'm not a woman. I'll never be. But I can be the man of your dreams. I can help you get over your fear of men. Together we can be man and woman."

Brenda shook her head morosely. "No we can't. This isn't a phase with me. I'm attracted to women. I wish I could love you as a man, but I can't. The feel of Roberta's touch turns me on to no end. The feel of Robert's touch disgusted me."

I stood up. "Brenda. I love you. But what do you expect me to do? Have a sex change? Become your wife?"

Brenda stood up and faced me with her familiar vehemence. "That's not what I expect. But it's what I want. I want you to be my wife. I want you to be my woman. I want you to be Roberta forever. You're everything I want in a soul mate. If I'm not mistaken, I fill that roll for you."

"Brenda, I'd throw myself on a grenade to make you happy. But be a woman? That's insane! What would we tell our parents, for starters?"

"My parents already know how I am. They never stopped blaming themselves for what happened to me as a girl, and they're willing to let me do anything, so long as I am happy."

"And my mom?"

"I don't know. You could tell her you'd be happier as a woman, she'd be hard pressed to argue with your happiness."

"But I wouldn't be happier! I hate this life! I'm only doing this to be with you!"

Brenda put her hands on my shoulders. "There's no middle ground. I can't change how I think. You can be Robert, my best friend, or Roberta, my girlfriend. If you choose to go back to maleness, I'd not blame you in the least. And I'd pay for your college; I certainly owe you that much. But if you become Robert, you wouldn't be able to so much as kiss me. Ever. Eventually I'd find a woman to fill your shoes, but she wouldn't be able to compare with you."

"Brenda, stop talking like that!"

"It's true. I'm in love with Roberta, not Robert. I know how cruel that sounds, but I can't change who I love."

"Could I have some time to think about this?"

"Of course! Listen, why don't I leave town for the weekend. You stay here and do some soul searching. I'll be back Sunday night. If you meet me at the door in a dress, then I'll spend the rest of my life making you the happiest girl on earth. If not, I meant what I said about being friends. Nothing could ever take that away from us." With that, she threw some outfits in a suitcase and left, stopping only to kiss me goodbye.

I lay on my bed and thought for hours. This was insane! Logically, I should tell Brenda that enough was enough, and we weren't destined to be lovers. It would hurt, but it had to be done. She'd meet someone, I'd meet someone no, becoming a woman simply was in the cards for me.

But I couldn't bring myself to make the resolution. No matter how much I hated living as Roberta, I knew I'd hate living without Brenda even more. I was stuck. Give up Brenda, or give up my manhood. It all came down to that.

I needed some advice, someone who could look at things without being blinded by my love for Brenda. Since the only one who knew my secret was Crystal, I decided to give him a ring.

Feeling guilty for harassing him yet again that day, I dialed his apartment. No answer. Perhaps he was at his boyfriend's. I called Chett's number. "Hi, this is Chett," said his machine. "I'm not in right now, but if you leave a message, I'll get back to you. And if this is Dr. Richard Kimball, I told you I didn't kill your wife!" Damn, not there either. I decided to leave a message.

"Hey Chett, this is Roberta. If you see Crystal, tell her I really need to BEEP!" The recording cut off at someone picked up the phone. "Hey Roberta," said Crystal.

"Crystal, I'm glad I found you. Listen "

"Chett, knock it off!" giggled Crystal.

"Um, Crystal, I was talking to Brenda today " Crystal laughed again into the receiver. "Sorry, Roberta, Chett's just being a big silly. What were you saying?"

"I was never mind. Can I get together with you tomorrow?"

"Sure. Eek! Chett! You put me down this instant!" The phone clicked off.

The next day I joined Crystal at his apartment. "Sorry I couldn't talk last night," blushed Crystal. "Chett was over and, well, you know."

I smiled, understandingly. "I'm glad to see you two are getting on so well. Listen, I'm having a bit of a relationship problem. It's Brenda."

"Oh yeah, the hormones! What did she say?"

"That she likes women. That the only way she'd stay with me is if I become one."

"That's a lot to ask. So are you breaking it off?"

"Not exactly. She's giving me the weekend to think about it."

"So you're considering it?"

"I know it's nuts, but I can't stand the thought of losing her. She's the only person, besides my mom, who's ever really cared about me. I feel like nothing is worth losing her for."

"Even your manhood?"

"I don't know. These past few months have been crazy, but they haven't been all that bad. I'd never been popular as Robert, now all of a sudden I'm dating a great woman and have all kinds of friends. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't having more fun than I'd ever had."

"Well, the lifestyle grows on you. Take me, for example."

"Crystal, you've always liked being a woman, haven't you?"

"Not at first. But I guess I never would have agreed to become Crystal had I not been a little curious. It wasn't as bad as I had expected, and the longer I acted like a woman, the more natural it became. I guess when Mom first asked me, I was having the typical teenage identity crisis. Being feminized helped me come out of my shell."

"And now you enjoy it?"

"Roberta, I love it! You couldn't pay me to become a man again."

"I'm happy for you. Unfortunately, I'd become a man again in a second, if I knew Brenda wouldn't leave me."

"Then I guess you have a decision to make. Who do you love more, Brenda or Robert?"

"Brenda." I was shocked at how confidently I said it.

"There you have it! In the long run, you'll still be the same person deep down."

"What will everyone say?"

"Who is everyone?"

"My..." I started to say 'my friends,' but realized my only true friends were the ones I had made as Roberta. "My mother. What will she say?"

"That's going to be hard. My Mom was sure shocked when she realized I'd never be Christopher again, but she knew I was happier this way. I never really had to explain anything to her. You, on the other hand, have quite a problem on your hands."

"Well, maybe I should just tell Brenda I'll only do this until the end of college. That way I can see if I can handle it."

"Do whatever you think is right. Just remember, every day you live as Roberta, it becomes that much harder to go back."

"Well, it'll give me time to get my head together. I can't really see myself jumping into a male life again at the moment. I'd have to drop out of school, wait until the hormones wore off, enroll somewhere else, there'd be no end to the problems."

"You mean, you don't want to lose Brenda."

"In a nutshell, yeah. Crystal, I'm so glad I have you to talk to. Believe me, I'm going to need your help in the months to come!" Crystal looked guilty and turned away.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Roberta, I'm not going to be here after Christmas."

"Why not!" I was terrified! Crystal was my one confidant in gender matters.

"Chett and I we're participating in an exchange. There's a language school in Denmark. We're going to finish our degrees there."

"But why? I know it'd be fun to spend a semester abroad, but you're talking like three years!"

"Roberta, I'm not going to Denmark just to study."

"Then why...oh!"

Crystal looked at me sadly. "Chett loves me. But he's a heterosexual. I hate the fact that every time I'm with him I think 'He's accepting me. He tolerates how I am. He's dealing with my condition.' I can't stand to be half a woman in his eyes. I inherited some money from my grandfather, I'm going to arrange the surgery for next summer."

"Oh Crystal. You'll make a lovely woman. But I'm going to miss you like hell."

"Me too. Roberta, I'm erasing my old life. I'm cutting all ties with my male existence. I want to marry Chett, and then forget that I wasn't born a woman. I'm severing all connections with my old life, except with my Mom."

"Does that mean me as well?"

"Roberta, of course not. You and Brenda are my friends, and nothing can change that. But do me a favor? From now on, treat me like a woman. Don't mention the past. I'm living for the future now. I want us to always be friends. Just girlfriends."

"Crystal, it takes a mental effort for me to think of you as a guy. Trust me, you were always a woman in my eyes."

"Thanks. One more thing."

"Yes?"

"Before I give up being a man, there's something I've always wanted to do."

"What's that?"

"Kiss a girl. I've never kissed a girl before, I want to try it once, just to see what it's like." Crystal placed his arm on my shoulder.

"You mean ?"

"Please? I won't tell Brenda."

"O...O.K."

Crystal put his arms around my neck and kissed me for a long, long time. I didn't stop to think he wasn't quite a woman, he didn't stop to think the same about me. Finally, we disengaged.

"Wow!" he said. "Brenda's a lucky girl!"

"What was it like?" I asked.

"It was soft. And warm. Maybe if I had done that years ago, my life would have turned out differently. Oh well, c'est la vie." Crystal escorted me back to my dorm.

Sunday night I sat on my bed wondering if I was doing the right thing. My makeup was flawless (though perhaps a little over done). I was wearing my heels, and earrings. I had spent hours making my hair perfect. As for clothes, I was wearing nothing but one of Brenda's robes.

I heard Brenda's key in the lock. She hesitated, then opened the door.

"Roberta!" she screamed when she saw how I was dressed. Her face lit up like the mid-August sun. She rushed towards me.

"Does this mean...?" she asked, hopefully.

"Sit down," I directed. "We need to talk." She joined me on the bed, trying hard to keep the anticipation out of her expression.

"Brenda, after a weekend of thinking, I've come to one conclusion. I love you. There's no getting around that. I'd do anything to keep you." I had to restrain Brenda from jumping into my arms. "But at the same time, asking a man to give up what makes him a man is a lot to ask. And I'm not sure if I'm willing to go that far." Brenda's eyes began to moisten.

"So I'll agree to this," I continued, "but only on a few conditions. For starters, I'm not saying I'll do anything permanent. Until we graduate, that's all. Don't try to force me to a commitment before then." Brenda nodded eagerly.

"Second, I'm not having a sex change operation," Brenda tried to interrupt, but I beat her to the punch. "That's non-negotiable. I may be willing to give up my manhood, alienate my family, and even alter my body, but I'm not going to have the surgery. I'm the one make all the sacrifices here, so you can take it or leave it."

Brenda wavered. "Maybe after you've been Roberta for a while..."

"Nope. I don't want you delude yourself into think I'll change my mind. No operation. Ever. Agree, or this conversation is over."

Brenda took a deep breath. "OK. No operation. You're woman enough for me now, as it is."

"Good. Third: This is going to kill my mother. She's the only person who's ever loved me, and I'm going to ruin her life because of this. You're going to have to help me break the news to her, and you're going to have to be there for me when she breaks down. Telling her will be the hardest think I've ever have to do, and I'm going to need every ounce of support you can give. Do you agree?" She nodded.

"Lastly, you're my partner, not my master. No more hidden agendas. No more doing things behind my back. No more half-truths. You have to be open and honest with me. Always."

"I swear, Roberta, I won't pull anything over on you. I'm sorry I came across as so domineering. I guess after years of abuse, I wanted more control in my life. Anything else?"

"Just this." I stood up and removed my robe. I was wearing some skimpy panties (covering the rubber penis-hiding ones), a pair of garters, and a bra. The bra was new; it actually fit my small but real breasts. It didn't take long for Brenda to join me in a similar state of undress.

Later that week, Brenda took me to an endocrinologist who prescribed me female hormones under my own name. These were more powerful, the doctor told me they'd begin to make me look like a woman in earnest.

"So what are the expected side effects?" I asked.

"They'll be similar to what you are experiencing now. Softer skin, feminine curves, loss of the male sex drive. As long as you're taking them you'll never grow a beard, and you won't bulk up. You'll also probably end up with a nice set of breasts."

That night Brenda asked me how it felt to change into a woman.

"It's odd. I mean, I never expected to have breasts! I always thought of myself as unattractive, and now I'm pretty! I feel really out of sorts."

"I worry that I'm making you unhappy."

"Don't worry in that respect. Everything I'm doing, I'm doing of my own free will."

That night, we made love. While I no longer could function like a man, Brenda taught me new ways of giving her pleasure, with my mouth, with my fingers, with my new breasts. It was a weird feeling, Brenda's large boobs rubbing against my smaller (but still budding) ones. It was an enjoyable experience, to say the least.

That night I lay next to my slumbering girlfriend, and compared our naked bodies. My legs seemed as long and smooth as hers. My belly, almost as flat. My hips, almost as wide. My freckled skin seemed as soft and inviting as her tanned and muscular complexion. My breasts, while about two cup sizes smaller, looked just as real. My nipples were almost as big and erect as hers.

The next day, I got the call I had been dreading. Mom wanted to know what I was going to do for Thanksgiving.

"Well Mom," I said, making a conscious effort to lower my voice, "I think I'm just going to stay here over the holidays. I can't get away right now."

"Well, I'm cashing in some of my frequent flier miles. I'll come up and visit you!"

My mind reeled. "OK. I'll see you then." Gulp.

I told Brenda what was happening when I saw her that afternoon. "Oh my," she said, looking ill. "Is there any way to cancel?"

"That's beside the point. I'll have to tell her some day, might as well be in a couple of weeks."

"Well, you don't have to tell her so soon," Brenda seemed more nervous than I was. "Maybe we could dress you up like a guy again."

"Do you really think that would work?"

"Honestly? No, not anymore."

"Brenda, I'm going to have to face the music. I can't put off the inevitable. And you have to be there to support me. Remember your agreement."

"Of course."

Figuring that it would be impossible to explain over the phone, I asked Mom to come to my dorm the day before Thanksgiving. Seeing is believing, as they say, and she'd certainly see a lot when she saw me.

Brenda and I debated for hours about what I was going to wear. "It has to be something very feminine," Brenda insisted. "She has to know this is more than a stage, more than a fetish with you. When she looks at you, she has to realize that you're going to be her daughter."

"Yes, but at the same time, we can't go overboard," I argued. "She's going to be coming here fully expecting to see her son. If I meet her in a bikini top, that might be pushing things a bit too far."

Eventually we settled on a compromise. Despite the fact that it had already snowed that year, we decided I needed to show off a bit of flesh. Mom had to see that my transformation into a woman was more than mental. In the end I ended up wearing a short skirt, a halter-top, and heels. I gazed at my reflection as Brenda did my nails and hair. Could I really be that frightened girl in the mirror? The one who's soft freckled skin stood out on her graceful neck, slender back, and perky breasts? The one who could now walk in high heels shoes like a pro? The one who made herself up to look pretty every morning? God, what would my mother think? Could she ever learn to accept me as Roberta?

Eventually the moment came. Mom would show up at the door any second now. "Would you stop pacing?" Brenda asked me. "You're putting me on edge!"

"You tell your parents you're having a sex change and see how you feel! God, I think I'm going to puke."

Brenda stood up and grabbed me by the arms. "Roberta, listen to me. This will shock your mother. She might even get mad. But she will accept you. How do I know? Because you are still her child. You are still the same person she always loved. Nothing can stop a mother's love. If it goes badly, and it might, just remember that things will improve."

There was a knock at the door. "Robert, honey?" I heard my mother say. This was it. Trying to look as confident as possible, I opened the door.

Mom stopped smiling when I opened the door. "Hello!" I said warmly and girlishly at the same time.

"Um, hello. Is this Robert's room?" She was refusing to believe what she was seeing.

"Yes, of course, come in."

Mom seemed upset. "Are you Robert's girlfriend?" she asked, hopefully.

"Mom, it's me. Robert. I know you recognize me."

Mom took a deep breath, and sat down in my chair, roughly. "Robert, what is this? Is this a joke?" Despite the obvious physical changes in her son, she still was hoping that this was all some sort of prank.

"Mom, you remember Brenda? We're in love. Brenda is attracted to women, so I've decided to become Roberta. We're very happy." Mom turned gray. Brenda waved, meekly.

"Robert, what has gotten into you?" my mom whispered.

"I'm in love. I've been living like this for months. I'm not going to change back."

"Robert, stop it. You need to see a doctor. I'll make an appointment with a therapist."

"It's not like that. I love Brenda, she loves me, and nothing else matters."

Mom started crying. "Robert, please. Can't you see you're killing your mother?"

I started crying too. "Mom, I know this is a shock. I never planned it this way. But in time you'll grow to accept..."

"Accept what?" my mom suddenly shouted. "That my only son has become a freak? That my offspring has decided to live a deviant lifestyle?"

I felt like I had been gut-punched. "Mom, please don't "

"Don't 'Mom' me! You are not my child! My child was Robert! You, you're no son of mine!"

"Mommy..." I sobbed, trying to touch her.

"Back off, you pervert! I never want to see you again!" She moved to leave.

"Ma'am..." Brenda began, unsteadily.

"Shut up, you whore!" screamed my mother. "You've killed my son and ruined my life. Don't come near me!" The door slammed behind her.

I never thought there was much truth to people blacking out from emotional shock, but that's exactly what I did then. When I came to, I was in my pajamas. Brenda was holding me in her lap, rocking me as if I were an infant.

"Hush little baby," she sang, "don't say a word. Mama's going to buy you a mocking bird. If that mocking bird won't sing, Mama's going to buy you a diamond ring..."

I fell asleep in her arms, wishing I was living someone else's life.

I awoke the next morning to see Brenda sitting on a chair, looking down at me. She obviously hadn't slept a wink, she looked miserable. "I guess you hate me," she said, flatly.

"Don't be like that. Of course I don't."

"Even after what happened?"

"That wasn't your fault."

"It was in a way. Listen, Roberta. If you want to leave me I'll understand."

"The hell you would. Brenda, I love you. You're all I have now. Now that my mother doesn't..." I started bawling, and Brenda held me. The one constant in my life, my mother's love, had evaporated. I had never felt so low. Not when my Dad left, not when I thought Brenda was gone out of my life, never. My own mother no longer loved me.

"So what now?" asked Brenda, when I had calmed down.

"I get on with my life. We finished school, see what the future holds."

"Are you sure you're not mad at me?"

"Brenda, you didn't do anything. Everything I've done was my own doing. I've no one to blame but myself."

The phone rang. Brenda and I looked at it with shock. Could it be ? I hoped. Quickly, I picked it up.

"Hello?"

"Robert?"

"Mom!"

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I didn't sleep at all last night. I didn't mean what I said; I was just in shock! Oh, honey, say you forgive me, say you still love me!"

"Oh, Mommy! Oh Mommy, of course I love you."

"God, I was so upset last night. Can I see you? Let me see you! Come to my hotel."

"Well?" asked Brenda, when I hung up.

"She apologized. I think she felt as bad as I did."

"Oh, that's wonderful."

"She wants me to see her."

"Then get going. Do you want me to come?"

"Not just yet. I think we'll need to discuss some things. But could you stay by the phone? I might need to talk to you later."

"I won't leave the dorm."

I approached my mother's door with trepidation. I was dressed as conservatively as possible, in jeans and a sweater. I still was wearing makeup and jewelry, however. I knocked.

Mom opened the door. I could tell by her face she had spent most of the night crying. We stared at each other for a long time. Then, as if a dam had burst, we embraced, crying. "I'm so sorry," we both said about fifty times.

Eventually, we settled down. "Robert, I was obviously shocked to see you yesterday. I didn't know how to react, so I just got mad. That was the wrong thing to do. You know I didn't mean what I said, don't you?"

"Of course I do."

"Can we start over?"

"I'd like that."

"So could you try to explain things to me? I'm very confused."

I started from the beginning. About Andy, prom, Brenda's uncle, the hormones, everything. It took about an hour. Mom didn't say anything, just looked at me with a strange expression.

"Robert," she said when I was finished, "you did this because of Brenda, right?"

"Yes."

"You don't think you could convince her to love you as a man, do you?"

I shook my head. "That would be easier, but no, that's not an option."

Mom placed her arm around me and hugged me. "Honey, can I tell you something? Something I've never told you?"

"Of course."

"Before I met your father, I loved another man. His name was Dave. Dave was the love of my life. Handsome, charming, a lover and a friend. And black.

"Your grandparents never accepted that. They refused to see him as a potential member of the family. They eventually told me I had to choose between my love and my family. I chose my family. You know the rest of the story. I married an 'acceptable' man, who cheated on me, ignored me, and left me with nothing.

"Last night I realized that by denying you your love I was no better than my parents. I know what it's like to have to choose between the ones you love, and I could never do that to you. If Brenda makes you happy, then you have my blessing. I don't think I'll ever like the idea of your being a girl, and I guess I'll always secretly hope you'll stop, but I want you to know I'll never be ashamed of you. If you won't be my son, then you'll just have to be my daughter Roberta."

"Mom, you've made me so happy. I could never be happy without you in my life."

"You don't have to worry about that. So if you don't mind my asking, how do you like womanhood?"

"It was hard at first, but I'm getting into it. I think I'm getting the hang of it."

"Well, I hate to say it, but you make a lovely woman. You were always a little gangly before, but you've certainly become a beauty."

"Mom you're going to make me cry again."

"Then maybe we should just let things be. You know, it is Thanksgiving. Can I take you out to eat?"

"I'd love that."

"Great. Why don't you give Brenda a call?"

"You'd be OK with that?" I asked, rapturously.

"Well, if she's a potential daughter-in-law, I guess I should get to know her."

Dinner started of very awkwardly, as you could imagine. Brenda was terrified Mom would hate her, Mom wasn't sure what to think about the girl who had robbed her of her son. But by desert, Brenda's natural charm had won Mom over. Brenda was right, once Mom saw that I was happy, then she was hard pressed to complain.

When it came time for Mom to leave, we both saw her to the airport. "Well Robert, Roberta sorry, this is all rather new. It was good to see you. I'll miss you." We hugged.

"And Brenda," continued Mom, "Roberta tells me you don't have much planned for Christmas."

"No, the folks are going off to Bermuda."

"Well, maybe you'd like to spend the holidays with us?"

"Oh, do you mean it?"

"We'd love to have you. We'll, that's my flight. And Roberta, next time you have a surprise like this, write first, OK?" She kissed my cheek and was gone.

I stood in the terminal, holding hands with my girlfriend. "Brenda, you wouldn't believe how happy I am right now."

"Oh, I think I would." We then kissed, in full view of the many travelers nearby.

Epilogue: four years later

"So will you hurry up already? The ceremony starts in less than an hour!"

"Sorry," I replied sarcastically, "but we're both going to be in the spotlight today, and I have to look pretty too." As we both struggled for space in front of the bathroom mirror of our apartment, I couldn't help but smile at the situation. Most guys wanted their girlfriends to hurry up in the bathroom; mine wanted me to hurry up.

As Brenda did her makeup, I stood and looked at my nude body in the mirror. The hormones had worked wonders on me. Though I never reached a higher cup size than a B, my breasts were rather perky and cute. In fact, I had worn a bikini top for the first time last spring break.

But now I had better things to do than admire my curves. This afternoon everyone would have their eyes on us and I had to look as pretty as possible. I removed my gown from the garment bag. It was as beautiful as I had always pictured it. It was also identical to the one Brenda would be wearing. Of course it would me. All academic garb looks the same. But this was our college graduation and I thought my cap and gown were gorgeous.

"So, how do I look?" Brenda asked me, stepping out of the bathroom. She was fully clothed, looking both regal and pretty in her black robe. God, but she was lovely. I told her so.

"Not as lovely as you. I'd kiss you now, but I don't want to smear your lipstick. You almost ready?"

"Give me one second," I replied, putting in my earrings. "Oh, I forgot to tell you, we got a letter from Chett and Crystal today."

Brenda picked up the letter from the nightstand and examined the enclosed photo. It was of our two friends on a beach in France. Chett looked handsome as always, with his blonde hair, good looking face, and muscular frame. Still self-conscious about his arm, he had hidden his stump behind Crystal's back. Crystal, on the other hand, looked like she was posing for a swimsuit calendar. She was smiling as if the world were at her doorstep. Her long blonde hair hung down around her shoulders, and I found it hard to imagine there was skimpier bikini on earth. They both seemed so happy.

"All set," I told my girlfriend. "Are you excited?"

"Of course! This is going to be the most important day of our life. Well, until a few months from now." We giggled.

We'd be making the announcement that night, as we had dinner with our families. Last April, while enjoyed spring break in Florida, Brenda had popped the question. Of course I had said yes.

For the last few weeks we'd been secretly making wedding preparations. At a normal wedding, the bride would be in charge of that, while the groom only had to rent a tux. But since there would be two brides at this wedding, we'd both been spending every free moment deciding on our gowns, the flowers, the music, every detail. We had considered wearing identical gowns, but decided against it. Just as we were very different people emotionally, we were very different physically as well. We had both selected gowns that would compliment our different body types, and couldn't wait to wear them for the world.

There were points of contention, however. Which of us would get to walk down the aisle? Brenda thought she was the logical choice, as her father could escort her, but I wasn't about to be left out of the fun. We'd eventually decided to both enter from the wings, so no one of us would be official 'bride.' Brenda, however, demanded that she get to carry me over the threshold.

As we walked out into the warm spring sunshine, Brenda took my hand. "I'm really looking forward to making you Mrs. Brenda Anders," she smiled.

"And I'm looking forward to being your wife. Do you remember when I proposed to you?"

"But I...oh, I remember! Kindergarten! Well, looks like your prediction came true. You became a woman and are going to marry me." We laughed.

"Roberta," continued Brenda, in a more serious vein, "about our honeymoon..."

"You said I could pick the location. I hope you're not going to back out now."

"Of course not. But Thailand? I thought for sure you'd want to go to Hawaii or somewhere."

"Thailand is beautiful. There are beaches, beautiful temples, you'll love it."

Brenda winked at me. "I'll love anywhere, as long as you're there. We'll have a great time."

As we lined up with the other graduates, I laughed inwardly. Thailand was beautiful, but Brenda little suspected the true motives behind my selection. For months I'd been in communication with a Thai surgeon, via e-mail. After about a week of honeymooning, I'd check into his hospital and come out as Brenda's true wife. When I had made her swear she'd never ask me to have a sex change I meant it. But after four years of being Roberta, it seemed silly not to. I hadn't thought of myself as a man in years.

I came back to myself as they began calling names. Brenda, separated from me by several letters of the alphabet, shot me a smile as they read her name. As I stepped up to take my diploma (made out in the name of Roberta), I smiled in anticipation of the hubbub our engagement announcement would make that night.

STORY FOR A FRIEND, by Brian

[email protected]

A story I wrote for my friend Tammi. She picked ending number two.

Tammi was furious with her friend Brian. He was a nice guy, a good friend, but damn if we was ever obsessed with what was under her sweater. It seemed every conversation would someone wind up about Tammi’s bra and why she should remove it.

She had learned to put up with it, after all he’d been there for her all her life. And he probably didn’t mean much by it. But this! This was crossing the line!

She angrily clutched the bottle of novelty pills he’d sent her: MAGIC GROWTH HORMONES: Increase your cup size! As if she needed that! Brian thought the gag gift was funny, but Tammi was getting really annoyed. She wondered how he’d like it if…

Suddenly, Tammi smiled. Quickly, she ran to the medicine cabinet. She was right, the new pills were about the same size as Brian’s vitamins. He’d be home soon, she had to work quickly.

*

Three weeks later, Tammi and Brian stood in the bathroom. Brian was screaming, Tammi was laughing uncontrollably.

“I don’t see what’s so funny!” Brian was on the verge of tears.

“I’m sorry.” She fought for breath. “I just didn’t think those pills would really do anything.”

Brian gestured to his shirtless chest. “Well, obviously they worked. I’m as big as you.”

Tammi glanced at Brian’s developments, which sent her laughing again. “Bigger, I think.”

It was true. Somehow, the pills had worked. Brian now had a couple of new friends. He was a C, or maybe even a D cup. They stood out in sharp contrast to his manly body.

“Tammi, what am I going to do?” He jiggled when he talked.

“Not sleep on your stomach, that’s for sure.”

Brian ineffectually tried to cross his arms to cover himself. “This is serious! None of my shirts fit. And I sure as hell can’t go swimming like this.”

Tammi thought about mentioning a bikini top, but stopped herself. “Calm down. Look, we’ll get you to a doctor.”

Brian looked deflated. “I’m not sure I want to leave the house like this.”

“Fine. Give me the pills and I’ll talk to someone. There must be a cure.”

Brian stared down at his new cleavage. “Okay. But what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“Make the most of it. Now you don’t have to imagine what I look like underneath. Which reminds me…” She left the bathroom and returned shortly, holding up one of her bras. “You might want to try this one for size. It may be a little small.”

*

Two months later, Brian and Tammi sat in Tammi’s car.

“Are you sure the doctor said there was nothing he could do?” Brian’s voice, once a deep bass, was now more of a falsetto.

“I talked to several specialists. They said the changes are permanent.” She patted Brian’s arm. She was shocked at how soft and smooth his skin felt. As Brian nodded sadly, Tammi slyly looked him over. Yes, he had changed. Sitting there in Tammi’s shirt, she could tell his body weight had redistributed into not only his chest, but his hips and rear. And she didn’t think he’d needed to shave in weeks.

“I guess there’s nothing left to do,” said Brian, with a sad pout.

Tammi kissed his cheek. “You’ll do fine. I’ll pick you up in an hour.”

She watched as Brian nervously walked into the beauty salon, then chuckled at how far her prank had gone. As she pulled away, she tossed a piece of paper out the window. Some prescription from the doctor, something about a cure for Brian’s condition. No thanks.

*

Tammi returned after a few hours, having dumped most of Brian’s possessions off at Goodwill. When the tall, buxom woman approached her, she had to do a double take. Brian looked gorgeous.

He was wearing a green, low cut blouse that showed off his new assets nicely. A black mini skirt revealed his shaved legs, standing unsteadily on his heels. His face was nicely made up, framed by his newly pierced ears. And his hair…

“Do you like it?” asked Brian, meekly clutching his purse with his manicured hands.

“You look great!” shrieked Tammi. “So you decided to become a redhead?”

Brian blushed, and tossed his newly curly, auburn locks. “Well, if I have to be pretty, I might as well look like the prettiest girl I know.” They both giggled. Tammi took Brian’s arm and led him to the car.

“Thanks for not staying mad at me,” she said, as she opened the door for him.

“Well, what’s done is done.”

Tammi slipped in next to him. “I guess we’ll need to think of a new name for you. What do you think about…Brianna? Or Brenda?”

*

Ending number one:

“Brianna, have you seen my sundress?”

Tammi was about fed up with her new roommate. He hogged the bathroom, borrowed her clothes, and brought his dates home at all hours. Tammi eventually found him bent over the sink, applying his makeup.

“Brianna!”

He finished applying his lipstick. Tammi shook her head. As a man, Brian took little interest in his appearance. As Brianna, he would primp for hours. Those pills must have done something to his…her brain.

Brianna eventually turned. “Sorry. Yes, I borrowed it. Hey, we’re the same size now, I can’t help it.”

Tammi stared at her roommate. Brianna was right, they were the same size. They also had the same red hair, the same freckles, the same curves…people just naturally assumed they were related. They weren’t asked if they were sisters. They were asked if they were twins. In fact, that’s what they told people now.

“Brianna, how many times have I asked you…”

Brianna was already in the bedroom. “Can I borrow your heels? Big date tonight.”

“Sure.” Tammi sighed as Brianna continued to dress. It was nice having a sister, even an annoying one. Still, she missed the old Brian.

Tammi shook her head and began getting dressed herself. Wryly, she realized she’d been topless, and Brianna hadn’t even glanced at her. The old Brian was gone for good.

Tammi thought for a bit. She did like the old, horny Brian. But Brianna had her good points. Tammi liked having someone to help her with her makeup, to do her nails, to trade clothes, to give her advice on men. She was a lot closer to Brianna than she’d ever been to Brian. All in all, it was a good trade.

Who would have thought it would end this way: Brian, now Brianna, Tammi’s sister.

Ending number two:

Tammi stood at the front of the church in her new tux, her hair closely cropped. She was more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. She tried to stay calm. After all, soon everyone’s eyes would be on someone else.

There was a burst of music, and everyone stood, turning their eyes to the entrance. Even Tammi was stunned when Brian…er, Brenda…began walking down the aisle.

Even though he’d been living at Brenda for almost a year now, Tammi was amazed by what a gorgeous bride her old friend made. The long, flowing, strapless gown, the carefully applied makeup, the curly, auburn hair…Tammi was thankful that she wore the tux. Brenda was the only bride needed in this ceremony!

He slowly walked up the aisle, still a little shaky in his heels, all of their friends and family watching him. For many, this was the first time they’d seen Brian as Brenda. Tammi and her fiancée had discussed it, and decided to tell everyone that it was Brian’s decision to become a woman, and they were both happier with his new role.

Tammi looked at her bride in rapture, picturing their future together. They’d decided Brenda would make a good housewife, staying home and cooking and cleaning for her new spouse. Tammi was so enthralled, she almost missed her line.

“Do you, Tammi, take Brenda to be your lawful wedded wife?”

“I do!”

“Then I now pronounce you wife and wife. You may kiss the bride.”

And Tammi happily kissed Mrs. Brenda S.

Hours later, she carried Brenda over the threshold of their honeymoon suite.

Chapter One

I try to struggle to my feet. It’s useless. Chris straddles me, laughing at my attempt to get free.

“C’mon, little brother. What’d I teach you?”

“Please...” The knee gouging into my spine makes it hard to breathe. “Stop.”

“Don’t be a sissy. Fight my ass! Be a man!”

A swat to the back of my head knocks my face into the worn, dog-scented carpet. I will myself not to cry. “Don’t. Please.”

“Jesus, Shannon, you’re not even trying. Are you a man or a little bitch? Well are you?” Chris punctuates the insult with a slap to my butt.

“Let me up!”

“Then show me what you’re made of! Or say you’re a bitch. Say it and I’ll get off.”

I keep my mouth shut. Maybe if I go limp...

“Say it! Say you’re a bitch!”

I mumble something.

“I can’t hear you.”

I close my eyes, pressing my forehead into the rug. “I’m a bitch.”

“Damn straight.” Instantly, the pressure comes off my back. Chris stands, regarding me with amusement and contempt. She straightens her shirt and adjusts her ponytail. Beaming down at me, she looks for all the world like the model off some teen girl magazine. Slightly disheveled, but still.

“Dad says it’s time for dinner, Shannon. Oh, c’mon, get up. I didn’t hurt you.”

I pull my knees to my chin. “I’m fine.”

My sister pauses. “Seriously. I was just funning. Get on up, big guy. It’s all good.”

I pretend to tie my shoe. “I’ll be there in a second.”

For a moment I think she’s going to apologize. To realize that maybe I have feelings and they can be hurt.

But I only hear the door close.

And that’s when I allow myself the tears.

*

The living room TV is on. The TV is always on. I have no conscious recollection of it ever being turned off. Not on Christmas day. Not on my birthday. Not at night.

My first memory is of a car commercial.

My family isn’t so low-class as to eat in front of the television. No. We eat in the kitchen, like all good Americans. But we can still see the screen.

Like all good Americans.

Chris is already at the table. She looks up at me, and for just one second, I think she looks sorry. Sorry that she humiliated me. Sorry that she hurt me.

She smiles and belches.

“Knock that shit off.” My father, grinning, barges up to the table, a steaming meatloaf in one pot holdered hand. He pauses to smack Chris on the back of the head.

I sigh, wearily.

Chris isn’t bothered, however. She just flips my father the bird.

Dad’s already doling out the meat. “That your age or your IQ?”

I’ve heard that joke a thousand times.

Silently, I join them at the table. My father slaps a huge, fatty hunk of meatloaf on my plate.

“Dad...” We go through this like every meal.

“It’s good stuff,” he says, not looking at me. “It’ll put hair on your chest.”

It must be true, Dad’s got hair on almost every surface of his body. “It’s just that you said we could start having vegetarian meals occasionally.”

“Mmm!” mocks Chris, her mouth full. “Twigs and gravel.”

Dad flashes his yellow teeth at me from behind his beard. “Next week, sport. I promise.”

He promised over a month ago. And my name is Shannon, not ‘sport.’

I ladle out a heap of green beans, then open my copy of Fahrenheit 451.

“Uh uh.” My father shakes his head. “Put it away, Shannon. Family meal.”

I slam my book onto the table. “Mom working late again?” I ask, maybe just a little spitefully.

His face clouds. “You know she’s doing swing shifts for a while. “

I picture my mother, bent over the conveyor belt at the plastics factory, screwing hinges onto glove compartment pieces, night after night, surrounded by employees living in terror of some guy in Bengal who’d do their job for a fifth of their wages. I think of my father, driving his taxi all over the city all day and still barely making ends meet, because who the hell needs a cab in Des Moines?

I feel like an ass for complaining. It’s not my family’s fault they don’t look at things from a global perspective. Hell, maybe I can be kind of hard to get along with...

A hot buttered roll pegs me in the eye. As I yelp in surprise, I see my sister grinning at me.

“Think fast, Shannon.”

And Dad...Dad just laughs.

I take my fork and stab at the grease ball on my plate. One more year. One more year of high school and I can leave this place.

When Chris graduated last year, I assumed she’d move out. Get her own apartment, in some other neighborhood or some other city. Maybe even go to school. She’s smart enough. And driven enough to succeed, if she actually ever tried to do anything.

Instead, she went from part time to full time at the Dollar General. She still lives at home. Still parties with the same group of high school friends. Still takes time to whale on her younger brother.

I think Dad realizes I’m upset. “So how was school today, Shannon?”

I shrug. I sat where I was told to sit. I put marks on the papers as instructed. I did not act stupid enough or smart enough to cause problems for the establishment. I talked to no one. I dropped my best pen in the toilet.

“The usual.”

“Hey, don’t be modest,” my sister chimes in. “Tell him what you did today, Shannon.”

I freeze. With my eyes, I beg her to shut up. To drop this.

Dad glances back and forth between us. “What? What happened?”

Chris wipes her mouth. “The drama club was having auditions for the spring production. And ol’ Clark Gable here tried out.”

I turn and stare venom at my blabbermouth sister. “How did you know that?”

She shrugs. “Vonnda told me.”

Someone needs to remind my sister that high school lasts four years, not five. She doesn’t need to keep up with the gossip or the old crowd anymore. I know I won’t.

Not that I really have a crowd.

“Like a play?” asks my dad. “That’s great, Shannon. You haven’t been in anything since you were a freshman.”

“Yeah, I brought down the house as ‘Townsperson Number 2.’” I can’t look him in the face. Not that stupid, happy-go-lucky grin.

“So when will you—”

“I don’t know! Just drop it, okay?”

They give me the stink eye, but I don’t care. I don’t want to sit here and explain how I already know that I’m not going to make the cut. That when it comes to school productions, talent has nothing to do with who is cast. It’s all about politics and cliques and...looks. Good looks.

And popularity. The right friends. Connections. Which is why my audition today was stupid.

I’m no longer hungry. I retreat to my room.

No one tries to stop me. They never do.

*

I walk home from school the next day, angry and sad. Mostly sad.

They’ve posted the cast list for the spring production. And I’m on it.

Man on train: Shannon Ferguson

It didn’t matter that I’d practiced for weeks for one of the lead roles. It didn’t matter that I’d had the entire monolog memorized while everyone else just read the script. It didn’t even matter that I’d been working behind the scenes at the various school productions since elementary school.

No, what matters is that I’m short and gangly and unpopular.

It wouldn’t sting so bad if it were fellow students making the casting calls. I wouldn’t expect anything more from them. But Mrs. Hardy and Mr. Darst. I really thought they’d do the right thing. I really thought they’d choose talent over looks.

I need solitude. I need alone time. Mom and Dad are both working. I’ll just go home and lock myself in my room. It’ll be okay, just as long as…

Shit.

They’re here. The three or four identical POS cars that have been parked in front of my house every weekend since Chris was a sophomore. And they’ll contain the same half dozen people who’ve been hanging around here since we were in junior high.

I don’t need this. Not today. Bracing myself, I head through the front door. If luck is with me, they’ll be on the back porch.

Nope, right in the living room. The same group of kids Chris hung out with in high school. The same group of now nineteen and twenty year olds, still in Des Moines. Still working at the same fast food joints and retail stores, still reliving their past drinking glories, and still hanging out on my parents’ couch.

“Shannon!” barks one of the guys. “How’s it hanging?” I wave, half-heartedly. When I graduate next year, I’m only coming back to this house for Thanksgiving and Christmas. If then.

As I turn toward my bedroom, I feel an arm wrap around my neck. I’m soon in a semi-headlock, much to the amusement of our guests.

“C’mon, Chris, knock it off.”

She releases me. I rub my shoulder. The only female member of the wrestling team in the history of my high school and she happens to be my sister.

“Shannon! Hey, c’mon, sit down with us,” she sweetly commands. Her friends bark in

approval, either of me joining them, or Chris saying anything, or of their ability to breathe oxygen.

“Maybe later.”

“C’mon, you never want to hang out anymore.”

I don’t recall ever wanting to hang out, period. “Some other time.”

“Shannon, this is your last year here…”

I start to walk away. Her hand on my arm stops me.

It really stops me. To a casual observer, it may seem like a sisterly touch. But I feel the pressure. The strength. The look in her eyes.

If I don’t obey, she’s going to hurt me.

I sit on the couch.

I sit on the couch like some well trained puppy. I turn down offers of beer, of dope, of girls. They eventually stop trying to talk to me. I can’t wait to leave, both from the living room and from this life.

But will I really get out? Or will every audition I attend be another humiliation like today?

Chris is in the kitchen. I have to leave. If I go to my room, Chris will just drag me out. I’ll hang out on the porch. I can make a break for it if she comes after me.

“Just getting some air,” I yelp, as I head for the back door. No one hears me.

Freedom at last. Except I’m not alone. There’s someone out here. Someone I’ve never seen before.

A girl, maybe fifteen or sixteen. She’s leaning on the porch railing. She has fair, freckled skin, dyed reddish hair, and the narrowest nose I’ve ever seen. A skinny frame and an obvious retainer complete the vision of awkwardness.

She glances at me with little curiosity.

Who the hell is she? How have I not met her before? She’s completely beautiful.

She takes a drag from her cigarette.

Almost completely.

“Hey,” I say, my problems temporarily forgotten.

She exhales smoke in my direction and nods. I join her at the railing.

“I’m Shannon. Chris’s brother.”

“I know.” There’s a pause. “I’m Tanya. Pete’s sister.”

I don’t know who Pete is. I fumble for something to say. “You didn’t have to come out here to smoke.” It’s true. Our house already smells like an ashtray.

She butts her cigarette on the railing. “Too noisy in there. I came out here to be alone.”

“Hey, me too! It’s so nice to get away from the crowd, isn’t it?”

She lifts one shoulder in what might be a shrug.

I lean against the railing next to her. I struggle to think of something cool to say. I try to recall every online lesson I took about stage presence and projection. I try to make myself appear to be larger.

“So didn’t I see you at the spring musical tryouts?” I didn’t, but it’s a way to start a conversation.

“Nope.” She glances over her shoulder.

“Oh, thought I saw you there. I, um, just landed a part.”

“You don’t say.”

“Yeah, not much, but hey, you know what they say. There are no small roles, only small actors.”

She’s leaving. Without thinking, I step in front of her.

“Hey, you want to go for a walk?”

Without a pause she weaves around me, and without a look back, returns to my house.

Perfect effing ending to today.

*

In my room. Alone. Headphones plugged in. I can’t hear the TV. I can’t hear Chris and her friends laughing at their own jokes, at the television, and whatever they find so funny about our lives.

I stare at my laptop screen. I bought this computer with my own cash, nearly a year of tutoring money. My parents don’t know I have this.

Not that they wouldn’t approve, or would try to monitor my internet or something. It’s just that last Christmas, they bought me a secondhand laptop. Probably paid a fortune for it. God, the looks on their faces.

I can’t tell them it was a broken, outdated piece of shit. I can’t let them know they were ripped off. It sits on my desk, pristine and untouched. I let them think it was the best present ever.

My door is locked. Not that that ever stopped Chris before, with my ill-fitting latch and her powerful shoulders. Hopefully she’s too busy with her friends to bother me again. I log onto my email account.

And there it is. They’ve responded.

My hand hovers indecisively over the mouse. I mean, it’s not like I haven’t been through this before. It’s not like this is good news. The logical side of my brain tells me to delete the message unread.

But still...

I open the letter.

Dear applicant...

Shit, shit, shit.

Same as always. The form letter. Polite, generic words, telling me in two paragraphs why I’ve been passed over for the audition. Or drama program. Or scholarship. Vague, sweet sounding terms that all mean the same thing.

You’re just not good looking, Shannon. Not enough. Not really.

Now, it’s not a requirement that you have to be Ryan Reynolds gorgeous to break into theater. But it sure as hell helps.

And there are exceptions to the rule. But for every John Goodman and Seth Rogan, there’s a thousand guys with washboard abs, blue eyes and six inch chins who are clamoring for the role of ‘waiter.’

So where does that leave me? Double checking the lock on my door, I pull out my secret envelope. The one filled with the headshots I had done at the mall last winter. God, if anyone ever found out...

And there, staring me in the face, is the reason I’ll never get a lead role. Not in Hollywood, not in the school musical, not in the Des Moines Players production of Rent.

My face. My brown-eyed, hollow cheeked, snub nosed, straight haired, gap toothed face.

My longish hair didn’t say ‘rebel’, it said ‘guy too clueless to know when he needs a haircut.’ My smile didn’t say ‘Yes, that is a gun in my pocket and I am happy to see you.’ It says ‘Paper or plastic, ma’am?’ And my eyes don’t say ‘You feeling lucky, punk?’ They say ‘Please don’t hit me.’

The whole picture says ‘future employee of the month at the Apple Genius Bar.’

My parents would be so proud.

Seriously. That time I resurrected my mom’s cell phone after she dropped it in the sink, they called my grandparents to brag.

I’m about to slam the laptop shut in frustration, when I decide to log onto desperation.com. That’s not the real URL, but it should be. It’s a website where thousands of out of work actors post leads, rumors, and other vague hints of where the next big audition is going to be. The one big break. The role that’s going to knock them out of obscurity.

I’m quite familiar with the site.

I check anyway. It’s the usual tripe.

They say Chuck Johansen dropped out of the latest Delta Strike movie. Any African-American actors who can play a blind man should get ready to audition.

I hear they’re going to be filming the next Bohemian Buccaneers movie in Charlotte. Any east coast actors who can do a good pirate voice should stay by their phone.

LARGE MOTION PICTURE COMPANY LOOKING FOR ACTRESSES 18-25 GUARANTEED WORK PLEASE E-MAIL...

Sigh...

It’s only when I see a photo of Natalia Jenkins that I pause. And smile.

That perfect, heart-shaped face. The adorable blond bob. Those curvy, um, other assets.

But it’s not just her looks. It’s the whole package (and believe me, the package is wrapped nicely). Her almost meteoric rise to stardom in the past couple of years. The adorable way she’d tripped on the stairs going to claim her Oscar. The selfless way she worked, campaigning for the environment, women’s rights, universal healthcare.

I thought about her a lot.

Yeah, me and half the guys in America. But still. I could picture me getting cast as a hotel clerk or something in one of her movies. During a lull in filming, we start talking. She’s impressed by my intelligence and my love for Skylar Robbins novels (which I started reading after she mentioned them on her blog). Afterwards, she invites me out for coffee.

I laugh out loud. Kind of a roadblock to that fantasy, Shannon. You’ll never be in the same room with Natalia Jenkins. And it’s not like she’s going to invite you to come out to Los Angeles to meet her.

I glance at the link under her picture.

COME OUT TO LOS ANGELES AND MEET ME!

Uh...

Chapter Two

The following Monday, I sit in front of my webcam, paralyzed with indecision. I practiced this all weekend. It should be simple. It should be fun. The opportunity to actually send a message to Natalia Jenkins, and I can’t think of a thing to say.

I log onto the website again. Becoming.com . It’s a reality show, a series. Every episode, some lucky fan gets to shadow their idol for a couple of months. To live with them. Work with them. Hang out with them. Perform with them.

I watch a clip of a young guitarist meeting his punk rock hero. Within a month, the kid is decked out in skeleton makeup and playing backup at a rowdy concert. In another show, a high school second stringer meets his idol, the quarterback for the Browns. At the end of the episode, the kid throws a touchdown pass in a practice game (I think. It was the Browns, after all, maybe they really signed him on). I see aspiring actors, musicians, and athletes living the dream with the people they admire.

Natalia will be filming an episode in a couple of months. To be considered, all you have to do is submit a two-minute video essay.

And I don’t know what to say.

I mean, I can think of plenty to say, but nothing impressive. Nothing to make me stand out among the thousands of fans who will surely apply for this. Really, what makes me so special? A seventeen-year-old kid from Iowa, sitting here in my father’s dress shirt, trying to think of something to tell this gorgeous movie star that doesn’t sound like ‘I want to see you naked?’

Miss Jenkins, I’ve always admired your work with...

Miss Jenkins, I’m your biggest fan...

Natalia, I think you and I...

Hell with it. I shouldn’t bother. Shouldn’t set myself up for a really painful form letter.

“Hey, numbnuts!”

Chris has barged in without knocking. I quickly turn the laptop screen away.

“Dad wants you...hey, what were you looking at?”

“Nothing!” I attempt to shut down the browser, but it locks up, of course. Chris hovers over my shoulder.

“What is this, some kind of porno site? Hey, let me see!”

I can’t let her know what I’m doing. I’d hear about this for the rest of my life. She’d tell our parents.

Acting on instinct, I throw an elbow backward and catch her in the gut. I hear her gasp in pain.

A second later, I’m the one gasping when she slaps me in the ear.

“I was just looking, jerkwad!” she storms out of the room.

I will not cry...

I will not...

Oh, to hell with it.

I turn on the camera. I shove my face toward the grainy screen. I do not smile.

“My name is Shannon. I do not fit in anywhere. Please help me get away.”

*

The invitation comes a week before school lets out. And I’m not the first one to see it. My mom is.

Mom always looks hungover. She’s perpetually bleary eyed, yawning, and headachy. It’s funny how a ten-hour shift has the same end results as a hard night of drinking.

I’m at the kitchen table, reading. I promised Dad I wouldn’t spend so much time in my room. Plus Chris is blasting her stereo, so that side of the house is kind of a war zone anyway.

Mom kisses me on the top of my head. I try not to stiffen.

We go through the usual dance of how-was-your-day-fine-how-was-yours-fine. Just when I think we’re through, she throws in an extra line.

“Picked up a little something for you today.”

I cringe inside. She doesn’t need to waste money on stuff for me. And I do mean waste. Just because I like reading, doesn’t mean I want my own copy of Devotionals for Teens or the abridged version of Moby Dick.

But then she drops a large envelope in front of me.

“I had to sign for this at the post office. What is it?”

A registered letter? I’m too young for jury duty or the draft. It’s a huge envelope with padding and everything. No name on the return address, just a PO Box in Los Angeles.

Wait a minute...

Mom is hovering over my shoulder. “Well?” she asks excitedly.

“Nothing. Just, um, some, uh, comic books I ordered. Excuse me.”

I rush for my room.

*

The first thing I remove is an autographed glossy of Natalia.

Dear Shannon,

I’m looking forward to meeting you this summer! We’re going to have a blast!

XXX

Natalia

I collapse on the floor.

I did it. I won. I came out on top.

For the first time in seventeen years, Shannon is number one. How many people entered this contest? Five-thousand? Ten-thousand? And they chose me.

She chose me.

I bite my knuckle to keep from screaming.

I picture the twits who didn’t cast me in the spring production. I picture Chris, mocking my attempts to get into drama camp.

I picture Natalia, meeting me at her door with one of her famous lemongrass milkshakes.

Can this really be happening?

I reverently place the photo in a folder in my desk, then dive into the stack of paperwork.

Dear Shannon, (not ‘dear applicant’)

Congratulations! You have been selected to appear on the newest season of Becoming. Natalia Jenkins was very impressed with your video letter. She feels you are a remarkable young person and is looking forward to working with you.

Please complete and sign the attached forms and return them to us by the end of May. Upon receipt of the contract, we will send you a plane ticket to Los Angeles (departing the week of June 2nd). For the next five weeks you’ll be staying at our luxury hotel, living like the star you’ve dreamt of becoming!

They know me so well.

All your food and transportation will be provided. But the best part is, you’ll be hanging out with Oscar-winning actress Natalia Jenkins, star of such hits as My Brother’s Keeper and Sahara Safari! You’ll experience some of the trendiest shopping, dining, and nightlife the Golden State has to offer. But that’s not all! After some exciting one on one coaching from Natalia, you’ll go on stage for an actual speaking role in her upcoming movie Darkness in the Daytime!

We look forward to seeing you in California this summer. Again, congratulations!

It’s happening. It’s really finally actually happening. Do I burst out of my room and rub this in Chris’s stupid face, or do I wait for dinner? Wait for them to ask me how my day was?

I’m too giddy to think. I can barely read the enclosed contract. It’s dense legalese, but they’ve attached a brief summary page on top:

1) I’m not getting paid for this.

2) They own my ass for five weeks, and can film anything I say or do for the show.

3) I’m on social media blackout. As soon as I arrive, anything I post online is subject to the approval of the gods.

4) I’m not to make a drunken ass of myself.

5) If I’m under the age of 18, I’ll need to have a parent or guardian accompany me...

Wait, what was that last one?

I reread it, then check the actual clause in the contract.

Any contestant under eighteen has to have an adult with them for the entire five weeks of filming. The show will pay for the hotel and plane ticket. No exceptions.

I won’t turn eighteen until October.

I think of my parents. Five weeks. Over a month with one of them in LA.

It’s unthinkable. It’s impossible.

They can’t miss five days of work. Hell, five hours is a stretch.

I stare at the papers in my hand. My dreams in physical form. The one thing I’ve ever wanted. My ticket out of here.

And I can’t go.

No point in hiding the tears this time.

*

Four hours later, things seem just as black. Every scenario I imagine is hopeless. All my adult relatives have jobs. No one could miss this much work.

I can’t ask the producers to bend the rules for me. They’d cancel the contract the second I brought it up.

I can’t lie about my age. Mom and Dad are going to insist on seeing all the paperwork. They won’t let me fake being eighteen.

Could I lie about where I’m going? Say I got into a drama camp or something? Unlikely. They’ll want to know the details. Want to see the brochures. Want to research the facility, talk to someone in charge.

I stare morosely at Natalia’s photo.

We were so close.

I need air. Sliding the envelope full of my broken dreams under the bed, I head out to the darkness of the back porch.

My Dad and I scare the hell out of each other.

“What are you...” we both bark, when we realize we’re not facing down a burglar.

My question really needs no answer. Dad’s guilty expression and the smell of smoke in the air gives him away. He told me he was going to try to quit...

He looks at me expectantly. I shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.”

We both stare at each other. It shouldn’t be this awkward between a father and son.

“Hey, Dad?

“Yeah?”

“Do you think, this summer, you and I could take a trip sometime?”

He grins so wide I feel terrible about my true motives. “You bet! We haven’t been camping in years.”

Here goes nothing. “Well...I was thinking of something maybe longer. Like a road trip.”

He looks thoughtful. “Yeah, I got some time coming up. What did you have in mind? Chicago for a couple of days?”

“Um...I was thinking of something…more. How much time could you take off?”

He shifts uncomfortably. “Shannon, you know fares are way down. I go away for more than a few days, they might realize they can make do without me.”

I try to laugh it off. “Sure. I understand. Camping would be great.”

“Fighting mother nature on her own uncompromising terms! Man versus the wild!”

I manage a thin smile. The awkwardness descends again. Dad moves, as if to leave, then stops.

“Hey, Shannon, is everything okay?”

“Huh? Yeah. Fine.”

Dad starts to walk away again, but pauses. “Talk to me, Son. You’ve been weird lately.”

And I want to. I want to tell him everything. About the contest, and how I’m going to miss getting a chance to meet my hero and act in one of her movies because I’m four stinking months too young. But I can’t tell him. He’d just feel bad about not being able to help.

Shannon, I know I said I’d try to pay for that drama camp, but then the furnace went out and…I’m sorry.

You know I wanted to be there, son. I really did. But with half the guys down with the flu, they needed me at work. I’m sorry.

Look, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, Shannon. I was laughing with you. Don’t be mad, sport. I’m sorry.

“Just worried about the future. Kinda feel like I’m not going anywhere. Nothing’s ever going to happen. Does that make sense?”

My father puts his arm on my shoulder. I’m kind of surprised, it’s the first time he’s really touched me since I can remember.

“I know just what you mean. Especially at your age. Big ol’ world out there, and maybe you feel like you don’t have the cash or the time or the talent to see it. But you have to remember, those opportunities aren’t going to be handed to you.”

Nope, they come by registered mail.

Dad continues. “Shannon, this may sound like old person talk, but now’s the time in your life when you got to get out there and make things happen, okay? Don’t sit around and wait for it to come to you, because it won’t.” He swallows, and then says, almost inaudibly, “Believe me.”

I nod and quickly return to my room.

He’s right. This is the chance of a lifetime. Am I going to let some stupid piddly legal clause rob me of my chance to drink mimosas with Natalia Freakin’ Jenkins? Nope.

But I have to think this through. When am I supposed to go to California? Early June. And I’ll turn eighteen in October, so I’m just a few months over the limit. So...why not exaggerate the truth? Tell them my birthday is in May or something? It can’t be that hard to get a fake ID...by the time the show goes on the air, I’ll already be legal age. It could work. It’s better than not trying.

There’s only one flaw in the plan. I cannot tell my family what I’m going to do. And I can’t lie to them. Mom and Dad, they’ll want to know every detail of the show. They’ll insist that one of them at least fly out with me. They’ll want to talk to the producers. Embarrass me in front of Natalia.

Blow my cover.

I’m going to have to do this the way I do most everything in my life.

Alone.

Chapter Three

It’s easy to say how you’re going to do something. It’s much harder when the time comes.

Three months ago, when I sent in my signed contract swearing that I was eighteen, I felt like I could do anything. Just a little fib and a faded copy of a copy of a copy for the scanned copy of my driver’s license, and I was six months older.

Now, standing in my carport at two on a Tuesday morning, shivering in the pre-dawn cool, a backpack on my shoulder, I’m having second and third thoughts.

This is stupid. This is crazy. I’ll never make it to LA. They’ll want to see a real ID. They’ll want to talk to my parents.

I should go back inside. I should talk to Dad. I should give this up.

But that photo of Natalia haunts my mind. I’m looking forward to meeting you.

I cannot give that up. Even if they send me away, I have to at least try.

I mentally go over my checklist.

Note to parents: check. I left it in the kitchen. They both have the day off tomorrow and after the double shifts they’ve been working, they won’t be in a hurry to get up. I repeat the message in my mind:

Dear Mom and Dad,

By the time you read this, I will have left the state. Please don’t worry. I will return by mid July. I have a tremendous opportunity to work in the film industry. I’ve been cast in a small role in a movie. I unfortunately had to lie about my age to be permitted to work (there are very strict laws regarding minors working in movies, and I had to tell them I was eighteen to get the part).

I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I had a feeling you wouldn’t have allowed me to go had you known the truth. Please know that I am safe and will be coming home as soon as filming wraps up. This is a huge break for me, something that may result in much greater things. This is a legitimate film, though a small one, which was why I was able to get my foot in the door. Please forgive me for doing this. You’ve always told me I was smart and talented. And you told me that I need to make my own opportunities. That’s exactly what I’m doing.

I’m shutting down my social media and my phone. You will not hear from me for five or six weeks. I know you’ll worry, but you’ll have to trust me. I’ll be fine.

Your son,

Shannon

It’s a nasty thing to do, and I know it. Mom and Dad will spend the next month tearing at their hair, wondering where I am, waiting by the phone.

And that’s exactly why I’m going off the grid. The first phone call from them, the first email, I’ll break down. I’d talk to them. Spill my guts. Let them convince me to come back.

I have to do this on my own.

Delete social media: check

I did that earlier, before wiping my real laptop and hiding it.

Are you sure you want to delete your social media account? YES/CANCEL

Really sure? YES/CANCEL

Really, REALLY sure? YES/CANCEL

Please type I REALLY WANT TO DELETE MY SOCIAL MEDIA in this box:

Your social media is about to be permanently deleted. Would you like to make one last post where you huffily complain about the distractions and pitfalls of online activities and make yourself the center of attention, as if you’re abdicating the throne of England? YES/CANCEL

That last one wasn’t real.

I admit, it didn’t come easy, but who cares? Once my show airs, I can resurrect it all. From now on, I’ll follow Natalia Jenkins’s directions, only posting what she wants me to post, only blogging what the show wants me to blog. I can do this.

Turn off phone: check

It’s powered down. I consider leaving it at home, but I might need it for emergencies. It stays off otherwise. I know they can track your location through your phone in extreme cases, such as a kid running away. Nope. I may drop my family a postcard, but I won’t be talking on the phone.

This summer, Shannon Ferguson is the property of Becoming. I’m going to do this.

The show sent me an e-ticket for my flight. The problem at hand is actually getting to the airport. Every cabbie in the city knows my father. I have no choice but to hike the five miles to the nearest bus stop.

It’s now or never. I can delay this no further.

Look...they’ve gone and put trash in the recycle bin again.

How many times do I have to ask them? Is it really so hard? I busy myself moving fast food wrappers and chicken bones into the correct receptacle.

And then I realize I’m not alone.

“Shannon?”

I freeze. It’s Chris. She’s snuck up on me from behind the house. It’s easy to smell where she’s been, the odor of beer hits me from two feet away. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her sneaking in late...well, early.

“Hey.”

She laughs at me, as usual. “What the hell are you doing out here?”

I gesture to the garbage cans. “Just, um, taking out some trash.”

“In the middle of the night? Weirdo.” She shakes her head and moves to the door.

But then she stops and looks at me again. “Uh, why the backpack?”

Jesus, Chris, for the first time ever you notice something about me? “Just putting some stuff in the shed.”

She nods, but doesn’t go anywhere. She just stares.

“What stuff? Shannon, what are you up to?”

“Leave me alone,” I growl.

More silence. I worry our conversation will wake up a neighbor, or worse, my parents. My sister, unfortunately, wants to talk.

“You’re heading somewhere. Where are you going?”

She’s going to blow this. My loudmouth drunken sister is going to ruin everything for me, even before I begin. She’s going to wake up my parents. She’s going to grab me by the collar and drag me into the house. I think it’s this idea that spurs me to action.

I stop toward her. For the first time in years she backs away.

“Chris, listen. This is none of your business. Go inside. I’ve covered for you enough times, now you do it for me.”

I think I see her look at the door. But she doesn’t move. “Just tell me where you’re going.”

“If I do, will you promise to leave me alone?”

“No.”

I glance at my watch. I don’t have time for this. “Look. I have...an opportunity. A chance to be in a movie. It’s the real thing. But I can’t tell Mom and Dad about it, because they won’t let me go. I have to leave, like now. So for once in your life, will you mind your own business? For once in my life will you leave me the hell alone?”

Her bleary eyes widen. “Movie? What are you talking about? Shannon, I don’t think—”

“Forget it. I’m leaving. Do me a favor and don’t snitch on me until morning.” I turn and head down the street. I’m determined not to look back, but of course I do.

Chris stands in the carport, staring after me, watching me go.

If all goes according to plan, that’s the last she’ll see of me for a few weeks.

*

You’d think the contest people could have sent me first class. I know, I know, I should be thankful for what I have. This is my first time in an airplane, and I’m flying for free.

But I’m supposed to be living Natalia Jenkins’s lifestyle, and well...she never flies coach. And I’m sure she never ends up stuck in the middle between a hyperactive eight-year-old and an old man with bladder issues who still insisted on the window seat.

I stand in the terminal and shake myself like a dog. Concentrate, Shannon. You’re about to meet Natalia Freakin’ Jenkins.

Well, probably not right now. There’s no way she’d come to the airport, not without her entourage of bodyguards and handlers. My instructions say someone from the show will meet me at baggage claim.

I have no baggage to claim, everything I took with me fit in my carry on. I duck into the bathroom to check and see if I’ve magically grown more handsome, then take the escalator down to the claim area.

There is a line of drivers near the exit. They each carry signs indicating their contact’s last name. I eagerly scan for a Ferguson.

There! At the end of the line a Black woman holds up a sign with my name on it. Unlike the rest of the disheveled, middle-aged drivers, she’s young and well-dressed. Despite probably only being in her early twenties, she wears a navy business suit. Her hair hangs down her back in long braids. She’s quite pretty, but kind of severe as well. She reminds me of a teacher, the interesting kind, but one who you don’t dare cross.

This is it. I find myself wishing that Mom could have come. She would have been so impressed by all this. She would have insisted on taking a picture of the driver. Of the sign. Of all of us together. Embarrassed the hell out of me.

Too bad she won’t get that chance.

I walk up to the woman and smile. She takes one look at me...and looks away.

I guess she thinks I’m coming on to her or something. I clear my throat.

“Hi. I’m Shannon Ferguson.”

She looks back at me. For a moment, she just stares. And then her eyes go wide. Really wide. She whips out her phone and checks something. Then she looks back at me. She does not look happy.

I had been expecting a warm greeting, a congratulations, maybe a question about my flight. But this...she looks terrified. Something is very wrong.

“You’re not Shannon Ferguson!”

I try to smile, but her panic is contagious. Does this have something to do with me exaggerating my age? No, something is really upsetting her.

“Yes. I’m Shannon. I got a letter saying I’d been selected to appear on Becoming.”

For a second, she looks so angry that I’m seriously afraid she’s going to hit me.

“You’re not Shannon! You can’t be!”

I’m getting a little annoyed. “Why not?”

“Because Shannon Ferguson is a girl!”

Chapter Four

This...this is some kind of joke, right? Some kind of hazing? They must be secretly filming me now. In a second the cameraman will jump out from behind a pillar and we’ll all have a good laugh.

But this woman...she’s not smiling. Not even a little bit. She’s looking at me with cold contempt. I’m getting off to a bad start, I feel.

“Um...a girl?” I say. It was supposed to come out all jokingly, but there is fear in my voice.

For a second, I think she’s going to lunge at me. She doesn’t make a fist or anything, but her dark eyes almost seem to glow red. I’m thankful we’re in a public place.

“Follow me,” she hisses after a minute.

“What did you mean by—”

“Don’t speak.”

She storms out into the parking lot, not checking to see if I’m following. I stand there, dumbfounded.

Something has gone horribly, horribly wrong. Did I check the wrong box on my application or something? Was this a behind-the-scenes screw up?

Hopefully, Natalia and I can sort this out soon. Clutching my backpack, I follow my contact out into the parking garage.

I’m surprised to see her standing in front of a limousine. It’s a long, white, illegally-parked vehicle, with the logo for Becoming on the door. She leans into the driver’s window. As I approach, she yanks open the passenger door and climbs inside.

Unsure of what to do, I follow her. She doesn’t move over to let me in. Instead, that intense, cold stare.

“I should just leave you here,” she says, and I can tell she’s really considering it.

Enough is enough. I throw myself into the car, forcing her to scoot over. The partition between our area and the driver is up. Good.

It’s time this woman explained some things.

“Look...what’s your name?”

“Mila.” No last name, no explanation of who she is or why she expected me to be a woman.

“Mila, I don’t know where things got confused, but I was contacted by the show months ago. I’m Shannon. If someone told you I was a girl, it’s just some kind of mix up.”

She doesn’t answer. She just pulls out her phone and cues up a video. Instead of handing it to me, she shoves it in my face.

I recognize the clip. It’s my video essay, the film that won me this contest. I never noticed how close I was to the camera, you can see nothing but my face.

Why is she showing me this? I continue to watch my speech, waiting for some kind of explanation.

My sister has always been the pretty one. The one my parents really like...

I don’t fit in. Everyone at school...they think I’m a geek.

I never get a good part in the school productions. I’m not good looking.

I wish I was one of the ‘beautiful people’...

And suddenly, things click into place. The poor quality of the video. The grainy sound. My longish hair. My androgynous name. Some of the comments I made on the tape.

Whoever judged this thinks I’m a girl.

Natalia Jenkins thinks I’m a girl.

I look at Mila with a sick smile.

“It was a mistake.”

She retrieves her phone. “Yeah. That makes me feel so much better.”

The enormity of my situation slowly seeps in. Everyone on this show is expecting a girl. When they realize the truth, it’s going to take more than just changing a form to correct things.

What if they don’t want to film me anymore?

Why do things never work out for me?

“What do we do?” I burst out.

Mila just shakes her head. “You go back to Iowa. I’ll try to undo the damage you’ve caused.”

I’m suddenly angry. This is supposed to be my moment! My big break! The thing I’ve been waiting for all my life. I’m not going to let it pass by just because I don’t have a prominent jaw and my name’s not Butch.

“What is your problem?” I snap. “I’m the one who’s getting screwed out of this, not you!”

If I expect her to apologize, I’m sadly mistaken. But she doesn’t yell, either. She just smiles. It’s a very disturbing, very hateful smile.

“Shannon, honey, I’m a junior producer with Becoming. I’ve worked for that since I got out of college two years ago. Two years of fetching coffee and running errands. Two years of ass kissing and ‘great idea, boss!’ Two years of hell, and I’m finally allowed to be in charge of one stupid episode of one stupid show. And let me tell you, some people work ten years to get an opportunity like that.”

I totally understand where she’s coming from. Opportunity. The same reason I just ran away from home.

Mila pauses, and suddenly looks very tired. “And I completely screw it up. They wanted to go with some hot surfer chick from Hawaii. But no, I had to do my own thing. I wanted the ugly girl. I had all these big plans to make her into a swan. I thought it would be something original. Something people would like. Something fun. My big chance to shine.”

She turns to me and half smiles. “Guess I’ll be fetching coffee again next week.”

I pounce on that smile. It’s the first sign of civility she’s shown me, and I need to get her on my side if we’re going to work through this.

“Maybe if you just explain to everyone that it was a simple misunderstanding...”

“HA!” The scowl is back. “That’s a good one. Hey, Ms. Jenkins, remember that nerdy girl that you were supposed to make into a star? Remember how you told me it was a bad idea, but I swore the viewers would eat it up? Well...funny thing, she has a dick! That won’t mess things up, will it?”

I’m getting tired of her acting like my gender is somehow a bad thing. Or my fault.

“Isn’t it illegal to hire someone based on their sex?” I ask. “If your boss makes a big deal about this, you could threaten to...to...” My words whither up. The expression on Mila’s face tells me how well she thinks threats against her boss would go over.

“Didn’t you think it was strange that we chose a guy to shadow Natalia?”

I didn’t think it was strange at all. Natalia’s always been such a big proponent of gender equality. “You’ve done it before. That show with the girl who worked with that player from the Spurs.”

“Well, this was supposed to be different. I was going to turn you into a clone of Natalia. Same hair, same clothes, same everything.”

That’s not really what I had in mind when I imagined spending a month with my hero.

Mila shakes her head. “This was going to be my big break. If this episode went well, they’d put me in charge of other things. I could be producing my own show in a season or two. Now...I’m screwed. My career is over, thanks to you.”

And that does it. This was not my fault. And Mila isn’t the only one who’s missing an opportunity here.

“Well, what about me?”

Her brown eyes become huge. Again, I worry she’s going to clock me. Instead, she leaves, slamming the door in my face. A moment later, I hear her get into the front of the car with the driver. The engine revs. We start moving.

I’m in a limousine. In Los Angeles. I’m about to become the star of a TV show.

Except that’s not going to happen now. Because everyone thinks I’m a woman. I’m stuck a thousand miles away from home, and I just destroyed the life of the only person who might be able to help me.

Way to go, Shannon.

*

We drive for an hour. We stop a couple of times, but no one tells me to get out, and I don’t risk it. I’m afraid they’ll abandon me somewhere.

What am I going to do? Mila’s right, there’s no way the show will go on. I’ll have to go back home to Des Moines. If I’m lucky, the show will pay for my return ticket.

And then what? By now, my parents will realize I’m gone (if Chris hasn’t already ratted me out). They’ll want to know where I’ve been. What if they find out the truth? What if they realize the reason I got kicked off the show?

What if Chris finds out I was mistaken for her sister? I’d hear about that for the rest of my life. She’ll never drop it. Eighty years from now, I’ll be lying on my deathbed and she’ll remind me.

Maybe I shouldn’t go home. I could start a new life here in L.A.

The car has stopped. Someone knocks at my window. It’s Mila. She motions me to get out. Having no other choice, I obey.

I’m surprised to see we’re parked in an alley behind a hotel. Mila drags me toward a rear entrance that is propped open with a rock.

She gestures me to follow her. Wordlessly, we enter the building and take an elevator to the top floor. My mind is racing. Maybe things aren’t as bleak as they seem. Maybe she’s worked things out with her supervisor. I want to ask, but I’m afraid to broach the subject.

She stops before one of the rooms and opens it with a keycard. I have to say, my breath is kind of taken away. This place is huge! I mean, like almost as big as my house, huge. A bed bigger than my room. Fancy sheets. Flowers on the dresser. In fact, there’s a whole gift basket. I look at the card.

Dear Shannon,

I’m so looking forward to some seriously fun times with you! Stay sweet, girlfriend, I’ll meet you soon.

Natalia.

That kind of takes the wind out of my sails. But when I look at Mila, she’s grinning.

“I think I found a solution to our problems.”

Suddenly, things don’t seem so glum. Maybe she called Natalia and she understood. Or she got me transferred to another episode or something. I look at her hopefully.

She goes to a closet. She pulls something out.

“Put this on, Shannon.”

It’s a dress.

Chapter Five

A dress. Not fancy or risqué in any way, but it’s certainly nothing a man would wear. Long sleeved and ankle length, but it’s still a dress.

What the hell insane plan does Mila have?

She starts walking toward me. “We did a little shopping for you beforehand. Had to estimate your size, but I think it’ll fit. Just step into the bathroom and put this on. Look, I bought you some hose too. We’ll get your shoes later...”

She’s blocking the only door. I step backward.

“Mila? I’m not wearing that. It won’t fool anyone.”

Her grin spreads. “But it will, Shannon. We never expected you to be a good-looking girl. With that longish hair, your nasally voice, a little padding...yes...”

I gently reach out and place my hand on a heavy lamp. “You’re talking crazy. No one’s going to buy that.”

She’s almost in front of me. She holds the dress out, like I’m sure mental health officials would brandish a straitjacket. “I’ll make it work. When I get through with you, you’ll look the part.”

Yikes! As she takes another step forward I leap onto the bed, jump, and land behind her. I rush for the door and don’t stop until I’m almost in the hall.

Mila turns, but doesn’t chase me.

“Look,” I stammer. “You’re clearly upset. But I want no part of this. If you could just forward me my ticket home, I’ll be on my way.”

She lays the clothes on the bed. My heart soars when she takes out her phone. But then my guts knot when she plays my stupid video submission again. I wince at how whiny I sound.

My sister is the pretty one...

She stops the playback. “Shannon, how would you like it if I put this online? Showed it to everyone who watches Becoming? Forwarded it to your school? And let everyone know that we thought you were a girl?”

Her grin is evil.

I feel faint. I know she’s telling the truth. She’ll make sure that everyone in my world knows I got hired as an actress on a TV show. And it’s not just Chris I’m worried about right now. It’s my father. The people at school who always called me a weirdo. Natalia.

How can anyone be so cruel?

I guess that’s what lights a fire in me.

I march back into the hotel room, slamming the door behind me. I don’t break eye contact as I stride toward Mila, stopping when we’re so close that our noses almost touch. She steps back, her smile gone.

“Do it,” I hiss. “Go on. And go to hell. This wasn’t my fault. I hope they fire you.”

I expect a snappy comeback, an insult, a slap. But it never comes. And after a couple of seconds, Mila lowers her eyes. When the silence continues, I head for the door.

“I want a ticket home by tomorrow, or I’m going to raise a stink with your bosses.” I’m already trying to figure out where to spend the night and how to explain my absence to my family.

“Shannon, I’m sorry.”

I pause with my hand on the knob. I should go. I shouldn’t listen.

But I turn around anyway.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have threatened you. I got desperate and scared. I promise, that tape will never see the light of day.” Her head is still pointed downward, but her eyes look up at me, supplicating.

She’s faking. She has to be. Just an actress playing a role, trying to get what she wants. But I don’t leave.

“Mila, I’m sorry things are so screwed up, but I’m never going to pass as a girl. You said yourself, it’d never work.”

She sits on the bed and pats the blanket beside her. Warily, I sit, the dress still spread out between us.

“I don’t expect you to do the show. You’re right, we couldn’t pull that off. But we won’t start filming for a couple of weeks. If I could just introduce you to my bosses and to Ms. Jenkins, let them meet you and see how charming you are...” She toys with a braid. “And then, right before we’re scheduled to start taping, we’ll say your mother had an unexpected health crisis and you had to go home. An unforeseen tragedy.”

This doesn’t make any sense. “Why not just say my mom got sick today? Why all the theatrics?”

For a second, she looks annoyed. “I promised everyone a sweet, innocent, plug ugly country girl. If I don’t deliver, it’s going to be like telling your teacher that your dog ate your assignment. I have to let them know that me casting you wasn’t a stupid mistake.”

Even though it was? I glance down at the dress. “They’ll never buy it. And why should I, anyway? I’m sorry this happened to you, but not that sorry.”

She picks up the dress sleeve and absently strokes it. “I’m not going to waste your time whining about how after years of film school and ass-busting work, this is my first and probably last shot at a promotion. And I can’t promise you much in return, I’m not important enough to do you any favors. Yet. But if I don’t blow this, there’s a chance I can start getting ahead in the industry. And maybe in two or three years, I’ll be important enough to start introducing you around to casting directors.”

That does it. “Two or three years? Thanks, but no thanks. I’m going home.” I should stand up, but I don’t.

Mila smirks. “You’re such a farm boy. You think you’re just going to step off the bus one day and be cast the next, don’t you? You know how many guys who are taller, more talented, and a hell of a lot better looking than you are fighting to get cast in the latest McDonald’s commercial?”

So now she thinks I’m a dumb hick? “I know it’s not going to be easy.”

“No, Shannon, it’s not. But there’s a chance I might make it in this business. And if I do, I’d owe you the favor to end all favors. Not just once, but forever. I’d do whatever it takes to get your foot in the door.”

I’m about to object, but she continues.

“Maybe it’s not worth it. Maybe you want to go home and explain to your friends and family why you’re not going to be on TV after all. And twenty years from now, when you get off on the late shift, and your back is aching and you look in the mirror and wonder where your hair went and where that gut came from, you can think back to the time you had a chance—a real, honest to God chance—to make it in television, and you turned it down because it was too hard.”

I don’t like to admit how much she’s rattled me. How much I fear turning into my parents, working a thankless job in a boring town, never having done anything to make myself different from my classmates or my sister.

But it’s still not worth it.

Mila lays her hand on mine. I’m kind of shocked. Not that this is an intimate gesture on her part, but the feel of her fingers wrapped around mine is somewhat nice.

“Just let me dress you up. One time. If you don’t think it’ll work, I’ll find you a return ticket.”

I look down at the bland garment. It’s just a piece of clothing. Just a costume. No different from anything else an actor would have to wear.

“Okay. But only in this room. And I doubt you can make me into a convincing girl.”

We both stand. Mila smiles, and the old, frightening confidence is back. “You don’t realize how motivated I am, Shannon. Get in the bathroom.”

Chapter Six

Ever since I was about ten years old, I’d imagined the day of my arrival in Los Angeles. The sun on my face, the wind in my hair, suitcase in hand, ready to take this town by storm. It was going to be glorious.

It is not glorious. It’s hot. It’s smoggy. I’m stuck in the shotgun seat of Mila’s rusted hulk of a car. We’re trapped in gridlock traffic. Either the air conditioning is broken or Mila won’t turn it on.

I don’t ask her. Every time I make a sound, she turns and glares at me, like I’m a Band-Aid she found floating in a swimming pool.

Oh, and I’m wearing a dress. Did I mention that? All yesterday Mila spent dressing me up in clothes that must have been donated to the local goodwill by some Amish woman who found them to be too boring. Probably part of her original plan to make me look like an ugly country girl.

Now I’m used to being in costume. It’s all part of an actor’s life. And hell, more than one Hollywood star had to do the drag thing in a film or two. But as I sit here slowly roasting this funeral shroud, I’m aware of what a drastically wrong turn my life has taken.

I can’t take it anymore. I break the silence.

“So…thanks for driving.”

Mila’s eyes don’t leave the windshield. “We were supposed to have the limo. But I figure the fewer people who see you, the better.”

I can’t disagree. I glance at my reflection in the visor mirror. I’m wearing more makeup than Ronald McDonald after an acne outbreak. I could have given Mila some tips: I’ve worked the green room more than once. But she just slathered it on like drywall spackle. She either was unused to making over someone with a lighter skin tone, or simply didn’t care. I’m wearing so much mascara, my eyes keep sticking shut when I blink.

I refused to let her cut my hair. It’s tied back in a sloppy ponytail.

“So how long have you—”

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t talk to me, Shannon.”

I look at my window instead. Traffic is crawling. Next to me, a taxi inches by.

I think of my father. He’d be at work right now.

Only, he’s probably not. I’ve been missing for two days. He and Mom will be frantic. Still, they don’t know the details so they won’t know where to find me.

I had kind of planned to contact home by now. To send a text or a letter to let them know I’d arrived safely and was okay.

Yes, to rub it in. To let them know I did this, and I did this without anyone’s help.

Instead, I’ve kept my phone turned off. I do not dare look at it. Mom’s probably messaged me a thousand times, desperate to know where I am. Frightened not knowing where her son is or if he’s safe.

But I can’t talk to her. Can’t even text her. Because if I do, I’ll break down. I’ll tell them all I made a bad decision and need money to come home.

Silly Shannon. Thought he could just fly off to Hollywood and become a star. Poor kid. Barely lasted two days before we had to wire him money for bus fare.

We all make mistakes.

No. Despite Mila’s doomsaying, I don’t believe all is lost. If I can just talk to Natalia. Get her alone and let her know how I got into this crazy situation. She’d understand. I mean, the girl got her start playing Chippy the Chirpy Chipmunk on PBS. She knows the sacrifices we make. She’ll help me get on Becoming as myself. I just have to play this exactly right.

I’m not going home with my tail between my legs. Not yet.

“Hey, wake up.”

I realize we’ve pulled off the highway. We’re turning into the gate of a fenced in lot. Behind it, rise the towering offices of NBS studios.

Mila looks at me, and for the first time since we met, she’s not staring at me with utter contempt.

“We’re here. And no matter what happens, you’ve already made it a lot further than most people.”

As we pull up to the security kiosk, I feel just slightly better.

*

The place is big. And I’m not talking big like Des Moines International Airport. It’s big like…

Okay, I’ve never been in a building larger than that. But this place is huge. The lobby is all glass and steel and escalators and modernistic sculptures. I pause a moment to take it all in.

“Wow, you really are from the backwoods, aren’t you?” Mila stands there with her arms folded, smirking.

I’m done. I’m so through with her attitude. I turn and look her in the face.

“Listen, Mila. I’m not the one who screwed this up. I’m not the one whose job’s on the line. But I am the one who looks like an idiot at the moment.”

Mila glances around the crowded lobby. “Shannon, your voice…”

“No, you’re going to listen to me. I think this is a ridiculous idea. I think we should come clean. I’m willing to go along with this for now. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you stand here and insult me. We’ve both got a lot to lose and the next time you forget that I’m not your personal little, um, uh, abuse doll, then I’m going home. Do I make myself clear? Do I?”

I’m suddenly aware that a lot of people are watching. I hear some guy laugh and say something about a chick fight. I shoot the gawkers a look and they disperse. But when I turn back to Mila, she’s smiling at me. Really smiling.

“That was perfect, Shannon.”

I return the smile, surprised, though I’m not sure what she’s talking about. “What was perfect?”

“Your voice. That perfect, bitchy, nasally, white girl whine. Sometimes your voice gets a little too low and I worry someone is going to read you. But that ‘wah, wah, Daddy won’t let me drive the BMW’ mode…no one will ever think you’re a man. Heck, I don’t know why we even bothered with the dress. Now move it.”

She breezes past the security desk without a look back. Meekly, I follow.

*

We ride two elevators. Pass through several security checkpoints. I get a funny look when a guard goes through my purse and realizes there’s nothing inside it. Corridor after corridor. The tile gives way to carpet. Then more expensive carpet.

Mila talks as we walk. “We’re going to be meeting with Dennis Avery, the producer of Becoming. I don’t think he’ll catch on. I promised him an ugly dog, and by God, I’m delivering.”

Was that an insult? Maybe she meant it as a compliment, that I make an unattractive woman.

I’m guessing insult, though.

We pause before an imposing, unlabelled door. “Okay, Shannon. Let me do all the talking. If Mr. Avery asks you anything, be brief. You’re nervous, shy, and thrilled to be here. If you can bring it up naturally, mention that your mother is sick, but doing well. A little foreshadowing when she’s hospitalized in a couple of days and you have to rush home to be with her.”

I don’t like thinking about my mother in the hospital. She can’t even afford that foot surgery. It’s not something people should joke about.

“Mila, can’t we just talk to Natalia and tell her the truth?”

Mila is glancing at her phone. “Talk to who?”

“Natalia.” She stares at me blankly. “Natalia Jenkins? The actress I’m going to shadow?”

Again the blank look. But then Mila smiles. And laughs.

“My God, Shannon, are you for real?”

I don’t get the joke. “What?”

She just shakes her head. “Just call up Natalia Jenkins. Yeah.”

“But the show…”

Mila just rolls her eyes and knocks.

There’s no answer, but after a moment she opens the door.

I was expecting some sort of cavernous office to match the rest of the building. Something with lots of windows and a wet bar. But Mr. Avery’s office is small and nearly empty. And dark.

The man himself sits behind a cluttered desk, examining some papers. He’s an unremarkable lump of a guy, slightly overweight, with an open collar and loosened tie. He makes no indication that he’s noticed us.

Mila, her confidence absent for the first time, slowly steps toward the desk, motioning for me to follow. She moves so gingerly, I wonder if we should present our hands for him to sniff, to let him know we’re friendly.

“Mr. Avery, sir?”

His head rises. He gives no reaction to the two of us standing here. No annoyance, impatience, or even recognition.

“Sir, this is Shannon Ferguson. Our selection for the Natalia Jenkins segment.”

Mila places her fingers between my shoulder blades and gently propels me forward. Mr. Avery tilts his head, just slightly, and continues to stare. He’s inspecting me.

Does he know? Does he suspect? Did Mila really think an ill-fitting dress and too much makeup would fool a TV producer?

He turns to Mila and raises an eyebrow. I wait for him to ask if this is some sort of a joke. But then he smiles.

“So, Miss Ferguson, how are you liking Los Angeles? Is Mila taking good care of you?”

I open my mouth, but Mila interrupts. “We’ve been having a blast. Shannon is really enjoying living the good life. She can’t wait to meet Natalia. Isn’t that right?”

I nod.

Again, Mr. Avery looks at me. Again, the eyebrow. “Well, we look forward to working with you. Is there anything we can do to make your stay more comfortable?”

I almost blurt everything out. About how this is all just a stupid misunderstanding, I’m really a guy, and that I’m sure Natalia will understand once we explain things to her.

I swallow. I’m sweating.

“Miss Ferguson?”

“My…my mother is very sick.”

“Oookay!” says Mila, taking me by the arm. “Shannon, if you’ll excuse us for a moment, Mr. Avery and I have to discuss a couple of things. Why don’t you go to the lounge and grab a cup of coffee? Just down the hall, I’ll meet you there in a jiffy.”

She’s smiling so beautifully I know she’s faking. I barely keep it together as I hurry out the door.

*

I sit in the harsh fluorescent glow of the break room, staring at the steaming mug of coffee that sits untouched in front of me. Just a few days ago, I thought I would soon be introducing myself to the world. That people back home would see me on TV and recognize me. That my parents would beam when the neighbors called to talk about my episode of Becoming. That this was the start of my real life.

Now, all I have left is the vague hope that I can explain all this to Natalia. Or at the very least, Mila will be good as her word and find me industry work when all this is over.

All I ever wanted was top billing, a star on the walk of fame, and my own production company by the time I was thirty. Is that really so much to ask?

I should just go back to the hotel, wash off this makeup, and call home.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud clattering. I look up to see a guy staring forlornly at a spilled rack of coffee pods at his feet. He smiles at me, embarrassed.

“One of those days.” He shakes his head, as if it’s pointless to even try to excuse himself. He’s young, probably about twenty-one. He’s skinny in that awkward way, with a completely disheveled appearance, from his half-tucked shirt to his badly combed hair.

I clear my throat, trying to make my voice sound breathy and feminine (but not whiney). “I can relate.”

“Yeah. Well, mine started ten years ago, but I think I’m due for a rally.” He shrugs and begins picking up the mess. Wearily, I get up to help him.

“So are you the new intern?” he asks, as he accidentally kicks a pod under the counter.

I shake my head. “I’m…” My God, I’m actually ashamed now. “I’m going to be on Becoming. The Natalia Jenkins episode.”

“Oh, hey!” He breaks into a broad grin. “Mila’s project! I’m glad to see they didn’t go with that Hawaiian ditz.”

At this point, I kind of wish they had. “Well, I wish you’d tell Mila that. I think she’s disappointed in me.”

He laughs, causing several of the pods he’s holding to tumble to the floor. Giving up, he tosses the rest on the countertop.

“Listen, I know Mila can be a little abrasive, but she’s one of the smartest people here.” He glances over his shoulder. “That’s not saying much, but really, that girl’s going places. You’re lucky to be working with her.”

I think my expression gives away my feelings on that theory. He takes a step closer. And then he puts his hand on my arm.

Puts his hand on my arm. And leaves it there.

“Look…I know how hard she can be to deal with sometimes. But you have to understand, she’s only twenty-four.”

Your hand is on my arm.

“It’s not easy to get ahead when you’re a young, African-American woman. You know how people can be, right?”

Get your hand off my arm.

“When you’re done with the show, you two are going to be like sisters.” He finally removes his hand. “Trust me.”

“Yeah.”

His phone buzzes and he looks at the screen with a grim expression. “I have to run. I guess I’ll see you around. My name’s Michael.”

“Shannon.”

He grins, as if we’ve really connected, and leaves.

Ew. Nice enough guy, but don’t touch the merchandise.

Must just be a handsy guy. No chance he was getting his jollies from touching me.

Mila returns a few minutes later. She snaps her fingers and points.

I follow.

Chapter Seven

I’m just going to text my parents. Let them know I’m okay. I’m not going to tell them where I am or what I’m doing.

I’m not going to ask to come home.

I sit in my hotel room. My makeup is washed off and I’m back to my old clothes. Phone in hand, I’m trying to drum up the courage to turn it on.

It would be so easy to give up. To just tell them I screwed up, fell for some online casting scam or something, and ask for them to wire me a ticket. They wouldn’t even have to pay for it. I could sell my laptop and some other things to pay them back.

They’d understand.

Just bite the bullet, Shannon. You’re going to be going home in a few days anyway. Might as well salvage some dignity.

But I stop myself. I can’t quit. Not yet. Maybe Mila was telling me the truth. That Michael guy seemed to think highly of her. Maybe in a couple of years she’ll give me a call, offering me a real job as payback.

And if I went home now, my parents will want to know exactly where I’ve been. Hell, they’ve probably called the police by now. The cops would demand to know who I was with. And it would all come out. Humiliating for me, and bad publicity for the show. They’d make sure I was never cast in anything again.

But my biggest hope is that I can get Natalia alone. Just talk to her for a few minutes and let her know how I wound up in this horrible situation.

She’d understand. Last year she bailed on a movie when the filming location’s state passed that discriminatory bathroom law. She’s always been an advocate of gender nonconforming people.

She’ll put Mila and Mr. Avery in their place and let me do the show as myself.

Just one more week. Until I meet Natalia face to face. I can hold out for one more week.

But I need to text my parents. I have to let them know I’m not dead. I owe them that.

As soon as my phone powers up, I get alerts of over 100 unread texts. Mostly from my father. I’m a little surprised. He has a phone he needs for work,[1] but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him actually text anyone before.

I make sure I’m not logged onto the hotel’s traceable wifi and compose a message.

Mom and dad, I’m sorry if I scared you. I have a legitimate offer to be in a movie. They needed someone who was over 18.

I realize how ominous that last part sounds, so I delete it.

I worried that you wouldn’t let me do this on my own, and I know you can’t miss that much work to come with me. I assure you that I’m fine. This could be a huge break for me. I’ll write you in about a week. I love you.

I hit ‘send’.

Before I can turn my phone off, I have an incoming call. My mother.

I can picture my mom scrabbling over her phone, desperately trying to connect the call. Knowing, after days of uncertainty, that her son was okay. Eager to hear his voice.

I can’t ignore this. Just a quick phone call. Just to let her know I’m fine. To let her know I’m thinking of her. I answer.

“Mom?”

“Where the hell have you been?”

It’s not my mother. It’s Chris. She doesn’t give me time to reply.

“Do you have any idea how pissed off everyone is, you little shit?”

Okay, maybe I’d misjudged my family’s response. Maybe they weren’t worried about me. Maybe this was all just a big pain in the ass for them.

“Mom and Dad are mad at me?”

She practically screams into her phone. “No, asshole, they’re mad at me! I didn’t stop you from leaving. I waited until they found that note of yours. And they were so upset, I let it slip that I saw you sneaking out and you looked like you knew what you were doing. Big damn mistake. Do you have any idea how god damn angry they are at me now? How many times I’ve had to explain why I didn’t stop you? Do you have any idea of the shit you’ve caused?”

So I guess I was wrong about how upset everyone would be. Thinking people would be relieved to hear from me. That maybe my own sister would ask if I was okay and tell me she missed me.

I think of a thousand times I wound up with my face ground into the living room carpet, Chris pinning me down with her knees, while my dad just laughed.

“Chris, tell everyone I’m fine. This is my big break. Don’t look for me, you won’t find me. I’ll be back some time in July.”

“Don’t you—”

I hang up. Then I shut the phone down.

I’m on my own.

*

Two days later, Mila and I are riding in the back of the studio’s limo. The partition is up so the driver can’t hear anything we say, though Mila has been on her phone the whole time.

I can see my reflection in the glass. It’s kind of an improvement. Mila sent over another outfit yesterday. A skirt and a long sleeved blousy thing. They fit better than that hideous dress. I spent a lot of the day practicing with a makeup kit she provided. It was a lot different than stage makeup, but the concept is the same. Emphasize and conceal. Foundation, some eye shadow, a little lipstick.

A pair of clip-on earrings. Longish hair failing free.

Add it all up and you get one ugly ass, awkward girl. Someone you won’t look twice at. Thank God.

I realize Mila’s call has ended and she’s smirking at me.

“Did you stuff your top?”

I glance away, embarrassed. Yes. In an episode I’d like to forget, I bought an extra large bra from a nearby plus-size store. It’s now crammed with hotel washcloths and cutting into my sides.

“You did! Goodness, you’re stacked.”

Well what the hell was I supposed to do? That thing I wore the other day was heavy enough to hide my figure, but now…I don’t want to talk about it.

Time to change the subject. “So tell me the plan.”

Mila’s still staring at my chest. “Good thing this is only for today. That left one’s shaped like the Pentagon.”

I cross my arms. “Just tell me what we’re doing.”

“You’re supposed to meet with Mr. Avery and the director. You’re going to come in all sobby and upset. Your poor mother just took a turn for the worse and you have to go home right away. Really lay it on like you did in your video. I’ve already booked your ticket home for the day after tomorrow. I’ll call that Hawaiian bimbo, and with any luck, we all get out of this unscathed.”

“Whee.”

Arms still folded, I look out the window.

“Hey, what’s your problem?”

Just that this was supposed to be the greatest summer of my life, and it ended before it began. But not without a little abuse and public humiliation first.

I’m not even going to meet Natalia Jenkins.

“Hey, look at me.”

I shouldn’t, but I obey. To my surprise, Mila actually looks sympathetic.

“You’re pretty disappointed, aren’t you? This was a big deal to you, wasn’t it?”

I consider arguing, but only nod. I wanted this so bad.

“Hey, it happens in this business. It happens a lot. And if you want to be an actor, you’re going to have to get used to it. You’re eighteen, right?”

Um, don’t go there. “Right.”

“Well, you’re still young. There’s still time.”

Easy for her to say. “You’re not that much older than me, and you’re already working on a show.”

She laughs. A surprisingly pleasant laugh. I’m kind of struck by how pretty she is, now that I’m not entirely terrified of her. Curvy figure. Long braided hair. Dark, dark eyes.

“Shannon, I fought and fought to get where I am. I did this through hard work and kicking ass. And I never once sat down and whined about how hard and unfair things were.”

It’s my turn to laugh. “You’re a liar.”

She takes this with good grace. “Okay, yeah. There were times I’m sure I was almost as bitchy as you. But this is just a setback for both of us. I don’t plan to give up.”

I’m a little buoyed by this. “Well, don’t forget about me.”

She glances at her lap, then back up at me. “Look, we have an office in Burbank that does an internship thing every summer. Next spring, why don’t you send in an application? I can pretty much guarantee you’ll be accepted.”

I want to hug her, until I remember she’s the one who took Becoming away from me. “Yes. That would be great. Thanks.”

“This is no plush job. You’d be fetching coffee, making copies, and any other menial thing they can think of. But you’d meet people and make connections. It’s a start.”

Not much of a start, but it is something. “Yeah. Mila, I’m sorry this didn’t work out.”

“Baby steps, kid. Now hop to it, we’re here.”

*

Just before we arrive at the conference room, we run into Michael. He’s rushing down the hall, carrying so many boxes of donuts that he has to steady the stack with his chin. He stops short when he sees us.

“Oh, hey Shannon. Hi…Mila.” He’s really smiling.

Mila returns the grin. “Hey, cutie. You been working out?”

He chuckles, almost unbalancing the boxes. “Not hardly. Hey, I heard they really liked the pitch you made on Tuesday.”

“Yeah, keep your fingers crossed. And keep that shirt on. A girl can only control herself so much.”

Mila’s certainly a lot friendlier with guys who aren’t me.

Michael gulps and laughs nervously. “I’ll see you around, Mila. Shannon.” He departs down the hall.

Mila shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

“So are you two…”

“What?” She snorts. “God, no. He just likes the attention. You know how it is with nerdy guys, you flirt with them a little and…”

She trails off, looking at me strangely. She then rapidly shakes her head and presses the heel of her hand to her forehead.

“C’mon, Shannon, they’re waiting. Just like we rehearsed.”

We’d gone over it in the parking lot. As soon as we entered the meeting, I was going to break down. My poor mother, who’d been doing so well, had just had a stroke. Mila was arranging for me to fly home. Sadly, I’d have to back out of doing the show, but Mila already had my replacement lined up. Mila’s so great, so understanding, she’s handling this situation so well. You would be lucky to have someone like her on your team.

I work up a few tears, mostly by thinking about how humiliating it’s going to be to fly home tomorrow and try to explain where I’ve been. I’ll leave out the crossdressing, of course. I follow Mila into the conference room.

The place is full. I recognize Mr. Avery. There are about a dozen other men and women seated around the conference table. Some are in suits, but most are dressed casually in slacks or jeans. All conversation stops when we enter. Everyone stares at Mila and me.

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Mr. Avery breaks it. “Ah, Miss Ferguson. Glad to have you with us. Can we offer you a pastry or a bottle of water?”

I stand there gaping like a newly caught fish. I kind of thought Mila would be taking the lead here, and now I’m too flustered to even answer the refreshment question. I knew I should have taken that improv class.

Mila clears her throat. “Um, there’s something we need to discuss—”

“Yes, yes,” says Mrs. Avery, glancing down at a binder. “I got your email last night. I think we have the schedule all sorted out. Miss Ferguson, would you take a seat please.”

A young woman in a pantsuit takes me by the arm and leads me to a chair. Mila scurries down beside me. The doors close.

“Ma’am, could you look this way for a moment?”

I turn and am shocked to see a movie camera facing me. A guy with a backward baseball cap stands behind it. “Just need to take a couple of shots, to help me know how to make the camera fall in love with you. Give me a smile.”

I force a nervous grin. “Great. Turn to your left.”

I turn. Mila is glaring at me. Time to speak up. “Excuse me, I have something I need to say…”

“If you don’t mind, Shannon, we’re in a bit of a time crunch.” The man who spoke, a guy with a long hipster beard and flannel shirt winks at me. “We need to get a lot of things nailed down today. Mila can help you sort out any questions you have after.”

Mr. Avery claps him on the back. “Shannon, I’d like you to meet the director of your segment, Harvey Lawrence.”

His face is unfamiliar, but I instantly recognize the name. “You directed that short film about the Sentinel Islanders! That was amazing work.”

This is evidently the right thing to say. Mr. Lawrence beams. “Good job finding this one, Mila. She’s a keeper.”

Mila tries to speak again. “Yes, about that—”

“All right,” says Mr. Avery. “Down to business. I have a 2:00 tee time…I mean, an important meeting.”

Everyone laughs at the boss’s joke, even Mila.

The pantsuited woman passes me a folder. “Let’s go over our schedule. Tomorrow, you’re going to be meeting Natalia Jenkins. She’s invited you to come to her home for lunch. She’s cooking, and believe me, she’s good at it.”

Natalia Jenkins has invited me to her home. She wants to make me lunch.

“If there’s time, she’d like to take you horseback riding. Did you know she has stables on her property?”

She’s spearheaded equine rescue efforts all throughout California. She owns three rescue horses, Snap, Crackle, and Pop.

“Let’s see, then on Tuesday, you’ll be going to the Los Angeles Zoo. Miss Jenkins sponsored the park’s new chimpanzee habitat, and you’ll be helping her with some publicity shots. You’re not afraid to get up close and personal with some animal friends, are you? Mila, see that she brings some boots.”

I’d get to actually meet the chimps? Childish, but that sounds like a lot of fun.

Mila tries to get her attention. “Actually, there’s a kind of a problem.”

The cameraman interrupts. “Shannon, tilt your chin up just a smidge. Great.”The woman continues. “On Thursday, weather permitting, we’re going to drive out to the Griffith Observatory and hike the trail. It’s a bit of a schlep, but the view from the top is amazing.”

I know. I’ve seen pictures. Before I arrived in Los Angeles, I’d planned to go there on my own if I could. And now Natalia wants to go with me.

“And for the rest of the time here, you’ll be on the set of Darkness in the Daytime. You’re going to be with Ms. Jenkins for nearly a month, learning from her, helping her, becoming her! And not just Ms. Jenkins. You won’t believe who else they’ve cast—”

“Excuse me!” Mila snaps, interrupting me daydream of being on the set with Natalia. The room falls silent. “I hate to interrupt, but Shannon has something important she needs to say.” She stares at me pointedly.

Oh. Yeah. Reality. No one here realizes Shannon Ferguson is a boy, and he is most certainly not invited to lunch, to the zoo, or to the movie set. In fact, he’d be invited right off the premises if they knew who he really was. So it’s time to leave my dreams behind. Forever.

I stand.

Goodbye, Natalia. It could have been beautiful.

Everyone is staring at me. Most of them look annoyed; it’s not my place to address the assembly. But if I hear about one more exciting thing I’m not going to get to do, I may cry.

“I…” No, let the tears come. It’ll help. “I received a call from my mother this morning. I mean, about my mother. I mean…she’s been kind of sick lately and—”

“Hope I’m not interrupting!” The doors fly open and a personality flutters in, followed by its owner.

It’s Natalia Jenkins herself. America’s longtime crush. Everybody’s favorite girl next door. The Hollywood queen who looks like your prom date and dresses like the checkout girl at your local supermarket. Voted ‘Most Beautiful Woman’ by both Hollywood Insider and The ACLU Newsletter.

And she’s not ten feet away from me.

Everyone stands. The cameraman nearly topples over as he zooms in on her.

“I was in the building,” she continues, in that distinctive Brooklyn twang that launched the career of the SNL actress who imitates her. “I heard our contest winner was in the house and wanted to say hi!”

She’s coming toward me. Smiling. She’s even more beautiful up close. I can see the slightly crooked teeth that she refuses to have fixed. The generous nose. The laughing eyes. Everything that makes her so normal and flawed and perfect.

“Hi there, you must be Shannon!” She extends her hand. “I’m Natalia, and I’m so pleased to meet you.”

Numbly, I reach out. I touch her hand. I shake it.

“Shannon, you look a little overwhelmed. Is everything okay?”

Natalia Jenkins is concerned about me.

The director answers for me. “I think our contest winner is feeling a little homesick. Missing her mother.”

And then Natalia Jenkins puts her arm around me. The same arm that’s embraced Chad Herrigton, Luis Ruiz, and Chico the baby polar bear, is draped around my shoulder.

“Oh, Shannon, I know exactly how you feel. When I first left New York I went to sleep crying nearly every night, missing my parents and my pop pop. You’re kind of feeling out of sorts, like nothing is how you thought it was going to be, am I right?”

You don’t know the half of it. I nod, numbly.

“Well Shannon, I think you’d be crazy if you didn’t feel that way. But let me tell you, we’re going to have the time of our lives this month. I’m going to make sure you have the most fun ever! Maybe it feels like you don’t have any friends in California, but you do have one. Me. I’m your friend now.”

Natalia Jenkins is my friend.

“Now are you going to give this a try? Be the actress I know you can be?”

There’s a loud noise as someone bangs their fist on the table. Without looking, I know it was Mila.

And now is the time when I quit. When I tell my new friend that it’s not nerves that are upsetting me, but that my poor, ill mother is on death’s door and I must rush home to be at her sickbed. That I cannot help Natalia with her movie or her good works or her horses. That this is the one and only time I’ll be with my idol. I have to help my mom.

Except my mom isn’t sick. She’s as healthy as a forty-year-old pack a day smoker can expect to be. And apparently she’s angry at me.

My whole family is always irritated with me. None of them ever offered to take me hiking or do volunteer work. I’ve never had a friend who was worried when I was sad.

“Shannon?” prompts Natalia and Mila at the same time.

I smile. I straighten my back. I look Natalia in the eye.

“I’m really looking forward to working with you, ma’am.”

“Please, call me Natalia!”

She pulls me into a brief hug. It almost shields me from the look of pure, animal rage I see on Mila’s face.

*

Miss Jenkins—Natalia—leaves immediately, and the meeting breaks up soon after. I follow Mila out to the parking garage. Neither of us speak. I can tell she has something to say, but wants us to be alone.

When we’re in the parking structure, she turns to me. I expect screaming, but she’s quiet. And smiling. It’s terrifying.

“Mila…”

“Do not speak. Shannon, I thought we had an agreement. In fact, I know we did. So would you mind telling me what was going through your head? Do you mind telling me why you decided to screw me, yourself, and the entire show?”

How can I explain what I don’t understand myself? “Mila, I was kind of star struck. All the things you were planning, all the nice things she said. I sort of forgot myself.”

Mila’s eye twitches. I’ve never seen that happen in real life. “And what are we supposed to do when filming starts? You can’t just march in and announce that you had a sex change over the weekend!”

“Well…maybe we won’t have to.”

She opens her mouth, then closes it. After a pause, she speaks. “Don’t even.”

“Hear me out. I mean, no one suspects the true state of things. So why not just keep up the illusion? You’d get to run the show the way you planned and I’d get to be on it.”

She just stares. She’s gone pale, for a Black person.

“I’m an actor. I can pull this off. She’ll never suspect, and neither will the viewers. And then, maybe in a few years, we can tell the world how I pulled off the role of a lifetime…or not,” I amend, when I see the look on her face.

Mila blinks hard, walks a few paces, and then comes back to me.

“Wow. I knew you were stupid, Shannon. Even when I first watched your video, I knew you didn’t have a lot going on upstairs. But this…wow. I mean, you think being a woman is all about the dress and makeup, don’t you? Just powder your nose, speak in a higher register, and voila, right?”

I’ve studied enough acting methods to know this is far from the case. “Mila, c’mon—”

“Shut up! Thanks to your little performance in there, I guess we’re committed. You want to play the girl’s part, well you got it. And I’m going to make sure you succeed. Because it’s my life hanging on the line there. The first time anyone suspects you have a dick in that skirt, neither of us will ever work again. You’re going to turn into a punch line. Every time someone googles your name, the first hundred results will be about how you like to wear dresses and pretend to be a farm girl. How’d you like that to come up at every audition and job interview for the rest of your life?”

The thought chills me. I’m already regretting my rash decision. It’s only my friend Natalia’s support that keeps me from panicking.

“No one will know the truth.”

“No, they won’t, Shannon. Because I’m going to make sure they don’t. Because I’m going to train you. Welcome to female boot camp, bitch. By the time I’m done with you, you’re going to look like a woman, talk like a woman, and act like a woman. Kiss your balls goodbye, you won’t be needing them any time soon. Now get your ass back to the hotel, I need to think.”

Her plans upset me, obviously. “Mila?”

“Go. Now.”

“How…how do I get back?” I have no car and no money.

She looks at me with a purely hateful expression. “You’re such a smart girl, you figure it out.”

She walks off, leaving me alone in the dimly lit garage.

Chapter Eight

“I don’t care how badly they hurt you.”

I sit alone in my hotel room, back in my male clothes, watching Cherokee Moon, the film that propelled Natalia to the national spotlight.

“I don’t care what you’ve gone through, or what you’ve lost.”

I can pretty much recite the dialogue from memory. I’m using the movie to try to forget how screwed I am.

“All I care about is here. Now. You. Me.”

When Natalia looked me in the eye at the studio and called me her friend, I could believe that anything was possible. But back here, alone, I doubt it.

I’m going to be found out. If not through my own stupid fault, then Mila’s going to rat me out, purely for spite. She gave me such an easy out. Why didn’t I take it?

“It’s going to be hard. It’s going to be impossible. But darling, is anything really impossible?”

And even if by some miracle, I did pull this off, what then? They’d air the episode. Everyone would see me, and it’s not like I could pretend that was a different Shannon Ferguson, who happened to look a lot like me.

God, everyone would see it. My friends…

Not that I have any, other than Natalia.

My family…

But do I really care what they’ll think? Do I really want to stick around and hear Chris make fun of me for the rest of my life?

“What counts is the here. And the now.”

There’s only one option. I have to tell Natalia the truth. I’ll let her know how I became trapped in this role. She’ll either help me escape or help me pass as a girl for the next month.

I bet she understands. She knows how these shows work. She’ll tell me what to do.

“Just me. And You. That’s all.”

She’s my friend, after all. She said so herself.

She’ll make this right.

*

The storefront is discrete. I’m thankful for that. Mila and I stand outside the beauty salon the next morning.

“I researched this place myself,” she tells me. “They’re supposed to be very good.”

Well, that is kind of a comfort. I mean, when you’re looking for a beautician specializing in male to female transformation, you don’t want to wind up with an amateur. But I’m not excited.

“Mila, what did you tell them when you made this appointment?”

She looks at me with almost sympathy. “That my friend, Shannon, is interested in presenting as female. That they need a new look, and some help with makeup and hair. Don’t worry, they won’t ask you any personal questions.”

I still make no move to enter. “But won’t they think that I’m…you know.”

“Transgender? Yes, they probably will. I imagine most of their clients are at least questioning their gender identity.”

I feel I need to make a stand. “But I’m not! I mean, I have no problem with transgender people. I totally understand their struggle. But—”

“Oh, you do, do you?” mocks Mila. “I’m sure they’re all breathing a sigh of relief that you approve of them and totally get them. Have you written a press release yet? I bet PFLAG and the Trevor Project are dying to know that the struggle is over.”

Did I ever really think I might have been friends with this woman? “Mila, I’m just saying I don’t want to go in there under false pretenses.” Somehow, I need for everyone to know that I’m not dressing like a female because I enjoy it.

Mila shrugs. “Here’s what I know, Shannon. Unlike you, the camera does not lie. And I don’t want to have to explain to Mr. Avery why the sweet little country girl I promised him has five o’clock shadow. Though I doubt that will be an issue with you, Peaches.”

I resist the urge to rub my mostly hairless cheeks.

“Look,” she continues. “You can tell them the truth, as long as you don’t mention the show’s name.”

I’m suspicious. “Really?”

“Sure. Just tell the beauticians that you landed a role on a TV show, but you have to dress as a woman in order to do it. And that the studio isn’t helping you with this, you have to do it on your own. That’s totally believable. They won’t think you’re just some guy who likes to wear panties but won’t admit it.”

God, I hate that smirk. “Do you have to make everything hard for me?”

“Oh, dear, am I not making things easy for you? I forgot that’s why I was placed on this earth, to serve Shannon Ferguson. Didn’t your great-grandfather own my great-grandfather?”

It’s obvious she’s not going to lay off. “Are you coming in with me?”

“I have some shopping to do. I’ll meet you when they’re done."

I wish Natalia was here. I move toward the door.

“Shannon?”

I turn.

“Remember: it’s just acting. You can make this as hard or as easy as you like.”

*

I’m not sure what I expected. The lobby is dimly lit and paneled. A sign hangs over the receptionist’s desk: This is a safe space.

Somehow, that makes me feel a little better. No one’s going to laugh.

I approach the slender brunette behind the desk. “Um…reservation for Shannon Ferguson?”

She smiles at me. I check out her jawline and adam’s apple. Then I’m instantly ashamed for doing that.

“Shannon? We have you down with Rochelle. She’ll be out in a moment. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

No, too late for that. I can’t sit in the comfy chairs or read the fashion magazines. I end up pacing the floor. The receptionist, bless her, doesn’t say anything, but I think I’m making her nervous.

Then again, I can’t be the first uncomfortable guy to come here.

“Shannon? Would you like to come with me?”

I turn to see the woman who must be Rochelle. She’s around fifty, buxom, with dyed auburn hair, excessive makeup and jewelry, and a friendly smile. I’d call her attractive. I’d call her stylish.

And I’d call her a man.

I know that’s not the correct thing to say. I know gender isn’t a state of body, but a state of mind. I know outward appearances have nothing to do with how one identifies (believe me).

But I can also tell that Rochelle wasn’t assigned female at birth. Her hands are too big. Her voice is too deep. Her jaw is too square. She chose to be a woman.

And strangely, that’s kind of a comfort. At least she obviously knows what she’s doing.

I follow her back through the doors and into a private room. It’s small, and aside from a sink, nearly every bit is filled with tables covered in makeup kits and mirrors.

It kind of reminds me of the green room behind the auditorium at my school. The place I spent hours helping the beautiful people get ready for their roles, as I sat in the back waiting for my turn to give my two lines as ‘farmer’ or ‘policeman.’

Rochelle indicates that I should sit. She settles herself in a chair opposite me, and crosses her legs. They’re covered in black hose, and whatever her gender, they’ve very nice. She places her chin on her knuckles and regards me. I wonder what she’s planning. I wonder if she dresses like this all the time, or just at work.

“Shannon, how old are you?”

“I’m eighteen,” I lie.

She looks at me, and I get the uncomfortable feeling that she knows I’m not telling her the truth.

“We’ll go with that. Honey, I don’t know why your friend brought you to me. And you don’t owe me any explanations. But I want you to know, you can tell me anything. And whatever you say, it won’t leave this room.”

I tried out for a reality show and I got accepted, but somehow they thought I was a girl, and so Mila was going to have me dress up as a woman a couple of times until I could bow out, but then I met my idol, Natalia Jenkins, and she said she wanted to be my friend and I kind of panicked and said I’d do the show, but she’s so nice I think if she knew the truth she’d help me, and my family is all pissed off at me for leaving home and now I have to come to you to give me a makeover.

“Thank you, Rochelle.”

Her smile broadens. She leans toward me. “So…what are we going to do today?”

*

I’m back there for two hours. Rochelle is a patient teacher. By the time we’re done, I have a good idea on how to hide what few whiskers I have, how to apply women’s makeup (as opposed to stage makeup), and how to paint my nails. She instructed me on how to shave my legs and armpits tonight.

But Rochelle isn’t just there as a life coach.

She shaped my eyebrows. They’re thin now, feminine. If I end up running back to Iowa, I guess I’m going to have to shave them off.

Same with my head. Rochelle gave me a haircut. A cute little bob, kind of like Natalia’s.

And she pierced my ears.

I stare at my reflection in the harsh light of the mirror.

I’m still ugly. I’m still awkward. I’m still dressed in my male clothes.

But I don’t look like a man.

Even with Mila’s never lying cameras, I don’t think anyone’s going to figure things out.

Rochelle stands behind me with a smile on her crimson lips. “Sweetie, you look great.”

I can’t stop staring at my reflection. I look like my own unattractive twin sister. “Thanks. For everything.”

“I enjoyed it. It’s fun working with younger clients. What I wouldn’t give to be your age again.”

I turn away from the mirror. “You look fine,” I say, and I mean it.

She flips her hair, which I’ve since realized is a wig. “I appreciate the sentiment, but that’s not what I meant. Let’s just say I wish I’d told the world about Rochelle when I was your age. You’re doing the right thing, being true to yourself now.”

She looks wistful. I wish I could offer her some encouraging words, but all I want to do is tell her that I’ve always been true to myself, and this Shannon, the one who’s dolled up in the mirror, is a lie.

“Thank you, Rochelle. I hope I can come back again. I think I’ll need your advice.”

“Any time, sugar.”

*

Mila is waiting in the lounge. I’m horrified to see that she’s carrying several bags from various clothing stores. I don’t think they’re for her.

She looks at me critically when I join her.

“Huh,” she says, after a moment.

Wordlessly, I follow her out of the shop.

Chapter Nine

Mila plays chauffeur again, driving me out to Natalia’s house on the day I’m officially supposed to meet her. Despite the nosedive my life has taken recently, I’m pretty excited about this.

Becoming does each introductory episode the same way. It’s always filmed at the celebrity’s home. And there’s always some sort of surprise waiting for the winner.

The kid who was shadowing pitcher Johnny Epstein was suddenly pulled into a softball game with Johnny and a bunch of retired Reds players. The girl who followed diva Chantal Stephens was treated to a makeover at an exclusive spa. And in the episode with death metal legend Ace Cooper, Ace pretended to be so out of it that he didn’t know why there was a camera crew in his living room.

Maybe he wasn’t pretending. Just say no, kids.

Now I already know what the surprise is (homemade lunch and horseback riding), but I’m still excited. In less than an hour, I’ll be knocking on Natalia’s door. And she’ll let me in. Because we’re friends. Natalia and Shannon…

“What the hell are you grinning about?”

As usual, Mila drags me screaming back to reality. She’s smirking at me from the driver’s seat. I stop daydreaming and adjust my skirt.

“Will you stop playing with your clothes already?” gripes Mila.

“Sorry, this is all kind of new to me.” It’s true. This skirt is shorter, it barely covers my knees. The breeze on my newly shaved legs makes it feel like I’m wearing nothing below the waist. My blouse buttons the wrong way. My new earrings irritate my skin. My shorter hair feels weird.

Worst of all is the mastectomy bra that Mila bought for me. It has realistic inserts. They’re supposed to look and feel like the real things. I wouldn’t know, not even from second hand experience.

“Look, honey, just act natural. Breathy voice. Don’t manspread. Stop messing with your bra straps. You’ll be fine.”

Yes, I will be fine. Because as soon as I get Natalia alone, I’m going to tell her my secret. And then she’ll help me plan the best course of action.

I’ll just have to catch her alone. Five minutes. That’s all I need.

We quickly leave the crowded city and move out to the country. Growing up in suburban Des Moines, where people live and die by the greenness of their lawns, the lack of greenery in L.A. had been making me edgy. It was nice to get out to the sun drenched hills of California.

Soon, we pass through the first of several security gates, each manned by a more and more official looking uniform. Mila’s I.D. and license plates are checked. I sit in terror, waiting for them to ask for my identification, but they never do, not even when they make Mila get out of the car while they radio someone. It’s not hard to see why they single her out. I’ll have a talk with Natalia about that, after I fix my own problems.

I recognize Natalia’s house from a magazine spread. Sort of. In the photos, her estate was nothing but solar panels and composting gardens. In real life, there’s a lot of parking lots and outbuildings that were cropped out of the article. We quickly pass through the final security checkpoint. This is it. My first (of many) TV appearance.

I’m a little disappointed when Mila doesn’t park in the large circle drive out front, but pulls around to a crowded lot in the back. I can’t tell if all the cars here belong to Natalia or people involved in the shoot, or what. I guess we need to do some sort of preparation before we ring the doorbell. Wait for the cameramen to set up.

Mila exits the car and I follow. To my surprise, she approaches a rear entrance, says something into an intercom, and enters when the door opens. She holds it open for me as an afterthought.

This is it. Today I’ll officially begin my friendship with Natalia Jenkins. Who knows what this could lead to? A break in the industry, a role in one of her movies, or…

I’m probably flattering myself. But Natalia is only twenty. And she once said that Staff Sergeant D’Angelo Jackson, that soldier whose face was maimed in Iraq, was the most beautiful man she’d ever met.

Of course the sergeant wasn’t wearing a padded bra and a skirt when he met her.

We enter a large staging room, where about a dozen people mill about. I recognize Mr. Lawrence, the director, and that same cameraman. And…Natalia.

She’s sitting in a makeup chair, reading a magazine, a towel around her head.

Why is she here? This isn’t how the show works, we’re supposed to meet at her front door. Of course, we’ve already met, back at the studio. Maybe they’re trying something different?

Mr. Lawrence corners Mila. No one else seems to notice that I’m here.

Maybe now’s my chance. Maybe I can ask Natalia if we can talk in private for a moment. Then I can tell her the truth. She can let me know if we should continue with the farce or demand that I participate in the show as the real me. I saw how everyone reacted to her at the studio. If she wants it, she’ll get it.

Timidly, still trying to get used to walking in a skirt, I approach Natalia. She doesn’t look up from her magazine, even when I clear my throat.

“Natalia?”

Her head rises. Her eyes focus on me.

She does not look happy. She does not look welcoming.

I’ve made a mistake. Maybe we’re not supposed to talk until the cameras are rolling. I’ve gone and blown the introduction scene! I’m such an idiot! I feel like I’ve walked into a surprise party half an hour early.

Fortunately, Mila saves me by grabbing my arm and dragging me away.

“You need to pay attention, Shannon.”

Mr. Lawrence hands me a piece of paper. “This is the script for today.”

I must have misheard. “Script?”

“Try to follow it closely, but you don’t have to repeat every word exactly. Just act natural.”

But…this makes no sense. This isn’t a scripted show. It’s supposed to be all spontaneous, real life.

“Wait…I don’t understand.”

Mr. Lawrence turns to Mila. “Can she handle this?” he asks, not whispering.

Mila playfully punches my arm. “Just a little stage fright. I’ll talk to her.”

“Hey Harvey!” shouts Natalia from across the room, with a giggle. “Get your butt over here!”

With a big smile, Mr. Lawrence leaves us.

I turn to Mila, confused. “But Becoming is ‘life as it happens,’” I say, quoting the show’s tagline. “Why would we need a script?”

Mila looks at me blankly for a second, then bursts into a peal of laughter. “OMG! Are you for real? Tell me you’re not serious, Shannon.”

“I…” Oh God. Have I really just been naïve?

“You’re not joking, are you? You really thought…oh, that’s too funny. But hey, it’s people like you who have kept us on the air all this time.”

She’s messing with me. That’s it. Okay, I guess it was dumb of me to think that everything was the first take and that none of these episodes had a little behind the scenes nudges from the director. But I don’t enjoy this peek behind the curtain. I look at the script.

NATALIA: (squeals in welcome)

GIRL: Miss Jenkins, it’s a pleasure to…

NATALIA (interrupting): Now none of this Miss Jenkins crap! Call me Natalia.

GIRL: (Laughs nervously)

NATALIA (takes girl by the hand): C’mon in! I hope you’re hungry.

Okay, this is a lot less unscripted than I expected. But this is just the opening scene. My episode will be an hour long. This part is probably only a few minutes of actual on screen time.

Mila tugs at my arm. “C’mon. Almost show time.”

We walk past Natalia and Mr. Lawrence, who don’t look at us, and into a large, gleaming kitchen. Two stagehands are arranging food on some plates, while another mixes something green in a blender.

Mila nods absently at the preparations. “Remember, they put a lacquer on the food so it shows up better on the camera, so don’t actually eat any of it. You can try that health shake if you want, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Natalia’s special macrobiotic recipe. I glance back to see the crewmember pour a bottle of lime Gatorade into the mix.

I’m ushered out the front door. The cameras are already set up, outside and inside the house. Mr. Lawrence soon joins us.

“Got that script memorized, Shannon? Great. We’re on in five.”

So is it all fake? Did I sell out my manhood, my family, and my future so I could play an empty-headed dingbat for a scripted reality show?

Has this summer somehow become even more disappointing? Have I ruined my life over nothing?

Mr. Lawrence instructs me to stand on the porch, which is almost as large as my living room at home. This is the final countdown.

“Ring the bell when I say go.”

All I have to do is take off my shirt and I’ll be on a plane home tonight.

I’d be that simple.

Mila is watching me. And for a moment, I think she knows what I’m considering. Realizes that she shouldn’t have mocked me. That she laughed at me when I needed a pep talk.

But I won’t do that. Natalia Jenkins is my idol and inspiration. She’s done so much good in this world. And I’m not going to give up a chance to work with her, not yet.

“Action!”

I press the bell, which I don’t think is connected to anything. Natalia bursts out the door, all smiles and giggles.

She looks so sincere.

“Miss Jenkins, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

*

It takes two hours to shoot about twenty minutes of real time events. Nothing but Natalia opening the door, inviting me to breakfast, and some seriously scripted banter. I also noticed the camera was on Natalia about ninety percent of the time. Not super surprising, the audience wouldn’t be tuning in to watch me. Still, it would have been nice to not be moved around like a prop.

We’re now in Natalia’s stables. At least, they look like stables from the outside. Inside, they appear to be a storage building for the grounds crew. While we’re preparing to ride, Natalia tells me all about her horse rescue efforts and the three mares she saved from abusive environments. She tells me this over and over again, facing a different camera each time.

There are a couple of horses outside the stables, but their handler calls them Scotty and Chester.

Not that I get to ride either of them. They make a big deal about how I foolishly wore a skirt to the shoot and would have to ride sidesaddle, but Natalia kindly loans me some riding pants. Embarrassingly, they’re too long. Everyone laughs as I slip getting into the stirrup and fall on my butt. They laugh each time I slip, over and over again, from different camera angles. By the time they’ve got all their shots, I’m getting kind of good at pratfalling.

I ask Mr. Lawrence if we’re actually going to get to ride the horses. He says they have plenty of footage of Natalia. If they need shots of me for some reason, they can use a body double.

And suddenly, it’s all over. Everything is packed up. Even the horses are loaded onto a trailer. Everyone is attending to their own business.

Except Natalia and me. I notice her slip off behind the stables and no one follows her. This is my chance to talk to her alone. To tell her the truth. To ask her for advice.

I quickly make sure Mila’s not watching me and I duck behind the building.

Natalia is looking at her phone. And she’s smoking.

I don’t know why this surprises me. All those PSAs she recorded for the Healthy Schools Initiative, but whatever. I almost laugh at the cliché of sneaking off for a smoke behind the barn.

She looks up and frowns. My words fail me.

“Yeah?” she asks, clearly not relishing my company.

“I…I just wanted to say…”

She makes a hurry up motion.

“I wanted to tell you…”

Her phone makes a noise. She looks at it and begins texting.

“I wanted to tell you how grateful I am to be working with you.”

She nods, distractedly. “You too, Sharon. Shannon.”

“Goodbye…Ms. Jenkins.”

Chapter Ten

I purposely sit in the back of Mila’s car on the drive back to the city. None of it was genuine. Just another scripted reality show, more slurry for the masses. I can’t believe I thought it was real. I can’t believe I thought Natalia was real.

It’s time to cut my losses. I’ll track down Rochelle, have her shave my head and do something with my eyebrows. I have enough money for that, and for a ride to the airport. My parents will buy me a ticket home. Hell, I don’t deserve a plane ride. I’ll go Greyhound.

Mila doesn’t try to talk to me. When we get to the hotel, she doesn’t drop me off at the curb, but parks. She swivels in her seat and faces me.

“Kind of hard, that first dose of reality, isn’t it?”

I don’t answer. She makes me feel like a chump who bought into the hype. Of course, that’s what I am, I guess.

Mila keeps talking. “I remember the first time it really hit me. It was last year. I had just started and they had me working with a certain actress…I’m sure you’d recognize her. And, well, one night I get this call to come to her hotel room. And when I get there…ah, I’m boring you.”

Actually, I’d been listening intently and Mila knows it. “Go on.”

“How about I tell you the rest over dinner?”

Dinner? Why is she being so nice to me all of a sudden? I’m not sure how I should answer.

“C’mon,” she insists. “I know you had a bad day, but the worst is over. At least for me. You’re doing the show and no one suspects. Let’s celebrate a little.”

I look down at my blouse. I really have no desire to go out like this. “Maybe some other night.”

“I’m not taking no for an answer. C’mon, there’s a restaurant in the hotel, right? We’ll go there. Have a drink with me. I’ve got some good stories. Or maybe you don’t want to hear who I caught in the hot tub with Mr. Lawrence. Spoiler alert, it wasn’t Mrs. Lawrence.”

“How can I say no to that?”

Actually, it’s not the gossip that entices me. It’s that I worry Mila suspects I’m going to run off. Which is probably why she wants to keep me in her sights. Well, I’m hungry and I’m not in the mood to try to ditch her. I’ll wait until her guard is down.

She holds the car door open for me. As I walk beside her, she stops me with a touch on my arm.

“Put one foot in front of the other.”

I’m not sure if this is life advice, or what.

“I mean, directly in front of the other one,” she clarifies. “You walk like a guy. Watch me.”

She trots up and down the sidewalk in front of the hotel. Like any good student of the theater, I observe her. She’s right. Her feet don’t move side by side, but one in front of the other.

“Now you.”

“Mila, I’m tired.”

“Do you want to be an actress or not?”

“An actress? No.”

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean. Now walk.”

With a whiney sigh, I obey.

“C’mon, head up. Chest out. Show off the goods. Oh, don’t give me that look, I paid for those knockers. There, you got it! Work it, girl!”

I can’t help it. I laugh.

“Can we go in already?”

*

I’ve been living off room service sandwiches for the past few days, so it’s nice to eat out, my varnished breakfast notwithstanding. The hotel restaurant is kind of a ritzy place, and I’m very aware that I’m still wearing Natalia’s too long riding pants.

The place is crowded. I hear the maitre d quote a half hour wait. Mila pulls me aside.

“Lesson number two. Men like to impress women. Go flirt with that guy, get us the next available table.”

“Um…hell no.”

“C’mon, Shannon. It’s one of the perks of the sisterhood. Bat those big cow eyes. Pout those liver lips. Maybe don’t talk too much.”

I’m pretty sure she’s not serious. “Let me put it this way: hell no.”

She shakes her head. “You need me to show you how it’s done? Fine. Watch and learn, kid.”

Mila checks her makeup in her mirror, fixes her hair and adjusts her clothes. Again, I’m kind of struck at how cute she is, in a frightening and intimidating way. She sashays over to the desk. The person manning it, a broad shouldered guy in his twenties, looks up.

“Hey, big guy. Table for two please. And my friend made me promise not to tell you this, but she says she’s hankering for some beefsteak, and I don’t think she meant the Kansas City strip.”

Mila waves at me. I want to run into traffic.

The guy gives me a tolerant smile. “Twenty minutes, maybe a half hour.”

Mila leans in. I can’t see her face, but I can picture her warm smile and friendly eyes as she examines his name tag. “Ah, Ben, we’re kind of in a rush. Do you think you could…” She reaches over and touches his arm. “Damn, boy, do you work out?”

Ben smiles wanly at the same stupid line she used on Michael. “A little.”

“A little, he says. You got a license for those guns?”

He shrugs. “Well, my husband and I like to lift together.”

There’s a long pause. Mila stands there, I think because she doesn’t want to see me smirking at her.

“Half an hour, you said?”

*

It takes us twenty minutes to get a table. Then right when Mila’s name is called, she tells me she has to step out.

“I’ll be back in a bit, Shannon. Go ahead and order without me. Just bill it to the room, NBS is covering the tab.”

I’m more than a little annoyed. “Coming here was your idea. I’ll just eat in the room.”

Mila cocks her head. “It’s just dinner. Were you this insecure in Iowa?”

“I didn’t have boobs in Iowa.”

She shakes her head. “Get used to it. Look, I’ll only be gone ten minutes. Just chill, okay?”

And she’s gone. Once again, I’m alone.

“Miss?”

Dinner alone. Then back to my hotel room, alone.

“Miss?”

My family is probably having dinner right now. Mom or dad might be at work, but one of them would be home with Chris, eating and asking about her day. Maybe speculating about where I am.

Or maybe not.

“Miss!”

I suddenly realize that the waiter is speaking to me. I’ll have to get used to that. I plaster on a fake smile and follow him.

I order the cobb salad. Not because it’s low in calories and I’m watching my girlish figure. And not because I think it would be more fitting with my character.

It’s because I cannot bring myself to spend more than $30 on a meal. I just cannot. I know the network is paying. I know I could order the t-bone and probably some fancy wine and no one would bat an eye.

But here’s the thing. My family does not eat out. I mean, we’ll grab McDonalds every now and then, or go to Applebee’s for Mom’s birthday, but these restaurants with tablecloths and fifteen dollar appetizers are just not something we do. Ever.

So I pick at my food and think about my options. The sane choice, of course, is to hop on a bus and go home. The thing is, the idea feels a lot less attractive than it did an hour ago.

I’m angry. There was no call for Natalia to be that rude and dismissive of me. Maybe she was having an off day or something, but she could have taken the time to talk to me.

It’s kind of funny, but acting like a girl is just a role, after all. I mean, kind of a long term one, but still. Imagine what would happen if I actually went through the whole show like this and then told the world what had happened after the episode aired? Talk about your publicity! Talk about your method acting.

I could never do that of course. Not without Natalia’s help. I’d been depending on that. But still, I could probably count on a few auditions afterward if I was really willing to go the distance. Really make female Shannon memorable. Someone who stole the spotlight. Someone who even outshone Natalia Jenkins who never even smiled at me off camera.

It’s an impossible scenario. I’ll slip up, somehow. Mila’s confidence aside, I’ll screw this up. Or if I revealed myself afterwards, the show would sue me. And of course, I’d have a hard time convincing people that I spent the summer living as a woman for pure character development.

The dream has died. Natalia rammed that home today. I’ll call home after Mila…

There she is. I see her out in the lobby, just as I’m looking at the check. Only she’s not coming to join me. She’s headed for the hotel’s front door, pulling her suitcase. She must be checking out.

Except she’s not staying here.

That’s my suitcase she has.

That’s my suitcase!

I think I accidentally add an extra zero to the tip line as I scrawl my signature on the check, then dash out of the restaurant.

Mila is at the front curb. The valet has brought her car around and I catch her just as she slams her trunk shut, my suitcase inside.

“What the hell are you doing?” I bellow.

“Watch the voice, Shannon. You almost sounded like a man there.”

There are people hanging around so I can’t just wrestle the keys out of her hand. “Are you throwing me out of my room or something?”

She laughs. “God, no. It’s prepaid, I told you that. And meals are on us, order all the room service you want. You can charge some delivery food to the room, too.”

I shake my head to clear it. “Then what in the holy hell are you doing with my bag?”

She glances at her car in surprise as if she hadn’t realized I’d want an explanation. “Well, it occurred to me that a fussy girl like you might decide to bail on us. So I liberated your clothes and things.”

I’m nearly quaking. “And things?”

“Your ID, your phone, your wallet…well, everything, really. I’ll have them shipped to you when all this is over.”

Breathe, Shannon, breathe.

“Mila, this isn’t okay.”

She’s not even listening. “Call it a security measure on my part. I don’t want you calling mommy and daddy to come get you. I don’t want you hopping on a plane. You did good today, back at the ranch. And you’re going to keep it up for the rest of the month.”

“I’ll call home collect. They’ll wire me money to come home.”

“How will you claim it with no ID?”

I’m starting to panic. “I’ll get it replaced. People lose them all the time.”

“Yeah, have fun dealing with the DMV. You might as well finish the shooting. It’ll be quicker.”

“I’ll—”

She just smirks. “Look, I guess if you really wanted to, you could get home. Go back to Shitball Iowa with that haircut and your pierced ears and some Salvation Army clothes and try to pretend like none of this happened. But I’m going to make it hard for you. I made sure the hotel cut off your wifi and you have no privileges in the business center. No credit at the hotel shops. No cash, unless you want to try panhandling wearing Ms. Jenkins’s pants. I’m not going to tell Mr. Avery that we have to retool the entire episode because the contestant I begged for bailed in the middle of the shoot.”

“But…”

“No. I gave you an out. All you had to do was pretend your mother was sick. But you got all doe eyed over Ms. Jenkins. Tell me, Shannon, how’s that working out for you?”

I open my mouth, but I have nothing to say. She’s right. Heartless bitch or not, I brought this on myself.

Mila half smiles and takes out her keys. “I have to go. Just remember, I don’t have to be your enemy.”

Cowed and miserable, I still have to argue that point. “I’ll never be your friend.”

She opens the car door, then pauses to smile at me. “At last we agree on something.”

Chapter Eleven

I spend two hours in the bathroom the following morning. Legs, smoothly shaved. Face, shaved twice. Eyebrows newly plucked. Through trial and error (and a lot of hairspray), I manage to recreate the hairstyle Rochelle made for me. I retouch my nails.

Then, wrapped in a towel, I paint my face. Foundation. Blush. Line the eyes. Fluff the lashes. I try on several shades of lipstick. I wipe everything off and begin again. This is not like theater makeup, not by a long shot. But with a lot of practice, I think I get it right. Or less wrong.

I slide into my bra. I try on several outfits from the wardrobe Mila has left. Since we’re going to the zoo, I go with some slacks, a sleeveless sweater, and the boots I was warned to wear. I grab my purse and look at myself in the mirror.

Average looking. Too much of a brow, too much of a jaw, and no figure at all.

But that’s a woman staring back at me. At least that’s what the world will think.

The room phone rings. The car the studio sent around is waiting for me.

Mila is going to play it like that, huh? Fine. She wins. I’m in for the long haul.

But I’m not going to do it on Mila’s terms. I’m not going to be her little puppet who obeys from fear. And I’m not going to bow and scrape before the great Natalia Jenkins, drooling at the chance to be in her shadow.

I’m an actor. This is a role. And I’m going to blow everyone away.

And when the show airs, I’ll have proven myself. Mila will pay me back. I’ll see that she does. And if she won’t play ball, I can come out to Mr. Avery and Mr. Lawrence. Even Natalia. Show them what a great actor I am, and how I went the extra mile to make their show a success. They’ll all owe me if they expect me to keep my mouth shut.

Maybe they’ll be pissed off. Maybe I’ll never work in Hollywood again. Maybe this is career suicide.

But maybe not. Maybe I can show everyone that I can do anything, fill any role, handle any script. And keep a secret.

I’m going to make the most of this.

They say all publicity is good publicity.

I’m going to find out.

Stopping a moment to adjust my tits, I head for the door.

*

The studio car takes me to a staff-only entrance to the Los Angeles Zoo. I’m instructed to enter a sort of office building, far from the public area. I find our staging area. Natalia isn’t visible at the moment, but I see Mr. Lawrence and other familiar crew members.

And I see Mila.

I’m not going to avoid her. I trot right over.

One foot in front of the other, just like she instructed.

“Hey, Shannon.” She holds up two Starbucks cups. “I didn’t know what you liked. Regular or decaf?”

I just stare at her. She robs my hotel room and now she’s bringing me drinks? No.

“There’s, um, hot chocolate if you like…”

I walk right past her, toward the director.

“Mr. Lawrence? Good morning! So what’s in store for us today?”

*

The shoot goes predictably. Natalia arrives about ten seconds before we start shooting, dressed like she’s about to go clubbing rather than take care of animals. Zoo employees, who spend their days shoveling animal crap and getting bitten and scratched, fall all over themselves to make her comfortable, to show her this or that. I follow along, imitating the great one.

One foot in front of the other.

But today, I am not a prop. The episode may be titled Becoming: Natalia Jenkins, but Shannon Ferguson is there too. Natalia makes faces at the gorilla through the glass. I pay attention to the zookeeper’s instructions and look away from the ape as a sign of respect. The gorilla places its palm on the glass and I follow suit. I’m sure Natalia would have loved to have been in that shot.

Natalia brushes the water buffalo for as long as it takes to get a good shot. I listen to the handler’s instructions and help him clean its teeth. It sneezes on me, covering me in buffalo boogers. But it’s kind of hilarious and is captured on camera.

I just laugh. I’m versatile. I can work under difficult conditions.

Natalia cuddles the adorable baby koala. I listen to the zookeeper, who’d been repeatedly ignored by Natalia, discuss habitat loss. Ask a few questions. Make a few points of my own.

I’m not here to look good. I’m here to help. To learn. I’m not just a pretty face (obviously).

It’s all going to end up on the cutting room floor. No one cares about Shannon Ferguson, not when Natalia Jenkins is in the room. But when they edit me out, they’ll be losing quality footage. And maybe more of me will stay in the finished product.

And then it happens. Right when we’re packing up to leave.

Natalia is sitting in a chair in some manager’s office, recording a spiel for the World Wildlife Fund. Half the crew has gone home. The door behind her opens. In comes a zoo employee, a young skinny dude with a lazy eye. He’s carrying a four-foot-long rat snake.

Natalia doesn’t notice. I glance over at Mr. Lawrence to see how he reacts to this intrusion. He nods to the man and gestures at Natalia. He’s planned this in advance.

The snake handler sneaks up behind Natalia. And without warning drops the serpent around her shoulders.

“So log on to wwf.org to….YAAAAAAAAA!”

That was not a stunned scream, or a hammy scream. That is the scream of someone who is very afraid of snakes.

“Get it off me! Get it off me!” Natalia, her eyes almost as huge as her screaming mouth, leaps from her chair. She’s gesticulating and flailing so wildly the zoo guy can’t get near her. We all glance at each other, waiting for someone to do something.

“GET IT OFF ME!” Real tears. The snake, frightened, has coiled itself around her arms and is hissing. This does not calm her.

She’s going pale. She wobbles.

I leap to my feet. I grab her by the shoulders.

“Natalia, don’t move. Look at me. Look at me!”

She focuses her wide, terror-filled blue eyes on me. I think she wants to cry, but is too scared.

I carefully reach out and snag the snake under its head. With my other hand, I unwind it from her arms and neck. It coils around my own arm. I release its head and it just kind of hangs there.

Natalia collapses into the chair, hyperventilating. Not everyone does well around snakes, and I can’t believe Mr. Lawrence would think a prank like this was funny.

Mr. Lawrence, in fact, does not look amused. “What the hell were you thinking?” he bellows at the snake guy.

“But you told me—”

“Get him the hell out of here. Now!”

A crewmember grabs the hapless zoo employee by the arm and hustles him out the door. I hope he doesn’t lose his job over this.

Natalia has come back to herself. She turns to the cameraman. “Get rid of it. All of it. I mean it.”

“Do you want to try the commercial again?”

She angrily shakes her head. Staggering to her feet, she rushes from the room, supported by her makeup artist.

And with the focus gone, everyone turns their attention to me, standing in the middle of the floor, holding the now docile animal.

“Um, they’re really nothing to be afraid of. It’s a rat snake. They’re not poisonous, they don’t bite unless they’re provoked.” As if on cue, the snake slithers up my arms and seems to look curiously at my face.

I think back to my 4-H training. “Rat snakes are really very helpful. Like the name says, they feed on rats and mice and other vermin.”

“How do you know so much about snakes, Shannon?” asks Mr. Lawrence.

“Oh, you learn a thing or two about nature in Iowa. Plus my sister loves to catch them and drop them down my shirt.” I notice that the camera is trained on me. “Hi, Chris!”

A woman in zoo khakis enters with a canvas bag. I unwind the snake and place it inside. Not sure if the camera is still rolling, I still can’t resist hamming it up a bit. “To learn more about our reptile friends, visit the Los Angeles Zoo today!”

The cameraman gives me a thumbs up. Mr. Lawrence smiles. “Good work, Shannon. Thanks for helping out. Very cool in a crisis.”

“Thank you, sir.”

As I head out to the car, I smile. And that, ladies and gentleman, is how to grab an audience. Even if Natalia Jenkins is in the room.

*

Mila catches me before I leave the zoo. She holds something out to me. A purse.

I’ve only been a woman for a week, but even I can tell it’s a battered, secondhand thing. Is this some kind of peace offering?

She flips it open before thrusting it into my hands. Inside are my cell phone and wallet.

“I’m sorry, Shannon. I went too far. That wasn’t right.”

Wow. This may be the first time she’s ever shown genuine regret. And I know, after everything she’s forced me through, it’s the only time she’s ever apologized to me.

I take the purse and walk away.

“You did good back there,” she calls after me.

I turn.

“With the snake,” she continues. “I told Mr. Lawrence that wasn’t a good idea, but he thought it would be funny. Something cute for the outtakes reel.”

I shrug and keep walking.

“Hey! I’m trying to be nice here.”

I whirl. “Good for you, Mila.”

She quickly closes the distance between us. “What do you want from me, huh? I’m trying to tell you that you handled yourself well today. You really stepped up.”

Where was this encouragement a few days ago, when I really needed it? “Thanks,” I snap. “Though I’ve been stepping up all week, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Her eyes take on the familiar hardness. “It’s not all about you, Shannon. I’ve fought and wrecked myself to get where I am. You’re just…” She trails off.

“I’m just what?” We’re standing close now. Less than a foot apart.

She looks like she’s about to backtrack, then changes her mind. “This is just a vacation for you, but it’s my career.”

I take a step back, trying to calm down. “A vacation? No, Mila, this was my shot! My break! My one chance! And now, thanks to your screw up, I have to go back home and not even tell anyone I was on TV.”

She smirks. “You know what you look like to me, Shannon? A rube. A well-scrubbed, hustling rube with a little taste. You’re not more than one generation from poor white trash, are you? What’s your father do? Is he a farmer?”

I’m shocked. “Wow.”

“Truth hurt?”

“No, it’s just that you stole that from Silence of the Lambs. I mean, like word for word.”

She opens her mouth, but doesn’t say anything. She didn’t expect me to catch that. I take the advantage.

“And I guess I’m not the only one trying to escape their past. How about you? Did you grow up here in Los Angeles, Mila? Did you have to keep your head down and your eyes open on the way to school? How many classmates wound up as chalk outlines? How many neighborhood boys went to the lockup? And you, you just dreamed of that other world.”

She cocks her head. “And you stole that from ‘Requiem for a Player’.”

Damn. “I’m not wrong, though, am I?”

She laughs. “You got me, Shannon. Poor little Black girl, trying to make it in the rich people’s world. But let me tell you something. I’m your only ally here, so stop acting like you don’t need me. You do.”

While I try to think of a comeback, a car honks at us. As I turn to get out of the road, I realize a limousine is pulling up next to us. And not one of the generic ones the studio owns. This is sleek and well cared for. The passenger window rolls down and Natalia Jenkins sticks her head out.

“Hey, Iowa! Good show today. Where did you learn to handle snakes like that?”

I return her smile. “My cousins live in the country. Kind of second nature to me.”

“Well thanks for having my back. Harvey Lawrence just thinks he’s so funny, so edgy. I’ll see you at the next shoot. We’re going to have fun!”

I wave as her car pulls away. Then, with a subtle nod and cruel smile to Mila, I go off to find my own ride.

Chapter Twelve

When I return to my hotel room, there’s a message from Mr. Avery waiting for me at the front desk:

Looks like rain tomorrow, so we’re going to have to put the kibosh on the trip to the Observatory, at least for a while. We’ll start filming again on Monday, Mila will have the details. Take some time to do some sightseeing or something.

I’m disappointed about not being able to go on that hike. But more than that, I’m disappointed by the prospect of a day and a half on my own.

Even with my wallet back, I have less than a hundred dollars in cash, and that’s going to have to last me all month. If I hadn’t smarted off to Mila, she might have floated me a loan. Too late for that now.

I try to power up my phone to see if anything is going on in the neighborhood, but it’s dead and I don’t have the charger. And either Mila still has it or housekeeping accidentally threw it away, because it’s not here. Probably for the best.

So…thirty-six hours of TV it is. Here in Los Angeles. City of Angels. City of dreams.

This is my first time west of the Rockies. And I’m just going to sit around a hotel room.

Not that I can go out. Mila still has my boy clothes. And I can’t very well be seen coming and going as myself anyway. Nope, I’m just going to take it easy here in my room. See what’s on the tube. Practice my stage presence

Half an hour later, I’m walking out of the lobby. I’m still in girl mode and then some. Mila left me mostly skirts and blouses and dresses. I mean, women wear jeans and t-shirts, right? I guess she didn’t want my disguise to fail.

So now I’m all dolled up like I’m ready to hit the nightclubs. But I don’t care. I can’t sit alone in that room with my thoughts.

Just a cup of coffee or two. A magazine. A couple of hours of people watching. No one will notice me. I deserve this.

I find a little hole-in-the-wall place. An indie coffee shop.

We didn’t have these in my little slice of suburban hell in Des Moines, at least not near where I live. In my house, coffee was something you drank in the morning, not in the afternoon, and if you wanted to go out for some, there was a place where you could get an Egg McMuffin at the same time.

I brace myself, then stride through the door. The aroma of coffee beans overwhelms me. The tables are small. The chairs are mismatched. A cat dozes in the corner. About a dozen customers talk, read, and work on laptops. Though no one is playing, a small stage contains microphone stands and speakers.

I approach the counter with false confidence. I’m about to order a black coffee when I realize I’m not here with Chris or my father and I can order a damn mocha latte if I want. And I do want.

There’s a stand filled with random coffee table books. I grab a photography journal, sit on a well worn loveseat, and sip my drink.

It’s cozy in here. My drink is sweet and filling. And if I started coming here every couple of nights, I’m guessing that I could meet people and make friends. Get a job somewhere. Find some roommates and live here full time.

This is the life I’ve dreamed of for years.

I cross my legs and glance down at my smooth calves and sensible shoes.

There’s just one tiny catch.

*

Today we start filming Darkness in the Daytime. Well, Natalia starts filming. I get the impression they’ve actually already started. But I get to watch. And maybe participate a little.

The studio car drives me to the soundstage where I’m met by a guard who leads me inside. I have to admit, I glance around for any faces I might have seen on the big screen.

When I’m led into the green room, I’m a little surprised at how small it is, compared to our past locations. Then I realize that this is the work space for Becoming. The prep area for the movie would obviously be much larger.

Mr. Lawrence sits at a table with Mila. They’re going through some papers and I’m pleased to see he seems annoyed with Mila. They look up when I walk in.

Mr. Lawrence frowns at me and my smile dies on my lips. “You’re lucky they didn’t start without you.”

I swallow the ‘what?’ on my lips and respond with a more feminine ‘I’m sorry?’

“I needed to talk to you this morning, but you weren’t answering your cell. You can’t really afford to do that, Shannon, we’re on a schedule.”

He’s not happy, and I can’t really explain why I’m avoiding talking to my parents. “I’m terribly sorry. I left that phone at home. The contract says I’m to stay away from social media while I’m here and I wanted to avoid the temptation.”

For a second I think he’s going to get angry, but suddenly he laughs. “Are you hearing this, Mila? Shannon, you may be the first kid who actually read that contract, let alone tried to follow the rules! It’s nice to know you can listen to directions. I knew you’d be easy to work with. Mila, can you believe this girl?”

Mila stares at me icily. “A real peach, this one.”

Mr. Lawrence shakes his head. “Go pick her up a disposable one. Actually, buy her one of those new Cyborgs. And tell publicity, let them figure out how to place it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, and Shannon, we can’t send the car for you anymore, so take a taxi or an Uber, okay? Just charge it to your NBS card.”

I look at him, not understanding. He whirls on Mila.

“You did get her a company charge card, right?”

She swallows. “I wasn’t aware that—”

“Damn it, Mila, this is your responsibility. Just give her yours for now.”

I think Mila is about to object, but stops herself. She opens her purse and pulls out a charge card with the studio’s name on it.

“You can use that for meals and such, too. But don’t go buying a bunch of souvenirs though, they do monitor it. Try to limit it to, say, $200 a day.”

I swallow. That’s about half of what my mother earns in an entire week.

Mr. Lawrence has already returned to his papers. “Mila, go tell Aaron I need to see him. And grab me another coffee while you’re up.”

With angry dignity, Mila walks to the door, not glancing at me. But Mr. Lawrence isn’t through.

“Shannon, can she get anything for you?”

I know I should decline, but I can’t resist. “Yes please. Coffee, half caf. Two sugars.”

Mila’s smiles at me as she leaves, but her knuckles are clenching white. I feel a little guilty, but not much. And I’ll have to remember not to drink that coffee, which I’m sure will be liberally seasoned with Mila’s spit.

*

Despite Mr. Lawrence’s sense of urgency, Natalia doesn’t show up until half an hour later.

Everyone stands when she walks in, as if she’s a religious figure or royalty. Which, I suppose she is. She immediately heads for the coffee urn. Three crewmembers rush to fetch her a drink.

I wonder what it’s like. To be in your early twenties and to have your face on the cover of every magazine. To have millions of dollars. To have fans groveling at your feet. To be the fantasy of every teenage guy in the US.

To have a teenage guy pretend to be a teenage girl just to work with you.

I approach Mr. Lawrence. “Do you have today’s script?”

“No script today. You’re going to go through makeup with Natalia.”

“And then?”

“That’s all. The big movie makeup routine. Smile a lot. Maybe giggle. Let me hear you giggle.”

I giggle.

“Just smile. Look, Shannon, you’re obviously a talented young lady, but remember, every girl in America would love to be in your shoes. It’s okay to act a little awestruck.”

Kiss ass. Got it.

Natalia throws her cup in the trash. “So are we doing this today, or what?”

Everyone jumps to attention. Natalia nods at me, but doesn’t smile.

*

Natalia and I sit side by side in makeup chairs, wearing identical white bathrobes. Changing clothes had been kind of harrowing for me. I think I offended the female wardrobe person when I asked her to leave the room when I put it on, but I couldn’t very well have her seeing me topless. I have the robe cinched up tighter than a straitjacket.

Though I’ve worn makeup for my previous two appearances, I’m supposed to act like this is all new to me. I ponder asking Natalia for advice, but although she’s laying back less than two feet from me, I know better than to speak to her without permission.

The cameras fire up. Mr. Lawrence shouts ‘action.’ Like flipping a switch, Natalia’s face goes from sullen and annoyed to bubbly and friendly.

And I turn on my Iowa hick persona. We’re both actors, after all. And we do it well.

An older woman named Madge does our makeup. I act like it’s the most exciting thing that’s ever happened to me since River City got ‘lectricity.

I’m worried when Madge uses wipes to remove the cosmetics that I put on that morning. Will anyone read me?

Foolish me, the camera stays pointed at Natalia. My own makeup is kind of an afterthought.

I’m reminded of my sophomore year production of Little Abner. I killed in the audition for Senator Phogbound, but the role went to Derek Hinds, a basketball player who decided he wanted to be in the musical. I ended up working as the prompter, feeding him the lines he was too busy to memorize.

I had them memorized.

When we’re finished, the camera finally points to me for more than five seconds. It’s because Natalia has her arm around my shoulder, our cheeks pressed together.

“Sisters!” she giggles. I can tell she’s giving me the rabbit ears.

I smile and smile and smile.

And then it’s over.

Natalia leaves without a goodbye. Mr. Lawrence tells me they’re done with me for the day, but to help myself from the craft services table.

And that’s it. As I head to the changing room, I feel a hand on my arm. It’s Madge, the makeup artist.

“Shannon, is it? May I have a word?”

“Um, okay.”

Madge looks around the room, but we’re alone now. I’m getting nervous, what does she want?

“I know it’s not any of my business,” she begins.

Oh shit.

“And if I’m overstepping myself, just tell me. But when I was doing your makeup, well, I couldn’t help but notice something.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. She knows. She read me. Why wouldn’t she? She’s like Rochelle, skilled in covering things up and creating illusions.

“Maybe you know what I’m talking about?”

Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to be blackmailing me or wanting to out me. But then why mention it? I’m too flummoxed to answer. She continues, shyly.

“Shannon, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Lots of girls have a bit of a problem with facial hair. And honestly, if I hadn’t been so close, I wouldn’t have noticed.”

Wow. Years of shaving when I didn’t need to, scanning my skin with my mom’s magnifying mirror, that humiliating time Chris caught me drawing on a mustache with an eyebrow pencil, and nothing. But the first time I don’t want whiskers, someone notices.

“Like I said, it’s none of my business. But I heard you talking about how you wanted to be an actress. It’s a detail like that that can cost you a role. Just some friendly advice, you might want to invest in a waxing kit or visit an electrologist.”

I breathe an internal sigh of relief that I haven’t been figured out. “Um, thank you. Yes. I’ll do that.”

Madge tilts her head. “You have such a, um, distinct face. I just want you to have every advantage.”

*

I change back into my skirt (and am disgusted with how second nature that’s becoming). As I try to figure out the way out of the studio, I spot Michael, the goofy intern.

When he recognizes me he waves.

“Shannon! How did it go?”

It is actually nice to have someone talk to me.

“Not bad. They did my makeup today.”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Looks good.”

I’d actually washed off the stage makeup and reapplied my cosmetics, but I don’t tell him this.

“So are you going to watch the filming?” he asks.

“Filming?”

“Darkness in the Daytime,” he says, excitedly. “They’re doing the coffee shop scene today. C’mon.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I follow him down several corridors, then stand behind him as he shows his ID and leads me on to a sound stage. Even though I know what’s coming, I’m still a little overwhelmed. The lights, the microphones, all the behind the scenes hustle, fully visible in front of the little stage set to look like a cozy, New York City coffee shop.

Michael leads me to the back of the room, to some seats behind the cameras and crewmembers. I’m surprised to see Mr. Lawrence and Mila back here with us observers. Of course, this isn’t Becoming. It’s a movie and they’re not officially involved.

“Pretty, impressive, huh?” asks Michael. “Did you know that shots like this aren’t usually filmed in real restaurants?”

“I did know that, actually.”

“Now this isn’t the beginning of the film. More toward the middle. You see, they don’t film movies in chronological order.”

Wow. “Yeah, I know.”

“They’re going to try to shoot all the scenes here at once. It’s a lot easier this way.”

“Yeah, I get it.”

“Now you see over there? That’s a boom mic…”

Fortunately, shooting begins before he explains what the boxy things with the lenses are. The scene, which probably only represents four minutes of actual screen time, is mostly of Natalia’s character having an upset phone call in the coffee shop. We watch quietly as she distractedly orders her drink while reacting to a text message.

I’m not focusing on her, but on the actress playing the barista. She has two lines. She’ll stand here all day, unnoticed, and it’s entirely possible her bit will be cut.

How many people did this woman have to beat to land a role in a Natalia Jenkins movie? To have her name in the credits? To be listed in the IMDB in the Darkness in the Daytime entry? Will this be her one time on screen? Will she constantly pop this movie in for her guests to show them how she was in a real life movie once?

Would she jump at the chance to trail Natalia Jenkins for a month? Even if it meant dressing as a man?

Whenever there’s a break in shooting, Michael ramps up his monologue about filmmaking. I can’t say I blame him, if I worked here, I’d want to impress people with my insider knowledge. Of course he hadn’t told me a thing I don’t already know.

I glance over at Mr. Lawrence and Mila, who are leaning against the back wall, watching something on his device.

“Hey, Michael?” I interrupt. “What do you know about Mila?” If I’m going to be sparring with her for a month, I need to know as much as I can about my rival.

Michael’s face breaks into a big, dopey grin. “Well, she’s worked here for about a year. Youngest assistant producer in the studio’s history. Full scholarship to UCLA film school. Her senior project was a documentary on the lives of—” He suddenly stops talking, realizing that he’s giving me more information than I probably want. “Her favorite color is lilac, her birthday is February 3rd, and she knows how to let a guy down easy.” He shrugs.

“Yeah, but…doesn’t she strike you as kind of…harsh, sometimes?”

To my surprise, he doesn’t argue. “Sure. But you have to be, in this business. And besides…” He looks over at Mila, then back to me. “Her background is kind of different from yours and mine, if you know what I mean. I think she’s trying to prove that she got this job on her own. No special considerations.”

Makes sense, I suppose, but it doesn’t make me feel any warmer. I didn’t exactly grow up in the lap of luxury.

“So how about you, Shannon? Tell me about yourself.”

“Oh, not much to know. I’m from Iowa, my father is a cabbie, and I’ve always wanted to work on stage.”

“Have you been in anything before?”

I roll my eyes. “Not a lot of opportunity in Des Moines. I almost landed the role of Hamlet in a community theater production last summer, but they went with someone manlier.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “You wanted to play Hamlet?”

Damn it. “No! I mean, I…” Shit.

“That’s great! I think it’s wonderful you’d stretch yourself as an actress like that.”

Whew. “Thanks.”

“You know, men used to play all the women’s parts in Shakespeare’s time.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Real women weren’t allowed to be on stage, you see.”

“Yes, I know, Michael.”

His phone buzzes. “Geez. Gotta go. You can stay here if you like. Just don’t leave while they’re shooting.”

“Bye, Michael.”

“Any noise out here gets recorded, you see.”

“Thanks.”

I hang around for a while, but seeing the same scene over and over gets tedious, even starring the great Natalia Jenkins. I wait for a lull in the filming and grab my purse.

As I go to leave, I happen to glance at the back wall.

Mr. Lawrence is speaking to Mila. And even from a distance, I can tell it’s not kind. He’s waving some kind of file and jabbing his finger at her face.

Mila just stands there, unsmiling, not reacting.

Mr. Lawrence slams the file on the ground. Papers fly everywhere. He storms off.

Silently, Mila stoops to gather the papers.

I almost, almost walk over to help her, before stopping. Not out of pettiness, I just don’t think she’d appreciate my presence at the moment.

So Mila isn’t a walk on water, do no wrong goddess in the eyes of Mr. Lawrence.

I wish I could say the image of Mila down on her knees, rushing to pick up Mr. Lawrence’s papers gives me a good warm feeling of triumph.

But it doesn’t. Not really.

Chapter Thirteen

It was a mistake to come here. From the street the bar looked quiet and isolated. I thought it would be a good place to sit and relax and avoid the hotel room.

Instead it’s loud and crowded, but not so crowded that people didn’t notice when I walked in. The man at the door stared at me. I had a choice between darting out into the street, or strolling in like I actually wanted to be in this sweaty hole. I strolled in.

I thought maybe they’d kick me out when I ordered a beer, but they served me, no problem. I remember reading that male to female transgender people tend to look older than they really are. Maybe that effect was working for me as well.

Except now I’m alone at a tiny table, sipping my beer and contemplating the incredibly odd turn my life has taken. On the bright side, I’m living in Los Angeles. I’m hobnobbing with celebrities and making real connections in the TV and movie business.

On the down side, I cannot possibly put any of those connections to work, ever. And I’m starting to get shoulder pains from these ridiculous boobs Mila bought me. She couldn’t have let me be flat chested?

I toy with a coaster and try to take a mental inventory. Honestly, can I blame all my problems on my gender bending? I mean, say I had been accepted on Becoming as a male. Natalia would still be stuck up and distant. And if they’d placed me with a male celebrity, wouldn’t things be pretty much the same? Would any big star be impressed by Shannon Ferguson?

A group of raucous girls at the booth next to me interrupt my thoughts. They’re playing some kind of electronic trivia game against other tables, and are laughing and having the time of their lives. Probably college students. All young, all pretty. I’d love to talk to them. I know the answers to some of the questions they’ve been debating. But what’s the point of trying to make friends as a girl?

If I were here as a boy—I mean, a man—would things be any different? Say I was sitting here in all my masculine glory. Would I have the courage to go introduce myself? To brag a little about being in a TV show?

No, of course not. I’d just sit here and stare at them until they got uncomfortable and changed tables. And if I did swallow enough liquid courage to actually approach them and offer to buy them a drink, they’d just roll their eyes and laugh.

It’s the school cafeteria all over again. I’m not destined to sit with the popular kids. And no amount of makeup or clothes or theater experience is ever going to change that.

I take a gulp of beer. I’d leave right now, but this drink wasn’t cheap and I have approximately five dollars left in the bottle.

The trivia girls are loud. I can’t help but overhear.

“Sherona! Stop looking at your phone! They’ll disqualify us.”

“Okay, okay. What was the question again?”

“What does it mean when someone gets an EGOT?”

Oh, too easy.

“EGOT? What the hell’s that?”

“Maybe it’s a French word. E-go.”

Jesus.

“I think she’s right. Hey, isn’t that kind of a French food?”

“You’re thinking of escargot. Maybe it’s like an expression, you know?”

C’mon, how can you not know this?

“No, I’m sure it’s a kind of food. Put that down. A French appetizer.”

I can stay silent no longer. I turn to the girls.

“It’s an acronym. Someone who's won an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony.”

The girls stare at me like I’ve grown another head.

What the hell was I thinking, jumping in like that? They couldn’t care less what I think. Even if I happen to be right.

Humiliated, I hunch over my beer.

Thirty seconds later, I’ve been pulled over to their booth. I’m now the team captain.

*

We come in dead last. Despite my knowledge of entertainment questions, none of us know anything about sports or old music. But that doesn’t seem to bother my three companions. They look to me for confirmation after every question and don’t seem to mind when I blow it.

Now we’re sharing a pitcher of margaritas and exchanging life stories. I was right, they’re all college students, members of the same sorority.

“So what about you, Shannon?” asks Sherona, a petite, short-haired brunette whose nose crinkles in the most adorable way when she laughs. “You’re not from L.A., are you?”

“No, Iowa. I’m in town to…” Dare I mention it? “To film an episode of Becoming.”

“Get out! I love that show! Who are you shadowing?”

“Natalia Jenkins.” I say it all casual like. Me and Natalia. We go way back.

I’m barraged with questions.

“What’s she like?”

“Is she that pretty in person?”

“Is she nice? Or is that just an act?”

I smile. “She’s super sweet. She took me horseback riding and we went to the zoo together.”

The girls squeal. Sherona squeezes my hand.

“Okay, picture time!” We all scrunch together and smile at Sherona’s phone. It’s only after she snaps a photo do I have second thoughts. I mean, what if someone sees this and recognizes me?

Then again, what possible friends would we have in common?

The party breaks up around midnight. Sherona holds my arm as we walk toward the door. I can almost squint my eyes and pretend I’m not wearing breasts and that we’re on a date.

“Shannon, are you free this Saturday? We’re doing karaoke!”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“C’mon. I won’t take no for an answer. We’ll meet here at eight o’clock.”

“I’ll try to make it.”

The girls all wave as they climb into a taxi. I watch them go.

I finally made it to the popular kids’ table.

*

The next day at the studio, Natalia’s leading man is on the set. It’s James Gunderson, irrepressible bad boy, and widely regarded as the worst autograph giver in Hollywood. He stops and says hi to me. I’m filmed as I pretend to fangirl all over him.

All I can think of is how bad my chest itches. It’s these stupid falsies. They get sweaty and gross and I so want to scratch. I need to scratch. How is it women never scratch? How do they never fart or belch or pick their teeth or have eye boogers or any of the other biological functions that come so naturally to us?

I want to rip off this stupid bra. I want to tear off this blouse and pull out these earrings and run shirtless through the studio proclaiming that I am a man.

“Here.”

Mila jams something into my stomach. It’s a brand spanking new Cyborg 6000 phone. The kind that goes for $1,500, and that’s without this sleek silver case emblazoned with the NBS logo and my name.

“Keep that with you,” she says, already walking away. “Publicity is going to want to take a few shots of you using it.”

“Thanks,” I mumble, already playing with it. I never thought I’d own anything this nice, at least not until my first movie deal. I guess this is why I got up early today to shave my armpits. There are rewards.

The director of Darkness in the Daytime calls for quiet on the set. I settle into my chair. We’re still using the coffee shop set, though now it’s for one of the final scenes in the movie. The big, last minute reconciliation scene between Natalia’s character and James’s.

It does not go well. I can’t tell if Natalia is exhausted or hungover or just plain doesn’t like the guy, but her delivery is flat. She flubs her lines. She barks at the extras. After over an hour, they’ve yet to film a usable take.

James, I have to admit, gives his lines flawlessly. I’d almost believe he really was trying to convince his platonic college roommate that what happened last week wasn’t a mistake and that if she was going to spend a semester in China, then by God, he was coming with her.

He laughs nervously every time Natalia blows a scene. I can tell the director, who is as big as Orson Wells in more ways than one, is getting frustrated.

After another half hour, things finally gel. Natalia turns on her charm. Turns on the tears. Hits every line. The relief in the room is palpable.

Then, right when we’re in the home stretch, right when she’s giving the second to last line, someone’s cell phone rings. Loudly. A full volume blast of ‘Who Let the Dogs Out?’

It’s my phone. Everyone, including some of the most powerful people in Hollywood, glare at me as I fumble to turn it off.

It’s one of those moments where you feel too stupid to apologize and those you’ve angered are too pissed off to even say anything. But everyone is frowning.

Except for Mila, who smiles and waves her own phone at me.

*

After three increasingly miserable hours, they call it a day. Natalia lets out a loud groan and begins to march off stage, ignoring an extra who tries to talk to her.

Mr. Lawrence stops her before she can leave.

“Miss Jenkins, we do need to do a couple of shots for Becoming. If you don’t mind.” He quickly adds.

Natalia looks over at me and winces. “Do we have to do this shit today?”

Quite frankly, I’d just as soon pass as well. I’ve sweated through my clothes and I really have to pee. But Mr. Lawrence gestures for me to join them.

Natalia barely looks at me. “James!” she barks. “This is Shannon from Iowa. Run lines with her or something for a couple of minutes, would you?” She then sits down on a barstool and begins texting.

James looks almost embarrassed. “So how do you like the big city, young lady?” he asks as Mr. Lawrence sets up the shot.

“Oh, it’s wonderful.” And how’s your probation going? Finished your community service yet?

Mr. Lawrence puts his hand on my shoulder. I know better than to squirm away.

“Okay, kids, let’s give Shannon a chance to do some real acting. How about that last line?

James’ll give his little spiel and then Shannon, you say ‘no’.”

One word? I hope they have a teleprompter or something.

“You got that Shannon?”

“Yes.”

“No. You say ‘no.’”

“Right.”

I thought James would just be reading his speech, but no, he decides to put his all into it. Which means, just like with Natalia, he’s gripping me by the upper arms. Kind of roughly, actually. With each point he makes, he shakes me like a rag doll. Our foreheads almost collide once.

Not that I’m phoning it in. I only get one word. Fine, I’m going to make it count. I put on my best I know I shouldn’t be in love with this man but he’s made me feel things I never thought I could, experience feelings I never thought were possible, and how can I move across the globe knowing that I may be giving up on the best thing that ever happened to me since my high school boyfriend was tragically killed on prom night? expression. I’ve read the script.

James leans toward me, still shaking me around to the point of motion sickness.

“Rainflower, look at me! I’m dying here! Is that what you want?”

He leans in closer.

“You’re destroying me. Destroying what makes me a man!”

Closer still. I can feel his breath on my face.

“Rainflower, answer me! Do you want me out of your life?”

Closer still. Way too close. His voice drops to a whisper.

“Do you want me to—”

“NO!” Before I can stop myself, I shove him away with both hands.

He’s not expecting this and he kind of stumbles. Everyone, including Natalia, is looking at me in shock.

James does that nervous laugh thing, though he looks a little hurt. “What? Do I have bad breath or something?”

Well, I can tell you’re up to two packs a day, but that’s not it.

“No! It’s just…”

Everyone is staring. And I’m already on thin ice about the phone thing.

“It’s just that I read the script. Um, your character is sort of…well, he’s sort of a jerk. He kind of plays with her. I mean, would she just take him back after a two minute speech?”

I brace myself, waiting for Mr. Lawrence or Mila to yell at me. But James breaks into a huge smile. “You know, I thought the same thing. Seriously, what the hell kind of guy breaks up with a woman while she’s in the shower?”

I sign internally. “I know, right? I just thought, well, you know…”

“She’d make him beg!” finishes James. “I mean, not beg, but kind of let him squirm a little. You know, maybe this scene isn’t right. Natalia, I could tell you weren’t into it. What do you think?”

Natalia is still sitting on the barstool. She looks at us with a smile. “I think Iowa here has a good future in screenwriting.”

I smile and shyly bow my head. I’m not really pretending to be bashful at this point.

James claps his hands. “Great. Let’s talk it over at the next production meeting. Shannon, it was a pleasure.” He shakes my hand. He and Natalia walk out together. Mr. Lawrence shoots me a thumbs up as he leaves as well. I stand there beaming, long after they’re gone.

“You want some advice?” Mila has joined me and is looking at me in that disapproving way. I’m not going to let her get to me.

“If it’s about turning off my phone, I’m way ahead of you.”

“I’m serious. You’re making a big mistake.”

There’s something in her tone that makes me listen. “How do you mean?”

“Well, you really impressed everyone today, with your ad libbing. I think James was amazed by a girl who wasn’t all gaga about him. Mr. Lawrence says you’re the best guest we’ve ever had on the show. And I’ve heard other people talking about you. They think you’re doing great.”

“And my big mistake is…?”

Mila glances over her shoulder at the emptying studio. “Ms. Jenkins. You can’t be making enemies like that.”

I blink in confusion. “Making enemies? The woman has barely spoken two words to me off camera.”

Again, the nervous glance. “That’s not what I mean. Look, Shannon, Natalia is used to being the center of attention. Ever since she was seventeen. And as long as you act all worshipful and awestruck, she’s going to be your best friend. But once you start looking good around her, impressing her costars and putting a little attention on yourself, she won’t like it. She’s done it before. Gotten actresses cut from a production because other people noticed them. One word from her and they got the axe.”

I try not to show how flummoxed I am. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not actually getting paid, so I guess she can’t have me fired.”

“Would you be serious, Shannon? Just toe the line, okay? Do what they ask, nothing more. You don’t want to make anyone jealous.”

“Well…” I look at my growing nails. “Someone is jealous.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing at all, Mila.” I smile. I smile wide.

She shakes her head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And Shannon? Use that charge card. You can’t keep showing up in those same two outfits.”

I watch her go. Mila was just being paranoid, right? I mean, I know Natalia is self-absorbed, but I’m so beneath her notice, I seriously doubt she’d care that I made a suggestion. Heck, I only went off script because I was afraid James was going to plant a big wet one on me.

One thing she was right about, I do need some new clothes. Too bad I know jack squat about women’s fashions. And I have no one who can advise me.

Unless…

*

“Rochelle, thank you again for all your help.” We’re walking down the street toward my hotel, both of us staggering under the weight of several clothing bags.

“Sweetie, it’s my pleasure. I always wanted a daughter that I could take shopping.”

“Are you sure I can’t pay you?” I was surprised when she offered to help me pick out some new clothes without accepting money for her time.

“Shannon, I’m having fun. And I didn’t exactly do this for free.” She pats a bag. I’d paid for more than one flashy outfit in Rochelle’s size.

We’d hit a half dozen stores, mostly small places and consignment shops. They all seemed to know Rochelle there. Everyone noticed my flamboyant companion. No one looked twice at me.

We stop in front of my hotel. “I couldn’t have done this without you, Rochelle.”

She winks. “It’s my pleasure to help out such a sweet young lady.”

I kind of take offense at that. “You know I’m not a lady. I’m just trying this out.”

She cocks a pencil thin eyebrow. “You spent over six hundred dollars just to try things out?”

I grimace. That’s way over my daily allowance, but when you look at it on a weekly basis, I’m still way under budget. And what right does she have to psychoanalyze me?

She raises a manicured hand before I can object. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me. None of my business.”

I shrug. “Well…I have my reasons. But it’s too bad you don’t have a daughter. She’d be a lucky girl.”

Rochelle shoulders her bag and looks at me in a strange way. “Good night, Shannon. Call me if you need any more help.” She begins to walk, but pauses.

“And for the record, I do have a daughter. I guess I meant that I wish that I had a daughter who would let me take her shopping. Or accept my phone calls.”

I sadly watch her walk off into the night, head held high, her gait perfectly feminine.

Chapter Fourteen

I reread the instructions on the waxing kit. After solution begins to gel, grip and pull in one quick motion.

I look at my reflection in the hotel bathroom mirror. The pink blob under my nose looks like I have some weird fungus. But I remember Madge the makeup artist’s warning about my visible whiskers.

Grip and pull.

Grip and pull.

Grip and…

I didn’t cry at my grandfather’s funeral. I didn’t cry when I learned the producers of this show thought I was a girl. I didn’t even cry when Old Yeller died.

I’m crying now.

I go fetal with the unexpected pain. Tears run down my nose onto my raw upper lip. I swear to God that if I ever get married, I will never, ever complain about my wife taking too long in the bathroom.

And just when I think I’m going to black out, my phone buzzes.

Someone’s calling me on my new device. Who the hell has this number? Shakily, I look at the screen.

It’s Mila. She must have programmed her number in. She even included a selfie, a photo of her smiling and flipping me the bird.

Warily, I answer.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Shannon. Mr. Lawrence just called me.”

I tentatively poke at my lip, which brings fresh waves of pain. “What did he want?”

“He said…hey, are you okay? Are you crying?”

I make an effort to control my breathing. “No. Just doing some aerobics. Out of breath.”

“Um…okay. Anyway, Mr. Lawrence said they won’t need you for the next few days.”

I freeze. “Did I really offend Miss Jenkins?”

Mila laughs. “No, I mean they’re postponing filming the movie. Miss Jenkins has a bad cough.”

A cough. She can’t work because of a cough. Okay, sure, you obviously can’t make a movie when the star is hacking all over the place. But I remember my father’s frequent bouts with bronchitis. And how he’d still leave for work at five in the morning because you can’t take a doctor’s note to the grocery store.

“Shannon? You there?”

I sigh. “Yeah.”

A long pause. “I’ll call you when we figure out what’s going on. So the weekend’s all yours.”

More dead time. Great. “Yeah. Thanks.”

We’re both quiet, but neither of us hang up. Then we both speak at the same time.

“Shannon…”

“Mila…”

“You go first.”

Feeling like an idiot, I say it anyway. “Mila, you want to grab a coffee or catch a movie or something? I mean, while we’re waiting for the filming to start again?”

I’m really swallowing my pride here, but she’s literally my only contact. I know she’ll laugh at the idea, but at least I’ll get credit for trying to mend fences.

To my surprise, she sounds genuinely regretful. “Sorry, Shannon. I’m going out of town.”

“That’s fine. Take care.”

Again, we don’t hang up.

“Hey, you sure you’re okay there? I could text you some…I dunno. Stuff to do in that neighborhood. A community calendar or something.”

No, I don’t need her to arrange a playdate for me. “No, I’m fine. I’ll just catch up on…I’m fine.”

Another pause. “I really am leaving town tomorrow.”

“Have fun. Call me when you hear anything.”

I hang up.

So now what? Two, three days of waiting? I know how these things go. The delays could last weeks. Last until the school year starts again. Last until Becoming cancels my episode.

And me, here alone with my one remaining lip and a credit card that I’m sure they’d accept at the bus terminal. Not to mention any men’s clothing store.

But I know I’m in too deep to stop now. Production will resume and they’ll finish my episode.

And it’s Friday night. I do have an invitation to sing karaoke.

*

I’m disappointed to see that the bar is more crowded than the last time I was here. A lot more crowded. I guess it’s because of the weekend. A line now snakes around the corner. I hope there’s no cover charge. I wish I had this phone when I met Sherona so I could call her now and ask where I’m supposed to find her. Or if we could meet somewhere quieter instead.

I finally make it to the front of the line. The girls in front of me are not asked to show ID, much to my relief. I move to follow them.

“Hold it.” The doorman is holding up a palm.

I’m confused. Maybe there is some sort of a cover.

“Is there a problem?”

He shakes his head. “We’re full tonight. Why don’t you come back, maybe Monday. Three-for-two margaritas.”

I’m trying to process this when another group of girls squeeze by me. I’m momentarily distracted by their tight tops and short skirts. Maybe we could all find something to do when they realize they’re not letting anyone else in.

He lets them in.

Just like that. There’s like four of them. So why couldn’t I…

And then it hits me. The club isn’t full, but it is crowded. And the doorman wants to make sure that they fill the place with the right kind of people. Guys who want to spend money, and girls who will bring the guys in.

And I am neither.

I shuffle off to the side. And I got all dressed up too. This new sweater and these cute boots Rochelle picked out for me.

POWER TOOLS!

SPORTS!

BEER!

I shake my head and force my way upstream, out through the waiting crowd. I’m trying not to be offended. I’m really trying.

“Shannon! You made it!”

It’s Sherona. She bursts out of nowhere, accompanied by two other girls, not the same ones from the other night. I have a hard time tearing my eyes away from Sherona’s cropped top. Very cropped.

Sherona grabs me in a hug. “I was hoping you’d come! C’mon!”

She takes me by the hand and whisks me inside. The doorman doesn’t stop me.

We all manage to cram around a little table and order a pitcher of daiquiris. Someone passes us the book of karaoke songs.

“Ooh, they have ‘Lullaby of New York!’ Shannon, will you sing that with me? Would you mind doing the guy’s part?”

Would I mind. Ah, Sherona, I may not have the face for Broadway, I sure as hell got the pipes. Be prepared to be blown away.

The club is crowded and noisy. We’re all pushed together. Sherona keeps touching my hand. It’s loud enough that she has to practically push her lips to my ear for me to hear her.

I’m so enjoying this. Not the physical closeness, but just being part of the group. These cool, attractive women want to hang out with me. That would not have happened to me in boy mode. And you know what? I’m good with that. Now I can relax. I won’t waste time trying to impress them. I can just have fun. Sing. Drink. Hang out.

I’m finally making friends.

This is awesome.

“Hello, ladies.”

Two guys have walked up behind me. I didn’t notice them coming, but I could sure smell their body spray. They’re overly dressed, frat rat types. They both carry a drink in each hand.

The first passes his drink to one of Sherona’s friends. And the second…passes one to Sherona.

Everyone (else) smiles. The girls scoot over to make room for the intruders. I’m shunted away from Sherona, and kind of away from the table as well. I can’t reach my drink.

Okay, fine. It’s a free country. I sit there, irritated, as conversation blooms around me. After repeatedly shouting for people to repeat themselves, I give up. Another guy joins our table. Three guys. Three girls. And Shannon, none of the above.

One of Sherona’s friend’s name is called, and she walks to the stage for her turn at the microphone. As everyone claps and cheers, I reclaim my place at the table. The guy I’m now sitting next to gives me a fake smile.

“Hey, Shannon,” says Sherona. “Tell everyone why you’re in L.A.!”

I’m about to modestly wave off her question and make her worm it out of me. Then I realize that no one here is actually interested and I have about two seconds to keep their attention.

“I’m filming a TV series with Natalia Jenkins.” I decline to mention what sort of a TV series.

This catches the group’s interest. “Get out!” says one of the dudes. “Is she that smoking hot in real life?”

I guess I could be catty and imply she looks much worse in person, but I decline. “Even prettier close up.”

“So what’s she like?”

It’s all an act. She’s completely fake. “She’s about the sweetest person you ever met.” Ahem. “The other day we were on the set. It was between takes and—”

“Sherona!” barks the MC. “Sherona and, um, partner! Come on up and show us what you’ve got!”

Ah, time for our song. This is going to be great. Just wish I had my pitch pipe here, but I guess that doesn’t matter.

And then I realize Sherona is already halfway to the stage. With the new guy.

His friends bark and whoop as he mutilates his half of the duet. Mutilates! God, this was my audition song for the musical my sophomore year. I didn’t get the part, but still.

Everyone at the table takes their turn at the microphone. Except me. No one notices I don’t get a turn. And I don’t try to sign up for one.

Fortunately, Karaoke ends after about an hour. I’ve managed to dig in with my elbows and knees to hold on to a place at the table. Finally I can maybe talk to Sherona again.

“C’mon,” says her stalker. “Let’s dance.”

I’m not a good dancer. Even I don’t kid myself about that. I hope—I pray—that Sherona will turn him down. Or that no one else will join them.

Everyone gets up to dance. And that’s my cue. It’s time for me to leave. I’ll grab Sherona’s phone number and get out of here.

“Hey, um…Shannon, right? Could you watch our purses?”

“Actually…”

“Thanks!”

I don’t know what annoys me more, the fact that I’m now stuck here alone at this table, or that everyone assumed I wouldn’t want to dance.

I drink my daiquiri, alone. And a couple of other people’s. I’m not used to alcohol, and I begin to feel tired and sad. If no one comes back and checks on me before this next song finishes, I’m going to go home. I’ll leave their purses to the wolves.

I sit through three more songs.

I’m reminded of the one school dance my father badgered me into attending. I didn’t dance that night either.

And then, just when I really am totally probably going to leave on my own, Sherona returns to the table. Much to my shock, she takes me by the hand and pulls me away with her.

I’m so stunned and delighted that I don’t realize where she’s taking me until it’s too late.

The women’s room.

Since I became a girl, I’d been using the women’s bathroom at the studio when I needed to, but it was such a cramped and sterile place, I never thought much of it. This, however, is a nightclub bathroom. A dozen women stand in front of the mirrors, applying makeup and adjusting their hair. I do my best to act natural.

Sherona points to the front of her top, which is stained with some sort of liquid. “Asshole spilled his beer all over me. Jesus.”

She dabs at her shirt futilely. I’d really like to help her with that.

“God, Shannon, he didn’t even apologize. Men suck.”

Despite my shaved legs and earrings, I feel I have to defend my sex. “Well, not all men are jerks.”

She braces against the sink with both hands. “Could have fooled me. I’m getting sick of this. Sick of the bars and the assholes and getting groped. It’s really getting old.”

I hand her another paper towel. “Maybe you should try something new.” Believe me, I’m an expert on that.

She sighs. “Everyone else wants to come here, and it’s fun, I guess. But all the guys are the same. They just want one thing. You know what it’s like.”

“Sherona, you’re not going to meet a nice guy at a place like this.” Well, you already have, but you don’t know that.

She finally turns and looks at me. “I’m not, am I? Geez, I’m so tired of the pricks here. What I wouldn’t give to meet someone…I dunno. Funny. Sensitive.”

I glance down at my manicured fingers. “Guys like that are out there.”

“Yeah. It’s a nice thought. Find some musician or writer or painter or something. Someone not obsessed with his hair and my chest. Ah, a girl can dream.”

I almost break down. I swear, I almost announce that I’m really the sensitive, artistic man she’s been looking for. My only excuse is that I’ve been drinking and apparently I’m the overshare type of drunk.

But then Sherona turns back to the mirror, frowns, and removes her top. As she wrings it out over the sink, wearing only her bra, I realize that the gender reveal moment has passed. I stand there, contemplating Sherona’s tramp stamp and the constellations of freckles on her shoulders. Then I realize what I’m doing and quickly turn away. No need to add to the transphobic panic about guys in dresses leering at women in the bathroom.

Sherona replaces her top and we return to the club. We immediately run into her ‘date.’

“Hey, we’re all going to drive out to Freeworld. C’mon.”

It’s not a request. And for all of Sherona’s hoping for a Prince Charming, she chooses to leave with this toad.

“C’mon, Shannon,” she says. “Have you ever been?”

The dude-bro interrupts me before I can answer. “Ah, the thing is my car’s kind of filled up. I don’t know if we have room for…” He smiles at me with such smarmy false sincerity. And it makes me really angry. None of his friends want to sleep with me, so there’s no point in me coming.

I glance at Sherona, wondering if maybe she’ll stand up for me.

“We could call you a ride. You could meet us there.” She almost sounds like she sincerely wants me to come. Almost.

I slap on my best smile, the one even the people in the cheap seats can see. “I’m kind of wiped out, Sherona. Give me your number, we’ll get together some other time.”

Her date’s relief is pretty obvious. And honestly, so is Sherona’s.

I walk them out. And they all talk and laugh as they cram into what’s-his-name’s car and speed off.

Sherona waves at me.

I stand in front of the club.

Funny, when I was male, I was used to people not wanting to hang out. Everyone thought I was weird. Nerdy. Pretentious.

I guess they were right.

But tonight, I only failed on one front.

I’m not pretty. I’m not sexy.

It doesn’t matter to me that I don’t make an attractive woman.

Seems to matter to everyone else, though.

Chapter Fifteen

I sleep in the next day. Nowhere to go, nothing to do. Just laying here under these thick hotel sheets, in this warm bed, no school, no Chris, no auditions…

Someone is in the room with me. I don’t hear them. I don’t feel them. But as I open my eyes, I have a horrible sense that someone is standing next to my bed.

Warily, I turn. A dark, grinning face stares down at me.

“God, you scream like a girl,” says Mila a minute later, when I’ve finally calmed down enough to speak.

“What the hell are you doing in here?” I snap, between gasps for air. “You ever hear of knocking?”

“Meh.”

She’s sitting on the edge of my bed. I’m still under the covers, but I’m suddenly very aware that I have nothing on but a pair of panties. I pull the sheet up to my chin.

“I thought you were leaving town.”

“My plans fell through. Now get up.”

“Huh?”

She claps her hands. “C’mon. Go make yourself pretty.”

“Huh?”

“Wow, Shannon, you’re even less articulate than usual. Get dressed. We’re going out.”

*

“Jesus, Shannon, don’t do that.”

It’s a beautiful, sunny day. Mila and I are sitting at a sidewalk café, watching the people go by and enjoying cups of gelato. A far cry from the Des Moines Dairy Queen.

“Do what?”

“Sit with your legs wide open. If you’re going to wear a skirt, you have to keep the gates shut. Cross your legs.”

Dutifully, I follow Mila’s direction. She nods approvingly.

“You know, you have very nice legs, Shannon.”

“Gee, thanks.”

She’s staring, unashamedly. “I’m serious. Very shapely. We ought to get you some Daisy Dukes. You’ll drive the guys nuts.”

“Yeah.”

It’s been like this all day. Mila drove me all over the city. We took in a Hollywood museum, did some shopping, went out to lunch, and now here we sit, just relaxing.

On the other hand, she has never stopped with her digs, her backhanded compliments, and her implications that I’d make a better woman than a man.

Hanging out with Mila is like having a pet bear cub. Fun, until they unexpectedly turn on you.

“You ever think about dressing like this after the show’s over? I bet you’d turn the boys’ heads back in Cowpie, Iowa.

I attempt to change the subject. “So what was up with you this weekend? Where were you supposed to go?”

She waves a hand. “Eh, same old BS. Didn’t want to hang out at home, so I called up the only guy I know who wouldn’t try to feel me up. The boys aren’t exactly looking in my direction when you’re around.”

I remember what happened at the club last night and I laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Oh, what you said about guys. You see, I was out with some friends last night. We were at this dance club and—”

Mila looks confused. “What are you talking about? What friends?”

“Just a girl I met the other day. And she’s cute, but fat lot of good that does me, right? So these guys come up to our table, and it’s like I don’t exist. I mean, I obviously am not there to get hit on, but it was like I wasn’t even talking. The whole night. So stop feeding me this crap about boys—”

“You went out?” asks Mila again, as if she’s having trouble grasping the concept.

“Well, I didn’t want to sit in the hotel all weekend.”

She’s looking so dumbfounded, I figure I’ve done something wrong. “Look, I was careful. Rochelle took me shopping for new clothes the other day, just like you suggested. And I even waxed my lip. Hurt like a bitch. I think I was still sobbing when you called me.”

Why in God’s name does Mila look so riled up? “That’s why you were crying? Because you waxed your stupid face?”

“Well…yeah. I don’t know if you’ve ever done anything like that, but it hurts.”

Mila whips out her phone and begins furiously staring at the screen.

“What the hell’s your problem?”

She sneers at me. “Nothing. I was just going to see my mother for the first time in like two months, but now I’m here with you instead.”

I’m getting really tired of her acting like every problem in her life is my fault. Next she’s going to blame me for climate change. “Well, I’m sorry you’re so bored. If your plans fell through…”

I pause. Wait a minute.

“Your plans didn’t get canceled, did they, Mila?”

She scowls at me.

“You called them off!”

“Shut up, Shannon.” She looks back down at her phone.

“You thought I was really crying on the phone! You were worried about me!”

“Shut. Your. Trap.”

A smile spreads over my face. “You were afraid I was sad and alone and came here to keep me company!”

She slams her palm onto the table. “I was afraid you were about to panic and run back home to Assdump. Didn’t realize you were out making time with the boys.”

I should feel guilty, but I don’t. “You thought I was lonely. You wanted to make sure I was okay. Mila, that’s about the sweetest thing I ever heard.” I make my voice extra saccharine because I can tell it annoys her.

She stares at me. Good thing looks can’t actually kill. “I won’t see my mother until the fall now.”

I rein it in. “I’m sorry. Where does she live?”

“Fresno. She works all the time. We both do. It’s been hard for us to get together since I left college.”

This is kind of a rare glimpse into Mila’s personal life. “What’s she like?”

Mila shrugs. “I don’t want to get into it.” She pauses. “How about your family?”

Now it’s my turn to be sullen. “My father’s a cabbie. My mom works in a plastics factory. We don’t have a lot in common.” I feel a little guilty about how ungrateful I sound.

“You mentioned your sister. In your video, you said she fought with you all the time.”

That seems so long ago. “Chris. She’s a year older than me. Really athletic. Likes to pummel the crap out of me. Always calling me a sissy and a girly man.” I glance down at my fake boobs, smooth legs, and painted nails. “All in my head, right?”

Mila looks at me intently. “Have you talked to them? Told them what’s going on?”

Ever since I got this new phone, I’d been tempted to resurrect my social media pages, my email, anything, just to see the messages I’m sure they’ve sent me. Maybe they’re angry. Maybe they’re scared. I don’t know.

And I won’t know. Because if I start communicating with home, everything’s going to come out. I’ve gone this far. I have to finish what I started.

“My family and I…we don’t talk a lot anymore.”

She nods. “Shannon…look. I was kind of desperate when I asked you to play a girl.”

“Asked? Don’t you mean ‘forced’?”

She ignores that. “And you’ve done well. I mean, you really stepped up. I admit it, I’m impressed. And barring disaster, I think we’re going to pull this off.”

Her confidence buoys me. “Hey, thanks.”

“But when the episode airs, well, what are you going to do? I mean, we never say last names on the show, and with all your makeup and everything, I don’t think anyone is going to recognize you. So are you going to tell anyone? Let your friends know that was really you?” She asks this casually, but I can tell she desperately wants to know.

I’ve been playing that question over in my head for the past week. A couple of days ago, I would have liked to make Mila squirm. Threaten her, even blackmail her. But I think we’ll both be better off if we’re on the same side.

“I’m going to tell people I was working on a film that got canceled. That I just ran off to Hollywood on a whim, but it didn’t work out. Lots of people do it.”

Mila waves her hand in a circle, encouraging me to continue. She has no idea that I’m only seventeen and this explanation won’t be enough for them.

“And if I do get found out, I’ll be sure to tell everyone that no one on Becoming had any idea, Including the great Mila Nevins, who had absolutely nothing to do with this and always thought I was a woman.”

She gives me a rare smile. “Thank you. I appreciate it. If you need someone to vouch for where you were, I can print up some paperwork, make it look like you really did have a small part in some canceled production. It happens every day.”

It’s time to be serious. “Mila, I want to put all this behind me as much as you do. But…don’t forget about me when all this is over. Something tells me you are going to be a force to be reckoned with someday. Just remember what we both went through this summer, okay?”

She hits me with a full on, genuine smile. “If we pull this off, this won’t be the last time we work together. I promise.”

*

Mila drives me back to the hotel and walks me to the door. Before we go in, she touches my arm.

“Shannon, I’ve dealt with a lot of guests on Becoming. And all of them were self-absorbed, white privileged, whiney, prima-donnas.” She squeezes my shoulder. “To be honest, when I first met you, that’s what I thought.”

I stand there, listening, waiting for her to go on. She stays silent. Finally, I have to prompt.

“And…?”

“Oh, there’s nothing else.” She turns and walks back toward her car. “Filming starts again on Monday,” she calls over her shoulder. “Be there by nine.”

I watch her leave. Arrogant, bossy, manipulative, and rude.

But I bet she wouldn’t have ditched me at a club for some guy.

Chapter Sixteen

I have to admit, it’s kind of a great feeling to just stride onto the set of a major motion picture production with nobody stopping me. Sure, I’m nothing more than a contestant on a stupid reality show, but so what? As crew members and minor actors nod hello to me, I can almost pretend that this is my movie. That I’m going to be the star.

Yeah, Shannon Ferguson, lead actress. Oh well.

They’re filming an outdoor scene today. I find Mila sitting with the people from Becoming. I take the seat next to her and hand her a coffee.

“Didn’t know how you take it, so it’s black. You know, to match your—”

“Shannon!”

“Your heart.”

She rolls her eyes at me, but takes the coffee. Drinks out of it, too. Brave woman.

James, the leading man, strolls by. He stops to talk to us.

“Hi, Mila. Hey, Shannon, I talked to the writers and they liked your idea for the end scene. I don’t know if they’re actually going to change anything, but good on ya. You got any other suggestions?”

Boy, do I. The more I study the script, the more I realize how the director is wasting the potential of these two talented actors. But I also remember that Mila warned me about overstepping myself around Natalia.

“No, I’ll just leave it to the pros.”

James winks at me, nods to Mila, and heads to the set.

Yet another A-list actor who will probably remember my face next week. Well, remember girl Shannon’s face.

Just before the director calls ‘action’, Mila speaks to me without turning her head.

“Don’t worry, Shannon. Your day will come.”

*

The filming goes well this time. It’s a trite scene of romantic misunderstanding, but both Natalia and James film every scene with comedic precision, and most of the spectators laugh through the numerous retakes.

I have a suggestion or two, but keep them to myself.

The successful shoot puts Natalia in a good mood. She doesn’t even complain when Mr. Lawrence reminds her of her obligations to Becoming. We film a few minutes talking to the sound guys, with Natalia and I singing a brief duet into a microphone. I don’t bother to tone down my skills, I’m sure my voice will be removed in the final edit.

Mila has already left for the day, but Mr. Lawrence is mumbling over his laptop. I approach him to find about our schedule.

“Hang on, Shannon. This goddamn thing won’t load.”

I glance over his shoulder. I immediately see what’s wrong.

“I think I see your problem.”

He doesn’t respond, but keeps clicking on the error message, causing it to repeat itself.

“Sir? My own laptop does this all the time. You just need to—”

“I don’t have time for this shit. Michael? Where the hell is Michael!”

I plow onward. “It’s an outdated plug-in. You have to manually—”

“Michael! Get your ass over here!”

The young intern is front and center. “Sir?”

“Take this piece of crap to the tech department. And I want it back today.”

I try one last time. “Mr. Lawrence? If you’d just let me—”

Michael leans over and clicks on the same override icon I’d been trying to draw his attention to. The video clip immediately loads.

“Abracadabra!” says Michael with a grin.

Mr. Lawrence shakes his head and smiles. “You kids. Good work, Michael.”

Michael is still beaming after Mr. Lawrence leaves.

“He was using an outdated plug-in,” he informs me.

“You don’t say.”

“When that happens, you have to click that little override icon, up by the URL.”

“Really.”

He nods. “I’m not half bad with computers. If you ever have a problem, give me a ring.”

“Yes, Michael. I’ll be sure to do that.”

He nods, with the beatific grin of tech support. “Hey, you headed home? I’m catching a ride with K’shawn and I think you’re on our way.”

“In one of those auto-mobiles?”

The sarcasm is lost on him. “Huh?”

“Nothing. Yeah, sure.”

*

K’shawn is an intern in another department and just as noodley as Michael. As we head down the freeway, the two argue about science fiction novels and fantasy movies. What nerds.

Too bad I’m so annoyed with Michael. These are my kind of guys.

About a mile from my exit there’s a thump and the car starts shaking. K’shawn pulls over.

It’s a blowout. Driver’s front tire. Right on the nearly shoulderless highway, facing traffic. In the front seat, Michael and K’shawn groan and slide out the passenger door.

Here’s where all the lessons from my father will come back to haunt me. He wouldn’t let me drive until I could prove I could change a tire.

This is going to be miserable. It’s hot, it’s dirty, and I’m so not dressed for this. I put my hand on the door.

Wait.

I hear the two guys banging around in the trunk, cursing and struggling with tools.

I slide out of the car. I smooth my skirt. I perch on the guardrail.

It takes them forty minutes to change the tire. By the time they’re finished, their knuckles are bloody, their clothes are filthy, and they’re drenched in sweat.

Not once did they suggest I help them. Not once did they shoot me a dirty look for just sitting there. They both repeatedly apologized to me, assuring me that everything was under control and we’d be on our way in a couple of minutes.

I didn’t bother to tell Michael that if he’d lower the jack a couple of cranks, it’d be a lot easier to remove the lug nuts.

As we drive off, I lean into the back seat, enjoying the air conditioning.

There are drawbacks to being treated like a woman.

This is not one of them.

Chapter Seventeen

“God, Shannon,” Natalia gushes. “You have such dainty little feet. I’m totally jelly!”

We’re at a Natalia’s favorite manicurist, getting mani-pedis. This is the third time today someone has complimented my feet or legs. I’m beginning to wonder if Mila was being serious when she joked about how good I looked in a skirt.

Of course the cameras are rolling and this is captured. In a few months, America will hear about Shannon’s sexy legs. I pray Mila’s right and no one makes a connection between TV Shannon and Iowa Shannon. If I should later join the NFL or become a Navy Seal, I’d still forever be known as Miss Long Legs.

I smile weakly at Natalia, wondering if maybe I’m going down a path I’ll never be able to veer from.

“Oh, Shannon, you need to try this mango-chutney facial scrub from Lady Olivia. It’s the brand used in most salons, but it’s available in the beauty aisle of your local Wal-Mart or Target!”

That’s another thing. When I sent my video in to Natalia, it wasn’t so I could sit in a beauty parlor having my nails done and shilling for the show’s sponsors. I thought Natalia and I would be fixing meals at the soup kitchen or washing puppies at the humane society.

I try to ignore the tiny voice that reminds me that Des Moines has soup kitchens and animal shelters as well, and I’ve never set foot inside any of them. Always meant to. Always talked about it.

Sighing, I rub on some of the facial scrub. Natalia is right, it really does open the pores.

Jesus, I might as well sign up for breast implants after this.

I try to make myself feel manly by watching the younger manicurists. They’re all Vietnamese, I think, and react to Natalia the same way everyone else does: with breathless awe and quiet obedience.

Across the room, I notice Michael trying to flirt with one of the desk staff. I can’t hear what he’s saying, but the girl isn’t reacting. Either there’s a language barrier, or he’s explaining to her what nail polish is.

I replace the cucumbers over my eyes. When all this is over, I’m going to have to do some serious reflecting on what I’m going to do with my life. And not just acting-wise.

I could go back home and really get into volunteer work. Maybe use my experiences here to raise awareness about the struggles of gender fluid people. Be an advocate for the cause.

“Ms. Ferguson?” comes an obsequious voice at my elbow. “Your chai tea is ready.”

Or maybe I could just become a man of leisure. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy at least some of this.

My thoughts are interrupted by a loud crash and a yelp. I remove the vegetables from my lids and reveal a scene of utter chaos. In the ten seconds I had my eyes covered, Michael somehow managed to collide with the drinks girl, knocking a tray of beverages all over the place. Tea, mineral water, and smoothies splatter the floor of the salon…as well as Mr. Lawrence’s pants.

Michael is frozen like a deer in the headlights, as everyone stares at him. Mr. Lawrence just stands there. For a brief second, I think he’s just going to laugh this off.

He hits Michael.

Not with his fist, but with the flat of his palm. Just a smack upside the head. Almost cartoonish.

I guess I’m the only one who notices Michael grit his teeth in pain.

“You stupid shit.” He hits him again.

“Sir, I—”

Mr. Lawrence jabs him in the chest with a finger. Michael backs up, nearly losing his balance on the spilled drinks.

“I’m done with you, Michael. Every damn week another screw up. Do you have any idea how many people would take your job over like that?” He snaps his fingers in Michael’s face. “Do you?”

“Sir…” Michael’s eyes are wide.

“I’m through. I don’t know why we keep you here.”

I glance around wondering if anyone is going to leap to Michael’s aid. The salon workers pointedly don’t look in his direction. The TV crewmembers, who Michael had been joking around with an hour earlier, just watch. Natalia is looking at her phone, not playing attention.

“You listening to me, Michael? Give me one good reason not to kick your ass out of here.”

I’m suddenly reminded of my many encounters with my sister. Give me one good reason not to kick your ass, Shannon.

Before I realize what I’m doing, I’m standing between Mr. Lawrence and Michael. They both take an involuntary step back in surprise.

“Mr. Lawrence?” I begin, with a timidity that isn’t the result of my acting skills. “It was an accident.”

Mr. Lawrence doesn’t smile. I swallow and continue. “We all know Michael’s a great guy. I mean we’ve all had our clumsy moments, right?” No one shouts out in agreement. Especially not Mr. Lawrence.

“Could you just cut him a break? He’s very sorry.” I glance over at Michael, but he doesn’t take my cue to apologize. He just stares at me.

Mr. Lawrence glares, and for a moment I worry that we’re both going to be kicked off the show. I have to call in the big guns.

“Miss Jenkins? You know what it’s like to be all thumbs, right?” Natalia is always going on about how klutzy she is, at least during interviews.

Natalia looks up, as if aware of what’s going on for the first time. “Huh? Oh, yeah. Cut the dude a break, Harvey.”

Mr. Lawrence glowers at me for another couple of seconds, and I fear I’ve made an enemy. But he turns to Michael. “Get the hell out of my sight.”

Michael doesn’t have to be asked twice. He hauls ass out of the salon.

At the door, he pauses and looks back at me.

He doesn’t smile. In fact, he looks almost as angry at me as Mr. Lawrence did.

*

It’s not until I run into Mila outside that I realize my blunder. She’s standing by Natalia’s limo, sheaves of papers spread all over the hood.

“Shannon.” She nods without looking up from her work. “Who shoved the bug up Michael’s ass?”

Hell if I know. “What do you mean?”

“He stormed off all pissy. Didn’t even hit on me, so I know something’s up.”

I check to make sure no one is eavesdropping. “Mr. Lawrence got in his face. I think he might have fired Michael if Natalia and I hadn’t stepped in. Well, mostly Natalia, I guess.”

Mila suddenly looks up. “Oh, Shannon.” Her expression is not one of admiration. Once again, I feel like I’ve screwed up in some way that everyone noticed but me.

“What?”

“Shannon, honey, you don’t look like much of a man, but you still think like one. You didn’t do Michael any favors back there.”

This angers me. “What the hell, Mila? Mr. Lawrence was hitting him! Actually smacking him around! I was supposed to just let that go?”

“Um…yeah. Michael’s a big boy with big boy responsibilities. Is it fair that Mr. Lawrence does shit like that? No. But Michael puts up with it because it’s part of the job.”

“Well he wasn’t about to have a job anymore!”

Mila shakes her head. “That ‘give me one good reason not to kick your ass out the door’ spiel? He does that every week. And tomorrow he’ll forget all about it. We all just let it ride. Michael didn’t need help from anyone, especially not…” she trails off.

“Not what? No, seriously, what are you saying?”

Mila looks like she wishes she hadn’t spoken, but she nods and continues. “A woman. There’s not a man alive who wants a woman to rescue him.”

I sputter over my words, trying to think of a counterargument to her ridiculous statement. She just talks over me.

“Shannon, Mr. Lawrence was just showing that he was the caveman with the biggest, um, club. And Michael was proving that he was tough enough not to run away or beg. This has been going on for thousands of years. But the last thing any man wants is for a girl to protect him. Ever.”

“But…I wasn’t….but…”

Mila talks over me. “Think about when you used to be a boy, or whatever. I’m sure you had your share of ass whoopings. And did you ever wish some girl would step in to help?”

I remember the time my mother complained to Owen Finley’s mother about how mean he was to me on the way to school. Or that time Chris caught Mark McGoering knocking me around, and she kicked his ass (and then kicked mine for the hell of it). Having my sister stand up for me certainly didn’t improve my social standing.

“But…”

Mila begins gathering up her papers. “Don’t sweat it, Shannon. You’re still getting used to things. It’s okay. Just apologize to Michael when you see him tomorrow.”

That does it. “Apologize? I didn’t do anything wrong and you expect me to apologize? What the hell is that?”

Mila just picks up her papers and grins. “Womanhood.”

*

The next day we have a production meeting. I sit in the break room and stew.

Apologize. Right. Mila may know everything about TV and Hollywood and being a woman, but she doesn’t know what it’s like to be a guy. Michael usually stops in here in the morning. We’ll laugh about what happened yesterday—if he even remembers.

Michael shows up a couple of minutes later, indelicately trying to tuck his shirt into his pants. He freezes when he sees me sitting at a table. For a moment I think he’s going to turn around and leave. Instead, he just frowns and heads for the coffee machine.

I groan internally. So Mila was right. He’ll still work for Mr. Lawrence who roughed him up, but he’s all bent out of shape because I stood up for him.

Am I really going to apologize for that? Oh, Michael, I’m so very sorry for intruding on your man business. It’s so confusing for little ol’ me. I didn’t mean to step out of line. Will you ever forgive me?

Yeah. Hell no.

Someone left a mess around the coffee pot and Michael is cleaning it up. I only have a minute before he leaves. And why not just let him go? What do I care if his manly pride is bruised?

Except I do kind of care. I do kind of see Mila’s point about guys wanting to stand up for themselves. Plus Michael, annoying as he is, has gone out of his way to be friendly to me. I can’t really say that about anyone else.

He’s pouring his drink. If I’m going to say something, it has to be now. But I’m not going to say I’m sorry. So how do I make things normal again?

I flash back to my parents. They don’t fight, not a lot. But sometimes Dad’ll get into a mood. How does mom deal with him then?

By ignoring his attitude. Just pretending she doesn’t notice that he’s angry.

I remember one winter, Mom turned into our driveway too fast, lost control on the ice, and broke a headlight and our mailbox. Dad was seething, he’d warned her about the ice that morning. And what does my mom do? She starts dinner, chatting with the family about her day, asking Dad about work, and blowing off any comments about the damage to the car. By the time we sat down to eat, my father’s arguments had kind of deflated.

Worth a shot.

“Hey, Michael, toss me one of those breakfast bars, would you? Are there any apple left?”

He pauses, looking somewhat surprised, before sliding me the snack.

I keep talking before he can leave. “These are okay. They used to sell Nature’s Goodness back at my school. Tasted like sawdust. You ever had those?”

He shakes his head. His frown has thawed a degree or so.

“Now Strudlemeister, those are great…hey, what’s the hurry? Sit with me a second.”

He glances at the door and I think he’s going to just leave. Instead, he pulls up a seat across from me. He doesn’t smile or try to explain anything to me, so I can tell he’s still mad.

How the hell do you soothe the male ego? I try to remember a relevant experience. What guy do I know who gets easily offended and pissy all the time?

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the polished chrome of the fridge.

Oh. Right. So how did Chris react when she realized she’d pushed me too far?

Geez, Shannon, I was just kidding. Lighten up.

How was I supposed to know that was a school project? It’s not like you can’t glue it back together.

Oh, don’t start bitching at me, Shannon. You’re not the only one who had a bad day.

I smile at Michael, but not warmly. “So Mila says you’re pissed at me.”

He shrugs. “No. Well. The thing is, Shannon, you kind of—”

“Stood up for you when Mr. Lawrence was being a prick?” I say that a little too loudly and we both immediately glance at the door.

“I didn’t need your help. I didn’t need—”

I stir my half empty coffee cup. “I’m sure you didn’t. But here’s the thing. You’re the only nice guy around here, and I didn’t appreciate your boss knocking you around.”

Michael tries to say something, but I plow on. “And unlike you, Mr. Lawrence can’t fire me. So maybe I overstepped myself. I dunno. But I’m not sorry I said something. I always stand up for my friends. And I do consider you a friend, Michael.”

He gapes at me for a moment. And then he smiles. I can tell he’s fighting it, so I smile back and he can’t help it.

“I consider you a friend too, Shannon. Just next time—”

Nope. I stand and pat him on the shoulder. “Good. I’ll see you at the meeting. Oh, and Mila was worried about you. Why don’t you go talk to her, let her know you’re doing okay.”

I smile once more and walk out of the room, my head held high. I’m really kind of getting the knack of this female business.

One foot in front of the other.

Chapter Eighteen

I’ve been smiling intently for so long, I feel like my makeup is going to crack. Under the guise of shooting a Darkness in the Daytime scene, Natalia casually mentions these amazing new whitening strips that she wants me to try. Again and again. My teeth are so bleached that they’ll probably stay this white after I’m dead.

Thankfully, Mr. Lawrence decides we’ve done enough and I instantly become invisible in Natalia’s eyes. I gather my things and Mila and I head down to the cafeteria.

We eat together after every shoot. I’m not sure why exactly we started doing this, or whose idea it was. I don’t complain.

Mila regards me critically from across the small table. “My, Shannon, that’s certainly an interesting outfit you chose today. Very…brave.”

I take a bite of my pasta salad. “Thanks, Mila. I’d leave it for you when I go home, but I think it may be a little tight on you.”

Mila grins. “Damn, Shannon, you’re really getting the hang of being a woman. You’ve got catty bitchiness down cold.”

“Well, I had a great teacher.”

While I’m proud that I’m finally able to hold my own with Mila, there’s something that’s been bothering me. I’m not sure how to broach the subject.

“So are you doing anything this weekend, Mila?”

She lets out a long sigh. “No, thank goodness. This girl is going to go home, change into her jammies and eat ice cream in front of the TV for two days. Haven’t had time to do that in months.”

“Oh. I thought maybe you’d go out and see your mother. Is she busy?” I still feel guilty about blowing her family reunion earlier.

Mila’s eyes narrow. “Why do you want to know?”

Geez, defensive much? “I dunno. Just wondering. Thought it would be nice to get to know each other a little better.”

“Nah, I’m good.” We eat in silence for a bit, before she lets out another dramatic sigh.

“Fine, Shannon. Pleeeease tell me about yourself. What did you do for fun back in Skidmark, Iowa?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“I usually do. But seriously, what do you have planned for your days off? Gonna hit the clubs again? Drive the boys wild?”

“I said forget it!” That comes out way louder than I intend.

To my surprise, Mila doesn’t look offended. “Hey, I was just messing with you.”

I grip my fork. It’s time to bring up what’s been bothering me. “Mila…” I drop my voice to a whisper. “I’ve been thinking about the show. I mean, even if no one figures out who I really am, I’ll still know. And that’s something I’m going to think about for the rest of my life. I mean…” How can I express this?

“You mean,” finishes Mila. “That you passed yourself off as a woman, both on screen and off, and that tears your fragile little male ego apart. You were so good at playing a woman, you worry that you’re less than a man.”

“No! That’s not it at all!”

“Well, what then?”

Pause. “Okay, that is it. Stop smirking! Look, I guess I don’t care what strangers think. But my sister…she always called me a sissy. Always called me a weirdo.”

“You are weird.”

“Not like this.” I gesture to my outfit, my falsies, my shaved legs. “And, well, what about…you know…dating? I mean, I had enough trouble meeting women before I started dressing like one.”

Mila cocks her head. “Shannon, have you ever had a girlfriend?”

I briefly consider lying. “No.”

“Look, it sounds like your sister has issues of her own. And as for girls…if they have a problem with this, forget ‘em. You don’t need someone that narrow-minded. Besides, no one is ever going to find out.”

“Wish I had your confidence. When it comes to girls, I don’t really have…any experience. At all.”

Mila laughs. “Shannon, you have a lot to offer a woman. I’m sure. I mean, there’s got to be something about you that some girl, somewhere would find…I dunno, acceptable. You have great teeth, play that up. Not to mention your fashion sense. Find a stocky woman and you can double your wardrobe.”

I laugh in spite of myself. “Would you date a guy who dressed like a woman for a TV show?”

“No.” Her answer is so emphatic, I know there’s no punch line coming.

“Too much to take?” I asked, a little dejectedly.

“Nope. I just don’t date. Men are assholes. All of them. Present company included.”

“I can never tell if you’re joking, Mila.”

She spears a cherry tomato on her fork and crushes it between her teeth. “I rarely joke.”

“But all men? C’mon, we’re not all that way.”

“Honey, there are very few exceptions. Very few.”

Someone approaches our table. “Hey Shannon. Hi, Mila!”

“Hi, Michael.” I lean toward Mila. “Case in point.”

She shrugs. “Granted.”

Michael dances from foot to foot, clearly hoping we’ll invite him to sit down and explain something. When we don’t, he pulls an envelope out of his jacket pocket and looks at Mila.

“So this radio station had this call-in contest. I identified the theme song to Get Smart and I won two tickets to the Kingston Jazz Fusion show.”

Mila cocks her head. “What radio station?”

Just a flash of panic on Michael’s face, but he soldiers on. “I’m not much into jazz myself, but I think you said something about liking it.”

She shrugs.

“So…well, I’d hate for these to go to waste. You want to come with me?”

I pretend to be interested in the stray croutons on my plate.

“Sorry, Michael, Mr. Lawrence gave me a shit ton of work. I’m going to be at the office all weekend.”

I remember her planned date with Ben and Jerry, but don’t mention it.

“Anything I can help with?” asks Michael, determinedly. “Maybe if I give you a hand…”

“No. Thanks though.” She stands up, collects her tray, and leaves. Michael watches her leave. After a moment, he collapses into her chair and stares dejectedly at the envelope in his hand.

“I don’t stand a chance, do I, Shannon?”

I’m shocked at the blunt question. Before I can prepare a thick enough sugarcoating, he continues.

“And don’t tell me the truth. Tell me she’s playing hard to get, that she secretly kind of likes me, and that she thinks of me as more than a friend.”

“She’s not into you, Michael.”

“Damn it, Shannon! I told you to lie.” He tosses the envelope onto the table.

“She thinks highly of you and your work.”

“Yippie. I’ll put her down as a reference.”

His pity party is wearing just a bit thin. Mila was being as diplomatic with him as possible. Most women would have been a lot more blunt. “Michael, you have to move on.”

“Yeah. I know.” He points to the envelope. “Just wish I hadn’t blown two hundred bucks on those.”

“I thought you said you won them.”

“I say a lot of things. Her favorite band is playing there.” He looks me in the eye. “She doesn’t really have to work, does she?”

“Um…”

“Figures. Well, I tried.” He starts to stand, then stops. “Hey, do you like jazz?”

“It’s…wait, what?”

“Since I’m not going to be able to make my car payment this month, I might as well see the concert. You want to come with? I hear they’re pretty good. C’mon, we can go out and get hammered afterward.”

I’m on the fence. On the one hand, I sure as hell am not going to go clubbing again. And the concert does sound kind of fun. Kind of cosmopolitan. But I need to say something.

“Michael, you’re not one of those maudlin drunks, are you? If we go out drinking, you’re not going to go on and on about Mila, right?”

He laughs. “No. I promise. Actually, though, I do need to warn you. When I’ve been drinking…well, they tell me I tend to talk a lot.”

“Get out.”

“No, really.” He stands. “See you Saturday.”

*

Michael is deep into another story. “And after I shattered my kneecap, that was the end of my lacrosse dreams. It healed up…kind of. If I was wearing shorts, I could win some serious bar bets.”

The concert ended two hours ago. Despite me never having taken an interest in jazz, I really enjoyed myself. The performance had been in a smoky, claustrophobic club where everyone was dressed to the nines. I was glad I’d picked up a new dress for the occasion. And even happier that no one would ever know I’d picked up a new dress for the occasion.

Now Michael and I are sitting in a crowded coffee shop that sells alcohol. Everyone seems to know him here. He’d promised me that we were going to both get so shitfaced that we’d be hungover until next week.

We’ve been here over an hour and we just ordered our second beers. But they’re large beers.

We’re been exchanging life stories. When Michael’s not explaining things, he can be surprisingly interesting. I never would have suspected he spent a gap year planting crops in Guatemala.

“So about you, Shannon? You play any sports?”

I take a sip of my drink. “Hardly. My dad signed me up for soccer when I was in middle school. He was so disappointed when I quit.”

“Huh,” says Michael. “You don’t usually hear about girls getting forced to play sports. But I suppose if it’s just you and your sister…”

Damn. I’m going to have to be more careful about revealing my history.

“I guess you’re pretty close with your family?” continues Michael.

I’m shocked at this question. “No. Not really. I was always kind of the odd one out.” I pause. “Why do you ask?”

He shrugs. “You just talk about them a lot. Especially your sister. It’s just the two of you, right? No brothers?”

I’m suddenly wishing Michael would try to explain something. “Yeah. Just Chris and me.”

“I’m an only child myself. Always wanted a brother or sister. So you and Chris never hang out?”

I try to improvise some sort of falling out I could have had with Chris, some reason that the Ferguson sisters were never close. But I just tell the truth.

“Chris was always the popular one. The athlete. The outgoing one. I guess she was always kind of embarrassed by her younger, um, sister. I was never very cool. She hated that. She’s only a year older, and we went to the same school until last year.”

Michael absently swirls his beer. “Popular kids are like that, I guess. High school’s rough. She shouldn’t have avoided you like that, but you know how it is…”

“Oh, she never avoided me,” I interrupt. “She was always trying to drag me to football games and parties and introduce me to people. I was like ‘I’m not going to be this ideal—sibling—you want, so stop trying to change me.’”

Michael signals for the check. “Maybe she was just trying to include you. Include her little sister.”

I remember a thousand insults and headlocks. “Or maybe she was trying to change me. Trying to make me conform.”

He shrugs. “You know her better than I do. So how about your parents?”

I feel a tinge of unexpected guilt. I’ve been missing for two weeks. I wonder what they’re thinking. I wonder if they’re still trying to find me.

“Like I said, I was always kind of a disappointment. They all like football and TV and stuff. Didn’t really understand my love of the theater and acting.”

Michael chortles. “I bet they were impressed when you landed this gig, though. C’mon, they have to be proud.”

They don’t know. And when they find out what I’ve done, they’re going to be furious. Not because of the cross dressing, but because they were worried for nothing.

I chug half my drink. “I don’t think proud is the word I’d use. Hell, when I go back to Iowa, my fifteen minutes will be up.”

“Don’t be too sure. Mr. Lawrence doesn’t let it show, but he’s very impressed by your professionalism. So is Mila. And I think you’re talented. You’re getting to know people. Making connections. You’ve got an inside scoop that a lot of aspiring actresses would kill for.”

“Yeah.” Except I’m not an aspiring actress. “You ready to go?”

*

We’re not far from my hotel, and Michael walks me. “Hey, Shannon, thanks for coming with me tonight. It kind of hit me the other day that I was getting a little stalky with Mila. I appreciate you being blunt with me before I did something embarrassing.”

I give him a half smile, still trying to stop thinking about my family. “Nothing wrong with moving on. You’ll meet someone. Some movie star that’ll put Miss Jenkins to shame.”

That amuses him and he laughs. We walk silently for the final block.

“Well, this is my stop,” I tell him.

“Thanks again, Shannon.”

“My pleasure. It’s nice not to be alone on the weekend.”

“Isn’t it?”

We smile for a moment.

And then he kisses me.

He’s not grabby or abrupt. In retrospect he was moving slowly enough so that I could back away and he could pass it off that he was just moving in for a brotherly hug.

But I was so absolutely not used to guys trying to kiss me that I couldn’t figure out what he was doing until it was too late. I swear, I thought he was going to brush a piece of lint off my shoulder or something.

Or lips only touch for less than a second. I then jump about a yard backward, catch my foot on the curb, and go sprawling on my butt.

Michael is already apologizing before I regain my feet. “Oh my God, Shannon, I’m so sorry…”

“You just startled me. I wasn't expecting…”

“I’m a jerk. I misread the moment…”

“Sorry, I’m just not…you’re a nice guy but…”

“It’s okay…honestly, I just wanted to have a drink. I don’t know what came over me…”

I’m slowly edging back to the hotel. “It’s okay. Forget it. Please, forget it.”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…”

“It’s okay. Good night.”

“Shannon, I’m sorry!”

I’m at the door. “Good night!”

*

I stare at myself in the bathroom mirror of my hotel room, trying to figure out what happened. It’s not hard to unravel.

A guy asks someone he thinks is a young lady out for the evening. They talk. They open up. They have a good time. He walks her home.

He tries to kiss her goodnight.

How in the holy shit did I not realize this was a date? How stupid am I? How goddamn blind was I?

I guess it’s not entirely my fault. I’m still not used to being treated like a girl. I still thought of this as a night out with the guys.

But what the hell was Michael thinking? Not about the kiss, but about asking me out in the first place.

Okay, he doesn’t know I’m a seventeen-year-old guy. He thinks I’m a girl. And he probably never looked at my application. With the aging effects of my makeup, he probably assumes I’m about twenty. But my God, still! Why on earth would he want to kiss me?

I focus in on my reflection. Monkey brow, hard jaw, big ears. Even with my padding and apparently nice legs, I’m a 4 at the most. Maybe a 5 in good light.

But Michael seems like a guy who places a lot of value on personality and intelligence, if his obsession with Mila is any indication. And if he’d finally given up on her, maybe it’s logical that he’d try his luck with someone a little further down the dating food chain.

Jesus. I was the rebound girl.

I’m utterly disgusted with myself, with Michael, and with this whole stupid situation. Why didn’t I tell him ‘just friends’ before we went out? Why didn’t I shake his hand the second we got to the hotel? Why didn’t I punch him in his stupid smug face?

It’s not his fault. He’s not the first guy to misread his date. It’s my fault for getting into this stupid mess.

And now what? I’m going to have to face him at the studio for about two more weeks. Should I apologize? Should he? Should we laugh about this, or just act like nothing happened?

I need to talk to someone.

*

“I appreciate you seeing me tonight, Rochelle.”

Rochelle is cleaning up her makeup tables. She looks very tired, and I feel guilty for calling her. “You understand this is after hours. I don’t do this for everyone. Now what did you need to talk to me about?”

I take a deep breath. “I got myself into a strange situation. This guy from work asked me to go see a concert. I swear, I thought it was just a couple of friends going out, but after he walked me home…” It’s hard for me to say this next part out loud. “He tried to kiss me. And I totally freaked out.”

Rochelle pauses in her tidying and sits down in a makeup chair. Again, I’m struck at how regal she looks.

“So you present as female at work?”

“Um…” I keep forgetting that Rochelle thinks I dress like a woman out of identity, not necessity. “Yes.”

She shakes her head. “Shannon, I don’t know anything about your life outside this salon. But it’s obvious you’re living as a female, more or less full time, am I right?”

I don’t deny it.

“And if that’s the case, you’re going to have to deal with the attention of men.”

I snort. “Hardly. I’m not exactly Natalia Jenkins…for example.”

Rochelle stares at me for a long time, in a way that makes me feel slightly uncomfortable. Then, much to my surprise, she removes her wig, places it on a stand, and begins brushing it.

She’s bald. Not shaven headed, but the full on male pattern baldness. Worse than my father.

And yet I still cannot think of her as a man. Not really.

She talks as she brushes, not looking me in the eye. “Shannon, you may not be sexy. But you pass as a woman in a way that would make some of us girls jealous. When people look at you, they see a young woman. And you’re polite, well-spoken, and intelligent. For a lot of guys, that’s all it takes.”

I shudder internally. Rochelle continues.

“And the longer you present as a woman, the more confident you’ll be. And that’s attractive as well.”

Thank God I’m only doing this for another couple of weeks.

Rochelle looks at the wig, smiles, and places it back on her head. “So I take it your attractions are not with men?”

“What? Oh, hell no.”

She smiles enigmatically. “Then you need to be careful. A lot of gentlemen don’t take no for an answer. You learned that tonight.”

It would be easy to cast Michael as the villain, but that wouldn’t be true. “It wasn’t like that. I think he was more embarrassed than I was. And now I have to see him on Monday.”

Rochelle stands and touches my shoulder. “He won’t mention it. And neither should you. Is he a friend of yours?”

I nod.

“Then just go back to what you had before. You’re not the first girl who’s turned him down.”

I squeeze Rochelle’s hand. Every time I see her, I get more and more curious as to her life outside the salon, but it’s none of my business. “Thank you, Rochelle. I needed to talk that out.” I turn to leave.

“Shannon?” I turn and she looks grave. “Remember what I said. Please be careful.”

“I will.” And I’m so grateful this farce is coming to an end.

I just pray she’s right about Michael. He got a little obsessive over Mila. I hope that doesn’t happen with me.

One foot in front of the other.

Chapter Nineteen

Monday at the studio I’m more nervous than I’ve been since Mila first convinced me to come here in a dress. Not that I have a dress on today. For the first time in a month, I’m wearing jeans and a t-shirt. Well, and my falsies. But I don’t want to look attractive today, not at all.

Both Mila and Mr. Lawrence give me a look when they see how slovenly I’m dressed, but I don’t care. I’m too panicked about the Michael situation. Should I avoid him and cause awkwardness by making a big deal about the kiss? Or should I just go up and talk to him, and risk rehashing the humiliating experience?

We’ll have to see each other at some point. I won’t try to run away from him, but I’m not going out of my way to chat, either.

Rochelle says Michael probably wants to forget the incident as badly as I do. But she doesn’t know Michael. What if he wants to talk about this? What if he gets all upset or angry? What if he mentions this to Mila?

I walk into the sound stage and there he is, sitting on a couch in Natalia’s character’s apartment. One of the extras, a curvy girl with black hair, sits next to him. They’re looking over a script or something.

He glances up and we make eye contact. I can’t pretend I didn’t see him. I walk over to grab my copy of today’s lines. “Hello, Michael.”

“Hey, Shannon.” He smiles warmly at me, then turns back to his companion. “Now the Foley artists, they’re the ones in charge of sound effects. Most of that is digital these days, but you know, fifty years ago, it was a job that took a lot of creativity. Still does, really.”

The girl is staring at him in rapt attention. “Wow. Tell me more.”

She doesn’t sound sarcastic.

The movie director barges in and everyone falls into place. Natalia giggles when she sees how I’m dressed, but I just sit quietly as they film her scene for three hours, and film a scene with me for five minutes.

Afterwards, I pass by Michael as he’s packing up. Again, we’re close enough that I can’t ignore him.

“Good shoot today,” I say, awkwardly breaking the ice.

“Yeah, nice work.” He’s looking at me in that distracted way when someone interrupts you when you’re busy.

“Same time tomorrow, I guess.” Jesus, that sounded forced.

“Yeah.” He takes out his phone and checks something. “See you then.”

“Hey, I’ve been having trouble with my laptop…”

“Huh? Sorry, can we talk tomorrow? I got a thing.” He then smiles and winks at me, not embarrassed at all, and leaves.

Well. That went nicely. He wasn’t shook up, wasn’t angry, talked to me and everything.

Except, something has kind of changed. He didn’t avoid me, not really, but he didn’t yak my ear off like he normally did.

Maybe he was afraid I’d bring up our awkward encounter.

Maybe he’s a little hurt and hiding it well.

Or maybe, now that he realizes I’m not into him like that, I’ve become just a little less interesting in his eyes. A little less important.

Of course not. I’m being paranoid. I’ve been acting like a girl for so long I’m starting to overthink things.

And if his ego is hurt, who cares? Not me.

No way.

*

I take a rideshare back to the Becoming studios to meet Mila for a late lunch. I don’t really feel like it, but part of me is paranoid that Michael told her about the kiss, though why in the world would he? I eventually wander to her office.

I guess ‘office’ is kind of a charitable term. It’s a room and it has a door, and there’s just enough room for a desk and two people, if one of them stands. No windows, her desk faces the blank wall opposite the door. Still, it’s better than most of the lower ranking staff get, who are relegated to cubicles, crowded conference rooms, and tables in the hall.

Mila’s not there, but her purse is, so she should be back soon. Remembering to cross my legs, I sit in her chair.

I start to get bored, so I go to check and see what publicity shots they’re using for the show. Mila showed them to me before, so I click on the appropriate folder on her desktop.

I scroll through the various episodes. Yep, here’s the Natalia Jenkins show. I watch a couple of promotional spots. Though they don’t mention me at all, they’re certainly making plans to air it. It’s really a go. I’m going to be on TV. Everyone’s going to see me. Dressed like a girl.

This is really happening.

Trying to corral my thoughts, I start flipping through other commercials. Some of the episodes I’ve seen, some are upcoming. I find a folder full of photos of Mila with the various celebrities. Mila with John Calaban, the wrestler. With Otis Blackhawk, the rapper. And with Cinder-Suzie, the pop diva.

There are a lot of that last person, Mila must be a fan. Who can blame her? Cinder-Suzie’s songs have huge crossover appeal, reaching fans of pop, rap, and R&B. She’s an actress, too, and not one who skates by on her musical fame. She was nominated for an Oscar for her last movie, The Boomtown Shuffle. I guess it doesn’t hurt that she has a face like Josephine Baker, even though she must be pushing fifty.

Jeez, there’s quite a lot of pictures of her. Mila must really like her. There’s one of Cinder-Suzie on the set. There’s one of her at the beach. One with Mila at some sort of film event. And another with Mila at someone’s house. And there’s a photo of Mila at what looks like a birthday party. Mila is standing in front of a cake with an 18-shaped wax candle. Cinder-Suzie stands behind her, a hand on Mila’s shoulder.

Wait a minute.

Mila at her high school graduation. Mila and Cinder-Suzie on bikes. A very young Mila on Santa’s lap.

I open Wikipedia. Cinder-Suzie (born Caroline Suzanne Anderson) did have a daughter with her ex-husband, Antonio Nevins. The daughter’s name is Faith, and she’d be twenty-three now.

Holy shit.

I’m aware that someone is standing at the doorway. I turn. It’s Mila.

“Hey, Shannon, sorry I’m…” She squints at the Wikipedia entry about the woman who I’m sure is her mother. I quickly close it, revealing a photo of Mila and Cinder-Suzie at a recording studio.

“I was just…”

Mila does not look happy. Not at all. She snakes out a hand and closes the laptop.

“Figured it out, did you?” I haven’t heard her sound this angry since we first met at the airport.

I stand. “Honest, I was just looking at the promotional stuff.”

She sneers at me. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you? Not enough that you almost wreck my career? Not enough that I go out of my way to help you? Not enough that you and I were…Christ.”

I kind of want to leave, but she closes the door. “Mila, I didn’t mean to snoop. It’s none of my business.”

“Damn right. And if you breathe a word of this, Shannon, you’re going to wish you’d never heard of Becoming. Jesus, I actually trusted you.”

I don’t understand her anger. I’d never heard anything about Cinder-Suzie being estranged from her daughter. “I’ll keep my mouth shut. But I don’t understand why you’re so upset about this. You’d think you’d be proud…”

Whoops, wrong thing to say. Really wrong.

“Get out, Shannon. Now.”

I slide around her, hugging the wall. I touch the doorknob. Then I stop.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

I swallow. “I said no. I’m sorry I got nosey, but I think you’d know that if anyone can keep a secret, I can. But I don’t understand why you’re so pissed off.”

She looks at me with just slightly less contempt. “You don’t understand, do you? You wouldn’t.”

“So explain it to me. Or not. But after all we’ve been through, I don’t think I deserve to be dismissed like this.”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it. She sits on the edge of her desk and toys with her stapler.

“Yes, Cinder-Suzie is my mother. I was born right before her first album went platinum. Mom wanted to keep me out of the spotlight. She hates it when celebrities use their kids as fashion accessories. She wanted me to grow up without a camera in my face.”

“That makes sense.” I’m trying to phrase this the right way. “But you’re not a child anymore, so why bother to hide it? I mean, having a mother that famous could probably help your career.”

For a moment, I think she’s going to clock me with that stapler. “I knew you wouldn’t get it.”

“Then help me.”

She lets out a sigh. “Shannon, my mother is one of the most powerful women in show business. Of course she could help me. One word from her, I could be producing my own TV show. I could co-direct a small movie. I could cut my own album. If I wanted, I could pick up that phone and be on the cover of Variety next month.” She snaps her fingers.

It suddenly becomes clear. “And anything you achieve would be your mother’s accomplishment, not your own.”

She nods, not looking at me. “You know how hard it is to break into the industry. And maybe it’s stupid, but I’d like to do it as Mila, not as The Daughter of Singing Sensation Cinder-Suzie. My mother paid for my private school. Got me into a competitive film program in college. Gave me everything. But I’m an adult now. I’m going to be a producer. And not because my mother is backing me up. That’s why I use my middle name and my father’s last name. Why I don’t talk about my past.”

I admire her drive. “I think you’ll do it.”

“Will I, Shannon? You can’t keep secrets around here. Mr. Lawrence knows. Michael knows. And every time I get an assignment, I wonder if I’ve earned it, or if he just wants to keep the studio in my mother’s good graces. Every time I screw up, I wonder if I’m only keeping my job because of whose daughter I am.”

I so want to take her hand, but I know that would be a mistake. “You’re plenty talented, Mila.”

She rolls her eyes. “So are a lot of people. And it doesn’t help being Black. Every time I succeed at anything, there are people out there—and a lot more than you probably suspect—who believe I only got where I was because they think I’m a DEI hire. It hurts. Not to mention the fact that I’m—”

“A woman,” I finish for her. “I can maybe understand that, a little.”

She gives me a fake smile. “When you’re an African-American woman, everyone assumes that everything you’ve ever achieved, everything you’ve fought for and earned, was handed to you. So I’m sure as hell not going to take something I didn’t work for.” She faces me for the first time since our confrontation. “That make sense?”

In a way it does. I guess if she asked her mother for help, it would feel cheap to her, like she hadn’t paid her dues. But I’m having trouble sympathizing.

“You know what’s worse than people thinking you take handouts? Everyone knowing you take handouts. Like, I dunno, when your mom gets sick and your dad gets laid off the same month and you have to go on food stamps for half a year. And your mother has to drive downtown to pee in a cup once a month, because the smarmy governor wants to make sure she’s not using her EBT funds for meth. Or when every Friday in fourth grade, they send you and your sister home from school with a little bag of groceries. I wasn’t the only kid in the program, but I was the only one with two parents. Or when you have to wear your older sister’s hand-me-downs.” I laugh at the irony of that last one. “Sorry, Mila. I wish I had your problems.”

She gives me a sour look, but doesn’t respond. We kind of just stand there for a few moments. Then she laughs.

“Jesus, we’re quite the pair, aren’t we? We both want the same thing, and we’re willing to do whatever it takes to get it. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I’m being ridiculous.”

My turn to laugh. “Yes. While I’m the very model of restraint and dignity.”

We smile, but it’s a little forced on both ends. “Can I trust you to keep my secret, Shannon?”

“I dunno. It’s not like you know some huge secret about me that I’m desperate to keep quiet.” I stand. “Do you mind if I bail on lunch? I’m not really dressed for dining out anyway.”

She glances down at my slovenly jeans and shirt. “I was going to say. What’s with the grunge look? You looked so cute last week I was a little jealous.”

I frown. “Can it, Mila. I wish you wouldn’t make fun of me.”

She takes a step forward and looks me right in the eye. Then she smiles. “I wasn’t.”

She leaves me alone in her office, feeling very confused.

Chapter Twenty

“Just laugh, Mila. I know you want to.”

Mila looks pointedly at her menu. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You’ve been biting your lip all evening. I look ridiculous. Just say it.”

The filming of my episode of Becoming is winding down. Today, they decided I really needed to look more like Natalia. Clothes, nails, makeup…and hair.

I think whoever selected my hair dye picked the wrong color. Instead of Natalia’s dirty blonde coloring, I’m now an intense platinum. It’s a shade of blonde man wasn’t meant to see.

Mila continues to deny anything is wrong. “It’s maybe not the best color for you, but it’s not bad. Really, I think you’re upset over nothing.”

“Nothing? I’m surprised there aren’t moths circling my head.”

She clears her throat, but doesn’t crack a smile.

“I could stand out in the harbor at night and guide ships.”

“Want to split an order of potato skins?”

I’m determined to break her façade. “I can read in bed now by the shine of my hair.”

Yeah, she’s really struggling to keep her laughter inside. “That’s a very nice outfit, Shannon. Is it new?”

“It’s Natalia’s. Funny thing.” I lean over the table toward her. “Last year, I used to always fantasize about getting into her clothes. Today, I got my wish.”

Mila bursts out laughing so hard, the other diners turn and stare at her. I laugh too.

“I’m sorry, Shannon. They really did a number on you. When filming’s over I’ll take you to my girl. She’ll make your hair look human again.”

“I’d settle for masculine. Damn, it’s going to be a relief to not have to wear these breasts anymore.”

Mila tilts her head. “Too bad. Are you going to take your clothes back home with you? Dress up on the weekends sometimes?”

“Very funny.”

“I’m serious. Why stop? Now that you’ve got the hang of it, you’re only going to get prettier.”

“Har, har.” Her joking is getting less funny.

“Some electrolysis, some hormone therapy…who knows where you might end up?”

I pick up my menu just so I can throw it down. “I wish you wouldn’t tease me about this.”

She meets my eyes. “I wish you’d take a compliment. That first week after I met you, I barely slept. I was so sure you were going to screw up and give yourself away, or bail on me. And now look at you. Practically Natalia Jenkin’s little sister. You know what I’d call a guy who could pull that off?”

I shrug. “Effeminate?”

“An actor. You’ve done great work this summer, Shannon. I hope you realize that.”

“Well…thanks for not firing me. Now I have to go back home and explain to everyone where I’ve been.”

Just the thought of having to face Chris and my parents fills me with dread.

Mila looks concerned. “Don’t worry. After you get your male makeover, I’ll introduce you to a couple of actors. We’ll take your picture together, and you can make up all kinds of wild stories about working in a movie that was almost released.”

I smile. Too bad that’s not the truth of what happened this summer.

The waiter arrives and takes our order. Again, I have a hard time spending what would have been most of my family’s weekly grocery bill on dinner. Better enjoy it while it lasts.

“Shannon?” asks Mila, when the waiter leaves. “Mr. Lawrence is having a party at The Winchester Hotel Friday night. Want to be my plus one?”

“I’m not sure.” Ever since I saw Mr. Lawrence slap Michael, I’ve not really had an urge to do things with him outside of work.

“C’mon. You’re going back home in about ten days. We won’t see each other again after that.”

The thought gives me a pain in my gut. Mila and I…would you call us friends? We’re not exactly best pals, but I think things have changed since we first met. I can admit it. I’ll miss her when I’m gone.

“Okay, Mila. What should I wear?”

*

The producers of Becoming have rented out an entire floor of the hotel. In addition to the main party suite, there are several smaller rooms. Mila and I get ready in one of these.

We stand side by side at the huge vanity, applying our makeup in front of the mirror. It comes easier for me every time. The foundation, the blush, the eyeliner. Skills that I didn’t possess a month ago, skills I won’t use again a week from now.

But still, I am kind of proud of myself.

Mila air kisses her reflection and puts away her lipstick. I glance at her sideways. She’s wearing a sleeveless black cocktail dress. Nothing too fancy. And yet…let’s just say that every time I’m around her recently, I become more and more sympathetic to Michael’s obsession. And more aware of my own embarrassing inner feelings.

At least Michael has a job. And he isn’t secretly seventeen.

I smother my pointless crush. “So how do I look?”

Mila takes a step back and gazes at me with a critical eye. It’s a dress Rochelle picked out for me, dark green, almost but not quite backless, with a slit up one side of the skirt.

She’s taking too long to say anything. She hates it. “It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“Shannon…”

“I told her I couldn’t pull this off with these shoulders and this neck and…I should change.”

“Shannon!” She places her hands on her hips and tilts her head in that way I’ve recently found inappropriately endearing. “Aside from your unfortunate hair color, you look…regal. I mean that. Sophisticated. Maybe even…pretty.”

I nervously move a lock of hair off my forehead. “Thanks,” I almost whisper.

“Well, come eleven o’clock, you’re going to be the best dressed woman at this shindig.”

“Is that when you go home?”

She smiles. “You’re catching on. Damn, when you go back home to Bunghole, you’ll be a shoe-in for Miss Butter Churn.”

Her previous compliment fades in my mind. “I wish you’d knock that off.”

She stops smiling. “Shannon, stop being so sensitive about the drag act.”

“Huh? No, I mean, stop making fun of where I come from. I don’t live in the sticks, I live in Des Moines. It’s the state capital! We have a university, and first class museums, and…and…”

There’s Mila’s smirk again. “And indoor plumping and all,” I finish, defeated.

Mila shakes her head. “I’m just messing with you. Hey, next time we do a shoot in the Midwest, I’ll be sure and look you up…” She pauses. “Nope, total lie. I’ve never been to Iowa and I think I can die happy saying that. But I hope you’ll come back and see me some time.”

She sounds sincere. “You ready to get this party started?” I ask.

“You bet. Grab your clutch and let’s get out of here.”

“Grab my what?”

She points to the counter. “Your little purse.”

It’s so tiny it barely holds my phone and hotel key card, let alone my makeup stuff. “This is such a pain to carry. Why don’t you women just put more pockets in your clothes?”

Mila rolls her eyes and makes a disgusted snort. “You are such a man, Shannon.”

I follow her out of the room.

*

The gathering looks like an after Oscars party. Not that there’s a lot of celebrities here. Aside from Natalia and her costar James, I don’t see many other actors. But with all the tuxedos and designer dresses and expensive faces, I know I’ve really made it past the velvet rope.

Mila immediately ditches me to talk to some friends. She doesn’t introduce me. But it doesn’t feel like a slight. I think she just feels I can take care of myself and doesn’t need to hold my hand.

Wish she’d hold my hand.

I spy Michael across the room, but he’s standing with Mr. Lawrence. And they’re laughing. Laughing and joking around together, as if Mr. Lawrence hadn’t just knocked him around and tried to fire him last week. Me, I would have held a grudge. I wouldn’t have forgotten that.

Maybe that’s my problem. But I don’t think so.

I take a glass of champagne from a tray. I remember what Mila said and keep my elbows close to my body, so as not to reveal my armpits or to loosen my falsies.

And I just stand there. Of course I do. Natalia and James are in the room. No one wants to talk to Shannon Ferguson. I’ll just have to go introduce myself to someone.

Yep, just go right up and start talking. Right now.

After another drink.

Hey, Michael’s not with Mr. Lawrence anymore. Now’s the time to mend fences, to show him we can still be friends…

No, wait, he’s here with that girl from the set. I can’t tell if they’re on a date, but I don’t want to slow his roll. And I don’t want to make him think I’m jealous.

Where the hell is Mila? I need another drink.

“I don’t care for these things either,” says a voice at my shoulder.

Is he talking to me? I turn.

It’s a handsome guy in his forties, with thick eyebrows and gray highlights so intense they almost look dyed. He smiles, embarrassed.

“I can’t just go up and talk to people. It feels like junior high all over again. I end up drinking too much and telling my problems to random people I corner.” He grins. “Like I’m doing now, for instance.”

I know exactly how he feels. “I’m Shannon.”

“Kevin. Do you work for Becoming?”

I’m suddenly a little ashamed of my role as a fawning clone of Natalia. “In a way. How about you?”

“I’m a location scout. I arrange filming locations in the Midwest.”

This piques my interest a bit. “Where are you based out of?”

“St. Louis.”

“I’m from Des Moines.” We clink our glasses.

“I really didn’t want to come here tonight,” he says in a slightly whiny tone. “But I heard Natalia Jenkins was going to be here and I promised my niece I’d get her autograph.”

Natalia is busy chatting up some handsome guy who I think I saw in some movie once. She doesn’t look in our direction.

Kevin downs his drink. “I should go.”

If he leaves, I’m going to end up standing around on my own. “Eh, hang out for a little bit. They haven’t even brought out the cocaine yet.”

Poor Kevin looks terrified.

“I’m just joking.” Kind of.

We end up talking for about half an hour, mostly making fun of party guests in low tones. Kevin’s fairly funny in a dad kind of way, though he does seem to believe that St. Louis is the cultural and intellectual hub of the entire universe.

Around about ten thirty Natalia sneaks out on the arm of her handsome companion.

I say ‘sneaks out.’ She pretends to be secretive, but is so blatantly obvious, so slow, it’s clear that she wants to be noticed and photographed.

Kevin sighs and puts down his drink. “I guess that’s that. Well, I’m sure I can forge something for my niece when I get back.”

I laugh. “Look, I work with Natalia. I’ll get her to sign something for her and send it to you.” Because, you know, I’m totes close with Natalia. My BBF.

His face lights up like a kid at a baseball game. “Would you? Aw, she’d love it. Do I, um, owe you anything for that?”

“Of course not.”

“Hey, thanks. Say, do you like bourbon? Someone gave me an expensive bottle earlier. Do you want it?”

I’ve had a few too many already, and I’ve never actually had hard liquor. “That’s okay.”

“Seriously, I can’t take it on the plane. You’d be doing me a favor. You could give it to a friend or something.”

Yeah, maybe Michael or one of the crew would like it. “Sure. Okay.”

“Great. I’m headed out. I left it in the other room with my jacket. C’mon.”

I swallow the last of my drink. Honestly, I’m happy for the excuse to leave. Mila has apparently abandoned me, and now I can hop into a cab unnoticed.

Kevin’s stuff is in one of the unoccupied rooms the show rented out. The place is empty and Kevin has to dig through a pile of jackets and coats before he can find his things.

He eventually locates the bottle. It’s expensive looking, with wax melted all over the cap. “Here you go, Shannon. Thanks for everything.”

“No problem.”I set the bottle on a table and reach for my purse. “Just give me your address and I’ll send you—”

And…he’s moving in for a kiss. Jesus Christ, not again.

I back away.

But he keeps moving forward.

His beer breath is on my face. His scratchy lips touch mine.

I pull back, but he has me against the wall. This isn’t like with Michael. Kevin has to realize I’m not into this.

I move my head to the side. “Kevin! Stop it!”

He starts…oh dear God…he starts kissing my neck. My flesh crawls.

I push at him, but he’s powerful. “Stop it! I said stop!”

His hands grab my wrists. And suddenly, I’m very, very scared.

I struggle. He does not let go.

I shout. He does not respond.

He holds me harder against the wall.

His legs press against mine. I can’t drive a knee into his crotch.

He starts kissing my bare shoulder. I try to fight him, but he’s surprisingly strong.

“I don’t want to do this! Stop it!”

He’s really grinding into me. I can feel his keys or something poking into my stomach…

Oh, God.

That’s not his keys.

“Stop it!”

He pulls back for a moment. I think I’ve reached him. I think he’s going to let me go. But then he smiles.

“C’mon, Shannon. No one has to know.”

And he’s kissing my skin again.

The only thing that keeps me from flailing, from going ape shit wildcat, is a fear that my dress will slide down and expose my male chest. I don’t know if the revelation that I’m really a man will make things better for me, or much worse.

“Help!” I yell.

His hand snakes up and covers my mouth. I bat at him with my free arm, but it’s useless.

Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.

I’ve lost all sense of myself. All sense of him. He seems to have ten hands. I can feel him tugging at the halter in the back of my neck. In a few seconds, he’s going to have my dress undone.

Oh, God.

And then the door to the room opens.

And there stands Mila.

It takes Kevin a couple of seconds to realize what’s happened. When he sees Mila standing there, he pulls away.

He then shrugs and smiles at us.

Mila quickly and deliberately marches into the room. Snatching up my purse without breaking stride, she takes me by the hand and pulls me into the corridor. We don’t talk, not until we’re in the room where we originally got ready. She locks the door behind us and then faces me.

“Shannon, do you want me to call the police?”

I’m so disoriented that for a moment I think she’s threatening me with the cops. After a second I realize that the look of fury on her face is directed elsewhere.

“Shannon, look at me. Do I need to call the police? I could tell what that guy was trying to do.”

I suddenly snap back to reality. The cops? The thought of telling strangers what happened horrifies me.

“No! Please, Mila, don’t make me.”

“Okay. It’s okay.” She moves to take my arm, then stops. “How are you? Did he hurt you?”

I’m suddenly humiliated, now that Mila knows. “No. He just…he just got aggressive. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Mila opens her mouth, then closes it. “Shannon…”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it. Call me a cab. I’m going home.”

“I’ll go with you.”

I feel some sudden misplaced anger. “Will you leave me alone? It’s no big deal! He was just a jerk who wouldn’t take no for an answer. He wouldn’t stop.”

“Shannon.”

“He…he wouldn’t stop, Mila. I kept telling him, but he wouldn’t stop.” My voice quavers.

“Shannon.”

“He wouldn’t stop! He kept touching me and kissing me and he wouldn’t stop! What…what if you hadn’t shown up? What if…” I can’t finish.

Mila slowly and gently takes me in her arms. “Let it out, Shannon.”

The sobs are coming. “I told him to stop.”

She pats my head. “I know you did, sweetie.”

“He wouldn’t stop.” I’m ugly crying.

“Let it out. Let it all out. You’re safe. I’m here.”

“Thank you, Mila.”

I cry for an hour. Or five minutes. I can’t tell. Mila holds me the whole time. Eventually, I go dry.

“I snotted all over your dress, Mila.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Mila…take me home, please.”

“Of course.”

Chapter Twenty-One

When I wake up, it takes me a moment to realize I’m not back in my hotel room. I’m tucked under a warm blanket, wearing nothing but my panties and an unfamiliar t-shirt. Warm sunlight streams through a large window.

Right. Mila’s house. I groggily sit up. I don’t remember much about going to bed last night. All that champagne hit me at once. This is clearly Mila’s bedroom. I wonder where she slept last night.

My dress hangs on a hanger on a closet door. I turn away, not wanting to look at it. Instead, I pull on a bathrobe I find laid out at the foot of the bed and go off to search for my hostess.

This house, though small, is obviously expensive. I can see the ocean from the living room window, and the amount of Spanish tile and exposed brick lets me know that this is not some rental. Mila didn’t buy this place on a junior executive’s salary. She won’t use her famous mother’s influence at work, but clearly this home was a gift.

I find Mila in the kitchen, preparing something at the granite counter. She gives me a shy smile and passes me a cup of coffee and two Pop Tarts on a plate. We sit at the table, the sea breeze drifting in from the open bay windows.

No one speaks for a while. Mila breaks the silence.

“Do you feel like talking?”

I’d managed to suppress the memories of last night, but now it comes flooding back in all its whiskery, slobbering detail. The coffee cup trembles in my hand.

“No, I’d rather not.”

Mila nods. But five seconds later, I’m talking again.

“What the hell was I thinking, going back to a hotel room with him?”

Mila slams her cup down. “None of that. Never, ever blame yourself. You got that? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

I shrug. Sure doesn’t feel that way.

“Shannon, it’s not too late to call the cops if you like.”

I let out a sigh. “So he can tell them that I was falling down drunk and all he did was try to kiss me? So the police can figure out that I’m really a guy and he can throw that back in my face? Mila, I don’t want to have to deal with him again. I hope that doesn’t make me a bad person.”

She takes my hand. “You’re a fine person.”

More silence. I can tell Mila has more on her mind. Eventually she turns her chair to face me.

“Shannon, I need to tell you something. I guess it’s no secret that when I first met you, I didn’t like you very much.”

I have to laugh. “No secret at all.”

“And, well, maybe I went out of my way at the beginning to make things a little rough for you. I was worried about my job, and I kind of took it out on you. I figured if you were going to play the woman, you should get the whole experience. The uncomfortable clothes, the sexism, constantly having to prove you’re as smart as a man, everything.”

“Um, I think that was society, not you.”

“I could have warned you. But I thought it was kind of funny, watching you stagger around in high heels and wonder why you had to constantly repeat yourself around Mr. Lawrence. I could have made things easier for you, but instead, I just laughed.”

I wonder why this apology is surfacing now. “You could have been better…but you could have been a lot worse. It’s in the past.”

Mila doesn’t seem to have heard me. “Shannon, I wanted you to know what it’s like to be a woman. But I swear to you…I swear to God…I never wanted you to experience that. I should have kept my eye on you. When I saw you leave with that guy, I was going to follow you. But then Mr. Lawrence started talking to me, and by the time I got away, I didn’t know which room you were in, and it took me a while to track you down”

She has a desperate look on her face. “Mila, it wasn’t your responsibility.”

“Yes it was.” There is no arguing with her tone of voice. “You’re a guy. You’re not used to having to be careful in situations like that. I know what can happen when you’re alone with a man. I know that they don’t listen when you tell them to stop. I know what it’s like to have to fight someone who’s stronger than you. I should have stuck with you. And I hate myself for what almost happened.”

She looks like she’s about to cry, which I honestly didn’t think she was capable of. “Mila, you weren’t the one who put his hands all over me. But you were the one who stopped him. I’m okay.”

“You know I didn’t want that to happen, right?”

“Of course you didn’t.”

“Maybe I haven’t done right by you, Shannon, but I’d never wish that on anyone. I should have let you change out of that dress when you asked. I shouldn’t have brought you to that party.”

“It’s not your fault!” Geez, you’d think she was the one who’d been attacked.

She rubs her eyes with her fingers. “Yes. Right. Thank you.”

Silence descends. I wonder if I should leave. I don’t want to.

“Shannon? If you’d like…I don’t want you to, but if you’d like to go back home, it’s okay. We really have enough footage. I’ll say you’re sick or something. No one would blame you.”

Go home a week early? That would have been temping earlier this month. But after all we’ve both worked for, I’m not ready to give up. And I’m not willing to let a guy like Kevin scare me. I picture his smug smile when Mila burst in. Like she’d walked in on a couple kissing, not an attack.

“I want to finish things.”

She smiles weakly. “Really?”

“Really.”

“Thank you. C’mon. Let me find something for you to wear, then I’ll drive you home.”

She stands. I don’t.

“Mila? You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. It’s none of my business. But when you were talking about what happened at the hotel. That sounded like the voice of experience.”

She stands there silently, her eyes cast down, her fist clenching. I shouldn’t have said anything.

“I’m sorry, Mila…”

She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. I want to tell you.”

She turns and faces the window.

“It happened about three years ago. Summer internship from college. I was working on the production of that failed Life With the Loan Sharks thing. It was kind of like what happened last night. A party. A guy I trusted, a guy I knew, offered to walk me home. Asked to come up and talk. And then…” She shrugs. “I never told anyone. Not even my mother.”

“Oh, God, Mila, that’s horrible.”

She turns and faces me. “What was really horrible was that he was working on the same project. I kept having to see him the whole time I was there.”

The bottom drops out of my gut. “See him? How the hell did he even show his face around there again? How could he be in the same room with you?”

To my surprise, Mila smiles. “You’re such a man, Shannon.”

“What does that mean?”

She shakes her head. “It means that it didn’t occur to him that he’d done anything wrong. Most guys don’t. He just edited his memory and made it a one night stand where I took some convincing. And then he could live with himself.”

I want to barf. I want to throw my arms around Mila. I want to apologize for having a Y chromosome. I rewind every date I ever had. Every girl who told me no. I listened, didn’t I? I didn’t keep trying, did I?

“I don’t know what to say.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t have to say anything. It was good to get that off my chest.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“Yes. If you ever have a son, make sure he understands this. All of this.”

“I will. I promise.”

We look at each other awkwardly. And then we hug.

“C’mon, Shannon,” she says after a bit. “Let me find something for you to change into.”

“Thanks. Thanks…for everything.”

She squeezes my shoulder. “It’s what you do for a friend.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

The following Monday, I’m still scared and upset over what happened at that party. But I’m determined not to let it get to me. Assholes like Kevin hurt wonderful people like Mila and I’m not going to let him affect my work. I can do this.

One foot in front of the other.

We’re filming another scene for Darkness in the Daytime. And this time, when I’m called upon to read some lines, I don’t hold back. Maybe I even put a little more into it than Natalia did. If she doesn’t like it, maybe she can try harder. I’m certainly not being paid three million bucks for this role.

Natalia seems to be in a bad mood, and I wonder if maybe today wasn’t the day to show off my acting chops. Oh well. As I gather my things, the assistant director approaches her.

“Miss Jenkins? Shall I have the car come around?”

She takes a long drag from her cigarette. “Why?”

“You’re due at the south lot. Remember? That cameo for the new Joshua Jones film?”

I accidentally let out an audible gasp. Joshua Jones is a young director and I’m kind of a big fan. He burst onto the scene about five years ago, when, thanks to his work on the low budget gross out comedy, Retail, he was nominated for best director. It was a crude lowbrow movie, but it really resonated with audiences, especially those who worked in customer service.

I’d dearly love to meet him. I wonder if Natalia will let me come.

She exhales a plume of smoke. “Tell him I’m busy.”

“We’ve postponed three times. We owe his production company. Remember how they helped us out during the strike last—”

“I’ll do it tomorrow.”

The assistant director is looking panicky now. I know I should leave, but I want to see how this plays out. “They have to get this wrapped up today. It’s just a two-minute scene. You’ll be home by nine.”

Natalia stands. “I’m not up for it. If they don’t want to reschedule, they can shoot it without me. Bye.” She elegantly flips her jacket over her shoulder and trollops her way off the stage.

I notice the director making strangling motions at her as she leaves. He then turns to me and sighs.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to go ruin Mr. Jones’s evening. Unless I can find some sap to do it for me.”

“I will!” I bark.

He stares at me for a second, then smiles. “I’ll call a car for you. Just tell him that Miss Jenkins…um….”

“Is very sorry, but cannot work on the project at this time?”

“Sure. Or tell him the truth. What do I care.” He fishes an ID badge from a box and hands it to me. “Just remember, being the messenger was your idea.”

*

Joshua Jones’s set is made up to look like some kind of skuzzy college apartment or frat house. I don’t see any extras on the set and I wonder what kind of scene Natalia was supposed to be doing.

My magical badge gets me past security, and I’m directed to Mr. Jones’s headquarters. I’m going to actually get to meet him! True, it’s to give him bad news and probably get yelled at, but still. I’ll be in the same room as the guy who made ‘festering cornswaggling arsewipe’ part of the national dialogue.

The door is open and I stick my head in the office. A younger guy sits in a chair, playing a handheld video game. And at the desk stands Josh Jones, the man himself. He’s just over thirty, but already has an enormous beer gut, receding hairline, and an unkempt beard that’s going gray. He often casts himself in the recurring role of the Chairman of the Joints, so I recognize him immediately.

My recent experience has taught me to approach a celebrity like you would an unfamiliar dog: slowly, on their terms, and ready to run.

I tap on the door frame. “Mr. Jones?”

He looks up and smiles. “Hi there! What can I do for you?”

“I’m Shannon Ferguson. I work with Natalia Jenkins.”

His smile broadens. “Great! Is she here? I was afraid she was going to cancel on us again. I know it’s just a silly cameo, but I’m really looking forward to working with her.”

Here goes nothing. “Actually, she’s not here. I’m sorry, she can’t make it.”

His face darkens. “Damn it! We’ve been set up and ready to go for hours! This is costing me a fortune. Chad!” He snaps his fingers at the guy playing the video game. “I’m pissed! Break something!”

Without looking up, the guy tosses a plastic cup to the floor.

Mr. Jones turns to me. “Is she on her way? We’re really fighting a deadline here.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Damn it! Chad!”

Chad Frisbees a clipboard across the room.

Mr. Jones wrings his trademark ball cap in his hands. “Did she tell you when she’d be available?”

“Um…no.”

“Son of a…they’re striking this set tonight! Aaargh! Chad! I’m furious! Knock yourself around for me!”

Chad begins slapping himself without enthusiasm. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

“You call that an ass beating? You’re fired!”

“You can’t fire me, I quit.” He still hasn’t looked up from his game.

“Call security! Tell them to have you thrown off the set! And be rough!”

“I’ll get right on it.”

Mr. Jones turns back to me with a wan smile. I’m not sure if that routine was for my benefit or if that’s what he’s really like. All I know is that I’m annoyed with Natalia. Some people would really enjoy this chance to work with this crude and talented director.

“I wish she’d let me know earlier,” he says, half to me, half to himself. “I held up production for a week, just so I could put her name in the credits. Damn.”

“Boss?” says Chad, from his seat. “We still shooting that scene?”

“Might as well, though it’s kind of pointless without Natalia. Well, we’ve already paid everyone. Call up casting, tell them to send a girl over. Nineteen, twenty, I don’t care what she looks like. I—”

Both men suddenly turn and look at me. Mr. Jones smiles.

“Who did you say you were?”

*

I’m standing in the party room set, dressed in a sorority sweater and skirt.

“We just need a close up of you giving the lines. We’ll get the long shots later with a body double when everyone is on set. Sit on that ottoman.”

I follow directions. This is so exciting! I’m actually going to get to give a line on my own, and not just in imitation of Natalia.

“So you’ll talk for about twenty seconds, and then Chad will spray vomit all over you.”

“Um…what?”

Chad walks up to me. He’s wearing tinted goggles and carrying a tank with a sprayer attachment. “Beef stew and water,” he says with a manic grin.

“All right!” barks Mr. Jones. “Places!”

“Wait!” I say with a squeak. “I haven’t seen the script!”

“Huh? Oh, right. Natalia was going to improvise.” He thinks for a bit. “You’re a girl who’s been hurt by her jerk boyfriend. But you’re going to give him one last chance. Just tell the camera how small and worthless he’s made you feel, but how you still care deeply for him and you’re going to put your heart on the line one last time. When I’ve heard enough, I’ll have Chad let fly with the puke. Got it?”

“You bet.” I wonder if Natalia knew about the nature of this scene. Probably not.

“Action!”

Well, Shannon, you always said you were talented. Let’s show them what you got. I face the camera. I look sad.

“Well, here I am again. I know I said I never wanted to see you again. That I wouldn’t let myself be hurt like that again. But…I dunno.” I make my voice hitch. “I can’t walk away from us. Are you even listening? Do you know what you’ve put me through these past months? How worthless and ugly you made me feel? How I questioned the very woman I was? Don’t you realize I get scared? That sometimes I just want to go back home? I feel like a fake, someone who’s becoming someone else just to fit the role you’ve decided I need to play.” I glower at the camera. “Are you even listening? Are you? Because I can’t do this much longer. I can’t sell out my dignity and my identity for some stupid dream that’s never going to come true.”

I keep waiting for the vomit, but nothing. Chad just stares at me, the lights reflecting weirdly off his goggles. I plow on.

“But you know that’s all empty threats. You know I’m in this for the long haul. Because these past months have been beautiful, too. Sometimes I wake up and can’t believe this is all happening. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s a temporary fix, but you know what? I don’t care. Because I love you. God help me, you’re all I ever wanted. All I need. So just look at me. Look at me! Tell me I mean something to you. Tell me I’m not wasting my time. Answer me! Do you care? Do you?”

“Cut!” snaps Mr. Jones, angrily.

Damn. I must have laid it on too thick.

“Chad, what the hell? You were supposed to let loose with the puke twenty seconds ago.”

“I’m sorry. I…I missed my cue.” He removes his goggles and smiles weakly at me. “Kinda got caught up in the moment. Been a while since a girl talked to me like that.” He laughs. The crew laughs with him. It’s rather forced.

“Okay, let’s try it again,” says Mr. Jones. “Shannon, great work. Maybe less intense. I want Chad to puke on you, not propose. Action!”

Nailed it.

*

We shoot the scene three times, pausing for me to change my clothes after each take. The vomit is ice cold and my disgusted reaction isn’t the result of acting.

But I don’t care. It’s a throwaway scene, but I did it. I acted in a Josh Jones production. I can burn my bucket list.

After I get out of the shower and back into my clothes, someone tells me Mr. Jones would like to talk to me. I find him back in his office, eating handfuls of generic Lucky Charms straight out of the bag.

He looks embarrassed when he sees me. “My father never loved me,” he mumbles with his mouth full.

“You wanted to see me, sir?”

He pats a chair. “Have a seat. Shannon, I was very impressed with you today. Great improvisation.”

I’m glowing. “Thank you, sir.”

“Unfortunately, we’re probably not going to be able to use any of that footage.”

I’m not crushed. I’m not crushed. “I’m sorry. Maybe if I’d had some time to prepare—”

He holds up a palm. “Your lines were flawless. But that scene was written with Natalia Jenkins in mind. You see, the audience really would like to see someone throw up on her, she’s so pretty and perky and perfect. Whereas you...no one knows who you are. It wouldn’t be as funny.”

I nod, but there’s something he’s not saying. I’m not pretty. And seeing an ugly girl humiliated, that’s not really entertaining. Josh Jones can be gross and tasteless, but he’s never mean.

He wipes his hands on the arms of his chair. “So that was no reality TV actress I saw out there. Are you in drama school?”

I blush a little. “Still in high school. But it was an honor to work with you, Mr. Jones. I really enjoy your films.”

He nods. “I don’t often hear that from women. Thank you. Tell me, are you going to try to make a career out of acting?”

“It’s my dream. I’d love to be in film.”

He nods. “Shannon, it was my dream too, back when I was your age. And sometimes it doesn’t seem real. But do you know why I prefer to be behind the camera? Why I never cast myself as a lead?”

“Because you’d rather direct?”

He nods, then frowns. “That’s part of it. Some people say I have the talent of a Hitchcock. But more people say I have the body of a Hitchcock.”

We both laugh.

“It’s true, Shannon. And…may I be blunt?”

I know where this is going. “I don’t have the face of a leading lady.”

He pauses, then nods. “That’s right.”

Okay, he’s telling the truth. And I really don’t want to be pretty. So why do I kind of feel hurt?

He continues. “But Hollywood isn’t all top billing. We need people to play best friends, bosses, doctors, coworkers, neighbors, etc. Do you know who Parker Posey is? Or Michael McKean? Or Sarah Hughes?”

“Um…”

He holds up his phone and shows me a few headshots. I recognize all of them. They’ve probably been in a hundred movies in total. But I couldn’t have told you their names.

“Shannon, you have some serious talent. And people are going to tell you that you can’t make it in this business because you’re not, um, uh…”

“Natalia Jenkins?”

He nods, relieved. “Exactly. But despite what people tell us, it’s acting ability that makes a good movie. Now, you're going to be a high school senior? Any plans for after graduation?”

The room is suddenly very quiet. “Um, nothing definite.”

“Well, next summer, I’m starting a new project. A high school rom com, maybe a little more serious than my previous stuff. I think I may have a small role for you. Very small, but I think you could do things with it. Are you interested?”

“Are you kidding!” I pull myself together and sit down again. “I mean…yes. My God, yes. Of course. Thank you. Yes. Wow.”

He smiles. “Great. I’ll contact you through Becoming when the details get ironed out. We start filming around June. Great to have you aboard.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, and Shannon? Maybe go back to your natural hair color by then? Thanks.”

I shake his hand and wander numbly off the set. Josh Jones, my idol, liked my work. Specially requested me to be in his movie. This is going to be the start of something huge. I can’t wait to tell Mila. Can’t wait to tell everyone on Becoming.

Becoming.

Josh Jones thinks I’m a girl. He thinks I’m a woman. That role he has picked out for me is for a female.

Shit.

*

“And he invited me to be in his next film! Josh Jones wanted me to act for him!”

Mila and I sit in the coffee shop where I occasionally hang out. I’d worry about people overhearing our conversation, but this is L.A. It’d take a lot more than a cross dressing teen actor to raise interest.

Mila sips her tea. “Well, that’s good news, isn’t it?”

“But he thinks I’m a girl! This role he’s picturing, it’s for a woman. I can’t show up next year as myself.”

“So show up as a girl. You’ve really got the clothes and mannerisms down.”

Just when I think she’s taking my problems to heart. Just when I think we’ve kind of become friends. “Will you be serious?”

She stirs her drink. “I am serious. You’ve been offered a great part in a movie. So why not make it work for you? It’s just a role, after all.”

I’m annoyed and slightly intrigued at her suggestion. “Well for starters, Mr. Jones will be pissed when he finds out the truth.”

Mila shrugs. “Will he? You honestly think a guy like that would care?”

This gives me pause. He did win the GLAAD Media Award a couple of years ago, due to the sensitive portrayal of lovers Beto and Ernesto in one of his short films. Not bad for a movie called Sluts, Butts, and Coconuts.

“Mila, even if he doesn’t mind, I can’t keep doing this! I don’t want to build a career as an actress, and if I do this again, I’m going to be typecast as a female impersonator. And that’s not what I want. This was a one shot deal, and no one was supposed to know.”

She puts down her cup and looks at me with an expression that shows she’s not blowing off my concerns. “Look. Don’t think about it for now. After your episode airs, I’ll talk to Josh. Break the truth to him gently. You said your scene got cut from this movie, right? Well, no skin off his nose. It just shows what a versatile actor you are. Maybe I can convince him to recast you in a boy role.”

I’m not sure this plan will work, but I’m surprisingly relieved to have her on my side. Again. “Thank you, Mila. Even if it doesn’t work out, I did get to be puked on in a Joshua Jones movie. I’ll always have that.”

Mila frowns. “Yeah. We need to talk about that. You haven’t mentioned this to anyone back at Becoming, have you?”

“No. Why?”

She puffs air out of her mouth. “Um, I think we should keep this to ourselves for now. No reason to make Natalia jealous, you stealing her part and all.”

“What? No, you misunderstood. She bailed. They had to pull me in to finish the scene. Natalia wasn’t interested at all.”

“Yeah. How can I put this so you’ll understand?” She rubs her chin. “Let’s see, you and your sister are a year apart, right? When you were children, did you ever have a toy that you never touched, that just sat in your closet? And then one day Chris started playing with it and it became your favorite, bestest toy ever that you couldn’t bear to share?”

“Um…” I remember my baseball glove that had the price tag on it for a year. But when I caught Chris playing catch with it, it suddenly became my glove.

“Maybe. But Natalia’s not a child.”

There’s a pause. Then we both laugh.

“Shannon, Natalia’s used to getting everything she wants. Always. She’s powerful enough to turn down Joshua Jones. That doesn’t mean she wants Miss Cornpone Iowa stepping in and probably doing a better job than she would have. Do me a favor and keep this to yourself until filming’s over. It’s only another couple of days.”

“Okay, Mila.”

She finishes her drink. “In L.A. for a month and you already have directors knocking down your door.”

I shrug, modestly. But yeah.

Mila winks. “Best part is, you got that part on talent alone. Not looks. Well…” She glances down at my legs. “Not just looks.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

It’s the second to last day of shooting. Well, for Becoming. The filming for the movie will take several more months. I’m kind of sorry I won’t be there to see it.

I’m not sure why I bothered to show up today. Mila’s not here, and Natalia’s in full on diva mode. Mr. Lawrence keeps smiling uncomfortably at me, which is his way of saying I won’t be getting any time in front of the camera today.

Oh well. It had to end sometime. I almost laugh at the utterly ridiculous situation I found myself in, and how, thanks to Mila, I pulled it off. Of course, the good times are over. In less than a week, I’ll be back in Iowa, explaining to my very angry family where I’ve been for the past month.

Was it worth it? The humiliation, the loss of my identity, the waste of a summer. And not just that. I remember those first few days when Mila truly didn’t like me, and I didn’t have a friend in the world. Realizing how Natalia Jenkins was nothing more than an image on a screen, something invented in a PR department. I think of the awkwardness of Michael’s innocent attempt at a kiss. I think of Kevin and his attempt at….you know.

But I think of really getting to know Mila. And Rochelle, and Michael. Meeting and impressing Joshua Jones. Maybe learning about the bullshit that women put up with constantly.

I wouldn’t have chosen to spend my summer vacation this way. But I think it was worth it in the long run. I just hope I can remember that next week, when I have to go back to reality.

“Hey, Iowa!” It’s Natalia. Filming is over for the day, and for the first time since the zoo, she’s gone out of her way to talk to me. “You got a minute?”

“Yes. Of course.”

She leads me back to the green room and perches on the edge of the counter. I sit, uncomfortably, in a makeup chair.

“So…a little birdie told me you just amazed the heck out of Josh Jones the other day.”

I freeze. Mila warned me not to talk about this, but it seems Natalia already knows.

“Now don’t be coy!” she says with a smile. “My sources tell me you took the ol’ brown shower with the grace of a Hepburn.”

Is she angry? She doesn’t look angry. But she is an actress. “They just needed a stand in. Mr. Jones said the scene won’t even be in the movie.”

“Don’t be modest! I felt terrible about not being able to make it, but his movies…just not my scene. I’m so proud of you! I wish you’d have said something, I would have taken you out to celebrate.”

Is she really happy for me? “It was just a silly shot. Just a couple of lines.”

She tosses her head back and laughs. “Well, it was just a ‘couple of lines’ that got me my first big break. I don’t know why you kept this to yourself.” She slides off the counter, then moves behind my chair. She begins to gently massage my neck.

“Shannon, I don’t say this often, but everyone here is really taken with your skills. Mr. Lawrence, James, and especially me. I hope this won’t be the last time we’ll work together.”

I am so surprised at her suggestion that I try to stand up. Natalia gently pushes me back into the chair.

“I’m serious. I hope you’re not planning on flying back to…where were you from?”

“Des Moines.”

“Right….” She seems to consider something. “I had a friend from the area. You didn’t happen to go to Central High, did you?”

I’m pretty sure she’s mistaken, I’ve never heard of that school. “No, I went to Fredrick Douglass.” Still do, actually.

“Oh.” She suddenly spins my chair around to face her. “Shannon, I may not have always shown it. I’ve had a lot on my mind recently. But I like you. A lot. And I want to make sure everyone knows what a great actress you are. I want you to think of me as a friend.”

“Thank you, Miss, er, Natalia.”

She gently pats my cheek. “See you tomorrow.”

And now I’m alone. I lean back in the chair. Could I have misjudged her? Maybe she’s just another stressed out professional who didn’t have the time to hold the newbie’s hand. Maybe she really is as nice as she seems on screen.

But somehow I doubt it. I can’t put my finger on it, but she has some kind of angle. Something to benefit her, not me.

It’s probably best that I’m leaving town.

*

Mila calls me before I even get out of the studio. “Shannon! Meet me at my place! Big news!”

She won’t elaborate. I dump some cash on an Uber to get out to her house.

“Mila?” I rap at the open door. “Mila, are you—”

She grabs me by the arm and yanks me into the kitchen. I notice a bottle of champagne on ice, and two glasses. I’m immediately reminded of Kevin, and have to swallow back a little vomit.

“So what’s the occasion?”

Mila is practically jumping up and down with excitement. And it’s a little contagious.

“Mila?”

“Okay, okay, okay.” She’s giddy. This is so unlike her. “You know who my mother is, right? And you know how I said I would never, in a million years, use her to advance my career.”

“Sure.”

She takes a deep breath. Something has really got her keyed up. “Well, I never made that promise about my friends’ careers.”

“What…” I suddenly gasp. Oh my God, is she saying what I think she’s saying?

“Shannon, I hope you’re not mad, but a couple of weeks ago, I told her about you. Everything. The whole truth. I sent her some tapes from Becoming.”

I’m almost afraid to speak. “What did she say?”

“Well, after she yelled at me for a half an hour for not telling Mr. Lawrence the truth and making you dress like a girl…”

“What? What did she say?”

“She said you were obviously a very talented young man, someone who was willing to do what it takes to make it in the film world. Well, she’s going to be producing a new movie next year, and, thanks to my enthusiastic recommendation, she wants to cast you in a small but significant part. As a guy.”

Oh my God.

It happened. It really happened.

Mila wasn’t just talking. She really did return the favor. I’m going to be in a movie. As myself.

This whole ridiculous month was worth it.

“Mila…” I’m choking. “Mila…”

“Oh, honey, it’s okay to cry.”

“I’m not crying.” I’m not, but I’m desperately trying to hold it in.

“Oh, just let it out! This is happy news!”

I’m determined not to bawl. I scrunch up my face and begin flapping my hands by my face.

“Oh my God, Shannon, you’re doing the girl hand wave thing.”

“Damn you, Mila.” We embrace. I cry. I thank her. I cry some more.

And then we proceed to get wasted.

*

It’s around midnight. I’m sprawled out sleepily on Mila’s couch, my feet in her lap. She’s methodically painting my toes as she tells me stories about her mother and gives me advice on how to get on her good side.

“Mila, how can I thank you?” I’m giggly drunk.

“You can thank me by not thanking me anymore. I know I’m fantastic.”

“Yeah. You are.” I mean it. She got me into this mess, but she’s paid me back a million times.

“Well, it’s what you do for a friend. It’s funny, I’ve never even considered using Mom to help out anyone else, but you, you’re the first guy I…” Mila abruptly stops talking and sits there for a minute. Suddenly, she shoves my feet off her lap and stands.

“Mila?”

She’s at the window, looking out at the moonlit night.

“Mila? Are you okay?”

Silence. And then…

“Shannon? You know the bad thing that happened to me a few years ago?”

I stand up and join her at the window. “Of course.”

More silence. “Ever since then, I haven’t been able to be alone in a room with a man. Not even nice safe guys like Michael or K’shawn. I couldn’t do it. It scared me too much. And now…it just occurred to me that I’ve been alone with you a dozen times this month and I haven’t felt uncomfortable at all.”

I look down at my cherry red toes and tight top. “I’m not exactly a prime example of manhood.”

She turns to me and I see the moonlight reflecting on her strangely damp eyes. “You’re still a man, Shannon. You always have been. And I feel safe with you. Maybe that means I’m healing a little.”

“Oh, Mila, I hope so.”

She takes both my hands in hers. “I don’t know what it is about you. Probably the clothes.” She laughs. “Maybe that’s what I should have been looking for. A nice, pretty guy who can share my clothes and makeup and never makes me feel like a thing because he’s just as fragile as me.”

I know what that sounds like, but she wasn’t being insulting. It was kind of beautiful.

We stand there and look at each other. She truly is a lovely woman, outside and inside. Hard as steel, unbendable, unbreakable, but holding all that pain inside. I want to make her happy.

I realize how close we’re standing to each other. Our knees are practically touching. She’s still holding my hands. I can smell her perfume.

She reaches up and strokes my hair. “Too bad you’re not five years older, Shannon.”

“Yeah,” I manage to squeak. “Too bad.”

Our heads move imperceptibly toward each other. I can feel her breath on my face.

We both suddenly pull back at the same time. We straighten our hair in mirror gestures.

“I should go.”

“Yeah. I have to get up early. You’ll be okay?”

I take my purse. “I’ll be fine. I’m going to walk to that Starbucks and call a ride.”

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yes. And thanks again.”

I stroll out into the balmy California night, thinking about everything that happened today.

Sometimes dreams don’t come true. But sometimes, it seems, they do.

I picture Mila’s vulnerable, moonlit face.

And some dreams you don’t dare even think about.

Chapter Twenty-Four

After over a month of shooting, I’m disappointed when everything just kind of peters to a stop. One day we’re filming, the next day Mila calls to tell me we’re through. I’ll need to hang around for another week just in case, but she tells me she’s already booked my ticket home. She says we’ll have dinner before I leave.

I’m kind of bummed that I won’t get a chance to say goodbye to the crew or Michael or even Natalia. Or that they apparently weren’t interested.

I do get an email from the director of Cinder-Suzie’s upcoming movie, the one that I’ll be in. He’s polite, if not a little snippy. I wonder if he resents Mila’s mother’s influence in my casting. Oh well, I’ll just have to work that much harder.

I use my last few days to do a little shopping, to buy some souvenirs for my family, and say goodbye to Rochelle. I purchase some men’s clothes. I’ll have to ask Rochelle to cut and dye my hair before I leave.

I sit in my hotel room, trying to picture going back to Iowa, to a house without central air conditioning, and explaining to my family where I’ve been. Will they be furious or ashamed?

A couple of days before I’m to leave I get a text from Michael, saying I have to sign some release forms and that I need to come down to the home office at three o’clock. Why not? I’ve got nothing better to do.

I should have seen it coming. The receptionist tells me that I should meet Michael in conference room B. For some reason she finds this amusing. She giggles as I leave.

I locate the room and open the door.

“Surprise!” Almost all of the crew is waiting in the meeting room, now decorated with balloons and streamers. A sheet cake and punch bowl sit on the table. An image of my face is projected onto a screen, over the words GOODBYE SHANNON.

I gasp. Then I take a deep breath to keep from crying. “You guys…”

Michael is here. Natalia. Mr. Lawrence. James. Everyone, actually, except…

“Where’s Mila?”

“She’s running late,” says Natalia, taking my hand and pulling me to the middle of the room. “She’ll be here soon.”

Someone thrusts a drink into my hand. I’m surrounded by the people I’ve worked with this past month. I glance around, but there are no cameras. This isn’t staged. I don’t know if they do this for every participant on Becoming, but I’m touched.

“A toast!” says Mr. Lawrence. “Shannon, you are our sixty-somethingth guest on this show, and I have to say, you’re one of our favorites. So polite.”

“So many good ideas,” says James.

“So smart,” says Michael.

“And such a great little actress,” says Natalia. “Let’s not forget what a great actress Shannon Ferguson of Des Moines turned out to be. So versatile.”

Everyone claps in assent, but I’m suddenly a little uncomfortable. Something about the way Natalia is smiling. I wish Mila were here.

“Shannon,” says Mr. Lawrence, “Would you like to say a few words?”

The crew members bang on the table.

I take a sip of my drink. I’m really going to miss these people. “Okay. I just want to tell you all—”

“Hang on,” interrupts Natalia. “Before we get to that, we’ve got a surprise. The tech department cooked up a little treat for you. Michael, hit it!”

Michael has his mouth full of chips and seems a little unprepared for this request, like it was supposed to happen later. But Natalia is asking, so he goes to his laptop and hits a button. The projection on the wall fades to a short film.

Set to the theme song of Becoming, it’s a series of clips of my time on the show. It starts with me first meeting Natalia at her ranch, my first makeover, the time at the zoo the water buffalo snotted on me…God, that all seems so long ago. Everyone laughs and claps at their favorite scenes.

And then, suddenly, the music stops. The film keeps going, but it changes. It’s an older clip. I recognize my audition tape. The one I sent in to apply for this show. The one where Mila mistook me for a girl. Looking at it now, I can kind of see why she thought that, though I’m not sure why they’ve included it in this best of Shannon compilation.

Michael seems confused too. “Sorry, something’s wrong.” He stands to adjust the laptop, but Natalia stops him.

“No, let’s watch this.”

Something is wrong. This clip show was obviously supposed to be light hearted and funny, but this tape, with me talking about how lonely and sad I feel, is kind of personal. Several people look uncomfortable.

Have you ever been so close to a disaster that you don’t immediately realize what’s happening? Yeah. When a photo of me in boy mode pops up on the screen, my initial reaction is ‘How did they find that?’ rather than ‘I’m so screwed.’

It’s from my high school yearbook. The online version. There I am, Shannon Ferguson, sophomore. With my close cut hair, my toothy grin, and that unfortunate attempt at a mustache.

Oh shit.

Another photo of me from my freshman year, with the forensics team. Not too many people in that club. Very close shot of my face.

The people in the meeting room begin murmuring.

And then, a headshot. The one I mailed out to dozens of studios and agents. Up close, recent, and very, very male.

The screen splits. Now there’s a headshot of female me alongside the male version. A caption reads ‘Shannon Ferguson.’

They are unquestionably the same person.

Freeze frame.

I tear my eyes away from the screen. Everyone, everyone is staring at me.

James tries to break the tension. “So, Shannon, something you want to tell us?”

I am frozen. Mila and I knew there was a chance that I’d be found out, but we’d assumed I’d be thousands of miles away when the shit hit the fan.

Mr. Lawrence looks enraged. Michael won’t meet my eyes. And Natalia…

Natalia is smiling. Not meanly. Not smugly. Just smiling.

Mila was right. She didn’t like being upstaged for any reason. She decided to dig up some dirt on me.

And Jesus, did she ever find some.

I mumble something. I grab my purse. I hurry out the door.

Alone in the hall, I fumble for my phone. I have to call Mila. I have to warn her. I have to know how to best control the damage.

I have to leave town.

Before I can dial, a hand snakes out and grabs my wrist.

It’s Mr. Lawrence. He’s furious.

“Did you think this was all some kind of joke?” he snarls. I try to pull away from his grip, but he won’t let go.

“Let me explain…”

“Explain?” he hisses. “I allowed a man to go into the dressing room with Natalia Jenkins! Do you have any idea how angry she’s going to be?”

Oh, I have an idea all right. But more importantly, I’m remembering how Mr. Lawrence knocked around Michael for a minor mistake. Now that he knows I’m not a girl, will he do the same to me?

“You little bitch. You can be damn sure this episode is never going to air. We can sue you for this. We can sue your parents for this. Am I getting through to you?” He shakes me. “Are you hearing me?”

All I can think of is the threat of a lawsuit against my family. And the vice hard grip of this powerful and pissed off man.

“Okay, that’s enough, Mr. Lawrence.”

The voice is confident and authoritative. It takes me a moment to realize who it belongs to.

“Go away, Michael,” snaps Mr. Lawrence.

“No. Let go of her. Right now.”

Michael is standing at Mr. Lawrence’s shoulder. And for the first time since I met him, he doesn’t look nervous or confused or unsure of himself.

“Now, Mr. Lawrence.”

My wrists ache as he releases me. The two men stare each other down, yet another macho pissing contest.

Mr. Lawrence blinks first. He turns to me with a sneer. “I want you out of that hotel by the weekend. I want you out of the city by Monday. You’re dead to us. This never happened.”

He storms off.

I turn to Michael, humiliated and afraid. Maybe he has some words of encouragement. Some kind of advice.

He looks at me without expression.

“I think you need to leave, Shannon.”

He turns and walks away.

*

I’m blubbering into my phone as I wander into the parking lot.

“Shannon?” snaps Mila. “Calm down. Tell me what’s wrong.”

“It was…it was at my going away party.”

“Wait, I thought that wasn’t until Thursday.”

In my hazy state, I realize that Mila had been given bad information. Natalia arranged it so the one person who might have defended me wouldn’t be there.

“Mila, everyone knows.”

“Knows what?”

“What do you think?” I practically scream. “You were right. Natalia found out. She told everyone. Mr. Lawrence fired me.”

“Shit.” There’s something very comforting about the way she says that four letter word. Like her devious little mind is already making plans. “Go back to the hotel. Talk to no one.”

I sniffle. “How soon can you get here?”

“Shit.” This time, she doesn’t sound so confident. “The thing is, I’m in Sausalito. I’m not supposed to fly back until…look, don’t worry about it. I’ll get an earlier flight.”

“Mila, I—”

“Shannon, I need to talk to Mr. Lawrence. I have to let you go. Listen, it’s all going to be…we’ll figure it out.”

The line goes dead.

I’m suddenly very, very frightened. I’m fired. How much longer will the credit card that’s been paying for all my meals and transportation still work? How will I get back to the hotel? Am I even still welcome at the hotel?

Panicking, I hail a taxi and ask to be taken home. As I sit, sweating, in the back, my phone begins to blow up.

Texts from an unknown number. Just a URL. Wishing I had the courage to ignore it, I open the link.

It’s a little video clip.

BECOMING the Girl of His Dreams: Gender Bending Natalia Jenkins Fan Goes the Extra Mile to Meet his Idol.

Wait. It’s a YouTube video. But it’s a corporate account.

Hollywood Insider. A nightly gossip show. This is a commercial for a segment that’s airing tonight.

How long had Natalia been planning this? This was no overnight surprise, it had to have been at least a week. Before she smiled at me and said she was proud of me.

“Driver!” I squeak. “I changed my mind. I want to go somewhere else.”

*

Rochelle. Once again, she meets me after hours. Once again, she’s there for me when I need her. She’ll know what to do. She’ll give me some advice.

She listens to my story of how I’d been caught and how everyone was going to know I was really a man. How it was going to be on the news.

When I’m finished, she does not smile understandingly. She does not pat my knee. She does not offer me a cup of tea.

Instead, she stands and looks at her reflection in the mirror for a long time.

“I take it, Shannon, that you are not actually transgender?”

“What? No. It was all for the show.”

Another long pause. “I see. All for some stupid reality program.”

I’m beginning to suspect I’m not going to get the shoulder I was hoping to cry on.

Rochelle still doesn’t face me. “Let me tell you a story, Shannon. Is that really your name, Shannon?

“I guess it doesn’t surprise you to realize I never felt comfortable in a man’s world. I could never understand why. But when I was about fourteen, there was this fashion model who came out as a trans woman. No one had suspected her past. And I realized that being a boy wasn’t my only option. I had an older sister. We were close. And one night, I got up the courage to ask if I could try on some of her things. I kind of made it sound like I was joking, but she knew I was serious.”

Rochelle pauses just long enough for me to feel like I should say something. But then she continues.

“She told our parents. And my father beat the shit out of me. I’m serious. He used his belt. Made me bleed. I couldn’t walk for a day.”

I’m sickened by this story. “Rochelle…”

“Don’t interrupt. It was then that I realized that the model was a fluke and that normal people didn’t wish for sick things like that. My family never looked at me the same again, but damned if I didn’t try to be a son they could be proud of. I played sports. I dated girls. I got married at twenty. Had a daughter. And then one night I found myself alone in the bathroom with a handful of sleeping pills and I knew if I didn’t live the life I was supposed to, then I really didn’t want to have a life. So I came out. To everyone.

“My wife left me, of course. My daughter won’t talk to me. And by the time I’d paid off all the child support and got back on my feet again, I was fat and bald and old. I make a pretty woman, but not a convincing one.”

She finally looks at me. “When you came to me last month, I honest to God thought you were transgender. And I thought about how much things have changed. I thought you were living the life I dreamed of back then, being true to yourself. And I promised myself that I’d do anything to help you live that dream. Maybe it was a stupid fantasy, but it made me so happy to know that I was helping a young woman achieve the happiness that I could never have.”

Her voice drops to an almost masculine tone. “And now you tell me that this was all for some stupid publicity stunt?”

I’m still reeling from her painful life story. “It wasn’t like that, Rochelle.”

She raises a pencil thin eyebrow. I lower my face.

“Okay, maybe it was.”

“Well pardon me for not sympathizing. I guess I’m too busy thinking about the suicide rate among transgender youth. Or how a guy could slash your throat and then get off with a warning because, after all, you’re just a tranny.”

I’d felt like shit when I came here, and the guilt trip makes me feel worse. Mostly because I know she’s right.

“I never meant for this to happen.”

“Well, it did. You’re going to be famous. And now every asshole who likes to rant about the perverted guy in the skirt is going to have more fuel to add the fire. More stories about the sickos who like to dress as women. You’ll go back home and be a man. It’s the rest of us who are going to pay the price. One step forward, two steps back.”

Her exquisite face is hard as rock. Not only did I hurt myself, I hurt her. And people like her. And probably Mila as well. And much as I’d like to blame Natalia, I know it’s ultimately down to me. I stand.

“Goodbye, Rochelle. For what it’s worth, thanks for everything.”

I head for the door.

“Shannon?”

I freeze.

“Shannon, are you going to be okay? Can you get back home? Can you go back home?”

I turn. “I’ll be okay.” I have no idea if that’s true or not. God, everyone back in Iowa is going to see that Hollywood Insider episode. Maybe I won’t be welcome any more.

“Are you sure? Shannon, I’m angry, but I’m still your friend. Do you need anything?”

I shake my head, but then stop. “Actually, I could use a reverse makeover.”

She smiles a tad. “Come by in two days. Linda can give you a hand.”

We stare at each other, awkwardly.

“Rochelle? What can I do? I want to make this right.”

She runs her fingers through her wig. “That’s something only you can decide. But don’t let other people fight this battle for you. Tell the truth, and tell it soon.”

The truth. The one thing I’ve been avoiding for over a month.

“Thank you, Rochelle.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Some disasters, like a car wreck or shooting, unfold instantly. Others, like watching your promising acting career go down in a public bonfire of humiliation, take days.

I sit in my hotel room, staring at my phone, watching each indignity with the detached air of a bystander. I’ve been pretending to be female for so long, it’s almost easy to imagine that this boy, Shannon Ferguson, isn’t someone associated with me.

Almost.

The Hollywood Insider segment is nothing but four minutes of fluff, basically implying that I must have been some starstruck teen hoping to get close to Natalia. It’s capped off with a twenty second video clip of Natalia, giggling and blushing, and implying that I’d seen a lot more of her in the dressing room than I should have.

All lies.

The Google Alerts for ‘Shannon Ferguson’ start coming right after the show and continue the following day. It’s amazing how in a nation with such low voter turnout, people can still get fired up.

I take a little mean comfort in all the rude comments about Natalia. But even then, I’m kind of offended. Can’t you talk about what a bitch she is, not what you’d like to do to her?

Men.

Of course, most of the comments are about me. Rochelle was right. I’m called everything from a peeping tom to a drag queen. I’m threatened with everything from rape to murder. Hour after hour after hour.

I don’t recognize any names from back home, but I’m sure it’ll happen sooner or later. I am pretty hurt when I recognize Sherona, the girl I went clubbing with. She posted a picture of us together in the night club and laughs at how she hung out with a tranny.

What is even more upsetting are the posts of support. People saying that the show had no right to fire a gender fluid person like me. That I shouldn’t be ashamed of identifying as female. There’s talk of a protest. Talk of a boycott of the show’s advertisers. The Wymynist Council of Southern California offers to pay my legal expenses, should I decide to sue the show (or should they decide to sue me).

My family has to know. They’ll have seen this. And with no warning, what will they think? That this was some immature stunt on my part? Or will they think that wimpy little Shannon is finally living as his true self?

Should I even go home again?

Mila texts me constantly but vaguely. She quickly goes from optimistic (Mr. Lawrence screwed with the wrong chick) to hopeful (this is going to blow over in a few days) to apologetic (we may have to wait a bit on casting you in one of Mom’s films, just till everything settles down) to somewhat frightened (Just landed at LAX. Meeting with Lawrence in the morning. Things aren’t as bad as they seem. We’re going to be okay).

We’re going to be okay. She’s in this too, and has more at stake than her reputation.

Another alert. A blog post this time.

Shannon Ferguson has given me the courage to be my true self. The other night, after the Hollywood Insider episode, I came out as trans to my family. It was the hardest thing I’d ever done in fifteen years, but the worst is over. I never would have had the courage had it not been for her. Thank you, Shannon, wherever you are.

Nope. That’s it. Natalia hung me out to dry, and I guess I can take what’s coming to me. But I’m not going to be a hero to people because I was inconvenienced for a month. And I’m not going to let Mila suffer careerwise because of me.

Plus, I’m too chicken to call my parents and tell them the truth. I’d rather they hear my story without me having to tell it to them face to face.

It’s time everyone knows the truth. Better it comes from me than from all the speculating Natalia Jenkins fans out there. I compose a statement on my phone:

My name is Shannon Ferguson. I am a heterosexual, cisgender man. For the past month I have passed myself off as female to appear on the television show Becoming, alongside Natalia Jenkins. I did not do this due to any sort of gender identity expression, nor, as it has been implied, to view Miss Jenkins during intimate moments. Rather, it was a practical joke that got out of hand.

I filmed an audition take using a female persona as an acting exercise. I submitted the tape to the show as a joke. I was as surprised as anyone when I was selected. Having always been a Natalia Jenkins fan, I thought it would be an opportunity to meet her, as well as obtain a free trip to California. It was an immature plan, and I deeply regret it.

I would like to offer my apologies to Miss Jenkins

I have to force my fingers to type that bit

and state again that I never once attempted to do anything inappropriate with her or with any other woman while passing myself off as female. I would also like to apologize to my family, who were unaware of where I was this summer. I’d like to apologize to Mr. Harvey Lawrence, who was kind to me.

I’d especially like to say sorry to Mila Nevins, who treated me as a friend and whose kindness I betrayed. Above all, I hope she’ll forgive me for my falsehoods.

And I hope that statement gets her off the hook. If I do this right, she won’t be blamed for any of this.

I hope the world will see what I did as I intended: a silly stunt. I’m sorry that I allowed it to progress so far, and I’d like to remind everyone that while I am not a transgender person myself, their struggles are very real, and they deserve our support.

Regretfully yours,

Mr. Shannon Ferguson

Well, it’s no Oscar speech, but it’ll have to do. I need to get it out there.

The problem is I don’t know how. While my name is all over the place, how will anyone know this statement is really from me? Especially since I nuked my social media accounts a month ago. I need to make an official press release.

How do you do that? Mr. Lawrence wouldn’t help me and Mila would refuse to let me take all the blame. But there is someone else.

I text Michael.

I need to make a press release. Can you help?

He answers in under a minute.

Get it to me. I’ll take care of it.

I send the file. I expect that to be the end of it (I’m sure he’s now even more embarrassed by our kiss), but he texts me back almost immediately.

Is all this true?

I answer. Every bit. I’m sorry, Michael.

Sorry for what? You offered me nothing but friendship. When I pressed for more, you politely declined. You have nothing to apologize for.

Always a gentleman. I really hope he finds a girl who appreciates him.

Thank you, Michael.

Are you going to be okay, Shannon? Do you need money or anything?

Again, I worry that Natalia would have had my plane ticket canceled out of spite, but as far as I know, it’s still good. It’s what’s going to come after that terrifies me.

I’ll be okay. Thank you for everything. You were a true friend.

Stay safe. And Shannon, for the record, if you really were transgender, that wouldn’t have been a deal breaker for me.

*

The next morning, I get up early, shower, and put on my makeup. I dress in a short skirt, sleeveless top, and heels. I’m going to check out of the hotel, and I might as well do it as the guest they’ve come to know. Plus I’d feel like an ass, with my girl haircut, trying to wear boy clothes. This is my last time as a woman ever. I’m going to give it my all.

The press release went out last night. I don’t know if anyone read it, but at least I went on record saying that Mila and my parents had no idea what I was really up to. I hope that puts them in the clear.

And now I’m going to go to Rochelle’s salon. Her friend will cut and dye my hair. I’ll change my clothes. I’ll leave my feminine side behind.

Tomorrow morning I’ll fly back to Des Moines. I’ll explain to my family my side of the story in person.

They won’t understand. Chris will laugh. My parents will be both angry and ashamed.

But you know what? My father’s not going to beat me with his belt. And I can be thankful for that.

I head for the door, purse in one hand, bag of male clothes in the other. I take a look at the luxurious hotel room, the likes of which I’ll never see again. I may never see California again. And I’ll never see the girl in the mirror again.

She’s still plain looking and gangly. But she’s gained a bit of poise this past month. A bit of self confidence. A bit of class. Maybe a bit of charm.

I’m going to miss her.

But no point in dwelling on that. It’s all over. I head for the door. One foot in front of the other.

And when I open it, there’s someone standing in the hall, poised to knock. She looks exhausted. Her overnight bag is slung over her shoulder, and her hair is a mess. Obviously a long and unpleasant flight.

Chris and I stare at each other for a second. Then, without warning, she throws her arms around me and throttles me in a bear hug.

“God, Shannon. I was so fucking worried.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chris shoves past me, collapses on my bed, and kicks off her shoes.

“Nice digs, Shannon.”

Confused, I sit down next to her. It feels like it’s been a year since I’ve seen her. Why did she come?

“How did you find me?”

“I kept calling the studio. Eventually they transferred me to some dude who knew you, and when I finally convinced him I really was your sister, he gave me this address.”

“Was his name Michael?”

“I think that was it. He repeated directions to the hotel about eight times.” She squints at me, blearily. “You look different. You change your hair or something?”

I almost laugh. “Why did you come here? Is it about…that Hollywood Insider thing?”

“Of course.”

“You probably want to know why I’m dressed like this.”

Chris’s exhaustion seems to drain away. “No, Shannon. I’m wondering why the hell you never called us. I’m wondering why when we saw you on TV the other day, it was the first time in a month I didn’t worry that you were dead. That’s what I’d like explained.”

I’ve never heard my sister sound hurt before. “You didn’t really think that.”

“The hell I didn’t!” For a second I think she's going to tackle me. “You tell us some story that you’re going to be in a movie and then you vanish? You delete all your accounts, disconnect your phone, drop off the face of the earth…we all thought something horrible had happened to you. And I kept reminding myself that I could have stopped you that night you left and I didn’t, and it was all my fault.”

Somehow, even after the shitstorm that has been this week, the words of my sister make me feel ten times worse. She’s right. I could have checked in. I could have let them know I was okay.

“How are Mom and Dad?”

She shakes her head. “Not good. Out of their heads. They tried to hire a private detective to find you, but they didn’t have much to go on. Seventeen-year-old leaves home of his own free will to be in a movie…so he’s probably in California or maybe New York. It was pointless. And then the other day Aunt Joan calls us up and says you’re going to be on TV. Nice legs, by the way. What’s up with all this?”

She’s not mocking or upset. She honestly wants to know.

“Well, I made a video entry to be on Becoming. And you know how you’re always saying I’m a sissy boy? Guess you were right.” It’s so embarrassing to admit this next part. “They thought I was a girl. I didn’t realize that until I got here.”

Chris bites her lower lip and I can tell she’s dying to say something cruel. But she holds it in. “So why did you stay?”

I shrug. “The producer, Mila, had a lot invested in this episode. She basically bribed me. Said she’d get me a real part in a movie if I went along with it.”

My sister suddenly stands. “Typical Shannon.”

“Excuse me?”

She stares down at me. “It means any other guy would have hopped the next flight back to Iowa. But not you. You saw an opportunity and you took it. You always do.”

I can tell she doesn’t mean for that to be a compliment. “So what’s wrong with that?”

Chris begins pacing. “Nothing. I mean, you want to be an actor. And you’re poor and you’re ugly, and with anyone else I’d say it was never going to happen. But you…I always knew you were going to make it. You’d do whatever it takes. Which is why I got so scared. I was afraid you’d gotten in over your head.” She laughs. “Nope, you’ve been living in a fancy hotel room, hanging out with stars and damned if you don’t look cuter than I would in that outfit.”

“I should have called. I’m sorry.”

She snorts. “Forget it. We might as well get used to it.”

I stand. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Chris still towers over me. “What do you think it means? One of these days you’re going to get your big break, and you’ll forget all about your white trash family. This was just a practice run.”

“How can you say that?” I bellow.

She shakes her head. “And you call yourself an actor. Totally unconvincing.”

“I’d never forget about you!” I shout, offended.

“Better. But I’m still not buying it.”

“You’re my family! I love you!”How can she not know that?

Sarcastic clapping. “There. Nailed it. Bravo.”

I’m getting furious, and mostly because she may be right. “I always tried to fit in, Chris. You guys always made me feel like I didn’t belong.”

She nods. “Yeah, I know. Mom and Dad always go on about how smart and talented and driven their son is. And their daughter…um, well, she’s certainly nice too.”

I fire back. “Hey, don’t you get all self righteous! How many times did you drag me to parties and football games and shit so I’d act normal? So you’d have a brother you weren’t ashamed of?”

Her eyes widen. “Ashamed? Jesus, I just wanted you to have fun. Forgive me for wanting a brother that I could have a good time with. Who wanted to hang out with me sometimes.”

We’re both yelling now. “All for my own good, eh? Just like beating the crap out of me was for my own good?”
She snorts. “That was just messing around.”

“Was it?”

She freezes, and for the first time since she arrived (and maybe long before that), really looks at me. “You’re my brother. It was just fun.”

I’m silent.

“I never hurt you, Shannon. You’re a boy, you’re supposed to…”

“I know what I’m supposed to do. And I’m obviously not very good at it. And every time you smashed my face into the floor or sucker punched me or got me in a headlock, it just drove home that my sister is more of a man than I’ll ever be.”

Chris stares at the floor. After a while, she speaks.

“I guess I shouldn’t blame you for running off.”

It takes an effort, but I approach her and put my hand on her shoulder. “You should. I had no right. I should have let you know I was okay.”

“I should have let you know…it’s not important.”

We both chuckle, uncomfortably. This is the longest we’ve talked in years.

“Chris? Why did you come out here? Why not Mom or Dad?”

She collapses in a chair, looking tired again. “I asked to. Mom and Dad didn’t know what to say. They were afraid you weren’t planning on coming back.”

“I can’t stay in California, not now.”

“Um, that’s not what I meant, Shannon.”

It takes me a second to catch on. I laugh as I look down at my padding and womanly legs. “Don’t worry. This was an acting job, nothing more. I’m actually getting my hair cut this afternoon. And I’m flying home tomorrow. I’m done.”

Chris grins. “Thank God. Thought I was going to have to cram you in an overhead compartment or something.”

My phone buzzes with a text. I frown when I read the message. “Chris, I hate to do this, but I have to go meet someone. Do you want to rest here?”

She’s on her feet, instantly wary. “Nope. Promised Dad I wouldn’t let you out of my sight.”

I know better than to argue. Instead, I grab my purse.

Chris laughs. “God, going out with my brother, and he’s the prettier one.”

We head out the door. “Please. At least you’re not all padding. Though if you come with me to the salon, I know a girl who might be able to help out. You ever hear of a new thing called makeup, Chris?”

“Don’t think I won’t mess up that pretty face of yours, Shannon.”

We enter the elevator side by side, the old hostility slightly returning. But not like it was before.

I still have a family. And I have a lot to answer for. It’s time to go home.

There’s just one more loose end to tie up.

Chapter Twenty-Six

My Becoming charge card still hasn’t been canceled and I use it to pay for our ride. Chris peppers me with questions about the show.

“So Natalia Jenkins…she’s not that nice in real life, is she?”

I sigh. I can finally answer this question honestly. “She was the one who ratted me out to the press.”

Chris’s eyebrows lower, and I picture her laying out Natalia with a right hook. I quickly change the subject.

“But James Gunderson is actually a lot nicer than you’d think. And so is Josh Jones.”

She looks impressed. “Get out? You met the Chairman of the Joints himself?”

I shrug, modestly. “Actually, he asked me to be in one of his movies.”

Chris laughs. “One month. One month and you’re hanging out with the stars.”

“Yeah, well, fat lot of good it did me.”

Chris draws back her fist to sock me in the arm, but stops herself. “I think it did. I know this is kind of embarrassing, but who knows? At least you got your name out there. It’s what you always wanted, right?”

Was it?

“This is our stop.”

We pile out of the taxi. Mila’s old car is parked in front of her house. I have so much I need to say to her before I go back home.

“Chris…would you mind terribly waiting at the Starbucks down the road? I shouldn’t be too long.”

She nods. “Yes. I’d mind that a lot, actually.” She trots down the walkway to Mila’s door and I rush to catch up.

I steady myself and ring the bell. As we wait, I’m reminded of the day I did the same thing at Natalia’s. This time, there are no cameras pointed at me.

Mila opens the door and immediately grabs both my hands. We don’t say anything for a second. Then we hug.

Chris clears her throat.

“Oh, sorry.” We disengage. “Mila, this is my sister, Chris. Chris, this is my producer, Mila.”

Mila nods. “I’m glad you came out, Chris. Um…would you like to grab something to drink? There’s cold beer and fruit juice in my fridge. Then maybe you can go relax on the lanai or the sun porch.”

Chris rolls her eyes at the obvious attempt to get rid of her. “Listen to Miss Fancy Britches here. Ooh, look at me, I have a refrigerator.” She barges past us into the house.

Mila smiles. “I like her.”

We wordlessly sit on a pair of wrought iron chairs on the porch.

“Shannon, you shouldn’t have done that press release. You could have let me take some of the blame.”

I remember what Rochelle said about taking responsibility. “Nothing doing. I was the one who was a fake, I’m not going to throw you to the wolves.”

Mila, of course, wants to argue. “The faking was my idea. I forced you into this.”

“I think you’re overestimating your persuasive powers. I wanted to be famous. I wanted to get ahead. I knew what I was getting into. And now your job is safe. You can still keep working for the studio and…and…what?”

Mila isn’t meeting my eyes. Something’s wrong.

“Shannon, I quit my job yesterday.”

I’m horrified. Even more so than when my secret got out. “Mila! How could you! You knew I was taking the heat for everything! All you had to do was act surprised that I was a guy. Why the hell would you quit?”

She looks up and her jaw hardens. “Because Natalia Jenkins threw my friend under the bus and no one’s going to hold her accountable for that.”

“So what? She’s just an overgrown child. But you…you’re something special. Don’t throw all that away just because Natalia wanted some petty revenge.”

Mila touches my knee. “It’s not just about Natalia. I went to talk to Mr. Lawrence yesterday. I was ready to admit my role in all this, but first I wanted to see if we could salvage your episode. I told him you were just a silly kid whose prank got out of hand and we ought to frame the show like that. Maybe bring you back for an interview, get a laugh out of it.”

“I take it he didn’t like the idea?”

“Um, he liked it a little too much.”

I start feeling sick. “What do you mean?”

She seems to have a hard time getting this next part out. “He wanted to make it look like you really liked dressing like a girl. Not like a transgender person, but like a drag queen.”

“Jesus. How did he expect to pull that off?”

“Remember when you were running lines with Natalia? That whole ‘ideal man’ monologue?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, he wanted me to get Michael to do some creative editing. Make it look like you weren’t running lines.”

When the full implication of what she’s saying hits me, I’m numb. It wouldn’t take a lot of splicing to make it look like it was me, not me as Natalia’s character, fantasizing about hot, naked men.

Mila continues. “He was going to hire a body double, reshoot some scenes, make it look like you’d been trying to seduce James. When I told him you weren’t gay, he didn’t care. “

“Well…neither do I.” Though I do care. A lot. “You should just let him do what he wanted.”

She shakes her head. “Nope. I refused to help him and I refused to let him do it, and he threatened to fire me, so I walked out.” She grins, proud.

I feel like shit. “I guess you were my only friend, after all.”

“None of that. Most of the crew is pretty pissed at Natalia, though they won’t admit it. And Michael wanted to quit with me, but I talked him out of it.”

I feel so guilty. Mila, the woman who made my life hell and forced me to dress as a woman and looked out for me and protected me…just sacrificed everything she worked for.

“I’m sorry, Mila.”

“Quit your blubbering. I didn’t do this for you. I’d like to be able to look at myself in the mirror sometimes.”

“You had such a promising career.”

She pushes her chair next to mine and wraps her arm around me. “I still do. It’s just been delayed slightly. I’m not giving up. And you dressing like a girl was all my idea, not yours.”

“Yeah, but I went along with it. I was the one who sent in that that crummy video and lied about my age and—”

Mila removes her hand. “Lied about what?”

“Um, nothing. But…I wish you’d never seen that tape. You’d be happier.”

Mila slowly leans back in her chair and crosses her legs. “Yeah, well, it was a learning experience. And I guess spending a month with you wasn’t as unpleasant as it could have been. It just…oh, hell, you’re my friend. I enjoyed it.”

“I did too, Mila.” My voice cracks.

We look at each other for a moment, and it’s both awkward and comfortable.

“So what now, Shannon?”

“I’m going back to Iowa tomorrow. Let everyone laugh at me for a while and finish my last year of school. You?”

“Gonna spend some time with my mother. Schmooze a little. Figure out my next move.”

More silence. I stand. “I’m going to miss you, Mila.”

Mila joins me. “You too. You kind of helped me get some things straight in my head.”

“You helped me see what jerks all men are.”

“Not all men, Shannon. You’re a rare exception.”

We smile. We don’t hug. We stand there and stare at each other, our faces very close.

“Shannon? Maybe…you know, when this all dies down, you’ll come back and visit me. I should be back on my feet by then. I can audition you for something as a man.”

“I’d like that a lot.”

More staring.

I’m leaving town. I won’t see her for a year.

It’s now or never.

I touch her cheek. She doesn’t pull away.

My lips move closer and closer to hers.

They touch. They press. Just for a few seconds.

We part.

Mila’s eyes are wide. I’m sure mine are as well. And then Mila giggles.

“Mmmn, cherry lip gloss. My favorite.”

I blush. I’m debating whether I should give her another taste when I realize we are not alone.

Chris is standing in the doorway, a bottle of beer in her hand, shaking her head.

“Jesus, Shannon. You never stop, do you?”

She rolls her eyes and walks toward the street.

One Year Later

“Mila Nevins Productions, Shannon speaking. Yes, Mr. Blackwell. Tomorrow at four. We’ll see you then.”

I hang up and smile at Mila, whose desk sits immediately across from mine. We’ve come down in the world, this past year. Instead of working out of the mammoth NBS Studios, Mila’s company is a one-room rented office. She is the only employee, if you don’t count me. And I don’t.

Mila gives me a wink and goes back to her computer screen. The woman is a hard core model of industry. It’s not unusual for her to put in eighty hours a week.

I glance at the poster on the wall behind her. Silent Voices, her documentary. It’s about the prevalence of sexual assault in the entertainment industry. It just came out last month, and people are already talking about it.

I wish I could say I helped with it, but I’ve barely been back to L.A. for a month. I decided to gut things out at home for my senior year. Mom and Dad were just happy to have me back. And even though that episode of Becoming never aired, I still caught holy hell from my classmates from that Hollywood Insider report. But time passed, other kids had other drama, Chris busted a few noses, and by Christmas, I was just that weird drama kid again. I didn’t even bother to audition for the spring musical. Once Josh Jones pukes on you, high school theater is a bit of a letdown.

After graduation, I was kind of at loose ends. When Mila called me to offer me a job as her assistant, I jumped at the chance.

“Shannon? You ready to call it a night?”

I nod, wearily. It’s amazing how tiring being on the phone or sitting in front of a computer can be. Not to mention scouting locations, arguing with equipment rental places, filing for filming permits, organizing interviews, and fetching coffee.

And I find I’m good at it. And I find that I enjoy it.

Mila stops to adjust my tie. “I still cannot get used to you in boy clothes, Shannon.”

Of course a lot of that has to do with my boss. She’s gone from unemployed to producing her first short film in just over a year. At first I’d assumed that her mother was secretly funding her projects. A month after I was hired, I signed for a package at the office, which turned out to be a couple of keys of primo ganja. That’s when I realized who her actual silent partner was. While I didn’t get to be in Josh Jones’s newest film, he stops by the office sometimes to hang out with us. He’s not the only one. Rochelle did the makeup on a lot of our shoots. And Michael still stops by sometimes. Him and his new girlfriend. Her name’s Cheryl and she’s a promising young soap opera star. I’m a little jealous.

Jealous of Michael and his hot girlfriend. That’s what I mean. Just clarifying.

We leave the office and climb into Mila’s new car, one of the few luxuries she’s allowed herself, and head out.

*

“Mila, dinner’s ready!” I pull the pan from the oven.

“Smells great, I’m starving.”

“Well I hope you’re hungry. They had a sale on meat lovers. Hand me the slicer.”

Yeah, that’s the problem when neither you nor your roommate cooks. A lot of take out. A lot of frozen food.

Mila and I take our plates out to the porch and eat as we watch the sun set. When I first moved back to California, staying in Mila’s guest room was supposed to be a temporary arrangement. But when I started working for her, I insisted that she send half of my paycheck to my parents, who fought with me about that until Chris intervened. By the time all that was over, I realized I had no way to rent my own apartment. But Mila never brought it up. Every time I try to mention moving out, she changes the subject. I’m glad. Rent out here is insane.

Fine by me. I’m living in a great house, with a great view, with…

I glance over at Mila. She smiles back at me.

Yeah.

I know that kiss didn’t mean anything. It was over a year ago, just a goodbye to a friend after a crazy experience.

But still…

No, forget it, Shannon. She’s 24. You’re barely nineteen. She’s a college graduate. You just got out of high school. She’s a successful producer. You’re her assistant.

Of course, we also spend almost all our time together. And she buys my clothes. And we sit on the couch together and watch movies. Not exactly snuggling…but not exactly just roommates either.

It doesn’t matter. If there’s one thing last year has taught me, it’s that the guy should wait until he’s absolutely, 100% sure. And then probably let the woman make the first move anyway.

“Hey, Shannon, why so deep in thought?”

“Um…nothing.”

She rolls her eyes. “You move your lips when you think.”

“I do not!”

We both kind of laugh.

Then, much to my surprise, she drapes an arm around my shoulder. For a few minutes, we sit and watch the stars, and listen to the nearby ocean. It’s the most stressful, rigid relaxation I’ve had in a long time.

“Shannon?” asks Mila after a moment. “Now that we’ve wrapped up production, what do you say we take a little time off?”

I’m kind of shocked. This is the first time she’s suggested anything like a vacation since I’ve known her.

“I’d like that. What did you have in mind?”

“Mom has a place in Oregon. I figured we could fly up there, stay for a few days. I know it’s cold, but we could hang out on the beach. It wouldn’t hurt your pasty ass to get outside.”

“Sounds like fun.” Sounds like a lot of fun, actually.

“Great. We’ll go Tuesday. Pack your stuff. Don’t forget to take some nice shoes.”

“I know.” Geez, she’ll never let me forget the time I showed up to a fancy party in sneakers.

“And a jacket. It gets cold up there.”

“I know, Mila.”

“And maybe bring that new outfit you just got.”

I suddenly feel shivery. I pull away from Mila’s arm. “You mean that suit jacket you bought me?” I ask, knowing that’s not what she meant.

She smirks at me. “No, Shannon. The one you got on your own. The one Rochelle helped you pick out. You know, the skirt with that cute top.”

I stand. I thought I’d been careful. I thought she believed me when I said I was just meeting friends. I thought I’d pulled one over on her.

There’s no tricking Mila.

She gently takes me by the hand and pulls me back to a seated position. She scoots her chair closer to me.

“Shannon, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Why not? You had a great time last summer, for the most part. Why wouldn’t you want to show off your feminine side every once in a while?”

How can I explain it? How can I tell her that I don’t like dressing like a girl, that it’s all behind me, and yet…sometimes…I kind of do miss it.

“Mila, you don’t know how many times I had to tell people that last summer was just an acting job. That I don’t like crossdressing. That I never planned to do it again.”

She’s hitting me with that intense smile. “No one has to know.”

“But…if anyone found out…”

“Hello? Secluded beachfront property. C’mon. It’ll just be the two of us.”

I’m silent. There’s something I want to tell her, but I can’t.

“Out with it Shannon.”

She’ll make me tell her sooner or later. “It’s just that…I dunno. I don’t want you to think that I’m…less manly.”

She laughs her musical laugh. “I don’t think you’re a sissy, if that’s what you’re worried about. And you know my past. I like you. The way you are. Now I don’t want to hear any more complaining. Your secrets are safe with me. They always have been, always will be.”

She wraps an arm around my shoulder. There’s no denying the closeness.

Am I making a huge mistake? If I keep dressing like a girl, maybe that’s how Mila will always picture me.

But there’s more to me than my clothes. More to me than Shannon the actor or Shannon, the actress, or Shannon none of the above. I’m tired of pretending. I like being pretty every once in a while, and it doesn’t bother Mila.

Besides, when you have legs like mine, you owe it to yourself to show them off sometimes.

Dress Code

A young man uses a protest against his school's dress code as an excuse to wear the dress he's always dreamed of.

by Czolgolz
[email protected]

I wrote this back in 1999. Be kind.

If you review history, you'd be surprised to see how often a small event can have the most monumental results. If the driver of Archduke Ferdinand hadn't taken a wrong turn in 1914 he wouldn't have been assassinated and the world wouldn't have been plunged into The Great War. If Lincoln hadn't gone to the theater that night, he never would have been shot. If Hitler had been a really good artist, then he might not have entered politics and we all would have been spared a lot of grief.

I ended up exchanging the life I knew for a totally new and exciting existence due to an inconsequential event: Luthor Hugo's little brother, Pete, decided to wash his marble collection in the family washing machine.

Luthor was a classmate of mine at Fort Zummer High School (Ft. Zit to alumni) my sophomore year. We were casual acquaintances and had the odd class together. He was one of the few black students in the suburban St. Louis school district.

His kid brother, Pete, was in the fifth grade and really should have known better than to pull the marble stunt. Predictably, the washing machine's motor burned out. The repairman, flaunting the godlike power repair people hold over desperate customers, informed the family he couldn't come out for at least a week.

When the washer burned out, Luthor's laundry was already at a crisis point. He was forced to rummage through bottom drawers and the back of his closet for anything clean. The day before the washer was fixed, he wore the infamous 'Little Doobie' shirt.

It was an old T-shirt that someone had given him as a gag gift. Printed on it was a parody of the 'Little Debbie' trademark, featuring the innocent snack cake girl smoking a joint. He knew it was probably a bad idea to wear it to school, but, as he told me later, it was either that his father's 'Mondale 84' shirt.

Luthor managed to avoid the notice of his first period teacher. Unfortunately, he had Mr. Elmer for second hour biology. Mr. Elmer wasn't the sort of teacher to miss a rules infraction. He lived to send students to the office. Woe to the poor schmuck who was caught eating in the halls or loitering the cafeteria. Elmer's classes were among the most hated in the school.

Luthor ducked into class just as the bell ringed. Elmer looked up, probably to chastise him for being late, and saw the shirt. While what happened next would remain an area of dispute for years to come, I was there. I saw it all and I can tell you that this is exactly how it happened.

Mr. Elmer stared at Luthor's shirt for several seconds, as if trying to take in the hideous sight. "Mis-tar Hugo! Just what is the meaning of this?"

Luthor looked at his shirt and gave a hang-dog smile. "Yeah, I know. You see our washer..."
"I did not ask you about your washer, Mis-tar Hugo. Are you aware that garments containing drug-related messages are strictly forbidden by the school dress code?" Elmer, as you may have guessed, was quite familiar with the dress code.

Luthor was a big guy, even for his fifteen years. He was a JV wrestler and was not one to be easily intimidated. Yet for the first time since I had known him, I saw him look uncomfortable. No one liked to be on Elmer's bad side. It was nearly impossible to return to his good graces, and until you did he made it a point to make your life hell.

"Did you not think the school dress code applied to you? Or did you just not care that you would be providing an atmosphere non-conductive to the learning process?"

Someone giggled. Mr. Elmer shot a withering glance at the class. Everyone ducked their heads. I didn't bother. I blended in naturally. Teachers, classmates, pretty much everyone failed to notice me. I was a non-entity, John Doe, Jr. Not a nerd, not popular. The face in the yearbook that no one could quite place with a memory.

"Look," said Luthor. "Why don't I go to the bathroom and turn it inside out?"

Being presented with a logical solution to the problem seemed to infuriate Elmer further. "Because, young man, the school discipline policy is not there for be flaunted." Ah, Elmer's beloved discipline policy. Nary a day passed that he didn't quote from the damn thing. "Any student," he quoted, probably verbatim, "who violates the school dress code is subject to reprimand, detention, or suspension."

Mr. Elmer scribbled something on a piece of paper. "Take this to the principal's office, young man. I think Dr. Bailey will be very interested to see just what you've worn to class today." Personally, I thought Dr. Bailey wouldn't have given a rat's-ass, but I didn't tell that to Elmer.

Luthor groaned and turned to leave. Then he stopped. "Mistar Elmer," he mimicked "please enlighten me."

"Yes?" said Elmer, immediately put on his guard.

"You say I'm being kicked out of class because I'm wearing a shirt that promotes a drug, right?"

"That is correct, Mis-tar Hugo."

"Well," Luthor inexplicably grinned, "then no doubt you'll want to send Bill to the office with me!"

Bill Czolgolz (pronounced Shol-gosh) had been dozing on his lab table. He sat up at the sound of his name. "Huh? What?"

Luthor was enjoying the chaos he was causing. "You'll note that Mis-tar Cuzu...Cisz....that Bill is also wearing a drug promoting T-shirt."

Everyone, including Bill, looked at the offending shirt. It was black and showed a large model of a molecule. The caption underneath it read 'caffeine.' Bill had probably worn it in homage to his love for soft-drinks.

Bill was a smart guy, not many guys his age would appreciate the molecular humor. He was a computer expert, an honor society member, and a front-runner for the valedictorian spot. You'd think the teachers would have loved him. They didn't.

He was snide. He never paid attention in class, he was always sleeping or reading something unrelated. He cracked lewd jokes. He babbled about weird conspiracy theories. If he didn't like a teacher (and he disliked almost all of them) he would make it known. And he always championed the causes of the trouble making students.

"Well I’ll be damned!" said Bill, relishing the casual profanity. "Caffeine is a drug! Guess I'm off to the office too!" He stood up.

"Sit down this instant, young man! You can only be punished for clothes relating to illegal drugs." I think Elmer realized that he was about to lose control.

"Sit down?" asked Bill innocently. "But the dress code says drugs, period. Caffeine is a drug, it causes increased heart rate, nervousness, and prostate trouble!"

"I said return to your seat!"

"You mean I'm not going to be punished? And yet my crime is the same as Luthor's. Worse even, caffeine is addictive while marijuana isn't. Uh, so I've heard."

Luthor jumped in. "So why would I be punished, but not Bill?"

"We're the same age," said Bill.

"The same height," said Luthor.

"Ah, I know something different," said Bill, as if in a flash of inspiration. "I'm white and you're black!"

Luthor looked at his hands, as if shocked by this information. "Well, so I am. Guess it's off to the office with the colored boy."

"Guess so. I'll just stay here and enjoy the benefits of being Aryan-pure."

Of course racism probably had nothing to do with Elmer's decision, but Bill and Luthor knew a hot issue when they saw one. By the time Luthor had left, the entire class was glaring silently at Elmer.

"Don't worry," said Bill as he sat down, to no one in particular. "This isn't over. Not by a long shot."

Our principal, Dr. Bailey, was only mildly annoyed by Luthor's shirt. He received a two-hour after school detention and a warning not to wear the shirt again. Luthor really could have cared less, when you're fifteen, detentions are fairly common. Bill, on the other hand, saw it as a way to cause more trouble. By lunchtime he had spread word of Elmer's alleged racism throughout the school. After classes, I saw him in the commons area, ranting to a group of his friends. "Are we going to let him get away with this?" he hollered to the gathering of freaks, punks, Goths, stoners, skaters, nerds, hippies, alterni-chicks, and losers. It would have been a dramatic time for them all to shout 'NO!' but they were silent. "Well," continued Bill, "it's time for action. I say all of us come to school tomorrow wearing our wildest outfits yet! And here's the thing...nothing that violates the dress code! Imagine the look on his face when we all come here in Halloween costumes that don't violate his precious discipline policy!"

There were sullen grunts from the crowd. Bill's friends weren't exactly what you'd call 'highly motivated.' "Why bother?" asked one green-haired individual. "I mean, he'll just go down on us! I've got enough problems." There were cries of assent from the angst-ridden audience.

Bill was in danger of losing his following. I don't know what inspired me to leap to his defense, but I did. "Good thing," I shouted. "Elmer said you all were too scared to fight him. He said you all respected him too much to face up to him!"

That did it. The students might have been apathetic to a supposed injustice, but they weren't about to be called respectful. Soon Bill had convinced them all to wear something strange the next day.

After the crowd dispersed, Bill walked up to me. "Hey, thanks...uh, er," like most people, he didn't remember my name.

"Harvey Cambiar," I replied.

"Hey, like Lee Harvey Oswald! I like it! You'll go along with us, right? Wear something funky tomorrow?"

Wear something funky? Deliberately anger a teacher? It was so unlike my normal, non-aggressive self. But what the hell.

"Sure, I'm in."

"Thanks, dude. Man, tomorrow Elmer's gonna freak! Whoah, gotta run, computer club."

*

"Hey mom, I'm home!"

"Hey honey, how was school?" my mother called from her bedroom.

I tossed my things on the couch and walked into the kitchen. I paused to glance at the photo hanging on the living room wall. Though I had seen it every day for over fifteen years, my eyes were still drawn to it.

It was a photo of a good looking man in his thirties. He was tall, muscular, and square-jawed. The camera had captured him as he emerged from the woods, a shotgun over one shoulder.
Though I had never met him, I knew that he was my father. Mother had told me everything about him: their whirlwind courtship, their five happy years of marriage, his successful career as a police officer. About how happy he was when mom told him she was pregnant with me. About how he was shot to death during a routine traffic stop a month before I was born.

I tore my face from the picture and went to the fridge to make a snack. Dad's death (she had told me) had nearly destroyed her. The police survivor benefits had provided well. She was able to pull up roots from her native Los Angles and move to the comparative tranquility of the Midwest. To recoup. To start a new life with her new son.

Mom joined me in the kitchen. "So did you learn anything at school today?" she asked.
I smiled at her. She was a pretty woman, despite her forty plus years and graying hair. I enjoyed her company. I guess that's a strange thing for a teenage boy to say, but Mom and I had been through a lot together. Besides, it's not like I had tons of friends at school to hang out with.

"Not much in the classroom," I replied, "but listen to this..." I briefly related the story of how Luthor and Mr. Elmer had locked horns and about Bill's insane plan to get back at Mr. Elmer.

Mother smiled, I knew she would. She was kind of a hippie. She was drawn to anything that smelt of questioning authority. It was definitely a case of opposites attracting when she married my policeman father.

"So are you going to dress up tomorrow?" she asked excitedly.

"I dunno, I told Bill I would, but what's the point?"

"What's the point? C'mon, stand up for your friends! Fight the power!" Sheesh, most kids moms would be forbidding their children to break the rules, mine was actively encouraging it.

I still waffled. "Well, what could I wear? I haven't had a Halloween costume in years, and I don't really have any wild and crazy clothes." I was speaking the truth. Mom knew that I really wasn't concerned about what I wore, it fact it was always a chore for her to get me to go clothes shopping.

"I hadn't thought of that," said mom. "Do you know anyone you could borrow something from?"
I shook my head. Mother continued to think. Then she laughed. "Here's an idea. We're almost the same size. What would you think of wearing something of mine?"

"Why? Do you have an old costume somewhere?"

"No, silly. I mean wear my regular clothes!"

"You mean, like a dress? Be serious."

"I am being serious. I doubt the school dress code specifically forbids a young man to wear a dress and I'm sure it would really get your teacher's goat."

"But...but what would everyone think?"

"They'd think you had the nerve to stand up against an unfair rule. They'd think you were brave for doing the right thing!"

Now, before I go on, I think I should admit something. Something, that up until that point in my life, I had never admitted to anyone. You see, as long as I could remember, I had wanted to be a girl.

I don't know why I should have felt like that. I knew it was an unnatural, perverted urge (at least I felt that way at the time). But ever since I realized the difference between boys and girls, I felt I belonged firmly in the latter category.

I hated sports, I loathed my boyish clothes. I hated the pubescent changes that had started in my body. I wanted to shave my legs, not my face. I wanted my voice to stay at its soft falsetto, not to deepen into a manly baritone. I wanted smooth, graceful curves, not the hard, chiseled features of a man. I wanted to grow breasts, not muscles.

At an age where most guys couldn't take their eyes off girls, I couldn't take my eyes off of them for another reason. Envy. Not lust, envy. I envied their skirts, dresses, and makeup. Their quiet, girlish ways. Their soft, yielding personalities.

I felt like I was utterly alone in the world. Who could I talk to? Not my mother; I could only picture the shame and sorrow such an admission on my part would bring. And if my father were still alive, it would go doubly. Tell that macho cop that his only son wanted to be his daughter? No way.

I had thought about telling Mr. Rogers, our school guidance councilor, but then thought the better of it. As Bill once remarked, 'I'd like to see things from that guy's point of view, but I can't cram my head that far up my ass.' Besides, I didn't know if I could trust him not to tell my mother. I had no friends, my age or otherwise, that I could confide in enough to tell. There was a peer help group at my school, but I didn't know if I could trust them to take me seriously.

And so, I turned to the only friend that someone who desperately needs anonymity can find: the internet. Among the thousands of 'hot transsexual pics' and 'chicks with dicks' sites, I ran across the occasional serious-minded transgender support page.

I learned all about my problem there. I realized I wasn't just a homosexual, who would be attracted to men but has no desire to be a woman. I wasn't a transvestite, who would get sexual pleasure from dressing as a woman, but had no desire to be one. No, I was a transgender. I wanted to be a woman. To live as one. To dress as one. To be treated as one. Maybe even find a nice boy who would love me as one.

All the support sites had one thing in common: they urged all transpeople to come to grips with their lifestyle as early as possible. The longer you waited, the harder it would be to have the life you wanted.

I wanted to tell my mom. I wanted to blurt it out that I wasn't a boy, that some accident of nature had stuck me in the wrong body. That I wanted to wear dresses and makeup from now on. That I would still be the same person, just of a different gender. But I knew I could never tell. After losing her husband, I couldn't heap one more tragedy on the head of the woman who had raised me. No, I knew I would have to suffer in silence forever.

I did dress in secret, though. Whenever my mother was gone I would slip down to the laundry room, grab whatever clothes happened to be there, and duck into the bathroom. I would have liked to have mixed and matched my own outfits, but I couldn't risk her noticing anything having been disturbed. Wearing clothes from the laundry also meant that I could dump them down the laundry chute if I should hear her car pull up.

Ah, those solitary hours alone in my mother's finery. Harvey disappeared, a teenaged princess took his place. Skirts, dresses, bathing suits, lingerie, jewelry...I could have stayed there all day. I learned how to create feminine curves with wadded up washcloths and to cover my penis with extra tight pantyhose. After I had fixed myself up the way I wanted to, I would stare at my reflection in the mirror. I'd look at myself from all angles, coquettishly flirting with my imaginary suitors. And I would cry to think how my encroaching puberty would soon take this girl away forever.

My excursions to the bathroom never sexually excited me like they would a transvestite. No, they just gave me a feeling of correctness, of normalcy, like this was the real world, and the outside world, the one with Harvey, was just a distorted reality. How I wished that were really the case! But it wasn't so. And even in the bathroom, things weren't perfect. My mom's clothes weren't quite in my size, I wished I could have my own. I could have purchased some somewhere, I suppose, but I was afraid. Though my mom respected my privacy, I always foresaw some disaster where she came across unfamiliar female clothes in my hiding place. That was too horrible to contemplate. Another problem I had was my lack of makeup. I wanted to make up my face, but I didn't dare disturb my mother's cosmetics. If she knew what I had done with them she wouldn't have understood.

How I wished, more than anything, that she would understand. My fantasy was to make myself up into a complete woman, so she would see how pretty I was, and then to wait for her to come home. For her to see me, but act like nothing was wrong. For her to take me clothes shopping the next day. For her to transfer me to another school where I could be her daughter full-time. For her to arrange for me to start on estrogen...

Life is cruel. That was a dream that would never come true. Though nothing could stop me from fantasizing, which I did, often.

Mom couldn't have possibly known what an effect her casual suggestion had on me. My mind was racing a mile a minute, there was a faint buzzing in my ears. She had suggested it! My mother had actually suggested that I go to school in a dress! Maybe she'd even let me wear makeup! And maybe, just maybe, she'd let me continue to dress like this, long after the dress code issue was settled.

No, that was ridiculous. Mom was just trying to think of an oddball costume for me to wear, nothing more. I couldn't jeopardize this by acting overly eager. I'd just have to play it cool, act like I was doing this because of my concern about the school's dress code, and enjoy it while I could. Afterwards, I'd always have the memory.

I steadied myself internally. "OK," I replied, managing to sound indifferent, "whatever."
Mom smiled and motioned me to her bedroom. She opened her closet and began poking through her various outfits; outfits I knew very well. Her green cocktail dress, her gray, skirted business suit, her black, backless evening gown. I grew dizzy, picturing myself in one of them. I nearly recoiled in horror when she pulled out a ludicrous, rayon-pink disco outfit with pictures of tropical fruit all over it.

"You can wear this silly thing," said mom. "Let's see, I think I have come old go-go boots and some gaudy costume jewelry..."

No, no, no! Not campy drag! I wanted to look like a woman, not like one of the Monty Python players in a dress. I knew I should keep my mouth shut, I knew requesting something nicer would be way too suspicious, but I couldn't hold my tongue. This was my only chance to be dressed as a woman somewhere other than the bathroom. To go out in public, to school! True, everyone would know who I was, but what of it? No, if we were going to do this, we'd have to do it right.

"Er, mom..." I ventured, trying to get my excuse straight.

"Yes?" she paused, putting down a stupid old-lady hat with flowers on it.

"I was just thinking, um...."

"Yes?"

"Well, the whole point of me doing this is to wear something that will make Mr. Elmer mad, but won't actually break any rules, right?"

"Right."

"Well, maybe we should tone it down a bit. I mean, if a girl wore that outfit to school she'd be asking for trouble from the administration. Maybe if I just wore, I dunno, something that wouldn't look odd on a girl, I'd have more of a leg to stand on. Like you said, the school rules probably don't forbid boys to wear girl's clothes, but if I go overboard it might cause problems."

It was a tense moment. Had I gone too far? Had I said too much? I silently prayed I hadn't ruined everything. Much to my relief, my mom nodded. "I see your point. Only cross the line as much as you need to and you're more likely to win. Okay, let's see what we can do for you."

Mom pulled out three or four likely candidates. "Well, I'm going to have to dress you from the skin out. Go put on some swim trunks or something and meet me in the bathroom." I ducked into my room and shed my clothes. I pulled on some boxers and went into the bathroom. Mom was still in her room, so I took the opportunity to examine myself in the mirror. There I stood, in all my male, fifteen-year-old splendor. My rust-colored hair hanging, unkempt, just past my ears. A little acne. No muscles, sunken chest. Not tall. Hair under my arms, around my groin, and that was about it. There was hair on my legs, but it was not coarse or dark.
I loathed and loved my body at the same time. Loathed it for the obvious reason: it was not a woman's body. It had no breasts, no vagina, no femininity. But in a strange way, I loved it too. It was soft, hairless, and while not too feminine, it was not too masculine either. I knew from experience that with a dress and some makeup I could make myself into a presentable woman. But it wouldn't last long. Soon I would be covered with hair and muscles. Then my trips to the bathroom would be too sad to contemplate: a young man in a dress where a pretty girl had once stood.

I wished I could stop my puberty. A lot of guys my age looked like men, thank God that hadn't happened to me yet. I knew from my internet research that if I started taking estrogen now, puberty would actually involve welcome changes: breasts, softer skin, silkier hair, curves...
"Am I interrupting anything, Mr. America?" I was startled to realize that my mom had been standing in the doorway, watching me stare at my reflection for some time now. From her point of view I had been preening. That Mr. America comment had been made to build me up, but it hurt. I'd never be Mr. America with this body. And being anything close to Miss America was an impossible dream.

I grinned, embarrassed. "Just wondering if I was ever going to get chest hair (and dreading it)," I said lamely.

"Don't worry," said mom, "it'll happen before you know it."

Ugh.

Mom passed me the first dress. "Try this one on, we'll see how it looks."

I examined it. It was a gray business number, hemline down to my ankles. It buttoned in the front, and was belted around the waist. Sleeves past the elbows, full around the neck. A little conservative, but it least it didn't have legs. I eagerly stepped into it and began buttoning it.

"Now watch it," my mother began, "The buttons..." she stopped short, when she realized that I already was familiar with garments with buttons on the left. Whoops. I had to remember to be bumbling and awkward, like I had never worn a dress in my life. With what I hoped was convincing fumbling, I finished buttoning it and slipped the belt on.

Mom and I regarded my new outfit in the mirror. "Something's not quite right," she mumbled. Well, I thought, for starters I could use some makeup. And some jewelry. And a new hair style. And some breasts. "What's wrong?" I asked her.

"Nothing important. It's just that you don't have a girlish figure." Estrogen would help that, I thought morosely. "Maybe we should try some padding?" I asked, keeping all traces of hopefulness out of my voice.

"OK," she said, "if it wouldn't bother you."

If it wouldn't bother me. Please.

Mom instructed me to remove the dress. She left and returned with some of her lingerie. I almost blurted everything out right there. It would have been so cleansing to say "Mom, as long as I'm putting on your lingerie, why don't I just buy some of my own? In fact, I'd kind of like it if I dressed this way from now on." Of course I said nothing of the sort.

Mom handed me a pair of black pantyhose. "These will cover up your leg hair. Unless you'd like to shave them, of course." We both laughed, though mom's laugh was the only authentic one. I remembered just in time to pull on the nylons boy style: like a pair of pants. I grabbed the waist and shoved my feet in, knowing full well I should bunch them all together, get my feet into the panty hose feet, and then roll them up my legs. My mom quickly told me the correct method.

I had to scrunch my boxers together to get them to fit in underneath. When I dressed for school tomorrow I'd wear briefs, or just forego underwear altogether.

Mom then looked at me tentatively. "You know, Harvey," dresses are built for women with breasts. I guess there's no way I could convince you to wear a padded bra?" she said this pleadingly, as if she was absolutely sure I'd say no but was hoping I'd say yes. Well, I certainly didn't need a lot of convincing. But better play it close to the vest...
"I dunno mom....but I guess if you really think it's necessary."

Mom smiled and gave me one of her bras, a matching black one. "It makes for a more complete package. Now remember, the clasp is in the front." Good thing she said that, I might have forgotten to pretend ignorance about that!

I stuffed the cups with facial cloths to give me a more realistic, albeit lumpy, chest. Mom looked me over, dubiously. "You're still not curvy enough. A corset would help, but I'm afraid I don't have one. Lucky you, eh?"

Oh, yeah, real lucky. I reached for the gray dress again. Mom stopped me. "That one was too businesslike. Let's try a different one."

Yes, and another, and another...we could make a weekend of it...or a year.

Mom selected another. "If we go with this one we'll have to get you a different bra, but try this on for size." It was mom's evening dress. I had tried it on many times. I used to love it when mom would go to formal affairs, that meant that this dress would soon end up in the laundry and I could try it on later. I really hoped we'd go with this.

It was long and black. Totally sleeveless and backless. Mom was right, my bra showed through and would have to be changed. Still, I loved this feminine thing. The way it tied around the back of my neck, leaving just the right amount of flesh visible. The way it was so undeniably girlish, only a woman would look right in it. The way my fake chest extended the front, ever so subtlety.

"No, not right at all," said mom, and my spirits fell. "Too revealing." Too revealing? What did she care if her son's costume was too revealing? Unless...oh my God....could it be? That she was subconsciously thinking of me as a girl? That she didn't want her DAUGHTER to be dressed to provocatively? I barely dared to ask. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, too low cut in front. You can see you're all padding. Not that it matters I guess, but let's find something else." Oh, that was it. Realism, nothing more. Well, c'est la vie.

"Hey, this might be just the thing," said mom. And she was right. First came the simple, gray, pleated skirt. It came down to my knees, revealing my stocking-clad legs. Then came the sleeveless sweater. It was a brown, woolen number, leaving my arms totally bare to the shoulders. I liked the way it looked, but I couldn't say no when mom gave me a tasteful brown women's cardigan to complete the outfit.

The air rushing up my skirt. The softness of the material. The shear...girlishness of it all. But that wasn't really what felt so good. It was the naturalness of it all, like this was what I should be wearing every day, that I was pretending when I dressed like Harvey, trying to be something that I wasn't.

"Now, let's get you some shoes." I followed mom back to her room. She gestured to a pair of casual boots. "Give those a shot. They may be too small, you'll probably have to wear your own shoes tomorrow." The hell you say! They were too small, but I wasn't about to admit that. Tight or not, I was wearing them!

Mom stood back and looked me over. "Now don't you look darling." She was trying to tease me, but I took it as a compliment anyway. I giggled an exaggerated female laugh and spun around in a stupid manner, wishing I could let myself go and be a girl in demeanor as well as clothes.

Mom reached into her jewelry box and pulled out a pair of simple, black, plastic earrings. They were the clip-on type, she let me put them on myself. This was almost surreal. I wished I could slow time down, or stop it and replay it over and over. To savor the one time I could shamelessly wear the clothes I felt were part of my birthright.

"Well," continued mom, "you don't look half bad. And I'm sure you're teacher will have a stroke when he sees you tomorrow." Again, if only. "I guess you might as well change back."
I knew I should leave well enough alone, but I had to say it. It would make everything absolutely perfect. "Mom," I said, barely keeping my voice steady, "as long as we are doing this, maybe we should go all the way and have me wear makeup as well."

For the briefest fraction of a second, I saw suspicion in my mom's eyes. It was if she was thinking 'Just why is my son so into this? Is he enjoying this?' But then in passed. Mom smiled and agreed to make me over, as long as I'd be willing to get up at 5:30 so she could do it right.

Of course I didn't get a wink of sleep that night. I kept fantasizing about tomorrow. My dream was about to become a reality! Off to school in a bra, skirt, and makeup. Maybe mom would even do my hair up a little. And maybe the dress code thing would become a big issue! Perhaps I could dress like this for a month.

My fantasies were going wild now. Maybe the dress code thing would go on for so long that I wouldn't even bother changing to boy clothes when I came home from school. Maybe Mom would grow accustomed to her son in a dress. Maybe, after the protest was over, I could 'forget' and dress like a girl anyway. If Mom said anything I could just pass it off as a mistake of habit. But what if she didn't say anything? What if...I was really living in a dream world now...what if she said nothing? What if she just accepted my dressing as the status quo? And the next time we went clothes shopping, usually such a chore, we went to the women's department? And we gave away all my boyish clothes and I never had to be Harvey again?

I knew I was fooling myself, if I was lucky the costuming would last more than one day. But mine was a desperate, secret existence, and I knew that there was no harm in dreaming.
The next day, just after I showered, Mom made up my face. I could hardly restrain myself from hyperventilating or wiggling excitedly. For the first time in my fifteen years I felt like I was in my natural state. Just a young teenage girl getting makeup lessons from her mother. Dear God, if only!

I wanted to look in the mirror, to see every stage of my transformation. Unfortunately, it never occurred to my mom that any of this would be interesting to me, so I suffered in silence. Mom then brushed my hair back and pinned it up with two barrettes. She spritzed it with hair spray. Still without so much as a glance in the mirror she handed me my clothes, being careful to help me get on my sweater without smearing my makeup. As I laced up my restrictive boots, I could barely stop trembling from excitement. Finally, after what seemed like ages, I was able to get a good look in the mirror.

There she was. I had seen glimpses of her before, in my dreams, in my fantasies, and in my secret trips to the bathroom. But here she was in full. The teenage girl inside me, now on the outside. Her sweetly made up face. Her delicate clothes. Her womanly styled hair. Her small breasts. Her shy, almost terrified mannerisms. There she was...and she was me.

"Very sweet," my mom mocked. "One more thing." Just when I thought things couldn't get any better, they did. Mom carefully glued some press-on nails to my clipped and short real ones. Long, red nails. Just shoot me now, I have achieved a moment of true happiness.

"Well, it's crazy, but I know it will get under Elmer's skin," I said, dismissively. "But thanks for all your work." That didn't begin to express my gratitude, but it was all I should say.

"Try not to smear your makeup. Now off to school with you, young 'man.'"

As mom drove me from our apartment to the school, my feelings changed from that of expectation to dread. I had been so caught up in the prospect of wearing a dress that I hadn't stopped to consider the possible downside. What if no one else dressed up? My God, Bill had organized this, today he might have changed his focus to overthrowing the government or mandatory whale slaughtering or something. What if I was the only one dressed like this? Or if others dressed but still thought I was queer looking? Fat chance of me ever making friends then! I'd forever be 'that pervert in the dress.' Maybe I should have gone with the campy drag, at least then no one would suspect I was serious about this. Was it too late to back out? Yes, it was. If I didn't go today, I never would.

As I walked across the parking lot I could barely put one foot in front of the other. What had I gotten myself into? I took a deep breath and rounded the corner of the building to face the main entrance. That's when I realized that all my fears had been ungrounded.

Halloween came in March that year. A stream of becostumed students was pouring in through the front doors of Ft. Zummer. It was hilarious. Halloween masks, bathing suits, outdated 80's clothes, one guy even found a suit of armor somewhere. My God, something Bill had organized had actually worked. There was no way anyone would think there was anything odd about my skirt today.

Bill himself stood at the door, greeting his oddball legions. "Hey, looking good Drew, nice fangs Larry, Jim! you must give me the name of your tailor." Bill was wearing a straitjacket which seemed strangely appropriate. As I tried to pass by, he cornered me.
"Hey, how come you didn't wear..." then he stopped short. "Er, ah, I mean uh, nice costume, Harvey." He was blushing.

I walked to my first class on air. Bill had thought I was a normally dressed girl! Someone who knew me mistook me for a female, at least for a second. I wondered what a stranger would think.

Still elated over my deception, I stepped into my first hour history class. I counted five others participating in the great uprising: a guy in a leisure suit, a girl in a ballerina outfit, some dude with a Hawaiian shirt and a ukulele, a sports fan with his face made up in team colors, and Luthor, who was wearing his grandfather's Vietnam War uniform.

I took my seat. A guy near me looked at me oddly and I began to feel scared again. Bill was one thing, but would everyone believe I was don't this solely out of protest? Finally, he spoke.

"Uh, I'm sorry, I can't remember your name."

"Harvey," I replied.

"Ah, yeah, right. Great costume, Harvey." He quickly turned away and buried his nose in his history book. Now what was with that?

A warm glow covered me as I realized what had happened. He wasn't sure if I was Harvey dressed as a girl or some new girl. That's why he had pretended to forget my name. I wondered what he would have done if I had told him a woman's name.

Our teacher, Dr. Dumas, walked into the room precisely when the bell rang. I felt a little sorry for him. He'd taught for over thirty years, he'd probably teach for thirty more. He was tolerable, in a dull sort of way. I wondered how he'd react to our weird dress.

Dr. Dumas faced the class and squinted myopically at us through his glasses. He let out a long sigh, shook his head, and began writing on the board.

"As I mentioned yesterday, the Civil War left the United States in a state of discord and ruin..."

Most of my fellow students reported similar experiences: teachers who could care less about how we were dressed, as long as we didn't disrupt class. Most educators were like that; unwilling to make a big deal about things that really weren't a big deal. Of course, Mr. Elmer wasn't like most educators.

We all knew that Mr. Elmer's planning period was first hour, which he would invariably spend locked in the teacher's workroom. When he taught our class, it would be the first he'd see of the weird clothes we were wearing.

I nervously sat in the biology lab, regarding my fellow protesters. While there were only a few rebels in the last class, Elmer's students were decked out, almost to a man. As predicted by Bill, Elmer freaked.

You'd have thought we were all sitting there naked, the way his eyes bulged and his face reddened. He stared at us, as if we'd all whither and cringe under his gaze. Someone laughed.
"JUST WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS...THIS INSURRECTION?" bellowed the teacher of the year, no years running.

Bill was ready. "Why Mis-tar Elmer, if you'll take the time to familiarize yourself with the school's dress code, then you'd realize that none of us are in the slightest violation of..."

Elmer interrupted. "I am not interested in your juvenile shenanigans, Mis-tar Czolgolz. Get yourself to the office, AT ONCE! And that goes for any of the rest of you who feel that this school is an institute to be flouted!'

Bill grinned and marched to the door. Luthor quickly followed. He stood behind Bill at the doorway, and placed his hand on Bill's shoulder, prison style. Other protestors joined him. Soon the class was emptying. I was one of the last to get up. Elmer whirled at me.

"Get back to your seat, young lady! Only those who have worn...have worn..."

Realizing Elmer's mistake, the whole class, myself included, burst into laughter. "Young lady!" hooted one individual.

"Careful there, dude!" someone shouted at me. "Elmer might want you to stay after school for 'extra credit.'"

"Leave this classroom at once!" shouted Elmer, to cover his gaffe.

"ATTENTION!" bellowed Luthor, looking quite military in his uniform. "Ten, hut!" Hands on the shoulder of whoever was in front of us, we marched off to the office like an Alabama chain gang.

There wasn't room for all of us in Dr. Bailey’s office, he met us in the detention room. I smiled at our bald, sexagenarian principal and wondered what he'd do. Would be angry at us, or just pass this off as some dumb stunt? I had never been in trouble before, it was more than a little exciting.

"I've been teaching since the seventies," began Bailey, without preamble. "I've seen a lot of wild protests in my time. Wars, civil rights, women's rights, animal rights, the environment, whatever. Quite frankly, this is one of the lamest protests I've ever seen. The school dress code? I can't picture us having a more liberal one. I'm sure you only did this to annoy Mr. Elmer." He looked pointedly at Bill.

"I'm not going to punish you. However, I really don't feel like spending my time enforcing the school dress code. Don't waste my time. So here's the deal. Elmer doesn't want you to dress like that in his class, and since it's his class I don't feel I should overrule him. Anyone who continues this tomorrow will be suspended for a week. Return to class."

For the rest of the day, Bill tried to drum up support for a second day of crazy-dressing. There were no takers. A protest for a real cause was one thing, but annoying Mr. Elmer wasn't worth getting suspended over. A suspension could stop a good student from getting a scholarship and a bad student from graduating. The general consensus was that no one was going to risk that much trouble for one of Bill's doomed crusades.

At the end of the school day, I found Bill, still bound in his straitjacket, leaning against a post in the commons area.

"We were so close, Harvey. Just one week of this and we would have won." Won what, I wasn't sure of. "Now, no one is willing to take a stand."

I pulled up a chair, smoothed my skirt, and sat down. I took the opportunity to cross my legs in a lady-like manner; who knew when I'd get to do that in public again? "Couldn't find any takers, huh?"

He grunted. "Only Luthor. And I probably ought to tell him not to bother. If he gets suspended he could get kicked off the wrestling team."

"Are you going to go on with it?"

"I have to. Someone has to." He was almost obsessive with this quest. I wondered what would happen if he ever funneled his energies into something worthwhile.

"But that could cost you your valedictorian spot."

Bill only nodded. I guess he knew as well as anyone that when you are valedictorian, you can pretty much go to college for free.

I excused myself. "Wait," called Bill. "I don't suppose I can count on you to wear that skirt tomorrow?"

"No..." I began and Bill's face fell. But then I thought about it. God, what a day it had been! I'd been briefly taken for a woman three times at least, but what was more, I finally felt like a real person. Sitting in school in a skirt, with makeup, earrings, a sleeveless sweater...suspension be damned! You can't keep a good woman down.

"No," I continued. "Tomorrow I'll probably wear a dress."

Bill grinned. "If I didn't believe that religion was nothing but a shallow invention of the ruling classes to subjugate the masses, I'd say 'God bless you, Harvey.' Now could you unstrap me here?"

When I returned home, mom wasn't there. I knew the logical, nonsuspicious thing to do would be to wash off my makeup, remove my clothes, and change into something more gender-appropriate. But I couldn't make myself do it. After a day in a skirt, it wouldn't be easy to go back to blue jeans and a T-shirt.

Mom returned home to find me relaxing in front of the television, still wearing the hose, skirt, and other examples of feminine garments that I had worn for the whole school day. She seemed a little shocked. "I figured you'd have ditched those clothes the second you walked through the door."

"Well, I guess I was too lazy." God, did that sound ridiculous.
"So how did the protest go?"

I briefly outlined what had happened, finishing with the threat of the punishment we'd receive if we continued.

"So I guess you won't be doing it again tomorrow? Still, I bet it was fun to freak out your teacher like that."

"Actually mom, I was thinking about doing it again." Please, please, let her not think this is strange.

"Again? I don't know, Harvey. It seems like annoying your teacher isn't worth a suspension."
"Oh, it's not about getting back at Mr. Elmer. It's that Bill's risking giving up his valedictorian spot and Luthor's risking getting kicked out of sports. I figure if I go along with them we might stand a better chance than if they took on the powers that be alone." And therefore I have to keep dressing like a girl indefinitely, I mentally added.

"Harvey, I don't like the thought of you getting suspended..." mom began.

"Please mom, they're my only close friends," despite the fact that they didn't even know my name last week. "I really have to do this for them."

Mom was wavering. She had always been concerned about my lack of a social life, I hoped by playing that angle she wouldn't realize my true motivations.

"OK Harvey. Just one more day. I have to say I admire you for being so loyal to your friends. But enough's enough, you can do it tomorrow, but no more."

Well, one day was better than nothing. In order to keep mom from guessing the real reason I was so excited about wearing girl clothes, I quickly changed into some of my own things. I washed off the makeup and wistfully folded the skirt, sweater, and jacket that had made me feel like a girl, for one glorious day.

True to my word, the next day I did wear a dress. It was nothing spectacular, just a black outfit with a hemline down to my ankles, and sleeves to the wrist. It zipped up in the back, mom had to help me with it. When we were finished, I looked into the mirror and sighed. I was so close! If I dressed like this every day, if I shaved my legs and got some shoes in my own size, if I practiced and practiced feminine deportment, then being a woman was not such a ridiculous idea. I looked fine. One might have even said pretty. But I needed my own things. I needed to do this every day, all day. Just two days wasn't close to being adequate.

But I knew, deep in my heart, that this was not to be. I could never slap my mom in the face with my sick desires to live like a girl. I could never face the humiliation of having her ashamed of me. The best I could hope for was a few hours a week, alone in the bathroom, until age removed my soft skin and smooth face.

Well, if today was going to be the last day, then I'd make it a day to remember. I held myself with a confident air. For whatever reason the world thought I was doing this, in my mind nothing was unusual. Today, for the one time in my life, I was going to be a girl. Not a boy in a dress, but a girl. I looked like one, I was dressed like one, well by God, today I was going to act like one. Who cared if anyone thought I was odd, I had the rest of my life to convince them I was masculine. Today I was going to shine.

I snatched one of Mom's extra purses and a compact and walked out to the car where she was waiting. With a lovely smile, I slid into the seat, rear first, legs last, so as not to spread my legs or hitch up my dress in an unladylike fashion.

I think Mom suspected something, but I didn't care. I could be macho from now on, but I was going to enjoy today. Yesterday I had been nervous, well today I was going to be brave. I pulled out my compact and touched up my makeup. I didn't dare look in Mom's direction; that would have looked like I was gauging her reaction. Nope, today I was her daughter. If she asked me about it later, I'd act offended, as if she was questioning my manhood.

I slid out of the car, smiled and waved at Mother, and walked into school. Due to my countless hours on the internet I had read quite a few FAQs about how to walk, speak, and act like a girl. Today I was going to put them into action.

I remembered to stand up straight, wiggle my hips, not to swing my arms too much. When I came to school, I noticed several people turn and look at me. Most of them were protesters from yesterday, probably shocked that I'd actually wear a costume for two days in a row, especially after what Dr. Bailey had said. Well, let them stare! I'd just pretend they were admiring my lovely figure instead of wondering at my suicidal defiance of the school rules.
Luthor was still decked out in his uniform, but today Bill was dressed like a circus clown. I asked him what had happened to his straitjacket. He replied that it's not a good idea to restrain your arms while walking down stairs. I noticed the beginning of a black eye under his clown makeup.

Before classes, I just had to go touch up my makeup one last time. I wanted more than anything to go into the lady's room, but I knew that would be asking for trouble. I went into the men's room and admired my face in the mirror.

A guy came out of a stall, yelped when he saw me, and ducked back in. Then, he slowly and cautiously looked out. "Er, this is the men's room, right?"

"Yes, it is," I said, reapplying my lipstick.

"Then what are you doing here?" It was hard to hide my joy. Mistaken for a girl again. I was tempted to play along, but decided against it.

"I am a guy. I'm protesting the school dress code."

"Oh, Jesus, sorry dude!" the guy stammered. Why did he say he was sorry? Didn't he realize he had just paid me a great compliment? I excused myself to go to class.

During first hour, I noticed students looked at me over their shoulders when they thought I didn't notice. After the bell rang, a girl actually told me I looked rather natural. She said this nervously, as if she were afraid I'd take it the wrong way. I smiled and thanked her, hoping that she wouldn't think that was too bizarre a response.

Elmer's class was a different story. Bill, Luthor, and myself were the only ones who had worn a costume. Would Elmer actually suspend us?

When I walked into the room, I noticed that Paul Sanford was back. He had be absent for over a week, due to a bout with food poisoning.

Paul was a bit of an enigma in our school. He was a fundamentalist Christian, his entire life revolved around church, Bible reading, and an almost Puritanical self-denial. He had missed the entire dress code thing, but it wouldn't have really mattered. Paul's major daily wardrobe decision seemed to be 'gray shirt with black slacks, or white shirt with black slacks?'

"Excuse me," he said as I walked by. "I have been gone. Could you please tell me why Luthor and William are dressed in that manner?"

"Dress code protest. They're trying to annoy Mr. Elmer."

"I see. Thank you and God bless."

"Paul," I teased, "aren't you going to mention my costume?"

"Your...?" Paul did a double take. "Oh! I did not notice...no, that is a lie and lying is a sin. I am terribly sorry, but I briefly mistook you for a girl." He quickly entered the room without waiting for a reply.

As I took my seat, I noticed Paul was talking to Mr. Elmer. I heard Paul request a copy of the school dress code, which of course Mr. Elmer had in his briefcase. I couldn't imagine what for, it was not like Paul had anything to worry about.

As soon as the bell rang, Mr. Elmer directed Bill, Luthor, and I to go to the office for suspension. We probably would have been suspended too, were it not for help from an unlikely quarter: Paul.

"Mr. Elmer?" asked Paul, in his quiet, respectful voice.

"Yes, Mis-tar Sandford?"

"Why are these three gentlemen being ejected from class?"

"For violating the school's dress code."

Paul sighed. "Well, then I am afraid I shall be compelled to join them, as I too am in violation." People giggled, Paul's clothes were a study in bland.

"Do not try to be funny, Mis-tar Sanford. What possible way could you have violated the dress code?"

Paul stood up and walked towards Mr. Elmer's desk. Then, without warning, he drew back his fist and swung. For a second we thought he was going punch out the teacher; Elmer let out a yelp and ducked. But strangely enough, Paul punched himself in the back of the head.

There was a squashing sound and something seemed to fly from the front of Paul's head. With a deft gesture he caught it midair with the hand he had punched himself with. He then spun and faced the class, the object held in his extended palm.

It was a glass eye.

"If I may quote the school dress policy," began Paul, "' No student may wear anything on their face or head during school hours, with the exception of earrings or barrettes on the part of female students.' It does not say anything about ocular prosthetics, so I fear I must forgo wearing this."

If you've never seen an empty eye-socket, then you really shouldn't. It was absolutely disgusting; the empty, moist hole in Paul's head, the writhing ocular muscles, the way the eyelid twitched spasmodically over the pit...

Paul sat down and smiled at the girl next to him. She ran out of the room and threw up.
"PUT YOUR EYEBALL BACK IN THIS INSTANT!" shouted Mr. Elmer.

"Now there's a phrase you don't hear every day," quipped Bill.

"No," said Paul, "the Lord commands us to obey the law, and the school dress code is no exception. I am afraid that the eye goes."

"I'm sure we can make an exception in your case, Mis-tar Sandford."

Paul looked shocked. "Why in my case? Does my disability disgust you? Can you not stand to be in the same room with someone as vile as I? Does the sight of my mutilation instill in you a loathing so great that I must cover it up?" Paul had hit the nail pretty much on the head, but there was no way Mr. Elmer could admit that.

Elmer desperately tried to hold class, but it was ridiculous. Students were either covering their eyes to avoid glancing at the gaping hole in Paul's head, or staring at it like it was some sort of cool car wreck. Nothing was accomplished that day, and in the midst of all the hubbub we never did go to the office.

During fifth hour, I was called to the principal's office. Bill, Luthor, and Paul were already there. Bailey, as usually, was short and to the point. "OK you four. You've made your point. Here's the deal. You won't be suspended, but if you pull another stunt like this you will be. I rarely go back on my word, don't make me regret not punishing you. And Paul, put your eye in, that's disgusting!"

We looked at each other and nodded. We had pissed of Mr. Elmer for two days running, and his students would never forget it. No point in getting kicked out. "Okay," said Bill. "Normal clothes tomorrow." Even though I knew it was coming, I was sad. There went my only excuse to dress how I considered normally.

Paul, saying that he had to disinfect his eye before he could replace it, slipped on an eye patch and we left the office. Before I went back to class, I caught Paul.

"Paul, thanks a lot for doing that. You really saved us."

"Oh my friend, your true savior was crucified in Jerusalem, nearly two-thousand years ago."
"Uh, yeah. But what made you decide to get involved like that?"

"'Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat or drink; or about your body, what you will wear. Is not life more important than food, and the body more important than clothes?' Matthew 6:25. Mr. Elmer was using his energies to worry about the clothing we wear, instead of spreading knowledge, which is his calling."

"Really?"

"Well that, and I was a little embarrassed for calling you a woman earlier. I wanted to make it up to you." He ducked into his class.

By all logic, that should have been the end. I should have enjoyed my brief time dressing the way I liked, and then buckled down and been a man for the rest of my life. But it wasn't the end.

Before the incident, I had deluded myself into thinking that if I ever went out in public dressed like a girl then I would be immediately found out, that everyone would see right through my shallow disguise, that it would be a fantasy not worth considering. But now...Mr. Elmer, Bill, and Paul had all taken me for a girl, at least briefly. At two other guys admitted to thinking I was a girl, and no telling how many others. My wild fantasy of changing my life didn't seem so wild now.

I wanted to break down and tell my mother, really I did. Every morning I would tell myself 'Today I do it. Today I come out.' But I couldn't. I mean, how do you tell your mother something like that? Blurt it out? 'Mom, I want to be a girl!' Or maybe 'Mom, there's something we need to talk about?' 'Mom, dressing up last week got me thinking...'? Or just surprise her in one of her dresses? Every time I thought I could bring myself to say it, I'd end up chickening out. Telling her I wanted to drop out of school or join a cult would have been easier.

I had two choices. Come to terms with what I had to do, or live in a state of denial all my life. Denial seemed to be winning out, when it happened.

I had never liked shopping for clothes, for obvious reasons. The bland, cotton underwear and socks. The dull jeans. The boring sweaters. I would look wistfully over at the girls' department and dream: the lacey panties, the nylon hose, the sexy skirts, and the darling blouses. That was the area of the store where I belonged, not the one with the posters of young models in their football jerseys or dress slacks.
It so happened that mom felt it was time for me to get some new clothes. Most guys my age beg and wheedle money out of their parents for clothes, my mom had to practically drag me to the store.
"Harvey, c'mon. You've been putting this off for weeks. Your pants don't fit, your shirts are worn to hell, and you need new dress shoes. We're going shopping, today!"

"C'mon mom. Maybe a couple or pairs of jeans, but why do I need a bunch of clothes? I have enough to wear right now."

"Doesn't it bother you what you look like? Don't you want to impress the girls at your school?"

Only with my pretty appearance, I thought glumly.

"Mom, clothes don't matter to me." Boy clothes, at least.

"Well, they matter to me. I don't see why you whine about this so much."
"Because I hate clothes shopping! It's pointless."

"Well, the clothes you have now are worthless, so you're going to get some new ones. Or would you rather keep wearing dresses and skirts?"

"YES!"

There was a long, long pause. Mom had meant that crack about women's clothes as a joke, but I had answered seriously. There was still time for me to back out. I could have laughed, passed it off as a joke, anything. But I stayed quiet, not daring to breathe until Mom broke the silence.

Now that I think back on it, I suppose Mom could have avoided confrontation as well. She could have ignored what I said, or pretended I was joking, or whatever. But instead, with a dead serious expression asked "Harvey....what are you saying?"

I swallowed. "I do want to go shopping, Mom. Just....just not in the boy's department."

"I see. Well, what would you like to buy?" This was torture. Anger, sorrow, rage, I could stand. Joy was too much to hope for, though hope I did. This steady, emotionless questioning, however... But I was in too deep to stop.

"The kind of clothes I wore last week. Dresses, skirts, panties...well, all girl's clothes, I guess."

"Anything else?"

If you don't ask for the moon, you'll never get it. "Makeup, perfume, cosmetics, all that."

"Harvey," Mom almost seemed afraid to ask the next question. "Do you just like to dress like a girl, or...is there something else? Be honest."

My voice cracked, I had to start again. "Mom, I am a girl. I don't know why I think that way, but it's not a phase and it's not an idle thought. I've always been this way. I am a girl. I think like one, I feel like one, and I think, with help, I could look like one. I want to live like a girl, dress like a girl, and be treated like one. I want..." I closed my eyes "I want to have a sex change."

Mom sat down on my bed. Here it comes, I thought. The tears, the screaming, the accusations. But I was wrong. Mom just looked at me, for what seemed like forever. Finally, she spoke.

"Harvey, here's some money. Go see a movie or something. I need a little time to think things over."

I took the money she offered and walked to the mall. It was Saturday and crowded, but I was alone in the world. I sat at a table in the food court, feeling that I had hit rock bottom. 'Mom, I am a girl'? 'Mom, I want a sex change'? What the hell was I thinking? Mom would hate me, even if I pretended to be 'cured' from now on, she'd always think of me differently. My one true friend, my one ally, and I had alienated her forever. It took all the strength I had not to burst into tears.

I never went to the movies, I just sat there all day in agony, nursing a soda. Time got away from me, I was surprised when a security guard approached me. "It's 9:30, son. You'd best be getting on home, we're closing up here."

I felt like I was walking to my own execution. How could I face my mother now? What would I say to her? Tell her I had been kidding? Say I'd try to stop thinking this way? She'd see through those lies in a second.

I seriously contemplated running away, but I gave that up as hopeless. Besides, as much as I had hurt Mom today, I couldn't hurt her more by abandoning her. I had to face the music.

As soon as I entered the door, Mom rushed to me. "Where have you been?" she almost shouted. "I've been worried sick about you."

At least she wasn't mad. And her concern momentarily hid her shame in me. "I'm sorry...I went to the mall and I guess I just lost track of time." I smiled, meekly. Maybe she wouldn't bring up what I had said this morning. Maybe we could just forget about it and move on with our lives.

"Harvey, honey, come into your bedroom. We need to talk." The dreaded 'We need to talk.' Like a man going to the gallows, I held my head up and walked to my doom.

When I arrived at my room, I was surprised to see that my computer desk was covered with dozens of printouts. Mom rarely used my computer, I wondered what she was up to. She took at seat at my desk and motioned me to sit down on my bed.

"Harvey, I need to ask you a few questions. It's very important that you answer me honestly, I want to understand you and help you." Ugh, the honest answers. Well, there was no point in lying now, not after what I had said this morning.

Mom picked up a sheet of paper and began reading off of it. "How long have you felt this way, Harvey?"

"Since as long as I remember. The first time I really remember is when I was about four. Mary June from next door came over, remember her? Anyway, she had on this lacey party dress and I told her that I was going to ask Santa Claus for one just like it; it was almost Christmas. She told me that only girls wore dresses so I told her I was going to ask Santa to turn me into a girl."

"Hmm. OK. Now how often do you dress as a girl? I'm assuming that last week wasn't you first time."

"I only manage to dress once or twice a month." Good sense told me to leave well enough alone, but I had to plow on. "Of course that's because I didn't want you to find out. If it were up to me I'd dress every day, all day."

Mom nodded. It was weird, she wasn't freaking out. Maybe she just wanted the full story before she laid into me. "Harvey, are you happy with your present body?"

I shook my head.

"Why not?" asked Mom.

"Because it's a boy's body. It will never have breasts. It will just get hairy and big. I want to be soft and smaller."

"Anything else?"

"My penis," I closed my eyes "I want...no, I need to have a vagina."

Mom jotted something down on the paper. "Who are you more sexually attracted to, men or women?"

"I don't think about sex a lot, but when I do...I guess you could say I have no interest in girls, but some in boys." In most cases, an answer like that would be enough to cause a rift in a mother-son relationship, but with me it was just the tip of the iceberg.

"One more question, Harvey. If you could start living as a woman, if you could begin taking female hormones, if you could eventually, some day, have sex change surgery, would you want to?"

Mom was looking at me intently. I hadn't been able to face her through any of the other questions, but for this one I looked her full on.

"Yes, I would."

Mom let out a sigh. It wasn't a depressed sigh, more resigned than anything. "Okay, Harvey. I've been doing a lot of research on the internet today. I've learned a lot about your, ah, condition. It's called transgenderism, if I'm not mistaken. I nodded. She smiled a thin smile. "I take it you've been doing your homework as well." I grunted an affirmative.

"Here's the deal, Harvey. I don't know what to tell you. This wasn't covered in any parenting book I've read. I mean, should I be angry, sad, what?" I didn't know what to say.

"So I looked to the internet for help. While most of the sites varied on their advice, they all agreed to one thing: you need to see a councilor immediately. Would you do that for me, honey? See a psychologist?"

"Of course, Mom." So that was the route. Take me to a head shrinker to see if I could be cured. Listen to some old psychiatrist tell me about my feelings and babble on about repressed-this and Freud-that. If it made my Mom happy to see me treated, fine. But I knew better than anyone that these feelings weren't going away.

"Okay. I'll start researching therapists tomorrow."

I couldn't take this anymore. From now on, I'd be her strange son. The pansy. The sissy. The one who had to get his head examined to see why he had such perverted urges. "Mom, um, can I go to bed now?"

"In a minute, dear. I need to take your measurements, I'm going to get you some new clothes tomorrow." God, not that again.

"Mom, you don't have to measure me. I'll go with you."

Mom smiled, a bittersweet smile. "I'm afraid you can't. They don't let boys try on things in the girl's department."

For the first time in my life, I doubted the veracity of my senses. Had I heard correctly? The girl's department? As in dresses and training bras?

"Mom, you don't mean...?"

Mom got up and sat down next to me. She put her arm around me. "Harvey, this isn't easy for me, but it must be ten times as hard for you, especially keeping it inside this long. I've been thinking about this for a very long time..."

"Mom, I only told you today."

"Yes, but I've suspected for a while."

I guess my shock showed. "Hey, you can't fool your mother."

"But how..."

"Well, you've never been what I'd call a man's man, but that wasn't it. It was little things. You seemed to take more that a casual interest in my clothes when you were younger, and were always wanting to play dress-up when you were in pre-school. I'd occasionally notice an outfit that should have been at the bottom of the laundry on top. You'd always seem angry when I'd try to compliment you on how strong or handsome you were. And once you got on internet, I noticed some rather unusual sites in the history list."

I mentally beat myself for that last one. How could I have committed such a bone-headed, moronic mistake? All my efforts not to be caught, and I forget that every site I visit is logged into the history list. Well, maybe it was better that I was found out early.

"Anyway," Mom continued, "this wasn't totally unexpected. When I suggested you go to school dressed as a woman, I wanted to see how you'd react. Now that it's all come out," she let out that sigh again, "I figure I should do what it takes to make you happy. You're far too young to decide you want a sex change, but we'll take you to the psychologist to see if that might be an option. Someday. But for now, I figure you'd never say you wanted to be a girl if you didn't feel it, and strongly. I want you to be happy, honey, and last week was the happiest I'd seen you in a long time. Until we decide the best course of action for the future, well...what would you say if I said I'd let you dress like a girl at home, when we were alone?"

I hugged my mom and started bawling. I couldn't help it.

*

The only thing I remember about school the next day was that I was incapable of concentrating. All I could think of was mom's comment that she'd get me some new clothes tomorrow. New girl clothes. Surely it couldn't be true...fantasies like mine never came true! Could I really come home to a pile of dresses? My own dresses? That I could wear whenever I wanted?

No, it was insane. Mom probably was just making idle promises, something to keep me happy for the moment. Like she'd ever dress her only son up like her daughter...

I knew I shouldn't expect any miracles, but it is impossible to extinguish hope. I was like a child on Christmas morning: expecting socks, but hoping for a puppy.

I raced home to my house. When my hand hit the knob, it froze. This might have been my last chance to revel in an understanding mother and the immediate promise of new clothes. I took a deep breath. 'Please, just one dress,' I silently prayed.

My mom wasn't in the living room, so I called out for her. "I'm in your room," she called back, "come back here, I want to show you something."

When I saw what awaited me in my room, I knew that all the risk had been worth it.

My room looked like a Kardashian’s closet. Bag after box after loose garment was piled on my bed and most of my floor.

I looked at my mom, she had exceeded even my wildest expectations.

"I suppose I went a little overboard," she said with a funny smile. "But I guess if you've been waiting for eleven years for a dress of your own, then I owed you a few."

I couldn't even stammer out a 'thank you,' but I think Mom knew how I was feeling. She began to show me what she had bought me.

First came the underwear. There were at least twenty different pairs of panties, bland cotton of course, but each one a different color. Next came the nylons. There were enough nylons and pairs of pantyhose to keep a gang of bank robbers disguised for a year. I made a note to burn my briefs as soon as possible. Even if mom refused to let me go through with this, I could always sneak on the panties under my jeans.

The contents of the next bag made me shriek with delight. It contained three training bras! Small sized bras for young women who were just starting to develop. Hey, I felt like a young woman and with hope I'd start developing someday! After what I was experiencing today it didn't seem like such a ridiculous notion.

I figured I could stuff the undergarments with washcloths until I could find something better, but once again mom was thinking ahead of me. At the bottom of the bag there was a set of fake, foam-rubber breast forms. They were small, but I figured that at age fifteen I didn't need anything gigantic. What was more, they felt a lot like the real thing, and even had fake nipples on them (should I ever go braless).

Like a kid on Christmas I ripped into the next packages. Skirts, dresses, blouses, girl's jeans, and all manner of female attire. There were even necklaces and earrings for non-pierced ears.

Finally, I opened the bag full of nail polish, makeup, and hairspray. There was nothing wanting. I closed my eyes, praying that everything would still be there when I opened them.
"Harvey," my mother said "is this what you want? I want to make you happy, that's the important thing. Would these clothes make you happy?"

Once again, I began my very un-masculine crying. What my mother must have gone through, picking out clothes for her son, acting as if she was shopping for a young woman. And all for me! Had she made me happy?

"Oh, yes mom!" I babbled through my tears. "Thank you, thank you, thank you..."

Mom hugged me. "Now enough of that. There, wipe those tears. No point in crying now, why don't you try something on? I'm pretty sure I got everything in your size..."

I didn't know what to put on first. Now that I no longer had to hide what I wanted, I got greedy, wanting to try on everything in rapid succession. Mom checked my impulses, and suggested I start slow.

So start slow I did. Two pairs of frilly panties to hide my penis. A pair of dark hose to hide my leg hair. A black, ankle-length skirt and a poofy, white blouse. A pair of overlarge heels (mom admitted having trouble converting my men's shoe size to the women's scale).

Then, mom sat me down and made me over. As I watched in joyous anticipation, she filed and manicured each of my nails and glued a fake one on top. I took mental notes as she used lipstick to redden my lips, rouge to add color to my cheeks, eye shadow to accentuate my eyes, and mascara to lengthen my lashes.

Mom took out a brush and began teasing my hair. It went from its normal, tangled messiness to a silkier, more well-maintained hairstyle. Finally, with the addition of earrings and her watch, I was finished.

There she was. She shown, she glowed! Pretty, shy, and yet somehow more confident than she had ever been, she smiled back at me from the mirror. She now had nothing to hide. As long as she was in this apartment, then she could exist happily and unashamedly. Now I'd just have to convince mom that I needed to live like this always.

"Harvey, how do you feel?" asked my mom.

I wondered how to answer: excited, relieved, happy? I hit on the perfect answer...

"Natural, I feel natural. This is how it's supposed to be."

Mom put her arms around me. "I want you to feel good about yourself. I want you to know...I want you to know that you can dress like this whenever you want...only at home of course." I was struggling with the happy tears again.

"But I also want you to know," she continued, "we can stop doing this anytime you like. You wouldn't owe me any sort of explanation...no matter how far we go with this, you can always back out."

"I won't ever want to go back mom. This is the life I have to lead. But mom, tell me honestly, you wish I wouldn't do this, right?"

Mom didn't speak for a while. "Yes, I wish you wouldn't do this. I wish you wouldn't do this, because I know you've chosen a very difficult course in life. If you decide you want to...make this permanent, then you'll have to take a hard, hard, path, and there is no point in pretending otherwise. You'd have to give up your current life. And when you decide you want to date...well, if you should be interested in...in a boy, then...well, we'll discuss that when the time comes. That's why I want you to know that, no matter how deep you get, you can always stop."

"But mom," God, did I really want to know the answer to this next question? "Are you...ashamed of me?"

"For Pete's sake, no!" Mom emphatically answered. "No matter how this turns out, I'll always be proud of you."

"You don't know how happy you've made me today," I told her.

"I think I do."

"No, you don't. You might have an inkling, but you can't imagine the black hole I was in before you rescued me. Imagine if you were suddenly zapped into a man's body...and that you had to act like a man, be macho, sleep with women, and there was no escape. That was my life."

"Harvey, I guess I'll never really understand what you're going through, but I want to help you. Please be open with me."

"Could I start on estrogen therapy?"

"No. I'm sorry, but you agreed to see a psychiatrist, and until the doctor says you are emotionally and physically mature enough, then no."

I figured as much. "Well, could you do something for me?"

"What's that?"

"Treat me like a girl? Don't mention the true state of things unless you have to? Refer to me as 'her' or 'she,' even if it's only when we are alone? It would make me feel more comfortable...and it might help you get used to things."

Mom smiled a thin smile. "I guess you really think there is no going back, eh?"

"I know there isn't. Now that I know you won't hate me, I can't stop. Even if you won't let me, when I turn eighteen..."

Mom cut me short. "We'll discuss that when the time comes. Treat you like a girl? Well, as long as you are dressing as one...I guess I can't call you Harvey anymore. What should I call you?"

"Any suggestions?"

"Well, your name starts with H, how about something that starts with the same letter, maybe 'Hannah'?"

"That sounds like someone's grandmother."

"Hester? Heather?"

"No, I don't think this is working. Let's try a different line."

"Like what?"

I remembered something that Bill had once said about my name. "How about Lee?" I ventured.
Mom laughed. "From Harvey to Lee. OK Lee." She sighed. "Where did I go wrong?" But she was smiling when she said it.

*

The next few weeks felt like the end of a prison sentence. Normally when the final bell rang I'd make my unhurried way to the front of the school, either to get a ride from Mom or to walk home. Now I was like an Olympic track star, just waiting for the starter pistol to fire. It was a rare day that I didn't make it home in under fifteen minutes.

There I would shuck my hated boy's clothes into the laundry and run to my closet. I would always have to catch my breath and I pondered my many options for the day. Would it be a skirt, blouse and heels combination? Or a relaxed half shirt, jeans and pumps? Or did I feel the urge to put on a backless evening gown and faux pearls? Decisions, decisions...
Of course, my wardrobe selection was only the beginning. I would hop in the shower and scrub myself clean. Then, pausing only to don my new pink robe, I'd start on the makeup.

I had insisted than Mom show me everything she knew about the art of the makeover. I had been a most eager and willing student and now could make myself up in a variety of ways. So many different options: the overly exaggerated prom night look; the female executive, with eye shadow and faint blush only; the high school sweetheart, with just a little of everything; or casual, just a dab of lipstick.

Then I would do my hair. Since a lot of guys wore their hair long, I had decided to grow mine out. It was about down to my shoulders now, I could almost manage a ponytail. Soon I'd have endless options.

Mom suffered through this like a trooper. I knew that every day she hoped that I'd say that enough was enough and stop. Despite what she had said, I knew that concern for my future wasn't the only reason she wanted me to give this up. When a woman gives birth to a son, she doesn't expect to buy him lingerie some day. Still, she held her tongue. When she noticed that I had shaved my legs she didn't say a word. I didn't mention that I had shaved my armpits as well.

Things would have been perfect had she allowed me to go out in public dressed like my true self, but I knew better than to bring that up. I lived in constant fear of mom deciding that she had made an error and it was time for this cross-dressing business to come to a close.

I spent close to an entire week after school, sitting at home and making myself pretty. Finally Mom put an end to that self-destructive lifestyle. She had agreed I could act like a woman, not a hermit. From now on, she said, I'd have to spend at least three afternoons a week out of the house.

Changing back into the hated masculine attire wasn't easy, but I knew it had to be done. And, despite the fact I hadn't had many friends before, the Great Dress Code Uprising had made me closer to several students. A couple of times a week I'd hang out at the arcade with Bill or rent movies with Luthor. Once I even went to a church youth group meeting with Paul.

It made me sad, in a way. For the first time in my life I was on the way to making true friends, and I knew it wouldn't last. Despite what Mom hoped, I was destined to be a girl. When I turned eighteen, she couldn't prevent me any longer. Still, I truly hoped I could enter into my new life, if not with her blessing, then with her understanding and support. I also knew that I could never explain the change to my former friends. Harvey would have to go. Mom was right, it wouldn't be easy but I knew it was the only way.

After three weeks of this half girl/half boy existence, Mom brought up what I had been dreading. She had located a psychiatrist who specialized in the area of gender identity. I'd have sessions twice a week.

With great trepidation, I steeled myself for the first meeting. I pictured some old man telling me why my urges were wrong and the best way to overcome them. But on the other hand...you can't have a sex change in this country without consent of a psychiatrist...maybe I could convince the old doc that the only course of action was to prescribe some estrogen injections for me, in preparation for my eventual surgery. Maybe I could turn this situation to my advantage.

On the afternoon of my first session, I chose my outfit carefully. I figured if I dressed too boyishly then the shrink wouldn't take my urges seriously. If I dressed up too much, however, then he might think I was just a confused drag queen. I settled on my original gray skirt, with heels, a blouse, and a woman's cardigan. Unmistakably feminine, but conservative as well.

When Mom came home to drive to me to the doctor's she was shocked at what I was wearing. "Harvey, did you forget it's time for you to see the doctor? You can't go like that!"
I touched up my makeup with my compact. "That's the point, Mom. I want him to see that this isn't some sort of passing phase, and that I can make a convincing girl. I have to let him know I'm serious."

Mom didn't know whether to be angry or accepting. "I never gave you permission to leave the house dressed this way," she said, not sure what to think.

"I'm sure you told the doctor the purpose of our appointment, so he won't be shocked. And I think I can walk from the car to his office without attracting too much attention."

"Harvey, er, I mean Lee..."

"Mom, listen to me. If the doctor thinks I'm making a mistake, fine. But he has to know how much this means to me."

"OK Lee. But stop referring to your doctor as 'he.' Her name is Dr. Kari Odom."

*

The doctor's office was located in a large medical facility. Mom and I sat in the empty waiting room after we had announced our presence to the receptionist. I glanced at her as she sat behind her desk, typing something. Did she suspect? If she did, she certainly didn't let on.

Dr. Odom, a pleasant looking woman in her fifties, invited us into her office and asked us to sit down. She looked at my file; I recognized it as my general health record from my family doctor. Her first question to me was what I preferred to be called. Predictably, I requested to be called Lee.

"Alright, Lee. Now before we begin, I want you to know that you are safe here. You can tell me anything. Without your permission, nothing short of a court order can make me reveal anything you've told me." I smiled, I was a little concerned about that end of things.

"Now Lee, one of my specialties is helping men who have decided that they want to become women. If I find that that is what they truly need, and they are mature enough to handle it, I recommend them for gender reassignment surgery, or GRS. I want to say right off that I cannot guarantee I'll do that for you. It would be irresponsible for me to rubber-stamp every sex change request that comes through here. But I can promise you that I'll keep an open mind and maybe help you decide what will be best for you in the long run.”

I let out an internal sigh of relief. She was professional, open-minded, and best of all, she didn't reject my claim outright.

"Now Lee," said the doctor, taking out a pen and pad, "would you like to talk to me alone, or would you like your mother to be present?"

"Well, I don't mind if Mom stays. It's not like we have any secrets."

Dr. Odom wrote something down and I panicked. What did she put, that I was Oedipal or obsessed with my mother or something? I guess she noticed my consternation, because she smiled and showed me the pad. She had only written the date.

"Now Lee, it's fine if you want your mother to be included in our sessions, many of my patients bring alone friends and family members for support. But if, for any reason, you need to tell me something in private, you may." She faced Mom. "That's my rule. Do you agree?" Mom nodded.

The doctor requested that I tell her about myself. Soon I was relating my entire tale of woe...how I was trapped in the wrong body, how I had always felt this way, how dresses seemed natural to me, how I really was a girl, despite my Y chromosomes. I mentioned several times that I was happy in all other respects, I didn't want Dr. Odom to think that Mom had done a poor job raising me or anything. She then asked me several questions. Did I get sexually aroused by women's clothes? No. Did I get sexually aroused by women or men? It was still a little ambiguous, but I could easily see myself with a man, if I were a woman. Would I go through the gender change procedure, even if it meant giving up my current life? Yes. Even if it were painful? Yes. Even if my mom forbid it? I hoped it wouldn't come to that, but yes. I avoided Mom's eyes when I said that.

The doctor told me she'd like me to come twice a week. Once for a private session, another to meet with a transgender support group.

"You mean...with others like me?" It was still hard for me not to think of myself as a unique case.

"Yes, three others in various stages of transitioning. You can count on their discretion, they need their privacy as much as you do."

I readily consented.

In the car, Mom asked me what I thought of the doctor. I replied that I liked her, I felt she understood me. Mom agreed. She got the impression I was in good hands. We took off for home.
"Lee," Mom said, after a bit, "about what you said back there. I want you to know that it never will come down to a choice between our relationship and your lifestyle. I may not support what you are doing, but I will help you. I want you to be happy, I'll never forbid it."

I mentally reminded myself that Mother's Day was coming up.

*

While Mom was welcome in our private sessions, the doctor requested that she not attend the support group unless she absolutely felt she must. When you are undergoing a sex change you want as few people to know about it as possible. Mom agreed.

I went to the group not knowing what to expect. Convincing women, poor drag attempts, what? I entered Dr. Odom's office and was introduced to my fellow gender benders (their names have been changed to protect their privacy).

First was Rachel, formerly Robert. She (I will refer to all of them by the feminine gender here) was a tall, strapping redhead. She was big, but not ungainly, and very freckled. She was thirty years old, and had been transitioning for the past two. She had had breast implants and hormone therapy, her surgery was scheduled for two months from now.

I immediately liked her. She was an example of what I could achieve. A happy, outgoing woman, totally at peace with herself. She was far too large to be a beauty queen, but attractive in her own way. She made it clear she was looking for a husband and I knew with her fun loving persona it wasn't an impossible request (provided she found someone who could accept her past).

Next was Denise, formerly Dennis. She was forty-one. She looked like a woman, but not a pretty one. Too hairy, too ungainly. She could pass, but not be pretty. Denise was a sad case, she had 'come out' only recently, and after fifteen years of marriage. With her was Patty, her wife. Patty had been devastated by her husband's confession, she attended the meetings, trying to work out what would become of her marriage and her relationship with someone who was no longer really a man.

Lastly was Katie, formerly Kip. Katie was twenty-four, black-haired, willowy, and did the best job out of any of us (myself included) of passing as a girl. She had been taking estrogen for over a year, but illegally, getting hers from a supplier in Mexico. Unlike the rest of us, Dr. Odom made it known that she felt Katie was making a mistake, she had only decided she wanted to be a girl a couple of years ago, after her (or Kip's) fianc”š ran off with another woman. The doctor thought Katie was suffering from a nervous breakdown, and was trying to convince her to return to manhood.

Dr. Odom introduced me as Lee. Everyone said hello. I didn't say much my first meeting, I just listened. Some of what the others said really hit home with me: the fear of telling their families, the long-time desires in secret, the terror of being caught. On the other hand, some were suffering from problems I was glad I didn't have: Rachel's family refused to accept her phone calls, Denise and Patty were suffering through what would probably be the end of their relationship, Katie was legitimately worried about being denied the operation.

When the session was closing, Dr. Odom asked if I would like to say a few words about myself. I gave a brief outline of my situation and thanked everyone for their support. The meeting ended, and everyone left. I stayed behind to wait for Mom.

As I was talking to the doctor, Denise came back in. She seemed nervous. "Listen, Lee. This may be none of my business, but I think you are doing the right thing, coming to grips with this so young. I wish I had. I've lost my friends, my job, and I've destroyed the life of the only woman I ever cared about. Not to mention I look horrible. No, it's true. I just want you to know, if you feel that this is what you want, then go for it. Don't wait until it's too late like I did." I thanked her and she left.

*

Soon the school year drew to a close. I continued my dual existence: Harvey at school, Lee at home and at the sessions with Dr. Odom and the others. I soon got to the point where I was absolutely sure that no one would think anything odd if I went out in public dressed like Lee. Mom was steadfast in her denial of this. I think she wanted to prevent me of building up a life as a girl, in case I ended up not going through with it.

Mid-July I went to one of my private sessions with the doctor. Much to my surprise, she requested that I wait in the waiting room while she talked to Mom. I was hurt, and not a little afraid. I had let Mom in on all my secrets, and now they locked me out. What were they doing in there? If it concerned me, then I had every right to know!

Mom opened the door, and motioned me in. Much to my surprise, Dr. Odom left and shut the door behind her. What was with all the secrets? I was even more shocked when I noticed Mom had tears in her eyes.

"Harvey, uh, Lee...sorry, I'm still getting used to this. Listen...Dr. Odom has been talking to me, and well...she's convinced that forcing you to live as a boy is going to end up hurting you. And I can't hurt you, honey. You're all I have in this world. And well, I've been thinking. I can't live on Dad's police pension forever...I've been offered a sales job in the city. What would you think about moving all the way into town?"

It was fine by me, in my opinion the suburbs combined the crime and traffic of the city with the dullness and isolation of the country. I thought it was good that Mom was getting back to work, maybe it meant she was finally recovering from her tragic past. But what did all this have to do with me and Dr. Odom?

"Now Lee, you'd have to transfer schools. And well, we were thinking...how would you like to begin your junior year as a girl?"
"Oh Mom, do you mean it?"

"Lee, ever since that day I told you that you could dress like a girl, I've never seen you so happy. Never, in all your life. I can't take that happiness away from you, it would be cruel and short-sighted. Remember, if you ever want to stop, you can, but something tells me you won't."

"Mom, you've made me the happiest girl on earth. You'll never regret this." I had to restrain myself from laughing...my dreams were coming true!
Mom hugged me. "OK. I'll register you tomorrow, we'll probably be moved by next month. Just be careful, that's all I ask."

"I will Mom."

"I know, dear. And Dr. Odom said that if you live the rest of the summer as a girl, then she'll allow you to start on estrogen."
Christmas, New Years, and my birthday, all in one day.

*

I was expecting trouble when Mom went to register me at my new city high school, but she told me later it happened without incident. She simply registered me as 'Lee' and signed me up for the classes I had requested. I had taken the state required PE class as a freshman, so I didn't have to worry about changing in front of others. I'd just have to watch myself in the restroom. In the lady's room.

On my sixteenth birthday I took and passed the driver's exam and received my license. When it came time to do the paperwork I marked 'female' on the form and got into the longest line I could find at the DMV. Much to my surprise, I realized I was standing behind Paul, the Christian who had saved us all at the dress code protest. Hoping not to be noticed, I watched as he took his vision exam.

"Close your right eye," said the civil servant behind the counter.

"I am blind in my right eye."

"Then close your left eye," replied the none-too-bright counterman.

"You do not understand. I can only see out of my left eye. I do not need to close one."

"You have to close one, it's the rules."

Eighteen minutes later, Paul had finished the two minute eye exam. "Judge not," I heard him mumbling to himself as he left.

The dope behind the counter didn't even look at my birth certificate. I now had a license that said 'Lee Cambiar, female.' Illegal, yes, but at least now I had a valid piece of ID.

Within a week we had left our old apartment and moved into our new urban one. It was a little bigger than our previous one, but not much of a change other than that. When we were preparing for the move I told Mom not to bother packing my boyish clothes, I wouldn't be needing them anymore. While she had insisted we take a couple of outfits with us, I managed to convince her to let me give most of my old clothes to charity. From here on out I planned to wear nothing but skirts, dresses, and women's slacks.

Once the movers had gone, Mom and I relaxed on our sofa, regarding all the boxes that still needed to be unpacked. Mom groaned. "Maybe if I wish really hard, everything will put itself away."

"Well," I said, looking down at my nylon covered legs and pumps, "sometimes wishes do come true."

Mom smiled a bittersweet smile at me. "Lee," she said, "you certainly make a lovely girl."

"Oh Mom...I've been waiting sixteen years for someone to say that."

"Why did you never tell me earlier?"

"I was afraid you'd hate me. I was afraid you'd be ashamed, or think I had dishonored Dad or something."

Mom looked at me severely. "I'll never be ashamed of you honey. And I know your father, if he were alive today, would never be dishonored by you. He loved you. Even though you weren't born yet, he loved you."

"Thank you Mom. Thank you for everything."

Mom put her arm around me. "This wasn't easy, at first. I hoped that by giving you permission to be a girl you'd just grow tired of it, like when you become old enough to drink and it stops being a fun, forbidden thing. But now I know that's not the case. Something tells me that you really do have a woman's heart."

"I always have. And thanks to you, now I'm not living a lie."

Mom stood up. "Well Lee, you've been wanting to show yourself to the world for some time now. What do you say we go out to eat?"

"Oh Mom, you mean I can go like this?"

"You'll be starting school in a couple of weeks. I might as well get used to it."

We went out to a nice restaurant. It was how I had always pictured it. 'Where would you ladies like to sit?' 'And what would the young lady like to drink?' 'Ma'am, did you order the chicken, or did your daughter?'

That night I prayed that that would be what the rest of my life would be like. Never again referred to as 'he' or a 'gentleman.' All I'd have to do would be to convince Dr. Odom to recommend me for GRS. It could really happen.

*

The next week I spent composing a feminine past for me. The first thing I did was to ask Mom not to display any photos of me in our apartment, and to remove the existing ones out of the family albums. It was hard on Mom, but since I'd be introduced to everyone as her daughter from now on, then it had to be done. How could we explain the picture of the young man in our old family shots?

I then sat about fixing up my room. Figuring that Mom had made enough sacrifices for my change in life, I withdrew some of my savings for new room decorations. Floral sheets and a frilly comforter, feminine drapes, a couple of stuffed animals, and, after only a moment's hesitation, a shirtless poster of a current Hollywood beefcake. When Mom saw what I had done to my room, she only shook her head and sighed.

The day before school started, Mom and I drove back to Dr. Odom's office for my first weekly shot of estrogen. The doctor told me that I wouldn't notice any changes for months, and even then I'd probably be the only one who could tell, the changes would happen so gradually. Still, when I came home that night, I couldn't help but looking at my chest in the mirror, to see if anything had grown.

School started. Thanks to our new location I could now walk to school. On the first day of classes I stood in front of the high school, purse in hand, hair in a pony tail, skirt swishing in the breeze. After this, there was no going back. I walked in. Usually when school started, I would lurk around in the corners, waiting for the first bell so I could get the day over with. Well, I had reinvented my gender, so what was to stop me from reinventing my personality? I smiled at people, said hi to strangers, glanced over the bulletin board announcements (cheerleader tryouts? Hmmmm....nah) and generally made myself seen. Just before first bell I casually strolled into the women's room, ostensibly to adjust my makeup, but in reality just to revel in actually being in there, terra incognito, the last frontier. The restroom with a tampon machine and no graffiti.

I took a seat in my first hour chemistry class and smiled in a friendly way at the girl sitting next to me. When the teacher called roll, I said 'here' when the name Lee Cambiar was called.

At lunchtime I bought a tray of something that looked halfway edible and looked around for a seat. As I walked past a table full of girls, one of them motioned for me to sit with them.

Her name was Angelica, she and her friends were all members of the field hockey team. I introduced myself as a new student. Soon we were all chatting about girl stuff: clothes, makeup, and boys. My God, no longer did I have to pretend to know who won football games or force myself to make leering comments about whatever woman who walked by. I hoped I wouldn't do anything to screw this up, I'd really like it if I became friends with this group of fellow women. I readily agreed when they invited me on a shopping trip to the mall that weekend.

As we were returning our trays, I accidentally dropped my fork on the floor. A guy quickly picked it up and introduced himself. I smiled and did the same. As we walked away, Angelica shook her head. "Boys, always after one thing."

Yes, I thought, and for once I was that one thing!

Mom had arrived home from her new job just before I did. I found her nervously sitting on the couch, awaiting my arrival. I think she half expected me to come home with a broken nose. I quickly assured her that not only had I been a successful girl, I was already making friends. Mom smiled, she had always been concerned about my lack of companions.

After a week, I found that being a girl was no longer the thrill-a-minute adventure it had been earlier. Each day femininity brought me a new and exciting experience, but it no longer effected me the way it once had. It wasn't hard to figure out why. Real women don't jump out of bed every day, thanking God for the chance to be female. I wasn't growing bored with my new identity, I was growing used to it.

Still, when that Saturday rolled around, I eagerly embarked on my first day out with the girls. Angelica picked me up in front of our apartment building in her parents' car and, with a couple of her friends, we drove off to the mall.

It was a fabulous day. Now the only stores in the mall that were closed to me were the ones that sold men's clothing. Dress shops, women's swimwear shops, even lingerie shops were wide open to me, I could go in and browse without fear.

The girls must have thought I had never been shopping before (which I hadn't, at least like this). Every time we passed a new store I insisted on stopping to try on a couple of things. The only moment of panic came when I complained to Angelica through a dressing room door that I was having trouble zipping up the dress I was trying on. She told me to unlock the door, she'd zip me up. Whoops! I certainly didn't want her to see her new 'girlfriend' in this half-dressed state, so I told her that the dress didn't fit anyway.

We decided to round off the day by grabbing some burgers in the food court. On our way there, we were accosted by one of those annoying survey people, you know the kind, they haunt shopping malls with their clipboards, badgering people to take market research polls.

This woman was quite overweight and was sporting a valiantly struggling beard, but seemed nice enough when she asked if any of us ladies would like to answer a few questions. I was feeling generous, so while my new friends made their way to the food court I told them I'd catch up.

I followed the woman to the little survey office and was subject to a brief interview over why or a why not a certain commercial would incite me to see a new movie. While I was leaving, I heard a familiar voice from one of the little cubicles that made up the room. It was Bill, interrogating a woman over two bowls of mac 'n cheese. "Would you say," he said, like a police sergeant grilling a suspect, "that macaroni and cheese A is creamier than macaroni and cheese B?"

My gut went cold. Bill, I knew, was a temp, he had a different job ever few days. Market research must have been his career du jour. I had never expected to see someone I knew back here, I tried to leave as soon as possible. Not soon enough, as it were. Bill looked up from his questionnaire and for one horrible second, our eyes met. I left without claiming the complimentary coupon I would receive for taking the survey.

I tried to put on a cheery face for my friends as we sat eating. Did Bill recognize me? Would he tell anyone? Could he keep a secret? Much to my horror, I saw him coming my way from across the court. He walked right up to our table.

"You forgot your coupon," he said, handing it to me. "Good for ffity cents off your next purchase of Macaroni and Cheese A."

"Thanks Bill," I replied, wondering if that was the only reason he had come over.

He seemed surprised. "I'm sorry," he asked, "do I know you?"

I wished I could have kicked my own butt. So paranoid about not letting on that I knew Bill, and I call him by name. Smooth.

Angelica and the gang were watching me, waiting for me to answer the question. I couldn't think of a convincing lie, so I blurted out the truth "We, er, went to school together." Please don't let him put two and two together.

"Funny, I don't remember you. Your name is...?"

I couldn't give a fake name in front of my friends. "Lee Cambiar."

"Hmmm," said Bill, thinking, "I once new a Harvey Cambiar. Is he any rela..." Bill stopped and looked at me again. "Back to work," he said abruptly and sped off.

I wanted to cry. Bill knew. Who would he tell? Luthor? Paul? Everyone at his school? Everyone at my school?

Pretending I had to go the lady's room, I ran off in search of Bill. I had to beg him to keep his mouth shut. Much to my horror, no one at his office knew where he was. Morosely, I left, only to be startled when someone laid a hand on my shoulder from behind. I let out a shriek before I realized it was Bill.

"I wanted to be a ninja," he grinned, "but Mom insisted that I finish high school."

"Bill..." I began, "I guess you're wondering why I dress like this now."

"Well, I was wondering more why you moved without telling any of your friends or ever calling us, but yes, the dress and sex change have aroused my curiosity as well."

I began to think of an explanation, when he interrupted. "But I also know that it's probably none of my business." The rapt look on his face let me know that he hoped for an explanation anyway.

"Bill, I am a woman. Maybe not physically, but in my heart and mind, I am."

"I see," replied Bill, totally nonplussed. This sort of thing was apparently beyond his realm of experience.

"I've started a new life for myself," I continued, "and for the first time, I'm truly happy. Please don't destroy me by telling anyone my secret."

"I swear," said Bill, for once in his life serious "that I won't tell anyone about this. I have better things to do than ruin people's lives."

I felt like a weight had been removed from my shoulders. "Thank you Bill."

"But uh Harvey, or...damn, what's your name now?"

"Lee."

Bill smiled at the sound of that. "OK Lee Harvey. But hey, I'm still your friend, give me a call sometime."

I smiled at the man who was more of a friend to me than I had ever given him credit for, and turned to go. I stopped when I heard someone behind me shout "Czolgolz, you SOB, I swear I'm gonna rip your lying tongue out!"

A large, muscle-bound teenager had shoved Bill up against the wall. He was handsome, in a muscle-headed type of way, about 6'0", and was wearing the letter jacket of my new high school. The patches on his jacket informed me that he was a member of the football team.

The big jock waved his fist in Bill's face. "Whatever is the matter, Charles?" asked Bill, as if nothing was wrong.

"The problem, shit for brains, is that you said I'd get a free movie coupon if I took your stupid survey."

"And I kept my word."

The jock known as Charles waved the coupon in Bill's face. "This thing expired five years ago!"

"Cavet emptor," said Bill. "Let the buyer beware." I was starting to worry. This guy was seriously capable of mopping the floor with Bill, and yet he was being his usual sarcastic self.

The big guy grabbed Bill by the shirt. "I ought to flush you down the toilet."

Bill winced. "Ow, Charlie, you've got a handful of my chest hair there."

Charlie instantly let go. I breathed a sigh of relief, apparently his anger had been a put on. Mumbling something like 'creamy macaroni my ass,' he turned to leave. Then he spotted me.

"Hey Bill, aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

"Huh? Oh, Charles, this is (for a panicked second I thought he would say Harvey) Lee. Lee, this is Charles. I let him hang out with me sometimes."

Charlie shot him an angry look, then turned to me. "Charlie Guiteau," he said, shaking my hand. "Pleased to meet you." Charlie was looking right into my eyes, I inwardly blushed when I realized he was probably attracted to me.

"Pleased to meet you," I said sweetly.

"I haven't seen you before, are you new around here?"

"You might say that."

"Well, I'm having a party this Friday. Why don't you stop by?"

"Um, OK, sure."

"Great. See you there. The Dorkmeister (indicating Bill) knows where it is." He smiled at me again and left.

Bill was looking down his own shirt, apparently checking to see if any of his chest hair was missing. I smiled. Body hair was now one thing I'd never have to worry about.

"Are you OK?" I asked.

"Never better."

"Why do you let that guy push you around like that?"

"Ah, Charlie and I go way back. He was just putting on a show for, ah, you." Bill grinned when he realized his friend had been acting extra macho to impress another man.

Someone with a bigger clipboard than Bill's appeared and demanded he stop flirting and get back to work. We parted company. During the drive home, I kept thinking about Charlie. Bill had said that he wasn't as big a jerk as he appeared to be.

I kept thinking about his square jaw, his powerful arms, his towering height...but that was foolish. Still, as far as guys went, he was a hunk.
On the night of Charlie's party, I spent over two hours getting dressed. This would be my first major social event as a woman and I wanted to shine. No longer would I be the shy guy, hiding in the corner. No, tonight I would be the woman I had waited sixteen years to be.

I decided to wear mostly black, black heels, black hose, a black skirt, and a white undershirt with a long-sleeved black top, unbuttoned in the front. I fixed my hair and makeup, and waited for Bill to pick me up.

"Have fun," my mom said. "No drinking, be home by midnight."

Bill parked about two blocks away from Charlie's house. When we were almost there, he said "Damn, forgot something in the car. It's the green house on the left, you ahead without me."

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what was going on. Bill, now that he knew my secret, was afraid to be seen with me! Well, at least afraid to arrive at the party with me, he obviously didn't want anyone to think we were dating. Insulted, I vowed to make Bill wish that he hadn't been so rude.

The party was in full swing, people dancing, talking, eating, music blasting, everyone having a good old time. I spotted Charlie, mingling.

"Lee, I'm glad you made it!" he shouted over the music.

"Thanks for inviting me."

"No prob. Wanna dance?"

I had just been asked to dance by a guy. I thought about how odd that would have been, half a year ago. But now, here it seemed perfectly natural. I was a young woman, what was so strange about a young man asking me for a dance?

We danced a fast number, then another. Then the music slowed down. My God, were we actually going to slow dance?

Charlie gently put his arms around my waist. I put mine around his neck. Because of the height discrepancy, I found the only comfortable way to dance was for me to lay my head against his chest (really! No other reason!). We swayed gently in time to the beat.

Charlie was an OK dancer, maybe that's why I agreed to dance the next slow number with him. Of course, him holding me close, my eyes closed, feeling him breathe...I have to say I rather enjoyed that as well.

Eventually I had to excuse myself to use the restroom. While I was adjusting my makeup, I realized that I could hear Charlie talking in the other room. Much to my surprise, it was Bill's voice who answered him.

Charlie: Look, just say the word and I'll back off. I don't want to steal her from you.

Bill: I'm not interested in her, I told you that before.

Charlie: You sure looked freaked out when I was dancing with her (I was shocked to realize that it was me that they must have been talking about). Seriously man, I'll step aside if you want me to.

Bill: Listen Meathead, I'm not interested in her, capiche?

Charlie: OK, whatever you say, man.

I was surprised. Charlie, bless his heart, was obviously worried that Bill was interested in me romantically. I was a little annoyed with Bill for denying it so vehemently. I mean I knew he'd never see me like that, but did he have to freak out so much? It's not like I was a plague carrier or anything.

Soon, the time came for me to go home. Bill said he'd get the car, Charlie walked me to the street.

"I'm glad you came," he said, taking both my hands in his.

"So am I. I had a wonderful time."

"So can I maybe call you some time?" he said with a friendly smile. He certainly wasn't the same man I had met at the mall.

"You bet." I gave him my number.

Charlie looked deep into my eyes. Then, after a moment's hesitation, he bent down and brushed my lips with his.

Bill's blaring horn drowned out any subsequent comment I could have made. I waved Charlie goodbye and climbed into the car with Bill.

On the way home, I was too absorbed in my own thoughts to notice how sullen and quiet Bill was being. I had kissed a boy! A man had touched my lips with his! True, it was a brief, almost brotherly kiss, but he sure as hell wouldn't have kissed a guy that way.

When we reached my apartment, I thanked Bill and turned to open the car door. Much to my surprise, Bill hit the automatic door lock, temporarily sealing me in the car. I turned to ask him why.

Much to my shock, Bill was wearing the most wrathful, angry expression I had ever seen on him. I was speechless.

"Stay the hell away from him."

"What?"

"Charlie. Don't you ever come near him again." It wasn't a request, it was a command. His voice was hateful and venomous.

"Bill, what's gotten into you?"

"You kissed him, I saw you."

"So what business is that of yours?"

Bill hit the dashboard with his fist. "I've been friends with Charlie since kindergarten, that's what business it is of mine. Did you bother to tell him what you are?"

"What I am? Bill, I'm not a thing."

"No, you're a guy. And I'll be damned if I'll let you treat Charlie that way."

"Bill," I tried to explain "I'm only physically a male."

"Don't give me that bullshit about being a woman trapped in a man's body, Harvey, or whatever the hell your name is. You have a dick, so that makes you a guy. You want to live as a woman, fine, I can respect that. It's weird, but it's your choice. But don't drag Charlie into this. You'd destroy him if he ever found out."

Bill had a point. I could only imagine how the macho football player would feel when he found out the girl he had kissed was really a boy. But who's to say he'd ever find out? I told Bill as much.

"You just don't get it, do you? Charlie'd be devastated. He wouldn't be able to live with himself. He'd expose you and probably kick my ass for not telling him the truth. You can't see him anymore."

"Bill, you can't tell me who I can or can't see."

"No, but I can tell Charlie the truth."

I was aghast. "Bill, you swore you wouldn't tell anyone!"

"That was before I caught you playing tonsil hockey with my friend. Back off or he knows the truth."

Bill flipped the locks open. Wordlessly, I opened the door and left.
I was near tears when I entered our apartment. Mom had already gone to bed, I sat on the couch and sulked. Why was Bill being so mean? Why wouldn't he mind his own business? What happened between Charlie and myself was none of his concern.

I needed someone to talk to. I knew it was rude, but I couldn't wait until morning. I stole into Mom's room and whispered her name loudly until she woke up.

"Mmmmm...what is it?" she mumbled. Then she saw my face. "Oh my God Lee, what happened?" she was wide awake now. "Are you Okay? What's wrong?"

I told her everything, about Charlie, the dancing, the kiss, about Bill blowing up. Mom sat next to me on the bed and listened.

"Lee, honey, I was afraid this would happen. Listen to me." I looked at her. She had the parental 'this is for your own good' look about her.

"Bill was right, honey. No, listen. I'm sorry, but if he didn't forbid you to see Charlie, then I would. I know it's not fair, but it's not fair to Charlie either. In his eyes you were born a girl, with no complications. How's he going to feel when he finds out?"

"Mom," I said, holding back my anger, "he won't find out! All I want is to go on a date with him, not marry him!"

"You never know what a date can lead to. I only agreed to go out with your father as a favor to a friend who was dating his roommate. You know the rest of the story. What if you end up liking him a lot and then he finds out and doesn't understand? You can't be sure he'll keep things a secret. You can't even be sure he wouldn't hurt you."

"He wouldn't do that!"

"Don't count on it. A lot of guys are very homophobic, and kissing you would amount to, in his eyes, a homosexual experience. That might make him do something he normally wouldn't. Besides, an experience like that could traumatize a young man."

Mom was making a good point. I couldn't very well tell Charlie 'Oh, I hope it doesn't bother you, but I have a male body under this dress.' At the same time, it would be horribly unfair to him to lead him on and think he was in a normal relationship.

"Mom," I said, with a hitch in my voice "it's not just Charlie. I'm sixteen, I want to date. Am I supposed to be a nun? Be alone forever?"

Mom hugged me. "Lee, Lee, Lee," she repeated. "I wish you had been born a girl. I wish I could spare you all this pain. I told you earlier this wasn't an easy life you had chosen for yourself. I wish I could say that all guys were kind and understanding. But I'm afraid that that's not the way things worked out. I'm sorry, but no dating."

"For how long? Until I'm old and alone? An old spinster?"

"No, I guess not. To be honest, I don't know what to tell you. Once again, I'm stumped. Maybe you should ask your friends at the support group. They might be able to advise you."

"That's a good idea. Maybe they know how to break this to a guy."

"OK. Well, I have to turn in. I'm sorry I have to be so strict about the boys, but I'm concerned for your safety."

We hugged and I went to bed.

The next day, Charlie called me and asked me to a movie. I knew I had to tell him I wasn't interested, but I couldn't. I kept hoping that someone at the gender support group would come up with some sort of amazing plan for guiltlessly dating him. I told him that I was busy, maybe some other time.
There was a festive attitude at the support meeting that week. Rachel, the big redhead, would be leaving for a hospital in the West the next day; when she returned she would be a physically complete woman.

There was little discussion that night, Rachel and Dr. Odom had brought snacks and we enjoyed ourselves. I felt guilty about bringing up my problem, but I needed support. Near the end of the meeting, I asked if I could get some advice.

Instantly, everyone grew serious. I loved these people, they understood so well how much I needed understanding. They had all been there themselves.

I related my problems with Charlie, Bill and my mother and asked them what I should do. Was there any way I could see him without risking being found out or hurting him?

Their replies pretty much mirrored Mom's. Dating Charlie would be dangerous, underhanded and cruel. I'd best forget about him.

"OK," I replied, "I expected as much. But I can't go fending off guys all my life. How exactly do I go about dating?"

Their answers were varied. Denise, the middle aged married woman, said she had resigned herself to a celibate life. She said she was too stocky and unattractive to find a man to love her. We all shouted denials, but it was true. She was not at all desirable. While many guys are capable of seeing inner beauty, finding a man who could look past both her appearance and her history would be asking a lot. I was once again reminded how fortunate I was to have began transitioning so early in my life.

Kip, the young lady who Dr. Odom had advised against transitioning, said that she normally met men at a conservative gay bar. Since women never went there, the customers generally knew she wasn't a complete woman. Some men are attracted to transsexuals so she didn't generally have trouble finding dates. Unfortunately, this advice did me little good. I wouldn't even be old enough to enter the bar for five years, and even if I could, I was only looking for a date, while I assumed the men at the bar were probably looking for a little more.

It was Rachel who gave me the best advice. She said when I entered college to contact the campus gay and lesbian support group and ask them for help. They usually had activities where I could be honest with everyone about the state of things and meet nice people who would understand. That would be my best bet for meeting a man who wouldn't care about my past.

It sounded wonderful, the only problem was that I would have to wait two years until I went off to college. "Isn't there a way I could meet boys right now?"

Rachel shook her head and smiled. "I'm sorry honey, but most guys your age aren't mature enough to understand that you really are a woman, inside. And your mother was right about it being dangerous. Look." Much to my surprise, she removed several of her upper left teeth; they were false.

"A guy I liked knocked 'em out," she explained. "and all I did was hold his hand. If you are going to date a guy, he has to know the truth beforehand. That's why you need to wait until college, when the guys are a little more mature and open. Don't worry, you'll meet someone."

So that was that. I couldn't see Charlie again, I couldn't see any boy for at least two years. Oh well, maybe it was for the best. By the time I left for college hopefully the estrogen would have kicked in and I would be even more of a woman. The thought of finding a nice college man, either a straight guy who understood that I was a woman inside, or a bisexual man who wouldn't care about my past, was a nice one.

Later that week, I was surprised when Charlie roared up in front of my apartment building...on a motorcycle. A real, honest to God Harley. He had on a leather jacket and helmet. I almost swooned, he was so handsome and macho.

"Hey Lee, I was in the neighborhood." I smiled at the lie. He had come to see me! "Can I take you for a spin?" He held up another helmet.

How much I wanted to ride with him. To climb up there, wrap my arms around his chest, lean my head on his back, and let him take me wherever the road lead...but it just wasn't to be.

"Charlie, listen...I like you, but I don't think we should see each other anymore. I'm sorry if I lead you on, it's nothing personal."

Charlie smiled, embarrassed. He thought I liked him, now he probably thought he had just been making an ass of himself.

"Alright," he said with forced casualness, "see you around."

As he gunned his engine, I wanted to tell him to stop, to take me with him, but I didn't. As he roared off, I said silently "Goodbye Charlie. I like you, but it wasn't meant to be."

'I like you, but it wasn't meant to be.' Ranks right up there with other great quotes as 'Peace in our time,' (Chamberlain, 1938) 'No new taxes,' (Bush, 1988) and 'I did not have sex with that woman,' (Clinton, 1998). And, like those other quotes, turned out to be absolutely, and completely wrong.

The next week, I returned to the mall to have my ears pierced. I had been wanting to do that for a long while, and the brief painful pricks were well worth the two gold studs that now shone from my lobes.

As I walked towards the exit, I heard a familiar voice. It was Bill again, still pestering people with the never-ending marketing surveys.
"Hey, can I ask you a few questions? Yeah, you! Don't pretend you can't see me! Oh, that's real mature..." Bill was a natural.

I wondered what I should do. After our last conversation I really didn't feel like speaking to him again, but on the other hand I figured I should tell him that Charlie and I were through. Just in case he felt like spilling the beans.

He seemed shocked when I said hello. For a few moments we stood, sizing each other up like Jerry Seinfeld and Newman. Finally, I broke the silence.
"Bill, I want you to know that I'm going to leave Charlie alone from now on. You don't have anything to worry about."

"Thank you," said Bill, and he sounded sincere.

More awkward silence.

"Listen," said Bill, "I'm sorry I blew up at you the other day. I didn't want to insult you personally, I just was worried about Charlie."

"I understand, Bill. I didn't want to admit it at the time, but you were right."

"Er, uh, Lee...can I ask you a personal question?"

"What?"

"Why? I mean, why are you doing this? Becoming a woman, I mean."

I glanced around at the myriad of people wandering around. "Can we go somewhere more private?"

Bill looked at his watch. "Yeah, let's go to my car."

He bought us each a soda, and lead me out to his old Vega with the 'Byte Me' and 'I've Got the Hardware if You've Got the Software' bumper stickers. We sat on the trunk.

"I guess you think I'm pretty weird," I told Bill.

Bill looked me over, my skirt, my long hair, my makeup, my newly pierced ears. "Lee," he said finally, "I'm the last one to accuse someone of being weird. I guess I just don't understand what you are trying to accomplish."

"Bill, what sex are you?"

"Uh, male."

"Right. It would never occur to you to answer any other way. But with me, it's different. As long as I can remember, I've thought of myself as a woman, and that my male body was a mistake. Now I've finally been able to start living the way I need to. For the first time in my life I can tell the world what I already knew: I am a woman."

"So what are you going to do now? Have one of those operations?"

"I hope so. My doctor has to give her okay first. I'm taking female hormones right now."

Bill shook his head, as if to clear it. "Lee, I guess I'll never understand why you want to do this. But listen...if I hadn't known you before, I'd have never guessed you weren't born a girl. You'll do fine."

I smiled. "Thank you Bill."

"Just stay away from Charlie, okay? Not just for his sake, but for yours."

"I promise. So do you have time for a game of Mortal Kombat, or is your break almost over?"

Bill looked confused. "Break?"

*

My life soon fell into the routine of a normal high school girl. Studying, football games, trips to the mall, preparing for college...at times I could almost pretend there was absolutely nothing abnormal about me, that I really was just a sixteen-year-old girl.

Of course, my life differed in several major respects. No dating, of course. While I passed Charlie in the hall several times a week, we would only nod and say hi, nothing more. Not to brag, but other guys asked me out as well; several of whom I wouldn't have minded dating, but I couldn't complicate my life. 'Wait for college,' I kept telling myself.

Another way I was different was my biweekly psychologist appointments and estrogen injections. In a way, I began to feel embarrassed every time I went...it was like a reminder that I wasn't a real girl, that I was different.

Still, it was nice to have a place where I could talk out my problems, and be of help to other people.

Rachel had completed her sex change, she had proudly shown us her new, updated birth certificate with the sex stamped 'female.' She now only attended our group once a month. Perhaps she was trying to put her maleness behind her as well. Denise, on the other hand, had just suffered through a non-contested, though emotionally-draining, divorce. There's only so much you can expect a wife to tolerate.

One night, maybe six months after I had started living as a woman, I stood in the bathroom naked. I regarded my nude figure in the mirror. There were changes going on, that much was certain. A little more fat around the hips. A little more silkiness in my hair. A little more softness in my skin. My breasts, too, were changing. The nipples were darker, and more sensitive. They stood out erect in the cold. I could feel the fatty deposits starting to grow behind them. I knew that the changes were far from over. My one big frustration, however, was that estrogen couldn't give me real breasts. I'd grow 'A' cups if I were lucky. What I'd have given to get breast implants. To have real breasts...But it was not to be. I didn't know how I was going to afford the eventual sex change. I couldn't go spending money on a boob job as well.

My relief came from a sudden and unexpected source. In December I took the ACT test, which is the Midwest's answer to the SATs. While this test is normally taken by seniors, I signed up in advance for practice. I good score, they told me, would be a 22. I got a thirty-one.

I felt on top of the world. Bill informed me later that he had only gotten a 28 and had to take the test two more times before he got thirty.
The thirty was a magic number. Besides looking great on a college application, it meant that I would receive the Missouri 'Bright Flight' scholarship, which provided two-thousand dollars a year, cash, for up to five years of college.

The thing was, my college was already paid for. My father had set up a trust fund for me that would more than provide a college education. So now I had eight or ten thousand dollars of my own (author's note: The Bright Flight Scholarship of Missouri does exist, as I have portrayed it here).
I did some calculations. I could withdraw some of the money from Dad's trust early, and use the scholarship money to make up the difference. I could get a job in college to cover any additional money I would need.

Breast implants, I knew, cost between six and ten thousand dollars. I knew Dr. Odom could recommend a worthwhile doctor. With my sudden windfall, real breasts were within my grasp.

My head swam as I pondered why life would be like, breasted. I could wear a halter top, a low-cut dress, or a bikini top! I would have to wear a bra, and one that wasn't padded! I could change in a locker room with no worries!

There was one problem. How would Mom react? Would she allow it? She seemed to have come to terms with my new life, but something this permanent? And what would Dr. Odom say? I knew how vehemently she had opposed Katie's decision to take estrogen; what made me think she'd allow me to have surgery?
I brought it up to Mom, first. When she asked me what I wanted for Christmas, instead of saying some clothes as she had probably expected, I told her I wanted permission to have breasts. I related my plans to her.

She thought for a while. "Well," she said, "I have a feeling that this is something that will eventually happen, whether I give my permission or not. And a girl your age should have breasts by now...they might prevent you from being found out."

"So you'll let me do it?"

"I didn't say that. I want to talk to Dr. Odom about this. If she agrees, and if she can find a surgeon we both like, then I suppose I'll give my permission."

Dr. Odom took my request as she had taken most of my previous ones: she said she'd have to think about it.

"You see, Lee," she began, "you are a unique case. I fully expected you to have at least some degree of uncertainty or regret when you began your life as a woman, but I've seen no evidence of that. You're a textbook transgender, Lee."

I wondered if I should be proud.

"But," she continued, "you are also very young. Normally I wouldn't feel right allowing surgery like this for a minor. If this ended up being the wrong choice, it could traumatize you."

I started to protest. Dr. Odom held up her hand. "I haven't said no, yet. I need to think about this, talk it over with some other doctors. As always, I won't use your real name."

*

Shortly after New Years, I came home from school to find Mom waiting for me. "Dr. Odom just called," she said.

"And? And?!" I shouted.

"She said that despite your young age, she and her colleagues felt you were mature enough to make this decision."

That night we went and picked out a low-cut dress for me. You know, to celebrate.

The next week, I met with the plastic surgeon that Dr. Odom had recommended. His name was Dr. Jagdish Patel. His office was in a large hospital in the downtown area.

When Dr. Odom first recommended Dr. Patel, I was a little worried. She said he was an excellent plastic surgeon who could give me a lovely pair of breasts. But had he even given breasts to a male before?

Dr. Odom laid my fears to rest. "Don't worry, honey. He's helped out several of my patients in the past. You have nothing to worry about." Much later I found out that he was the one who had done Rachel's breasts.

Dr. Patel was East Indian, forty-something, with a large beard and a big smile. I instantly felt at ease with him, maybe more so than with Dr. Odom. He had a wonderful bedside manner.

"Now, Ms. Cambiar," he said with his lightly-accented speech, "I'm sure that I do not have to tell you what a permanent decision that you are making here. I would normally never do this for someone as young as yourself, but Dr. Odom assured me that you are mature enough to handle this. But I feel I must warn you again.

"The bruising from the surgery will not subside for about three months. After that, no one who sees your torso will think you were ever a man. I don't mean to brag, but you'll find it hard to believe you didn't achieve your breasts the natural way. I want you to consider this, and consider it seriously. With breasts, you are taking the penultimate step in achieving womanhood. Only the GRS is more permanent. If you ever decide you don't like having a woman's body I can remove the implants, but it is a costly and painful procedure, and it will leave scars. I beg you, if you have any doubts whatsoever, now is the time to voice them."

The doctor's speech rattled me a bit, but I never considered backing down. This is what I wanted. "Doctor," I said, looking him in the eye, "this is what I've needed for sixteen years. Someday I will have breasts, and I hope that you will be the one to give them to me."

Dr. Patel smiled. "You are very determined. Much like the other young ladies I have treated with your (ahem) condition. Very well, please disrobe. Only your blouse will be sufficient."

I felt surprisingly uncomfortable removing my top in front of him. I had been totally naked in front of male doctors before, but after months of living like a girl, I was very aware of my toplessness. Nonetheless, Dr. Patel was quite professional.

He examined my chest. "Dr. Odom informed me of your estrogen use. It seems the effects are progressing nicely. I suspect that after the surgery, you'll be indistinguishable from a genetic female."

I thanked him.

"Have you given any thought to what size breasts you would like?"

"My mother and I discussed this. I wanted to get D cups, but mom recommended smaller."

"I would be inclined to agree. Many women come to me asking to have their chest size reduced; by choosing a smaller size you reduce the risk of back pain. Not to mention you'll avoid many of the morons who obsess over the size of a woman's bosom."

After a lengthy discussion, I finally settled on a C cup. It was about size of the padding I had been wearing. Maybe I'd find them too large, but what the heck, in for a penny, in for a pound. We scheduled the surgery for early February.

*

I woke up from the anesthetic with Mom holding my hand. I was miserable, groggy. I tried to speak, Mom touched my cheek. "Shhh, honey. It's all over."
All over. I had done it. Now there really was no going back.

Much to my irritation, Dr. Patel refused to allow me to remove the bandages for a week, even after my two nights in the hospital recovering. "You have to let them heal. Besides, you don't want to see them now, they are too beat up." For a week I walked around with what seemed like a wiener dog bandaged to my chest. I felt like I was carrying extra weight up there, but that was about it. Seven days never passed so slowly.

Finally, the day came. Dr. Patel cut the bandages. I followed his recommendation that I not look until he had cleaned off the caked blood. Finally, he told me to open my eyes.

There they were. Bruised and bloody, giant stitches on the underside, but they were real. Real and mine! I had a woman's chest! C cup breasts! Cleavage!
No longer could I look straight down to see my toes. Two wobbly mounds of flesh stood in my way, I had to lean over slightly. My nipples stood out, pink and erect (though black and blue as well) and hardened in the cold examining room. I could feel the strange sensation as they bumped into each other. I looked at myself straight on, in the mirror, in profile. Today I was a woman! Well, almost.

All too soon, Dr. Patel insisted on rebandaging them. While I had only begun to explore the wonderful things, he assured me that I would have the rest of my life to get used to them.

In the following month I learned more and more about my two new friends. Even before the bandages came off permanently I had to get used to the extra load up front. Mom had been right, there is something to be said for small breasts. I found myself constantly bumping into things with my new and very sore additions. Clothes that had fit me before were too tight. And Dr. Patel was correct, many men seemed to be talking to my breasts rather than my face.

Still, it was worth it. Every week, when I changed my bandages (I did it at home now) I would take about a half an hour and just look at them. The way they hung down to the bottom of my ribs. The way they gently swayed when I walked. The jiggling when I laughed. And of course, the extra sensitivity. Sometimes I had to restrain myself from just laying back and playing with my nipples, to experience the erotic, extra sensitive sensations. But I knew that I would have plenty of time for that.

Mom surprised me with her reaction. I half expected her to behave as if I had gotten a tattoo: disappointed, but resigned. Instead, she seemed as excited as if she were the one with the breasts. She was constantly asking me how they felt, did I like them, if I enjoyed having them...One day she admitted to me she rather enjoyed having a daughter to talk to. She didn't expect it to happen at the beginning, she thought she would always think of me as her son. "But," she said, "you took to womanhood more readily than you ever did manhood. You do make a wonderful daughter, Lee. You'd make any mother proud."

It was then that I knew that when I had my sex change, there was no danger of Mom forbidding it.

The girls in the support group were proud of me. Rachel told me my chest looked almost as good as hers (meow!). Katie told me she hoped hers would turn out as good, which brought a chastising look from Dr. Odom. Apparently Katie was considering bucking the doctor's authority and getting her breasts done abroad.

As for Dr. Odom, she seemed a little nervous after my surgery, as if she was afraid I'd regret it and place the blame at her doorstep. I remembered to be extra cheerful in the following weeks.

None of my friends at school noticed, why would they? I had always been a girl in their eyes, and the padding I had worn (and had now thrown away) convinced them I was amply breasted. I couldn't wait till the summer when the bruising had gone and I could wear a swimsuit. I wondered how Bill would react. Or Charlie.

Finally, it was over. The stitches came out, the swelling went down, and the bandages came off for good. I could wear my bras now, my tight sweaters, my halter tops...and once the discoloration went down, look out world!

I stood in front of the mirror every night, wearing only a pair of men's boxers to hide my penis. The combined effects of the estrogen and the implants...well, I was a woman. The hair in the pony tail, the absence of an adam's apple, the lack of muscles, the well rounded figure, the soft skin...I looked eagerly to the future.

Finally, the day came when I had to pay Dr. Patel for services rendered. It was a hefty hunk of cash but well worth the price. I could have mailed it in, but I wanted to give it to the doctor in person, and to thank him one more time.

It was a lazy Sunday and the doctor wasn't seeing any patients at the moment. "Ah, Ms. Cambiar," he said. "How lovely to see you."

And how lovely to get his check, I thought with a smile.

"Doctor, I just wanted to tell you again how..." I was interrupted when a male nurse came running into the office.
"Sorry to barge in, doc, but there's an emergency case on the way."

"Emergency?" asked Dr. Patel, "I'm a cosmetic surgeon!"

"It's a cosmetic emergency. Some drunk plowed into a motorcyclist on the highway. The guy left half his face on the asphalt."

"Goodness!"

"Well, he's lucky he was wearing his helmet or it would have been half his brains."

"I see."

"Anyway, Dr. Fromme is in surgery and Dr. Dealy is out of town. You've got to put this guy's face together again or he'll look like Frankenstein's monster for the rest of his life."

Dr. Patel turned to me. "If you'll excuse us," he motioned to the door.

I quickly left the doctor to prepare for the emergency stitches or skin graft or whatever would be required. As I was leaving, and ambulance pulled up in front of the hospital. Two EMTs gingerly took a stretcher out of the back and wheeled it through the door. Obviously, this was the guy who had faceplanted on the road. He was wheeled right by me and I got good look at him.

He was a wreck. Most of his face had been scraped raw, it looked like hamburger meat. One eye had swelled shut, the other wandered aimlessly. His nose was broken and he had lost at least two teeth. Plastic shards of helmet visor stuck out of his cheeks and forehead.

For one brief, brief second our eyes met. Then he was wheeled into Dr. Patel's office.
"Are you allergic to Novocain?" asked the doctor.

"No," came the mumbled reply.

"That's a good thing," said Dr. Patel, as he brandished a syringe that looked like it had been designed for cattle. Then someone slammed the door and they vanished from my view.

I sat numbly in the office until Mom picked me up. The motorcyclist, the guy with the wrecked face, had been Charlie.

*

Two days later, I stood in a hospital corridor, a bouquet of flowers in my hand. 'I'm just here to look in on him,' I told myself. 'I just want to see how he's doing. That's all. The same as I'd do for any friend.'

"I would have made a good Pope." -Richard Nixon, 1968

Charlie lay on the hospital bed, staring at the television. Most of his face was bandaged, as was his wrist. He looked like hell, at least what I could see of him. Timidly, I knocked.

Charlie turned his head painfully and squinted. "Lee!" he said, in a surprisingly robust voice, "c'mon in!"

Nervously I tiptoed in and sat down. "These are for you, I said unnecessarily, as I placed the flowers on his bedside table. He smiled a gap-toothed smile.

"So how do you feel?" I asked, trying to make conversation.

"Like hell. Over 500 stitches, just fifteen short of the hospital record."

"How awful!"

"Well, the doctor said scarring should be minimal. Hell, this story could have easily ended with 'and now I have to pee through a tube for the rest of my life,' so things could have been a lot worse." I giggled, and the tension was broken. Soon, despite Charlie's injuries, we were laughing and talking. It was so good to be with him again.

"So why were you in the hospital?" he asked, eventually.

"To visit you, of course."

"No, I mean the other day. When they brought me in here." I was shocked, I didn't think he had recognized me.

"Oh, ah, female trouble." 'Female trouble' was more or less the truth, and I knew that no guy on earth would ask for a more detailed explanation.
When it was time for me to go, a middle aged couple walked in. The man looked like a Ward Clever clone, all he needed was a pipe. "How's it going, sport?" he said to Charlie with a plastic grin.

The woman looked like she was straight out of the Eisenhower administration as well. "Oh, my poor baby," she almost sobbed, "my poor, precious boy."
Charlie looked acutely embarrassed. "Uh, Lee, I'd like you to meet my folks."

I giggled, to think of the macho, motorcycle-riding football player sitting down at Sunday dinner with his two white-bread parents.

The next day I went to visit Charlie again. I know what you're thinking, but I just wanted to make sure he was still doing all right. A lot of people in his condition can have relapses, you know. No other reason.

"If I do not receive three million dollars, then the Lord will call me from you." -Oral Roberts, 1987

When I walked in, Charlie smiled a genuine smile. "Lee, it's so good to see you."

"Thank you, it's good to see you too." If I wasn't mistaken, he had combed his hair around his bandages and was wearing after-shave. Maybe he just felt like looking nicer that day. Maybe.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" I asked.

"Yes, there is actually. Sit down."

I took a seat, wondering what he would ask.

"Listen, Lee. I know you said you didn't want to be romantically involved anymore, and I respect that...but listen." I sat in rapt attention, not sure what he was building up to.

"I'm not getting out of here for a while, and well...look, you don't have to do this if you don't want to, but, uh, well, I wanted to go to junior prom this year and this accident has kind of put me out of the dating circuit for a while. Would you go with me to prom? Just as friends of course," he added, unconvincingly.

"Yes, of course I'll go!" My God, prom! To wear a dress, no, a gown! To receive a corsage, to make myself up perfectly, to dance with Charlie...

It wasn't until I left that I began to question the wisdom of my hasty answer. There, at the door, stood Bill. He regarded me dubiously as I exited.
It took me nearly a week to convince Mom to let me go to the prom. For some reason she had it in her head that I was only doing this so I could go on a date with a cute boy, and not for the humanitarian favor to a sick friend that I had portrayed. Finally, after much cajoling and talk of how poor old Charlie would have to sit at home on prom night, she relented.

Once I had her permission, I had another problem: Bill. Bill had sworn he would tell Charlie the truth if I ever went out with him again. Bill and Charlie were such good friends that it wouldn't be long before Bill knew exactly who Charlie was going to go to prom with.

Surprisingly, I had nothing to worry about. The next time I visited Charlie in the hospital he asked me how I would feel about double dating with Bill and his date. I assented, confused. I had figured that Bill would have blown his top when he found out I had broken my promise, but apparently he was okay with it. I put the nagging doubts out of my head, and with the help of my friend Angelica, I began shopping for my gown.

When the big night came, I knew all my efforts had been worth it. I had picked a teal-green gown, with bare arms and spaghetti straps. I wore my hair up. When you looked at me, with my stylishly done hair, my makeup, my almost-bare shoulders and pert little breasts (makeup covered what was left of the surgical bruises), you'd never have guessed that I was a boy going off to prom.

When the doorbell rang I nearly jumped out of my skin. My date was here! I rushed to the door. Mom shook her head, clearly she didn't believe I considered Charlie just a friend.

He looked absolutely handsome. His crisply pressed tux, his shoes shined, he hair slicked back, and a big grin on his face. His scars still hadn't healed of course, and he kept nervously sucking on his new partial bridge, but he looked like Prince Charming to me.

"You look beautiful," he said as he attached the flower he had brought to my wrist.

Mom, while against the whole endeavor, still insisted on snapping several dozen photos of us before we left.

Bill and his date were sitting in the front seat of his junker. Bill, in contrast to Charlie, was unshaven, rumpled, and bored. He had managed to find a tuxedo the color of a traffic cone somewhere. His date, a hippie girl from my school ostensibly named 'Rosebud,' was wearing some weird, second-hand looking dress, with lots of fringe and short sleeves. She had not, I noted, shaven her armpits.

"Let's get this sham of a night over with," grumbled Bill.

"What's wrong?" I asked, afraid he was referring to my true gender.

"Prom," replied Rosebud, "It's nothing more than a corporate sham to get us to spend money and conform. Screw it."

Bill had apparently met a girl of like mind. Though I did wonder, if they both hated prom, why they bothered to go in the first place.

There was little conversation on the way there. We all sat up, rigid and uncomfortable in our finery. I hoped that Charlie would hold my hand, but he didn't. I wished I could ask Bill why he had the change of heart about Charlie and I, but there was no opportunity.

When we came to the darkened, crepe paper festooned gymnasium, Bill and Rosebud went off in their own direction. The DJ was playing a soft number. "Well," said Charlie, "shall we?"

It was just like the first time I had danced with him. His arms around my waist, my head on his chest, his breathing in my ear.

After a few dances, we sat down to enjoy the complimentary soda and peanuts that came with our expensive tickets. I was having such a good time. I noticed that Bill and Rosebud, despite their initial objections, were tearing it up on the dance floor. I also noticed Paul, dancing with (but not touching) a plain looking girl from my school.

I guess time got away from me. Eventually Bill tapped Charlie on the shoulder while we were dancing and told him pointedly that it was time to go. He was right, there were almost no couples left.

We piled into Bill's car and sped off. It had been such a magical night, I thought, as I lazily rested my head on Charlie's shoulder. But the night wasn't over yet.

When we came to our stop I realized that we were not at my house, or Charlie's. We were in a city park near the woods, the local lover's lane.
"So, Rosebud," said Bill with forced casualness, "want to go look at the stars?"

"I dunno, it's awfully overcast."

Bill rolled his eyes. "Want to go into the woods and make out?" he asked bluntly.

"Yeah, sure." Just like that, they were off, leaving me alone with Charlie.

"So..." he said.

"So." I replied. He looked nervous, it was kind of funny to see that in a guy his size. I knew what he was thinking : 'Should I or shouldn't I?'
I wanted him to make a move. I really did. But I knew we couldn't. It would be playing with his emotions. I wanted to be his girl, to kiss him, to let him hold me, caress me...I was interrupted from my thoughts by the touch of Charlie's rough fingers lightly touching my naked shoulder. He had put his arm around me. He looked at me uncomfortably. He had broken the just friends promise, and he wanted to see how I would react. I reacted by snuggling just a little closer to him. And when he began gently running his fingers over my skin, I wasn't shocked at all. Nor was I when he kissed me.
I knew I should have stopped, but at the same time I was powerless to. With every press of his lips my resistance lowered. The feel of his scratchy cheeks, and his warm, warm, probing tongue... I can still feel it to this day. And before I knew it he was unzipping the back of my dress. I breathed harder as my bare chest was exposed to the faint moonlight.

Charlie didn't do anything for a long time. He just stared at my erect nipples in awe and wonderment. Finally, a tentative hand reached out and stroked one. "Oh, oh Lee..." he kissed my shoulder. Then he kissed lower.

I felt like I was in a trance. All I wanted to do was lay back and let him touch me. To let him hold me. I was dimly away that now his bare chest touched mine. Gently he tried to lean me back in the seat...

No! Damn it! I couldn't let him. I wasn't sure what I would have done if I were an actual girl, but the fact remained that I still male genitalia. I pushed him away.

I don't know why I did what I did next. Charlie wasn't angry, he didn't look hurt or anything...now that I think back on it, I guess I wanted to prove to him, as well as to myself, that I could satisfy his needs like only a woman could. I unzipped his rented pants and carefully took out his manhood. He gasped. I bent my face over his lap and...

A few minutes later I was out of the car, running, as I tried to straighten my disheveled dress. What had I done? My God, what I had I done?
When I was out of sight of the car I stopped and hyperventilated. I hardly knew the man! Oh my God, what a slut I had turned into! I was a whore!
No, no, that wasn't right. I rinsed my mouth out at the drinking fountain. No. I was intimate with a man, but what of it? I cared for him, I just wanted to get close to him.

A million thoughts raced through my mind. One thing was for sure, I couldn't just leave him in the car, wondering what he had done wrong.

On the way back to the car, something caught my eye and made me stop. It was a station wagon, half hidden among some bushes. I recognized it as Paul's. What was he doing up here at make out point? As I crept closer, I noticed to my shock that the car was rocking. I heard a female voice cry out "Oh, God yes! Oh, sweet Jesus! Rock of ages! Oh, Lamb of God, I come! Oh, Christ! I COME!"

Not wishing to hear any more, I ran back to the car. Charlie was jogging down the path, trying to work a flashlight and his zipper at the same time. "Lee!" he called when he saw me. He rushed over to me. "Lee, I'm so sorry!"

Despite my conflicting feelings, I embraced him with both arms. "I know you just wanted to be friends, I didn't intend to come on to you like that."
"Shhh," I broke in. "It's okay. I...I enjoyed it. It's just that I'd never done anything like that before. I'd never even been close."

Charlie held me. "Same here."

I was utterly shocked. I had always assumed that Charlie was one of those guys who had lost his virginity at age twelve. And yet, I was the first 'girl' he had been with. I felt very special right then.

Charlie took my face in his hands. "Lee, I want to be more than friends. I want you to be my girlfriend. I love you."

"I love you too, Charlie." Dangerous words, yes, but for once I was being truthful.

I came home to find mother watching TV, pretending like she wasn't waiting up for me. I tried to act casual, but when she asked me how the date went, the tears came like rain. She ran over to me and held me.

"What's wrong, honey? Tell me." I told her. I told her everything. I had gone too far this time. She'd never forgive me.

"It's okay, honey," she said to my surprise. "It's OK. This is just the first time you'd been with a man. It's like this for every woman. Shhh, there now. It's going to be okay. It's scary at first."

Mom wasn't angry. We stayed up until dawn, talking about boys, men, safe sex, and respect. She never broached the subject of my gender.

"Mom," I finally said, "I really like him. I mean, I guess I'm his girlfriend. What should I do?"

"I take it leaving him is not an option?" I shook my head.

"Then you have to tell him the truth."

"I can't tell him that! What if he tells everyone?"

Mom looked at me tenderly. "It's once choice or the other, honey. That's how it is in a relationship. You were intimate with him, you can't lead him on, or lie to him."

"I guess I have no choice."

"No, not after last night. Just make sure you tell him in a public place, so he can't get violent."

The next day, I thought about what I had to do. Jesus, telling him I was pregnant would have been easier. Worst case scenario: he hates me, and tells everyone my secret. Of course, after what we had been through, he probably wouldn't. He wouldn't want to be known as the guy who went to prom with another guy. Best case scenario: he doesn't mind. Yeah, right. Like he wouldn't mind that I lied to him about my gender.

I came up with two possible outcomes of my upcoming confession: he would hate me and never forgive me and never speak to me again. Or, less likely, he would hate me, but in time realize that I was a woman at heart and could love him like one.

I began to plot where I could tell him. The mall or a public park seemed to be the most likely candidates. We could talk privately, but he wouldn't be tempted to hurt me if things went bad. I tried to rehearse the conversation a few times, but gave it up. 'Telling your boyfriend that you are a pre-op transsexual' is just something that wasn't covered in Speech 101. I decided to blurt it out and hope for the best.

There was a knock at the door. It was Charlie. He awkwardly thrust a box of chocolates at me and smiled nervously. Knowing that I shouldn't, I reached up and kissed him.

"Lee," he started, "about last night."

"It's okay. I was just nervous. But listen, I want to take things slower for a while, physically. I'm not ready for much more of that right now."
"Okay. I'm cool with that. But...uh, do you still want to be my girlfriend? I swear, I can keep my hands to myself." It amused me how Charlie continued to blame himself for everything that had happened, it was hardly his fault.

"Charlie, of course I want to be your girlfriend. But I don't think you will want to be my boyfriend (what a sweet word) after what I tell you. Have a seat." I knew I shouldn't tell him this alone (Mom was at work), but I couldn't keep putting it off.

"Charlie...geez, where to begin? Listen, I have something important to tell you. I have...a secret. Something horrible."

"What, that you're really a boy?" he asked, casually.

I felt like I had been slapped. He hadn't been joking. There he sat, grinning, and had just blurted out the secret that I would have moved heaven and earth to keep.

"How...how did you know?"

He chuckled, as if he had just found out my real name was Petunia or something. "Bill told me."

"Oh, my God! He promised that he wouldn't!" I said, forgetting that I had promised Bill to stay away from Charlie.

"Don't be too hard on Bill. When he found out we were going to prom he gave it away. He was only looking after me. Told me if I hurt you or told anyone else then I'd have to fight him."

"But, if you knew my secret...then...why?"

He placed his hands gently on the sides of my face. I couldn't look away. "Lee, you've met my parents. You can guess what my family is like. Right out of Father Knows Best. I'm their son, the football star. They expect me to marry the pretty little girl next door and live happily ever after. No one suspects that…well…I go both ways.” He grinned, sheepishly.

"I have a hard time admitting that, even to myself. I figured I’d never act on it. When Bill told me the truth, I was stunned, of course. I had a hard time believing it. So I broke into your file at the hospital. I've never met anyone like you before, Lee. You're beautiful, funny, smart...and I don’t care if you’re a man or a woman. I've fallen for you hard, Lee."

"What did you tell Bill?"

"The truth. I love you just the way you are."

"Wasn't he shocked?"

"Nothing shocks Bill. Mildly surprised, I'd say." That explained why Bill never brought the subject up again.

"Charlie, does this mean..."

He kissed me. "I love you honey. If you were born a girl I'd love you, but quite frankly, I could care less who you used to be." He kissed me again and we were still kissing when Mom came home, several hours later.

Epilogue: several years later

I was sitting in the airport coffee shop when his flight was announced. Flight 203 from New York. Which had originated in London. Which had come from Athens. Which had started from Cairo. Which had begun in Nairobi.

I saw him as he cleared the security gate. He was wearing an uncharacteristically loud Hawaiian shirt...and his eye patch.

"Paul!" I called to him.

"Lee!" he hollered back, running up to me and hugging me, "Thanks for picking me up, it is so good to see you! Hell, after sixteen months in Africa, it's good to see any of my old friends!"

"What happened to your glass eye?"

"Traded it for a gallon of gas in M'bamba."

"You're in a good mood."

"Well, the hospital is up and running. Never thought the church could pull in enough funding, but there's real doctors and everything."

"Wonderful news. I don't know too many guys who'd be willing to make a sacrifice like you did for humanitarian reasons."

He grinned, like he had some kind of secret. "Oh, it wasn't all humanitarian."

"C'mon, spit it out."

"I'm getting married."

"No!"

"Yes!"

"To who?"

"A Canadian girl named Laura. She was over there with the Campaign to Ban Landmines, and well...we clicked." He handed me a photo.

"Which one is she?"

"The one with all her limbs."

"She's lovely."

Paul stretched out in the seat next to mine. "So c'mon now, the mail service over there is horrible. Give me the lowdown on everyone."

I briefly outlined the current lives of the people we both knew: Luthor on his college's wrestling team, my mom, recently promoted to store manager, Mr. Elmer, taking early retirement.

Paul shook his head and smiled. "So what about Bill?"

"Oh, he's still in prison."

The smile rapidly left Paul's face. "What?"

"I guess you never heard."

"In prison? For what?!"

"Computer piracy, data trespassing, credit card fraud, electronic theft, that sort of thing. Mircoflacid computers finally had him busted."

"That's horrible!"

"Well, he told me at his sentencing that there was a bunch of stuff he never got caught for."

"How long will he be in for?"

"Two year sentence, he'll be out in six months with good behavior."

"But prison? They'll eat him alive!"

"It's minimum security. Non-violent offenders, rip-off artists, scam men, sleazy characters...Bill's kind of people."

"This will ruin his life! He'll be lucky to get a job at McDonald's after he's released."

"Actually, he already had a forty grand a year job lined up."

"Where?"

"Microflacid computers."

"The ones who busted him?"

"Yeah, they know talent when they see it. He's says he could make VP in five years."

Paul shook his head. "I leave the country for a year and a half and everything falls apart." He looked up. "So...is it true what I heard? I'm not the only one getting hitched?"

I held up my finger and displayed my engagement ring. "This August."

Paul pecked me on the cheek. "You and Charlie G. make a good couple. Congratulations."

"Well Paul, I wasn't just being nice by picking you up here. I want to ask you a favor."

"Shoot."

"Will you perform the service?"

"Of course I will. I'd be honored." He picked up his suitcase. "But I have one question. When I left, you were planning on having a full sex change. But then you said maybe Charlie would prefer you to stay the way you were. What did you decide?"

"Sorry," I replied, "private matter."

Paul smiled and we headed off to my car. The decision whether to have a sex change had been a hard one, but in the end, I know I made the right choice.
What choice, you ask? Wouldn't you like to know…

Just One Day of Your Life
by Czolgolz
[email protected]

Dale's sister asks him to pose as her for just one day. One day. What's the worst that could happen?

I WROTE THIS IN 1999. PLEASE EXCUSE HOW DATED MOST OF THE COMPUTER REFERENCES ARE.

Chapter One:

I had been moved out of my mother's house for two weeks now, and I still couldn't believe it. I had made it! I was Dale Simmons, college man! No more high school, no more curfew, no more cleaning my room or Saturday detentions...it was like I was living in a dream world.

I looked out my apartment window over to campus. It was so big, so exciting. I began to fantasize about all the football games I would attend, all the parties I would throw, all the lovely women I would date. God, the next four years would be ecstasy.

True, college life wouldn't be all fun and games. Unlike a lot of students, I wanted to graduate with honors. I had taken out a stiff student loan and could not afford to flunk out or barely graduate. I had dreams of becoming a lawyer, and I sure as hell wouldn't get into law school with a 2.3 GPA.

"Hey Dale, say cheese!" I turned around to see the one major problem I had with college life. When I first was accepted to this school, I had decided I would rather not live in the crowded dorms and had answered an ad in the 'roommates wanted' section of the paper. The apartment was great: two bedrooms and within walking distance of campus. I should have checked out the roommate more carefully, though.

His name was John, and well, he was weird. A tall guy with scraggly hair and an unkempt beard, he certainly wasn't a traditional guy. He was a bassist for an obscure local band and I was constantly subject to a loud stream of 'power chords.' He would laugh insanely at times for no apparent reason. To make things worse, he was a photo-journalism major and was constantly snapping pictures of things around the apartment, including me. Not exactly my dream roommate (that would be Elle MacPhereson), but he was likeable in his own way and I guessed I could tolerate him for a year or so.

Click. John snapped a picture of me. I really wasn't in the mood for another photo shoot, so I went over to visit my sister, Jenni.

When I arrived at Jenni's dorm, I found her doing what she did most of the time: chatting on the internet. It was a good thing the college offered free internet service, I'd hate to see what her monthly bill would have been otherwise.

Now I don't want to give the impression that Jenni was some kind of fat, ugly computer geek who couldn't make friends otherwise. Far from it. Jenni was a college sophomore, sophisticated, funny, and in my opinion, pretty. She was slender, with long black hair, fair skin, and delicate features. If the world was a fair place, she would have been constantly bombarded by guys who wanted to ask her out. Unfortunately, the world is not a fair place.

When Jenni was eleven-years-old, she was in a very bad car accident. She survived, thank God, with no lasting health problems. Unfortunately, her face was very badly burned in the wreck. Now the entire left side of her face was a mass of scar tissue.

From that moment on, Jenni went from being a pretty young lady to an introverted, scared young woman. She had never gone to prom, never gone on a date, and never, to my knowledge, kissed a boy. It certainly wasn't her fault; she tried to get dates. It was just that there were few men who were willing to look past the scar tissue to see the wonderful girl inside. Jenni still had a lovely body and, in my opinion, a great personality, but what guy would notice that now?

To make matters worse, there was my mother. Back in her day, Mom had been quite the beauty queen. She'd won a lot of contests and been a runner up to represent our state in the Miss America pageant. From the moment my sister was born, mother had began molding Jenni in her own image. When Jenni was six-months-old she took first prize in a beautiful baby contest. She kept right on winning child beauty contests until the accident. That ended her career as a beauty queen. The worst of it was, once Mom realized that the scars were permanent, she cruelly lost all interest in Jenni. It was like she only cared about her when she was pretty and had no interest in a non-perfect daughter. As for me, Mom was never interested in my rough-and-tumble, boyish ways. Jenni and I grew closer, but we both grew apart from Mom.

This was why Jenni talked on the computer so much. Through the magic of the internet, Jenni was not the poor, scarred girl. She was a pretty, fun lady who all the guys wanted to get to know. Her personality showed through, it seemed every time I talked to her she was telling me about some new guy who had asked her out. It was too bad that this only worked online; she could obviously never meet any of these guys in person.

Jenni had once confided in me that she would have done anything, anything, to meet a special guy. I told her the same tired things: she was beautiful, she would meet someone, any guy would be lucky to have her...but we both knew how empty comments like that seemed.

"Hey sis," I called "you wanna grab a cup of coffee or something?"

Jenni seemed embarrassed. "Well, I'm kinda chatting with Steve right now."

Ah, Steve. While Jenni had dozens of cyber-admirers, Steve was apparently something special. She constantly gushed about him, Steve-this, Steve-that. It made me a little sad. Steve lived on the coast, he'd probably never come out this way. Even if he offered to, Jenni would probably refuse.

I went off to try to meet some women, leaving Jenni to her romance with Steve. I had no idea at the time how much Steve would end up changing her life...and mine.

Two days later a received a frantic phone call from Jenni, asking me to come over to her dorm right away. When I got there, she seemed both excited and terrified. I asked her what was wrong.

"I just got this letter from Steve," she replied.

"An actual letter? I though you guys only sent e-mail."

"Just read it. C'mon!"

I took the letter from her and began to read:

Dearest Jenni,

It was so good to talk to you last night. It seems like my entire day revolves around my conversations with you. You know we're always saying how great it would be to get together? Well, I think I might have found a way! My cousin is getting married on the west coast, and my flight makes a stopover in your city! I've worked something out with the airline so that I can stay there for a whole day for no extra charge. What do you say? Can I come see you, honey?

Steve

P.S. I just got the pictures you sent me. Wow!

I looked back at Jenni. "Pictures?" I asked. "You mean, he knows?

Jenni looked away. "Not exactly." She handed me a couple of photos. "I had your roommate, John, take these for me."

I looked at the pictures. They were glamour shots of Jenni. She looked even lovelier than she did in her days as a beauty queen. The thing was, all the pictures were shot from the right. From what I could see, it was impossible to tell she was anything but a beautiful woman.

I looked at my sister. Before I could say anything, she was interrupted. "Dale, I know what you're thinking. But listen, guys don't want to fly across the country to see a human freak show. They want to see a girl who looks like the one in this picture."

"Jenni, he's coming across the country to see you. What you look like shouldn't matter."

"But it does matter, Dale. If I sent him a real picture I bet you his flight would be mysteriously rerouted the moment he learned the truth."

"So..." how could I put this without sounding cruel? "you're just going to let him find out when he gets here?"

"I can't do that either. He says he's in love with me, but I don't know how serious he is. If he was coming three months from now I would know if that love would be enough to love me as is. I just can't tell right now. If he sees me now, that'll be the end of it."

"Then you'll have to tell him not to come. Make up an excuse."

Jenni sighed. "That's not an option either. Everyday I tell him that meeting him would be the thrill of a lifetime. Now, no matter what I tell him, it will sound like I don't really love him."

Don't really love him? She loved him? "Jenni, I can't think of any other options. Either tell him the truth and see if he's man enough to love you for real, or postpone until you are sure of it."

Jenni looked nervous. "Actually, Dale, I thought of another way that just might work out."

"Really? What's that?"

"Have you ever read 'Cyrano de Bergerac?'"

"Uh, I saw the movie."

"Well Cyrano is a wonderful, loving man. He's in love with Roxanne, but doesn't dare tell her, since he's so ugly. Instead, he writes her poetry, and has a good-looking guy, Christian, pass it off as his own. In the end, Roxanne realizes that she is in love with the poet, not the pretty face."

"Yeah, but don't both guys end up getting killed at the end?"

Jenni ignored that. "I was thinking, what if I got someone to go on the date in my place? Someone pretty, that Steve would be proud to be seen with. That way, he'll know I want to see him and I'll have a few more months to build him up for this." Jenni pointed to her scars.

"I dunno. Seems pretty self-defeating to have another girl go in your place. Who did you have in mind?"

Jenni looked my right in the eyes. "You, Dale."

"No, seriously."

"I am serious. No, listen. If I hadn't sent Steve those pictures then I could have any girl play me. But now, he's expecting someone who could pass as my twin sister."

"Jenni, this is ludicrous. I'm not listening."

"Dale, please. Give me five minutes to explain."

I looked at my watch. "The clock is ticking."

"Okay. Now you and I look a lot alike. You are slim, you have pale skin, and you'd have nice longish hair if you'd ever comb out those hippie locks of yours. I think that if I dress you in some of my clothes, give you a makeover, add a lot of padding, and give you lessons in femininity, you could pass for me for a day. I'll tell Steve that I'd love to see him, but I never feel comfortable kissing on the first date. That way you don't have to worry about that aspect. Steve flies home and in a few months I tell him the truth about me and say that you were just a friend of mine. We all live happily ever after and neither of us bring it up again."

"Are you finished?"

"Yes."

"Then my answer is no. Dress like a woman? Date a guy? Have you lost your frigging mind?"

I think I could have withstood almost anything from Jenni: threats, appeals to logic, emotion, family, or whatever. But when she started sobbing, my heart broke.

"Please Dale," she said between tears. "Just one day of your life. One lousy, stinking day! You've been on dates. I haven't. You've been kissed, I never have. You know what it's like to be special and I never will. I'm not exaggerating here, Steve might be my one chance at happiness. My one chance! I'm begging you Dale!"

I was struck dumb, I'd never seen her this upset. Steve was obviously very special.

Jenni wiped away her tears. "Look Dale, I don't expect you to agree to this right now. Tomorrow, why don't I try dressing you up like me in private? If you don't think it will work, well, then I guess I'll just have to face the music."

I numbly nodded.

Chapter Two:

The next day I sullenly sat on my couch. Jenni would be over soon to 'feminize me.' I didn't like the sound of that. John was off playing one of his infrequent gigs so Jenni and I would have the apartment to ourselves.

It saddened me how much Jenni was deluding herself. I had looked in the mirror the previous night and came to the conclusion that my passing as a girl was never going to happen. True, I did bear a striking resemblance to my sister, but so what? I was a guy, plain and simple. I hadn't been mistaken for a girl since I was two years old. The only unmasculine thing I could see about myself was a general lack of facial and body hair. Just a couple of sad strands on my chin and some fuzz on my legs. But what of it? Lots of guys don't have facial hair. It would take more than that to make me into Jenni.

Jenni knocked at the door and I let her in. She was carrying a huge makeup case and a couple of garment bags. I helped her carry them in.

"Well Dale, are you ready? Jeez, you look like you're going to you own execution."

"That would be a slightly more welcome experience," I grunted.

Jenni looked at me sternly. "Dale, this can be as miserable an experience as you want to make it, but listen to me. This is nothing more than a costume. You are doing your sister a favor, nothing more. I didn't tell anyone, and I assume you didn't. Now you can either make this the worst night of your life, or you can think what a great person you are for helping out your sis."

I grunted neutrally. Jenni directed me to go take a shower and shave my legs and armpits.

"Shave my legs? No way!"

"C'mon Dale, who's going to notice? It's getting colder already, it's not like you'll be wearing shorts soon."

I went into the bathroom and closed the door. I stepped under the cascading shower and washed. When I could no longer put off the inevitable, I took out my seldom used razor and began to run it along my legs. Several nicks later I was done. My legs felt smoother, but not by a whole lot. Jenni was right. I had so little hair there in the first place no one would look twice.

The pits were a little more difficult. I had to have Jenni toss me some scissors to trim most of the hair. I took the rest off with the razor, ruining the blade in the process. The denuded armpits were more noticeable. I would have no remember not to wear a tank top until the hair grew back.

I stepped out of the shower. "Okay, Dr. Frankenstein, what now?" I called out.

"Put these on," called Jenni as she tossed something through a crack in the bathroom door. I picked it up. It appeared to be the bottom of a bikini, only it was made of sturdy rubber.

"Jenni, these are too small! Women don't wear things like this!"

"Yes," she replied through the door, "but men who want to look like women do. You have extra parts that we can't have 'popping up,' while you're dressed like me."

The thing was miserably tight. I felt my testicles migrate up into their recesses and my penis turn inside out. Jenni was right though, all that was visible of my manhood was a small bump.

Jenni then tossed a pair of cotton panties through the door. "Jenni, do I have to wear panties? Who's going to know?"

"Dale, does it really matter at this point?"

I supposed not. I slipped them on. Jenni tossed me something else. I laughed.

"Now Jenni, don't you think you're taking this woman thing a little too far? Maxipads? What could I possibly need those for?"

"Not to use them, Dale. They're for padding. Slip 'em in your panties. One down each hip vertically, and two around your butt, horizontally. That should give you a more girlish rear end and hips."

"Now how could you possibly know that?" I asked.

"I read it on the internet."

"Of course."

Jenni then passed me a bra. Only it wasn't really a bra. Each cup contained a fluid-filled sack. "They're for women who've had mastectomies," Jenni explained. "It's supposed to simulate a woman's breasts. I got it from a friend who works at the hospital."

I put it on, untangled it, took it off, and finally put in on correctly. It was a little like those body holsters some policeman wear.

I looked down at my body. I looked as silly as I felt. Well, maybe I had a new Halloween costume, but I didn't see how this silly padding job would change anything.

The last thing Jenni handed me was a girdle. It was an uncomfortable fit and it pulled my sides in painfully close. I started to open my mouth to complain, but then thought the better of it. It made me look so ridiculous that I figured wearing it would actually help convince Jenni not to ask me to dress like this.

"Anything else?" I asked Jenni.

"No, c'mon out."

"But I'm half naked!"

"Then throw on a robe or something. Nothing that pulls over your head though, I'm doing your makeup next and I don't want it to get smeared."

I pulled on a pair of boxers and one of John's old button-down shirts I found on the floor. As I was about to leave, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. All of a sudden, what I was wearing wasn't so funny anymore.

Now that the padding was covered with clothes, I looked different. My hips and rear stuck out like a girl's. My sides curved inward, giving me an slight. hourglass figure. Worst of all, the mastectomy bra made it look like I had breasts! Medium-sized, pert little feminine breasts! Every part of my body that was covered with clothes could have easily belonged to a woman.

Still, I wasn't that worried. Padding can change some things, but my face was still mine. I still had that rugged, handsome face I looked at in the mirror ever morning. So she slapped some paint on it, big deal. No way could she make me look convincing.

I stepped out into the living room. Jenni had me sit in our big recliner and tilted me back. She moved my reading lamp over to my side to get a better look at my face. Then she began.

First, she combed and brushed out my hair. She berated me about what the cheap shampoo I used was doing to my hair until I agreed to let her buy me some she approved of. I refused her request to get a permanent or anything like that, though I did allow her to trim off some split-ends.

She took out one of those cloth covered elastic things that women call a 'scrunchie' and tied my hair back into a pony-tail. Then she went to work on my makeup. She smiled.

"This isn't going to be so hard," she said. "Your jaw isn't too prominent, and you don't really have a beard. I'll give you a makeover tonight, but you'll have to learn how to do this on your own."

"And people said I'd never learn anything in college."

"That's the spirit, keep up your sense of humor."

Jenni went to work. She slathered my face with a variety of eyeliners, mascara, lipstick, rouge, and blush. Several times she would wipe my face clean and start all over again. I began to see why women spend such a long time in the bathroom. I even caught her plucking my eyebrows until I realized what she was doing and made her stop. Finally she decided I was presentable. I tried to get a glimpse of myself in her makeup mirror, but she refused, saying she only wanted me to see the finished product when I decided if I could pass for her.

"Jenni," I asked, "do you really think this makeup is going to do any good?"

"Absolutely," she tittered. "By the time I'm done with you, you won't even believe you're a man."

That made me mad. "I'm sorry Jenni, but there are just some things that makeup cannot change!"

Jenni looked surprisingly hurt by the comment. Then I remembered. For quite some time Jenni had tried to cover up her scars with makeup. She had eventually realized how fruitless this was and abandoned her attempts. I felt bad about accidentally striking a nerve, so I didn't say anything else.

Jenni handed me some nylon stocking which I slid on with difficulty. She was rummaging through her garment bag. "Ah, here it is. I think it will be perfect for you. Very conservative and goes well with your complexion."

It was a plain black dress. The sleeves were full to the wrist and it looked like the bottom seam would reach the floor. The neckline, while lower than a man's garment, wasn't too deep. I regarded it sourly.

"What's the matter, Dale? What did you want, a prom dress?"

"Just remember why I'm even doing this, Jenni." Jenni took the hint and shut up, though I was secretly relieved that the dress was so conservative. I had half expected her to dress me up like a Las Vegas showgirl.

Jenni helped me into the dress and zipped me up in back. She then clipped two faux-pearl earrings on my ears and a pearl necklace around my neck.

Then she did my nails. They were too short to paint, so she applied some of those plastic, press-on kind. She told me I would have to stop clipping my own until Steve got here so that she could paint them then. Little did she know there that this was the last time I would dress like this.

Last came the shoes. She said she had a hard time finding anything in my size, but hand managed to get a nice look pair of flats that weren't too small.

After she adjusted my makeup one more time, she led me to the mirror. I was sad to see her deluding herself like this, thinking that I could ever make a convincing girl. In a few moments I would have to bring her down to earth. Still, I might as well have a look at the damage.

I expected to see a reflection of some ridiculous guy dressed like a girl, kinda like Benny Hill in drag. I guess that's why I let out an involuntary gasp when I saw the mirror.

Jenni was looking back at me from the glass! My God, I looked exactly like her! Glossy, well combed hair, a delicately painted face. Small hands with painted nails. A cute little dress. A curvy figure with a woman's chest. The only major difference was that I had no scars. I looked like the woman Jenni would have been, the woman she should have been. The woman she almost was.

This was a catastrophe! All night I had assumed that I would look so funny in a dress that Jenni would see her error and give up the plan. Now what could I do?

"So what do you think?" asked Jenni, excitedly.

"I guess I look okay." Much as I wanted to say I looked horrible, I couldn't. The resemblance to Jenni was too striking. I couldn't insult my looks without insulting hers.

"You look great, Dale!"

"I do not. This is never going to work, Jenni."

Jenni was about to protest when I heard something that made all my previous fears seem like nothing. There was a key turning in my lock! It had to be John, he was home from his gig at least three hours early!

I panicked. John barely knew me. What if he thought I was gay, or that I liked dressing like this for fun? What if he got his kicks beating the crap out of guys who wore dresses? I wasn't in the mood for a fist-fight, especially dressed like this. From the scared look on Jenni's face, she had come to the same conclusion.

John staggered in, reeking of rum and smoking what I hoped was a hand-rolled cigarette. "God damn sons of bitches shut down the frigging club. f---in' board of health, not like anyone's never found a rat's head in their beer before!" John turned in our direction. His eyes narrowed in rage.

"What in the hell is going on here?" he bellowed.

"John, listen, I can explain..." I began.

"Explain, yeah, someone had better freaking explain!" John was literally quaking with anger. He was even madder than I had feared.

"It's not what it looks like," Jenni said meekly.

"It better not be!" John continued to rant. "I mean all I ask is for you to tape the Giant's game while I'm out, and I can see the VCR isn't even on!"

It took Jenni and I a couple of seconds to realize that John wasn't looking at me, but at the television.

"Oh," I stammered. "The game was rained out. They're playing tomorrow."

"Oh, okay," said John, chucking his pungent smoking material into the waste basket; his anger almost instantly dissolving. He looked at me. "So what's with the wacky get-up?"

"Well, Jenni met this guy on the internet..."

John had already wandered into the kitchen. "No kidding," he said, not paying attention. "Hey, are these your Sugar-krispies? Can I have some?"

When John had finally stumbled into bed, Jenni looked at me and smiled. "There, you see, John saw you and didn't think there was anything strange going on."

"Jenni, if a heard of elephants in tutus paraded through here, John wouldn't think anything strange was going on. I'm sorry, but this costume doesn't convince me."

"Well it convinces me. Maybe both of us are seeing what we want to see. We need someone else to decide."

"Great," I said sarcastically. "Why don't we invite some sorority chicks to come in here and judge?"

"Not like that. Listen, I know this little bar in a town about twenty miles from here. Why don't we go there and have a drink. If anyone realizes that you are not a girl, then I'll never ask you to do this again."

"Right. And I'll become the laughing stock on campus. This guy who likes to dress like a woman."

"Dale, do you know anyone on this campus besides me and John?"

"Well, no." What with all the chaos of moving, I had only managed to make a couple of casual acquaintances.

"There you go," replied Jenni. "No one knows you, and even if someone realized you weren't a guy, which I doubt, they'd never recognize you as Dale Simmons. We'll be miles from campus anyway."

"Sorry Jenni. This is my social life on the line, not yours. No way."

Jenni looked sad. "Dale, I could sit here all night and tell you what Steve means to me. I could beg you, or threaten you, or cry, but I'm not. I'm just going to say one thing: please."

I looked at Jenni, my nineteen-year-old sister who had never been loved by anyone but me. I thought of how happy a boyfriend would make her. Two words kept running through my mind. One was 'Jenni.' The other was 'please.'

A few minutes later I had put my wallet in a purse Jenni had brought, and we were off. Jenni was driving and kept insisting that I sit up straight. For some reason I found it more comfortable to ride slouched down near the floorboards where no one could see me. Finally, we arrived at the small bar. It was a secluded little place, I'd have to remember it for the next time I wanted to take a girl somewhere quiet.

"Okay," I said. "Here's the plan. We go in, drink something, and get the hell out. We should be in and out in under five minutes."

"Dale, we're going out for a drink, not pulling a bank job. You know, it's possible for you to have a good time tonight."

"Yes, but since I'm not at home watching football, I really don't see how that will be possible."

Jenni smiled, shook her head, and we walked inside.

The place was crowded, most tables were occupied. Several couples danced to the pop music that poured out of the jukebox. I was frightened to see several people wearing shirts with my college's name on them.

We sat down in the back and ordered sodas, since we were underage. I guess I was anxious to leave, I had chugged mine and was asking to go before Jenni had even taken a sip or hers.

I froze in horror when a big frat guy from my school started coming our way. I prayed that he only wanted to use the men's room, but he made a beeline for our table. I had been spotted! He recognized me! I was a dead man. I hoped that he didn't have any violence on his mind. Maybe he would just be content with humiliating me and wouldn't want to fight or to spread my dress habits all over campus.

"Hi!" he said when he reached us. "I'm Chris, a Kappa Alpha man!" Big deal, I thought. "So," he said, looking at me, "would you care to dance?"

I was very nearly sick. He didn't want to hit me, he wanted to hit on me! To say I was embarrassed would be an understatement. And in front of Jenni! Now I could never tell her the costume wouldn't work.

I managed to stammer out a negative answer. He turned to Jenni. "Well then, how about y..." he then saw Jenni's face, full on. "Uh, I gotta go," he stammered and practically ran off.

"What an asshole," I said to Jenni. Then I saw the horribly hurt look on her face. I was sure pissed, that guy practically told her he wouldn't dance with her because of her scars. It wouldn't have killed him to dance one number with her and would have made Jenni's night. I wanted to ask him to step outside, but I really wasn't dressed for heroics.

"Jenni, don't let that jerk get you down. He's not worth it."

Jenni smiled a fake smile. "Don't worry. It' s not like that's never happened to me before. Let's just get out of here."

All the way home I kept trying to think of ways to cheer her up. There was only one thing I knew that would accomplish that.

We pulled into my driveway. "Night, Dale. See you round," she said flatly.

"Jenni, listen." Her eyes brightened, almost imperceptibly. "Would it mean a lot to you if I went on this..." I couldn't say date, not with a man. "If I met Steve in your place?"

"Dale," she replied with no exaggeration, "it would mean the world to me."

"All right. No kissing, nothing stupid, but I'll do it. For you."

Jenni gave me a huge hug. "I'll never forget this, little brother. I'll make this up to you for the rest of my life. And I want you to know that Steve and I will always welcome you in our home."

I thought she was rushing things a bit, but it was good to see her so happy. I told her good night and went inside.

I took of the silly women's clothes, washed off my makeup, and climbed into bed. 'My God,' I thought. 'What have I agreed to?'

Chapter Three:

We had exactly one week until Steve arrived and Jenni seemed bound and determined to replace eighteen years of male programming in seven days. It was rough. My only consolation was that once Steve was gone this whole business would be over, and hopefully Jenni would be a lot happier for my efforts.

The first day of my 'training' was spent reading and rereading letters and e-mail that Jenni and Steve had exchanged. I was forced to listen to pointless lectures about Steve: his family, he likes and dislikes, his school, etc. It was all hideously dull for me, but Jenni wanted me to be prepared. She didn't want Steve to bring up some past conversation of theirs and for me to not know what he was talking about.

It also kind of irked me when I found out how much she had shared with Steve, how she had told him many private, intimate thoughts that she had not even discussed with me. I knew it was natural for a girl her age to open up to a boyfriend more than a family member, but it was all new to me. Most guys come to grips with their sisters' dates during middle school, not college.

Steve's letters disturbed me a little, as well. He was always going on and on about how he 'desired' Jenni, how he 'longed for her,' and how he 'wanted to hold her in his arms.' He sounded pretty turned on to me. Jenni assured me they had a relationship based on much more than physical encounters, but I wasn't so sure. Steve was flying half way across the country to see Jenni. I wasn't sure if he would be content with 'no kissing.' I would have to watch myself constantly.

Jenni was a tough teacher. I just figured that she'd show me how to put on lipstick and eyeliner and that would be enough. Not so. Jenni claimed I looked the part, but she wanted to make sure that I acted the part.

First came the posturing and walking lessons. Back and forth across the my living room, wearing a dress and wobbly high heels, every day for what seemed like hours. John had mysteriously vanished several nights ago. I had no idea where he was, but I figured he would be back by the time classes started. At any rate, we had the privacy we needed for Jenni to teach me how to walk again.

"No Dale, stop slouching! Chest out, head high! I swear, you walk like a caveman! One hip forward at a time, atta boy, or should I say girl? Don't worry, you'll get the hang of those heels. It took me a while, too."

Then the makeup and hair lessons started. While Jenni was going to help prepare me for the date, she wanted to make sure I could adjust my hair and makeup on my own. While my nails wouldn't be long enough in time, she kept them manicured and clipped nicer than they had ever been under my care. Soon I understood the basics of making myself up.

My voice presented a problem. While I didn't exactly talk like James Earl Jones, I didn't have a falsetto voice, either. Jenni worked and worked with me. She told me to talk like I was yawning and whispering at the same time. While I thought I sounded silly, at least I could manage a passable woman's voice for a while.

What I had the most trouble with were her lesson on deportment. It was so easy to forget that now I couldn't pick my teeth, sit with my legs spread, or go into the men's room. She reminded me over and over again not to be aggressive, to let the guy make all the decisions, to be submissive. It galled me. I hated this. At least now I had a slightly better understanding of what women have to put up with. I made a vow that next time I took a girl out on a date, I would be damn sure to compliment her on her clothes, dress, hair, and anything else she might have worked hard on for me.

Finally, it was the night before Steve was scheduled to arrive. Jenni nervously dressed me in outfit after outfit, trying to find one that she thought that Steve would like. She was so nervous, you would have thought it was her going on the date instead of me. In a way it was her, I certainly wasn't going for my own personal enjoyment.

As she laid out my outfit, she spoke to me. "Dale, you know how I told Steve I, well you, wouldn't kiss him, right?"

"Right. And I hope you said it like you meant it."

"Well, Dale, I've been thinking. Steve is going to be flying hundreds of miles to see me. I've been telling him for months how much I like him, and I worry that he's going to think that I don't if I don't give him a couple of kisses."

"No!"

"Just one little kiss goodbye. Just touch his lips with yours, no tongue. How hard could that be?"

"We had a deal Jenni. Not in a million years."

"Well, could you at least hold his hand?"

I was getting pissed. "Why don't I just stay home tomorrow? That's what I want to do."

"Dale, you're not being fair."

"No, you're not being fair," I snapped back. "Do you know how many guys would do something like this for their sisters? None! I don't even know why I'm doing it, but I said I would and I am. But don't push me or you'll have to do this on your own."

Jenni dressed me in silence. First I slipped on some nylons. When I had first tried to do this I had torn them in three places. Now, thanks to Jenni's training, I could easily slide on nylons and hose, even while wearing the fake nails. Next, I stepped into a little black skirt that she had picked out. The weather was unseasonably warm, therefore, in my opinion, the skirt was unreasonably short. It only came down to my knees! It was pleated, and buttoned on the side. This took a while to adjust to, I was used to having a zipper in the front.

Next, I put on a blouse. It was poofy and white and dipped down too far in the front. It was tight and you could see the mounds of my 'breasts' quite clearly. Finally, there came a black silk vest. It was sleeveless and left my arms bare to the shoulders. It buttoned in the front, the 'wrong' way (buttons on the left).

I stepped into some little black pumps that I still felt unsteady on. Some silvery jewelry on my wrist, neck and ears and a black leather handbag completed the picture.

"So," I asked grimly "how do I look?"

"See for yourself," replied Jenni, with a sad smile.

I looked in the mirror she indicated. Thanks to the week of training and makeup practice, I looked even more like Jenni than before. I could have been her identical twin. God, why couldn't I have been born extremely tall? Why couldn't I have been tough and muscular? Why couldn't I have been super hairy? But no, I was skinny and short and there was no denying how much I looked like my sister.

"Dale," asked Jenni "what do you think Mom would do if she saw you?"

"I know exactly what she'd do. She'd probably fuss with my makeup and enter me in the Miss Teen USA pageant." I laughed at my attempt at humor. Jenni didn't. She looked at me with a strangely intense look on her face.

"Dale, promise me something. I don't expect you to kiss Steve, I guess that is too much to ask. But don't act miserable. He'll be able to tell. Please act happy. Act like you're in love. Act like Steve is the man you're going to marry. Dale, that's how I feel. Please Dale, do this for me. I can't. For one day of your life, be pretty and charming and in love. It's only an act for you, but not for me. Please."

I nodded, not knowing what else to do.

The next day I drove Jenni's car to the airport. "Relax," I told myself. "Be happy. Have a good time. This is for Jenni. You are going to make her happy. Steve will be gone in exactly 23 and a half hours."

I recognized Steve before he saw me. He looked just like his picture: brown beard and hair, blue eyes, tall, and I guess you would call him good looking. I took a deep breath and called out his name.

"Jenni!" he shouted across the terminal. He rushed to me and, before I could prevent it, gave me a huge hug. I had to restrain myself from wiggling free. A guy flies all this way to meet a girl, a hug's not a lot to ask. I would just keep having to tell myself that Steve thought I was Jenni and was reacting in a normal way. I would also have to remind myself to react how Jenni would.

I told Steve how happy I was that he had come, trying to sound sincere. Steve gave me a small bouquet of roses. I smiled, thinking how happy Jenni would be when I gave them to her. "Thank you," I told him.

"No problem," he said. "So what do you want to do?"

I suggested that we grab something to eat. We drove to a nice little restaurant near the airport. Fancy, but not too pricey. We sat in a corner booth and talked. Well, Steve talked. I hated to think anything bad about Steve this early on, but he sure seemed vain. All the conversation pretty much revolved around him. This made things a little easier for me, since I didn't have to talk about myself too much or worry about making my voice sound feminine. Still, I was bored. I timed Steve on the clock behind him. He once talked for 23 minutes without requiring me to say anything.

I finally suggested that we leave and go somewhere else. "I couldn't agree more," said Steve. Before I realized what he was doing, he had grabbed my hand. It took a lot of willpower for me not to yank it away. He looked into my eyes. "Why don't we get away from here and go somewhere dark and quiet, where we can be close."

Yikes! I knew what that meant. "I couldn't agree more," I replied, trying to sound flighty. "Let's go see a movie!"

Steve was obviously disappointed, but tough for him. Jenni had said no kissing and he'd just have to deal with it. But there was something on my mind. The nagging, unpleasant sensation that I had forgotten to do something. Something important. As we got into my car, I realized what it was.

"My God Steve, I forgot to register for classes!" It was true. In all the hubbub of getting ready for this farce of a date, I had forgotten that it was also registration week! Today, being Friday, was the last day to sign up. If I didn't go in today I wouldn't be registered at all. Then I couldn't join a class until someone else dropped it, which might not be for weeks. It would be academic suicide, to say the least. I explained the situation to Steve, sweetly saying that it was due to my excitement of his arrival that I had forgotten to sign up.

Much to my surprise, Steve seemed rather put out. It would only take me a half an hour, but he acted like it was the world's biggest imposition. Well, he could handle it.

I walked into the registration building, nervous as hell. Could I even register dressed like this? There was no time to go home and change, besides, I couldn't just ask Steve to hang out on campus alone for an hour or so. Well, I thought, Dale can be a woman's name. I'll just sign up as is, and a few days later I'll come back and tell them that they accidentally marked me as 'female.' Shouldn't be a problem.

The chain-smoking registrar put my name down on the class lists without giving me a second glance. He'd probably had a rough day and wasn't thinking about anything other than going home. I felt a moment of panic when I realized that I would also be having my photo taken for my student ID as well. Then I remembered that John had told me you could have an ID replaced for five dollars. I'd just say that I'd lost mine and have a real picture taken.

I left the building, all signed up for school and ready to go. Steve greeted me with friendly "So are you finished yet?" Jeez, what did Jenni see in this guy? He must have been more charming on computer. Or, maybe I was just judging him harshly. I probably wouldn't think any man was good enough for my sister.

We bought tickets at a theater near campus. I had wanted to see "Revenge of the Kung Fu Robot," but I figured that that would have been a most un-Jenni like selection. Instead I insisted on seeing some foreign film that seemed more in character. Steve didn't seem to be happy with the choice, but at least now I wasn't the only one going to see something I didn't care for.

We sat next to each other in the darkened theater. The film was surprisingly good. It was about a World War I soldier whose wife leaves him the day before he ships out to the front. I guess I got a little to into it; I didn't notice Steve reaching to put his arm around me until he had already succeeded.

It was a tense situation for me. He had really overstepped himself now, with his arm draped casually over my shoulder, his hand resting on my bare forearm. But what could I do? If I were to shrug him off, then he'd think I, or really Jenni, didn't like him. It didn't make much sense for me to go to all this trouble to help Jenni, only to ruin her chances with Steve. Besides, it was just a friendly half-embrace. I had done that to any number of my dates. That was a disgusting thought: how many of my dates had wished I wouldn't touch them?

I tried to get back into the plot of the movie while ignoring the large male forearm wrapped around me. It was not easy for me to relax knowing that its owner was probably now thinking about how he could get me in bed. I just kept telling myself to persevere, that this would all be over before I knew it.

Then it happened. During the scene where the wounded hero kisses a nurse in a field hospital, I saw Steve's head coming at me. I jumped up just before his lips met mine.

"Where are you going?" asked Steve, shocked.

"To the bath...to the ladies' room," I mumbled and was off like a shot.

Remembering to use the correct restroom, I rushed into the women's bathroom. It was the only place I could be rid of him and think. I was surprised at how clean it was compared to the men's room. No graffiti, no trash on the floor, it was an interesting sight.

Just then a movie let out somewhere and the washroom was filled with women using the facilities, checking their makeup, and gossiping. Not to draw attention to myself, I touched up my lipstick.

My thoughts were racing. Steve had broken his 'no kissing' promise. That bastard! I ought to just leave him stranded here. I hated him. But, soon I began to calm down. It's not like he whipped out his dick or anything, he just ventured a kiss. If Jenni really were here, he'd probably have gotten one. And how often had I tried to kiss a girl I didn't know that well? I shuddered when I remembered how embarrassing it was to try to kiss a girl and be denied. Now I was experiencing a date from the woman's point of view. It was so humiliating! Is that how I appeared to women? I certainly hoped not.

The problem at hand, though, was Steve. What should I do? I obviously couldn't kiss him. But what would he think? I didn't want him to think that Jenni didn't like him.

I came up with a plan. I would go for a walk with him. I would lay it on thick and heavy about how much I liked him. I would tell him softly and sincerely that I couldn't kiss him on the first date, but the next time I saw him I wouldn't be so shy. That way he'd know that Jenni liked him and he would be willing to come back. At the same time it would save me from kissing him.

When I stepped out of the theater, I realized that the movie had ended. Steve stood in the lobby looking perplexed. He seemed to cheer up when I suggested taking a walk.

I lead him to a park behind the geology building. It was dark and secluded. We sat on a bench. "Steve," I began "I really, really like you..." that was as far as I got.

"I like you too," he said. Then he grabbed me and kissed me. I tried to struggle, but he was too powerful. I remember all the sensations: his scratchy beard, his painful grip, the slobbering pressure of his lips. He would not let go! I couldn't get away! If I opened my mouth to yell I knew he'd just jab his tongue in. I was trapped!

Then the solution hit me. I stopped struggling and sucked my lips into my mouth. I stood stock still, without moving or responding. I had guessed correctly, Steve soon lost interest.

As soon as my mouth was out of danger's way, I lit into Steve. "You promised me no kissing!" I hollered.

"Give me a break Jenni! Do you think I flew all this way for 'no kissing?' Or for just kissing? Now stop acting so coy!"

I stood up and jumped away. "Steve," I began, barely able to keep my voice feminine "I'm going to drive you to your hotel now. You'll forgive me if I ask you to take a cab to the airport tomorrow."

Steve glared at me. "Forget it, cock teaser. I'm walking."

Steve stormed off, turning only to shout at me. "Bitch!"

I drove home well in excess of the speed limit. I had known that this day was going to be horrible, but I didn't think it would be this bad. Jesus, I could still taste that jerk's slobber in my mouth. I'd have to drink some scalding hot coffee when I got home.

The worst part was I didn't know what to say to Jenni. I didn't think she'd blame me, once I told her how he had assumed she wanted to sleep with him and cursed me when he realized otherwise. But it would break her heart. She was probably already picking out baby names, she was so sure that things were going to work out for her and Steve. How would I tell my own sister the man of her dreams was a total prick? She would be by in the morning to pick up her car. I would have to think of something by then.

I walked into my apartment, counting the remaining seconds until I could get into some decent male clothes. Much to my surprise, I realized that John was back. He was passed out under the coffee table, cradling an empty bottle of vodka like it was a teddy bear.

"Sleep tight, amigo," I muttered to him as I walked towards my room. Suddenly, a voice from behind me made me turn. It was Jenni.

"Dale!" she yelped excitedly from front door. "I couldn't wait. Tell me every detail!" Jenni looked as excited as a child on Christmas morning. I wished that I could tell her of the wonderful, romantic evening that 'she' had just experienced. But she deserved the truth.

I asked her to sit down. I told her everything, not leaving anything out, but not trying to make any moral judgments, either. He joy quickly faded. By the time my story was done, she was sitting morosely with her head in her hands.

"So he was just like all the others. Just wanted to screw a pretty face. Just wanted to get laid. I never meant a thing to him. He's probably got a bunch of cyber-girlfriends."

I wanted to be comforting, but I wasn't sure what to say. "Sorry Jenni," I said, lamely.

Jenni looked at me. Much to my relief, she didn't look angry, at least not at me. "Dale, you did more than anyone would have expected you to. I'm surprised you put up with so much before you told him off. Thanks, little brother."

"Jenni, it wasn't a big deal."

"Of course it was a big deal! I guess it was a stupid idea for me to have you go in my place."

I looked at my sister. "Yes, it was stupid. It was stupid that you thought you had to have this elaborate ruse to get some guy to like you. Promise me you'll never do that again. When you meet someone special, and I know you will, then you can proudly look him in the face."

Jenni was about to sob, but she was smiling. "You really think so?"

"I know so." We hugged. Jenni cried, and I shed a few tears myself.

Finally we calmed down. "So," said Jenni, "what was being a woman like? Was it that bad?"

"Jenni it was horrible! Now I know what I look like to my dates! Yuck!"

Jenni laughed. "I doubt you're as bad as Steve. Well, now that it's over, you can forget it ever happened."

"Almost over. Remember, I had to register as a female. I still have to get that straightened out."

There was a loud, painful 'whack!' as John sat bolt-upright and cracked his head on the bottom of the coffee table. He staggered around the living room, clutching his head and howling like a cat in a blender.

Finally he managed to find words. "Regist...regist...classes? No! No! Ya can't...ya...no!" He was still quite drunk.

"John, what in the hell are you babbling about?"

John tried to answer me, but then stopped. He clutched his stomach and ran to the bathroom. For the next few minutes Jenni and I were treated to the lovely music of John vomiting into (I hoped) the toilet.

"I don't remember eating that," mumbled John as he staggered out of the bathroom and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He seemed a little more sober now.

"John," I said, with extreme patience, "what were you talking about back there? About classes?"

As John brewed a pot of coffee, he explained. I was a freshman, Jenni was a sophomore. John, a junior (well, actually a third-year sophomore) knew something we didn't.

Three years ago, the school ran rampant with cheating. Grad students would openly take tests and write papers for wealthy undergrads. People would have friends attend classes for them and take their tests. It got to be so bad that you could literally graduate with honors, never having taken a test or attended a class.

Academic papers had listen our college as 'a joke of a school.' TV news shows gleefully exposed 'Party U.' No one who wanted a real education would enroll. The state was about a hair's breadth from revoking our accreditation, and therefore any state funding.

The school had done the only thing it could possibly do. It went on the offensive. Academic dishonesty became a suspendable offense. Anyone who took a test or wrote a paper for anyone else would be kicked out of school. In order to enforce this, students had to present their student ID to the professor on the first day of class and at every test. If you tried to use someone else's ID, or if you showed up at a class that you weren't registered in, you could face suspension for a full term. There would be no chance to make up the credit and no reimbursement of tuition.

The school never made an exception when it came to the rule. Two years ago some star football players had paid some cheerleaders to take their finals. Everyone involved was suspended. It cost the school its first bowl game in ten years, but at least the state was satisfied. They kept their accreditation and funding.

The horror of my situation began to dawn on me. I had registered as a female. Could they actually think I had done that so I could have some woman stand in for my classes?

"John," I asked, "do you really think that just because my file says 'FEMALE,' they'll kick me out?"

John mulled this over. "Maybe no one would care. Maybe. Your problem is that picture on your ID."

I was getting mad. "You told me it was easy to get an ID replaced!"

"Replaced, sure. But your picture's on file in the computers. They'll just use the same photo. They never change photos, too expensive."

"So now I'm stuck with a woman's ID! How can I go to classes? How can I take tests? No one will ever believe this picture is of me!" I was waving around my woman's ID, furious. I turned to John and got right in his face. "Why the hell didn't you warn me?"

"Don't blame me. How was I supposed to know you'd register dressed like this?" He grinned at my costume. I was embarrassed to realized that I was still dolled up like Jenni, and to make matters worse, my phony breasts were pressed right into John's chest. I backed up.

"Did you go to your freshman orientation?" continued John. "They explain about IDs there." I hadn't. I tried to think of a way to blame Jenni, but what was the use? It was my job to register and I hadn't.

"So what do I do now?" I asked, desperately. The three of us discussed it and came to the following conclusions.

1. I couldn't risk trying to change my ID or just using the one I had. If I got caught I could get kicked out. That would ruin my college career. I doubted that any school authority would believe I had 'accidentally' registered in a skirt.

2. I couldn't put off going to college until next year and then reregistering as myself. I had no where to go, I had paid two months rent on this apartment, and I didn't want to work some minimum wage job while I waited for next year. To make matters worse, I would still owe student loans, whether I was in school or not.

It was Jenni who came up with the solution I eventually adopted. "Dale," she asked "How important is going to this particular school to you? I mean, would you be willing to go somewhere else?"

"Sure," I said, "but that's not an option. If I drop out of here I don't get all of my tuition back. I won't have enough money to register at another school."

"Yes, but what if you transferred to another school next year? Since you're only taking basic freshman classes this year you won't have to worry about them accepting your transcript. Since I know you plan to study hard, you won't have to worry about not having a good enough GPA to be accepted somewhere else."

"Yeah, I could transfer. But that doesn't get me out of the woods this year. I'm stuck with this female ID!"

"Well, supposing you were a female."

"But I'm n..." Then I realized what she was implying. "Oh, no! I'll be damned if I'm going to go to school as a girl! No way!"

"Dale, can you think of another way?" I tried to but failed.

"But Jenni, I can't just attend classes as a girl and then go home and be a guy again! Someone would catch on! I'd be caught."

"Well, you could dress full time."

"Well you could dress full time," I mimicked. "Yeah, great. Live as a woman for a damn year. I'm really going to do that."

"Dale, I think it's the only way."

I didn't feel like having this conversation anymore. I ran to my room and slammed the door.

Chapter Four:

It was the first day of classes. As I sat in my desk in my freshman English class, I wondered why I was so nervous. Maybe it was because it was the first day or classes, or that I was worried about doing good in school. Or maybe it was because I was dressed like a freaking woman! Here it was, my first day of school, and I'm wearing a dress and high heels. I had begged Jenni to help me find something that would make me look frumpy and ugly, but she had insisted on making me look like a cute little coed. My hair was tied back in a pony tail, my face was made up, and my nails were painted (my real nails now).

Jenni had laid down several rules for my new life. No more working out at the gym, women don't have big muscles. No dating, women don't date other women. No belching, or drinking beer, or bashing heads in the mosh pit, too unladylike.

The worst thing was how I was treated by guys. They flirted with me! They went out of their way to talk to me or ask me if I needed help. I wondered if they knew how obvious their intentions were. Probably not. Every time a guy hit on me I my manhood would be questioned. It was being questioned almost every day now.

I looked around the room. There were at least four women whose telephone number I would have loved to have had. I sighed as a guy who was no better looking than me sat down next to one of them and easily started a conversation.

"Hi, how you doing?" I heard a voice next to me. Some big jock type was sitting next to me. He was smiling intently. Christ, not again. I wasn't in the mood to fend off his flirtations, so I mumbled "Fine," and turned away. Maybe his feelings would be hurt, but what of it? He could get a date later, I couldn't. I adjusted my dress again. It was such a pain, constantly having to make sure I wasn't sitting with my legs spread apart.

The professor came in. The first thing he did was collect IDs and check them. Some schmuck who had forgotten his was forced to go home and get it, thus missing the entire class. I guess John had been right, I never would have gotten away dressing like a man and having a woman's ID.

The class was interesting, but I didn't care. I never volunteered anything and only answered questions when I was called upon. I had gone from being the high school class clown to a shy college girl. I didn't like it, not one bit.

After class, a pretty girl in a sorority sweater came up and started talking to me. "Hi," she said with a cute Boston accent "I'm Stephanie."

"I'm Dale," I replied.

"That's an original name. I like it. You seemed nervous back there, was something wrong?"

Stephanie had short dark hair, big brown eyes, and a nice figure. I was enraptured. "Oh, nothing," I answered. "I'm just new in this area and the campus is a little overwhelming."

Stephanie smiled. "Oh, you just need to make some friends. My sorority is having a mixer tonight. Why don't I pick you up and we'll go together?"

My soul soared, then crashed back to earth. She wasn't asking me out, she was just being nice to what she thought was another girl. If she had seen me as a guy she might not have given me the time of day. I gave he my address.

That night, I got ready for the party. Jenni insisted that I wear one of her skirts, but conceded that if I wore a sweater it wouldn't look out of place. She cautioned me to be careful around any drunk frat guys.

Stephanie rang the bell a few minutes later. She seemed surprised to find that John was my roommate. As we were driving away, I told her that John and I were only friends.

"Maybe so," she said "but be careful. Guys only have on thing on their minds. Don't be surprised if he comes on to you one day."

I thanked her, though I figured that John would probably be able to control himself around me.

When we pulled up in front of the sweltering Greek house, the party was going on in full swing. Music was blasting, people were dancing, everyone was having a good time. As soon as we got inside, I knew I wasn't going to be able to enjoy myself. If I had been dressed as I guy I would have already been off hitting on some girl. Now I stood quietly at Stephanie's side, wishing I hadn't come. It didn't help that the big frat guy who was watching the door made a pass at me.

Stephanie introduced me around. I met several pretty girls who I would never be able to ask out and several guys who you would have thought were being introduced to my chest, from where their eyes were fixed.

"Hey, Steph, baby!" someone called out. We turned around to see some guy who made John look like a spokesman for a temperance society. Moronically drunk did not even begin to describe him. He stumbled over to Stephanie and leered at her.

"Back off, Howie," she yelled at him above the music. "I told you it's over. We're through."

She pointedly turned her back on him. He tried to say something, but only managed to puke all over her back. "Oh, gross!" she screamed, and ran for the bathroom. Without thinking, I followed.

We were alone in the bathroom. I shut and locked the door. When I turned around, I was shocked to see that she had removed her shirt and was soaking it in the sink. I nearly fell over when her bra followed.

After senior prom last year I had made love to my date. That had been my one sexual experience. The sight of the female body still was new and very exciting to me. Here Stephanie stood, not three feet from me, her naked chest fully visible.

She tried in vain to look over her shoulder. "Did that jerk get any barf on my back?" she asked.

"Yes," I replied. There was some, but only a spot the size of a pencil lead.

"Would you mind?" she asked, hanging me a wet washcloth.

I ran the warm, wet cloth down her bare back, shoulders, and neck. I felt my penis strain against the sex hiding panties as it tried to get erect. I wanted to grab her, kiss her, tell her she was gorgeous. Instead I simply handed her back the cloth and told her that she was clean.

Stephanie hung her shirt over the shower curtain and began telling me about her relationship with Howie. I turned my head so I wouldn't be caught starting at her perfect breasts. I stared at them in the mirror instead.

I felt bad. Stephanie was telling me all her life's troubles, not realizing that I was just some guy who was paying more attention to her erect nipples than to her story.

She was interrupted by a banging at the door. "Out in a second!" she called. Then the door burst open. I had locked it, but the lock was old and ill fitting. It was that puking drunk, Howie.

"Get out of here!" Stephanie screamed, covering her breasts with her hands. Howie didn't listen. He just pinned her against the wall and began kissing her. She couldn't get away without exposing her bare chest.

"Get away from her!" I shouted.

"Quiet, you!" Howie shot back at me, and grabbed Stephanie's rear.

That was assault, no matter how you looked at it. I had to do something. Without stopping to think, I punched him in the back of his head. He staggered, fell, banged his head on the sink, and was out like a light. I think the booze was mostly to blame.

Stephanie was too shocked to say anything. I knew I had to get her out of there. Her top was still too damp to wear, so I ran out, grabbed my coat, and threw it over her shoulders. I then picked up her shirt and bra and lead her by the hand out a back door.

By the time we got back to the car, she was sufficiently recovered to drive. When we got back to my place she thanked me for my heroics.

"Oh, I was just helping out. It was no big deal."

"Of course it was a big deal. Where did you learn to punch like that?"

"I, uh, took a self defense class."

"Well if paid off. Men are such jerks. I don't know why we even bother."

I felt obliged to defend my sex. "Well, not all men are jerks."

"Sometimes it seems like it. Good night, Dale." She kissed me on the cheek and drove off.

I walked inside. I had just saved a girl from an assailant and all I got was a 'men are jerks,' speech. God, how could I survive for a year without hope of a date?

When I first walked into my bedroom I thought that I had somehow wandered into the wrong apartment by mistake. Nothing was familiar. But the room was the same. It was everything that was in it that was different.

All the male clutter that had characterized my room since as far back as I could remember was gone. Everything was neat and tidy. But that wasn't what was strange.

All my stuff was gone! My posters of football players and swimsuit models had been replaced by prints of nature scenes and angels! The cruddy sheets on my unmade bed were now replaced by a pink comforter, frilly pillows, and a teddy bear! There was a vase of dried flowers on my now neat desk and some dumb clown nick-knack on my window sill. There was no sign of my catcher's mitt, my fake executioner's axe or my pipe. Floral curtains covered the previously bare windows.

I yanked open my closet. All my clothes and my hockey stick were gone. All that was left were the few outfits I had borrowed from Jenni. All my underwear was missing from my chest of drawers. In its place were some new pairs of panties in various colors. There was also a new makeup kit, a woman's razor, and a bag of cotton balls.

Who had done this? I read the mailing label on one the fashion magazines that had mysteriously replaced my 'Sports Illustrateds.' Just as I thought, Jenni.

As if on cue, she walked into the room. "What do you think? It took hours for me to change everything," she said happily, as if I would be proud of her efforts.

I lost it. "What do I think? What do you think I think? Where's all my stuff?"

"Relax. I put it in storage."

"I will not relax! You had no right to do this! My room is the one place I can be myself and you destroyed it! It looks like a woman lives here now!"

"That's the idea, silly. You're such a social animal, I knew it would only be a matter of time before you had friends over. You couldn't very well have them see a picture of Kathy Ireland on the wall or your jockstrap hanging on the door, could you?"

"That's not the point! And you!" I yelled at John, who had just walked in. "How could you just stand by and let her do this?"

"I make it a point never to get involved."

"Never to get involved in what?"

"In anything," he replied, and smiled idiotically.

"I wanna talk with you," I barked at Jenni, "right now."

We both sat down on the living room couch. John, uninvited, sat between us. He never added anything to the ensuing discussion, though he would rotate his head 180 degrees to stare out whoever was talking.

"Jenni, ever since I had to start dressing like this, you've developed a bossy streak that I don't like."

"That's because you don't know the first thing about being a woman. You need my help. It's for your own good."

"Yeah, stealing all my stuff. That's for my own good. When I need your help I'll ask for it. Until then, stop trying to run my life, I'm doing fine as it is."

"Yeah, you're doing real fine," Jenni shot back sarcastically. "I just called a friend who was at that party you were at. Seemed some 'girl' knocked out a big dude. Sound familiar?"

"Oh, now you're checking up on me, huh? Yeah, I hit him. He was sexually assaulting a friend of mine. Should I have just sat back and watched?"

"You should have called for help. Someone would have been there in two seconds."

"That's not the point. If you had had the guts to meet Steve, I wouldn't be in this stupid situation!"

"Hey, I'm not the one who was too dumb to register. You need my help, you can't even run your life as a guy!"

"I don't need your help. I don't especially like having you around. In fact, I'm not even sure I want to see you anymore!"

"Fine by me, asshole!"

We had never been that angry with each other before. I'm not sure what would have happened had John not shaken up the beer he was drinking and spritzed it all over the both of us.

"What the hell did you do that for?" we yelled in unison.

"To shut you both up. You were acting like a couple of three-year-olds. Last week you two were so close, what's gotten into you? No, don't interrupt, listen to me. Dale: you don't have the slightest idea how to be a woman. I know you hate it, but your sister knows what she's doing and she's only trying to help, so listen to her. Jenni: Dale's right, you have gotten really bossy lately. I know you're only doing what you think is right, but it's at least partially your fault this happened, so have some tact. No more doing things without telling him."

There was a long silence. "What happened to 'not getting involved?'" Jenni finally asked John.

"No, he's right," I said. "Jenni, I'm sorry. You know this hasn't been easy on me and I didn't mean to blow up at you. I know you just wanted to help."

"I'm sorry too Dale. It is partly my fault you have to do this, I just am trying to make things easier in the long run. I'll be nicer from now on."

"Friends again?"

"You bet, little brother." We hugged.

"You know, Jenni, I don't think that it's that I mind learning how to be a female so much. It's that I hate being reminded that I'm a guy dressing in drag. It's so humiliating, even around you. I think if I could take femininity lessons from someone who didn't know I wasn't a woman, then things might be easier on me. I guess that wouldn't be possible, though."

"Hang on," said John. He held his head, as if all this unaccustomed thinking was causing him pain. "I had this friend last year. He had a real bad speech impediment."

"Did his stutter?" asked Jenni.

"Worse than that, he was from Georgia. He wanted to be an actor, but he sounded kinda silly, reciting Shakespeare with the drawl of his. 'Tah be, orah naught tah be.' Anyhow, he met this guy over in the drama school. He set my friend up with some self hypnosis tapes that cured him of he drawl in a year. He said they had all kinds of tapes for actors. I think he said they had something about acting more feminine, you know, for them 'tea and crumpet' type rolls."

"Self-hypnosis? I don't like the sound of that."

"Well, you might as well go over to the drama school and see if they can help you. What was the name of that guy with the tapes? Uh, Leonard...Larry...no! Leroy! Leroy Brown."

"John, that's a song."

"Yeah, that's why I remembered his name. Leroy Brown, same as the song. Well, g'night all." John finished his beer and went to bed.

"So what do you think?" asked Jenni.

"About what?" I replied.

"About what John said."

"I dunno. Sounds pretty far fetched to me."

"About the self hypnosis?"

"No, about John having a friend."

We both laughed. "Seriously, Dale. It might be just what you need."

"Well, it sounds too much like brainwashing to me."

"You might as well check it out. They might not even have the tapes anymore."

"Okay, I'll stop by tomorrow after classes."

Chapter Five:

The next day after classes, I stopped by the fine arts building. It was run down and badly in need of maintenance. The drama department was in even worse shape. Though classes had started, the drama school part of the building seemed deserted. Finally I ran across two guys in one of the classrooms. They were moving a desk (or so I thought at the time. Now that I think back on it, they might actually have been trying to steal it).

"Excuse me, is this the drama department?" I asked.

"It sure is," said one of the guys, dropping his end of the desk. "Are you here to try out for 'Midsummer?'"

"Excuse me?"

"Midsummer Night's Dream. That play we're putting on. You want an audition?" He seemed rather desperate.

"Uh, sorry no. I'm looking for a man named Leroy Brown."

I expected them to laugh at what I was sure was a made-up name, but the other guy remarked that Leroy was in the prop room. I thanked them and left.

The prop room was in the basement of the building. I walked down a dingy staircase into a dimly-lit room. Crates and boxes were piled everywhere, rows of dusty costumes lined the walls. In the back of the room I could make out the figure of a man.

"Leroy? Leroy Brown?" I called out.

The figure turned and I got a good look at him. The song 'Leroy Brown' describes Leroy as "The baddest man in the whole damn town/ badder than old King Kong/ meaner than a junk yard dog." If this guy was Leroy Brown, he certainly didn't live up to his name. He wasn't much taller than me. He was skinny and seemed a little awkward. He wore think glasses that seemed a little too big for his face. He was dirty from working in the messy prop room. On the other hand, he seemed to be wiry and strong, and had a friendly face. He was the kind of guy that Jenni referred to as "Charmingly nerdish." Good looking, but a little unsure of himself; someone who would be more willing to accept the faults of others. Jenni often went after that type of guy in hopes that he'd be willing to date her. It had never worked.

Leroy smiled, and then shocked me by saying "Oh Helen, nymph, goddess, perfect, divine! To what, thy love, shall I compare thine eyne?"

I didn't know how to react. "I'm sorry?"

Leroy seemed embarrassed. "Whoops. They told me someone was coming over to addition for the part of Helena, I thought it was you." He looked at his watch. "Guess she's not showing. Damn, we were counting on her," he said disappointedly.

"Is this for that Midsummer play?" I asked.

"Yeah. You've heard of it?"

"Only in this building. What's up?"

"Well, you might have heard that enrollment in the drama school has really fallen off over the past few years. They say they're going to shut down the school next year. Me and some other drama students thought that maybe, if we put on a good play, I mean a really good play, then we might make the administration realize that we add something to the school. I was all set to play Demetrius. We're still short a few cast members, though. Would you like to be in the play?"

I was flattered, but had to decline. I didn't exactly want to appear on stage dressed as a woman. I felt sad for Leroy, though. If the drama school shut down he'd have to change majors or change schools.

"That's okay," said Leroy. "It was just a thought." He wiped his hands on a rag. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I heard that you had some self hypnosis tapes. You know, to help people with their behavior and such. Do you really have anything like that?"

"Yeah, though I haven't seen them since some guy from Georgia needed to work on his accent a couple of years ago. Let me have a look."

Leroy began hunting around in the morass of boxes and crates. It seemed like a thankless and tiring task. I very much doubted that he would go digging through all these boxes for another man. That was one advantage of womanhood, men were always willing to help me out.

Finally, he pulled two old shoe boxes out of a larger box and sat them on a barrel in front of me. He opened one, revealing dozens of dusty tapes. 'Stop stuttering' read one. 'Commanding stage presence,' read another. "The psychology department helped make these up in the late 50's," Leroy explained. "They were originally on records, but someone must have dubbed them to cassette since then. What exactly do you need?"

"Well, this might sound silly, but I need something to help me act more like a woman."

Leroy snorted. "That does sound silly."

"I'm serious! You see, I've always wanted to be an actress..."

"You have? Well, this Midsummer role..."

I silenced him with a look, a trick that I found only worked when people thought I was a woman. I continued. "I want to do some acting, but I just don't feel ladylike. My gestures are too masculine, I don't really have the right female mindset. Could your tapes help me with anything like that?"

"Well, I still say the problem is all in your mind, but let's see what we got." He rummaged through the boxes and pulled out a tape. Feminine deportment,' read the label.

"So how exactly do these tapes work?" I asked.

"You play them while you sleep. They sound like music, but they have a voice on them that only your subconscious mind picks up."

"I don't understand. What exactly does the voice say?"

"Well, these tapes work on the same principal those 'stop smoking' tapes. The voice tells your mind to do something that you lack the willpower or knowledge to do. Eventually your mind starts listening to the message and doing what it says."

That sounded scary. "What if I don't like what the message tells me to do?"

"Don't worry about it. Despite what you see in the movies, you can't hypnotize someone against their will. It's just like the stop smoking tapes. If you don't really want to quit, no amount of tapes can make you. Besides, I wouldn't worry about these tapes. They're designed for actors and actresses. They'll help you walk and talk like a female, but won't transform you into June Cleaver or anything."

"How long do the effects last?" I asked.

"As long as you want them too. Remember, your mind is in charge. The tapes can help you make changes as long as you want them. Stop wanting the changes, the tapes stop working. Of course, if you want the changes to be permanent, like not smoking or acting ladylike or whatever, you only have to listen to the tapes for a while. Once the desired behavior becomes second nature you won't need to be hypnotized any longer. But that would be an extreme case. I've never known a smoker who didn't occasionally sneak a cigarette. If you really want to make permanent changes, you'd probably have to listen to this tape for years."

That was a relief. I had had fears of being hypnotized into behaving like a woman and then not being able to change back when the time came.

I took the cassette. Leroy, after telling me once again he didn't think I really needed it, offered to show me out. I really didn't need help getting out of the small building, but I didn't feel like an argument.

As we were leaving the theater, I noticed a poster for the film I had seen on my infamous date with Steve. It was playing at a local theater and I remembered that, thanks to Steve's raging hormones, I never had seen the ending.

Leroy noticed me reading the ad. "Do you like that film?" he asked.

"Yeah, I guess. I saw it once, but never got to see the end."

"Well, I'm going to see it this Friday. Do you want to come with?"

"Uh, yeah, why not? I'll have to ask to borrow my sister's car, though."

"Don't worry about it. I'll pick you up."

We sat a time to meet and I left.

When I returned to my apartment that afternoon, I found Jenni was there, reading a magazine. Ever since the start of the school year, it seemed like she had practically moved in with me. Not that I minded, I enjoyed her company. John was busy blasting out the heavy metal version of The William Tell Overture on his bass guitar.

"Hi Dale!" shouted Jenni over the noise John was making. "How'd things go at the drama school?"

"Not bad. I got the tape. I doubt it will do me any good, but it's worth a try. Anything to help me get adjusted to this crazy life."

"Well, I hope it works. You've had a rough couple of weeks. What do you say I take you to dinner this Friday, my treat?"

"That'd be great. Oh, wait, I can't. I told some guy from the drama school I'd see a movie with him."

The was nasty sound as John hit an even more sour chord that usual. I then realized that both John and Jenni were staring at me with shocked expressions on their faces.

"You...you have a date?" asked Jenni uncertainly.

"Hell no! What are you talking about? I'm just going to the movies with a friend."

"Who's idea was it?" she asked.

"Well, it was his and...stop looking and me like that, you two! It's just two friends going to see a film."

"Are you going Dutch?" asked John.

"Well, no, he said he'd get the tickets from the box office, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Are you meeting him there or is he picking you up?" asked Jenni.

"He's picking me up, but what of it?"

"Well" said John, "I'm no Casanova, but if I asked a girl to see a movie with me, and I was picking her up and paying for it, I would just assume..."

It then hit me. How could I have been so stupid? Leroy had clearly asked me out and I had stupidly said yes! That's what comes from thinking like a man and living like a woman. I had thought Leroy was just asking a buddy to see a flick, while Leroy had obviously thought I had agreed to a date. Maybe the hypnosis tapes would help me avoid situations like this.

I felt like punching the wall. "So what do I do now?"

"Easy enough," said Jenni. "Just call him and cancel. Say something came up."

"But I don't have his number! All I know is that he's a drama student."

"Well," said Jenni, "perhaps you can find him at the drama school."

John shook his head. "No dice. The drama school's almost bankrupt. The building's only opened on Mondays and Tuesdays." It was Tuesday afternoon.

"Well," I said "that settles it. I guess I'll just have to wait until Friday and then tell him I'm sick."

"Yeah, that would be just great!" said John in a surprisingly angry voice. "Just let him think he has a date all week, and then stand him up on Friday night. That'll do wonders for his self esteem." Clearly John had been on the receiving end of this treatment before. He obviously didn't care for people who stood dates up at the last minute, whatever the reason.

"Well, John, what am I supposed to do? Be his girlfriend? He's not going to get anywhere with me, that's for damn sure."

"Just see the movie with him. When it's over, tell him you just want to be friends."

"And you think he won't be hurt by that?"

"Of course he'll be hurt! But it won't be as bad as getting stood up at the last minute." John seemed very bitter. I wondered what had happened in his past romantic life that made him so defensive about the feelings of others.

"I'm sorry John, I just really don't want to go out with him. I know it's my fault, but I'm not going to do it."

"Look," said John, somewhat calmer, "if you don't feel safe, why don't Jenni and I go with you? A double date. We won't let anything happen."

"You're going to badger me about this until I do the right thing, aren't you?"

John smiled his moronic smile. "Yep."

"Fine. I'll do it, but only because he was nice to me and I don't want to be mean in return. And that's the ONLY reason I'm doing it. The first time I hear either of you act like I want to do this, I'm history."

Jenni and John smiled innocently.

The next afternoon, Jenni took me to the mall to go clothes shopping. I didn't really feel up to it, but since I only had two or three outfits in my wardrobe I figured it was a necessity.

The first things we bought were shoes, since I only had two pairs and neither of them really fit. It wasn't easy finding them in my size, but eventually I managed to get some high heels, some pumps, and a pair of women's sneakers.

Next, Jenni dragged me into Victoria's Secret. I refused to buy and of the lacy feminine undergarments she picked out for me. I simply purchased a set of female pajamas and a matching bathrobe.

Then Jenni took me through practically every clothing store in the entire mall. It was a strange feeling, ducking into the women's dressing room to try on a skirt, but I soon got used to it. Jenni helped me select all the clothes I would need for the coming year: t-shirts, jeans, skirts, dresses, blouses, a coat, a jacket, and sweaters. As the clerk rang up our purchases, I realized something.

"Jenni, how can you afford all this?" She pretended not to hear me. I asked her again.

"Oh, I saved up a little. Don't worry about it."

"Saved up a little? Jenni, you were broke last week. How can you pay for all this?"

"Well, I sold my computer. It's no big deal. John said I could use his."

I was stunned. All John had was a crappy old laptop that didn't even have a modem. "Jenni, how could you do that? You loved that computer!"

"Well, it's mostly my fault that you have to dress this way, so I might as well dress you in style. You couldn't really go through the year wearing whatever I happen to have clean. Besides, your comments about me being afraid of Steve got me thinking. I have been hiding on the internet. I've been afraid to face the world. I think it's time that I get out there and make friends that I don't have to be online to talk to."

I smiled at her. I hoped she was telling me the truth. I knew how much she liked that computer and I hated to see her get rid of it on my account.

"Thank you Jenni. I think you're doing the right thing, getting out more, and believe it or not, I do appreciate the clothes. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?"

"Maybe there is. I was thinking that clip-on earrings don't look right on you. You'd really look a lot better with pierced ears. Lots of guys have pierced ears and the holes would heal by the time you went back to being a guy."

I won't bore you with a long transcript of my protestations. Suffice it to say that I left the mall that day with two small gold studs in my lobes.

Chapter Six:

That night I got ready for my non-date date. I just wanted to throw on a t-shirt and go, but Jenni insisted that I take a shower and put on makeup. I drew the line at wearing a pretty dress. Lots of women had gone out with me wearing a sweater and jeans and I figured that was good enough for me tonight. Jenni, on the other hand, was dressed to the nines. I guess she was making good on her resolution to get out more, she seemed to enjoy the idea of a night on the town. She looked awful pretty, even with the scars. Who knows, maybe the idea of her having a boyfriend wasn't so far fetched.

John wore his least smelly t-shirt and combed his hair. For him, that was dressing up.

At the appointed time, Leroy showed up, freshly showered and shaved. "You look great," he said.

"So do you," I replied without thinking.

Leroy seemed a little disappointed that John and Jenni would be coming with us. It wasn't hard to figure out why. It's not easy for a guy to put the moves on a girl when her friends are around. I was glad they were coming, now maybe I didn't have as much to worry about.

We drove to the movies in Leroy's car. This time, it was playing in one of those 'art' theaters, the kind that show foreign films and other flicks without car chases. Jenni loved that sort of place. John was put out that they didn't sell Milk Duds or candy bars. Leroy seemed to be enjoying himself. I just wanted the evening to be over.

As soon as the lights went dim, I had a horrible thought: what if Leroy put his arm around me like Steve had? I was planning on telling Leroy I just wanted to be friends after the movie. That would be a lot harder to tell him if I had let him hold me during the movie; he might think I was a tease. On the other hand, if I shrugged away or told him to back off, that might really hurt his pride. While I had no desire to get physical with him, I really didn't want to make him think he was unlikable. He was a nice guy, but I wasn't interested in nice guys.

As it turned out I had nothing to worry about; he never made an overt move. He did, however, keep inching his hand towards mine. It was obvious that he was hoping that I'd move my hand closer to his and we'd end up holding hands. Every time I noticed him doing this, I pretended to adjust my hair or scratch my wrist to get my hand out of the danger zone.

Finally, the movie was over. Despite the fact that John had made gunfire noise during the many combat scenes, it was kind of a fun experience. Still, I was more than ready for it to be over.

As we walked to the car, Leroy asked "So who wants to grab a bite to eat?" I made up an excuse about having a headache and asked to be driven home. I felt like slugging John when he said "Well, I'm damn hungry. C'mon Jenni, I know a place near here where you can get ten burgers for ten bucks!"

They were off into the night. I was so pissed! They knew I didn't want to be left alone with Leroy and they just went off to grab some food. Some friends.

Leroy seemed pleased with the turn of events. He was clearly hoping that I'd invite him inside and then offer to slip into something more comfortable. Fat chance of that happening.

Leroy walked me to the door of my building. "Jenni, I had a really good time tonight," he said.

"So did I," I replied. That was all it took. His face was slowly moving towards mine, going in for the obligatory good-night kiss. Not tonight, pal.

"Listen Leroy," I said, backing away, "I like you, you're a nice guy," I took a deep breath and then said it, "but I think we should just be friends." There. Short and nasty, but honest. I didn't want to hurt him, but I sure as hell didn't want to lead him on.

Leroy took it like a man. "Okay," he said. "I understand. But if you really want to be my friend, will you do something for me?"

"Uh, what did you have in mind?" If there was one thing I had learned recently, it was not to promise anything without thinking first.

"It's about the play. We have every part cast except for the role of Helena. If we don't start practicing soon, and I mean like this week, we're sunk. You'd be perfect."

Ug. "Leroy, I dunno..."

"Look, practice is only two nights a week, and the performance is right after winter break so it won't take up that much of your time. Besides, you told me you wanted that tape to help you become an actress. Well, here's your big chance!"

There was that old familiar feeling again. I felt like I was the only one who wasn't controlling my life. I couldn't back out on Leroy without him thinking that I had been lying to him. I agreed; if anything I'd be helping out some struggling actors. Besides, Jenni wasn't the only one who needed to get out more. Maybe acting would be a fun way to meet people, if only for a while.

After Leroy drove off, I consulted some old reference books I had lying around. I finally found a synopsis of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream.' The character I would be playing, Helena, was a shy girl who falls in love with, and eventually marries, a man named Demetrius.

I had heard the name Demetrius before. That was the role Leroy had said he would be playing.

Summer turned into fall, and fall into winter. John had a few more gigs. Jenni, although she never managed to get a date, was more sociable than she had been in a long time. It was good to see her getting out more. She seemed to have a lot more self esteem.

As for me, I was enjoying college life. Despite everything, I was managing to make friends and get out of the apartment. Every day I would rise an hour earlier than I had when I was living as a guy. I would shower and then do my hair. Jenni had arranged for me to have a perm, now my hair had a slight curl to it. Instead of just letting it hang free, I had to decide how I wanted to wear it that day: down, in a pony tail, in a bun, braided, or whatever.

After I had my hair fixed the way I wanted, I would start on my makeup. Due to months of practice, I had finally gotten to the point where I could make up my face satisfactorily. It was a dull process for me and I envied the many women I knew who didn't use makeup. Unlike them, they didn't need to prove to the world that they were women. I did. Still, that deception was getting easier and easier every day. I learned that a little makeup can go a long way. Another thing that helped was the electrolysis treatments I used to get rid of the few hairs on my face. I resigned myself to the fact that growing a beard really wasn't in my future, and to tell you the truth, it was nice not having to shave my face every couple of days. Unfortunately, I still had to shave my legs.

When my makeup was finished I would decide what I wanted to wear that day. Gone were the days when my only wardrobe decision dealt with whether my jeans were too smelly to wear another day. Now words like 'style,' 'matching,' and 'accessorize,' had meaning to me. I would often dress myself, decide that I didn't like what I had on, and change.

When I was finally ready to go, I would walk to class. I had been true to my promise to do well in school, I was excelling in every subject. When classes had first started, I would rush home and stay in my apartment for the rest of the day. Now I would usually stop for a coffee in the student union or go to the gym and work out. I didn't pump iron like I used to, of course, but I did do a lot of jogging and aerobics which helped me slim down.

Twice a week, in the evenings, I would go to play practice. At the first rehearsal I had realized that all of the other cast members were far and away better actors than I was. That meant I had to practice twice as much. I would often read my part over and over again at home, with Jenni and John reading the other lines. If this play didn't save the drama school it wasn't going to be because I didn't try.

Despite my early misgivings, my social life really took off. Though I managed never to get roped into another date, I did have a lot of friends to hang out with. Most of them were cast members from the play who always included me in their parties, road trips, and nights out. They were a great group of people. Sometimes I would see a movie or have a cup of coffee with Stephanie, the girl who had taken me to my first college party. Other nights I would hang out with members of the campus Greenpeace organization that I had recently joined. Sometimes Jenni, John, Leroy and myself would rent a movie or just sit around and talk.

Leroy had taken my request that we just be friends very seriously. He might not have stood a chance with me romantically, but he seemed genuinely interested in being my friend. He showed me around town and introduced me to a lot of his companions. He was a real nice guy and I enjoyed hanging out with him, but only platonicly, nothing more. He would still occasionally try to hold my hand or give me a hug, but he always took my rejection in stride. I guess it was true what they say: a guy could never truly be friends with a pretty girl. He'd always think of her as a sex object, if only subconsciously.

I didn't like the fact that in a year I would never see any of my new friends again. They were a lot of fun to be with, but I couldn't very well keep hanging out with them once I changed colleges and went back to being a guy. It was hard on me, a lot of them had gone out of their way to help me fit in and I was going to leave them without any explanation. Still, I was counting the days until I could toss away my panties and skirts forever.

I was listening to the hypnosis tapes every night. I have no idea if they helped or not; like Leroy said, the effects could be almost anything. I did notices that I had gradually gone from thinking of myself as a perverted man in a dress to more of a double-agent type roll. I felt like I was living someone else's life and that soon I could go back to being myself. It did me good to think of my life that way. I could stop focusing on what I was missing and start concentrating on what fun I could be having at the present time.

The thing that really bothered me was the fact that I had no chance of getting a date for an entire year. I was eighteen years old and my hormones were raging. Every time I saw a pretty girl, I would go nuts with unfulfilled desire. Once I had approached Jenni with the idea of joining a lesbian organization in hopes of meeting a woman who would like me as I was. Jenni had practically forbidden me. She was right, it was a dumb idea. I'd probably get caught and then my secret would be out. Besides, it would be mean to play with the emotions of some poor girl who thought she was dating a woman.

One night back in late August I was sitting in Jenni's dorm. She was giving me a pedicure. I didn't enjoy it, but she seemed to, and I didn't really mind. Once again, I broached the subject of my date-free life. It wasn't the current absence of women in my life that was really getting me down, I said. It was the fact that the absence would continue on until the summer with no chance of letting up. It really bummed me out.

"Well Dale," replied Jenni, putting away the toenail polish, "you are at that age where about all a guy thinks about is girls. It's those raging hormones that are doing it."

"I know, but I guess there's nothing to be done. Jesus, I feel like I'm in prison here. I figured I'd already have a girlfriend by now, and of course I don't."

"Listen Dale, I was on the internet today (though Jenni had sold her computer, she could still access the internet at the library). I found out about a chemical that could reduce your sexual desires greatly. Do you think that would make life easier for you?"

"Yeah, I think that it would. It seems like all I think about is women. What's this chemical called?"

"Well...estrogen."

"Estrogen? Female hormones? Sorry babe, I'm not that desperate."

Jenni pulled out some computer printouts. "Would you let me explain?"

"Explain what? That I'd grow breasts and start to like guys? Gimme a break!"

"It's not like that, Dale. Now listen." She consulted her sheets. "Your testicles, as you probably know, are producing a chemical called testosterone. That's what makes you a man. It make you like women, and have facial hair and rough skin and such. But if you were to start taking estrogen pills, then that would sort of neutralize the testosterone. Your sex drive would really drop off. Of course, you would develop some secondhand female characteristics. Your body fat would redistribute into a more womanly figure, so maybe you could get rid of some of that padding I know you hate. Your skin would get a little softer are more girlish, so you might be able to go without makeup sometimes. Your penis would grow smaller, so you could get a looser undergarment."

I snorted. "And next year I could just register as a girl again, since I'd practically look like one!"

"Don't be silly Dale. The estrogen would be fighting your testosterone. As soon as you stopped taking it all the new effects would go away. You'd slowly start to feminize, but you'd turn back into a man much more rapidly."

"But what if I started to like guys? I can't risk that!"

Jenni shook her head. "No chance. Sexual persuasion is all in the mind. Hormones can lower your sex drive, but not change it."

"Would I grow boobs?"

"Well, they say that your nipples enlarge and become more sensitive. Fat is redistributed to the chest, so I guess you would eventually grow tiny ones, though I'm not sure that you'd have time to do that. Just like all the other characteristics, they'd disappear when you stopped the estrogen. Here, look at this."

She handed me a color printout. It was contained two columns of photos. On the left where pictures of guys, ranging from wimpy to studly. On the right hand side were pictures of various women, ranging from plain to sexy. It didn't take long for me to realized that the women were actually the men after hormone therapy.

One picture showed a skinny, black-haired guy standing on a beach. He was wearing swimming trunks. The corresponding photo showed a curvy, topless woman posed erotically before a fireplace. She had very small breasts, but they were definitely something you would not find on a man. The nipples struck me especially; they were dark and erect. Her painted fingers covered her crotch and, I supposed, 'her' penis.

Another picture showed a blonde guy with his arm around a woman. 'Tim,' the first picture was labeled. The other picture showed a lovely, long haired blonde, wearing a one-piece bathing suit. 'Tamara,' said the other photo.

I handed the paper back to Jenni. "I dunno, sis. This seems like a drastic step."

"Think of it this way, Dale. You'll stop having to worry about not having dates, and you can ditch those pads and the girdle. You dress like, live like, and act like a woman. Would looking a little more like one really hurt?"

"Jenni, if I agree to do this, please don't tease me. Don't act like I'm enjoying this."

"Dale, I swear to God I wouldn't do that. I know things are rough for you and I'm not liking it either."

"Thanks Jenni. Okay, I'll take the hormones."

Jenni immediately placed a call to a distributor in Germany. The pills were Fed-exxed to me within the week.

Chapter Seven:

Soon it was winter. I had been on the estrogen pills for four months now and could already tell a difference. For starters, my sex-drive was now all but non-existent. I no longer brooded about not being able to get a date. Even when I was in the women's locker room I never even looked at the naked women around me (well, maybe once or twice).

Of course, not all the changes were mental. My penis seemed smaller and I could no longer make it hard. Thanks to the hormones, I bought a much looser sex hiding device. There wasn't as much to hide, now.

My skin seemed much softer. It was like it wasn't my own any more, it seemed too delicate. My hair also felt a little silkier. My muscle tone decreased. Feats of strength that I had taken for granted in the past now were difficult, if not impossible. I sometimes had to ask John to help me move things that I had easily lifted months ago.

The fat on my body began to redistribute itself. Instead of excess flab congregating in my belly, it began to gather in my chest and hips. I no longer needed to stick the Maxis in my panties; my rear and hips were now large enough not to require them. I also ditched the girdle. While I still didn't have an hourglass figure, I felt I was shapely enough on my own to do without that uncomfortable thing.

My chest was also swelling. I didn't have anything close to a woman's chest, but I was 'blossoming.' There were definite mounds under my nipples that had not been there before. I wondered how big they would be by the summer. My nipples were a much darker shade of brown than before and they seemed to cover a larger area. They were also a lot more sensitive. While caressing my penis no longer produced the sexual stimulation it once had, playing with my nipples turned me on a little.

I really didn't care for all these changes, but they were tolerable. Getting rid of the padding was nice and the lowered sex drive certainly made me a lot calmer. Besides, all these effects were only temporary. School ended in June, I could survive another half year like this.

In retrospect, I think my plans to change back into a guy over the summer would have gone perfectly, had it not been for the great meningitis outbreak.

They still talk about it on campus. That winter, the state was hit by the worst meningitis outbreak of this century. Half the campus was sick. For the first time in the university's 150 year history all classes were cancelled. Play practice was suspended indefinitely. The campus dining halls shut down.

While John and I managed to avoid the illness, Jenni and Leroy both got it bad and were bedridden for a week. I played nursemaid to both of them, bringing them chicken soup and taking care of them. I knew taking such an interest in Leroy would make it appear that we were more than just friends, but I had no choice. His parents lived out of the state and he was in no position to take care of himself.

Then, just when it looked like everyone was going to recover, I got some bad news. It seemed that the campus health service feared another possible outbreak of the disease, this one worse than before. In order to prevent this, every student, faculty, and staff member had to go to the campus hospital for a complete physical. A clean bill of health would be required to register for the next semester.

I was scared. I didn't want to go to my appointment; a doctor might see through my disguise. I voiced my concerns to Jenni, who told me not to worry. "They've had to see so many patients this week that they won't spend any more time with you than necessary. Just tell them you feel great and they probably won't do anything more than take your pulse."

Nervous, but knowing that I really had no choice, I went to my appointment. The sign on the office door I was directed to read "Dr. Alice Auger, M.D." I was eventually summoned inside.

The doctor told me to sit on the examination table. She was rather young to be a doctor, she couldn't have been older than thirty. She was pretty in a no-nonsense type of way. When I entered she was leafing through a manila folder. Finally she looked up.

"So Mr. Simmons, would you care to tell me why you've been pretending to be a woman this year?"

I felt dizzy. The nightmare had come true. I was found out, and by a school authority at that. All she had to do was report me to the dean and I'd be flipping burgers for the rest of my life. I tried to act surprised. "Pretending? Whatever do you mean?"

Dr. Auger's grey eyes turned cold. "Why I mean, young man, is that you can falsify your college records, but your medical records are with you for your entire life. Look here," she said, indicating an old test result "Simmons, Dale R. MALE."

I tried to laugh it off. "You obviously have the test results of some other Dale."

The doctor handed me a photo out of my file. "Look familiar?" she asked. I recognized the snapshot. It was a Polaroid my old doctor had taken of me after the physical I needed to play high school basketball. He said he took pictures of all his patients so that their records couldn't be mistaken for someone else's. He was right, now I couldn't say the file belonged to anyone but me. Thanks a lot, doc!

"I've been looking at your school records," continued the doctor. "you registered as a woman, and since you haven't had any trouble going to class, you must be dressing like this full time." She snapped the file shut, angrily. "Now should I have you kicked out of school now, or do you want to try to explain this?"

I explained. It was like a dam bursting; once I started I couldn't stop myself. All the truth came out, about Jenni, Steve, the internet, Leroy, and the hormones. I pulled a snapshot of Jenni out of my purse to prove she wasn't a fabrication. I ended by telling the doctor that she could call Jenni or John if she wanted to confirm my story.

I couldn't bring myself to look at Dr. Auger the story. By the time I was finished I had my head in my hands, crying. All my struggles this year, everything I had worked for, all my desperate attempts not to get kicked out of school had just blown up in my face. I just wanted to pack my things and leave town. Start all over in another city.

I was shocked when I felt the gentle pressure of Dr. Auger's hand on my shoulder. "You poor thing," I heard her say. I looked up at her. She was no longer looking at me with anger, but with pity.

She turned and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. "You'll have to forgive me Mr...uh, Ms...you'll have to forgive me Dale. Thanks to the health crisis, I haven't had a good night's sleep in over a week. I shouldn't have blown up at you like that. I didn't think you could have a reasonable explanation for your deception, but you did."

I let out a half laugh/half cry. "So you're not going to report me?"

Dr. Auger looked strangely distant. "No, I'm not."

I did laugh this time. "So everything's okay?"

She shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

My spirits sank. "What's wrong?" I asked, dreading the answer.

"Well, for starters, I don't like this mail-order hormone business. I'm going to prescribe you some myself, you should be under a doctor's care. But that's not our main problem." Despite my worry, I noticed that she said 'our' problem instead of 'your' problem.

"Our main problem," she continued "is that in order for me to check your lungs with a stethoscope, I'll have to ask you to take off your shirt. And then the fact that you are a man would be obvious, even if I hadn't looked at your file. If I don't report this, then I'd be falsifying patient records, which goes against my medical ethics."

"I don't suppose you'd bend the rules, this once?" I asked, hopefully.

"Bending the rules isn't the issue, Dale. If you were ever to be found out, then people would know that I had helped you deceive the school. Either that or they'd think that I did such a shoddy examination that I didn't even know your true sex. Either way I'd be fired, and probably loose my medical license."

"But," I protested meekly "I won't get caught! I'm extra careful and I only have to do this for one more semester."

The doctor shook her head. "You can't guarantee that. You could get spotted in a rest room, or tear your shirt on something, or be in an accident and get rushed to the hospital. I'm sorry, but I doubt if emergency room doctors will be all understanding as I am."

"But those are crazy situations. They probably wouldn't happen!"

"Dale, I've busted my ass in medical school to become a doctor and I'm still not even close to having my loans paid off. I can't risk all that I've worked for, my entire future, on 'probably won't.'"

I was glad I was in a hospital, I felt positively ill. I knew I couldn't ask her to risk her whole career for me. "So what do I do now?" I asked. "Drop out?"

The doctor gave me her pitying smile again. "Well, there may be a way out for both of us. I think I can trust you to keep what's in your panties a secret until June. Your lack of breasts, on the other hand, well...that's what scares me."

"Would more hormones give me breasts?" I asked, not sure that I really wanted my own set, for whatever reason.

"No, not in the time frame we're looking at. What I had in mind was implants. I have a colleague who has developed a new type of breast implant. Nothing revolutionary, they're just a little more durable than what's available now. In order for him to get them approved by the FDA he has to allow a group of volunteers to use them for eight months. You know, to make sure there are no side-effects. I'm sure there won't be, but rules are rules. I'd like to sign you up for this study. If you have breast implants then I'm willing to not say anything about your true sex. You won't be charged anything for the surgery and you can have them removed in late August."

I was flabbergasted at her suggestion. "Implants? Are you nuts? I don't want breasts! I didn't ask for any of this, it was all forced on me. I couldn't have them removed in August anyway. I'm going to use the summer to transition from a female life to a male one."

"Dale, the FDA requires eight months. Their rules are very strict. So are mine: implants or drop out."

"You know I can't do either!"

"One or the other."

Christmas break was nearly over. Jenni and I had no real desire to spend the holidays with our mother. Instead, we had just had a quiet celebration in my apartment.

Christmas break was also the time I had scheduled the surgery for. As I figured it, there was no other way out. Eight months with breasts or drop out of school.

The day after classes let out for the break I checked into the hospital. Dr. Auger (who had since insisted that I call her Alice) had made all the arrangements. She helped me to my room, explained to me exactly what the process would entail, and was even there when the anesthesia took effect.

"Don't worry," I remembered her saying as I went under. "Everything is going to be all right. And when you wake up you'll have a lovely pair of breasts."

What I woke up with was a dull ache in my chest. My upper torso was totally swathed in bandages, I couldn't tell what the results of the surgery looked like. I felt heavier up top; it was like they had bandaged over my falsies.

That was almost a month ago. It was now early January and classes started tomorrow. It was time for the bandages to come off. True, the dressings had been changed weekly at the hospital since the surgery, but I had always closed my eyes while my chest was scrubbed and rebandaged. I knew my new breasts would look pretty torn up after the operation and I didn't want to see them until they were as healed as possible.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror that Jenni had bought me for Christmas. I was in my room with the door locked. I was wearing only my sex-hiding underwear and the bandages on my chest. Even practically naked, I felt that I looked damn girlish. The hormones had certainly done their job, I now looked more like a woman than I ever had. I was worried about the next school year: if I had to stay like this all summer then there wouldn't be much time for me to 'change back' before classes.

I picked up the pair of hospital scissors that I would use to clip the wrappings. I hesitated. I put them down and picked them up again. Finally, I closed my eyes and cut. I felt the bandages fall away and opened my eyes.

There they were. The objects I had fantasized about since I was eleven or twelve. Breasts. Boobs. Hooters. Tits. Still slightly bruised, they hung from my chest down to the bottom of my rib cage. My enlarged nipples were no longer under my shirt pocket, but a couple of inches lower. The cold air caused them to harden. They certainly looked more in place now!

I swayed a bit to the left. So did my new appendages. I felt the right one rub against the left one. That was another odd sensation: sensitivity in places that didn't even exist before. I leaned ahead. My breasts swung forward like two fatty pendulums. I could almost touch them with my face. I lay down flat on my back. They flattened out, gently sliding down upon my chest.

I still hadn't had the nerve to touch them. They seemed so unreal! Finally, I reached up my hand and ran it down the left one. Soft, not unlike a water balloon. I ran my finger through the cleavage (I had cleavage now!). The valley was warm and yielding. I touched the nipple. Hard, and much more sensitive. I held breast in my hand. It was heavier than I had thought it would be. It was a strange and stimulating sensation. Just last year I had been thrilled by my one and only contact with human breasts. Now I had an even bigger pair growing on my own body!

I sat down on my bed and stared at them for a good fifteen minutes. Then I looked in the mirror and studied my body. A stranger now stared back at me. Who was this woman in the glass? Were was that college man who had so confidently moved in here a few months ago? Where was the masculine figure, the manly face? Wherever it was, it sure wasn't in the glass. What was between my legs was all that was left of my past.

I felt dizzy and sat down again. This wasn't right! How could helping my sister have gone so far? Whose fault was it? Before, I could have just chucked the female side of me whenever I felt I couldn't take it anymore. Now I was stuck as a woman until I could arrange for the corrective surgery.

Could I live for eight months like this? Could I go back to being a man afterwards? Would I ever be able to forget this side of me? I didn't know, only time would tell.

I spent a good three hours 'getting to know' my new chest. That may seem like a long time, but keep in mind I had developed my breasts in one day. With real women the process takes years. Finally, I decided to get dressed.

First, I tossed the mastectomy bra in my bottom drawer. Another piece of padding gone. All that was left was the rubber thing that kept my penis hidden. When I got right down to it, I could even go out without that if my clothes were loose enough. My penis was now small enough that it really didn't show. I had even taken to peeing sitting down. In public restrooms I sat so no one would be surprised by an upright pair of legs under the stall door. Now it was second nature.

When I thought about it, the only thing (besides my penis, or course) that distinguished me from an actual woman was my failure to menstruate. To myself, to John, to Jenni, I was a man. To the world at large, I was a woman.

I pulled on a bra that I had stolen from Jenni. It was too small. I pulled on one of the ones I had recently purchased at the department store. That one was a little big, but adequate. I figured I was about a 'C' cup. The bra supported me in a way that was reassuring. It was nice to be able to walk without the darn things bouncing around, and a lot less uncomfortable.

I pulled on some jeans, and then a front-buttoning blouse. It no longer fit; my real breasts were bigger than the fake ones had been. I pulled on another shirt. It fit, but tightly. I unbuttoned the first few buttons and let the cleft of my breasts show. Erotic, I looked like the naughty secretary on some porno video. Finally, I put on a sweater. Even through that I could tell how huge they were. They also looked more realistic than the fakes. They moved and jiggled more like the real things.

I made up my face. Then, with some stage makeup I had got at the drama department, I covered up the surgical bruises the best I could. When I was finished I called Jenni and asked her if she wanted to have dinner. She said she'd be right over.

I had decided not to tell her about the surgery. Up until the last minute I had been afraid that I would wuss out. I figured if she knew she'd force me to go through with it. Now I figured there'd be no point in hiding them.

When Jenni came over, I lured her into my room on a pretext. I then asked her what she thought of the sweater I was wearing.

"To tell you the truth Dale, I don't care for it. It doesn't match your complexion. You know, there's something different about you. Did you do something new with your hair?"

I smiled, the picture of innocence. "Nothing new I can think of. Let me just change real quick." I pulled off my sweater.

Jenni's scream was so loud that it brought John pounding on my locked door, asking if we were okay.

"We're fine," I hollered back.

It took Jenni a few seconds to be able to say anything. "Dale...how?" she stammered.

I explained everything to her. She just sat there, staring at my chest like a drunk frat boy, her eyes as big as saucers.

"So, what do you think?" I ventured.

Jenni shook her head, as if to clear it. "Dale," she began. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way. I don't want to hurt your feelings, I just think you need to know the truth."

I was a little shocked by this. I had figured she would have complimented me on rising to the occasion and doing what I had to do.

"Dale," she went on, "you look absolutely adorable! They're beautiful! Please don't be hurt, but you're a doll."

"Well, better to have them look good than to look bad, I suppose." At least Jenni liked them, for a second I was afraid she was going to say I had made a big mistake. Two big mistakes, I guess.

"Why didn't you tell me, you silly person? Why the surprise?"

"Like they say at the drama school, 'the entrance is everything.' You were pretty taken aback, right?"

"To say the least! We have to go clothes shopping! You'll need lots of new tops, especially for warm weather. Why, you could even wear a bikini top now!"

"Calm down Jenni. Eight months, no more. I'll buy whatever I need to, but no point in throwing money away."

Jenni looked a little sad. "I know, but you do make a great woman. Don't be offended, it's true. I don't suppose you'd like to try it for two years? Not many guys get to experience life from a woman's point of view."

"Not many guys want to. Sorry. Come August, off they come."

Jenni nodded, wistfully. "Well, enjoy them while you can then." A thought seemed to hit her. "Hey, does John know?"

"No," I replied. "He just got back from his mother's place today."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go give him a shock!"

I pulled on a blouse and unbuttoned it almost to my navel. We found John in the kitchen, reading the Sunday comics. Though it was seven at night he was wearing his bathrobe and sipping coffee like he had just gotten up.

"Hi, big boy," I said, it my most sultry voice.

He glanced up, then went back to his funnies. "Hey Dale. Hi Jenni. Boy, I would not want to be in Beetle Bailey's shoes right now!"

Jenni and I walked back to the living room. A few seconds later we heard a crash as John half jumped, half fell out of his chair. He rushed into the living room and stared at me, as if to confirm what he thought he had seen. His face asked the question that his mouth couldn't.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I replied coyly. I buttoned my blouse and left for dinner with Jenni, leaving behind a very confused John.

Chapter Eight:

It was now January and I was not in a good mood. Play practice was going slowly. We were afraid that we wouldn't be ready for the big performance that was coming up. My classes were hard and I didn't have much time to enjoy myself. To make matters worse, I hadn't had a good night sleep in over a month. All my life I had slept on my stomach. Now, thanks to my breast implants, I could no longer sleep like that. It was just too uncomfortable. I slept on my back, which I was not used to and did not enjoy.

I was in an especially bad mood when I came home from theater practice that night. I had blown several important lines and embarrassed myself in front of the whole crew. On top of that, I realized that I had forgotten my purse in the dressing room. I had to walk all the way back to the auditorium to retrieve it.

When I got to the auditorium, I realized that some sort of performance was happening there that night. I looked at the poster in the lobby:

"Brian the Great and his lovely assistant, Rhea, performing amazing illusions, death-defying escapes, and miraculous feats of magic, tonight only! Admission, $10."

I had always enjoyed stage magic, so I decided to catch a bit of the act before I went to get my bag. I was friends with the security guard so he let me in for free. I took a seat near the front.

The magician, Brian, was a tall guy, not bad looking, with a somewhat crazed expression on his face. I couldn't tell if that was his natural look or if he was just hamming it up for the audience. He reminded me a bit of John.

His assistant, Rhea, was very pretty. She was quite thin, with long red hair, well formed breasts, and lots of freckles. She was wearing a very skimpy bikini. It had no shoulder straps and her chest constantly seemed on the verge of busting (pardon the pun) out of her top.

"What a tease," I thought "She's just showing off her figure. What's the point of wearing a costume that tiny?" Then it hit me. Here I was, looking at a gorgeous woman in a skimpy swimsuit and all I could think of was her need for modesty. I rubbed my temples. I had been acting like a woman for too long.

Brian strapped Rhea into a large, frontless box, with her arms tied perpendicularly from her body. She looked absurdly like a sexy crucifixion victim. Brian then slid two large metal sheets into the box; one right below her shoulders, the other right above her hips. It seemed like he had divided her into thirds. He then grabbed the middle of the box and pulled. Rhea's midsection, containing her breasts and belly seemed to slide away from the rest of her body. It was as if her torso was several feet to the right where her head, arms and legs were. That explained the lack of straps on her bikini: the metal sheets would have sliced through the straps, ostensibly severing the bikini and baring her chest.

Brian leaned over and kissed Rhea on the lips. I borrowed a program from the guy next to me and read a little bit about the magical duo. It was just as I has suspected, they were a husband and wife team. Their act was quite good, but I didn't really feel like hanging around for it. I ducked backstage to the dressing rooms before Rhea had been reassembled.

I stole into the room where I had changed for rehearsal. As I picked up my purse, I noticed some things in the room that hadn't been there before: a suitcase, a couple of swords, and a chainsaw. Of course, Brian and Rhea must have been using this dressing room. I decided I had better leave before they caught me trespassing in what was supposed to be their private changing room. I figured members of a magic act wouldn't take kindly to someone snooping around their props.

Just then there was thunderous applause from the audience, followed by some footsteps coming very near the door. Damn! Cutting Rhea up must have been their grand finale. The door started to swing open. I quickly ducked into the closet.

I didn't shut the door all the way so that I could look out and see when the coast was clear. Much to my horror, Brian quickly locked the door and grabbed Rhea around her now intact waist and kissed her.

"You were incredible tonight," she told him when their lips parted.

"I owe it all to you, honey," he replied. "But if you want to see incredible..."

Much to my horror, he began undoing her bikini top. No, not here, not now! I could be stuck in this closest all night! All I had wanted to do was grab my purse, not spy on a married couple making love. I knew that I was stuck and couldn't get home until after I was sure they were gone.

Rhea began unbuttoning Brian's shirt. "You men," she said jokingly, "always one thing on your minds."

I had ducked back into the corner of the closest when Brian said something that made me do a double take. "Hey Rhea, don't bad mouth men. Up until a couple of years ago, you were one!"

Had I heard him right? Did he just say that Rhea, his lovely assistant and wife, used to be a man?

Rhea helped Brian off with his shirt. "Well, if I hadn't fallen for you I'd probably still be a man. But to tell you the truth, I still only have one thing on my mind..." She rubbed against him in such a way that left little doubt as to what that 'one thing' was.

I couldn't believe it! Rhea used to be a man! I wondered how the change had come about. I never would have pegged Rhea for a transsexual. It was mind boggling. I thought about trying to find her later and asking her what had happened, but thought the better of it. Her past was her business and I had no right to intrude. I would just hide until they left and try to forget what I had heard.

Unfortunately, I was rather clumsy that night and managed to knock over a stack of boxes while making myself comfortable. I heard Rhea gasp in horror. Seconds later, Brian yanked open the closet door.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he yelled.

"I was just getting my purse," I tried to explain.

Rhea began to cry. "My God, she knows, she knows," she sobbed. I felt terrible. I wanted to tell her that they had nothing to worry about, but Brian interrupted me.

"Listen, whoever you are," he said while pulling on his shirt, "you heard something you had no right to hear. I'll give you $300 to keep your mouth shut. It's no one's business but our own."

I tried to tell him I wasn't out for a bribe, but "No..." was a far as I got.

"Not good enough for you?" said Brian, desperately. "Okay, $500."

"No, you don't understand...."

"Fine, one thousand bucks, just to keep your mouth shut. One grand not to ruin our lives. Deal?"

I tried to explain that I wasn't trying to blackmail them. "Please, I don't want that."

Brian yanked out a checkbook and appeared to check the balance. "$3,305 and 55 cents!" he shouted, on the verge of panic. Rhea sobbed harder.

I couldn't take it any more. Even if I promised to keep my mouth shut for free, they'd always live in fear that I'd blab. I figured that they had gone to considerable lengths to cover up Rhea's past and I had no right to destroy their domestic tranquility. I had only one option.

"Please listen to me," I told them, praying I wasn't making a mistake. "I'm not going to tell. You see...I'm a man."

"What?" said Brian, taken aback. He looked me over critically. "Don't give me that crap."

"It's not crap," I replied. "I never would have guessed that your wife wasn't born a woman. You shouldn't find it hard to believe that I'm a guy."

Rhea had stopped crying. "You really are a guy?" she asked, her voice hoarse from crying. "Wow! I honestly can't tell. And here I thought I was an expert on transsexuals!"

"Oh, I'm not a transsexual."

"Really?" asked Rhea, pulling on a robe. "They why do you look so much like a girl? If I'm not mistaken, those are real breasts."

I looked down, embarrassed. "I wish I could tell you, but I doubt you'd understand."

Rhea took my hand in hers. I looked up at her. She certainly was pretty, but close up she didn't resemble the sexpot she had been on stage. She seemed more like the girl next door. The small town high school prom queen. She smiled at me and asked me my name.

"It's Dale," I replied shyly.

"That's a nice name. Listen Dale, you'd be surprised at how well I could understand what you're going through. It might shock you to learn that when I first started dressing like a woman I had no desire to become one. Would you like to hear my story?"

"Yes, if you don't mind telling me."

"Do you promise that whatever I tell you doesn't leave this room? Brian wasn't exaggerating, if my secret got out our lives would be ruined."

"I promise. Hell, if my secret ever got out, my life would be ruined."

Rhea looked questioningly at Brian, who nodded. She then began her narrative.

"Three years ago I was a guy named Ray who lived in a stink hole of a town called Dead Springs, Nevada. Brian was a magician at a hotel there, I was a stage hand. Things were going great for Brian, he had just signed on to perform at a large hotel in Las Vegas. Unfortunately for him his assistant, Tracy, had just gotten engaged and wanted to leave the act to raise a family. That stuck Brian without an assistant, and without an assistant he was out of an act. In desperation Tracy asked me to dress in drag and be his lovely assistant for the year. I was so broke and desperate to escape the poverty level that I agreed."

Brian placed his hands lovingly on Rhea's shoulders. "As you can see," he said "things didn't go quite as planned. I couldn't resist this lovely young woman."

"And after dressing as Rhea for a year, I couldn't resist this handsome young man." Rhea reached up and kissed Brian (author's note: if you would like to read Rhea and Brian's whole story, check out 'Presto Chango' by this author).

"So now you know our story," continued Rhea. "Now would you tell us yours? You know that we wouldn't tell."

I explained everything. As I was telling them how I had turned from a college guy into a man with soft skin and breasts, I began to think. I had never meant to let this many people in on my secret. Jenni was supposed to be the only one who knew. John found out because he lived with me. I had told Dr. Alice because I had no choice. Now here I was telling two complete strangers my history. I would have to be more careful, I couldn't afford to let anyone else in on my secret.

When I had finished, Rhea turned to Brian and asked for a moment alone with me. Brian kissed her again and left. Rhea turned to me.

"Dale," she began "I know I don't know you that well, but I think I understand your situation enough to offer you some advice. Please, please be careful. You are playing a dangerous game. I don't just mean that you could get caught. I mean that you might find it's not as easy to go back to manhood as you think. At one time I was sure that I would go back to being Ray the first chance I got, now look at me."

I was confused. "What exactly are you saying?" I asked.

"What I'm saying is that the longer you dress like a woman, the harder it will be for you to come back. You may find you don't even want to."

I snorted. "Please. Maybe you like being a woman, but I don't. Come August I'm leaving this life behind!"

Rhea smiled at me. "I hope you're right. But remember one thing. If you should decide that you do want to stay this way, then don't fight it. You might regret it. I...I once told Brian that I wasn't interested in him, that I wanted to go back to being a man. That was the biggest mistake I ever made and I almost lost him. Fortunately I ended up following my true feelings and having a sex change."

Rhea's voice was unsteady, the memory breaking up with Brian was obviously a painful one.

"Well, I'm happy that you're happy Rhea, but I think you're wasting your time telling me this. I'm not going to fall in love with a guy."

"That's exactly what I said when I first started dressing like this. It can sneak up on you, so watch yourself. Be especially careful of that Leroy guy you told us about. Sounds like a girl could fall for him if she's not careful."

I rolled my eyes.

Rhea handed me a business card. "Well, no matter what happens, please keep in touch. If you ever need advice about anything, just call me."

We hugged. Despite her crazy history and even crazier advice, I liked her, she was a good person who meant well. She stood up. "Now if you excuse me, I need to go find my husband. There's a hot tub back at the hotel with our names on it."

I took the hint and left. All the way home I thought about what she said, and dismissed it at nonsense. Me fall for a guy? Me decide to stay a woman? Please.

Chapter Nine:

In late January, Jenni and I got the news we'd been dreading. Since we hadn't come home for Christmas, our mother was coming up to visit us for parents' weekend. She didn't ask. Merely informed us.

Jenni and I had discussed ways to avoid seeing her. But we decided that since this summer, I'd have to detransition at Mom's house, she might as well know the state of things.

I sat in my bedroom, panicking. Mom had reacted terribly to Jenni's disfigurement. How would she deal with her son having boobs?

"Calm down, Dale," said Jenni, for the nth time. "Just wait in here. I'll explain things to her. How this wasn't your idea, and it's all only temporary."

This didn't relax me. "Right. 'Mom, Dale's kind of a girl now. But just for the year. It's a funny story, really...'"

A loud knock at the apartment door startled us. I gripped Jenni's hand.

"I got this," she said, with a comforting smile.

I heard the door open, then I heard Jenni shriek. I ran to look in the living room. It wasn't our mother at the door.

It was a pirate. Complete with eyepatch, gold teeth, earrings, and tattoos. He stared at Jenni in confusion.

"Uh, hello Miss. I'm looking for--"

"Daddy!" John came bolting out of his room. He half hugged, half tackled our visitor. A brief wrestling match followed, with John ending up in a headlock.

"My boy, the college man!" bellowed his father, giving my roommate a noogie. "My son at the university."

John disentangled himself, smiling sheepishly. "Dad, this is my friend Jenni, and my roommate, Dale."

His dad looked at me in surprise. "Roommate? You never told me--"

"We're just friends!" John and I said emphatically at the same time. We then glanced at each other. I think we were both just slightly offended at the other's reaction.

John's dad still looked confused. "I thought you said your roommate was a guy?"

"Um...he's gone. In prison. Tried to kill the pope, it was terrible."

His dad gave him a funny look, then shrugged. "Well, let me take you and your lady friends to lunch."

"Thanks," said Jenni, "But we're waiting for our mother."

We watched at the guys brawled their way down the stairs. Then we looked at each other and laughed.

That was a mistake. We were too busy giggling to notice a new visitor had passed John and his father as they left.

"Dale? My God, Dale, is that you?"

I stiffened and turned. Mother. There in all her primped and perfumed perfection. Looking as young and sexy as half the girls on campus. Staring at her son, with his skirt, makeup, long hair, and breasts.

"Mom!" said Jenni. "I know this is a shock, but--"

Mom shut her up with a wave of the hand. She took a step forward. It took a lot of courage for me not to dive into my room.

She looked me over. My clothes, my curves, my face. The inspection took forever. I wanted to scream that none of this was planned, none of this was my idea. But I knew Mom had to speak first.

"Dale?" she said eventually.

"Yes?"

"You...you..."

"Yes?" I squeaked.

"You're gorgeous! My God, you look incredible! Why didn't you tell me?'

Well, things could have been worse.

"It's kind of my fault," Jenni tried to explain. "You see--"

Again, the hand wave. "Later, Jenni." Mom took my hand in hers. "Goodness, you look sensational. Let me take you out to eat and you can tell me your secrets."

Mom dragged me out the door. Jenni, as an afterthought, followed.

*

That night, I sat in Jenni's bedroom. She hadn't stopped crying for twenty minutes. I sat by her bed, rubbing her shoulders.

To think, I'd been worried that Mom wouldn't understand. That she'd be angry. That she'd be embarrassed by her gender bending son.

No, just the opposite. She loved the change. Couldn't stop talking about how beautiful I was. Wanted to know all about my surgery, the play, and Leroy. By the time the meal was over, she'd made plans for us to have a spa vacation over the summer. Makeovers. New wardrobe.

Special mother and daughter time.

Jenni was not invited.

She was still crying. I had to say something. "Jenni, I never wanted this to happen."

My sister looked up at me, red eyed and miserable. "I did. Ever since the accident. I wanted Mom to look at me the way she looked at you. To let me know she still found me beautiful. Acceptable. Non-hideous."

"Jenni, you're not--"

"Yes I am! I'm not even as pretty as my brother! He's the pretty one! The actress! The one with guys chasing him! Mom's favorite."

I grabbed Jenni by the shoulders firmly. "Stop it! Stop it! Jenni, neither of our lives are going the way we want them. Do you think I actually want to spend the summer with Mom? Because I don't! I'm not. I'm going to spend it here, on campus, with the most beautiful girl I know."

She wouldn't look at me. "Knock it off."

"Damned if I will. You've always been the greatest thing in my life, and half the time I don't really like you. Jesus, it's your fault I'm stuck this way. But I've always known you're an incredible person. And I Mom can't see that, to hell with her."

My sister smiled slightly. "You ought to take Mom up on her offer. Those spas can be fun. Not that I'd know."

I laid my chin on her head and hugged her. "Jenni, no matter what happens, it's going to you and me. Best friends. Siblings."

She hugged me back. "Sisters."

Chapter Ten:

While the audience thunderously applauded, I linked hands with the rest of the cast and took a bow. It was a glorious feeling that I had never had before. To have a hundred plus people applauding, laughing at, and enjoying our performance. To be in the center stage, the lime light! All our hard work had paid off. 'Midsummer' was a smash hit. We had performed to three sold out houses. After the second night we received word from the administration that, due to our fine performance (not to mention all the money we brought in), the drama school would be around for at least another year.

Every performance had gone flawlessly. No one missed a cue or botched a line. This was my first acting experience but I thought I had done pretty well. Even though this was closing night, when actors are usually tired and not up to par, we were still sensational. I would certainly miss all this when I went back to being a man next year. Maybe I could try my hand at being an actor some day.

The audience kept applauding, so we bowed again. I discreetly placed my hand over my chest as we did so. All female cast members (and myself) were wearing frilly period dresses. That meant the neckline was quite low and much cleavage was visible. While I had suffered through this costuming without complaining, I didn't want to give the audience a full 'tittie shot' when I bowed.

Then it happened. The man who played Oberon turned and kissed his love interest, Titania. The audience went nuts, they loved it. Next, the man who played Theseus kissed his love interest, Hippolyta. There was more cheering from the crowd.

Up till then I didn't think anything was strange. The guy playing Oberon was married to the woman playing Titania in real life. Theseus and Hippolyta were dating. But then something strange happened. The man playing Lysander kissed his love interest, Hermia. I was shocked. They certainly weren't romantically involved. In fact in real life they didn't seem to really like each other, even as friends. Still, Lysander continued to kiss her and she didn't seem offended at all.

There was only one more couple in the play, Helena (me) and Demetrius (Leroy). Well, three out of four couples wouldn't be bad. Surely Leroy would know better than to...

My thoughts were interrupted when Leroy gingerly placed his hands on my cheeks and kissed me. I was too shocked to offer any resistance.

When Steve had forced a kiss on me it had been a gross and disgusting experience. His jabbing tongue, his slobbering lips, his groping fingers all coupled with the knowledge that he wanted to sleep with me...I still cringed when I thought of it.

Leroy's kiss, though unwelcome, was different. His hands didn't feel me up, they tenderly touched the sides of my face. His tongue wasn't eager and probing, he kept it in his mouth. His lips weren't rough and violent, they were soft and kind. With Steve, kissing had been a means to an end, with Leroy it had been an end in itself.

Leroy pressed our lips together and held me for what felt like thirty seconds, but was probably more like three. Then he let go.

I managed to bow one more time and then exit with the rest of the cast: women to stage left, men to stage right. As we made our way to the women's dressing room, my blood began to boil. The nerve of Leroy! Just using the play as an excuse to kiss me! What a jerk, all that talk about being friends obviously meant nothing to him. He saw me as nothing more than a sex object!

My mind burned with revenge. I wanted to burst right into the men's dressing room and call him every name in the book. I wanted to humiliate him in front of the entire cast, to make him so embarrassed that he'd never act again. No, I'd wait until the cast party when I knew that everyone associated with the play would be there. God, getting back at Leroy would be sweet!

It took a fellow cast member to bring me back to earth. I was sitting at the makeup table removing all the grease paint and powder. Next to me sat Lisa, the girl who had played Hermia. She was the other girl who had been unexpectedly kissed by her partner. Maybe she'd want to join me in humiliating the men (I thought that without stopping to think that I was a man). I turned to her.

"Can you believe those guys kissed us like that? The nerve!" I expected her reply to be equally as vitriolic, but she merely shrugged.

"Aw, boys will be boys. Besides, I think it ended the play nicely, what with all four couples kissing and all. Remember, 'Midsummer' is a romance."

That brought me back to reality. Of course. Leroy wasn't kissing me for the sake of kissing me. He just wanted to end play on a happy note. It would have looked odd if we were the only couple who didn't kiss at the end. I couldn't believe how vain I had been to think that he had only wanted to kiss me for selfish reasons. Thank God I had talked to Lisa before I had made a big ass of myself in public.

When I came out of the dressing room, Leroy was walking by, carrying a box of props (that's one problem with amateur theater, the actors have to help break the stage when the play's over). "Hey Helena, er Dale," he said as he hurried by. "I hope I wasn't out of line back there."

"Don't worry," I said "I know you only kissed me for the sake of the play."

Leroy had his back to me as he left the hallway. There was a mirror leaning against the wall and I could see the reflection of his face. I saw his lips move. He had said something, but only to himself. After months of watching the prompter whisper me lines, it wasn't hard for me to read Leroy's lips. After I had told Leroy that I knew he had only kissed me for dramatic purposes, he had mumbled 'maybe.'

The next week I was enjoying having more spare time than I had had in a long time. Now that the play was over, I suddenly had several more nights free a week. On one such night Leroy invited me to shoot some pool with him at a local bar.

After Leroy had won three games we sat down to have a drink. Leroy ducked into the john. I pulled out a compact and touched up my makeup a bit. Suddenly, I heard a brash, drunken voice from behind me. "Hey honey, can I buy you a drink?"

I turned to see two huge guys standing behind me. They were both muscle-bound simians. I was annoyed to see that one of them was Chris, the frat guy who had been so rude to Jenni the first night I went out as a woman.

"No thanks," I muttered, and turned back to the bar. They weren't to be denied that easily. Both of them sat down next to me, one on each side. "C'mon honey, said Chris. "Ben and me are lonely and just wanna talk to you." Beer fumes hit me in the face. He tried to hold my hand but I wouldn't let him.

"Go away!" I fairly shouted at them.

"One drink, that's all," leered Ben.

"Leave her alone." I had never been so glad to hear Leroy's voice. We all turned to see him standing there with a slight grin on his face. "She's with me," he said, almost proudly. I let it slide. If the idiots thought I was dating him, then they'd buzz off. Or so I though.

"Hey shrimp," said Chris to Leroy, "we're just trying to talk to the lady, Why don't ya go back to the nursery school?"

Leroy seemed livid, I was just mad. The nerve of those assholes! If, for the sake of argument, I actually was actually dating Leroy, why the hell would I be more interested in them? Leroy I could at least have a conversation with.

"I said she was with me," repeated Leroy. "Now get lost." I nodded in agreement.

I was horrified to see Chris and his friend stand up and get right in Leroy's face. "You wanna start some trouble?" Chris asked, deadly serious.

I knew things had gone far enough. Both guys were bigger than Leroy and I certainly didn't want him to get hurt. If they ganged up on him he wouldn't stand a chance.

"Let's get out of here," I told Leroy.

"But..." he protested.

"We're leaving, now," I told him in a voice that wasn't to be argued with.

As we walked to the door, the two big guys shouted insult after insult at Leroy. "Hey shrimp, when your girl wants a real man send her our way! Hey, I think he's crying! Look at the crybaby!" They shouted so that the whole bar could hear. Leroy wasn't crying, he was pissed. At every insult he would stiffen. I kept gently pushing his shoulders so that he wouldn't be tempted to go back and do something stupid.

We were at the door, he literally had one foot outside, when Chris' friend Ben said something that made Leroy stop. It wasn't an insult to him though, it was an insult to me.

"Hey shrimp, your girl's a slut!"

Leroy turned around and walked slowly back to the bar. Much as I tried to hold on to him, he wouldn't be stopped. He faced the two frat guys.

"What did you say?" he asked. His voice was shaking from what might have been anger or might have been fear.

"I said," the guy replied, emphasizing every word, "that your girl's a slut. A tramp. A bitch. A WHORE!"

"You take that back!"

"You gonna make me, shrimp?"

Leroy punched Ben in the face. He staggered back against the bar, his nose a bloody mess. Unfortunately, that was the only punch Leroy landed that night.

Both guys jumped him and began beating the crap out of him. Chris held him in a full nelson while his buddy rhythmically landed blows to Leroy's stomach and face.

I began to scream and cry. "No, stop it! Can't you see you're hurting him?"

"Shaddap," sneered Chris. "After we get done with your boyfriend we're gonna show you what real men are like!"

"Someone help!" I shouted, but the few patrons quickly looked away. No one would get involved.

Leroy collapsed on the ground, to weak to rise. Blood oozed from his nose and mouth, I wasn't sure he was even conscious. He glasses had been knocked off his face, Chris ground them under his heel. Then, much to my horror, he pulled back his foot to kick Leroy in the face.

"No!" I screamed. I wanted to close my eyes, but I couldn't.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" a familiar voice called. I looked away from the fight. There, at the door, stood John. He was clutching a half empty bottle of tequila and smiling. Next to him stood 'Smeg,' the keyboard player for John's band. Smeg had a shaved head, a Kaiser mustache, and was the same size and shape as an industrial refrigerator. He wore a permanent frown.

"What do we have here?" repeated John.

"Well," replied Smeg, slowly, "it looks like two big guys beating the snot out of a smaller guy. Say John, isn't the smaller guy a pal of yours?"

John's smile widened. "He certainly is. Now the question remains, my dear Smeg, what are we going to do about this situation?"

John and Smeg advanced towards the two Neanderthals. They quickly backed away. Smeg was huge, and John, while not gigantic, seemed to enjoy the thought of a bar brawl. "Hey, we don't want any trouble," said Chris, meekly, and Ben nodded in agreement. That showed their true colors. They would gang up on someone smaller, but wouldn't dare fight someone who stood a chance of winning.

"That's too bad," said John "because trouble's found you." John noticed that Leroy had managed to stagger to his feet. John slapped Leroy's hand like they were tag-team wrestlers and John was now taking over. "Dale, why don't you take Leroy home and get him cleaned up? We'll finish things here."

I put my arm around him and half carried him to the door. Before we were in the parking lot I could hear blows landing.

I drove Leroy to my house. He was half conscious, occasionally holding his stomach and groaning.

I was utterly ashamed of myself. While my friend was getting beaten up, all I had done was stand there and scream and cry. I hadn't jumped in to help, I hadn't tried to pull them off, I had just stood there. It had been so cowardly, so pathetic, so....womanly.

I had done exactly what a woman would have done. I couldn't hope to beat the guys up now that the hormones had ridded me of my muscles. All I could do was stand there feebly and hope that someone else would save him. Thank God someone had.

I helped Leroy inside and removed his shirt. I tenderly pressed on various places on his torso and ask them if they hurt. "Yes," he answered sleepily, every time. Still, nothing seemed to be broken. I laid him down on the couch and, with a wet washcloth, began mopping the blood off his face and body. I then made an ice pack and held it to his head. This seemed to bring him fully around.

"Dale, " he said thickly through his swollen lip, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? Why are you sorry?"

"Those jerks were insulting you and I couldn't stop them. I had to let John do it for me. I'm sorry."

I looked at him angrily. "Leroy, what in the hell are you talking about? There were two of them and one of you. I wanted you to leave but you went back. What does it matter if someone insults me? I could care less what some drunk says about me."

Leroy sat up, wincing with pain. "I care," he said intently. "I can't stand to have anyone say anything bad about you!"

"Why, Leroy?"

Leroy put his face right in front of mine. "Because I love you, Dale. I know you said you just wanted to be friends, but I can't do it. I tried to deny what I feel, but I can't. You're the only woman I think about any more. I know other girls, pretty girls, who'd go out with me, but I never even asked them." Leroy took my stunned face in his hands. "I'd do anything for you. I'd get beat up by every guy on campus to protect you. All I want is to make you happy."

I was stunned. All this time I thought Leroy had been harboring a tiny crush on me, but apparently his feeling were much more serious. What could I say?

Leroy took advantage of my silence. He leaned over and kissed me. And kissed me. It was a much more passionate kiss than before, but still tender and gentle. He kissed and kissed and kissed me.

'Stop,' I wanted to scream as I closed my eyes. 'This isn't right,' I meant to say as he wrapped his arms around me. 'No, I'm actually a man, don't kiss me,' I should have told him as I opened my mouth to receive his sensual tongue.

I placed my arms on his bare back and just let him hold and kiss me. On my mouth, my cheeks, my ears, my neck. Why wasn't I stopping him? Was I feeling guilty that he had been beat up to protect my honor? Yes, but not so guilty that I felt I had to let him touch me. It was something else. It was as if I had been resisting him because I felt I had to, not because I wanted to. Jenni had said hormones couldn't change your sexual persuasion. But could living as a woman make me see Leroy differently? Could I have gone from thinking of him as a friend to thinking of him as something else without realizing it?

I thought about these things while we kissed. It was different than kissing a girl. He was the aggressive one, I was the shy one. Finally, Leroy did the inevitable. He reached down to unbutton my shirt.

"No Leroy, not yet." Even as I said this I regretted it. 'Not yet,' mean that someday I would be ready. "Leroy, I need to think. Can I drive you home?"

"No, if you drive me home in my car, how will you get back? Trust me, I feel fine enough to drive. Hell, I'm on the top of the world!" He looked a lot better than he had a few minutes ago, that was for sure. He pulled on his shirt with a big smile, kissed me again, and left.

I sat up all night thinking, trying to make sense of my situation. I couldn't.

John came home a couple hours later, sporting a torn t-shirt as his only 'injury', and wearing Chris's hat. He seemed almost as happy as Leroy had been when he left.. "Tell Leroy next time he tangles with someone, make sure they're not college boxers. Those guys just wouldn't stay down!" He trotted off to bed, tossing a handful of hard white things on the coffee table as he passed. I looked at them, then quickly looked away. They were broken human teeth.

When morning came around I was no closer to figuring out my problem. Why had I let Leroy kiss me? Now he'd think that we were dating or something. But what could I do now? Make out with him and then say I just wanted to be friends? He had told me that he loved me and I had kissed him. He had allowed himself to be beat up, just to avenge my being insulted. I couldn't very well walk away from all that. I didn't want to lose his friendship.

Still, reality was reality and no good would ever come of me leading him on. When it was a decent hour I would go to his house and explain that our dating would only end up hurting him. I wouldn't be lying either. The Dale he knew would be gone by the end of the school year.

At around 8:00 am there was a knock at the door. It was Leroy, holding a dozen red roses, which he awkwardly handed to me. "For you," he said unnecessarily.

Once again, I was stuck in an uncomfortable situation. How could I dump a guy who had just probably spent over a hundred dollars on flowers for me? I faced him. His face was still pretty black and blue from last night, and he wasn't wearing his customary glasses. But he had a confident air about him, a self assurance that hadn't been there before. Maybe it was from standing up to two bullies, or because he thought he had won the heart of his dream girl. I knew that as soon as I dumped him that confidence would be shattered.

"Leroy..."

"Yes?"

"Leroy, I think..."

"Yes honey?" Honey. He called me honey. He bought me flowers and called me honey and said he loved me.

"Leroy, I think they're beautiful. The flowers, thank you."

Leroy didn't say anything. He kissed me. He kissed me and held me, and then took me out to breakfast.

So began the last two months of that school year. My emotions were in a whirl. One minute I would be having a great time with Leroy, then I would feel horribly guilty that I would be leaving him that summer. One minute I would be passionately kissing him, then I would be ashamed at how I was locking lips with a man. I cared about Leroy, but at the same time I was revolted at the thought of what I was doing.

I kept telling myself that I would soon think of a way out of this relationship, but I never did. I never really tried. The truth was, Leroy was a kind, loving man. He treated me like a princess and I was always happy to be around him. True, I didn't enjoy our physical relationship, but I didn't hate it either. Sometimes I would close my eyes and pretend I was kissing Christy Brinkly. Those fantasies didn't last long, however. I would inevitably be thinking of Leroy before the kiss was over.

I noticed some changes in Leroy. He no longer seemed like a shy young man, but a confident adult. He never replaced his glasses but was fitted with contacts instead. He worked out three times a week. I think he wanted to be sure he'd stand a chance if he was ever in a fight again. He would put his arm around me in a proprietary fashion. Not like he owned me, mind you, but like it was his job to look out for me and protect me. He would refer to me as his girlfriend, something I never denied.

I kept thinking back to what Rhea, the magician's assistant, had told me. She said transforming back to being a man wouldn't be easy, and that falling of a guy would make it much harder. Well, I knew that I hadn't fallen for Leroy, but I did like him. I didn't want to hurt him and I didn't want him out of my life. I hated thinking about what would happen in August, so I simply avoided thinking about it. I foolishly hoped that it would sort itself out.

Jenni seemed intrigued, and at the same time upset, by my relationship with Leroy. She tried to ask me what was going on several times, but I made it clear that I didn't want to talk about it. What could I have said? I didn't understand it either. Jenni stopped bringing the subject up, though she seemed anxious about Leroy and I.

John never batted an eye the first time he saw Leroy kiss me. I wasn't even sure if he remembered that I really was a guy. He had stopped referring to me as 'the dude he lived with' and no longer lounged around the house in his briefs. It was hard to figure out how John viewed reality, it was quite possible he now believed I had always been a girl.

Spring break rolled around. Most of the drama club decided to spend a week at the beach. Leroy and I went along. It was a wonderful time. Every day we would all swim, play volleyball, and barbecue. At night we would have a campfire and roast marshmallows. Leroy would hold me tight under the beach blanket.

I took many romantic walks along the beach with Leroy. He held my hand and kissed me under the moonlight. I had given up feeling guilty or worried. As long as I was on vacation, I reasoned, I might as well enjoy myself.

On the final night of our trip I sat on the sand with Leroy, his arm around my shoulder. It was night and the beach was deserted. Leroy was wearing nothing but his trunks. I was wearing my swimsuit: women's trunks (I still couldn't hide my penis in a real bikini bottom) and a skimpy bikini top. More of my breasts were uncovered than were covered.

Leroy was kissing me. He had been kissing me for the better part of an hour. I had been swimming all day and was exhausted. I just let him hold me. Soon I was laying in the beach and Leroy was next to me, on his side. He kissed me. My long damp hair tangled with his. He kissed me. The warmth of the beach, even at night, made me tired. He kissed me. I felt warm, no, hot all over. He kissed me. I fell into a half sleep. I felt turned on, erotic, sexy. Then I realized it.

Leroy's hand was resting on my breast. My bare breast. He had rolled down the top of my bikini without me realizing it. I had been too into kissing him to realize it until after the fact. His fingers were gently caressing my nipple. His hand gently cupped my breast. He kissed me.

I didn't resist. He rolled on top of me. I wrapped my legs around him. We kissed for a long time. He reached for my shorts.
"No Leroy, no further."

Leroy nodded. I expected him to get up, but instead he locked his arms around me tightly. It seems he took 'no further' slightly differently than I had meant it. He apparently assumed that anything under my shorts was off limits, but anything else was 'fair game.' He explored my breasts with his fingers, hands, and mouth. He kissed me on the shoulders, on the stomach, and between my shoulder blades. He held me and used my body to make him feel good. 'I can make him stop anytime I want,' I thought. 'All I have to do is tell him to stop and he'll let me go.' Instead, I wriggled one of my hands free and slid it down the front of his shorts.

By the time I got back to my hotel room I was plenty tired. I was sharing a room with Lisa. She gave me a sly look when I came in, it was obvious what she thought we had been doing. Truth be known, she wasn't that far off. It was almost time to drive back home. I went into the bathroom and changed. As I was doing so, I looked in the mirror. Tangled, sandy hair, twisted bikini straps, and a large hickey on my neck...well, I certainly looked like I had being having sex. I also noticed something else. My time in the hot sun had had an unexpected result. I now had a bikini tan.

Chapter Eleven:

It ended quicker than it had begun. Finals were over, it was mid June. Leroy and I were at the gym, working out together. Leroy was busying lifting some dumbbells. His biceps swelled under the strain. He had certainly become pumped up recently. He was definitely much stronger than me. When we were alone, he would occasionally pin me down on the couch and then kiss me all over. Of course it was just a game, all I had to was tell him I was uncomfortable and he'd let me go. It was just that I never asked him to.

I was lifting weights too, but mine were five pounds each, as opposed to the 40 lb. ones Leroy was using. I looked down at my pencil thin arms. I certainly couldn't see any results, but at least our trips to the gym were keeping me slim. I was wearing a leotard and an athletic bra. I could only fit into that outfit if I kept in shape. Then again, I could have done without all the stares I was getting from the male athletes around the gym.

Leroy grunted and placed his dumbbell back on the rack. "That's enough for today, honey. Any more and I won't be able to move tomorrow."

"You poor thing." I punched him playfully in the shoulder. "How about I give you a backrub later?"

"Ooh, I feel better already." He kissed me. "Listen Dale, I"m driving out to see my parents this weekend. Would you come along?"

"I dunno. Sounds like a family thing. Do you really want me to be there?"

"Of course I do. I...well, I think it's time that you met my family."

Met his family. My God. Introduce me to his parents. Leroy was hugging me, he didn't see the shamed look on my face. Leroy's parents lived a good eight hours away. He wouldn't take a casual girlfriend all that way to have dinner with his folks. It was obvious he thought much more of me. Much, much more. Perhaps he even thought of a permanent relationship. He had been discussing the future a lot. Even when he spoke about life after graduation, I was in his plans.

What had I done? I had lead him on, that's what I had done. For all the time we had been dating I had pretended I was in love with him (at least I thought I was pretending, sometimes I wondered). Now what? In a few weeks I would leave this campus for good. How would that make Leroy feel? I couldn't just disappear! how could I have ever thought this would work out for the best?

I had been a cold-hearted bitch. There was no other word for it. I was acting like the kind of woman John hated: someone who seemed like she liked a guy, and then dumped him for no reason. Hell, I was being the kind of woman that I hated. That every guy hated! The worst part was I would hurt Leroy, a man who had done nothing to hurt me. He stood up for me, he took care of me, he loved me. I would repay that love by ripping out his heart.

One thing was for sure, it had to be over now. I couldn't just go on pretending that we'd be seeing each other next year. I certainly couldn't meet his parents. I pulled away from him.

"Leroy, I think we should see other people. I want to break up."

"What?" asked Leroy, half laughing. I knew he was hoping that I was joking.

"I want to see other people. We're just getting too serious for my taste."

For half a second, Leroy looked like he had been kicked in the groin. He quickly recovered. He face became a mask, unreadable. His drama training had really paid off.

"Dale," he said, his voice steady and clear "we don't have to see my parents. If you want to cool things for a while, I...understand."

He was taking it hard. I had dated him for months and could see right through his poker face. He was dying inside. But giving him false hope would have been even crueler.

"I don't want to cool things. I just want to end it. I'm sorry, it's been fun, but it's over."

Leroy opened his mouth, then shut it. He swallowed, coughed and swallowed again. "Okay Dale. I thought we had something special, obviously I was wrong. Goodbye forever." He walked off quickly.

"Leroy," I called after him, "don't take it personally, It's not you, it's me."

Leroy stopped and turned around. He had a strange half smile on his face. He snorted, shook his head, and continued out the door.

I numbly went into the girl's locker room, showered (in a well secluded stall, of course), and changed into a dress. I walked out into the warm spring air.

I had done it. I had dumped him. I had hurt him, but at least now I had nothing holding me back. Recently I had been having alarming thoughts. Every time I thought about how I would spend the rest of college, I would find myself thinking of myself as a girl, and still dating Leroy. Now Leroy was gone. Now I had no excuse. It would be rough but I'd do it. Have my breasts removed, have injections of testosterone, I'd be a man again. The first thing I'd do is go to a bar and pick up some sleazy woman and have some meaningless sex. Yep, that's what I'll do, I thought joylessly.

I was too wired to go home. I walked around campus until dark. Everywhere I went, something would remind me of Leroy. A coffee shop he had taken me to. The park where we would kiss at night. The library where we'd study together. The people I ran into were no help either. They not only reminded me of the friends I would be leaving behind, they reminded me of Leroy as well.

"Hey Dale, tell Leroy I have that book he wanted to borrow."

"Dale, glad I found you. I'm having a party this Friday, I hope you and Leroy can make it."

"Hey, I saw you in that play a while back. Y'all were great. You and that Demetrius guy work well together."

And so forth. What would all my friends think when Leroy told them how I had dumped him? Classes would be over soon, I doubted I'd even see any of them again. But what about after I had gone? I had always kind of imagined that my friends would miss me after I left them. Now, after I had been so cruel to Leroy, they'd never speak kindly of me again. It hurt to know that I wouldn't be fondly remembered.

The more I thought about it, the more nervous I became. Had I done the right thing? Could I go back to being a man? Should I? All I had to do was rush to Leroy's house and tell him I had been stupid. That I was scared, but I was over it. He'd forgive me, he'd take me back.

What was I even thinking about that for? I didn't want to be his girlfriend, I was a man, for God's sake! Besides, even if I wanted to get back with him, I couldn't. I was a man, and was certainly not the person Leroy thought he loved.

Soon it was dark. I still couldn't go home. I couldn't face that empty apartment, the couch where Leroy had first kissed me, the kitchen where I had cooked for him, the TV where we had watched horror movies and I had pretended to be scared. I needed to talk to someone. I thought about calling Rhea, the magician's wife, but it was a little late at night for that. I decided to go see Jenni and see if she could help me make sense of things.

I went into her dorm building and banged on her door. No answer. Damn, where was she? I knocked again. From down the hall came a young woman who looked like the stereotypical valley girl, and a guy who looked like he belonged on a California beach somewhere, surfboard in hand.

"You're, like, looking for, like, Jenni, right?" asked the girl. I swear to God she said that.

"Uh, yes I am. You wouldn't happen to know where she is?"

"Like, no. Sorry, but, she like left with her boyfriend."

Boyfriend? "No," I said, "you're thinking of someone else. I'm looking for Jenni Simpson, dark hair, bad scar on her face."

"Dude," said the guy. "Yeah, I know the chick. Kinda cute but with that gnarly gash on her face. Dude, seriously, she left with some big dude."

Just talking to this couple was giving me a headache. "Thank you very much," I said.

"Like, no problem."

"Dude, take care."

Jenni, the one person I could have talked to, was gone. I decided just to go home, drink a warm glass of milk, hop into bed, and pretend that this was all a bad dream. That I wasn't really living like a woman. That I didn't really have breasts. That I hadn't broken the heart of a dear, sweet man.

I unlocked my door and stepped inside. I could hear John in the kitchen, singing.

"Oh what a night! Sweet surrender back in '63, she was everything I dreamed she'd be, I remember, what a night!"

Oh Jesus, not that song. John only sang that song when he had 'gotten laid,' as he put it. A couple of empty wine glasses on the coffee table and a strange pair of panties on the couch confirmed my suspicion. I shuddered to think of what sort of green-haired, body pierced, heavy-metal groupie had staggered home with him. I certainly was in no mood to meet her. I just wanted to get something to drink and hide under the covers.

John was standing by the stove, cooking some eggs. He was wearing nothing but some boxers. "Oh I...I got a funny feeling when she waaaaalked in the room...." he crooned.

"Hey John."

John turned with a start. "Dale! What are you doing home? I thought you were going out with Leroy tonight!"

Et tu, John? "Change of plans," I told him. "Don't let me bother you, I'm going to bed in a second."

John kept nervously looking glancing at his bedroom door. "Uh yeah, well, good night," he said pointedly. What the hell was his problem? Did he have a married woman back there or something?

"Fine John. I just want to get some milk."

"I'll bring it to you!" John shouted. He sure seemed desperate for me not to meet his date, if you could call her that.

"Hey John," called out a voice from his bedroom. "Those eggs done yet?" His door opened. Out stepped a woman wearing one of John's shirts. She didn't seem to have anything on underneath. He hair was tussled and she was smiling in an exhausted way. She stopped short when she saw me.

It was Jenni.

I was dumbstruck. I just stood there gaping. Jenni and John grinned sheepishly. Jenni took John's hand in hers. "I didn't expect you home so early," she said.

A few seconds later I was alone with Jenni in my bedroom. "What the hell's going on?"

"Well...." Jenni smiled sweetly. "You kept telling me I'd meet a special guy. Well, you were right! Dale, I have a boyfriend!"

"Since when?"

"Since spring break. You were out of town, I was here with John, and well...things just happened!"

"For Christ's sake Jenni, what the hell are you thinking? You can do better than that! I know you want to be loved, but don't settle for John!"

Jenni jumped up and glared at me angrily. "Let's get something straight, Dale," she shouted, pointing at me. "I am not 'settling.' You might not believe it, but I do have standards when it comes to men. You might also find this hard to believe, but John is more than a drunken punk. He may act stupid, but he's a hell of a lot deeper than everyone gives him credit for. Especially you."

John, deep? I found that very hard to believe.

"Look at this," Jenni continued. "It's a poem John wrote for me."

I took it and read:

'Jenni, my darling, my rose,
All I ever think about is you.
I just want to look into your eyes,
to spend an eternity hearing your laugh,
to lay down my life to bring you joy...'

John had wrote this?

'...and you got, like, a really nice butt.'

Yes, John had wrote that. I began to think about it all. True, John was a slovenly lunatic who left toenail clippings on the floor. But was that all he was? He certainly was someone who stood up for his friends. He heroism in the bar fight proved that. I really couldn't see John ever cheating on Jenni, he seemed too zealous about being true to your dates to run around. And I knew he'd never hit her.

Could it be that John, the man who had once gotten his head stuck in pasta pot, was also the man who could see past Jenni's scars to the real woman inside?

"Jenni, I'm sorry about what I implied. Does he really make you happy?"

"Yes, he does. This might be it, Dale. He might be the one."

"Jenni, I can't say I see what you see in him, but if he makes you happy, if he treats you right, then I'm happy for you. For both of you." We hugged.

"Dale," Jenni said, "I'm sorry."

"Sorry? For what?"

Jenni pulled away and turned her back. "For doing this to you. Instead of trying to help you out of dressing like a woman, I forced you into it."

"Jenni, it's not like I had a choice."

Jenni still wouldn't look at me. "True, but I gave you a lot of bad advice. I changed your room, I bought you women's clothes, I told you to use the self hypnosis takes and to take estrogen. I shouldn't have done that."

I laid my hands on her shoulders. "It's okay Jenni, you were just looking out for me."

"Maybe, maybe not."

I retracted my hands. "What are you saying Jenni?"

Jenni didn't speak for a while. "What I'm saying, is that, well, you looked, well, you still look so much like me. I guess sometimes I would fantasize that I was you. That I was the pretty girl that all the boys liked. Even with Leroy, I probably should have told you not to go near him, it was too risky. But I just stood back and watched, like it was me going on all those dates. It took John to show me I didn't have to experience love and romance vicariously."

"Jenni, that wasn't very nice or responsible. But don't blame yourself. If there's one thing all this has taught me, is that you're always responsible for your own actions. Everything I did, I did because I chose to. Now I have to live with the consciences. That's why I broke up with him tonight."

"You...you broke up with him?" Jenni didn't seemed to know how she was supposed to react.

"I did a stupid thing. I played with his heart and now I've hurt him." I started crying. Jenni held me.

"You poor thing. I'm sorry. I knew you cared about him. I guess you broke things off because you couldn't love another man?"

I shook my head. "I broke things off because I have to go back to being a man. If I didn't have to, well...aw, what's the point? I have to be a man again, there's no getting out of it."

"Dale, are you sure about that?"

Before I could answer, there was a knock at the door. John, now fully clothed, stuck his head in. "Uh, everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, John," I replied.

"I mean, uh, are we okay?" said John, pointing to himself and me.

"We're fine John. Just treat Jenni right, that's all I ask."

John grinned. "D'ya mind if I come on in?"

Jenni looked at me questioningly. I nodded.

John sat down on the bed and laid his hand on the back of Jenni's neck. He then noticed my puffy red eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"Dale, hey, what's wrong?"

I laughed, a quick, humorless laugh. "Oh nothing. It's just that it's almost time for me to stop living this life, and for some reason I'm not sure I want to."

John pondered this, then spoke. "Hey, I just read that when guys get out of prison after like twenty years, a lot of them go out and rob a bank or something and get sent right back!"

What the hell did Jenni see in this guy? "Thank you, Beavis," I said, meanly. "If you're not going to be serious, then I'd like to be alone."

"No, don't you get it?" said John, as if he had been giving sage advice. "It's not that they were evil or had criminal minds. It was just that after so long in jail, they couldn't adjust to life on the outside. They'd commit some violent crime just to get sent back to the only life they knew anymore."

"John, is there a point to any of this?"

"Well," he said, "I've never done either, but I figure that being a woman is a lot easier than being in prison."

Shockingly, John's ramblings actually made sense. I had build up a college transcript, a network of friends, a feminine demeanor, and a love life as a woman. It wouldn't be so easy leaving it all. It would almost be simpler to forget that I had ever been a man.

"So what now?" I asked Jenni and John.

"It depends on you, Dale" said Jenni. "Like you said, you make all your own decisions. Do you want to go back to being a boy?"

"Yes! Well, sure. Maybe...I don't know."

"It's Leroy, isn't it?" asked John.

"Yes, it's Leroy. This is insane. I'm a guy! He's a guy! Why can't I stop thinking about him?"

Jenni took my hand. "Because he's a caring, wonderful man that you have feelings for. You don't want to hurt him and you're afraid to go back to a life that he'd never be part of."

I sighed. "That about sums it up. But why are we even discussing this? Leroy thinks I'm a girl. If he found out the truth, he'd freak."

"You sure about that?" asked John.

"Oh, right. I'll just tell him 'Hi Leroy, I'm actually a man. Oh, and I'm not sure if I want to continue being a woman, so could we keep dating while I decide?"

John seemed to mull this over seriously. "You probably should put it more delicately..."

"John, would you be serious?"

John looked confused, he thought he was being serious. "Well, I think you ought to tell him. If he gets mad, well, you're leaving campus anyway. But he might possibly be more understanding than you think."

"Get real."

"Dale," said John, "I never asked out your sister because I thought she'd never say yes. But I finally took that risk and it paid off. I don't know how you feel about Leroy, but don't give up on him just because you think he won't understand."

My headache was savage. "Thank you John. Thanks, both of you. I appreciate your advice. I just need time to think. Maybe things will be clearer tomorrow."

They both said good night. I laid on my back, thinking about Leroy and listening to the rhythmic squeak of John's bedsprings next door.

Chapter Twelve:

I spent the next few days locked in my room. I couldn't seem to get up the energy to get out of bed. I just couldn't face the world. Jenni seemed terribly worried. She would constantly come over and beg me to come out. I kept telling her that I was fine, that I just needed time to myself. That was a lie of course, but I didn't want to keep her from enjoying her time with her new boyfriend.

Finally, I made a decision. I had to go to Leroy and talk to him. I had to explain everything. Odds are he'd hate me forever, but I couldn't go through life wondering 'what if?' If he somehow understood, we could work out what to do about the future together.

I showered, shaved my legs, and did up my face. I put on my tightest pair of jeans and a shirt that was almost absurdly low cut. If I was going to tell Leroy that I was a man, I wanted him to remember that I wasn't that much of one.

Jenni and John were just leaving the apartment when I came out of my room. They had a picnic basket and blanket in hand. They invited me along, but I declined. It was obviously going to be a romantic picnic for two, and besides, I had to talk to Leroy. I couldn't put it off anymore.

As they took off down the front steps, I called after them. "Jenni? Could you give us a second? I want to talk to John." They both looked at me questioningly, but Jenni took off for the car.

"John? You're a man. Am I being stupid? I mean, there's no way Leroy would stay with me, once he knows I'm a guy, right? I should just forget about all that, right?"

John frowned and took out a cigarette. He then threw it into the bushes. "Jenni's been bugging me to quit." He turned and smiled at me. "Let me tell you a story. It's about a boy named...um...Johnny."

I stifled a laugh.

"Johnny's parents were divorced and there wasn't a lot of money. He had to wear old clothes, and he was always kind of awkward. And the other kids teased me...I mean, Johnny. A lot. Sometimes he'd go home and cry. And one day he decided he had enough, and if people were going to laugh at him, then by God, he'd give them something to laugh at. And he forced himself to act like a big stupid clown, so when everyone laughed, it was because he was being silly."

John's teeth were gritting. I stayed silent, listening to his painful story.

"And by the time Johnny got to high school and people started getting a little more accepting, it was too late. All that was left was the clown. He'd forgotten what he was really like." John let out a long sigh. "Dale, I wasted my life, trying to change myself, to become what everyone else expected me to be. And where did it get me? Who knows. Maybe I'm just and idiot and Jenni's a freak, and you're a shemale, and Leroy's a nerd. But maybe all of us are a lot better than all that. And I think Leroy will be able to see that."

I turned away for a second. I had something in my eye.

"Thank you, John."

Jenni pulled up and honked her horn. John smiled. "Well, Leroy's a lucky guy." Then, to my amazement, he leaned over and kissed me on the forehead. "Good luck, whatever you decide to do."

As soon as they left, I began to hesitate. Just like with any unpleasant task, I kept looking for excuses to procrastinate. I touched up my makeup, rebrushed my hair, and paced throughout the apartment. I even called his house and hung up when his room mate answered.

I was stuck. How do you tell a man that you're not the person he thought you were? How do you tell him you're not even the sex he thought you were?

I was beginning to think that I'd never get up the nerve to face him when I noticed an old shoe box on the coffee table. I opened it. It was filled with scores of old photos John had taken for his journalism classes. In order to put off the inevitable, I began glancing through them. John certainly had chosen some interesting subjects for his pictures. I didn't even know there was a slaughterhouse in the area.

I was about to finish with the pictures when a snapshot near the bottom caught my eye. I picked it up and examined it. It was exactly what I needed to help me break the news to Leroy. I put it in my purse and took off for his house.

Leroy rented a two-bedroom house a ways from campus. I stood on the sidewalk, trying to build up the courage to ring the bell. Would he even talk to me? I thought that he would. Finally I walked up to the door and knocked.

Leroy's roommate, Francois, answered the door. Francois was a black guy who was known on campus for two things: his huge dredlocks which hung down almost to his hips, and his ever-present, friendly smile. When he saw that it was me, his smile instantly turned to a glare.

"Oh, it's you," he said contemptuously.

"Francios, is Leroy in?"

"No, Leroy is not in. I don't know where he is," he answered coldly.

"Please, I really have to talk to him."

"Why? Did you forget to tell him he wasn't man enough for you? Or did you just want to savor his misery?"

Jesus, Francois was pissed off. It wasn't hard to guess why. I had just dumped his friend for no good reason. He obviously didn't think very highly of me.

"Please. I have to talk to him. I...might have made a mistake. I know you know where he is. For his sake, tell me."

He snorted and cracked his knuckles. "Well," he eventually said. "You did not hear this from me, but I happen to know that Leroy's uncle has a fishing cabin off route 55 in Shannon County. If my heart had been ripped out and stomped upon by the girl I loved, I might just go to a place like that to try and recover."

"Thank you, Francois. I really appreciate this." I turned to leave.

"Oh Dale?"

"Yeah?"

"If you are going to see Leroy to get back together, then that's fine. And if you just want to try to talk to him, to explain why you dumped him, I guess you deserve a chance. But if you see him and act like you like him and then break his heart a second time...well, I can guarantee you'll never have a friend on this campus again. Leroy's a good guy, people won't stand for you jerking around with his emotions."

I didn't know how to answer, so I left. Jenni's car was at my place. I took the keys from her hiding place and sped off towards where Francoiss had said Leroy was. As I drove, I thought about what Francois had said. He had said that if I hurt Leroy I wouldn't have a friend on campus ever again. It sounded like he was just making idle threats to protect his friend. Then again, I didn't have many friends here who weren't also friends with Leroy. I doubt any of them would want to stay friends with me after I hurt Leroy. I'd have to start over with a new circle of friends, so maybe Francois wasn't just shooting his mouth off. Then again, if things didn't work out with Leroy then there'd be nothing keeping me at this school anyway.

It took me forever to find the secluded cabin, but I eventually located it, far back on a country road. It was pretty run down; it looked like that shack the Unibomber lived in. Nearby there was a lake, I guessed that was where Leroy's uncle did his fishing. I knocked on the corrugated iron door. There was no answer. I swung it open.

Inside it was dark. It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust. It was filthy. There was little furniture other than an unmade bed and a table with fish guts and tackle scattered all over it. There was an odd contraption in the corner. When I examined it, I realized that it was an honest-to-God still for making moonshine. Apparently Leroy's uncle did a little more than fish up here.

A shadow fell across the door. I turned to see Leroy walk in. He was carrying a fishing rod and several fish on a line. He looked terrible. Unshaven, filthy, and still wearing the ragged sweats he had had on the last time I saw him. He must have come out here soon after I had dumped him. He probably hadn't bathed in days and was living on whatever fish he caught. I hated to see him in this state; who would take care of him? When he saw me he froze.

"Dale!" he gasped. His shocked expression became guarded. "What are you doing here?"

"Leroy, we need to talk."

"So talk." He wasn't risking anything. It was clear he was afraid of being burned again.

"Leroy, this may take a while. Can we sit down?" Leroy motioned me to the bed. He sat opposite me on an orange crate. He lifted a stone jug off the table and took a pull. He grimaced and offered me a swig of white lightening. I shook my head.

"Dale," said Leroy, "I've been doing a lot of thinking. And a lot of drinking. Drinking and thinking. Look, if you want it to be over, I guess I have to deal with it. But tell me the truth. You said you wanted to break up because you wanted to see other people, but I don't believe that. That's not you, Dale. You've never talked about other men, never mentioned a previous boyfriend, never swooned over anyone famous...I think I deserve to know what I did wrong. What I did that made you want out."

I took Leroy's hand. He didn't return the grasp, but he didn't retract his hand, either. "Leroy, it wasn't you. I...I don't think I really wanted to break up. But...I have a past. A secret. Something you'd never understand."

"Jesus H. Christ, Dale!" he bellowed. "Nothing, NOTHING, in your past could make a difference to me! I don't care about whatever it was you did! All I care about it you! The past isn't important!"

"This is. You'd hate me, I know you would."

Leroy let out a frustrated yell. "Dale, I love you. I love you! I...I was even thinking that maybe someday...that you'd be my wife. This isn't a crush, Dale. If you don't feel the same way, well, I guess I'll have to survive, somehow. But don't give me any bullshit about some 'deep dark secret.' I think after all this, I deserve better."

"Leroy, I'm a man!"

Leroy stared at me with contempt. "First you dump me, then you tell me ridiculous stories. Just get out. Get the hell out."

"Leroy, calm down and listen. Don't say anything, just listen."

I told him. Starting with the day Jenni first talked to Steve, I told him everything. About my date with Steve, about meeting Leroy for the first time, about my confusing feelings about him, about the estrogen, the implants, about Jenni and John, everything. I finished by handing him the photo I had taken from the shoe box. It was the photo John had taken of me the week before I dressed as a woman the first time. It was of me, the male me.

Leroy didn't move throughout my narrative, except to take more swigs from his jug. He stared at the photo for a long time.

"The eyes," he finally said.

"What?"

"The eyes. Everything else has changed, but your eyes are the same. Windows to the soul."

He sat there quietly for a while, looking at the photo. Finally I spoke. "Leroy..."

"What is it, you bitch? Or I guess I should say bastard!" Leroy laughed, a cruel hateful laugh.

Tears formed in my eyes. "Leroy, I never meant to hurt you..."

Leroy had an almost deranged expression on his face. "I never thought you could do anything to make me hate you, but damned if you didn't prove me wrong. Just make a guy love you, but fail to mention that you're a FUCKING GUY!"

I began to cry. "Save it for the next sucker," he sneered. "To think I ever kissed you." He then make retching noises.

"Leroy..." I looked up at him, hoping that I'd see some sort of quavering, some sort of friendly emotion that I could latch on to.

"I said get the hell out!" He slammed his hand down on the table, then inexplicably doubled over in pain. I realized he had slammed his hand on top of the pile of tackle and now had several fishhooks embedded in his palm. Without thinking, I ran to him to help him.

He snarled at me, an animalistic growl. "Go away," he said. He voice had no strength, I think he was sobbing. "Just leave me. If you ever cared about me, then don't ever come near me again. I couldn't take it."

I walked slowly to the car, hoping that he would call me back to him. He didn't.

*

"I want you to take these breasts off! Amputate them! I hate them!"

I was sitting in Dr. Alice's office. Since it was obvious that Leroy would never love me again, I couldn't stand the thought of being breasted. I was going to go back to being a man ASAP, and this chest was going to be the first thing to go.

"Calm down, Dale. Please, tell me what's wrong."

"What's wrong? Everything's wrong! I think I'm in love with a guy who hates me, I'm a man with tits, and I have to change schools and leave everything behind! My life SUCKS! I want these breasts gone. I read the legal papers of the implant experiment. Any time I want out, the doctor has to remove them. He's legally required."

"Dale, there's only a few weeks left in the testing process..."

"God damn it, I don't give a shit about your 'testing process!' You're not the one who has to live with these things!"

"Dale, calm down and listen to me. Everyday, hundreds of people walk into plastic surgeons' offices and demand breast jobs, or nose jobs, of liposuction, or whatever they think they need to be happy. 80% of those people never go through with it. People have a problem and they think surgery will solve it. That's not always the answer and it is never something you should do when you are upset or emotional."

"Well, doctor," I said with anger in my voice "I don't recall you giving me this speech when you convinced me to have these put in in the first place. Or don't you remember?"

Dr. Auger looked a little guilty, maybe she was having regrets about suggesting implants to me. "Look Dale, I'm not saying you can't have them removed, I just want you to calm down and thing about what you're asking. I can't schedule the surgery now, it would be tantamount to mutilation. Come back in a week and we'll see what you think."

"What I think, doctor, is that you had better schedule me some surgery right now. It's the law. You can't force me to stay in your friend's experiment against my will."

"True, but I can say you're running a fever and surgery would be inadvisable at this time."

I was shocked. "You mean you'd actually lie and force me to keep these things? You're nuts! I'll sue you! I'll have your license!"

"Dale, I'm doing this for your own good."

"That's what everyone says. Well, people doing things for my own good has ruined my life. Thanks for nothing, see you in court."

Alice looked at me with concern and pity. "Come back in a week," she said as I left.

I drove back to my apartment, plotting revenge on Dr. Auger. It had never occurred to me that she would actually deny me my right to have the implants removed. I began mentally writing the letter I would send to her bosses to get her fired.

First things first, though. When I got home, I went into my room and locked the door. Then I took off all of my clothes. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Except for my small, withered penis, I looked like a woman. Long hair, breasts, smooth skin. I'd fix that! First I took out an Ace bandage and wound it around my chest as tightly as possible. It didn't hide my breasts as much as I had hoped that it would. Well, as they say, clothes make the man. I had got Jenni to bring me back a couple of my old male outfits. First I put on a dress shirt. Then I pulled on a pair of men's slacks. I completed the outfit with black socks, dress shoes and a tie. There! Now I looked like...now I looked like...like a woman wearing men's clothes.

The shirt would hardly button in the front. Even with the bandages, I was still very clearly breasted. My chest caused my tie to stick out about 15 degrees from my body. The pants, though tight in the rear, wouldn't stay up; I had lost weight this year and didn't have a man's belt with me. The only articles of clothes that really fit were my shoes. My nails were still painted, my hair was long, my features delicate. I was stupid to think that just throwing on some clothes could undo a year of this lifestyle. What could I do? I began to think. Well, if Dr. Auger let my have my implants removed next week, if she helped me start on male hormones, if I could just go away somewhere alone for a while, maybe eventually I could pass as a man. Of course, that was a lot of 'ifs.' One thing was for sure, there was no point in me wearing men's clothes now. I looked utterly ridiculous.

"You look utterly ridiculous." I turned around to see the owner of the voice. It was Leroy. He had come up to my bedroom door without me hearing him. He was now showered, shaved, and sober. He reminded me of how he had looked that day, many months ago, when he had come here to take me to the movies for the first time. His hand was bandaged from where he had tangled with the fishing lures.

My first instinct was to run into his arms, but I restrained myself. I didn't know why he was here and I couldn't stand it if I tried to hug him and he refused. "Leroy..." I called out, my voice barely a whisper.

"Hey, Dale," he said evenly. "I was in the neighborhood. Care to go for a drive with me?"

"Yes!" I said, ecstatically. I knew I should play it cool, but I didn't care. Against all odds, here was Leroy again.

"Okay," he said. "But put something decent on, for goodness sake."

Leroy left the room so I could change. I removed my male clothes, and without a moment's hesitation, tossed them in the garbage. I knew what I had to do. If Leroy was still even remotely considering a future with me, I had to move fast. I pulled on some fishnet hose, some spiky high heels, a mini skirt, and a halter top. I spritzed myself with perfume and put on some more makeup. I looked in the mirror and giggled. I looked like I should be at the docks, propositioning sailors. But I looked sexy. That was all I wanted. Leroy would know that I had dressed like this for him and for him alone.

Leroy silently beckoned me to his car. I got in and he took off without saying a word. When I asked him where we were going, all he would say was 'for a drive.'

I was disappointed, and a little scared. Leroy hadn't even seemed to notice my clothes. Where were we going, what was on his mind? He seemed deaf to all my questions and attempts at conversation. I guess he didn't want to get back together. Maybe he just wanted to talk. He probably just wanted to clarify some things, maybe say that he still wanted to be friends. Then again, maybe I wasn't even that lucky. Maybe he just wanted my word that I wouldn't tell anyone he had dated a man. And here I was dressed like a slut. That certainly wouldn't raise his opinion of me.

After a long, agonizing drive, we arrived at our destination. Leroy had taken a different route, so I didn't recognize the fishing cabin until we were right in front of it. What were we doing out here? I guessed it was pretty obvious. Leroy was now ashamed to be seen with me. He wanted to take me somewhere that no one would see us talking. He couldn't even bear to be with me in public.

Leroy wordlessly walked into the cabin. I followed. It was still dark inside, Leroy lit a candle. When my eyes adjusted, I couldn't believe what I saw. The filthy cabin was now swept and clean. The fish guts and fishing gear were gone. The table was now covered with a table cloth. The jug of home made whiskey had been replaced by a bottle of champagne and two glasses. The bed had been covered by clean sheets which I recognized from off Leroy's bed. A single red rose stood in a glass on the window sill.

It could only mean one thing. I turned to Leroy. Before I could say anything, he kissed me. All I wanted to do was swoon in his arms, but he gently pushed me away and held me at arms length.

"Dale," he said, "I still love you. All last night I tried to hate you, for dumping me, for lying to me. But I couldn't. Just like you can't decide to fall in love, you can't decide to fall out of love either. As much as I wanted to do otherwise, all I could think about was driving to your house to get you. So that's what I did. I figured after all this, we were both entitled to a romantic evening together."

He kissed me again. He held me, seemingly unconscious of my joyful tears. Then he said something that nearly destroyed my rapture.

"Besides, I know you're not really a man, Dale."

I pulled away. My God, he was denying it! He was trying to pretend like nothing had happened. "Leroy," I began uncertainly, "I wish it weren't true, but I really am a man."

"Oh really?" asked Leroy, pulling me back to him and kissing me. "Then why are you dressed like that? Men don't wear stockings, or makeup, or halter tops."

I was a little nonplussed. "Sure, but..."

Leroy began kissing my face around my mouth. "If you're a man, where's your beard?"

"I...I don't have a beard."

Leroy's kisses moved down to my neck. "And if you're a man, why is your skin so silky and soft?"

My neck was my number-one erogenous zone. His kisses there left me paralyzed, all I could do was moan.

Leroy's kisses became more intense. I was turned on. Leroy then slowly removed my top, revealing my bare breasts. He began rolling one of my nipples between his fingers. My nails dug into his back, I wanted to pull him on top of me. "If you're a man, then what are these?"

"They...they're my breasts."

"Men don't have breasts," he replied. He then did something to them with his mouth that made it impossible for me to answer him. Thank God Dr. Auger hadn't let me have them removed!

Leroy turned me around, facing the bed. He then roughly grabbed me from behind, kissing my bare neck and shoulders, holding my chest. He had removed his shirt, his chest pressed against my naked back. In the back of mind I knew that he would find out that I really was a man soon enough. I didn't linger on it long. At least afterwards I would have this memory.

Leroy pulled off my skirt and panties. All I was wearing were my shoes, stockings, and the sex hiding garment. Leroy grabbed the garment by its sides and pulled the rear of it around the bottom of my tush. My penis was still covered.

"Dale, I don't care what sex you were born as. All I know is that you make a lousy man and a great woman. I love you. I love you as a man loves a woman. All I need to know now is the answer to this question. Nothing else is important. Do you love me?"

I could feel his erect penis already tickling the cleft of my buttocks. "Yes, Leroy. Yes...yes! Oh, Leroy, yes! My God, yes! Oh, yes, oh, yes, OH YES!"

Epilogue: Three Years Later

I sat in the living room of Jenni's new apartment, freezing in my bathrobe. "Would you hurry up, Jenni?" I called. "The ceremony starts in a few hours and you still have to do my makeup and my hair!"

"Hold your horses, Dale. I'm coming. Sheesh, don't be so impatient!" Jenni entered the room, carrying her large makeup kit.

"Sorry!," I replied, pretending to be angry. "It's not like I get married every day!"

Jenni just shook her head and smiled. "Well, I for one was beginning to think you and Leroy would never tie the knot. If you ask me, it's about time."

I blushed. "We wanted to wait until after graduation. Besides, you know I couldn't get married legally until, well, you know. After the operation."

"I know. So...will you let me see the results of the surgery?"

"Jenni!" I was shocked that she'd even suggest such a thing.

"C'mon Dale. It's not like you're my brother anymore. Please? Just a peek? I'm curious."

I sighed, and stood up. I took a deep breath and opened my bathrobe. Despite having lived as a woman for three years I still felt awkward about been nude around my older sister.

Jenni looked at my body critically. My firm breasts, my flat stomach, my rounded hips. But what she was most interested in was what was between my legs. I no longer needed to wear the sex hiding device. All that was down there was a small patch of brown hair and a moist, tender, secret crevice. The word 'FEMALE' on my college records was no longer a mistake.

Jenni shook her head in amazement. "Wow! The wonders of surgery. So have you two, shall we say, taken it for a spin?"

I pulled my robe closed tight. "No," I replied, embarrassed. "It took forever to heal, and by that time we were so close to the wedding...I figured that Leroy could wait until the honeymoon. Besides, this way I can still wear white!"

Jenni did my makeup. As she painted my face, I remembered back several years ago when she had done the same thing for the first time. It was shortly before my date with Steve. God, how times had changed.

Jenni helped me into my dress. The first time she had done that, it had been a black, conservative number. Now, it was a snow-white wedding gown. It had a plunging neckline and left my shoulders uncovered. I wore an antique silver chain around my neck. Something old. At the end of it, occasionally getting lost in my cleavage, was a locket that Jenni had bought me as a wedding gift. Inside was a picture that John had taken of Leroy and I, the day after he had proposed. Something new. A pair of Jenni's earrings hung from my ears. Something borrowed.

As for the something blue, Jenni was now putting it in my hair. I hadn't had long hair for a year and a half, I thought I looked much better with my hair short. Why not? Long hair no longer mattered. I now looked too feminine for short hair to make a difference. It had been Jenni's idea for me to wear flowers in my hair. She clipped them in, finishing with a blue violet. The ring on my finger completed my trousseau.

After we were both convinced that I looked perfect, Jenni got dressed. She looked lovely in her maid of honor gown. No one had thought of her as 'that poor scarred girl' in years. Finally we were about ready to go.

"You look great, little sister," said Jenni. I smiled. Little sister. I guess I had to get used to that. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror. I looked so innocent, so pretty. Like a bride should.

"You look pretty good yourself, Jenni."

Jenni sighed. "Always a bridesmaid..."

I hugged her. "Don't worry, your time will come."

"Yes, it has," she replied absently.

"What did you say?"

Jenni looked startled. "I said...I said 'Yes, it will.'"

"No you didn't. You said 'Yes, it has.' What did you mean?"

Jenni looked nervous. "Well...."

"C'mon, out with it."

"But I'm not supposed to say anything! John said that this time was special for you and Leroy and we shouldn't steal your thunder."

"Jenni, what are you saying?"

"Well...John proposed to me last week. He said we'd announce it next week, but I guess I can't keep anything from you. You'll be my maid of honor, of course?"

"Oh, Jenni..." was all I could say. I hugged her, already tearing up.

"Now hush, Dale. Stop that crying, you'll smear your mascara."

It was a storybook wedding. I know that's the oldest wedding cliche in the world, but it was true. I couldn't imagine a more perfect, sunny day for an outdoor ceremony. Leroy had suggested getting married in the woods, in front of the cabin where I first gave myself to him. The area was decorated in flowers. All of our friends were there. Francois, Leroy's ex-roommate and best man. Jenni, my maid of honor. Rhea the magician's assistant, and Dr. Alice, my bridesmaids. John, the wedding photographer. And of course who else could play the wedding music, but Smeg? He had had to drive two counties away to find a tux in his size.

Smeg tore into the wedding march. Holding my bouquet, I approached the minister and took my place by the groom.

"Dearly beloved," began the clergyman "we are gathered her today in the sight of God to witness the joining of this man and this woman in holy matrimony." Woman. Bride. Sister. So many new words applied to me now.

"Do you, Leroy James Brown, take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, as long as you both shall live?"

"I do." Leroy's theater-trained voice rang out through the forest grove, sure and confident.

"Do you, Dale Raymond Simpson, take this man..." There was muted laughter at the mention of my middle name. After all the paperwork and bureaucratic nonsense I had to deal with to achieve legal womanhood, I had asked Leroy if I could keep my masculine middle name. It was a reminder, and the only reminder, of the man I once was. I had lived as that man for eighteen years, it didn't seem right to remove him from existence completely. Leroy had consented. He said it would remind him of what I had given up to be with him.

"Then, by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." Leroy's kiss was tender, as tender as that first kiss on the stage after 'Midsummer.' It was my first kiss as a married woman. The first kiss from my husband.

And so ends the story about how 'one day of my life' turned into the rest of my life. About how my sister realized that she could be loved for who she was. And about how I fell in love with the man of my dreams. As Shakespeare said, "May joy and fresh days of love accompany your hearts." I couldn't think of a happier wish, nor a truer one.

Maiden Voyage
By Czolgolz
[email protected]

A young orphan tracks down his long lost twin sister on the day of her wedding to a rich man. Gosh, I hope she doesn't have something sinister planned.
***

It's a horrible thing never to know where you came from. Not to know who your parents were, not to know what city you were born in, not to know your own birthday. If you've had any sort of childhood whatsoever, then I envy you.

As you may have guessed, I was born an orphan. Dropped off at some Atlanta welfare society. No name, no past. 'Infant Doe.' Malnourished. About two months old. Traces of heroin in my system.

Things went downhill from there. Orphanages are less like 'Boys' Town' and more like 'Oliver Twist.' I won't bore you with accounts of the abuse and neglect. I was thirteen when I finally escaped for good.

Life on the streets. What can I say? You did what you did to survive. You stole. You robbed. You fought and struggled and looked over your shoulder. You crept among alleys like a rat. You developed a sixth sense. You learned to do anything, ANYTHING, to survive. I guess that's why I allowed it to happen.

I was hard and bitter, big shock, huh? I hated those people I'd see driving their big fancy cars, going home to their rich wives, sleeping in their warm beds. Hated them! But I envied them.

It's the orphan's dream. The family. Someone who cared for you. Someone who wanted you. Someone who loved you. I guess I never gave up hope that someday, somewhere, I'd have a real family.

I was working as a stevedore in Miami at the time. I guess I was around nineteen. I met this old merchant marine, we became fairly close. I wouldn't say friends, when you come from where I do, you don't make friends. A friend is just someone who hasn't turned on you yet.

Anyway, we're having beers one night. And we get to talking. He's been around, seen a few things. We come to the subject of families. I, of course, have nothing to say. But then he tells me something which changes my life.

I had always assumed that adoption records were private. You give up your son, no strings, never have to hear from him again. But I was wrong.

Turns out, you can access your family history for medical reasons. Makes sense, you never know if you're going to need a kidney or something.

It was a hopeless fantasy, I knew. Even the next day, as I caught a northbound semi to Atlanta, I had convinced myself that I was just moving on. But I couldn't help fantasizing...

About a middle-aged couple who had never stopped regretting the son they gave up years ago. Or perhaps an uncle, some wise older guy who would take me under his wing and help me get my life together. What if I had surviving grandparents? Or brothers and sisters?

It was stupid. On the off chance they still had my records, and they actually had my family name somewhere, and I could actually contact family members, would they actually want to see me? A penniless, homeless teenager? No, of course not. But sometimes, you have to follow your gut.

I pretended that I didn't care when I told the social workers who I was. I gave them a sob story about needed to contact my family about my health. I expected the worst.

I struck gold. My mother had left records when she dropped me off! I did have a past. I eagerly glommed on to the folder they dug up for me.

It was all depressing. My mother had been a prostitute. A junkie. Though the file didn't say it, I was sure she was long dead. But that wasn't the most interesting thing.

I had a twin sister! A twin sister! I nearly kissed the middle-aged woman who was assisting me. We had been separated after birth, the logic being it was easier to get single children adopted than a set, so to speak.

It hadn't worked. I lived in the orphanage before running away. My sister, according to her file, was in an out of foster homes until her teenage years. They lost contact after that.

The file listed her name as Andrea. I grinned at whatever civil servant had named us, way back when. Andrea and Andrew. Real original.

There was no clue as how to contact her.

"Um, ma'am," I started, not really sure how to go about this.

"Yes?"

"How could I go about contacting my sister?"

"I'm afraid you can't. If you bring a note from a legitimate doctor citing need for familial contact for health reasons, we can contact her anonymously."

I felt wretched. To be told I had family, and then told I could never contact her!

It must have shown on my face. I didn't need a transplant, and I'm sure my sister would have just as little clue about our family medical history as I did. I must have evoked sympathy from the social worker, because as I was leaving, she pressed something into my hand. It was a note.

'Andrea Jones. 1701 Robert E. Lee Dr, Savannah, GA. 555-1361.'

***

Paydirt! I blessed the woman for breaking the law to help me! Now I could talk to my real family! Only an orphan can know what a special thing that is.

I panhandled all afternoon to buy a phone card. I couldn't very well call her collect, could I? I couldn't remember the last time I had been so nervous. In all my years on the streets, nothing had scared me as much as the thought that I might be rejected by my own sister.

"Hello?" said a husky female voice.

"Hello. Is this...Andrea Jones?"

"Yes."

"You were delivered to The Savannah Children's Home in November, nineteen years ago?"

"Who is this? What do you want?" She seemed upset.

"You don't know me. Listen, there's no other way for me to say this. I'm Andy, your twin brother."

There was a long, long pause. I think I would have died had she hung up. Finally, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper.

"They mentioned something once about a brother. I never knew how to...are you in town?"

"I could be there tomorrow."

"Oh God, please come! Oh God, you don't know how much I need to talk to you right now!" She gave me the address of a Savannah restaurant. I told her I'd be there the next day.

I guess my nervousness showed. The salesman I thumbed a ride with seemed on the verge of putting me out of his car. I suppose I seemed like someone who was running from something. Only after I told him why I was so agitated did he calm down.

I arrived twenty minutes after I had agreed to meet her, and still I couldn't bring myself to enter the establishment. Here I was, homeless, bedraggled, and scruffy. How could I just go and present myself to my only family member? What would she think?

But I had to do it. I had to meet her. Even if she told me she didn't want anything to do with me, well, it would be worth it to see her. I had to see her. Besides, hadn't she told me she really wanted to talk to me?

I entered. This was a high-class place, and I instantly felt out of my element. I wondered why Andrea, whose upbringing hadn't been much easier than mine, would choose such an expensive joint.

I knew her right away when I saw her. There was no doubt in my mind that we were related. There was no doubt that we were twins.

Like me, she had short, blonde hair. Like me, she had blue eyes, and just the slightest hint of an overbite. Like me, she was just under six feet tall. Like me, she was slender and wiry.

She was very pretty, in a tomboy sort of way. Athletic and slightly buxom. She was wearing what looked like and expensive dress, though she seemed she'd look better in jeans and a T-shirt.

"Andrea?"

"Andy?" She stood up and hugged me. It took a lot of willpower not to cry. A hug from my sister. A hug from family.

She sat down and I took a seat opposite her. My sister! My own flesh and blood.

"I don't know where to begin," I babbled.

"Why don't you tell me about yourself."

"Well, I ran away from the orphanage when I was young. I've been doing odd jobs and such since then."

"Where are you living?"

"I'm, um, sort of on the move at the moment." I really tried to play down the true state of things. I didn't want her to think that my finding her and my poverty were related. The last thing I was going to do was sponge off of her. "So tell me about you."

"Well, I was kicked out of the home when I turned eighteen. I did a bit of modeling. Last year I met a guy, Duke Greyson, and we're getting married!"

"Married? That's great!" A brother-in-law too! Would I actually do something this Thanksgiving?

"Yeah," she said. Somehow she lacked the enthusiasm I showed, but I didn't feel it was my place to mention it. Besides, it was probably my imagination.

"What's he like?"

"He's a millionaire. Owns Greyson industries. For once, I'm going to live in style!" See sounded enthusiastic about that at least. "We're traveling around the world for our honeymoon."

Andrea was doing great. I thought about the rich man I'd soon be related to. I'd have to make a really good impression. An industry leader could get me a job, any sort of job. A real job that I'd keep for once. Maybe even I could get an advance on my paycheck and rent an apartment somewhere. Have some stability in my life. Get off the streets.

"So when's the big day?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"Really? That's great!"

"I guess. So can you come?"

"Can I come? Uh..." I wanted to come more than anything, but the truth was I had nothing to wear to a wedding and no money to buy anything.

Andrea sensed my dilemma. "Don't worry about clothes. Just show up a few hours early. Show this at the door..." Andrea handed me a business card, which advertised her services as a model. "I'll have someone there to get you ready."

"You will? I mean, I don't want to put anyone to any trouble."

"Don't worry, Duke's paying for it all." That didn't reassure me. I didn't like to take charity. I had begged before, but only when I was very desperate. Of course, I flat out stole on numerous occasions, so I wasn't one to get on a moral high horse.

"So where will the wedding be?"

"On Duke's yacht at the marina." She wrote the address on the back of the card.

"When will I get to meet Duke?"

"At the reception. I'm sorry it can't be sooner, but we're both really busy with the wedding plans. In fact, I have to get going now."

I was disappointed. I had hoped we'd have more time to catch up.

"I'm sorry to see you go so soon."

"Don't worry. Once I get back from my honeymoon, we'll get together for the weekend or something. Here..." she passed me a bill, "go ahead and get some food, and see you at the wedding." She kissed my cheek and got up and left.

I ordered a Coke (I was still thinking like a hobo, not willing to blow my money in an expensive restaurant) and pondered. It was so great to see Andrea. But I felt slightly uneasy as well. Why didn't see seem as happy as a new bride should be? The wedding didn't seem to thrill her at all. And why couldn't I meet Duke? I mean, I know it was her wedding and all, but wasn't a long-lost twin brother something? She couldn't have me over for dinner or anything?

I was being paranoid and rude. I barely knew her, and already I'm psychoanalyzing her. And an unexpected family member was a big thing. I couldn't expect her to make me part of her family right off. I was lucky she was including me in the wedding.

I stuck the bill in the leather folder the waiter brought me without looking at it. He shot me a snooty look. I figured out why when he brought my change. I had just paid for a soda with a fifty-dollar bill.

***

Two days later I stood at the gate to the marina. The night before a church-sponsored homeless shelter had provided me with a shower, shave and a set of, if not new, clean clothes. I was determined not to be an embarrassment to my new family.

I had never seen so many Porches, Mercedes, and Ferraris on the same lot. For a second I wondered if there was a good chop shop in the area, and instantly resented myself for it. 'Try to act like a normal person,' I told myself.

I snuck around the gate at the entrance and looked for Duke's boat. I walked by it several times before I realized it wasn't a small island.

There are boats and then there are boats. My concept of boat had more to do with the barges and steamers I used to unload. I had pictured Duke's boat like a large sailboat, something big enough for about twenty people. But this...this was bigger than Omaha.

I found out later the boat, Greyson II, boasted five luxury suites, a gym, a sauna, a banquet hall, plus engines, servants quarters, and kitchens. Duke was rich in the same sense that the Pacific Ocean was wet. A mere millionaire couldn't afford a hulk like that. He had to have at least a cool billion.

Maybe I should just leave. I couldn't picture Andrea telling her wealthy fiancée "Guess what honey? My long lost homeless brother will be joining us for the wedding!" I didn't belong here. I'd just call her again when she got back...
No. I had to go through with it. Who cared if I was the embarrassing family member? At least I would be part of a family. I marched towards the gangway.

The wedding wasn't for a while still, but hordes of catering staff, laborers, and decorators swarmed to and from the boat. I was about to wander aboard when a lumbering security guard stopped me.

"Do you have business here?"

"Um, I'm Andrea Jones's brother."

"She don't have a brother."

"No, seriously. We sent to separate orphanages when we were babies. She didn't know about me until the other day. Look, she told me to show this." I held up the business card Andrea had given me.

The guard barely looked at it. "I don't know what your scam is, pal, but you'd better beat it."

"But it's the truth."

"Scram, or I call the cops."

I didn't know what to do. I could maybe take this guy, but what would be the point? That would impress Andrea, me brawling my way into her wedding. I didn't know how to contact her. Why hadn't she warned anyone about me?

At that moment, my guardian angel appeared. She came in the form of a forty-something woman with a clipboard. She was dressed in a suit and had a no-nonsense business air about her. Still, despite her severe clothes and the age difference, she was quite cute. Tall, slender, and very well proportioned.

"Lars!" she barked at the human door. "It's okay. I'll take care of it."

Lars snapped to attention. "Yes ma'am!"

The woman took me by the arm and led me aboard. "I'm Nikki Lewis, Ms. Jones's personal assistant. I'm terribly sorry about the mix up. Ms. Jones wanted to give you a chance to change before she introduced you around."

I appreciated that. When I met Andrea's high society friends, I would at least be dressed nice. I kept nervously glancing around, amazed at the ritzy surroundings.

"Nervous?" asked Nikki.

"No. Well, yes. I slept at the men's shelter last night. I feel out of my depth."

Nikki stopped. She looked me in the eye and smiled. She had a real pretty smile. "Listen Andy. You're just as good as anyone here. Just stick your chest out, smile, and let everyone know that you don't have anything to be ashamed of."

"Thanks." Nikki sure was sweet. I hoped she be around during the reception. Maybe save a dance for me.

"At any rate, here we are." She pointed in an inauspicious door. "Just go right in."

I entered. It was a small cabin, just a bed, nightstand, closet, and a door to the bathroom. Probably a servant's quarters. Andrea was nowhere to be seen. I sat on the bed and waited.

She showed up about fifteen minutes later. "Andy!" she said with a smile. "I was afraid you weren't going to come!"

"Hey, I wouldn't miss my sister's wedding!" My sister's wedding. A family event.

"Can I fix you a drink?" she asked.

"Shouldn't I get dressed first?" I asked. I was still embarrassed about my charity clothes.

"Oh, the wedding's not for several hours. I'd really like to catch up with you." She pulled open a closet, revealing a small mini-bar. "What's your pleasure?"

I guessed Thunderbird wine would be in bad taste, so I asked for a gin and tonic, the classiest drink I knew. She poured me one.

"Now," she said, sitting down on the bed next to me, "I want you to tell me more about yourself."

I swigged my drink uncomfortably. What was there to say? When you have to home, you don't have a lot to say about yourself. I had no girlfriend, no hobbies, no collections, no job. I suddenly felt a little useless.

"There's not a whole lot to tell," I started, taking another swig. I didn't care for the drink, it tasted rather bitter.

"Oh, come on, you've had to have done something in the past couple of decades." She was smiling very sweetly.

"Oh, well, odd jobs, travel...aren't you drinking?"

"No, not before the big event. Don't you like your drink?" She looked hurt that I had set my gin aside. I took another gulp, even though it really tasted rank. It was almost making me sick.

"I've actually been to...been to..." I clutched my stomach. As a transient, having a low level case of the flu (or worse) was more or less a given, but something was really wrong. God, I wasn't coming down with something terrible now, was I?
I curled up on the bed, feeling horribly weak. I looked up at Andrea, but to my surprise she didn't look concerned. In fact, she was still smiling sweetly.

"Andrea?" I croaked. I could barely move.

"Don't worry, Andy. Just a little something I slipped in your drink. A chemist friend of mine whipped it up for me. It's a muscle paralyzer. Just a little something to keep you immobilized for a few hours."

I tried to ask her why, but I didn't have the strength. I couldn't move even a finger. Oh Christ, what the hell was my sister doing?

Andrea didn't seem to be in a hurry to explain things. She straightened my body out on the bed and grinned at me. "Yes, this will work out nicely." What will work out nicely?

Andrea opened another closet, and pulled out something in a large garment bag. I couldn't move my head to see clearly, there seemed to be more in the closet but I couldn't tell. Andrea moved into my line of vision and sat on the bed. Sipping her drink, she explained things.

"Andy, Andy, Andy. I'm almost sorry to do this to you. You see, I'm not really in love with Duke. I'm in love with his money. Ever since I left the orphanage, I've been trying to make it big. Find some rich schmuck who'll take care of me. Help me live the high life. When I met Duke, I knew he was just the sap to do it.

"My plan was to marry him, string him along for a few years, and then divorce him with a big 'ol alimony settlement. Mmmm, millions of dollars." Andrea leaned her head back and smiled, fantasizing. "But the more I thought about it, the less I liked it. I mean, Duke's an okay guy, I guess, but I really didn't feel like sleeping with him every night. But, there was no way out of it. If I wanted his money, I had to be his sex toy."

Andrea smiled in a very unsettling way. "And then I met you, dear brother. And all my problems were solved. You see, Duke, as a measure of good faith, put my name on his bank account, effective as soon as we are legally married. Now, if I were to run off with the money right after the wedding, he'd just have the marriage annulled. But when I met you, I figured out a way out."

I desperately willed my body to move. She was going to set me up! Make it look like I stole the money somehow, send me up the river while she spent Duke's money, free as a bird! What was she going to do, make it look like I killed her?

The answer, as it turned out, was much, much worse. "You see, Andy, once Duke marries me, I'll have free access to his money. But since I'll be on the honeymoon with him, I won't have a chance to withdraw anything. But what if someone else were to take my place? What if someone stood in for me as the bride, while I was emptying the bank accounts? By the time Duke realized he'd been duped, I'd be long gone."

No. She couldn't mean it. Surely, she didn't think I...

She must have read my thoughts. "Yes, you. You'll be the bride today. And when Duke realizes you're not me, I'll be halfway to Rio."

What made her think I'd go through with this insane plan? Why would I go through with a public wedding, just so my slut of a sister could rob the groom! I'd end up in jail when Duke found out!

Andrea apparently was unconcerned. "Well, if you're going to be pretty for your wedding day, let's get you fixed up." Then, unashamedly, and with no resistance on my part, she began to strip me.

"Hmmm...nice," she pondered. "You know, when you first called, I was afraid you'd be some huge hunk. But you're so scrawny, you'll make the perfect blushing bride!"

I wanted to scream. I wanted to slap her. But I felt like I was in a vice. I felt like I was in a straitjacket. And the most horrible thing was, being temporarily paralyzed wasn't the worst thing. I was going to be dressed as my sister! Soon, I was naked.

My head was propped up on my pillow so I could see what Andrea was doing to my body. She was lathering up my legs. Shaving cream spilled down all over the sheets, but she didn't seem to care. Why would she care? She'd steal from her fiancée, humiliate her brother, why would she care about who had to clean the sheets?

I knew what was coming. With a woman's razor, she shaved my legs. She nicked me a few times, but it didn't seem to bother her. She then began soaping up my armpits.

"Your arms are a bit muscular," she mused as she shaved me, "but I don't think anyone will notice. "There," she smiled as she wiped of the soap. "Clean and smooth. Here, let me get that chest hair."

I was never a hairy man, just a few strands around my nipples and under my navel, so that didn't take long to shave. She finished by plucking the few strands of facial hair I had.

She moved out of my line of vision and returned with a small cooler. Without ceremony, she dumped its contents onto my crotch. It was filled with crushed ice, which caused my testicles to shoot up into their recesses and my manhood to shrink uncontrollably. "I almost forgot to bring ice," Andrea quipped. "That might have been a problem."

As my balls were numbing, my sister pulled out another humiliating thing: a padded bra. "At first, I had decided to go with a gown that showed off a little cleavage. Thank God I didn't! Now I can give you a nice set of breasts without showing that they're fake."

As she forced me into the bra, I tried to speak. Why in the world would she think I would go through with this? The second I could move I would yank all these clothes off and tell everyone on the boat what she had done. I suddenly felt sorry for her fiancé, Duke. Poor guy, at least he'd know what a bullet he dodged when he found out. It would be embarrassing for both of us, but at least I wouldn't have to marry him.

Soon, I was in my bra. I looked like...well, a guy in a bra. I wondered what it would look like in a wedding gown. Aw, who cared? The gown would come off the second I could move.

Just when I thought I would die of cold, Andrea removed the ice from my crotch. Then she pulled something from out of my line of sight. "This is called a gaff," she said, showing me something like a woman's bikini bottom. "This will hide your manhood. Wouldn't want anything, um popping up, during the wedding." Lifting my deadened legs, she forced me into the garment. It was so tight I knew that it would be painful if I could still feel myself down there. I could still tell that my balls were retracted into my pelvis and that my penis had shrunken down to almost nothing.

So here I lay, helpless and miserable, in women's underwear. When Andrea began to press fake pink fingernails onto my hands I wasn't even surprised. I wondered what would come next.

"Now," said Andrea, as if explaining something I'd actually care about, "I'll leave your hair and makeup for last. I guess we can go ahead and get you into your gown."

From what I could see of the gown, it looked big enough to cover a baseball diamond during a rain delay. Probably cost a fortune too. Not that I cared, I'd probably tear the thing to shreds as soon as I could move. It took Andrea a good hour to cram me into the damn thing, and she wasn't gentle. I was tossed around like a sack of potatoes. My head flopped this way and that, I was unable to see what she was doing. Once, my face wound up in a pillow and I could hardly breathe for a couple of minutes. I had never hit a woman in my life, but it was fast looking like my twin sister might be the first one.

"My shoes just won't fit you," she said. "Nothing to be done, the gown will cover your feet." She laughed. "The barefoot bride. At least you're not pregnant."

Just calm down, Andrew. You'll be able to move soon enough. You'll be able to tell everyone what kind of a woman Andrea is.

I still had no idea what I looked like. One thing was for sure, I was a man who had never taken the slightest interest in personal appearance before. I was lucky if I got to shower a couple of times a week. I don't know how Andrea thought she could pass me off as a debutante bride, but it sure as hell wasn't going to work.

Andrea left. I prayed that she wouldn't come back, but of course she did. She'd only humiliated me a little, now was the time for the coup de gras. I still couldn't get up, but I could hear her wheeling something. I soon realized it must have been a makeup table.

Without so much as a warning, Andrea straddled me, kneeing me in the groin and knocking my wind out. I was nearly blind with rage by this time. Oh, Andrea, how lucky you were I couldn't move. How very lucky.

Brushes, pencils, powder puffs, and lipstick tubes flew in and out of my line of site. I could only imagine what was happening. She was certainly using enough makeup, she even powdered my bare neck and shoulders. I figured I'd look like Bozo the Clown when she was done.

Finally, Andrea smiled her evil smile and nodded. "You'll pass." She looked at her watch. "Damn. I guess I won't have time to do your hair like I'd like. Sorry Andy, I know how special this day is going to be for you. I wanted it to be perfect for you."

I swore revenge. Even if I wound up in prison for this, even if it took me twenty years, I'd find her and make her pay for this. It was bad enough she was setting me up and humiliating me like this, bad enough I'd have to face people dressed like a woman, but to act like I'd enjoy this? Act like I wanted to look pretty as a bride? She was dead
.
Andrea began to clip the ends of my longish hair, and spray it with almost an entire bottle of hairspray. She wasn't even careful not to get any in my nose. I could tell she wasn't happy with the results, but I was even more unhappy.

Finally, Andrea leaned back to look at me. "Well...I guess you'll do. No one will be expecting anyone other than me, and with all the makeup, I don't think anyone will notice. Now remember..." Andrea was cleaning up the room, putting away the makeup, gathering up my clothes. "Stand up straight, try to keep your voice high, and don't kiss the groom too long. Tacky."

Andrea must have lost her mind! Forget about the humiliation of being a bride, did she honest think I wanted to help her get away with this scam? To rip off some poor guy? I sure wasn't going to the slammer for this hoax! Just what was she thinking?

Andrea had put everything away, stuffing all my things into a garbage bag. "I'll just toss these on the way out," she said, as if she were carrying trash, instead of practically everything I owned, including almost fifty dollars in cash. She turned to me. "Sorry about this, Andy. But when you showed up, everything worked out so well." She kissed my cheek. "I know you're furious, but give it a shot. Duke's a nice guy, you might enjoy being a rich wife." She winked at me, and moved out of my line of sight. I heard the door open and close. She was gone.

I don't know how long I lay there. Probably much shorter than it felt like. My nose itched. My legs hurt from not moving. My privates were no longer numb, they ached in their confined location. It's hard to describe how miserable I felt. Even the humiliation of my situation was forgotten amid the agony of not moving. Just what was this chemical that had paralyzed me? What is Andrea was wrong? What if I could never move again?

After an eternity, I had the sensation like you get when a limb falls asleep and then wakes up. I numb, tingling. My fingers began to wiggle, just a little. I could make soft, pained sounds from my throat. "C'mon," I thought. I had to get moving, had to get help before someone came to take me to the wedding.

After about half an hour, I could move my arms and legs some; my trunk was still stiff and immobile. "Soon," I thought. "Soon. Just a little more."

Weak as a baby, I finally managed to sit up. My head swam. It couldn't focus. While my mind desperately wanted to rip off my finery, wash my face, and find some clothes, all I could do was sit on the bed and try to steady myself. I thought I was going to be sick.

I attempted to stand up, but the voluminous gown prevented me. Taking a deep breath I clutched the hems of the skirt and managed to rise. I needed a drink of water. I thought of the bar where Andrea had fixed me a drink. Maybe I could find an unopened bottle of tonic or something.

It was then that I saw my reflection in a large mirror on the wall. And with a horrible sense of realization, I knew that at least part of my sister's plans had come true.

I certainly didn't look like a fashion queen, or a socialite, or a centerfold. I looked like a fourteen-year-old tomboy forced to model her sister's wedding gown. But it would take more imagination to think that I was a guy than to think that I was a girl.

The wedding gown was huge. The large quantities of silk and lace pretty much covered everything from my hips down. Even if I sported a ten-inch erection, it would hardly be noticeable under all that material. The gown had obviously been designed for someone much more slender, my torso strained at the confines of the narrow waist. And yet...the gown seems to mold my figure, rather than vice versa. People would be more likely to think I the reason for the tight fit was that I was pregnant, not that I was really a guy. Oh God, was I in trouble.

The gown tapered off just above the surprisingly realistic looking mounds on my chest. My bare shoulders showed off my tanned, freckled skin. I noticed that Andrea had slipped a necklace on me when I had been incapacitated. Oh God...
The face was the worst part. I had never had many opportunities to look in the mirror. I almost never needed to shave and it was just as easy to comb my hair without looking at it. Whenever I did wash my face in front of some gas station mirror, all I'd see was a gawky, scrawny, teenage guy.

What I saw now was a awkward, slender, teenage girl. The hairspray had poofed my short hair out into something resembling a female 'do.' My cracked and chapped lips had become red and pouty. Highlights on my face made my sunken cheeks look high and effeminate. Mascara covered the circles under my eyes. If Andrea hadn't made me look like her, she had at least made me look kind of pretty.

But what did it matter? The makeup was coming off. The clothes were coming off. I staggered to the bathroom door, but it was locked. I tried to force the closet, hoping to find some cleanser in the makeup kit, but it was locked as well.
I had a sick feeling in my stomach. No water, no way to get off the makeup. What was worse, I realized, was that my sister had stolen all my clothes. The only thing to cover up with was the bed sheets, now soaking wet from the melted ice. I pictured myself, my face made up like a woman's, wearing nothing but a bed sheet toga, desperately trying to find my way off the ship. And once I reached land, what then?

Could I pretend to be Andrea and call for help? Ask for some cold cream and a set of sweats? No, that would only raise suspicion. Could I call for help through the door as myself, and ask for some water and a change of clothes? Pretend I had spilled something? That might work. There was only one problem. No one on board knew I was supposed to be there. No one but...

But Nikki! I thought of the pretty older woman and almost cried. She knew Andrea's brother was on board! If I could just pass myself off as Andrea for a few minutes, I could ask someone to send for Nikki. She was nice, I could explain what happened and she could rescue me.

Could I be brave enough to wander around the boat dressed like this? Did I have the courage? I thought back to a night running through a field outside Macon, security dogs hot on my tail. I thought of jumping a ten-foot fence in Nashville to escape from a drug dealer who realized I'd seen something I shouldn't have. I remembered a pimp pulling a knife on me behind a bar in Tulsa.

This was scarier. At least I knew what I was capable of in those situations. I knew I could handle myself. But pass myself as a bride? I had no idea what to do!

I checked myself in the mirror. Makeup still looked okay. What had Andrea said? Stand up straight and make my voice high. Remembering that I was supposed to be happy, I tried to wipe the look of terror off my face.

I tried the door. It was unlocked. I forced my face into a smile. 'Pretend this is the happiest day of your life,' I told myself. Just smile, stand up straight, and find Nikki.

I had no idea where to go in the labyrinthine vessel. Occasionally a crewmember would dash by and give me a smile. I was relieved that no one seemed suspicious.

After about ten minutes of wandering around, I knew I had to ask for directions. Stopping an important looking sailor, I asked him if he knew where Nikki was.

He blinked at me for a second, and I thought my voice had given away. "Nikki?" he asked. "Oh, you mean Ms. Lewis. Hold on, I'll page her." My cover was safe. Andrea had a bit of a husky voice, and I had been able to pull it off, at least for a couple of sentences.

The sailor spoke into his walkie-talkie. "Yes, Ms. Jones is trying to locate Ms. Lewis. Anyone know where she is? Okay. Great. I'll tell her."

He turned to me. "She's in the Blue Room. She says come right in."

The Blue Room? What the hell was that? "Um, I'm a little turned around here..."

"Oh, straight through that door, up the stairs, on your right." I quickly exited.

It didn't take me long to find the empty ballroom where Nikki was located. I had hoped to catch her alone, but I found her leaning on a table, talking and laughing with a man in a khaki uniform and sunglasses. Though he wore no sort of insignia, his sunburned, weather beaten face shouted 'pilot.'

"Ah, there's the blushing bride," he said, removing his sunglasses, and grasping my hand. I remembered at the last minute not to give him a firm handshake. "Are you nervous Andrea?"

And how! Obviously Andrea knew this guy, but I didn't have a clue. At least he didn't see anything odd.

Ignoring him, I turned to Nikki. "Nikki? Can I talk to you? Alone?"

Nikki was still looking at the pilot. "Huh? Sure. Trent, could you excuse us a moment?" Trent winked at Nikki and left. She stared after him distractedly. Obviously Nikki was having romantic thoughts. Finally she remembered me.

"Don't you look gorgeous!" she said with a lovely smile. "Maybe a bit too much makeup. Let me help." She took a powder puff from her purse and started dabbing at my face.

"No," I pulled away. "I have to talk to you. Listen," I looked around to make sure we were alone. "I can't go through with the wedding."

Nikki tilted her head and looked at me sympathetically. "You don't need to explain, honey. I already know."

"You---you know?"

"Of course. Don't worry, it's going to be okay."

I could have screamed with relief. If Nikki knew what was going on, I had nothing to worry about. She'd help me escape!

"Come this way," she pulled me into a side door, which lead into a narrow passage. Eventually we emerged in a small foyer. "Now wait here," she ordered me. "I'll be back in a moment."

Sitting down was impossible in the gown, so I stood studying myself in a large, decorative mirror, starting at every sound. It was odd looking at a female reflection. Not just because of the gender reversal. In my whole life I had never worn nice clothes, and here I was, decked out in a gown that probably cost a few grand. Quite frankly, I couldn't believe Andrea was willing to give up such a luxurious life. Well, once she went to prison, she'd wish she was merely poor again. I'd see to that.

After about fifteen minutes, Nikki returned. "Sorry about that. Now, let's talk."

Talk? About what? I had to escape!

"Now, Andrea," she continued, "I know how you feel. Ever girl is nervous on her wedding day."

No, no, no! I couldn't believe it! Nikki didn't know about my problems, she just thought I was Andrea, having pre-wedding jitters.

"No, Nikki," I protested, "it's something else. I have something horrible to tell you."

"Andrea," Nikki said softly, "whatever it is, it doesn't matter. You're starting a new life, your old life is over. Don't worry about it, it's part of your past. Forget it."

I was desperate. "I can't marry Duke!"

"Honey," to my surprise, Nikki kissed my cheek. "Someday you'll thank me for this." I felt her press something into my hands. Looking down, I realized it was a bouquet of flowers that had been sitting in a vase. While I was distracted, I heard Nikki say something into a radio. "Okay, now."

I looked up. In front of me a large set of double doors opened. Before I could see what was beyond, Nikki gave me a firm push. In order not to trip on my dress, I stepped forward quickly and heard the doors close and latch behind. I became horribly aware of my surroundings.

There must have been nearly five hundred people in folding chairs, sitting in the large stateroom. The moment I entered, they all rose. The streams of a very familiar march filled the room, sickening me to my stomach. Flashbulbs popped everywhere. At the end of a long red carpet, I was dimly aware of the smiling figure of a young man.

Nikki had set me up! She thought she was doing me a favor and had forced me out to the wedding! Oh God, what now?

Everyone in the room was staring at me expectantly. I wanted to scream to them all that this was all a terrible, terrible mistake. And I knew I couldn't. Here I was standing in front of hundreds of people. How could I tell them I was just a guy in drag? It would be too utterly humiliating, for myself and for Andrea's fiancé.

I then did the hardest thing I had ever did in all my life. I began to walk forward. More cameras snapped as nervously walked down the aisle. This was not happening. Oh, God, this was so not happening.

Then I caught sight of him. Duke. Andrea's fiancé. He looked to be about thirty. Handsome, in a GQ kind of way. Here was the billionaire. Bile rose in my stomach. This guy was the cause of all my trouble. If he'd actually taken the time to know my sister I wouldn't be in this mess. Probably never worked a day in his life.

I stopped next to him. Boy, did he look happy. Why shouldn't he? It was his wedding day after all. I tried my best to smile. I tried my best not to look miserable and scared. It was all I could do not to run away.

The minister began the ceremony. I tried not to cringe. I tried to look happy. I'm sure my smile was just a hideous, painted on clown grin, as I stood there and crushed my flowers. I'd never been in this much trouble. Now that I'd committed to the wedding, I couldn't escape until after the reception! I might even have to wait until I went to Duke's room that night! Oh...oh, I was in deep. Goddamn Andrea!

I was dimly aware of the minister speaking. My mind was elsewhere, planning my escape. Maybe I could jump overboard, ditch the clothes, and hide out until I could get something new to wear. Maybe I could exchange clothes with someone on board. Was there a laundry room on the ship?

The minister cleared his throat and Duke was looking at me with an intense, worried expression. I was on. "I do," I managed to cough out. There was a smattering of laughter from the audience.

"Then, by the power vested in my by the state of Georgia, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."
Before I knew what was happening, Duke's lips met mine in a chaste, closed-mouth wedding kiss. I was too stunned to close my eyes. Then, as his lips fell away and I strained with myself not to wipe my lips, the worst thought of that horrible day hit me. I was married. Married to another man. I was a bride. I was---a wife.

I was screwed.

***

"Okay, Duke, put your hand on her shoulder and smile." We stood in front of the photographer in another forced pose and grinned for the thousandth time. I had managed to walk, hand in hand with the groom, down the aisle without falling. I had hoped, prayed, begged God that Duke and I would go off alone. Go somewhere we could talk, where I could warn him, tell him of the horrible mistake he had made. Tell him what Andrea had done to us.

Instead, Nikki had guided us to an empty portion of the deck, where a photographer took picture after picture, with the ocean in the background. It was almost too much. As I posed with Duke, with his best man, with his father, it was all I could do not to dive overboard. The only thing that kept me from screaming the truth was knowing that being exposed as a man-bride would be far more humiliating than playing wife for a day. At least there was no one from Andrea's family there who could recognize me.

"You look really nice," whispered my---my husband.

"Thank you," I answered flatly. While everyone tells the bride she's beautiful, I feared that people actually meant it today.

"Okay," said the photographer. "Now let’s get the couple kissing."

While I was able to conceal my disgust at partaking in a homosexual kiss during the wedding, I couldn't do it again.
"I need to sit down," I blurted, remembering just in time to keep my voice shrill. Without waiting for an answer, I slumped on a bench.

Nikki came over and handed me a glass of water. "Andrea, honey, I know you're nervous, but you have to pull yourself together. You have such a sour look on your face."

Making sure only Nikki was in my line of sight, I leaned in to her. "Bitch," I mouthed.

Nikki looked startled, then stood up. "All right, everyone. The bride's a bit pooped and the guests are waiting. Let's head on over to the reception."

My stomach knotted. I had hoped that there would be no reception, but of course there would be. Duke Greyson was rich, and he wasn't about to elope. The reception, I was sure, would be huge.

"Darling, shall we?" Duke touched my bare arm. For the first time that day, I got a good, undistracted look at him. He had black hair, and eyes so brown they appeared black as well. White, white teeth, and just a hint of five o'clock shadow. His face was handsome, unlined, and carefree.

I grabbed his arm. "Duke," I whispered. "We have to talk."

He looked concerned. I was glad he wasn't the type of guy to dismiss his new wife's concerns outright. "Let's have a seat," he said.

Some of Duke's family was milling around, and the photographer was smoking. "Not here," I said. "Let's go somewhere private."

"There'll be time enough for that on the honeymoon!" came a laughing voice. I wanted to spit. It was Nikki. "Come on, let's get over to the forward deck. You've got guests waiting."

Duke tried to protest, but was hustled along by Nikki. Before I knew it, we were headed toward the front of the ship, where a huge dance floor and buffet table were sat up. Hundreds of guests sat around the linen-covered tables.

"We'll sneak off as soon as we can," Duke whispered to me.

As we came to the reception, a twelve-piece band began playing a romantic pop song. The guests stood and applauded.

Flashbulbs began to pop. I was horrified to notice several of the photographers wore press identification badges for newspapers and less reputable tabloids. The media were covering the wedding! How was I supposed to escape, if the whole world knew Duke Greyson had married me?

We were ushered to the head table. The waitstaff began serving dinner, rare roast beef, chicken, or fish. I was a bit annoyed to be served a vegetarian entrée, but it didn't matter. I had no appetite.

Duke seemed concerned at my lethargy and kept patting my hand. I couldn't help but notice how soft his hand felt compared to my rough one. I pulled my hand away. I'm sure I didn't look like a happy bride.

I cringed when the MC announced the first dance. I allowed Duke to take my hand and lead me to the dance floor. As he put his arm around my waist I noticed how much taller he was than me.

"I thought you were going to wear heels," he said with a smile.

I shrugged and took his other hand. He led me around the dance floor, accompanied by the orchestral music and more flashbulbs.

I gritted my teeth in agony, I didn't care how the pictures turned out. When Andrea kidnapped me, it had never once occurred to me that her crazy plan would actually work! And yet, here I was, newly married, dancing with my husband in front of nearly a thousand people, and no one suspected a thing. I was living a nightmare.

"Andrea," Duke whispered. "What's wrong, love?"

I couldn't tell him here. Not in front of all those reporters. Much as I hated it, I'd have to wait until the reception was over. "Just a headache," I said. Then I smiled at him. In a few hours, his world would come crashing down. At least for now, he could think he had a wife who loved him.

I guess my little smile gave him encouragement, because he proceeded to mash his lips to mine. Not like the simple alter kiss either. He held his hand to the back of my head, and gently but forcefully shoved his tongue into my mouth. I was too stunned to resist. Later, when I looked at our wedding pictures, I had to laugh at the open-eyed look of shock on my face.
When more couples joined us on the dance floor, Duke sensed my discomfort and led me back to my seat. I managed to stay there until the toasts and speeches. It was interesting to hear Duke's family talk about me as if I were the real Andrea. Of course, none of them seemed to know her any better than I did. I got the impression their engagement hadn't lasted all that long.

Suddenly, I found the microphone in my hand. It was my turn. I wanted to give a short, dismissive speech, but held my tongue. There was no reason to be cruel. This wasn't Duke's fault.

"Duke--" I stammered. "I'm not good with words. I--I just want to say-- you're a wonderful man. I want you to know that. No matter what happens, remember--remember that I love you. Never forget that. I love you."

It was hard for me to say the romantic words, insincere as they were. Duke, however, seemed genuinely touched, and kissed my cheek as his took the mike. Guests clapped.

"Andrea, my love--you've made me so happy. I can't believe I haven't even known you a year."

You should've tried to know her a little longer, I thought.

"I'm not that great with words either--" some audience members laughed. Maybe he was good with words and was being modest. I certainly wouldn't know.

"I love you darling. All I have is yours. I promise to spend my life making you happy."

Don't promise what you can't do, Duke.

As everyone cheered, Duke kissed me on the forehead. He then turned to the guests.

"I want to think everyone for coming to celebrate with us today. Thank you for your presents, your well wishes and your love. We'll see you when we get back from our round the world honeymoon cruise!"

Oh crap. He wasn't planning on leaving tonight, was he? The horrifying thought caused me to look like a lobotomy patient during the cutting of the huge cake.

The rest of the evening didn't go any better. I was forced to make small talk with people I didn't know (but who knew Andrea), dance with Duke's father, and generally pretend I wasn't miserable. This went on for hours. Duke finally took my hand at one in the morning.

"What do you say we get out of here?"

I nodded, gratefully. Even if I wasn't playing bride, I would have left the party hours ago. I couldn't stand those pompous rich bastards, with their fancy food and their fake class. I was glad I'd be gone soon.

Duke and I reentered the ship under a hail of rice. I didn't have time to talk to him, we always seemed to be surrounded by sailors, staff, or other crew members. Finally, we walked down an ornate hall towards a pair of carved oaken doors. Door opened them, revealing a luxuriously appointed suite. The honeymoon suite.

"Duke--" I had to tell him, and I had to tell him right then!

"Hold on--" without warning, Duke swept me up in his arms, carried me across the room, and deposited me on the brass bed. As I set up, I could hear him close and lock the bedroom doors.

***

Things had to stop and they had to stop right there. I certainly didn't want Duke to get started on his wedding night duties!

"Duke!" I stood up.

"What is it, my love?" he asked, kicking off his shoes.

"Duke, stop. We have to talk." I edged away.

"Talk? On our wedding night?" Duke loosen his tie. "Can we do this later?"

"Trust me, we need to discuss something right this second."

Duke sighed and walked over to the nightstand. He removed a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket and began removing the cork. "So talk."

"Duke--there's no way to tell you this..."

The cork shot from the bottle with a bang. "Tell me what?"

For the first time since the horrible day began I felt more sorry for Duke than for myself. How do you tell a man his bride is a guy? That you're the guy? "Duke, there's something you don't know about me. Something terrible."

Duke was filling two champagne glasses. "Have you been married before?"

"No."

"Is there someone else?" He handed me my glass. I'd never tasted champagne before so I took a sip. Actually, I downed the glass in one gulp.

"There's no one else, Duke. It's much worse than that." Duke refilled my glass.

"Then what is it? Whatever it is, it won't make a difference to me, Andrea."

"Duke, will you listen to me?"

Duke wasn't listening. He placed his hands on my bare shoulders. "Could it be," he paused. "That you're not really Andrea?"

The sensual expression that had been on Duke's face was replaced by one of intense seriousness and concern.

"You--you knew?"

"C'mon, whoever you are." Duke's voice wasn't angry, it was hurt. "Do you think I wouldn't recognize my own fiancée? Your nose is different. Your voice is different. The freckles on your shoulders are different. You're close, but you're not Andrea."

I collapsed on the bed in relief. "So why didn't you say something before?"

"I couldn't during the ceremony. Andrea's your sister, right? You're the orphan she was talking about. Her twin."

"Duke, all I came for was a wedding. Andrea drugged me and made me up like her. I didn't come to until just before the ceremony. Ask Nikki, she'll tell you how I tried to get away."

Duke seemed far away. "They said she couldn't be trusted. I said she was different. I thought she loved me."

"Duke, she's going to steal your money. She knows that her name's on your accounts now. She said something about Rio. You need to put a block on your cash."

Duke shook his head. "I lied to her about that. I wasn't going to put her name on anything until after the honeymoon."

"I'm sorry, man. All I wanted to do was meet my sister. I didn't want any of this shit."

Duke sat on the other side of the bed, facing away from me, occasionally taking a drink straight from the champagne bottle.

"Everyone said Andrea was a gold digger. Everyone said she was just in this for the cash. I thought I saw something no one else did."

"It's not your fault. She fooled us both. I thought I had found a sister, instead she slips something into my drink and leaves me in her place." While I was pleased he wasn't freaked out about my gender, I wanted to get back to the issue at hand. Mainly, finding me some clothes and getting me the hell off the ship.

The man I'd just sworn to stand by, for better or for worse, was only half listening. "Yeah. Both of us--um, what's your name?"

"Andrew."

Duke's head shot up and I was horrified to see a look of unbridled fury across his handsome features. "What?" he almost screamed.

"What's your problem?" I stood up and back away.

In a heartbeat, Duke pounced at me. Grabbing the front of my dress, he yanked, tearing the expensive garment and exposing my flat chest and tiny nipples.

"You faggot! You're not Andrea's sister! You're--you're her brother!"

So that's why he'd been so calm. He knew I wasn't Andrea, but he had no idea I was a man.

"Duke, listen to me--"

Duke's hand shot up and slapped me across the face, sending me to the floor. "You sick queer! Everyone in the world saw you! Saw us!" He grabbed me by the arm and yanked me to my feet. "Do you realize what you've done?"

I tried to sputter out that I was as embarrassed as he was, probably a lot more so, but I couldn't get the words out. Only when I saw his hand go up to strike me again, I knew I had to take control of the situation.

With the experience of a dozen brawls behind me, I placed a well-directed jab right where it hurts (no, not there, on the bridge of his nose). This caused him to stagger back. As he recovered and tried to lunge again, I snatched up the champagne bottle and broke it nicely across a dresser. The jagged shard in my hand stopped his advance.

"Now listen here," I said, very calmly. "I know you're humiliated and hurt. You're betrayed. But so am I. I'm no fag, I never wanted to be your wife, and whatever embarrassment you went through today, I went through it twice."

Duke was kneeling on the floor, clutching his bloody nose. He tried to say something, but I stopped him. "I know you're a big shot. I know the world watches every time you take a shit. And I know what would happen if anyone found out what happened here tonight. But I don't want anyone to know any more than you do. So here's the plan.

"Get me some clothes. Say they're for you; they'll be a little big, but that's okay. I'll stay the night here, I'll sleep on that couch. In the morning, Nikki or someone can sneak me out. Tell the media you got an annulment. Tell them Andrea was a gold digging whore. Tell them anything. You and me, we never met."

Duke didn't say anything for a long time. Finally, he stood up. "Wait here," he said, and was gone.

As soon as he left, I ripped off the gown and kicked it into a heap on the floor. The bra, the gaff, and the fake fingernails soon followed. Poking around in a closet, I found a bathrobe with the monogram 'DG.' Perfect. Not only was I anxious to get back to looking like a man, I didn't want Duke to be reminded of me as a bride. That would be dangerous for us both.

I found the suite's bathroom and stared at my reflection. My makeup was a bit smeared, my hair was a sticky heap of hairspray, and a red welt was raising on my cheek from where Duke smacked me. I no longer looked like a bride, I looked like a drag queen who'd been in a bar fight.

I plunged my whole head into a basin of hot water and attempted to remove my makeup and straighten my hair. It helped a little, but it would really take cream, soap and a lot of shampoo, and I didn't want to be in the shower when Duke came back.

He returned all too soon, and he wasn't alone. Nikki, carrying a small sack, followed him. I was pleased to see her face was red and pained looking; she'd been crying. Good. It was her fault I was in this mess. I know she didn't know what was going on, but if she'd just listened to me when I tried to protest the wedding, we'd all be a lot happier.

Duke surveyed the shattered remains of his honeymoon: the cast-off gown, the broken glass, the shivering man-bride. I could see him tense, then settle.

"Have a seat," he gestured Nikki and I to large armchairs. "We have a lot to talk about. First of all, just who are you, and how did you end up here? No lies."

It didn't take long to explain, about the orphanage, traveling to Savannah, Andrea drugging me. It all seemed so ridiculous. As I explained, Nikki passed me the sack. Glancing inside, I found a pair of blue jeans and a man's shirt, along with shoes and underwear.

"Nikki, do you believe what this--this person is saying?" said Duke, when I was finished.

Nikki nodded, not looking at me. "He came here all excited about meeting everyone. He made a big fuss when security wouldn't let him it. He wouldn't have done that if he were planning something."

"I see." Duke got up and began pacing. "Well, thanks to my slut of an ex-fiancée, we're screwed."

"Why are we screwed?" I asked. "Just get a divorce. No one's the wiser."

He shook his head. "You don't know what it's like to be in the public eye. If I get a divorce after one day, they're going to want to know why. They'll know there's dirt to be found, and they'll find it. How'd you like what happened tonight to be all over next week's headlines?"

The thought sickened me. Just when I thought the worst was over, he throws this at me. And he was right! I saw how the media jackals go after celebs who screw up. Damn, they'd love this.

"So what do we do?"

"Andrew--" it seemed hard for him to call me by my male name. "There is an option. I don't like it, neither will you, but it's the only way."

My stomach gurgled. "What?" I whispered.

"Andrea and I were scheduled to go on a round the world honeymoon trip. We'd spend most of the time on the boat, and only go to shore occasionally."

I suddenly knew what he was about to suggest, but he got it out before I could protest. "If you were to stay on board and pose as my wife during those few trips ashore--"

"Hell no!"

"Just a few times a month. In a year, we could file for divorce..."

"No!"

"And no one will be the wiser. A year-long marriage isn't that odd, and we'll be old news by then anyway."

I jumped up. "No! That's final. Good Lord, a day as a woman was bad enough, and you want me to spend an entire year? I'm out of here." I grabbed the bag of clothes and started to leave.

"You're not going anywhere." Duke's voice was firm.

"Is that a threat?"

"That's a fact. We've already set sail. We'll reach Miami tomorrow night, until then, I want you to consider some things."

Huffily, I sat back down.

"First of all," began Duke, "if you leave in Florida, you'll be found out. They'll track you down. You think the those tabloid jerks can't find out about Andrea's brother? You'll be a drag queen all your life-- Andrew.

"Secondly, you won't have to do a lot. Just be seen with me in public. I don't care if you're cool to me, that will make our eventual divorce look more natural. Just pose for the cameras."

I rolled my eyes. Did he really think I'd even consider this?

"Thirdly," he continued, "for your services, I'm willing to pay you one million dollars."

The figure didn't register for some time. I was dimly aware of Duke asking Nikki to serve as a lookout, so the crew wouldn't know he hadn't spent the night in this cabin. By the time I looked up, I was alone.

A million dollars?

***

I awoke from a series of frantic, surreal dreams and for a few moments I didn't know where I was. It was only when I saw Nikki sitting next to my bed that I remembered.

"What do you want?" I snarled.

Nikki was looking at the floor. "I brought you some breakfast." She gestured to a small cart, where a covered dish, a carafe of orange juice, and a bowl of fruit were laid out.

Making sure I was still in my boxers, I walked over to the spread. Under the cover was a warm plate of steak and eggs. For a guy who considered a meal at Hardee's splurging, it was a bit much. There was even a fresh rose in a vase on the cart.

As I poured down a third glass of OJ, I felt Nikki's hands drape my shoulders. "This is all my fault," she said. It was a simple statement of fact.

Last night I would have yelled out her, shoved her away. Today, I sat quietly. Her smooth, painted hands felt good on my bare shoulders.

"Andrew--I'm sorry."

I turned to her. "Nikki--I guess you're not to blame. We both know the one to blame."

Nikki began to rub my shoulders. "I shouldn't have tricked you. I thought you just had cold feet."

Something about that struck me as funny and I laughed. "Don't beat yourself up."

She let go of my shoulders and fluffed out her long, blonde hair. "So, have you given any thought to Duke's proposal?"

"To act life a wife? As if!"

"Andrew," she picked up an orange wedge from my plate and nibbled it. "I know what you must think. But listen.
"You're obviously very poor. Don't you ever dream of a better life? A home of your own, a big one? Don't you have any dreams you've wanted to follow but couldn't? Don't you wish you could be someone important?"

"Like Duke's wife?"

"I don't mean like that. I mean after a year. When you become a millionaire. You haven't had an easy life, I can tell that."

She laid her hands on my cheeks. The feel of the older woman's soft palms on my cheeks brought an unwanted, though not unexpected, physical response and I pulled away.

Nikki continued. "You could buy a house. Start a business. Go back to school. Anything you wanted."

"And sacrifice a year of my life in dresses?"

"Andrew." Nikki's tired, grey eyes held mine. "Haven't you ever did anything humiliating to survive?"

"I dunno--"

"Where do you eat?"

"I can buy food. And, there's charity--"

"Have you ever eaten out of the trash?" I hung my head. Not often, but I'd had to go that route a few times.

"Where do you get your clothes? Goodwill? Do you sleep in a bed at night, or an alley?"

I began to pace. "Okay, I'm a bum! You happy? I'm a worthless, no good, stinking bum!"

Nikki followed me across the room. "That's not what I'm saying. But wouldn't you like to eat the richest, most expensive food you've ever tasted, every night for a year? Enjoy the best entertainment, the most exclusive resorts, meet famous people, basically be on a fabulous vacation for a year?"

"A vacation? Dressed like--"

"How? In the most expensive, fashionable clothes?"

"Dresses! Skirts!"

"So? Would you rather go back to your rags?"

"It's not that--"

"Then what? For the next year you'll live a life of luxury. You'll be wined and dined and see exciting places for free. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"For you maybe. You'd do great as a pretty wife. Not me."

Nikki seemed genuinely touched. "Maybe someday. But Andrew, tell me, can't you try it for a while? Duke and Andrea were supposed to go to a party in Miami. Could you give it a shot for one night?"

I wanted to say no, but I stumbled. Everything was so confusing. I needed more time to think things through.
"There's no way I could pass myself off as a woman at a party."

"You did a pretty good job at your wedding."

"That was different. I didn't have to say anything there. How can I survive talking to people?"

"I teach you everything I know about being a fancy woman. If you don't think you can do it, we'll stop."

I sat back down and picked at the eggs. "Nikki, why are you so obsessed with me doing this?"

Nikki didn't answer for a while. "I've worked for Duke a long time. He's been good to me, no not that way! Stop looking so smug. He's just really done me some good turns, got me out of some jams. I really owe him."

"You really owe me too."

Nikki touched my shoulder. "I do. If you really go through with this, I'll be by your side every second. I'll make this as painless for you as possible. In the mean time, eat up. I'll be back in an hour to help you pick out a dress."

She was out the door before I could protest.

***

An hour later, there was a knock at the door. Nikki came in, pulling a large rack of clothes covered in garment bags.

"Why so many?" I whined.

Nikki sat on the bed, panting. "We have to find the most flattering outfits for you. Ones that make you look the best, ones that won't give you away."

I groaned. "Okay, what am I supposed to do?"

"Get undressed. Put these on." She tossed me a package of bland cotton panties.

I suddenly felt embarrassed. "Um, Nikki, that's not going to cover much."

"You don't have anything I haven't seen. But if you're really worried, try that rubber thing your sister put on you."

In the bathroom, I struggled into the sex-hiding device. It was still agony, but I supposed I had better get used to it for the party. I slid the panties on over it and went out to show my friend.

"Hmm," Nikki eyeballed me critically. "Wow, Andrew, you're so skinny! Not skinny, but slender! What's your secret?"

"Malnutrition."

Nikki's face fell. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

"Don't worry."

"Well, whatever the reason, you have the right frame for this. And you're not hairy. Good. Now sit down, relax, and let me try a few things."

For the next half-hour, Nikki cooed over me like a newborn baby. First, she applied a depilatory to my armpits and face. "This'll last a few days and keep you from growing any shadow."

Next, she plucked my eyebrows. I complained but she insisted that if I chose not to continue this after Miami, there would be plenty of time for them to grow back. By the time she was finished, two slender arches remained above my eyes.

Nikki talked as she worked. "Andrew, I'm going to do everything I can to make you delicate and feminine, and I know that's the last thing you want to hear. I know you didn't want to be in this situation, but neither did Duke. I have to ask you to swallow your pride and just go with it. Remember, when all this is over, no one will ever talk about this."

Nikki measured me, my height, waist, chest, stomach, and arms. "Most of these dresses are mine," said Nikki. "We're both blondes, so the color should be right. You're taller and thinner than me, so I'll have to do some alterations. Now let's get you dressed. Here's a nice little number."

The 'nice little number' was a sleeveless, backless gown, black and sequined. "No way!" I gasped.

"C'mon, give it a shot. Just step into the skirt here."

"It barely comes down to the middle of my thigh!"

"It's very chic."

"I don't want to be chic!"

Nikki smirked at me. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

Nikki was busy stirring a small tub of some sort of cream. "Before you pull it up, let me try this." She then rubbed a small layer of the stuff over my bare nipples and surrounding area.

I giggled. "Hey, what gives?"

"It's a sort of cement. Don't worry, it comes right off with alcohol."

"I guess I know what you're going to cement there."

Nikki smiled and pulled out two foam rubber falsies. "You're a C-cup, girl!" She carefully affixed them to my chest, where the bonding agent held them tight.

"Will this work?" I asked dubiously.

"It should. That's a powerful cement. Without alcohol, your skin would come off sooner than those girls. Now let's tie you up." She lifted the front of the dress and tied it around my neck. My front now bulged out with very feminine curves, while my naked arms, shoulders, and back stood out whitely against the black material. Nikki walked around me, as if inspecting a used car.

"Hmmm...no. You can't pull it off."

"Told you."

"Oh, it's not that. It's just that I think you're going to need a girdle. That won't do with a backless dress."
"Thank God," I gasped. "Show a little less flesh."

Nikki wagged a finger at me. "Au contraire, mon cheri. You have simply beautiful arms and shoulders. We should show off your lovely features."

I began to get angry. "Nikki, that's not funny."

"I'm not trying to be funny. I'm trying to make you look like a woman. Don't get so defensive when I say you're pretty, because you are."

I held my tongue as I undressed. Nikki was busy sifting through her clothes. "Aha! I think we have a winner here."

***

The limousine's AC did little to block the humid Miami night. I took a swig of bottled water and tried not to sweat. On the seat next to me, Nikki talked on a cell phone, looking cute in her conservative, though strangely sexy, grey skirt and white blouse. Her long blonde hair was tied in a ponytail and she wore horn-rimmed glasses.

I knew that in the front seat, behind the security partition, sat Duke. I hadn't really seen him since our wedding night. I glimpsed him briefly as I debarked the ship in Florida and was hustled into the limo. Now I sat, boiling and uncomfortable, ready to make my debutante debut.

"Okay, talk to you later," said Nikki, and hung up. "Andy, you've got to relax. It won't be that bad."

"Won't be that bad? Look at me!" The dress Nikki had picked out for me was black and body hugging. It covered me from my shoulders to my knees, leaving my bare arms and legs for everyone to see. No one would suspect a girdle and a padded bra were the reasons for my hourglass figure.

"You look great to me. I wish I was as pretty as you."

"You are as pretty as me! Prettier! Why don't you be Duke's date tonight? Tell them I'm sick."

Nikki giggled. "I'm fifteen years older than Duke."

"You're prettier than me."

Nikki patted my leg. "Andy, honey, I know you don't want to do this, but trust me, it won't be that bad. You know, if you stop thinking how miserable you'll be, you may just enjoy yourself."

I rolled my eyes.

The chauffeur's voice came over the intercom. "We're just about there, ladies."

I glanced through the tinted window. We were arriving at a country club, where some rich guy was entertaining some other rich fools. I had washed dishes at an affair like this once. I was not looking forward to being a part of one, and I certainly did not want to do it playing the part of a blushing bride.

We pulled into the circle drive in front of the mammoth building. A young man in a white jacket ran to open the door for us. He gingerly took Nikki's hand and helped her out of the car. I exited from the opposite door before he could be polite.

Duke soon stood next to me in the sultry Florida air, as the limo drove off. He held out his arm. "Shall we?" He was awkward, as if escorting a friend's wife. Or another man.

I certainly did not want to walk in on his arm, but I was not used to the heels Nikki insisted that I wear. Leaning against my husband unsteadily, we walked through the huge double doors. Nikki followed close behind.

When I worked the country club gig I had seen little besides the kitchen and staff entrance. In spite of my determination to be bitter and unimpressed, the setting took my breath away. The ballroom was bigger than an aircraft hangar (or at least it seemed to me). Along one wall ran a buffet table, crammed with all manner of delicacy. At the end a uniformed bartender poured champagne. On a stage in the front of the room a piano player and a harpist filled the air with delicate strains.
All the men, like Duke, were wearing white tuxedos. The ladies were all wearing what I knew were expensive dresses. There was not an ugly person among them. Best plastic surgery money can buy.

I suddenly felt like hyperventilating. Not so much because of the drag act; Nikki assured me I looked fine. It was because I didn't know how to handle myself in high society. Nikki had coached me how to act like a woman, but I never thought to ask her how to act rich! Luckily, she was there with me. She could pull me out of a jam.

We were soon approached by an attractive couple in their fifties. "Duke, old buddy, great to see you," said the man, a pleasant looking guy with grey hair, a solid build, and a nice smile, complete with capped teeth.

Duke shook his hand. "Nice to see you Steve, Jessica. You've met Nikki. Allow me to present my wife, Mrs. Andrea Greyson. Andrea, this is Steve and Jessica Muldoon, old friends of the family."

"Charmed," I whispered, wondering if people really said that outside of TV shows.

Steve gently took my hand and placed it near his lips, though spared me the indignity of kissing it. Jessica placed her cheek to mine and made a kissing noise. I took a sly look at her. She had to have been at least fifty, though her firm breasts, unlined skin, and jet black hair seemed to indicate someone closer to thirty. Money truly could buy beauty.

"Well," said Jessica, "I'm so pleased to finally meet this mystery woman of yours. We've heard simply so much about her."

Steve clapped Duke on the back. "Duke, I've got some intriguing information about an investment opportunity you may be interested in. What do you say we go over to the bar and discuss it?"

I was about to protest, when Nikki stepped in. "Good idea. Jessica and I can introduce Andrea around." Duke kissed my cheek as I tried not to grimace. Then he was gone.

Jessica took me by the hand and led me over to a group of women. They were mostly younger, twenties and thirties. Just before we reached them, a server approached us and whispered something into Nikki's ear.

She frowned. "Um, Andrea, there's an emergency phone call for me. I have to take it."

"They can call back," I hissed through clenched teeth.

"Please, I'll only be a moment."

Jessica took my arm. "Nonsense. I'll make introductions." She practically hustled me to the cluster of young women.
"Girls," she clucked, "I'd like you to meet Andrea, Duke's new bride. Andrea--" she then rattled off the names of a dozen women, names like Brittany, Margot, and Cecelia.

I sputtered hello. The girls stared at me, as if they expected me to say something else. By that time I was so flustered, I couldn't even comment about the weather.

Finally, Jessica broke the silence. "So Andrea, is this your first time at the Palms?"

"Excuse me?"

Jessica smiled an indulgent smile. "The Palms, dear. Have you ever been here before?"

Ah, that was the name of the country club. "No, it's my first time." My first time for a lot of things, wearing heels for instance.

Jessica smiled ingratiatingly. "Well dear, have you been to Miami?"

"Yes." I instantly regretted admitting it. How could I explain that Duke's young bride used to unload cargo ships here?

"Really?" She looked at me questioningly, as if I were lying. "And where did you stay? I enjoy the Ritz, myself."

"I stayed with friends." Couldn't she realize how uncomfortable I was? Why the third degree?

Jessica nodded. It might have just been my imagination, but she seemed to wink at another woman.

"And where else have you traveled to? Have you been to Paris? Greece? Courtney was just telling us how lovely it is this time of year." She indicated a platinum blonde who did nothing to pick up the strain of conversation.

"I haven't really traveled much," I mumbled. I wanted a drink.

"Well, I'm sure you've done loads of interesting thinks in your life. Duke's said so little about you. Your education, your family, your-- ahem, career." Several of the girls giggled at me.

It suddenly hit me. They weren't interested in Andrea, they wanted to humiliate her. Duke's white trash bride. The slutty little whore.

"Dear?" Jessica was asking. "Are you taking time off of school for your honeymoon? Where do you study?"

I suddenly felt like doing something I hadn't since I was a baby. I felt like crying. No one cries in an orphanage, it gets you nothing. Ditto on the streets. But as I stood there with my fake breasts and women's clothes, I wanted to bawl. These people wanted to degrade me. And I couldn't stop them.

Tears welled in my eyes. "I don't go to school." I looked around for Nikki, but couldn't see her.

Jessica cocked her head. "Why, darling, you look dreadful. Whatever is wrong?"

Just before the dam broke, just before I ran off tripping on my heels sobbing, something deep in my core shouted out. I had survived on the streets for years. I'd once nursed a knife wound with a package of Band Aids and a bottle of Jack. I'd gone days without eating. If that didn't make me cry, then this rich bitch sure as hell wouldn't.

I sniffled, then looked Jessica right in her Botox eyes. "Nothing's the matter. Nothing at all. Now let's see, you were asking about my past." I grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing waiter. "Well, I was born in an orphanage, miserable place, rats everywhere. Lived there till I was about twelve. Then I was in and out of foster care till I was sixteen." I fixed a hard grin on my face. Jessica was no longer smiling.

"I worked odd jobs after that. Waitressing, secretary, retail, you know, pay the bills."

Jessica tried to laugh, but it came off fake. A couple of the girls walked away from the crowd. I continued my tirade.
"I've never been to school, not even high school. I was born poor. And you know what, I guess all the money in the world can't buy me into your society. But--" I leaned in towards Jessica's face and whispered. "I love Duke, and apparently you're his friend, so I suggest you stop playing these fucking middle school games. You got that, you middle aged, crocodile-skinned horror?"

Jessica touched her palm to her chest and gasped. She then stormed off, followed by most of the crowd.

So, I'd blown it. Not half an hour into my first big wingding and I revert into trailer trash mode. So much for Duke's plan to make a lady out of me. I downed my drink in one gulp, then began to look around for Nikki, to inform her of the damage I'd done.

"You go, girl!" I was surprised to see a couple of the women from the group hadn't left. The girl who had spoken was black, about twenty years old, and extremely attractive. She was grinning at me.

"We've all been wanting to tell Jessica off for years. She's such an old windbag. Thank God someone had the guts."

"Well," I ducked my head, embarrassed, "it wasn't exactly a classy thing to do."

"Please, if I heard her tell me about 'you people' one more time, I'd break my heel off in her ass, pardon my French. My name's Mindy." I shook her delicate hand.

"I'm Jamie," said her companion. Jamie looked to be a teenager. Not bad looking, but rather overweight. Not grossly so, but enough to stand out in this crowd of anorexics.

"I'm Andrea," I introduced myself.

"Well Andrea," said Mindy, hands on hips, sizing me up. "What do you say we get out of here and have a real drink?"
I glanced around the ballroom. Couples were beginning pair off and dance.

"Lead the way."

***

Half an hour later the three of us were dangling our toes in the water of the empty country club pool, passing around a stolen bottle of wine, and exchanging life stories.

Mindy and Jamie impressed me. True, they had both been born into the blueblood society, but they didn't seem superficial at all. They did charity work, dated working class guys, took road trips to Vegas. Maybe it was because they never fit in with high society; Mindy because she was black, Jamie because she wasn't one of the 'beautiful people.'

"I know exactly how you feel," I told them, more than a little tipsy. "Ever since I married Duke, I feel like I'm living a lie, that I'm trying to be someone I'm not."

Mindy touched my shoulder. "Don't be like that. If you love Duke, then that's all that matters. Screw what anyone else thinks."

"Yeah, Duke--"

"You're lucky to have him," said Jamie. "He's a heck of a nice guy. God, what I wouldn't give for a nice guy--" She stared at the water. Mindy shot me a sad glance. Apparently Jamie's dating life wasn't going well.

"Ladies!" A middle-aged woman in a slinky dress appeared behind us. "I thought I might find you here. Everyone's dancing. C'mon!" My new friends got up to go.

"Do I have to?" I whispered to Mindy.

"I know you don't want to, but we really should."

So much for the reprieve. Back into the lion's den.

***

When we returned to the ballroom, everyone was twirling about the dance floor. A handsome guy in army dress blues took Mindy by the hand and led her off. Jamie smiled sadly and walked over to the buffet.

"May I?" It was Duke. He held out his hand.

"I can't dance. Especially not in these shoes."

"I can lead. C'mon, it won't be that bad."

Duke took one of my hands in his and placed the other around my waist. I did not enjoy how close I was getting to him. With surprising gentleness for a man, he began to move me across the floor. One-two-three, turn, one-two-three, turn--

"Andrea," whispered Duke, after some time. "I heard about what you said to Jessica."

Now two weeks ago I would have laughed in his face, and bragged about how I'd insulted his prissy friend. Today, I ducked my head.

"I'm sorry, Duke. She was making fun of me."

"I'm not sorry. I've been wanted to say that for years. I think everyone has. We're so used to her being queen bee that everyone takes her shit. It took an outsider to put her in her place."

I laughed. "Well--"

Duke looked around to make sure no one was in earshot. "How are you holding up?"

"Not too well. I keep wanting to scratch my balls." Duke pulled away from me, ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry, Duke, but what did you expect? Make a homeless guy into a classy wife? It sounds like a bad movie!"

"Would it help to say you're doing great? Everyone here's impressed."

"They are not."

"They are so. They think it's amusing I have such a--how did they describe you? A 'sassy' wife."

"Duke, if you'd called me sassy a month ago, I'd have broken your nose."

"You seem to have a penchant for that." We danced in silence for a while.

"Duke?" I asked a few minutes later. "Do me a favor."

"What's that?"

"Ask Jamie to dance." I had seen her leaning against the wall, sadly picking at a sandwich on the table beside her.

"Why?"

"Because no one else will. It'd make her night."

He frowned. "I'm sure she's a nice girl--"

I deliberately ground my heel into his foot. "But she's too fat? Hey, at least she's really a woman. Do it."

Duke twirled me around suddenly, and passed me to an older fellow without a partner. I bit my lip. I had thought if Duke danced with Jamie, it would leave me free.

My new partner was a gentleman who kept his distance. He asked about my life, though in a much more interested, thoughtful way than Jessica had. I soon realized I'd have to compose some sort of history for Andrea, so as not to get my stories confused.

Across the dance floor I saw Duke and Jamie cutting a rug. Jamie was beaming. Before I knew it a younger man cut in on them. I don't think she sat down for the rest of the evening.

I was passed off to another guy, a boring young man named Todd who went on and on about sculling (whatever in heck that was). Nikki was dancing too. When the song ended, she quickly took my hand and we ducked into the lady's room.

It was the cleanest restroom I'd ever seen, though I wasn't sure if that was because ladies were cleaner than men, or because rich people were cleaner than poor. After a quick reconnaissance we realized we were alone.

"So how are you doing?" she asked.

"Fine, no thanks to you."

"Hey, I only left for two minutes. When I came back you were gone." She took out a compact and started to touch up my face. "So you've been making quite an impression."

"So you heard about my cattiness?"

"Yeah, but not just that. Everyone thinks you're impressive. Pretty, and spunky."

"Duke called me sassy. I'm not sure what's worse."

"Andrea..."

"Andy!"

"Andy, you're doing great. After a little more practice--"

"Nikki, don't go there. Don't try to pressure me now, or we go home."

She nodded and finished touching me up.

***

"Andy? Andy honey, wake up. We're here."

I took a moment to get my bearings. Ah, I was in the back of the limo. I noticed with embarrassment that I had been sleeping on Nikki's shoulder.

Nikki opened the door and helped me get out. We were at the docks. Duke's yacht was along side of us, the gangplank lowered. Duke was nowhere in sight.

As I sleepily boarded the ship, I thought about the night. Telling Jessica off. Chatting with Mindy and Jamie. The food. The music. The dancing. Staying out until three, sipping champagne and laughing.

Who needs it? I thought. Who needs those rich punks, with their fake friendship and their purchased style? Not me.

I bid Nikki goodnight and slipped into my cabin. Gratefully I kicked off my heels and unstrapped myself from the corsets, the sex-hiding thing, and, with the help of some alcohol, the falsies. I washed my face, and finally looked like a man again.

As I crawled into bed, a funny thought hit me. Tonight was the first night in a long time where I hadn't worried about my food, about my safety about where to sleep. It wasn't worth acting like a girl, of course. But still, secretly, it was sort of nice.

***

The next morning I awoke to find Nikki seated at my bedside, beaming down at me. I started, then pulled the covers over my mostly naked frame.

"Don't you knock?"

"Hey, it's just us girls here."

"Don't start that."

"Sorry, honey. But you handled yourself really well last night."

I sat up and pulled on my robe. "Thank you, I guess. Um, did Duke mention anything?"

"Yes. He said you acted tolerably. Given the circumstances, it's high praise."

I had ducked into the bathroom and was brushing my teeth. "So what brings you by?"

"Andrew--it's time for you to make a decision."

I spat. "Does it have to be today?"

Nikki joined me in the bathroom. "Yes. Within the hour. We ship out and set sail for Spain. Duke needs to know if you're coming."

"Explain my choices again."

"It's simple. We drop you off in Miami with some clothes and a bit of cash. The press finds out Duke's fiancée is not on her honeymoon cruise, they start digging, put two and two together--you'd be the new tabloid sensation. The man bride. Or, you embark on a fabulous round the world cruise and end up a millionaire. Seems like an easy choice."

I was combing my hair. "Maybe if you didn't make it sound so easy, I'd take the offer more seriously."

"Maybe if you didn't make it sound so miserable, you'd have an easier time making up your mind. What's keeping you from grabbing this great opportunity? Your dignity?"

"I lost that long ago. I'm homeless, remember."

"You're got more dignity than most people I know. Say yes, Andrew."

"I can't do it, Nikki, I'm sorry."

"Then let me make you a counter proposal. It'll take us almost a month to cross the Atlantic. Let's spend that time with you in training. When we get to Spain, if you don't feel natural in your role as Andrea, then we call it quits. We'll throw in a flight back to the US."

I sized her up. "No BS? What's the catch?"

"You'll have to live as Andrea full time. No whining, no slacking off. C'mon, sweetie, let me make a woman out of you."

There was something charming in the way she said that, something that made me trust her.

"Okay. I'm in for the Atlantic run. But you have to do something for me. Something big."

"What's that?"

"Be my friend."

"Of course! Why would that be a big favor?"

I looked down at the sink. "Because I've never had one."

***

When Nikki said that it would be a full time commitment, she wasn't kidding. Every morning at 8:00 she'd awaken me with a light breakfast. After I'd showered and cleaned up, Nikki and I would spend one to two hours on makeup and hair.

"Less is more," she kept telling me. "I know you think you'll need a lot to look like a woman, but trust me, just a bit of rouge and some eyeliner, and you'll look like the belle of the ball."

"Gee, thanks," I'd sarcastically complain.

"None of that, Andrea. You agreed to be a woman for the next two weeks, and real women don't whine about being pretty."

My hair was too short to do a lot with, but Nikki insisted we'd have more to work with by the time the two weeks were over. After I'd prettied myself up, Nikki would help me select my outfits for the day.

I say outfits, because society women never wear just one dress a day. You need special clothes for lounging, for exercising, for cocktails, for dinner, for dancing. Since I'd never really had a lot of clothes of my own, changing three or four times a day was a new and stressful experience. Nikki refused to relent until I could competently select an outfit for any occasion, and accessorize.

By this time it would be time for lunch. We'd never just grab a sandwich. Instead Nikki would serve me a formal luncheon, and give me pointers as to what spoon to use, how to sit, how to nibble at me food, how to make conversation. I once asked her why she never had the crew serve the food.

"Because, sweetie, we can't let them know what's going on. Only Duke and I know the true situation. If the wrong person found out--it could be bad."

The rest of the day was spent in deportment lessons. Walking (I must have walked around the deck of the ship a thousand times before we reached Europe), speaking (it was not hard to get my voice to match Andrea's husky one; Nikki coached me and had me sounding more feminine within three days), and dancing (Nikki led, and was quite adept at assuming the man's role). I was also forced to exercise (in a humiliating leotard) so that my unaccustomed three meals a day wouldn't give me an unladylike gut. All my workouts were cardiovascular, Nikki didn't want me to develop muscles.

The evenings were free, so long as I stayed in feminine persona. I took advantage of the time by watching DVD's, reading, or looking at the ocean. As for Duke, I almost never saw him.

After a day at sea Nikki cornered me in my room. "Trent is flying out tomorrow."

"Who?"

"Duke's helicopter pilot. He's bringing in some last-minute supplies."

"Oh."

"Anyway, it's the last contact with land until Europe. Is there anything you'd like him to bring?"

"Like what?"

"Like anything. Special food, movies, clothes?"

There was an idea I'd been toying with. "Promise not to laugh?"

"Of course, honey."

"I'd like some textbooks. Some basic high school history, math and science."

Nikki's face asked the question she didn't dare ask. I answered.

"Because I've got about a fifth grade education. If I'm going to pass myself off as Duke's wife, I should at least have some basic knowledge."

"Education's a great thing. I'd be happy to help you."

When the helicopter landed the next day, it was our last contact with land until Spain. I was rather impressed with the landing. Trent, the pilot, personally brought me the textbooks I'd asked for, as well as an embarrassing selection of books for crossdressers. These were wrapped in brown paper, and I hoped Trent didn't know what they contained.

He seemed like a nice guy and I wanted to ask him about his job as a pilot, but as soon as he saw Nikki, that was it. After she signed for a couple of packages, the pair immediately disappeared below decks for several hours. It wasn't hard to guess what was going on. Later that afternoon, Trent flew off.

The voyage sank into dull routine. I became quite the expert at dressing myself, applying makeup, and doing my hair. Nikki needed to help me less and less. After ten days on the sea she stopped coming to my room in the morning, trusting me to get ready on my own.

Looking like a girl was one thing, but acting like one was something else. While Nikki insisted I was doing fine, I was not so convinced. On the other hand, I was excited about my studies. Maybe I'd get a high school equivalency when I got back. Maybe I'd even think about college.

After the sixteenth day of our voyage, we were informed that we'd hit land in a day or so.

Nikki and I were playing tennis on the deck. I found I enjoyed the game, despite the fact that I'd lost three balls over the side already. Of course, we were decked out in matching white tennis sweaters and skirts.

"So Andrea?"

I shouldered my racquet. "Decision time?"

She nodded.

"What's the schedule for Spain?"

"Formal dinner with a local magnate, then a tour of the countryside. You'll be there five days."

"And after that?"

"On to Greece. Leisurely pace, we'll sail around the islands for about a month."

"I guess I'll do Spain."

"It's a start. Can I tell you something, Andrea?"

"What?"

"I've enjoyed having you along. Much more than your sister. You're fun to hang out with."

I giggled nervously. "So are you."

"Maybe you'll let me take you shopping some night when we hit land."

I almost answered sarcastically, but decided it would be cruel. "I'd like that."

That night, dressed in a bulky sweater and jeans, I stood on the railing, watching the moon over the ocean. What a weird month. In less than thirty days I'd gone from a homeless young man to a rich young bride. It was like an evil version of 'Pretty Woman.'

"Hello." I turned and looked. It was Duke. I hadn't seen him in over a week.

"Hello."

"You're looking well, Andrea."

"So are you." That was a lie. Lines creased Duke's face and his normally immaculate clothes seemed slovenly.

"Nikki tells me you'll be joining me in Spain."

"Yeah. Duke, I--"

"Yes?"

"Nothing."

"Andrea." Duke looked me in the eye for the first time since he realized I was a man. "Thank you. I never told you that. Thank you. You've really saved me."

"It's for the money, Duke, nothing more."

"I know. But I wish it didn't have to be this way. For either of us."

"Well, like Nikki says, maybe we should make the best of it."

Duke touched my face and for a horrible moment I thought he was going to kiss me. Instead he just looked at me.
"You look so much like your sister." He then turned and left, leaving me alone on deck.

***

Two weeks later I lay sunbathing on a semi-private Greek island. The Mediterranean sun had bronzed my body and further freckled my shoulders. The only movement I'd made in two hours was to flip over for an even tan. My chic one-piece swimsuit did a good job of covering my male parts, (especially the women's bathing trunks I wore). I'd never been this relaxed in all my life.

Spain, I had to admit, had been enjoyable. After docking across from Gibralter, we left the ship and continued across land, meeting back up with the boat in Barcelona. To tell you the truth, I'd been happy to hit land. Of course, it meant becoming Andrea full time, but I was sick of the dull monotony of the ocean.

The first night we attended a party given by a local hidalgo (the Spanish equivalent of an English lord). This party was much less stressful than the one in Miami. No one spoke English as a first language, so no one forced conversation, other than polite introductions and small talk. I had to dance with several strange men, but there were much more gentlemanly than their Floridian equivalents. With the help of Nikki I was becoming a rather enthusiastic, if not talented, dancer.

For the next week and a half we toured the Spanish countryside. Duke was a considerate guide, keeping us away from major cities. Still, I was always amazed at how often we were photographed. Duke had been right, if I'd walked away from the ship after our wedding, the press would have found me out in two days.

During our time in Spain something strange happened between Duke and I. We became friends. It was stilted at first, both of us resenting the fact we had essentially become involved in a homosexual marriage. But after so much time alone together (no one ever wants to intrude themselves on a newlywed couple), we couldn't help but talk. And I discovered my new husband was a nice guy.

He did come from old money, but not as much as I'd expected. Most of his fortune he'd earned himself; apparently he'd made some shrewd investments with a trust fund, compounded by the invention of some simple but popular computer programs. I admired a man who made his own way.

Duke was also a fascinating man. He'd traveled a lot, had adventures, and was a fine storyteller. I found I could listen to him for hours. As for my own stories, he never asked, and I never told. No one wants to hear about his wife's days as a young man.

By the time we embarked for Greece, Duke and I were no longer awkward around each other. Still, I'd return to my room at night with a feeling of emptiness. We were a sham; in less than a year I'd never see Duke again. It was for the best.

Another incident happened at an exclusive resort town on the coast. Nikki had dragged me to go shopping with her at an exclusive department store. Now, shopping for dresses did not excite me, not even with free access to Duke's credit cards. Still, I knew it thrilled Nikki and it gave me pleasure to buy things for her.

Nikki was berating me for not buying anything when it happened.

"I don't see why you're being so difficult, Andrea. You have to dress like a woman, you might as well pick out something you like."

"There's nothing here I like," I said with a pout. Nikki had picked up some things for me, but aside from a couple of neat suitcases, I'd not made a single purchase.

"We're not leaving until you choose something."

I was about to whine when something caught my eye. It was a mannequin in a window display. It was decked out in a black dress with scarlet trim. The outfit had a very Latin feel to it; it was the kind of outfit a woman would wear while clacking castanets with a rose in her teeth.

"Do you like that?" asked Nikki, thrilled.

"Yes." I don't know why I said it. To this day, I don't know why the gown enthralled me so much. But I knew that this was the dress I wanted to buy.

Nikki took me by the hand, and in halting Spanish arranged for a private dressing room. She helped me disrobe and soon I was frocked.

"What do you think?"

"Oh, Andrea, you look darling. You'll need some heels to go with that, of course. And if you'd let me pierce your ears-"

"Now it's not like I enjoy this," I protested.

Nikki looked at me severely. "You know, you don't have to act macho around me. If you like the dress, just say so."

I looked at my reflection. The poofy sleeves, the plunging back, the frilly underskirt. "I'm a little blonde to pass for Spanish, but I don't look bad, do I?"

Nikki knew not to lay it on too thick. "When your hair grows a bit, you can wear it up. You'll look great."

I wore the outfit, heels and all, back to the ship. Duke didn't say anything when he saw me, but I knew he was watching me as I walked away.

***

And that's how, weeks later, I found myself basking on the shores of the Aegean Sea. Duke had rented a chic little bungalow, which we had all to ourselves (except for the caterers who brought our meal, the guy who cleaned the pool, and the twice-weekly cleaning woman). Duke didn't seem to mind sleeping in the tiny guest room.

Nikki rented a place down the shore and spent a lot of time with us. In fact, those two weeks in Greece were the first time I truly enjoyed myself since the wedding. The three of us would swim, play volleyball, and play in the sand. I began to enjoy the surf more and think less about my feminine tan lines. Our semi privacy allowed me to let my guard down, though not enough to lapse back to manhood.

One night Duke, Nikki and I were up late, eating popcorn and playing Monopoly at the kitchen table. We were laughing at a story Nikki was telling. And suddenly, without warning, I began crying.

I tried to hold it in. Honest I did. But the tears just started flowing.

"What's wrong, Andrea?" Nikki asked in horror.

"I'm sorry. It's just...it just hit me. You two are the only friends I've ever really had. You guys are like family. I've never had that."

Nikki, of course, started bawling and hugging me. Duke, on the other hand, got up and stood in the kitchen door. I assumed he was backing away from the emotional scene in disgust. When I heard him sniffle, however, I knew he too had been touched. I smiled at the memory.

The noonday sun beat down on me, and I knew I had to go back to the house before I burned. As I sat up, I noticed with bemusement that both my breasts were on the right side. It was hard to find a pair of falsies I could wear with my swimsuit; they often slipped about.

The beach was empty, and I tried to readjust myself. My booby only slid further down. Eventually I simply partially removed my swimsuit and falsies, reapplied everything, and suited back up.

***

Two days later the excrement hit the fan. I had gone out for a morning dip, only to return to find Duke and Nikki intently reading a newspaper. It was unusual for Nikki to come over this early, so I bent over the paper.

It wasn't a newspaper, really. It was a tabloid magazine. I couldn't read the Greek headline, but the picture on the cover was clear. Me, on the beach. With my top pulled down. And my flat, male chest exposed to the world.

My hands shot to my mouth in horror. "Oh God," I wailed. "Duke, I didn't know!"

Duke irritably shook his head. "This is a private beach. I should have known those jackals from the press might sneak a photographer in."

I clutched at my longish hair. "What are we going to do?"

Duke looked at me and seemed to age about twenty years. "We're screwed. There's nothing we can do."

I spent the next four hours alone in my room, sitting on the floor, my knees clasped under my chin. We were sunk. The wedding, the dresses, the trip across the Atlantic, pretending to be Andrea...one slip on my part and it was all wasted time. The worst part was, I had hurt Duke. No one knew who Andrew Jones was. But Duke...this was going to humiliate a man who I'd become close to.

There was a knock at the door and Nikki came in, carrying two rum drinks. She offered me one.

"No thanks."

"Better take it. You're going to need it."

I took a gulp. "How bad is it?"

"Some vulture out of Chicago took the picture. Sold it to the wire services. No one's had the nerve to say it, but the picture speaks for itself: Duke Greyson's wife is a man."

"Shit."

"We estimate that in less than a week they'll crack the story. All about you, your sister, everything. Except in their version, they'll act like you and Duke wanted this to happen. That you were lovers. Duke will be branded a homosexual, and you'll be the new tabloid darling: the boy bride."

A tear streamed down my cheek. I finished the drink and started on Nikki's. Nikki gently touched my cheek. "Andrea, there may be a way out."

My eyes flew open. "How? Anything!"

"Well, we could convince the media the picture was faked. No one would touch a false picture, it would open them to lawsuits."

I laughed. "Of course! We'll just get a picture of me, a little Photoshopping, and viola!"

Nikki shook her head. "It won't work like that. It has to be a picture they take."

"Then we're back where we started. Any picture will show I don't have breasts."

"Unless, of course, you do have breasts."

"What do you mean?" It suddenly occurred to me. "Oh, no!"

"There's an Israeli surgeon..."

"No!"

"The procedure could be done in a day."

"So I could have breasts for the rest of my life? NO!"

"Calm down and listen. We'll leave for Israel tonight. Slip you into the hospital. Get you a boob job, maybe a butt implant. Give you a day to recover, cover your bruises with makeup, and parade you down a beach in something revealing. You get your picture taken, go back on the ship to recuperate, and when this is all over, you can have the implants removed."

"They can do that?"

"With a minimum of scarring. Duke is prepared to pay you handsomely."

I stood up. "This isn't about money. It's about my manhood. What's left of it. How am I supposed to deal with having a rack for a week?"

"Um, actually it would be for several months. Since we can't dodge the paparazzi, it would be best if you had noticeable cleavage for the rest of the year."

"This is not happening."

"And that's not all. You'll need to take female hormones."

"What! I don't think so!"

"It's not as bad as you think!"

"Not as bad? And you nuts, Nikki?"

"Just a slight dose. They'll smooth your skin, make your hair silkier, prevent body and facial hair, and that's about it."

"What about my cock?"

"It might shrink a little." Nikki noticed my horrified expression. "Temporarily. You'll also experience breast development, but that really won't matter. The point is, when you stop taking them, all effects will disappear within a month or two."

"No."

"Then are you willing to play male bride for the tabloids? They'll find you wherever you go."

"It beats playing real bride."

"You sure you want to do that to yourself?"

"Yes." I turned and faced the wall, trying to end this insane conversation. Nikki came behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders.

"Are you sure you're willing to do that to Duke?"

***

"Honey? It's okay. It's all over." Through the fog of the anesthesia, it took me a moment to remember where I was. It slowly came back. The speeding trip to Tel Aviv. Sneaking out of the hotel at night. The kindly surgeon.

Duke knelt next to my private hospital bed. "It's going to be okay. You sleep now."

"Did they do it?" I mumbled.

Duke smiled thinly and gestured to my chest. My bandaged chest. I now had breasts.

I slept for a solid day, then prepared for my unveiling. While my tummy tuck and butt implants would require several weeks of healing, my implants could be shown to the world. Clothes would cover the incisions at the bottoms, and makeup would cover the bruising.

I stood in front of a mirror, willing myself to remove the bandages. 'It won't be that bad,' I told myself. 'I'll probably be able to cover them with thick clothes. It's no big deal.' I took the pair of surgical scissors and snipped the bandages.
Nope, I was wrong. They were a big deal. Two big deals. Two big, floppy, curvy breasts. Battered and bruised, they still were impressive.

My head swam. I had tits, boobs, hooters, knockers, breasts! C cups! I'd need to wear a bra! I could wear a bikini top! I realized with horror that once the hormones kicked in, my genitals would be the only male bits left of me.

Finally I got up the nerve to touch them. Smooth, soft, squishy. They bumped against each other in a most intriguing way. The nipples were brown and hard, when I touched them they grew more erect. Though my appendages were still sore to the touch, the contact with my nipples gave me a warm, almost sexy feeling.

Nikki knocked at the door and entered at my command. "How you feeling, kid?"

"Like the biggest she-male in the Mid East."

"How about the prettiest girl I've seen today?"

I shrugged, still examining myself. "Whatever."

"I brought some makeup and a change of clothes. Do you mind if we get started?"

***

The next day the yellow press ran pictures of me shopping in Tel Aviv with Duke. I was wearing a skimpy halter-top that let everyone see my perky new friends. Someone with a telephoto lens had gotten a good shot of my cleavage and deemed it genuine. The reporter who had shot the picture of me in Greece had been fired. A publicity agent of Duke's had forced all papers who'd ran the picture to print a retraction or face a lawsuit.

I learned this through occasional conversations with Nikki. For most of the next three weeks I laid in my stateroom and convalesced. Nikki played nursemaid while we steamed through the Suez Canal, across the Red Sea, and around the Arabian Peninsula.

Duke visited me every day. We'd sit and talk, sometimes for hours. At first I was embarrassed about the reason for my becoming an invalid. But Duke never brought it up. Instead we just talked about whatever was on our mind. And I realized I truly liked this man. Not only was he was one of my few friends, he was becoming my best friend.

We steamed into the Indian Ocean exactly three months after we set sail. That was also the day the last of my bandages came off. That night, alone in my cabin and dressed only in panties, I looked at myself in the mirror, and compared myself to the man I'd been on the other side of the world.

My scraggly, matted hair was now long and silky. My unkempt face now knew treatments from daily moisturizers. I never went out without at least a little mascara and rouge. The odd thing was, I no longer wore makeup to keep myself from being noticed. I wore it TO be noticed. My ears were now pierced and my eyebrows plucked.

My arms and legs had lost all traces of muscles. The calluses on my hands had vanished; whether the results of my leisurely lifestyle or the female hormones, I couldn't tell.

After almost a month of being breasted, I still couldn't get used to the darn things. They blocked my view when I put on my shoes, they interfered with my tennis swing, and made most of my clothes too tight. It was painful not to wear a bra. The nipples, thanks to the hormones, became very sensitive. Playing with them in the shower became a guilty pleasure.

My newly flat stomach was source of both embarrassment and pride. I knew all I had to do was just eat extra deserts and I'd lose my cute belly. But for some reason I put myself on a strict diet. I didn't want to get a man's gut. Not yet.

Finally I removed my panties. My butt lift had given me a perky rear end, I no longer needed padding. As for my penis...well, it was still there. My daily dose of estrogen hadn't caused it to disappear, but it did seem a little smaller, a little softer.

I needed some fresh air, so I pulled back on my panties, as well as a long skirt and a pair of heels. I couldn't find a top I liked, so I slipped on my bikini top and walked above decks.

The few sailors I met smiled deferentially at me. I noted with annoyance that their eyes wandered towards my chest. I made my way to the railing and stared at the silent moonlit night. It was warm and humid with the smell of salt heavy in the air. I began to sweat.

I felt his presence before I heard him. Duke stood next to me, watching the sea. For ten minutes we stood there, silently.

"You look beautiful." Whenever Duke had complimented me before, he did it jocularly, as if he didn't want to be taken completely seriously. Now, he seemed dead earnest.

"Thank you, Duke."

"I mean that. Don't take this the wrong way, but you've become a lovely woman."

"That's the idea, I suppose." I paused. "Duke, can I ask you a personal question? You don't have to answer if you don't want to."

"You've done so much for me. Ask me anything."

"When I first met you, I had you pegged for just a mindless, rich asshole. Someone who was only interested, who only COULD be interested, in a woman's looks. But now that I know you, well, you're a pretty amazing guy. You're smart, funny, sophisticated..."

My hand was on the railing. Duke gently placed his heavy hand on mine. I didn't resist. I continued with my question.
"So why did you want to marry my sister? I've been over it in my head, I just can't imagine what you saw in her."

Duke sighed and released my hand. "I wish I knew, Andy. I guess I'd dated debutantes and society girls all my life. When I met your sister at a party I thought she was real. I thought she was interesting and fun. Love makes you blind I guess. I figured she'd teach me to have more fun, I'd teach her to fit into the high society she loved. Stupid."

"It's not stupid." I placed my hand on his. "Kind of romantic."

"That's why I feel like such a sucker. I almost wish..."

"Wish what, Duke?"

"It's silly." His shirt was soaked with sweat in the humid night.

"Tell me."

"I've enjoyed being with you. I wish that you were Andrea. I mean, I wish that you were a woman. I mean..."

I squeezed his hand. "You mean that we get along so well, that it's almost easy to pretend that we're not pretending."

Duke clasped my hand. With his other hand, he touched my cheek. For a long time we stared into each other's eyes. When he kissed me, I let him.

***

"Nikki! Nikki! Wake up!" I was pounding at her cabin door. I had to talk to her.

"What's up?" she asked sleepily when she opened the door, her bathrobe pulled loosely around her.

"I have to talk to you."

She led me into her cabin, where I began to pace nervously and unsteadily on my heels.

"Nikki...Duke kissed me."

Nikki rubbed her eyes groggily. "He's kissed you before. What's the big deal?"

"I mean, we were alone. And I let him kiss me."

"I guess if he took you by surprise..."

I sighed. I pulled on one of Nikki's tops over my almost bare torso. "Well, I kissed back. We kissed."

Nikki smirked for a second, which she immediately hid. "You two have been playing the newlyweds for a quarter of a year. You just got caught up in things."

"Yeah. That's it. Sorry to have bothered you." I turned to go.

"Andy? Is there something else?"

"It's just that that was the first time I've ever kissed anyone. It's a little weird."

"You mean it's the first time you've kissed a man."

"No, the first time I kissed anyone. I always assumed I'd kiss a girl first."

Nikki was looking at me in a strange way. Eventually she picked up the phone and called the galley. "Could you bring us some tea? Thank you." She then turned back to me.

"Andy, how old are you?"

"Nineteen."

"And you've never kissed anyone?"

"I was homeless. There's no chance to..." But then I stopped. Living on the streets meant you didn't date...but there was still a chance for romance. There were married homeless couples. Discrete liaisons in alleys and abandoned cars. There was sex.

I thought back to poor desperate women who needed warmth. Runaways, punks, the borderline crazy, who'd approached me, asking to be held. Hooker acquaintances who'd offered freebies. Even women with homes who implied I could share their bed for a night. Why had I never accepted?

"Andy? What are you thinking about?"

"I'm trying to think of the last time I've ever thought about a sexy woman." Even in city parks, where the muscular women jogged in their athletic bras and co-eds sunbathed in bikinis...I never really looked. I always chalked it up to being too poor for romance. Could there have been another reason?

I thought of the burly men who I used to work with. How I'd occasionally catch myself watching their brawny, bare backs. The closeness of the homeless shelter, the smell of unwashed male bodies...men. The way Duke held me when we danced.

"Nikki..." I said with a shiver in my voice. "You don't suppose I could be...I mean, I never thought I might be a ..."

"Shh. It doesn't matter. It's not something you have to decide overnight. Just remember, if it is true, you have nothing to be ashamed of."

There was a knock on the door and the steward entered with our tea. I ducked into the bathroom as my thoughts raged. Me? A queer? It would explain a few things.

When I heard the door close, I returned to the cabin. "But even if I were...that way...that doesn't explain everything. Look at me!" I tore open my shirt, showing Nikki the torso of a young lady. "I've become a woman! That's not part of being gay! Oh God, how did I let this happen?" I started to cry.

Nikki sat me down and put her arms around me. I sobbed on her shoulders. "Andy, maybe you've made some mistakes. Maybe you haven't. But listen to me. When I was your age--and that was longer ago that you think--I made some big mistakes. BIG mistakes. But if you go through life regretting everything in your past, you'll never have a future."

"So what should I do? Avoid Duke? Divorce him like I planned?"

Nikki poured me some tea. "You don't have to decide that now. You don't have to decide that for three of four months, when we get back to Georgia."

"Wait...that's only six or seven months at sea. I thought we were going to be gone a year."

Nikki sipped her tea. "Well, we skipped quite a few stops. Duke had originally planned a lot more alone time with you. Well, with your sister."

***

The next day, as I was dining alone on deck, I felt something slip around my neck. Duke's lucky he had lulled me into a sense of security. If he'd tried that two months ago, I'd have cracked his ribs before I'd realized what was happening.
I looked down at the pearl necklace my husband had slipped around my neck.

"Oh, Duke, it's gorgeous," I gushed unselfconsciously. "Thank you!"

Duke leaned in to peck my cheek, but stopped himself. Instead he sat next to me. "I bet you thought I forgot today was a special day."

"Special day?" It wasn't our anniversary.

"You know..." He had a twinkle in his eye, but for the life of me, I couldn't imagine what he was talking about. He wasn't thinking of a special day for Andrea, was he?

"C'mon, Andy. It's your twentieth birthday!"

"No kidding?"

Duke cocked an eyebrow. "You honestly didn't remember?"

"Duke, I've never celebrated a birthday in my life. This is the first birthday present I've ever gotten." I started to get choked up. Perhaps it was the effects of the hormones.

"Oh, Andy. I ought to give you nineteen more presents to make up for it."

My tears were flowing now. "Believe me, this is enough." I fought for control and blew my nose. "Duke, about last night."

"Yes?" He was guarded.

"I'm not saying it was right, or wrong, but I'm very confused right now."

"I understand. I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize," I said severely. "Listen. I know you expected a little more alone time on your honeymoon, and I haven't given you that."

"Totally understandable."

"But not fair to you. I don't suppose there are any beaches or anything near here? You know, maybe take some time...to get to know each other?" I wasn't sure what I was implying. But I did know that it was time for Duke and I to stop playing games.

For the first time since our wedding, Duke smiled an wide, untroubled grin. "There's the Seychelles Islands. Not much of a resort, but they are beautiful. Would you like a little shore leave? Just you and me and Nikki?"

"Nikki can have her own vacation."

***

The Seychelles are a tiny chain of islands in the Indian Ocean. Located far from American and European money, they've never been a big tourist destination. But when we landed, we realized this was a great thing.

The people, who are mostly black and speak an odd mix of European, African, and Indian languages, were friendly and fun loving. They were not obsequious, like natives of a resort area. They treated us like strangers visiting a small town; anxious for us to have a good time and spend money, but not constantly at our backs. Duke and I were unmolested at the hotel, in restaurants, on the beach. Nikki stayed at a separate hotel, blocks away.

It's not easy to shed critical elements of your personality. But as the long, hot, tropical days dragged on, my mental defenses began to crumble. Defense so big and ingrained that I never knew they existed. And as the defenses fell, a new Andy emerged. One who may have been brand new, or possibly who had been there all along.

I let Duke rub sunscreen on my back. I rubbed it on his brawny shoulders in return. I let him hold my hand as we walked down the dusty streets, though there was not a photographer in sight. I let him pin a flower in my hair. We danced at a local bar. We swam together, and I let him dry me off. And, on occasion, his lips would touch mine, and I didn't pull away.
The hotel was awkward. We'd impulsively ordered a room with a single bed, but I soon realized what that implied. Duke, however, was a perfect gentleman. He allowed me to change clothes in the bathroom, and at night, he slept on the sofa.

And then, one night, the dam broke. We'd both been drinking. We had run down the beach, barefoot, laughing in the moonlight. I was wearing a long dress, and it tripped me up. Duke reached down to help me up, but I tipsily yanked him down on top of me. And then we stopped laughing.

Soon his tongue was in my mouth. Three months of a celibate honeymoon had caught up with him. His hands ran down my bare shoulders, pawed at my body.

I struggled away. "I have sand in my dress. I need a shower."

Duke let out a long, frustrated sigh. "Okay."

"Perhaps...perhaps you'd like to join me. Wash my back."

I was standing alone in the shower. The water was hot, and the room was completely steamed up. The water cascaded down on me, on my sunburned shoulders, my bare breasts, my hard nipples. I was wearing a pair of swim trunks. If I were going to play wife, it would do well not to have my penis showing.

I heard Duke enter. I heard the bathroom radio go on, and then saw the lights turn down. Duke pulled aside the shower curtain and joined me. He wore not a stitch, and his throbbing erection...well, you could have hung a bath towel or five from it.

"Andy..." He reached out to grab me by the shoulders, but I stopped him with a bare palm to his burly chest. I placed a bar of soap in his hand.

"Get my back please. Then my front. If you do a good job, I'll wash you."

***

Hours later I lay on our bed, bare chested, sore, and exhausted. And contented. Duke lay snoring next to me, his arm thrown possessively over my stomach.

I couldn't sleep. Had we done the right thing? Time would tell. Was I sorry? Not on your life.

***

We boarded the ship a week later, skipping and laughing and holding hands. As Duke went off to talk to the captain, Nikki cornered me.

"Keep in mind you're supposed to get divorced after all this. You can't let the cameras catching you being a happy couple."

I giggled. "Well, who's to say we have to get divorced?"

I expected Nikki to look happy, but she only frowned. "That wasn't part of your plan."

"Of course not. And I haven't decided to do anything beyond this trip. But, like you said, this life can be enjoyable. It's started to grow on me."

Nikki smiled an uncomfortable smile. "I think I did my job too well."

"Then you should be proud." I put my arm around her. "I'm happy. For the first time in my life, I'm actually happy. I owe it all to you."

"Please don't thank me."

"Of course I have you to thank! If you hadn't helped me, I never would have...shall we say...discovered certain thing about myself."

Nikki wouldn't make eye contact. She must have felt embarrassed.

"I'll tell you another thing," I told her. "Meeting Duke wasn't the only good thing about this trip. I have a sister now."

"Andrea..."

"No honey, you."

Nikki's eyes opened wide. "Don't call me that! I mean, I'm old enough to be your mother."

"Who cares? You've been a more than a friend. You're my family. I'd be proud to call you my sister."

The tearful hugging I had expected didn't materialize. Instead Nikki glowered. "Don't call me that. Don't ever call me that." She ran off.

I didn't know what to make of Nikki's rudeness, but I decided she'd explain on her own time. Instead I unpacked and went to find Duke.

When I reached the door of his office, I heard raised voices. No, not raised voices. Screaming. Duke screaming. The door flew open, and out rushed Nikki. She had the most frightened, despairing look I'd ever seen on her face. With a sad backward glance, she walked away. Duke sneered after her and slammed his door.

I caught up with her in cabin.

"Nikki, what was that all about?"

Nikki was pulling a suitcase out of her closet. "Go away."

"Don't tell me that. Not after all we've been through. Talk to me."

Nikki looked at me and I was shocked by the despair on her face. "I betrayed you and Duke."

An icy chill went through me. "What do you mean, Nikki?" I thought of the pictures taken of me in Greece. Nikki couldn't have arranged that, could she?

"Andy, I'm a false friend. I..." Nikki seemed to be in agony. "I helped your sister, Andrea."

My hands clutched the back of a chair. "With what?" I whispered.

"Everything. Meeting Duke. How to act so he'd fall for her. Finding out about you. Arranging for you to find out about her." Nikki lowered her head. "Providing the drugs that knocked you out before the wedding."

There was nothing for me to say. My best friend, the woman who I'd called sister, was a traitor.

"You're not my sister, Nikki. You're dead to me, and I wish I wasn't speaking metaphorically." I turned to go.

"Can't I explain?"

"What? That you sold out Duke and I? How much did she give you?"

"Nothing. It wasn't for money."

"What then? Publicity? Drugs?" I was trying to be cruel.

"She blackmailed me, Andy."

I snorted. "Right."

"I'm serious. She knows a secret about me. Andy, don't you think it's strange that I know so much about cross dressing?"

"I never really thought about it."

"Andy, fifteen years ago, I was a guy named Nick."

Stunned, I looked Nikki over. The height, the wide hands...well, it took a lot of imagination, but just maybe...Nikki? A guy? An ex-guy?

My mind raced with questions. However, the only thing I could come up with was to ask if her boyfriend, the pilot Trent, knew.

"He knows. He's okay with it."

I was still trying to get my mind around all this. To me, Nikki had been all woman. I couldn't believe that she had started out life like I had: as a guy!

She continued speaking. "After my sex change, I started working for Duke. My life had been hell as a man, and suddenly I had become the girl of my dreams. For over a decade I was in heaven. Then, one day, your sister approached me. Threatens to tell the world unless I help her land Duke."

I stopped pitying Nikki and started pitying myself again. "So what? The world might care that Duke's wife is a guy, but would they really care about his publicist? That's page ten news. Duke would have helped you anyway."

"Duke would have done anything for me. It's not the fact I was once a man that I was hiding. There was something else."

"What?"

"Growing up as a man was miserable. I thought about suicide constantly. And since I didn't have a rich man to pay for everything, I couldn't afford the surgery."

"So?"

"So I stole over $30,000 from the company I worked for and disappeared. Took on a new identity. Andrea threatened to tell them, to go to the law."

"Duke might have helped you."

"Maybe. Maybe not. But Andy, I committed those crimes as Nick. They could send me to a men's prison. Do you have any idea what would happen to me there?"

"So you just decided to ruin two other people's lives?" I tried to sound hateful, but failed.

"My only excuse is I never thought Andrea's plan would work. Every step of the way I thought something would go wrong. But things went so beautifully. It just never occurred to either of us how far Duke would go to cover things up. And then you two started acting like you were enjoying yourselves, so I didn't say anything. And then you called me your sister...the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me...and I went to Duke and told him everything."

Without a word, without looking back, I left the cabin.

***

I found Duke in what was left of his office. His desk was overturned, his expensive computer lay smashed on the floor, and all decorations had been ripped off the wall. When he saw me he punched the bulkhead.

"Don't do that. You'll break your knuckles."

I had never seen such rage on the face of anyone who wasn't on PCP. "I guess you know what that whore did to me. Did to us."

I uprighted Duke's chair and sat him down. Placing my hands on his shoulders, I began to rub. After a few minutes I could feel the tenseness begin to drain. It was if he were deflating like a beach ball.

Duke was staring at a picture that lay beneath a crushed picture frame on his desk. It was a group shot at one of his company' functions. In the middle stood Duke and Nikki, two good friends.

"I can't believe what that bitch did. But she'll pay for it. I'm going to dump her on the most desolate, uninhabited rock this side of Australia. She can rot there. Or blow some merchant marine crew to take her back home. Cocksucking shemale. If she ever makes it back to the US I'll make damn sure she never works again. I'll make sure everyone knows she's a guy."

I brushed off a space on the desk and sat across from him. "Are you finished?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now here's what you're really going to do. You'll drop Nikki off at the next island with an airport. You'll see that she gets a flight back to the US. You can demote her, or put her on a leave of absence, or whatever, but you won't fire her. At least not until you've had a month or so to calm down."

Duke looked at me like I had grown another head. "How can you suggest that? She turned you into a woman!"

"Is that such a bad thing?"

Duke smiled in spite of himself. "Not from where I'm sitting."

"She hurt us both, Duke. I don't forgive her. I don't think I ever will. But she panicked. She thought she might go to prison. Is that what you want for her?"

Duke pouted. I kissed him.

***

Two days later we dropped Nikki off at the British naval base at Diego Garcia. She flew home the next day, to begin a year as assistant to the VP of one of Duke's subsidiaries. This was a much less glamorous job, and paid about half of what she previously made.

Later that week Nikki's old employer received an unexpected letter from an attorney. It stated that the funds stolen by Nick would be repaid with interest from an anonymous source. In return, the company had to drop all charges regarding the theft.

***

Nikki's revelation drove Duke and I closer together. The fact that the one other person we trusted had been dishonest, well, we realized if we were going to get through this mess, we'd have to do it on our own.

Instead of relying on Nikki for a travel itinerary, Duke decided on our travel arrangements by himself. Instead up sailing north to Japan, as we'd originally intended, we headed south.

Instead of depending on Nikki for fashion and woman's advice, I relied on myself. I found that with experience, and the help of Duke's very expensive satellite internet hookup, I could make intelligent decisions regarding my clothes, my makeup, and my hair. The hormones continued to give me more and more curves. Waking up with breasts ceased to startle me, and slipping on a bra was just another part of my day. My penis began to whither and I could no longer get an erection. With the use of a sex-hiding device I could wear modest bikini bottoms. Duke kept teasing me that the surgeon who'd given me breasts could make me over below the waist, too.

Physically, things changed as well. Duke now no longer had to sneak out of our honeymoon cabin at night. I won't deny it; nights were a little frightening for me at first. But Duke was gentle and understanding. As the weeks went by, he'd slowly broaden my horizons. With simple things, like a bottle of chocolate syrup, or an ice cube, or a silk scarf, he'd allow me to experience feelings I'd never known existed.

Duke stopped calling me Andrea, saying it reminded him too much of my sister. He called me 'Andi,' spelled with an 'I.'
Neither of us mentioned what would happen when we returned to the US. For months we'd been planning a divorce. But is that what we wanted? At least, right away? I was too terrified to broach the topic.

Three weeks after we left Nikki, we made an unscheduled stop at Darwin, in northern Australia. Of all our ports of call I think I liked this one the best. The ocean was beautiful, the beaches white, and the weather gorgeous.

Duke said we could spend as much time as we wanted alone, but I was beginning to know him better than anyone. He longed for society, for friends, for company. When I suggested we go out on the town, he was excited.

A local bigwig was throwing a charity ball, and Duke bought two tickets for the equivalent of $1,000 US. I wore a sleeveless, backless dress that showed of my increasingly freckled chest. I put my hair up and wore the beautiful birthday necklace Duke had given me. Some pumps and a new purse completed my image.

As I stared at myself in the mirror, I saw Duke slip in behind me. He kissed my neck, then stood with his hands on my bare shoulders.

"You've changed, Andi. Since our first night out in Miami, you've changed."

I smirked at him, thrusting my boobs in his direction.

"Well, I don't just mean that. You're so much more confident. So much more..."

"More what?"

"Happy. Am I right?"

I dabbed on some perfume. "In Miami, I was a guy in drag. Now, for all intents and purposes, I'm a woman."

Duke looked at me for a long moment. He took my hand. "Let's go."

The dance was okay, so far as those things went. Duke and I danced, we drank, and I chatted with people. Duke was right, I was much more confident. If someone mentioned some aspect of high society that I didn't understand, then I asked about it. If someone had a problem with me, I just ignored them. And when a mining engineer teased me about the infamous Greek picture, I laughed.

When things began to close down, Duke said he had a surprise for me. His surprise turned out to be an all terrain vehicle that he'd borrowed. Within an hour we were driving through the unpopulated desert of the (almost) outback. There were blankets in the back. An hour later, after we dressed again, we watched the sunrise over the desert.

Sitting in the driver's seat, Duke took my hand.

"Andi. I've been thinking."

"Yes?"

"We'll be back home before you know it."

"Yes." I sighed.

"I know I said we should get divorced when we return..."

I was suddenly very alert. My God...what was he suggesting?

"Andi, I've grown very fond of you. Not as a stand-in for your sister, either. Of you, yourself."

"Duke, I've grown very fond of you." My stomach filled with butterflies. He was about to suggest I extend my time as a wife...or make it permanent.

"Andi...this is so hard to say..."

I looked into his earnest eyes. "Just say it, honey."

"Andi...when we get back to the States..."

I touched his cheek. "Yes?"

"I'll give you another million dollars for six more months as my wife."

My world died there. Even Nikki's betrayal didn't hurt that much. After all we'd done...all we'd been through...I was still just another business proposition. Instead of asking for my heart, he was trying to buy my body.

"Duke, take me home."

"Andi..."

"Don't talk."

***

I was so hurt by Duke that I didn't leave my cabin for several days. I wished I could talk to Nikki. Didn't he understand that we were beyond money now? Didn't he know that if I decided to stay with him, to give up on Andrew forever, that it would be because of my feelings?

After three days I had to get some fresh air. At midnight I slipped off all my clothes and put on a bathrobe. I didn't even need any padding underneath. Duke had robbed me of everything but my penis. He'd turned me into a woman. A woman he thought he could buy.

I paced the deck, stopping to lean against the rail where he'd first kissed me. How could I have actually thought he cared about me? How could I have thought he loved me?

"Andi?"

I ignored him. There was nothing he could say that I wanted to hear.

"Andi?" He stood next to me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the miserable look on his face. He was so dejected I almost took his hand before catching myself.

"Andi, do you ever wish you could turn back time?"

"Yes," I spat. "Like about a year."

There was a silence. "Do you really mean that?"

"Give me a hundred bucks and I'll take it back," I said snidely.

Duke grabbed both my hands and pulled me towards him. "Andi, I'm sorry!"

"For what? Treating me like a whore? I shouldn't blame you, this whole arrangement was about money from the beginning."

Duke released me. "It stopped being about money a long time ago."

I allowed myself to look at my husband. "Then why did you try to buy me?"

"Because I'm a dick."

I couldn't agree with that. "No you're not. Which is not to say you can't BE a dick at times."

"Ever since I became rich, dating became a financial thing. Every woman who's ever gone out with me did it because of my money, at least in part."

"Not every woman."

Duke looked even more ashamed. "Ever since I found what your sister did, I guess I thought it was too much to have a woman really, truly love me."

"But you did have it, Duke. No amount of money could have made me change my body like this. I did it...I guess I did it all to make you happy."

"Andi..." Duke tried to hold me.

"Forget it. I'm not for sale." I walked away.

"Andi!" Duke screamed.

"What?"

"I love you! I love you so much. I love you more than any woman I've known. I love who you've become. I don't want to live without you."

If I walked away then, it truly would have been the end. I could have gotten a divorce, changed back into a man, and gotten on with my life. Instead, I turned.

"I love you too, Duke. God help me, I love you."

"Can you forgive me?"

It's a cruel woman who reminds her man of his mistakes. "Forgive you for what?"

"Andi, I have another proposal for you."

"Yes?"

"Will you act like my wife when we get back for no money at all?"

I smiled. "Duke, I'm not exactly acting anymore."

"Then do we really have to get a divorce? Can't we just see where all this leads?"

"Do you really want to be married to a man?" I asked, embarrassed.

"No. I want to be married to you, Andi!"

"Then of course I accept." Duke leaned in to kiss me. "On a few conditions."

Duke seemed a little surprised. "Like what?"

"I want to go back to school. I want to study social work and get a job helping the poor."

Duke looked perplexed. "But you won't have to work."

"Yes I will. We can't do this unless we're equals. I can't play the bored housewife."

Duke chuckled. "You couldn't, could you?"

"Nope."

"Anything else?"

"This can't be about money. Keep the million dollars."

"Are you sure, you certainly earned..."

I covered his mouth. "Don't say it. Don't you dare think of what I did as work."

He then covered my mouth with his. And as I took him into my bed...into OUR bed that night, I realized I finally was where I belonged. I fell asleep that night thinking of our future. Education. A home. A husband. A family.

A week later Andrea reentered our lives and shattered our happiness.

***

Duke's yacht, of course, was set up with every conceivable luxury. The thing that had impressed me the most was the computer setup. Before all this started I'd never so much as played a video game. The first mate, however, was a bit of a computer expert, and was happy to give me lessons. Satellite internet access is by no means cheap, but Duke could afford it. I had even signed up for some online classes, and as we steamed towards Hawaii, I finally earned my GED.

It was about this time Duke paid off the right people and managed to get me a passport in the name of Andi Greyson, female. It seemed that my future as a woman was all mapped out. The day before we hit Honolulu, as I scanned the website a Georgia University, I felt nothing could stop us.

"Ma'am?" It was the first mate, sticking his head into the computer room.

"Yes?"

"You have a phone call from the United States. You can pick up in here."

That was odd. Who could be calling me? I hoped it wasn't someone who knew the original Andrea. With trepidation, I picked up the phone.

"Andi?" came an upset voice.

"Nikki?" Why should she be calling? I certainly didn't feel very warmly towards the woman who'd helped Shanghai me.

"Andi, don't hang up. I have to talk to you."

"Whatever it is, it can wait until I get back." I decided to play coy. "I'm on my honeymoon, after all."

"Andi, don't joke." Something in her voice told me I needed to listen.

"What is it?"

"It's your sister. I've had Trent keep tabs on her. Apparently, as long as you're playing her part, she can't get her hands on any of Duke's money."

"Good. She certainly doesn't deserve it."

"Listen to me. You sister's in Hawaii. She's going to meet with Duke. Unless he takes her back and dumps you off somewhere, she'll go to the press. She's going to spill everything, Andi."

Within a minute I was in Duke's office, telling him everything.

"Duke, what are we going to do?"

Duke had listened to my whole story without changing his expression. When I was finished, he picked up a pencil from his desk and snapped it.

"Guess I'll go talk to her, Andi."

"But..."

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to stay on board while we're in Hawaii. We can't risk anyone seeing you in two places. I'll make it up to you."

"But Duke..."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I'll have to take care of some business before we hit land." Almost brusquely, Duke ushered me out of his office.

We landed in the 50th state sometime before dawn. I had intended to talk to Duke before he left, to find out what he intended to do. I was crushed when I found out that Duke had gone ashore before I'd even woken up.

I spent a miserable day alone in my cabin. What was he going to do? One word to the press and we were sunk. Everyone would know I was a man. Everyone would know the Greek pictures were real. We'd be a tabloid sensation. Duke would be ruined, humiliated for the rest of his life.

As the day wore on, my nervousness became agony. Where was he? What we doing? I thought back to how he had almost married my sister. Despite his denials, he had to have had some feelings for her. What if he still did. What if...what if he remembered those feelings? What if he decided he'd rather have a real woman than her shemale replacement? Oh God.

I was in a full-blown panic. Why would he even want me? I was nobody. I wasn't even really a woman. Andrea was supposed to be his wife. What use was I?

Duke didn't come home that night or the next. At the beginning of the third I packed my things. I'd reach some sort of settlement with Duke. He'd set me up somewhere, let me go to school, while he got on with his life. His married life. With his wife, Andrea. And all I could do was to be the woman who truly loved him.

Duke came aboard that afternoon and slipped a lei around my neck. "Why the long face, Andi?"

"Duke, don't make this any harder. Go to her." I felt like I was driving a knife into my own breast. "I won't stop you."

Duke seemed genuinely confused. "Go to who?"

"Andrea."

Duke laughed. "You goof!" He grabbed me and hugged me. "I just spent two days getting rid of her. Why would I go back to her?"

"Because she's really your wife."

"Nope. You're the one who said 'I do.' I'm holding you to that." Duke tried to pull back but I held him.

"Duke, she's really a woman. Don't you want that?"

He touched my cheek. "You're really a woman. Don't you ever think otherwise."

I pressed my face into my husband's chest and had a good cry. "You really choose me?"

"There was no choice about it."

Finally I pulled away. "So what did you say to her?"

Duke sat down. "Well, she was her old self. Thought we could just go back to the way things were."

"What did you do?"

"I told her that she was to stay away from us forever."

I was confused. "Why would she agree to that?"

"Because I know a thing or two about her. Like her involvement in a rather spectacular armed car robbery last year. Or her days as a drug mule across the Mexican border. She's beaten. She'll keep her mouth shut."

I laughed. "But she won't disappear. We have the same name, sort of."

"How many Andrea Joneses do you think there are? Coincidence."

"But we look the same."

"Have you taken a look in the mirror lately?"

I looked. Even sitting there in my pajamas without makeup, there was no denying the woman I'd become. I was every inch a female.

"What am I supposed to be seeing?"

"My wife, that's what you see. Andrea was pretty, but she's not like you. You're regal. That has nothing to do with hormones or surgery, or makeup. You're nothing like her anymore."

I kissed him. "Thank you."

"Andi, are you happy?"

"Yes."

"Then so am I." He kissed my cheek, then my shoulder. He began to slide his hand under my pajama top.

"Hang on, Duke. How long have we been gone?"

"Over eight months."

"It seems like eight years. Or eight days."

Duke rubbed my neck. "I know what you mean."

"Duke, can we just go home?"

Duke seemed pleased. "You really want to?"

"We're not trying to fool anyone anymore. I want to get out with my life. I want us to get on with our lives."

"Then let's. We'll sail on to Los Angeles, then fly back. The ship can make it without us."

***

And so our adventure drew to a close. Nearly nine months after I found myself forced to play the bride, we sailed into San Francisco Bay. Duke held me as we floated under the Golden Gate Bridge at sunset.

"So is everything set?" I asked my husband.

"Yes. We'll spend the night here, then sail for Los Angeles tomorrow and fly home. The captain will take the boat through the Panama Canal and be back in Georgia in a couple of weeks."

"Good. I'm excited about seeing our house for the first time."

"I think you'll like it, Andi. You know, this is your last chance to back out. You move in with me, I'm never letting you go."

I bit him on the ear. "Well, I'm not backing out. But there is one last thing I'd like to do..."

That night, at a quiet Unitarian chapel, Duke and Andi got married for real. It wasn't a real ceremony as we hadn't applied for a marriage license, but I had to let Duke know I truly wanted to be his wife.

***

There's very little left to tell. Nikki met us in Los Angeles, sobbing and laughing at the same time. I couldn't stay mad at her, especially when I noticed the engagement ring on her finger. When she asked me to be her maid of honor, I accepted. It's what you do for a sister.

Nikki eventually drug Duke away to take care of the business he'd been neglecting on his trip, so I hung out at a seaside bar and waited. I was quite annoyed when a balding middle aged man sat at my table, uninvited.

"May I help you?"

The guy grinned, an insincere gap toothed smile. "You've helped me enough, thank you?"

I wanted to get up and leave, but something about this guy made me uneasy.

"Do I know you?"

"I'm Cravin C. Woodward."

The name meant nothing to me, and I told him so.

"I'm a photographer. I think you remember a certain picture I took of you."

It clicked into place. This was the son of a bitch who had taken the picture of me in Greece. The man who'd forced me to get breast implants. The man who'd nearly ruined everything.

No good could come from talking to him. As I stood up, he laid something on the table. A thick manila folder.

Cravin ordered a beer as I read the contents with panic. There was a copy of my medical records from Israel, when I got the breast implants. There were some other grainy pictures of me topless in Greece. Another shot of me in Miami, where my padding had slipped into view for a second. And finally, a copy of my birth certificate, listing me as 'male.'

"Your sister sends her regards," said the photographer, with an evil grin.

"Name your price. Anything. Duke will pay it."

"There's no price. Your breast implants got me fired. They think I faked that photo. Thanks to these documents, I can prove to the world that you're a man."

"A million dollars!"

"I wouldn't take ten million."

"Then what do you want?" I think if he'd asked for a pound of flesh I would have given it to him.

"I want another drink."

I motioned for a waiter to fill him up.

"Okay, Cravin. What do you want?"

He swigged his beer. "Another drink I told you." To my shock, he got up to leave, without taking his evidence.

"But...I don't understand."

He sat back down grinning, a little more sincere. "For twenty years, I've been a vulture. I've preyed off human misery. I ruined reputations, caused scandals, and wrecked lives. For the past few months, as I planned my revenge, I've had to work at the city desk at an Illinois paper you've never heard of. And you know what? For the first time in two decades, I can look myself in the mirror in the morning.

"I can destroy you, Mrs. Greyson, but for once in my life, that wouldn't make me happy. I'm going to stop this shit."

I blinked. "I don't know what to say."

"Well, I'm still a reporter. I'm dying to know the truth. Strictly off the record, what's your story?"

"How do I know you won't print it?"

"If I was going to out you, I would have done it a month ago. And I wouldn't have asked for your side. Trust me Mrs. Greyson, this is just about my own curiosity. And if it's none of my business, I can respect that."

I ordered a rum and Coke for myself. "Okay, Cravin. It all started about nine months ago..."

Modern Bride
by Czolgolz
copyright 2000

For the longest time I blamed Lori for what had happened. It seemed easy to lay the guilt on her doorstep. It had been her problem after all, I just was trying to help. But after it was over, I realized that I was the one to blame, if you could call it that. I could have called it all off at any time I wanted to. It’s just that I didn’t.

It started my senior year of high school, round Easter. Ken Woolsey, class of ’99, that was me. I was gearing up for graduation, applying to colleges, doing the usual senior pranks. If you had told me at the time, I never would have believed how differently my life was going to turn out from the way I had planned.

I remember the day the whole thing started. I was still living with my mother at the time (my father was never part of my life, nor is he part of this story). I came home from school to find my sister, Lori, waiting for me.

“Hey sis,” I said as I pecked her on the cheek. “What brings you by?”

“What, can’t a girl visit her family?” She smiled. At twenty-two she was a few years older than me. Despite the age difference, we were rather close. She had moved out a few years ago and it was always nice to see her.

“Just that you don’t come by too often. I was wondering what the occasion was,” I said as I began to fix myself a snack.

“Well, I’ve got a bit of exciting news.”

“I’m all ears,” I replied with my mouth full.

“The Tri-state bridal show is coming to town in a few weeks!”

“Gosh, that’s wonderful,” I said, not bothering to mask my lack of enthusiasm.

“No, you don’t understand. It’s a huge trade show. And I’m going to get to display three of my gowns there!”

That was actually big news. For years my sister had been trying to break into the fashion industry. I supposed working in the fashion industry was a lot like being a musician or a writer: thousands of rejections before you got the big break. My sister had never had a success like this before. If it worked out for her there, it might be the jump-start her career needed.

“Congratulations,” I said, more excited this time. “Don’t forget us when you’re a millionaire industry leader.”

Lori laughed, nervously. “God, if only. Breaks like this come along maybe once every five years. If the customers are interested in my gowns then maybe one of the big companies will take me on as a designer. God, I hope I’ve picked the right gowns.”

“Well, why do you have to use just three? I know you’ve designed about a dozen, I’m sure there’d be room for a couple more.”

“It doesn’t work like that. The gowns will be modeled by women. I’m only allotted three trips down the runway, there isn’t time for more.”

“Ah. So who’s going to be modeling your gowns? Elle MacPherson? Cindy Crawford?”

“Ha, ha. No, I actually can’t afford to pay anyone to model.”

“So you got a friend to do it?” I asked, hoping that maybe she’d introduce us.

“Well, actually I’ll be modeling my own work. It’s unusual, but I couldn’t find anyone willing to sit through all the fittings and measurements for no pay.”

“Well, I couldn’t imagine a prettier bride,” I told her. This wasn’t a mindless, brotherly comment, either. Lori was a lovely woman. I guess you’d describe her as statuesque: just under six feet tall, muscular (though not grossly so), with short black hair, long legs, and a pretty face. We bore a striking resemblance to each other. I think if we had been closer in age we could have passed for twins.

“You’ll come, of course?” asked Lori.

The thrill of going to a bridal show was lost on me, but I knew it would mean a lot to my sister so I assented.

Mom came home and soon the girls were deep in conversation about the upcoming convention. Their fashion talk soon lost me and I retreated to my room.

*

Two weeks later I had one of the worst experiences of my life. I was sitting in my science class when the principal hurried in. He searched the rows until he had located me, and motioned for me to join him in the hall. This is a scary enough experience for a high school student, but he didn’t look angry. He looked upset and worried, which was even more disturbing than if he had been about to punish me.

“Your sister has been in a car accident,” he told me flatly.

“How is she?” I blurted, dreading the answer.

“I don’t know. Your mother just called from the hospital. I’ll drive you.”
*
‘She’ll be okay. She’ll be okay. Probably just a couple of stitches. Hell, they make anyone in a car accident go to the hospital, she’s probably just being held for observation. Her car probably is beat up and they wanted mom to drive her home.’ I told myself this on the hellish ride to the hospital. Of course, it was hard to convince myself. If there was no problem, then Mom would have said so on the phone. If Lori wasn’t hurt then they probably wouldn’t have called me at school.

I nearly football tackled the duty nurse in an effort to find out where my sister was. “Room 701,” she replied, calmly. “And don’t worry, she’ll be fine.”

I began to breathe easier. That was a hell of a scare, and if it’s never happened to you, then you’re lucky. I burst into the room to find Mom kneeling next to Lori’s bed. I rushed over.

Lori was fine in the sense that she would suffer no permanent damage from the accident. But she was hurt. Both of her legs were plastered up to the thighs, and elevated on slings. Her face was badly bruised and one of her eyes was swollen shut. Later I found out she had been speeding a bit, hit a wet spot, and lost control of her car.

I tried to put on a brave face. “Well young lady, you gave us quite…” I then broke down sobbing for the first time since I was about seven. I couldn’t help it. My crying set off Mom and Lori and we hugged each other. Finally, we regained control.

“Why did this have to happen? Why the hell did this have to happen?” moaned Lori, inconsolable.

“Shhh, honey,” said Mom. “It’s okay. There’ll be no scarring, and you’ll be out of here in about a week. The casts come off in a month…”

“No, you don’t get it. The bridal show! It’s in less than a month!”

“Well, you can still go,” I stupidly pointed out.

Lori sobbed again. “I can go, but I can’t model.”

“Why not?” I insisted, demonstrating my utter ignorance about such things. “You’ll still be able to walk on crutches or use a wheelchair.”

I could tell Lori was getting angry, but it passed. “I guess you wouldn’t understand. Look, the people at the convention will be planning the happiest day of their lives. They’ll have nothing on their minds but how perfect they want their day to be, and how they would look in the gowns. I won’t be able to do anything but limp along, and my face will still be a giant bruise. If a bride to be looked at me she’d think of how hideous I looked, and that is not a mental image I want them to have.”

“There has got to be a way!” I shouted. I hated to see my sister so upset, on the heels of a leg-crushing, Buick-totaling accident. “Hey, how expensive could a model be? Really? We can pool our funds and afford it. We’ll just call an agency and tell them what we need. I’m sure we can find a college girl who’d work for a couple hundred…”

Lori shook her head. “Thank you Ken. I know you want to help. But in the fashion industry, you design the gown with the model in mind. Skin color, hair color, body shape, height, weight, you get the picture. Remember all the measurements you had to get for your tux at the dance last year? Well this is about a thousand times worse, and there’s no time for me to do any alterations. Unless you could find a six-foot tall girl with pale skin, a muscular build, black hair, and long legs, I’m sunk.”

I’d never seen her that sad. A nurse came in and told us we should let Lori get some rest. Mom and I retreated to the cafeteria.

“Ken, I want you to think,” said Mom when we sat down. “This is for your sister. Can you think of anyone you know who looks like your sister? A friend, a classmate, a teacher, anyone? It would kill your sister if she had to cancel now. She’s been building up to this moment for as long as I can remember.”

I wracked my brains. No one came to mind. Few women were close to being tall enough. The few tall girls I could think of were either heavyset, very skinny, or otherwise had the wrong body type. Even with what little I knew about modeling, I was aware that altering the dresses was much more involved than lengthening a pair of pants. There wouldn’t be time to do the necessary work that would be required to make the dresses suit them.

“I’m drawing a blank. Do you know anyone?” Mom shook her head. “Well, I guess we can call some modeling agencies tomorrow, though I don’t have much hope. God, don’t we know anyone about six foot, pale skin, dark hair…” Mom stopped short. It seemed she was staring at me, but I guessed she was just thinking.

“What, did you think of someone?” I asked hopefully.

“Maybe. I want to ask your sister something.” She left quickly, and wouldn’t say anything else about the subject that afternoon.

*
That night, after we had bid Lori goodbye, we sat at home picking at the frozen pizza we were having for dinner. We were relieved that Lori had survived the accident okay, but depressed because Lori was about to miss her big opportunity. Finally, Mom asked me if she could ask a serious question.

“Ken, I’ve been thinking about this all day. I want to ask you something, and I hope it won’t make you angry.”

“You can ask me anything, Mom,” I replied, a tad nervous. Why would I be angry?

“You know what a big day the convention was supposed to be for Lori, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, I think, with your help, she can still display her gowns.”

“You know I’d do anything to help, Mom.”

“You may not want to do this, Ken. Forgive me for what I’m about to ask you to do, but at the same time, think about it.”

“Mom, why are you getting so weird? Out with it!”

“Ken, I think you should model your sister’s gowns for her.”

I was about to get angry at her for joking about something so serious. But then I realized that she was not trying to be funny.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Just listen. Five minutes.” That was kind of an unwritten rule in our family. Whenever any of us got into an argument, we’d ask for five minutes to state our side, without interruption. Not always easy, but it saved a lot of yelling and hollering back and forth. I fell silent, preparing my myriad of reasons why I wouldn’t participate in this insane plan.

“Ken, it struck me at the hospital today. You fit the body type! You’re tall, you’re kind of muscular, especially if you were a female. You have dark hair and look a lot like your sister. If you let me fix you up, with makeup, a new hairstyle, and padding, you could pass for a girl. You go to the convention, walk down a runway three times, and then leave. It could save your sister’s career, and no one would have to know.”

“Yeah, except for the thousands of people at the convention.”

“Do a lot of your friends go to bridal shows?”

“Well, no. Of course not.”

“No one you know will be there, Ken. No one will know you are a guy. Only us, and we’d be there to help you out. We’d never mention it again afterwards.”

“I refuse. I’m not a girl, Mom.”

“Ken, sleep on it, okay? I know what it sounds like now, but at least think about it. Could you do that for me?”

“I suppose.”

*

That night I lay awake, thinking about my mother’s ridiculous plan. Model my sister’s gowns indeed! What the hell was she thinking? I loved my sister, but did she honestly think that her teenage son would put on a gown and model it in front of hundreds of people? I mean, I wouldn’t just have to dress like a woman, I’d have to dress like a friggin’ bride! There was no article of clothing more feminine than a bridal gown, except maybe the string bikini. Well forget it. I had my pride, and that was just a little too humiliating. Lori would have to make do somehow.

I thought of Lori. It was odd, really. Almost no one ever winds up choosing the same career they wanted when they were five (I wanted to be Mr. T), but not Lori. For as long as I could remember, fashion was in her blood. She’d design little outfits for her Barbies, draw dresses in art class, and spend every spare cent on fashion magazines. After she got out of high school, she worked nights as a waitress to afford to go to the top of the line design school. She’d stay up half the night working on some new outfit that she had created. Her fingers were constantly bandaged, due to the repeated pokes with the needle.

While she could create just about any item of women’s clothing she put her mind to, it was in the field of wedding dresses that she shone. Even with my lack of understanding of such things I could tell that her gowns were something else. But to actually wear one?

The industry was cruel. Month after month she would try to get an interview with some major clothes company. Month after month she was given the run around. On occasion she would be granted an interview with some low-level executive, but nothing ever came of it.

I thought of this bridal convention thing. Every engaged woman in the area would be there. What if a bunch of them approached her wanting her to design gowns for their weddings? What if Lori’s dresses caught the eyes of some of the industry representatives there? Could this be the big break she was looking for? Couldn’t this make her dreams come true?

My sister had always been there for me. She drove me around before I got my license, helped me with my homework, gave me advice about women… but this was different. It’s not like she ever had to pretend to be a man for me! Then again, it wasn’t like I ever had a career opportunity hanging in the balance, either.

Was I being just a little short-sighted? Mom was right, it’s not like anyone would see me up close, especially not anyone I knew. I loved my sister and I knew this would be a gift to her she’d never forget, even better than the humorous fake severed arm I had given her for her last birthday.

But then, even supposing I did do the honorable thing, would it really work? I mean, if I anyone realized I was a guy it wouldn’t be merely embarrassing for me (and embarrassing it would be) but it could get her blackballed from the bridal circuit. If word got out that her gowns were being modeled by a man, then she’d wish that she had modeled them herself, casts or no. I’d need more convincing if I were to do this thing.

*

The next morning I approached Mom about her idea. “I guess maybe I could possibly think about doing this. I know what it would mean to Lori. But, well, do you really think we could pull it off? I mean look at this.” I held up a bridal magazine that Lori had left in the bathroom and pointed to the cover model. “This woman is gorgeous! Maybe I’m no Mr. Universe, but I’d like to think that I’d look a bit silly in a wedding dress!”

Mom nodded. “Ken, of course you are right. If you threw on a dress right now you’d look ridiculous. But I think, with padding, tons of makeup, a some lessons on feminine deportment, you could pass for a woman. No one would expect you to look like the cover girl there, all we’d need if for you to look like a woman. You’re skinny enough, no beard, and your jaw isn’t too prominent. Your trips down the runway would be less than a minute each, and after that we’d forget this ever happened.”

“Hmmm. Maybe it’s just the male programming in me, but I’m still having my doubts.”

“Listen, honey. Lori left some clothes here the other day. Maybe if you tried them on…”

“What, you think I’d feel more comfortable?” I barked, fearing she was mocking my manhood.

“No, no one expects that. I was thinking that if you saw yourself in women’s clothes, with padding, makeup and all, you’d realize that under the lights you could pass yourself off as a woman.”

I was dubious. “C’mon,” said Mom. “It’ll only take a couple of hours. If you aren’t convinced, then just change back and we’ll pretend it never happened.”

I sighed. “I’m agreeing to nothing, you understand? I just want to see whether this is at all possible. If it is, I’ll decide then, not now.”

A few minutes later I stood naked and alone under the harsh bathroom lights. Was I really about to do this? Let my mom, my own mother, doll me up like a girl? Well, what’s the worst that could happen, I thought, as memories of Anthony Perkins dressing as his mother and knifing tourists flashed through my mind.

I looked down at my naked body. Points against me passing as a woman: my height (though that was actually a blessing in this case), my slightly muscular frame, and my penis. Points for: I wasn’t too hairy, or too big, and my voice wasn’t too terribly deep.

Mom knocked on the door and tossed in a pair of dark panty hose. “Put them on like socks, not pants,” she told me through the door. “They’re dark, they’ll cover your leg hair.”

I yanked them on, wondering how women managed to wear these things every day. Finally I got them on more or less correctly. I bulged out in the front, the hose designer obviously didn’t have individuals with penises in mind. Still, my leg hair was covered, and I guessed there wasn’t anything too obviously masculine about my legs from the thighs down.

“Are you doing okay?” called my mother.

“Yeah, it’s kind of odd to be wearing these things on my legs instead of over my face.”

“Mr. Funny Guy. Do they feel okay?”

“Kind of weird, you know? Tighter than pants, tighter than socks. So close to the skin. But soft too.”

“Wait till you get used to them. You’ll get sick of they way they are constantly getting torn soon enough.”

“Whoa, I’m not ‘getting used’ to anything. So far as you know this will be a one-time thing.”

“Yeah, I know. I didn’t mean anything by it. Here, try this on.”

She passed in a gray, full-length, pleated skirt. It zipped up in the back, I slipped it on. In all my eighteen years I had never put on a skirt, even for fun. It was an odd sensation; I think that if my legs hadn’t already been wrapped in panty hose I would have felt like I was standing there with nothing on. I looked at myself in the mirror. Well, the skirt covered up my legs, so I was alright there. I knew that a wedding dress would be full near the bottom with only the bride’s shoes visible. So I was okay downstairs, I supposed. But above the waist was another matter. I had seen a few of Lori’s gowns before and I knew that most of them hugged a woman’s figure. I certainly didn’t have the curves required to slip into something like that. I began to feel a little relieved. If I looked silly enough, maybe Mom would forget about this crazy plan.

As usual, Mom had thought ahead. She passed me something through the door. “Slip this on.”

It looked like a corset, only smaller. It wrapped about my stomach and closed in the back with hooks and eyes.

“Mom, what the hell is this?”

“Don’t worry about it, just put it on.”

“Don’t worry about it? Is this a corset? Where did you get it?”

“I ordered it off TV, okay?” said Mom, embarrassed. “It, uh, can help hide a woman’s stomach.” I smiled. Mom was fighting the middle-aged woman’s battle against cellulite. “Just put it on, it’ll make it look like you have curves.”

“Lucky me.”

“Be sure it’s on its tightest setting.”

I yanked and pulled, took a deep breath, and groaned. After about ten minutes I had it cinched at its second-smallest size. I figured that was the best I could do.

“How are you doing?” called my mom.

“I can taste my kidneys.”

“I’m sorry honey, but it’s the only way you’ll fit into that bridal gown. Remember, if you do this, it’ll only be for a few hours.”

“Yeah, who needs to breathe?” In my reflection I looked like a boy in a skirt and corset. Maybe I’d look less stupid when I put on some kind of top.

Mom passed me what I’d be wearing. It was a blouse, a white one. It was poofy and trimmed with lace. I looked at it dubiously. “Well, here goes nothing.”

“No, wait,” said Mom. “We have to give you boobs first. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” Mom suppressed a grin when she saw how I looked. “Was this my idea?” I asked, defensively.

“I know. Sorry.”

“So what now?”

“We have to give you breasts.”

“Great. How?”

“Turn around.” I knew what was coming, even though I hoped it was wrong. My slipped my arms through the straps of a bra and closed it in the back. It felt very tight and looked quite stupid.

“Mom, I don’t exactly fill this thing out.”

Mom rolled up a couple of washcloths and stuffed them in the cups. They stuck out stupidly, like a couple of falsies on one of the ‘Kids in the Hall’ actors. “Do you honestly think Lori would look worse than this?”

“Wait till we’re finished. How you holding up?”

“Cold and uncomfortable. And I’d be humiliated as well, if I thought anyone else would know about what I’m doing.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“No one will know what I’m doing, right?”

“Honey, I swear I wouldn’t tell anyone. I know this isn’t your idea of a fun afternoon. If you agree to go to the show we’ll tell your sister, no one else.”

“You know I’m only doing this for Lori. Only because this is her big chance.” Even though Mom hadn’t implied anything, I felt I had to justify what I was doing.

“Honey, I’m sure Lori will never forget this.”

“Yeah, well, I’d just as soon she did forget.”

Mom had helped me into the blouse and buttoned it up in the front. I looked in the mirror. The change was disconcerting. While I was shirtless, the corset and bra lucked just plain dumb. Now, they simulated the curves and chest of a young woman. It appeared that I had an hourglass figure and an ample chest. I knew I couldn’t survive in an outfit that showed off too much flesh, but with the long shirt and long sleeved blouse it seemed I had the body of a woman. Wedding dresses didn’t show much flesh, and I knew that if my Mom could fix up my face well enough, then I’d have to excuse other than my own fears to duck out of going to the bridal show.

“There you go. Looking better already. You’d never be able to do this on a daily basis, but I really think no one would notice if you tried it for a few hours.” Mom was trying to convince me to help my sister, that was for sure. But by saying I could never pass on a daily basis, she was telling me I wouldn’t be less of a man. I shrugged.

Mom took out a brush and spritzed up my short dark hair into something a little more, if not feminine, then neater. It was kind of an androgynous do. Mom didn’t seem happy with it. “There’s only so much I can do with hair this short. If you agree to do this, your sister will have to help you out.”

She then took me to the well-lit kitchen and began on my makeup. Draping a towel over my shoulders, she instructed me to ‘just relax.’ I wondered how well she’d relax if someone were trying to make her look like a man.

First came the foundation. It was freezing, and I felt like my face was caked with mud. I kept having to keep myself from touching it, it felt so goopy and gross. Then, gently and carefully, Mom reddened my cheeks with a hint of rouge. “The blushing bride,” she giggled.

“I’m warning you, Mom…”

“Lighten up, Ken. I’m not trying to humiliate you or make you feel like a sissy. We both know you’re doing this so that you can maybe help out your sister. Don’t be so defensive.”

She began to apply the eyeliner. That took forever, I kept getting the impression she was about to jam the makeup pencil in my eye. Finally, she finished. Then she took out a mascara brush and lengthened my eyelashes. It felt disgusting, like I had crusty eye boogers in my lashes. Lastly, she took out a red lipstick and colored my lips. “Finished!” she said happily.

I groped for the mirror, but she stopped me. She refused to let me look until she had taken care of everything. ‘Everything’ unfortunately, included a manicure. I initially balked, but after she explained that the only after-effects would be well trimmed nails, I assented. Soon my nails had been filed, trimmed, polished, and painted pink. Mom assured me the paint would come off quickly with a little alcohol.

Finally, she clipped a silver chain around my neck, a smaller one around my wrist, and two clip-on earrings on my lobes. She then told me I could look in the mirror.

I won’t get into cliches like I didn’t recognize myself or that a stranger stared back at me. I knew it was me; no amount of makeup can change one’s eyes or the shape of their nose. But it was a very disturbing change, nonetheless.

I remember once, fooling around on the internet, that I found a commercial photo morph site. Most of the photos advertised were to create fantasy pictures, such as standing next to a celebrity, but there were a few gender change photos. The owner of the site boasted that they could make you look like you would have, had you been born the opposite gender. That was how I felt now.

It was my reflection, yet different. All padding and corset thing gave me the impression of natural curves. If I hadn’t known that it was my body, I’d have assumed that its owner had a flat tummy, a curvy frame, and an ample pair of breasts. As for what was under the skirt, I didn’t even want to think about what people would assume was under there!

The face, however, was what really blew my mind. It was my face, and yet it wasn’t. It looked more like Lori’s. Softer. Well maintained. Not rough, smooth. The face of a teenage girl.

I stared and stared into the mirror, observing myself from all sides. I didn’t like it, not one bit. I knew that with a more careful makeup job, a new hair style, and a little practice, I could easily pass as a girl for a couple of hours. Why the hell was my beard taking so long to come in? Why didn’t I keep my new year’s resolution to bulk up? Even my height, the one thing that should have made me look masculine, was working against me: I had been chosen to replace Lori for that very reason.

“So what do you think?” asked Mom.

“I dunno…”

“Be honest. It’s a heck of a disguise. Do you honestly think anyone would recognize you?”

“Maybe not recognize me, but could anyone guess my true gender?”

“I doubt it. You’ll need a lot of work before you go on…”

“Hang on now, I never agreed to anything.”

“Ken, look at yourself. Tell me why you couldn’t dress like this for one afternoon.”

I looked. I tried to relax, make myself look a little more normal. Like I was just a teenage girl, about to do a favor for her sister. ‘Calm down,’ I told myself. ‘You are helping out your sister who is lying in a hospital bed right now. You are about to do an honorable thing. This will not make you less of a man.’ I thought back to the previous fall when I had a bit roll in the school’s production of ‘Music Man.’ Maybe if I just thought of this as an acting roll…

I stared at the feminized reflection. I ventured a smile. The girl in the mirror smiled back. I wondered what I’d look like to a stranger.

“Have you talked to Lori about this?”

“Yes. She said she’d only consent to it if you agreed totally. She said she refused to do anything that would make you uncomfortable.”

That was my sister. Always thinking of others first.

“Do you really think we could pull this off? I’m going to be scared to death to attempt this.”

“You sister is the industry expert. How about you go see her and see what she thinks?”

“How about not.”

“Well, why don’t I take a picture of you, let her be the judge.”

“Okay, but we’ll have to burn it afterwards.”

“Great,” said Mom. “Just a couple of more touches.” She touched up my makeup, and then got out a pair of her heels. They didn’t fit, so I had to cram my toes into a pair of her sneakers. She then handed me a purse, which I clutched awkwardly in front of me. She snapped the Polaroid. I watched as it developed.

The blurry snap-shot further obscured my true gender. To the layman, I was sure I’d look like a shy girl with a bad hair-do. The only way I could get out of this was to flat out refuse.

*

We found Lori morosely staring at an infomercial on her television. She looked bad; her bruises were starting to swell up in earnest, and she had a dismal air about her which immediately brought me down.

“How’s it hanging, sis?” I asked.

“Ugh. Just trying to put off calling the bridal show and canceling.” She glanced at me out of the corner of her eye, as if hoping I could somehow prevent that. I took a deep breath.

“Listen, Lori. I guess you’ve heard what Mom was thinking.”

“Yes. And I want you to know you don’t have to do it. I mean, It’d be great if you could do it, but it has to be your choice.” Lori couldn’t keep the hope out of her voice.

“Well, look at this picture. Do you think I, you know, could pass?”

Lori took it. I had expected her to enthusiastically agree that I would make a beautiful bride. I guess I was a little shocked when she looked rather skeptical.

“Maybe. You’d have to spend every night for the next few weeks practicing makeup and deportment. It wouldn’t be easy, but I bet you could pass…for a couple of hours at least.”

I began to get annoyed. Not only did it look like I’d have to appear in public as a girl, I’d have to bust my butt to do it.

“Lori, what exactly would I have to do?”

“Well, Mom and I would have to give you a lot of lessons on how to act like a young lady. Femininity is more in the head than in the body. You may look like a woman, but if you don’t act like one then you’re more likely to be found out. Also, we’ll have to have about a dozen fittings until I can get all the gowns adjusted to your body.”

“Great.” I was starting to get annoyed. I think Lori knew it.

“Ken, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I’m not going to force you or try to guilt you. I’d be asking you to put in a lot of work, in addition do doing something I’m sure you don’t want to do. And I can’t offer you anything in return. It’s your choice, bro. But I want you to know that I’d spend the rest of my life trying to repay you the favor.”

It would have been so easy to back out; no one could really have faulted me on it. Dozens of fittings? Lessons on femininity? Sorry, I had better things to do.

But of course, I didn’t say no. I owed it to my sister. That’s what family is all about. You make sacrifices for those you love. You do what it takes to make them happy.

“Okay. I’ll do it. But the first time I hear a smart-ass comment from either of you, I quit.”

Lori smiled. And it wasn’t simple smile, either. Her whole face lit up. It was like I had just given her the best news of her life. It probably seemed that was to her then. During the weeks that followed, I kept having to think back to that smile to remind myself why I was doing what I was doing.

*

Against hospital orders Lori had checked out that night. She said there wasn’t a moment to loose in preparing me for the convention. Soon I was spending every afternoon and evening developing my feminine nature.

It was hell. Mom and Lori were relentless. It was only going to be for a few hours, and yet they insisted that I had to be totally comfortable, totally natural as a woman.

“Representatives from some of the top design firms are going to be there,” Lori told me excitedly, the first night. “This is how careers are made! If you help me with this, I could be the next Elaine Kessie! Or the next Bertha McRoy! Or Estaphania Gomez!” I had no idea who any of those people were; designers, presumably.

“Look, let’s just get this over with. When you become famous you can set me up with some of your top models.”

“Oh, I was hoping that you’d be my top model.”

“Maybe you’d like to find someone else to do this.”

Lori fell quiet, but that wasn’t the first moment of friction. I felt she was being just a little too demanding of me; it’s not like I was getting paid. Sever times I walked out, telling her I refused to do it anymore. I always returned, feeling too guilty to leave at the last minute. Lori would always cut my apology short with one of her own.

For three weeks this went on. The second I arrived home from school I would practically be forced to put on some new manner of feminine garment. At first, I had naively assumed that all I would be wearing would be the wedding gowns. Not the case! The wedding gowns weren’t adjusted to my size yet. I wouldn’t be trying those on until the end. No, for the time being I had to practice being a girl in Lori’s clothes.

Lori, being a designer, made most of her clothes and found them easy enough to alter to fit me. She never let me wear her slacks, she insisted on dresses and skirts. I had to practice wearing the garments without legs, at least that was her explanation. How to sit (never spread my legs, how to cross my legs like a girl, how to smooth the skirt when sitting and standing, how to make sure I never tucked it into my panty hose). The panty hose were another thing. I began to see why women were annoyed with them. They were constantly tearing, catching on things, making me sweat; not to mention they were especially inconvenient when using the restroom.

I asked my sister why I had to wear these things constantly. She frequently went barelegged. Her answer was simple: she shaved her legs, I didn’t. As a desperate attempt to rid myself of the restrictive pantyhose, I agreed to shave my legs. I’d have to do it for the wedding show anyway.

It was weird shaving. I was never overly hairy, but I always had a bit of fuzz on my legs. Now they were smooth. Girlishly smooth. I knew it would be a while after the show before I could wear shorts. Still, at least now I could go barelegged under my dresses. Of course, I still had to wear underwear. And of course all my sister had were lacy panties. I guess I could have insisted on my own Fruit of the Looms, but what did it matter, ultimately?

Now that my legs weren’t covered by hose, I felt almost naked, like I was wearing a bathrobe and nothing else. I kept looking down nervously. My sister would constantly point out my unease; that was how she justified doing this, so that when it came time for me to do it in public I wouldn’t see so out of sorts.

My tops were another thing. Lori was never a shy girl and didn’t mind showing off a bit of flesh. At first I insisted on wearing long sleeved shirts, bulky sweaters, and conservative dresses. But it was a warm spring that year and it soon became uncomfortable, even in the house. Mom and Lori were insistent: if I wanted to wear something cooler, I’d have to shave my armpits. Well, at least no one at school would notice that.

After I had denuded my underarms, Lori made me take off my shirt and spent twenty minutes plucking my torso with tweezers until the few strands around my nipples and under my navel were gone. They had taken a long time to grow and I wondered how long it would take them to come back. I thought like most teenage boys: macho guys have chest hair.

Once I was sufficiently hairless, Lori allowed me to wear her looser, cooler outfits, like sleeveless sweaters. They looked cute on Lori, but I felt they looked dumb on me, even as a girl. My arms were a little muscular, and I felt that an outfit like this would look stupid on anyone with arms like mine. Lori disagreed. “Lots of women have powerful upper bodies. Trust me, you look athletic, not freakish. Besides, my arms are about as strong as yours, so watch what you say.”

I looked at myself in the bare-armed sweater in a new light. Maybe Lori was right, I was probably just being sexist, not thinking that a powerfully built woman would be attractive. What did it matter anyway? No one would see me like this.

The sweaters weren’t the only top I wore, of course. Some of Lori’s outfits had plunging necklines. Obviously I couldn’t wear anything too revealing, but many shirts revealed a fair amount of upper chest. Not only that, but some of her sweaters had extra large neck holes, so that quite a bit of my bare shoulders were visible. Unmanly? And how!

But that was only the beginning. Shoes in my size were procured and I was forced to wear them. They had high heels of course. It took me well over a week before I could walk in them naturally.

But of course just wearing the clothes wasn’t sufficient for my loving family. No, I had to learn how a girl is expected to act. And that meant a hell of a lot of hard work.

Who would have thought I’d have to learn how to walk again? When Lori told me that was the first thing I’d have to practice, I laughed. Women walked forward one foot at a time, same as guys. It didn’t seem so funny after about a week of practicing my posture and carriage.

Women, as it turned out, walk differently than men do. Lori took me people watching at the mall to demonstrate. Men slouch, they slump over. They lead with their head and chest and roughly plant one foot ahead and to the side of the other. Women, on the other hand, lead with their hips. One hip forward, then the other. That’s what gives them the ‘wiggle’ in their walks. They step differently as well. Instead of extending their feet directly forward like a man, they place their left foot directly in front of the right one and vice versa (next time you have a chance to observe a group of people, watch for this phenomena. You’ll be surprised how obvious it is, once you know it exists).

You wouldn’t think that such little details would make such a big difference, but they do. That night, as I practiced walking in front of a mirror, I was shocked at how girlish my stride was, once I aped Lori’s manner of walking. Wiggling hips, dainty steps, straight posture; I supposed that Lori hadn’t just been compulsive when she insisted that I relearn how to walk. Since walking would be about the only thing I would do at the show, it had to look right. Still, I felt like I was in physical therapy or something: place your right foot in front of the left, stand up straight. It got old fast.

Another thing I constantly had to practice was my voice. While I wouldn’t be expected to say anything during the show, it would be unwise to assume that I wouldn’t have to speak to someone backstage. Lori coached me.

“Your voice isn’t too bad, but it’s still the voice of a man. Try not to speak too loud; just above a whisper should be enough. Don’t deliberately try to make your voice higher, you’d sound like a cartoon. Just push more air into your voice when you talk, don’t say much, and relax.” I asked her how she got to know so much about impersonating a female voice.

“Off the internet. Some help page for cross dressers.” Was I embarrassed? I’ll give you two guesses. Lori finally stopped badgering me about my voice when I managed to order a pizza over the phone and have the person on the other end address me as ‘ma’am.’

While I refused to listen to detailed lessons about makeup, Lori did insist I know the basics. She’d do my face up for the show, but it wouldn’t hurt for me to know how to touch everything up. I’m sure I knew more about makeup than any other boy in my class at that time.

After a couple of weeks of training, Mom and Lori decided I was as ready as I’d ever be. I couldn’t help but agree. Looking into the mirror, I looked back at the twin sister I never had. Her clothes, makeup, deportment, and walk…they were all feminine. Standing there wearing a woman’s sweater and jacket, with a skirt and heels, I certainly didn’t feel like a man. The corset caused my stomach to turn in and the fake breast forms Lori had bought me gave me a convincing bust. My hair was still the same; I wouldn’t let Lori do anything to it until just before the show.

“You look great,” said Lori. “You’ll do fine. Now we’ll have to begin on the wedding dress fittings.”

“Yeah, great,” I replied, sadly.

“What’s wrong honey?” asked my mom.

“What’s wrong? Your son is standing here in a skirt and a bra and you ask what’s wrong? I haven’t had a free night in weeks! I feel like I’m living a double life! Like I’m being brainwashed! I’ve been practicing acting like a woman for so long that I have to keep myself from doing it at school. All I know is that I’ll be glad when this is all over.”

Lori came up to me and hugged me. “I’m sorry Ken. I guess in the rush of everything I kept forgetting how much work this would be for you. You need a night to relax. Can I take you out to dinner tonight? I want to thank you for all your help. Both of you.”

I smiled. “I guess in all the rush I forgot how important this show is to you. Sure, dinner sounds great. Let me change.”

“Well, why bother? You make such a good woman that no one would notice.”

“Har de har har.”

“I’m serious,” said Lori. “You’re always talking about how uncomfortable you are at the thought of dressing like this in public; well, maybe you just need a little practice.”

I was about to tell her to stop joking, when I thought about it. It was going to be nerve-wracking enough doing this at the bridal show. Maybe if I had a little practice beforehand then I’d be a little more comfortable. Better to make a fool of myself in a restaurant, then on stage in front of hundreds of people.

“Okay, but I get to pick the restaurant.” Mom and Lori seemed both shocked and excited that I had agreed.

“So where would you like to eat?” asked Mom.

“Fred’s Steak Emporium.”

“That’s all the way out in the city,” groaned my sister.

“I know. I can’t risk running into anyone I know.”

“But Fred’s? Didn’t they get shut down by the Board of Health?”

“I’m sure they’re reopened. C’mon, it’s there or nowhere.” Fred’s was a dive, it was true. But since so few customers frequented the place I figured that fewer people would see me.

As we headed out to the city I began to wonder the intelligence of my rash decision. True, I was interested to know if I had a change of ‘passing’ in front of all the people at the bridal show, but was this the best way to do it? What if someone found me out tonight? What if I got caught?

When we arrived my confidence nearly failed, but Mom and Lori insisted I go in. I braced myself at the front door (which now proudly bore a ‘B’ rating from the grudging health board) and steadied myself. I straightened my skirt, ran my fingers through my wayward hair, and followed the rest of my family inside.

As luck would have it, there were only about a half dozen customers in the greasy spoon. We selected a booth in the corner and sat down. The waiter approached us and handed us our menus. “What would you ladies like to drink?”

Well, it happened. It was thrilling in a way, as if I were a spy whose shaky cover had worked. At least I’d be a little more confidant when I walked down the catwalk the following week.

I glanced at the unappetizing menu. “Well,” I asked, making an effort to keep my voice soft. “What does everyone want? I think I’ll have the T-bone with a baked potato…”

Lori motioned me to lean forward so she could whisper to me. “Remember, you are a girl tonight. Try to eat like one. I suggest a salad.”

Well, maybe it was the fact that Lori had agreed to pay for my meal, but she did have a point. How many women eat big juicy steaks? Besides, I’d probably have less risk of getting e coli poisoning this way.

After three wilted salads with watery Cokes and stale crackers, we were ready to call it a night. It hadn’t been a relaxing night for me, just the opposite. It’s not that I was overly worried about being caught; I hadn’t had so much of a casual glance in my direction since we walked in. What was stressful was that I could never let down my guard for a second. I was constantly worried about doing something ungirlish. I had to perpetually make sure that my mannerisms, my walk, and especially my voice were on par with my supposed gender. I’d be glad to get it over with. But first there was something to try…

“If you’ll excuse me, I have to run to the ladies room.”

Mom and Lori feverishly tried to object, but couldn’t stop me without making a scene. I girlishly swooshed my way into the final frontier.

The women’s bathroom was dirty, but clean compared to the rest of the restaurant. I snooped around at the unfamiliar sights: the lack of smutty graffiti, the toilet seat cover dispenser, the tampon machine. I started when the door opened and a pair of women walked in. Quickly I ducked into a stall.

I figured that just standing behind the door might arouse suspicion, and besides, I needed to use the facilities. After placing a paper cover over the seat, I tried to sit down. Confounded skirt! Confounded hose! Confounded cramped stall! When you are a man, the world is your toilet. As a woman, you have to plan.

I sat there for a bit, listening to the two women gossip. After getting tired of sitting down forever, I decided to venture out into the restroom. Neither of the women gave me a second glance. As I was washing my hands, I noticed that my lipstick had smeared while eating. It looked rather stupid, so I took out an extra tube Lori had given me and touched my lips up.

It was crazy, but funny in a way as well. Here I was, casually putting on makeup in the ladies room. Knowing that Mom and Lori were probably panicking I decided to extend their fear and re-do my whole face. Who knew when I’d be back in the women’s restroom again?

My confidence was shattered when one of the women, a good-looking blonde of about thirty, asked to borrow my mascara brush. Trying to act casual, like people asked to borrow my makeup everyday, I handed it to her.

“Jesus, I look awful. It’s the damn humidity, my makeup’s always smearing.”

I wasn’t sure how to react to that. Well, when in doubt, just nod and agree. “Tell me about it,” I said. “Just look what it’s done to my hair.” My hair being my worst feature.

“Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “Actually, I think you can do a lot with it. I’m a stylist, you see. If you’re interested, come by some time for an appointment.” She handed me her card. I thanked her and left.

I was surprisingly giddy when I walked out. I felt like an actor who had pulled off the greatest roll in his career. They didn’t even suspect. While I could have been inclined to take this as an affront to my masculinity, I decided it resulted from a combination of Lori’s instructions and my acting ability. Maybe I could try my hand in Hollywood after graduation. Yeah right.

Mom and Lori waited until we were in the car before they said anything. Then they were all questions. “What happened? Did you talk to those women in there? Did you say anything? Why were you in there so long?” They were excited, I guess they got a kick out of how well their ‘creation’ was getting along.

I answered their questions with a laugh. It had been kind of a fun evening, though I was glad it was over. Lori had been right; now that I had a little of the nervousness out of my system I should be able to face the bridal show with more ease.

All in all, it seemed that I would spend about eight hours out of my life pretending to be the opposite gender. What a thought! Thank God that after the show I’d never have to do it again.

Of course, things don’t always work out the way they seem.

*

A week later I Mom drove Lori and I to the bridal convention. I sat in the car silently, gnawing at my lower lip. What had I agreed to do? Going to a restaurant was one thing; but this convention something totally different. I would be standing on a stage, inviting hundreds of people to scrutinize my every detail. Had I gone insane? How could I have been so stupid?

I thought back to the previous week. After I had proven to myself that I could pass casual inspection as a woman, Lori had begun the final fittings of the gowns. There was little I had to do those nights; just stand there and let Lori alter the gowns to fit my slightly larger frame.

Lori, after realizing I had begun to get over my embarrassment, began to tease me just a little bit. Nothing viscous, just big sister ribbing. “We’ll, after I’m done with your dress, it won’t fit me anymore. I suppose I could save it for your, when you get married. I could make an identical one for your wife, you could both walk down the aisle…”

“That’s enough Lori,” warned my mom. I appreciated Mom standing up for me, but the joking really didn’t bother me. Within a few days all of this would be over and at this point what did a couple of jabs matter?

Lori put down her needle and thread, and told me to take five. She swiveled in her wheelchair and tried to massage her broken legs. I felt sorry for her. Besides having to have her brother model her bridal gowns, she had been stuck at home with a couple of plastered up limbs for almost a month. She was normally someone who hated being stuck at home watching TV, but thanks to her injury and the loss of her car, she’d been almost a shut-in. I had kept my complaints to a minimum to avoid adding to her stress.

I looked down at the half-completed dress I was wearing. Since Lori had to build it around my girlish figure, I was wearing my padding and falsies as well. I was a little disturbed to realize that I was almost getting used to the feeling.

I didn’t feel like taking off the dress only to have to put it on again later, so I hitched it up and swished my way to the kitchen for a snack. Lori wheeled in after me.

“So Ken,” she asked, “what name should I call you by now?”

“Lori, you are beginning to try my patience…”

“No, I’m not trying to be funny. When you model at the bridal show they’ll announce your name. You probably wouldn’t want to be called ‘Ken.’”

“That’s a good point. Well, I guess I’ll choose the obvious and go with ‘Kim.’”

“Okay, Kim it is. Well, let’s say Kimberly. It’s more model-like.”

“Whatever. It’s not like I’ll be using it after next week.”

“Speaking of next week, what are we going to do about your hair?”

“My hair?” I replied, taking a swig from the milk carton. “I dunno. I thought you’d do it for me.”

“I’m not too good at that. Would you allow us to take you to a beauty parlor?”

“No.”

“C’mon, why not?”

“So I can go around with girl hair for a month? I think not.”

“Hear me out. Your gender will be less noticeable if you have a woman’s haircut. You’re hair is long enough now to make it look really cute. After the show we’ll take you home and I’ll give you a crew cut. You’ve worn it that short before. What do you say?”

Well, she had a point. I guess if I were supposed to be a model then I should have convincing hair. And after a quick buzz cut, no evidence would remain. I assented.

“So where should we go?” I asked. I usually got my hair cut at the unisex salon where both Mom and Lori went, so there was out.

Lori began to think, when I had an idea. I hunted down the old purse I had used the night we went out to eat and fished out the business card that read ‘Kelly McGwire, hairstyles for girls and women.’

“I suppose this place would be as good as any other.”

*

The evening before the bridal show, Mom drove me to the salon. It was a small but tidy shop in a suburban mini-mall. It seemed deserted, which pleased me. We stepped inside. I recognized Kelly, the woman whom I had met in the ladies room the previous week.

“Hello there!” she smiled at me. “I’m glad you decided to stop by. What can I do for you?” I suddenly panicked, realizing I knew jack-all about women’s hairstyles. Knowing that it would look ridiculous for a ‘girl’ my age to ask her mother to decide how her hair should be cut, I simply said “I’m in the mood for something new. Could you suggest something?”

Kelly had me sit in one of the barber’s chairs and together we flipped through a book of photos of women’s haircuts. I feigned interest; frankly I could have cared less about a haircut I’d have for one day. But I had to make it look real. Finally, we settled on a style that Kelly could create out of my medium-length, black hair. It was poofier, with a bit of curl, I guess you’d call it a wave. It would give my hair more bounce, and make it look much more feminine. With false enthusiasm, I let her begin.

With a flick of her scissors, spray from a bottle, and about forty-five minutes of time, Kelly worked her magic. Even I couldn’t help but be impressed. Instead of the frizzled, chaotic hair that usually surrounded my head, there was a neatly styled, feminine ‘do.’ Combined with my made-up face, my women’s clothes, and my jewelry, I certainly looked like a teenage girl. Surprisingly, I was happy about the change. It wasn’t permanent; and it would help me blend in at the bridal show.

Of course things were different now, as I sat in the car, parked in the convention center parking lot, and hyperventilated. Mom had already gone inside, helping Lori roll into the building to get settled. In a few minutes she’d be back to help me carry my dresses inside. There was no going back now. Lori had made a commitment to the show. If her model cancelled at the last moment it would be a black mark against her career. I was in for it now. There was no quitting.

When Mom returned, I had my head between my knees, breathing rapidly. “What’s wrong?” she asked, horrified.

“Just look at me and tell me what’s wrong!” While it would have been silly for me to wear the bulky gown on the way to the show, I still had to dress as a woman on the way over. That way no one would see me in male clothes before I had a chance to change. Right now I was dressed in a pair of women’s jeans, a sleeveless shirt, and heels. “I’m about to freak out, Mom. Everyone is going to see me!”

Mom looked me in the eye. “Ken, Lori’s worked hard for this day. But more to the point, so have you. You’ve sacrificed weeks working on getting ready for this, I really don’t think you want to blow everything because of a case of nerves. Just calm down. A few hours and it will all be over. Do it for your sister.”

With a foreboding sense of finality we walked to the building. Mom handed me my prodigious garment bags and wished me luck. She’d be watching me from the audience with Lori. From here on out I’d be on my own.

Staggering under the weight of the three dresses and accessories, I found the staff entrance. I showed the guard at the door my pass and he motioned me down a service corridor. So far so good, he didn’t look like he suspected a thing. I followed the grimy passageway, looking for the dressing room the guard had indicated.

About half way to my destination, I saw a youthful-looking maintenance man going in the opposite direction. He was handsome, about twenty years old, and was carrying what appeared to be a bag of garbage. When he saw me, his face broke into a big smile. He continued to smile and look me in the eye as I drew nearer. I let out a gasp and hurried on. As I passed him, I noticed that his smile had quickly turned to a hurt frown.

It wasn’t until I reached the dressing room that I fully realized what had happened. That punk was flirting with me! Not that I had any right to get mad, I’d been much more overt in some of my quests to get women to notice me before. Still, that meant the guy found me cute, which was rather insulting to me. Passing as a girl was one thing, but an attractive one? That was a headache I didn’t need.

Of course, none of this was really his fault. And he had seemed a little hurt when I had run past him. Well, I had bigger fish to fry at the moment. I reached the dressing room and knocked.

“May I help you?” asked the bespectacled, middle-age woman who answered the door.

“I…I’m Kimberly Woolsey,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice high. “I’m here to model.”

“Let’s see,” she said, consulting her clipboard. “Woolsey, Woolsey…ah, yes. Step right in, miss. You can get ready wherever you can find room.”

I stepped out of the hall and into a Penthouse letter. There, in the spacious, brightly-lit dressing room, stood about a dozen models, all in various stages of undress. Immediately to my right stood a shapely black woman pulling on her hose, without a stitch on above her waist. Next to her stood a tall, freckled redhead in nothing but her bra and panties. At the rear of the room a blonde was cramming her amble bosom into her tight, strapless gown.

I’d never so much as seen a real, naked breast before, now I was seeing several. I wanted to just stand there and stare. I wanted to drink in the sight with relish, imprint it on my mind. I wanted to take out a video camera and record everything.

With more self-determination that I thought I had in me, I controlled my glances and made my way directly to a changing booth. After closing the door, I began to breathe again. So many naked women and yet I’d never be able to tell a soul. Well, at least I’d always have the memory.

Time for work. I unzipped the first bag and began to organize. First, of course, came the girdle and the falsies. I heaved a sigh of relief at the thought that this would be the absolute last day I’d have to wear the dumb things. Then came what Lori had laughingly referred to as my trousseau.

The dress was an enormous, complicated thing. Lori had shocked me by telling me that it would sell for well over a thousand dollars. All I knew was that it was impossible to get into the thing alone, and yet I couldn’t very well ask anyone to help me with it.

Once I was finished I looked myself over in the wall mirror. Despite my dislike of what I was wearing, I had to admit that Lori really knew what she was doing. The gown was what I called ‘dark-white,’ if such a thing were possible. It had a long, flowing train. Its short sleeves reached half way down my biceps. There were very few ruffles or ribbons, only some lace around the edges and the ends of the sleeves. There was a large bow at my lower back. The neckline was high, of course, but it plunged slightly in back, showing off my shoulder blades.

I glowered at the woman in the mirror as I pinned my lacy veil to my hair. I hated to admit it, but I did look like a bride. Maybe not the kind you see in the magazines, I certainly didn’t have the curves and grace of a supermodel, but I knew it my heart that if I were walking down the aisle to meet a groom, no one would think it odd. They might even comment on how pretty I was.

I winced, and clipped a dangling, pearl earring to each of my ears. Then I slid the fake engagement ring Lori had given me on my left hand. So much for clothes.

After triple checking every detail, I stepped out into the dressing room. I was sorry to see that most of the women had finished dressing; there was nary a leg or breast in sight. Wordlessly I found a seat at an empty makeup table and began applying my face.

“May I make a suggestion?” came a pleasant, feminine voice from beside me. I turned to see the pretty black women I had noticed earlier in a much nakeder state. She was about twenty-five, with deep chocolate-colored skin, long black hair, and a firm, statuesque figure. She wore flowers in her hair and a strapless, lacy gown. She was gorgeous. I comforted myself my thinking how she’d be too old for me to ask out, even if I hadn’t been dressed like this.

“That color isn’t exactly right for your complexion,” she continued, nervously. I guess she thought she might be intruding. I nodded encouragingly, in hopes that she would continue to talk to me. “Here,” she said, “may I?” With that, she began reapplying my makeup. I enjoyed the touch of her soft, manicured hands on my face. I wondered if there was a possibility I could introduce myself as ‘Kim’s’ twin brother after the show. Probably not.

Finally she was finished, and the results were impressive. While my makeup would have done for day to day wear, I could tell, even with my limited knowledge of such things, that she had given me a makeover that would show up much better on stage. I thanked her and introduced myself as Kim.

“I’m Shawna. You look nervous, Kim. Is this your first time working a bridal show?”

“It’s my first time working any show. I’m not a model. My sister’s a designer and needed someone to model at the last minute. I volunteered.”

“Well that was sweet of you.” Sweet? If only she knew.

“It’s just that I’m not sure what I’m doing. Any pointers?”

She smiled sweetly. “You’ll do fine. Look, you go on after me. Just follow my lead and relax. It’s loads of fun, maybe you’ll want to do it more after today.” Fat chance of that!

“Places, everyone!” called the woman with the clipboard. I took my place behind Shawna. She winked at me sweetly.

It took a lot of control not to hyperventilate backstage. All the other women looked calm; of course they were all doing this because it was their job. And (one couldn’t help but assume) they were all women.

Shawna glided out on stage. She made it look so effortless. Just a pause at the curtain while the announcer read her name and designer. Then a few steps down the runway, smile, turn, and walk back, as the announcer read a description of her dress. Simple as that. The audience clapped as Shawna exited the stage. She smiled at me and I was on. I stepped past the curtain.

I was temporarily blinded by the lights. When my vision cleared, I was staring at a sea of people. Mostly young women, all with their eyes riveted on me. I expected at any second for someone to scream “He’s a guy! Look at the pervert in the wedding dress!” Nothing of the sort happened.

“Kimberly is wearing a Lori Woolsey Original,” began the announcer. That was my cue. I stepped forward.

“Kimberly’s dress,” continued the announcer “is antique white (so that’s what it was called). Her gown has a flowing train with embroidered lace and optional ribbon.” I had reached the end of the walkway. I flashed my best fake smile to the audience and twirled to let them see my back.

“The dress has a open back, for the bride who chooses to feature her shoulders. Thank you Kimberly.”

And with that, I was finished. The audience broke into applause. I had done it! It went off without a hitch! True, I still had to do it two more times, but for the first time since I had agreed to be a bride, I wasn’t scared. This was going to work. Lori’s dresses would impress everyone, she’d get a contract, make a million dollars, and be happy. Maybe someday we’d all get together and laugh at how the now famous Lori Woolsey had to have her brother model for her at her first show.

But now onto more pressing matters. I had to quickly duck back into the dressing room and change into my next outfit.

I found Shawna already there, struggling into her new dress. “Nice work, Kim,” she told me over her shoulder. “Told you it wouldn’t be hard. Jeez, do you think this thing could show of any more cleavage?”

I agreed that her dress was a bit revealing for a wedding, then grudgingly tore my eyes away. “Zip me up?” she asked. I helped her, despite the fact that my hand wanted to interpret the command ‘zip up’ as ‘unzip.’ Then it was my turn to change.

Lori’s second gown was an exercise in minimalism. It was plain white, with wide shoulder straps and a high neckline. There were no sleeves; my arms were completely bare. Lori had told me that she wanted the gown to plunge lower to show off a bit of cleavage, but that obviously wasn’t possible. The gown came with the tiniest of veils; it was little more than a slip of fabric I attached to my hair with a barrette. A locket completed the outfit.

I was nominally braver when my turn came up again, but not by much. I nearly tripped on my heels when the announcer made an innocent comment about my imaginary groom carrying me across the threshold on our wedding night. Jeez, I was about getting sick of all this!

Lastly, I put on Lori’s magnum opus. It was an opulent, extremely ornate gown, with ribbons, ruffles, and fake pearls. It was sleeveless, but it came with gloves that went up to my elbows. The veil was enormous; it came down past my butt. Lori had had me wear this one last. She wanted me to feel as comfortable as possible in her masterpiece. Well, after I’ll I had been through, I’d certainly do my best. As nasty as this experience was, I wouldn’t make it all for nothing by not trying my hardest. As I left the dressing room I saw a bouquet of flowers someone had left. Impulsively I grabbed them and walked down the catwalk with them. I thought it added an aura of authenticity to my wedding garb.

Finally, it was all over. I rushed back to the dressing room to get back into the women’s clothes I had arrived in. Then I could find Lori and congratulate her on the show, speed home, and get into some male clothes. Lori would buzz me nearly bald and we could put all of this behind us.

Shawna walked into the dressing room. I groaned inwardly. It would suck that I wouldn’t ever see her again, but there was no way around it. It wouldn’t be worth impersonating Kim again to maintain the friendship, and I doubted she’d understand if I told her the truth. After seeing her naked like that, she’d probably be quite angry.

“Kimberly, there you are. C’mon, we have to get out to the convention floor.”

“Why? The presentation’s over.”

“Yes, but that’s only part of the show. Now we have to mill around with the customers and show our gowns off. You know, so they can see them up close.”

“My sister never said anything about that!” I said, annoyed.

“Well, this is going to be where her gowns get sold. You need to do it, Kim. Otherwise she probably won’t sell a thing.”

Blast and damnation! After putting up with this farce, I find out there’s more to come! Well, if this was how the business worked, I guess it would be futile to protest. Faking interest, I asked Shawna which of my three gowns I should wear. She suggested I use the one I was already wearing; it was her favorite.

Still clutching the bouquet, I followed Shawna out to the convention floor. This actually turned out to be the most uncomfortable part of the day. I wasn’t shielded by the bright lights and barriers of the catwalk; nor was I just another face in the crowd like I was at the restaurant. Here dozens of people were milling around me, staring at me and every aspect of my apparel. I was sure I was about to be found out.

I stood there for over an hour, with Shawna, several other brides, and to my surprise, several male models in tuxedos as well. Many brides-to-be seemed enamored with Lori’s design. I had been standing there for less than five minutes when a young woman, with her boyfriend in tow, approached me.

“Tom, wouldn’t this look absolutely darling? I just love the lacework! And that veil! It’s to die for!”

“It looks wonderful, honey!” said Tom, with great enthusiasm and no conviction. That scene was replayed several times: the gushing bride and the indifferent groom. I chuckled inwardly at how one-sided wedding preparations are.

After what seemed like an eternity, the booths began to close and I finally began to think I’d be able to go home. To stop being a bride and go back to being a teenage guy. When Lori rolled herself over to me I was sure she was going to tell me to change my clothes so we can go.

It was not my lucky day.

“Ken, er Kim! Come with me! Quick!”

“What’s up? What’s wrong?” I was getting just a little sick of the fake falsetto I had affected.

“Lawrence Kunyak wants to see my dress up close!”

“Who’s…?”

“He only owns one of the biggest bridal companies in the U.S! This is it!”

I steeled myself. If he was as big a muck-a-muck as Lori made him out to be, then the least I could do was meet him. He probably wanted to see the dress in more detail.

Trying to look my prettiest, I followed Lori over to the VIP table where Mr. Kunyak was sitting. He looked to be about seventy, reminded me of every other CEO I had seen a picture of. When he saw me, he smiled.

“Ah, Ms. Woolsey. Thank you for coming out,” he bowed his head to me. “You sister told me you were a little nervous.”

“Ah, well, I’m not a professional model.”

“I understand. In fact, that’s the reason I wanted to see you.”

Lori’s face fell a bit. She had assumed that her dress was the only reason he had wanted to see me. “I beg your pardon?” I asked, confused.

“Now don’t get me wrong,” continued the businessman, after seeing Lori’s worried look. “I was sold on the dress the moment I saw it.” He winked at Lori. “I think I’ll be able to offer you a satisfactory offer for the rights to the design.” Lori’s bruised face broke into an enormous grin.

“But,” he said, turning back to me. “I’d also like to speak to you as well.”

“What for?” I asked, nervously wringing my flowers.

“Ms. Woolsely, do you have any idea how I turned a failing transmission repair shop into one of the largest and most successful bridal companies in the U.S?” I honestly couldn’t think of an answer.

“I did it,” he went on, “because I know women. A woman’s wedding day is the most important day of her life. And when she prepares for that day, do you know what she’ll be thinking about?”

“How beautiful she’ll be?” I ventured.

“Wrong. She’ll be thinking how imperfect she is.” I guess the puzzlement showed on my face.

“Ms. Woolsey, I can see that you are new to the fashion industry. It’s an industry built on a woman’s insecurity. And when a woman prepares for the day when she’ll be the center of attention, well, all she’ll be able to focus on will be her imperfections: perhaps she’s a little overweight, or very tall, or whatever.”

I was beginning to see where he was going with this. “And what do the bridal magazines do?” asked the bridal expert. “They bombard the young ladies with pictures of wafer-thin, anorexic, five-foot-eight sexpots. This just makes the future wives all the more insecure. It holds them to a standard they can’t hope to meet.” He paused to take a sip of his gin and tonic.

“That’s why I was so impressed when I saw you. You’re tall, you’re athletic, you’d make a perfect model. You are beautiful, and yet you have the kind of beauty the average women feels she can achieve. I hope I’m not offending you.”

I had no idea how I should feel. Should I be happy that my beauty wasn’t ‘conventional,’ or should I be angry that he called me beautiful in the first place? And how would a real woman react? Too confused to reason, I simply thanked him.

Mr. Kunyak stretched back in his chair, and faced Lori and myself. “So, I’d like to offer you a deal. Offer you both a deal.”

“What sort of a deal?” asked Lori, chomping at the bit.

“Well, in addition to purchasing the dress designs, I’d like you to help me with a show I’ll be having in New York this summer. I’d like you, Lori, to design two or three more gowns, and I’d like you, Kim, to model them.”

Nope, nothing doing. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kunyak. I appreciate the offer, but I’m no model and I only filled in this once.”

“I’m sorry you feel that way. It does pay handsomely.”

“I’m sure it does, but you can find someone else to model Lori’s designs.”

“I’m afraid not. It’s an all or nothing offer.”

I felt bad for Lori, but I had done more than enough for her already. “That’s too bad. Thanks for the offer, but I’m not interested.”

Mr. Kunyak handed Lori a card. “Well, I’ll be in touch about your payment for these dresses soon. Thank you very much.”

*

Finally, FINALLY, we went home. Mom drove, she couldn’t stop talking about what a success the show had been; how Lori had finally made it into the fashion industry. I listened half-heartedly to mom’s descriptions of how this was only the beginning of Lori’s successes; all I could think about was getting out of this dress and trimming my hair. I was unaware of how quiet Lori was being.

It was a relief to get home and change. I wouldn’t let Mom rest a bit when she got home; as soon as I was back in my male clothes I insisted she give my hair a trim. As my girlishly styled hair fell to the bathroom floor, I smiled to think how all this was behind me and I’d never have to dress like a girl again.

The next day Lori packed up to go home. As she was leaving, she took me aside. “Ken, thanks a lot for everything you did. I know I promised not to mention it again, but you really saved me back there. I have my first design contract, and it’s all thanks to you.”

“No,” I corrected, “it’s all thanks to you. You designed the dress, all I did was be a coat hanger.”

“Well, Mr. Kunyak seemed to think of you as more. You know, about the show in New York…”

“Lori…” I said, warningly.

“Look, it’ll only be for a week, and I was just thinking…”

“Well you can stop thinking. Find another model, and that’s final.”

“I understand. It’d be a lot to ask. Well,” she smiled, sadly. “See ya!” Mom helped load her into the car and they sped off.

About a week later I got the call. I was sitting at the kitchen table doing my homework when the phone rang. Mom answered it. “Yes?” she said into the receiver. “Um, I’ll check, just a minute.” She seemed nervous.

“It’s that Kunyak guy,” she whispered to me. “He wants to speak to Kim Woolsey!”

“Tell him I’m out!”

“Please, Ken. This may be about Lori’s contract. Just talk to him.”

Grumbling, I picked up the phone. “This is Kim,” I said in my feminine voice.

“Miss Woolsey!” Kunyak boomed back, “Nice to hear from you!”

“Likewise,” I twittered.

“Listen, the reason I’m calling is my idiot assistant lost your sister’s number. You were the only one I could contact.” I quickly dictated Lori’s number for him.

“So,” he continued. “Have you given any more thought to my job offer?”

“Yes, but I’m afraid it’s just not what I’m looking for. I’m no model, you see.”

“Pity. You know, the job pays $10,000 for a week’s work.”

I nearly choked. “U.S. dollars?” I stammered.

“That’s right. Are you sure I can’t change your mind?”

“Er, could I call you tomorrow?”

“Certainly.”

I hung up, than sat down. Ten thousand dollars! I’d never had more than five hundred in all my life! That would pay for more than a year of college! Dear God, what a windfall!

I related what Mr. Kunyak had told me to my mother. She seemed stunned. “Goodness, Ken, that is a lot of money. And for only a week’s worth of work.” It was obvious that she hoped I’d take the job.

“But I’d have to dress like a woman for a week! I mean a solid week, even when we weren’t shooting.”

“Yes, but wouldn’t it be worth it? It’d be just like the last time, no one would know.”

I was already counting the money. “I’ll call Mr. Kunyak tomorrow. I guess I should tell Lori the good news.”

When I told Lori I would agree to model, she insisted I drive out and talk to her in person. I found her in the living room of her apartment. She was rolling back and forth in her wheelchair, as if she were pacing.

“This is big, Ken,” she said as I walked in the door. “You don’t know how big.”

“Oh, I have some idea.” Like, maybe ten grand.

“No, I mean this sort of thing in the pinnacle of the fashion world. Look.” She handed me a magazine.

It was some sort of fashion trade journal. I found the article she had indicated. ‘Fashion Leaders Preparing for June Bridal Show.’ The article went on to proclaim how this show would be the bridal exposition of the year.

“This is amazing. The opportunity of a lifetime,” ranted Lori, almost to herself.

“Yeah, the opportunity of a lifetime,” I repeated, thinking of the cash.

“But Ken, I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

“Oh, I know it will be tougher than last time.”

“That’s an understatement. Ken, I think I need to explain something to you. Have a seat.” I seated myself opposite her chair.

“If you agree to do this, you’ll be surrounded by the chief fashion executives of this country for a week. A solid week. For that entire week, you can’t let Ken out. Not even to sleep. For seven days you’d have to be Kim.”

“I kind of figured on that. Don’t worry, I can keep up the ruse.”

“I know you’d be willing to do it, but could you pull it off?”

“How do you mean?”

“The local bridal show was one thing. It was just a couple of hours and you barely had to talk to anyone. This will be different. You’ll be ‘performing’ without stop for days on end. You won’t be able to make even a single mistake.”

I almost backed out then, but the thought of a cool ten Gs held my tongue. “So what do you recommend?”

“When are you out of school?”

“Late May.”

“Let’s see, the show is in late June. If you agree to do this, I’d want you to live as Kim for about three weeks before the show, to avoid any screw ups.”

“Three weeks? No way!”

“Then I won’t agree. I’m sorry Ken, but this is the big times. If you get caught you’d be humiliated and I’d never work again. I know you’ll be getting paid a lot for this; wouldn’t it be worth a month of living as Kimberly?”

I thought about it. College would be expensive and $10,000 would go a long way towards defraying the costs. A lot of people didn’t earn that much money in a year. Couldn’t I sacrifice a month for financial security?

“Okay. I’ll do it. But I’m only doing this for the money, mind you, I have no aspirations to be a supermodel.”

Lori smiled. “You have to be sure about this. Once we tell Mr. Kunyak you agree, you won’t be able to back out.”

I gulped. “I’m sure.”

“Great. Since I’m sure you won’t want anyone you know to see you, I think it would be best if we moved to New York right after you graduate. You can be Kim in private there, and when it’s all over, we’ll move back.”

The year wore on. I graduated. Soon it was time for me to move to New York with Lori. Mom seemed nervous about the whole thing. She didn’t think the plan was weird, per se. Like me, she looked on it from a financial point of view. Still, I could tell the thought of her son going to New York to participate in a bridal show made her uneasy. But I had signed a contract, and there was no backing out now.

Lori, who had since had her casts removed and was already back to running two miles a day, had moved ahead of me. I booked an economy flight to New York and she met me at the airport.

Lori had rented a small, two-bedroom pad in the not-too-terribly-bad part of town. I tossed my suitcase on my bed to start unpacking, when my sister told me not to bother.

“What do you mean, don’t bother?”

“Look Ken. I meant it when I said you’d have to spend this time as a woman. All of this time. For the next three weeks you are my sister. Femininity has to become second nature or they’ll see through you in a second.”

“Lori, I think you are taking this a little too far.”

“Ken, I’m not trying to do this to humiliate you. Believe it or not, I’m trying to save you from humiliation. I don’t want you to get caught.”

“Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be good for your career, if people found out your bridal model was your brother.”

“Well, yeah, but I’m more worried about you. You’re really sticking your neck out for me here, I’d hate myself if you ended up getting found out. That’s why I’m going to insist on full time girlhood from here on out.”

“Lori…” I continued to whine.

“Ken, I guess I can’t force you to do this. But believe me, it’s a choice between spending three weeks dressed like a girl with only your sister knowing or getting found out at the show.”

I grimaced. “So what do I have to do?”

“For starters, no boy clothes. Stick your suitcase in the closet, all you’ll need is your toothbrush.”

“So what am I supposed to wear?”

Lori showed me. She had been shopping. There everything was, still in the bags from the many women’s boutiques she had purchased them from:

Two dozen packs of colorful cotton panties.
One pair of women’s sneakers.
Three pairs of women’s heels.
Six pairs of nylon hose.
Three pairs clip-on earrings.
Various chains, bracelets, and necklaces.
Six women’s sweaters (two completely sleeveless).
One basic skirt.
One mastectomy bra (a more realistic simulated female chest) size 36C.
Enough makeup, nail polish, and perfume to last me through the year.

I fingered the material nervously. “You really expect me to use all this?”

“Yes, and constantly. By the time of the exposition, being a woman has to be completely natural for you.”

“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure thirty seconds after it’s over you’ll have forgotten all my training and hard work. Now get dressed, we’re going to the mall.”

“The mall?” I squeaked. I had hoped to avoid publicity as much as possible.

“Yes. I only got you what I knew would fit; we have a lot more shopping to do. And from now on, I want you to talk like a girl.”

“Yes Lori, I said in my best feminine voice and followed her into the bathroom.

“Take off your shirt, Kim, I want to see something.”

“What did you call me?”

“C’mon Kim.”

Sighing, I complied. Lori tutted, and with a pair of tweezers picked out my half dozen chest hairs.

“Hey, do you know how long it took me to grow those back?” Lori shot me a warning glance, then instructed me to shower, and shave my legs and pits. I didn’t object, only because I knew that the hair wouldn't take too long to grow back. If anyone noticed afterwards I just say I had a case of heat rash and had to shave.

Soon I had finished. Lori instructed me to open a package which she had left on top of the toilet tank. “What is it?”

“Just open it.”

I examined the garment I found. It was made of sturdy rubber and was shaped like a pair of panties. “This can’t be what I think it is.”

“If you think it’s a device for hiding your penis, then you are right.”

“Where the hell did you find this?”

“From a catalog. It was designed for female impersonators…”

“I don’t want to hear this!” Grunting and groaning I forced myself into the thing. It was uncomfortable, but not as painful as I had expected. Looking at my reflection, all I could see was a small mound where my manhood had once been. Embarrassed, I slipped on a pair of yellow panties. Thank God Lori had spared me the lacy kind. Next, I pulled on the hose. I was becoming a bit of an expert in that department. I then pulled on my skirt. Half the battle was over.

I then picked up the padded bra. The inserts were quite realistic. They felt a lot like real breasts. At least I assumed they did; I had never actually touched a pair. Try as I could, I couldn’t get them on straight. I finally had to call Lori in for help.

Standing behind me, she held the bra to my bare chest and helped me pull my arms through the straps. Then she fastened me in back.

“I look ridiculous.”

“Here, pull this sweater on.”

She handed me a yellow, sleeveless sweater and I pulled in on over my head.

“You know,” she said, “Kunyak was right. You are rather pretty. Don’t take that the wrong way, I mean, you look like a normal guy, but in a dress you have this female athlete look about you. That’s popular these days. I can see why Kunyak wanted you.”

“Lucky me.”

“C’mon, aren’t you the least bit flattered.”

“Nope.”

“Not even a tiny bit? It’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

“Well…. Jeez, I can’t believe I’m going to tell you this. But I was a little proud of myself when he offered me so much money to model. I know I should have been insulted, but after all that work I went through, well, I guess it was nice to be recognized.” I glanced sideways at Lori, afraid that she would laugh at me, or even worse, act thrilled.

“I know how you must feel,” she said. “You really did bust your ass to help me, and you sure were rewarded. You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you are going to end up enjoying all this time as Kim.”

“Please.”

“No, I’m serious. Haven’t you ever wanted to understand women more?”

“Of course.”

“Well, next month you’ll have insights into the feminine psyche that will serve you for years to come. All your future dates will wonder how you got to be so empathetic, but only you’ll know why.”

In spite of myself, I was interested. “Do you really think so?”

“Of course. For starters, you’ll probably never rush a woman out of the bathroom again. And you’ll be able to make semi-intelligent comments about their clothes and hair. Subtle things that will drive the women wild. Women want to be understood, and you’re getting a crash-course in understanding.”

“I wish I could share your optimism.”

“Look Kim. I know how hard it is for you not to complain right now. But just put it out of your head. There’s no backing out now, but if you try to enjoy this, you might just find it’s not so bad.”

“I think you’re exaggerating, but if you promise not to make fun of me, I’ll at least try to have a good time. Hell, New York should be a blast, skirts or no.”

“There’s the attitude! Now let me make you up.”

“Er, no. I probably should get the hang of this and I might as well start now.”

Lori smiled a lovely smile and then did something she hadn’t done for years: she leaned over and kissed me. “Good for you, little sister.”

Finally, after about fifty false starts, my hair and makeup looked at least okay. I clipped on some earrings and grabbed one of Lori’s purses. Balancing on my heels, I looked myself over.

“What’s the verdict?” I asked Lori.

“You tell me.”

“I guess I can stop kidding myself, I don’t really look like a drag queen. I might even say…”

“Yes?”

“That I looked, well, kind of cute.” I looked to Lori for conformation.

“To say the least! Well, let’s hit the town.”

It was hard to remember everything as we took off down the street. How I was supposed to hold my head. How I was supposed to walk. Not to scratch my groin. Lori elbowed me in my ribs. “Relax, you’re doing great.”

Finally, we entered a mall and went into the department store. I knew right away that I was in for an ordeal. As a man I could simply grab a couple of shirts and a pair of jeans and I’d be done clothes shopping for the season. Now that I was a ‘woman,’ things would be different.

Lori dressed me from the bottom up, which meant we started with the shoes. It was hard to find shoes in my size (that was the area where Lori and I differed the most, size-wise) but I ended up leaving with a pair of attractive flats. Lori tried to convince me to buy another pair of heels, but I held fast; I couldn’t imagine a more uncomfortable type of footwear. I did however, buy some more socks and hose.

Next came the skirts. That’s where Lori and I had the biggest debate. I was more comfortable with the conservative, floor-length kind, while Lori kept trying to get me to go shorter and shorter.

“You have such lovely legs, Kim. I don’t know why you won’t show them off.”

Since we were in public, I refused to mention the true state of things, not even in a whisper. “I just don’t like short skirts. What’s wrong with that?”

Much to my horror, Lori called the saleslady over. She was a pretty, twentysomething blonde; I could have died. “Don’t you think my sister would look good in this?” she asked, holding up a skirt that barely reached my knees.

“Oh, yes,” gushed the commissioned salesclerk. “You have such athletic legs, do you work out?”

“A bit,” I admitted. Not wishing to say more, I tried it on.

Lori and the salesclerk made me prance up and down in front of the mirror. I had to admit, I did look good, but I felt almost naked in the tiny garment. Finally, to avoid a protracted argument, I agreed to a couple of the shorter numbers. I’d be dressed as a bride in a few weeks; I couldn’t exactly complain about looking like a sissy now. I did, however, draw the line at the leather mini.

Next came the dresses and tops. Since it was summer time, Lori took that as an excuse for me to show off as much flesh as possible. Soon we had bags full of backless dresses, sleeveless blouses, and low-cut shirts.

As we were standing in a jewelry shop picking out a necklace and bracelet for me, I asked Lori why she was spending so much money on me.

“Well, you’ll be surprised how much clothes you’ll end up needing in the next couple of weeks and it wouldn’t be fair for you to have to pay for it.”

“But it seems like such a waste. No one will be wearing any of this next month.”

“Oh, you’re almost my size. I’ll probably keep most of it.”

“That’s a relief. It would have been rather awkward for me to try to dispose of it.”

The clerk was wrapping up my jewelry. “Kim, I was just thinking about the gown you’re going to be wearing.”

“What about it?”

“We’ll, you’re going to be lovely in it, but I think you’d look even better if you wore earrings.”

“So I’ll wear earrings. We still have those clip-on ones.”

“No dear. I mean earrings for pierced ears.”

“Nothing doing.”

“C’mon Kim. The holes will heal up by the end of the summer. Lots of guys are wearing them these days.”

“Not me.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s too girlish.”

“Kim, you are standing there wearing a skirt, a woman’s sweater, and a bra, and you’re telling me you’re afraid of looking too girlish?”

I left the store with pierced ears.

Later that day afternoon we sat in the food court, sipping out our Diet Cokes. I wanted to take off my shoes and rub my feet; they ached something terrible

“Feet bothering you?” asked Lori.

“Yes! How do women stand to wear these things?”

“Because they look good. Women are expected to look their best, always. You’ll realize that soon.”

“Well, I could use all the help I can get to look like a woman. But if I were a real woman, I sure as hell wouldn’t wear these!”

We were interrupted when a masculine voice said “Hi ladies, mind if we join you?”

“Chuck!” squeaked Lori, happily. I regarded the pair of men that had just walked up. Chuck was tall, blonde, and handsome, about Lori’s age. I wondered if they were just friends, or were dating.

The guy standing next to Chuck looked a little younger, more like seventeen or eighteen. He looked a lot like Chuck, I assumed they were related. He seemed shier, a little less sure of himself than Chuck.

“This is my brother, Jason,” said Chuck, as they sat down.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Lori. “This is my sister, Kim. Kim, this is my friend Chuck.” We shook hands all around. I remembered at the last second to shake hands limply, like a woman.

Soon we were all chatting. I found that Chuck and Lori had met at an art show the previous week. They had never dated, but I got the impression Chuck was building up to it.

At first I was too petrified to talk much, but after a while, I began to relax. Concentrating on my voice, I was soon enjoying everyone’s company. Jason, who was my own age, was an interesting guy. He was a high school senior who played varsity basketball. He seemed shocked that I could talk intelligently about the sport and soon we were talking like old friends.

After a bit, Chuck said that they had a couple of things to and had to go. “But hey,” he continued. “we’re both free tonight. Why don’t we all go see a movie?”

“We’d love to!” replied Lori.

I began to sweat. That sounded a lot like a double date. “Er, Lori? Don’t we have that thing tonight?”

“What thing?” she asked, with effected innocence.

“You know, the thing we have to go to!” If she didn’t go along with this I swore I would kill her.

“Oh, that thing!” she finally said, much to my relief. “Don’t worry, that’s not till tomorrow.” Thanks, Lori.

I waited until we were back home before I blew up at her. “Do you think this is funny? Do you think this is some kind of joke?”

“Calm down. We’re just some friends catching a flick.”

“Friends my ass! You kind of like Chuck, right?”

“Hmmm, maybe,” she said, smiling.

“Well, then that’s a date. And if you two are on a date, that means Jason and I are, as well.”

“No it doesn’t.”

“Lori, I’m a guy. If I were in his shoes, I’d sure think it was. I’m going to cancel.”

“Why? Just come to the theater. It’s not like we’re going to an orgy or something.”

“I can’t believe we’re talking like this. What am I supposed to do, make out with him?”

“Kim, have you ever been on a date with a woman, and she wouldn’t let you kiss her or even hold her hand?”

“Well, yes.” Many times, actually.

“There you go. He can’t do anything if you don’t let him. You seemed to get along as friends. Just keep it like that. Friends.”

I glowered, but she had a point. I’d just keep it strictly buddies. If he tried to make a pass, I’d politely but firmly reject him. If he pressed the issue, I’d tell him I just wanted to be friends.

“Now do you want to shower first, or should I?”

“I took a shower this morning.”

Lori put her hands on her hips. “Kim, c’mon. I know that for you this is just a day out with some friends, but you could try to make an effort.”

Lacking the energy to argue, I stumbled into the bathroom. At least this way I’d know there’d be some hot water left. I scrubbed myself clean with Lori’s girlie-smelling soap and stepped out of the shower. I wrapped a towel around my waist and looked at myself in the mirror. Amid the steam in the bathroom, my new earrings, and longish hair; it wasn’t hard to imagine that it really was a woman’s reflection staring back at me (at least from the shoulders up!). Wiping the mirror clean, I pondered whether or not to wear makeup.

I was shocked when Lori suddenly burst in. “Don’t mind me, Kim. Just needed an aspirin.” With that she was gone.

I was stunned. I hadn’t locked the bathroom door because it never occurred to me that she’d come in like that. I could have been naked for all she knew! While we lived together we had always respected each other’s privacy. What the hell had gotten into her?

Could it be that she was treating me like she would a sister? My God, we were just pretending, but here she was, walking in on my shower as if I really was a fellow woman. I made a mental note to lock the door from then on.

Thinking back to the problem at hand, I wondered if I could get away with no makeup. If I wore makeup it would look like I was making an extra effort to impress Jason. But if I didn’t, I’d look more masculine. I decided to wear a little, just to be on the safe side. After coloring my cheeks and putting a touch of red on my lips, I pulled on a robe and went to decide what to wear.

I searched through the bags of clothes we had purchased today until I found the least erotic outfit I could find. It was more like a business suit: an ankle-length gray skirt, with black pumps, dark hose, a white blouse, and a gray jacket. It looked more like something to wear to the office instead of a movie, and in the summer heat it was a little stifling. Still, it made me look frigid, which was the look I was after. As Lori showered I tried unsuccessfully to put my hair in a bun. I couldn’t manage that so I settled on a simple ponytail.

Lori came out of the bathroom dressed to the nines and looking like a million bucks. “Kim,” she said in a disappointed way, “are you trying to look like a spinster or what?”

“Yes, I am. I agreed to do this, don’t press me.”

At the appointed time, Lori drove us over to the theater. “Don’t worry Kim. It’s just a few friends going to a movie.”

Chuck and Jason were waiting for us in front of the box office. They had both changed clothes and showered as well. “You look nice,” Jason told me when I greeted him. I could tell he meant it too; so much for my plan of turning him off with my clothes.

We took our seats in the dark; Lori and Chuck to my right, Jason to my left. During the movie Chuck casually draped his arm around Lori’s shoulders. Luckily for me, Jason wasn’t that bold. Aside from an awkward and unsuccessful attempt to hold my hand, he kept to himself.

Finally, it was all over. I still felt a little disgusted with myself; Jason had paid for my ticket and that was a date in my book. Matters weren’t helped when Chuck gave Lori a more than friendly good night kiss. I looked over a Jason, afraid he would attempt the same thing. I could tell he was vacillating, wondering whether to go for it or not. I defused the situation by firmly shaking his hand and thanking him for a nice evening.

As we drove home, I grilled Lori about Chuck. “So what’s up with you and this guy?”

“Oh, I dunno. He seems kind of sweet. Maybe something will come of it. So how about you?”

“What do you mean?”

“You and Jason. Think you’ll go out again?”

“Lori, what in the hell are you talking about?”

“I was just wondering. He seems to like you.”

“Lori, will you get a grip? I know you want to treat me like a sister, but some things aren’t going to change! Tonight was a one-time thing, and it will not happen again! Understand?”

“Well, I just thought you might get bored and want someone to hang out with, besides me.”

“Lori, let’s forget for a moment about my objections. How do you think he’d feel? He thinks he dated a girl; it wouldn’t be fair for him to think that ‘Kim’ had a thing for him. This is the end.”

Lori shrugged. I was beginning to worry. She certainly didn’t take long to start thinking of me as her sister. Did she honestly think I would ever consider dating Jason?

*

The time wore on. Jason called me twice but I blew him off. The bridal show was approaching and I began to get more and more nervous. What if I was found out? I could picture the tabloid headlines now: “Teenage Boy Tries to Pass Himself Off as a Bride!” Jesus, that would be all I needed.

Lori helped assuage my fears by plunging me even deeper into my femininity. She put me on a diet that caused me to loose about ten pounds by the time of the show. She forced me to use a depilatory spray that helped me remove all traces of my former body hair. She made me practice speaking, walking, and dressing like a girl for like two hours every day.

Not that she kept me in the apartment. After our ‘date,’ she insisted that I accompany her around New York, many times in the company of her friends. While I made it clear that I would never do anything approaching a date again, I often found myself out on the town with a group of young people, many of them handsome guys.

It wasn’t too bad, I guess. New York is a fun town and Lori’s friends were good people. After I learned to relax, it really wasn’t that traumatic, chatting in a coffee shop or strolling down Broadway, even if I was decked out in a sundress and heels.

Of course, something would always jolt me back to earth. Sometimes it would be a construction worker whistling at me. Or a waiter unconsciously talking to my chest instead of my eyes. Most disturbing, however, were the come-ons.

I guess I should have known I made an attractive woman. Lori, Mr. Kunyak, even my mom said so. I knew I was tall and leggy, and with my padding, well endowed. But I could never really believe that I was beautiful. And yet, almost on a daily basis, someone would ask me out.

At first it would be all I could do to keep from slapping the guy. But I kept my cool. In their eyes I was a pretty young lady who they wanted to get to know better. I’d asked out many girls in my time, many of whom I hardly knew. I just learned to take a deep breath and tell them ‘No thank you.’

Most of my ‘suitors’ were nice guys who just wanted to take me out. Of course any woman will tell you that it’s not always nice guys who ask you out. Once, a guy old enough to be my father asked me if I wanted to take a ride in his convertible. Another time a greasy cook made a sleazy comment about the chicken breast sandwich I had ordered. And once…

Jesus, this is an embarrassing story but I guess I should tell it. I was in a bookstore and this kid, he couldn’t have been older than twelve, comes over and swats my rear. Just like that! I swear, lady or not, I almost broke him over my knee.

“What’s up, sugar?” he leered. Dear God, did he honestly think even a real woman would be interested in a twerp like him?

“What do you say you and me, we get together?” he continued, in a pathetic attempt to sound macho. I was about to shove his ball cap down his throat when a better idea occurred to me.

I had pretty well mastered the art of the feminine voice. I still sounded rather husky, and yet feminine. But now I dropped all pretense of girlishness.

“Why sure, you hot young thing!” I said, as deeply as I could. Instantly, he realized the truth. God, I still regret not having a camera to capture his expression.

I decided to talk to Lori about male attitudes. “Jesus, are we all really like that?” I was afraid that women viewed me the way I viewed the obnoxious kid.

“No, not all men are like that. Most guys are very goal driven and want to get us in the sack, but still manage to be nice. Of course, I don’t have to tell you that there can be some real cretins out there.”

“So what do I do?”

“The same thing you’ve been doing. If you like him, go out with him; if you don’t, then politely decline. If he’s an ass, tell him where he can go.”

Later, I felt a little weird about that conversation. Had I just had a talk about boys with my older sister? It was like Lori was giving me advice about dating men! I looked forward to the day when the only reminder about this experience was the money.

Eventually, it was time to start preparing for the show. Lori had outdone herself. I would be wearing a different gown for each night of the exposition. Lori and I drove over to the convention center to meet with Mr. Kunyak, the show’s promoters, and the other models. I chose a white blouse with a conservative skirt and jacket. I wanted to look feminine, but at the same time I didn’t want to stand out. These would be industry professionals there and I didn’t want anyone to notice anything untoward.

Mr. Kunyak met up with a smile. “Ah, the Woolsey sisters! I’m so glad you both decided to come. I tell you, this is going to be the show of shows.” He turned to Lori. “I’ve been looking over the sketches you sent me, and I was rather impressed. If this show goes well, I can guarantee that ‘Lori Woolsey’ will be a name to reckon with in the fashion industry.” Lori smiled sweetly, but I knew that she was barely restraining herself from doing cartwheels. “And you,” continued Mr. Kunyak, now looking at me. “I’ve been showing your picture around. Once again, I’ve proven myself ahead of the game. Several designers have asked if you would be free next month to do some advertising spots for them. In fact Jemi Tachamuchi (who?) himself said that the athletic look was making a comeback and you were the perfect representation.”

“I’m flattered,” I replied. I was flattered, but also angry. So what if I made an attractive woman; did everyone have to talk about it?

“Anyway,” my boss continued, “you’ll probably get a few job offers before the week’s up. I know you said you didn’t want to do any more modeling, but if you change your mind, just remember that I discovered you and should get first crack at making you an offer.”

Well, fat chance of that. The money was nice, but no way was I going to work towards becoming the next Cindy Crawford. After this show I’d register for college and get on with my life.

“Hi there stranger,” said a familiar voice from behind me. I turned and gasped. There stood Shawna, the woman who had helped me out so much when I did the first show. I gave her what I hoped would pass for a sisterly hug. Soon we were sitting down, chatting like old friends. It turned out that she would be working the same convention. That gave me a good feeling, to know that that there would be someone there to help me out. Our reunion was interrupted when the MC insisted that all of the models meet to discuss the plans for the show.

We all grouped together in the cavernous convention hall. Like last time, there were quite a few male models. The MC, who was tall, handsome, and as gay as a picnic basket, addressed us. “Okay people. Here’s the drill. Each bride will be matched with a groom. Grooms will stand at the front of the catwalk; brides will walk down the aisle. You’ll stand together, smile at the audience, and then leave together. Any questions?”

“What’s he talking about?” I whispered to Shawna. “What does he mean, we’ll be matched with a groom?”

“Oh, that. They’re trying to make the production look more like a wedding. You’ll walk down the aisle and stand next to one of the guys. It’ll give the audience a better idea of how they’ll look at the wedding.”

“So how do we know what guy we’ll be matched with?” I began to panic. Just how far was this wedding illusion supposed to go?

“It’s random. You’ll probably be matched with a tall guy. Hopefully he’ll be cute.” Yeah. That would be great.

The MC began to read names. Shawna was matched with handsome, muscular guy with a shaved head. She winked at me over her shoulder; apparently she was happy with the choice. Name after name was read. I felt weird, like I was being matched with a life partner at one of those Reverend Moon group weddings. Finally, they called my name.

“Kimberly Woolsey? Let’s see…you’ll be with Patrick Elrick.”

I looked around for my ‘groom.’ I hoped he wasn’t sleazy.

“Hello. Are you Kimberly?”

I turned to face the man who addressed me. He was tall, even taller than me. He looked to be about twenty-one. He was handsome, even I could tell that. He had gray eyes, sandy blonde hair, and a good build. Poor guy, he probably was matched with the one female model who could have cared less about he looks.

“I’m Patrick,” he said and shook my hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“So have you done a lot of modeling Kimberly?”

“Please, call me Kim.” It sounded more like my real name and less feminine. “Actually, I haven’t. I’m just doing this one job.”

I half expected him to tell me I could make it as a professional model; almost every guy I met now gave me some line like that. But he simply said, “Well, it’s a fun job if you’re into it. I do it part time to help pay for college.”

We exchanged some more pleasantries and I excused myself. Well, he could have been worse. No flirting, no staring, no sexist comments. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

That night Lori took me out to get a makeover. My hair was professionally styled, my finger and toenails manicured and polished, overall body wax, and a better makeup job than I could give myself. As I walked out into the brisk New York night I noticed the looks I was getting from strangers. They weren’t all the leering stares of horny men, either. Many were simply the glances that people tend to give attractive women.

The scary thing was, I wasn’t entirely offended. Though I’d never admit it, I felt rather complimented at people’s attention. As a man I never really turned heads, but as a woman it felt kind of nice to be noticed. I felt ashamed, thinking that sort of thing, but what of it? Nobody would know of my secret pride and in a month I’d be a lot richer for my efforts.

*

The organ music swelling, and I marched down the catwalk to the pre-recorded strains of The Wedding March. This was the last day of the show and not surprisingly, I was glad. For an entire week I had been displaying myself like a hunk of meat for nine hours a day. Up and down the aisle, under the lights, in front of the cameras, in front of the audience. Eight different dress changes a day. If I ever got married I swore I’d give my wife all the support she needed in choosing her wedding dress. Lord knows I was an expert.

Without looking down, I thought about the dress I was wearing, probably the last one I’d ever wear. It was an ivory colored silk number with no veil and almost no fringe. I didn’t like it; it seemed more suited to an older bride; a second-time-around wife, not a young ‘girl’ like me. Oh well, Lori had to display the full spectrum of her work; I was only there to look good.

I took my spot next to Patrick. He grasped my hand. When he had done this the first time I nearly fell off the stage, but now I could let him hold my limp hand in his with hardly a shudder. Like everything else I had been doing this week, I just put it down to part of the act and forgot about it.

After the MC described our clothes in detail, we walked, still hand in hand, back down the catwalk. At least they weren’t throwing rice; every time we did this I still had the uncomfortable feeling that this was a real wedding and Patrick was looking forward to the honeymoon. It was a paranoid delusion of course, but after almost a month of being treated like a woman I occasionally had thoughts like that. I guess it went with the territory.

At long, long last came the time for all of us to go out on stage and take our final bows. Patrick and I stood in a row with the other pretend couples and smiled at the audience, almost blinded by the flashbulbs. That’s when it happened.

Shawna’s groom reached over and kissed her. It wasn’t a passionate kiss; it was more like one you’d see at the altar. That was like the floodgates opening; soon every couple on the stage was kissing one another. Everyone, that is, except for Patrick and myself.

Well, what did it matter? I was hired to model, not to kiss. Realistic wedding or no, I wasn’t about to let him put his mouth on mine. I glanced in his direction…

Everything went in slow motion. First, the gentle pressure of his hand on my cheek. Then his face slowly advancing toward mine. I was trapped! I couldn’t jolt away, or tell him no, or try to turn my head. That would be too distracting; it could ruin the whole moment. Lori and Mr. Kunyak would never forgive me.

His lips touched mine. Not for long, not lingering, but they touched. His lips were rough, and for just the slightest moment I could feel the deep pressure from his kiss. Then it was over.

Later, I sat alone in the dressing room in nothing but a terry cloth robe. I was removing my makeup with damp cotton balls, thinking about what had just happened.

I had been kissed by a guy! Not passionately, not willingly, but I had been kissed. I kept trying to justify it by saying I really had had no choice, but I still felt guilty. Patrick really couldn’t be blamed; in his eyes, it was just acting. And worst of all, Lori had seen the whole thing. What if she said something? What if she acted like I had enjoyed it? She had better not, if she knew what was good for her.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. The month I had spent as a woman had taken its toll. I no longer looked as awkward and uncomfortable as a girl. In fact, even now, as I wore nothing but a robe, I still looked naturally feminine. It was scary how well I was pulling this off. I shook my head. Well, at least it was all over.

I heard and noise and turned around to see Lori, smiling at me. ‘Here it comes,’ I thought. ‘Patrick and Kimberly sittin’ in a tree…’

“Kim, you were sensational! Everything went perfectly!” She kissed my cheek. “Thank you so much for doing that, you really did a great job.” I was relieved. Apparently she was not going to mention the kiss.

“Well, I’m just glad it’s all over.”

“Well, it’s not quite over. I mean, you’re still planning on staying here for another week or two, right?”

“Of course. But what’s the point of be being Kim any more? The show’s over, and it’s not like I’m going to be dressing like this again.”

Lori sat down and laid a hand on my knee. “I know, Kim. But think about it. All my friends know you as a woman. All the places we’ve hung out, they know you as Kimberly. I can’t very well tell people that Kim just left town in the middle of the night and was replaced with our brother, Ken.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Look, Kim. You told me there were still a lot of things you wanted to do here before you went back home. It would be a lot easier if you just stayed here as Kim. If anyone saw you as Ken, we’d have a lot of explaining to do. Besides…”

“Yes?”

“I’ve kind of enjoyed having a sister. I know it’s temporary, but, well, would one more week really matter?"

I threw up my hands in frustration. Lori was right, I guess I couldn’t thrust my male self onto the scene all of a sudden. Besides, I still had to pick up my check from Kunyak as Kim.

“Wonderful,” said Lori. “There’s a bit of a party tonight. I hope you’ll come.”

“Well, after all the work I’ve been doing, I think it will be good to cut loose and relax.”

“Great. I’ll drive us.”

I quickly changed into a pair of black slacks and a white blouse. I finished removing my stage makeup, and then made my face up again. I found Lori in the parking lot and we drove over to the party.

The party was over at Mr. Kunyak’s palatial house. I strolled in with Lori and began to mingle. It struck me as ironic, how much more confident I was now. A few weeks ago I would have moved heaven and earth to avoid going to a party dressed like a woman, now I was looking forward to it.

I spent a long time discussing the show with Shawna. Soon we were talking about all the dresses we had seen at the show. I hated to admit it, but I was becoming a bit of an expert at women’s fashion. Regrettably, the conversation soon turned to men.

“So what do you think about Tim?” she asked me. Tim was the man who played her groom.

“Oh, he seems like a nice guy.” He did. I wasn’t about to speculate on how attractive he might be.

“Yeah, he is. I think he likes me. I wonder if I should go for it.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out, you can always get a free dinner.” We laughed. Inwardly I felt like I had betrayed males everywhere by saying that.

“So,” Shawna continued, “is anything going on with you and Patrick?”

“No!” I said, much too emphatically.

“Just wondering.” Tim came in, and soon all of Shawna’s attentions were focused on him.

The party was now in full swing. I had a bit of a panicked moment when Patrick came up and started talking to me. I was afraid that he was going to hit on me, but all he did was congratulate me on the job I had done at the show. Thankfully he didn’t mention the kiss.

Woman or not, I was enjoying the party. It was nice to cut loose with the people who had become my friends, and I felt twinge of sadness at the thought I’d never see them again. Oh well, when I picked up my check in a few days, that would make everything worth it.

Soon it was well past midnight. I began to feel like going home. Most everyone else was well on their way to inebriation. I didn’t really enjoy drinking (aside from the fact that I was underage) and their drunken antics were beginning to bore me. I began to look for Lori to see if she wanted to go home, but she was nowhere to be seen.

Eventually I located Mr. Kunyak and asked him if he had seen my sister.

“Oh, I’m afraid she overdid it. She’s asleep in one of the back bedrooms.”

“Asleep? How am I supposed to get home?”

“She left you her keys,” he replied, handing them to me. “You’re welcome to spend the night as well, but if you feel like driving her car, I can call her a taxi tomorrow.”

“Thank you very much.”

“Thank you. For everything. Say, Kim…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in doing another job for me? Don’t answer now. When you come for your pay, we’ll discuss it.”

Soon I was driving off into the night. It was rather enjoyable, out here on the highway alone, the wind in my long hair (Lori had bought a convertible with her insurance money). I thought back on all the crazy things that had happened to me: being a model, making friends as a girl, making so much money as a bride. It all seemed so surreal. It hadn’t even been all that unpleasant. I could admit that to myself: I had had a good time.

My thoughts were interrupted by the harrowing sound of a police siren close behind me. ‘Please don’t let that be for me,’ I thought,

hopelessly. The patrol car pulled up behind me and flashed its lights. My heart in my throat, I pulled over.

I waited for what seemed like an eternity, trying to calm myself. I supposed I had been speeding, but with my cash windfall, I could pay for a ticket.

The trooper walked up to my window. He was a tough looking customer; I was glad that speeding had been my only crime. “Do you know how fast you were going, ma’am?” he asked.

“About sixty?”

“Are you aware that the speed limit here is only fifty?”

“No, I wasn’t aware.” I fought off an urge to try flirting my way out of a ticket; I wasn’t that desperate.

“License and registration, please.”

I fished my license out of my purse and then handed it to him.

He took a few steps toward his car and stopped.

“Ma’am, would you mind giving me a valid piece of ID? This isn’t you.”

I looked at my driver’s license and nearly cried. It was me, the male me. There was no denying that the photo was of a young man. Barring that, under SEX the world ‘male’ was clearly visible.

“That is me.”

“Ma’am, I suggest that you do not make jokes right now.”

“No…” I didn’t want to do it, but I couldn’t think of an alternative. “I am a man.”

The trooper showed surprise, just for a second. He looked at the photo, then at me, then back at the photo. “Wait here,” he said.

My stomach churned. Was it illegal to dress as a woman? I guessed not, unless he could prove I was doing it with fraudulent intentions. But what did it matter? What if he thought I was gay and was doing this out of pleasure? What if he hated people like that and arrested me? My God, if I were arrested, it would be in the paper, wouldn’t it? And that meant everyone would know that I was a guy! Kunyak would probably refuse to pay me, maybe even sue me for faking my gender! Why hadn’t I obeyed the speed limit? Oh God, I was in so much trouble.

The cop slowly walked back towards my car and leaned into the window. “Your ID checks out. You’re free to go, just try to keep it under fifty.”

“Yes sir.” Had I heard correctly? Was he was letting me off with a warning?

“I’d take that advice seriously. Not everyone is as kind to, ah, people like you as I am. You could find yourself in serious trouble if you are caught dressed that way. Not all police officers are like me. Not all of them understand how it is.” He quickly turned and left.

I pondered his words all the way home. His advice was sound; I knew I was lucky not to be in more trouble than I was. But what did he mean by ‘not all of them understand how it is’? Did he understand? Was he a cross dresser? Did he know someone who was?

I never found out the answers and I never saw him again, though to this day I’m grateful for his kindness.

*

A couple of days later I was at Kunyak’s office to collect my pay. Not wishing for another run in with the law, I had taken the bus. Kunyak smiled at me from across his desk as he filled out the check.

“Well Ms. Woolsey, I must say you more than adequately fulfilled your end of the agreement. I couldn’t be happier with your work.”

“Thank you sir,” I replied, stunned by all the zeros on my paycheck. “You’re too kind.”

“I’m not one to give meaningless praise. A lot of people at the show noticed. You’re at a natural at modeling. You even make what you’re wearing now seem feminine and alluring.”

That was high praise. I had chosen the most severe women’s business suit I could find for this meeting. I had finally managed to put my hair up in a bun and was wearing no makeup. I remembered how he had offered to find me more work, and I didn’t feel like turning him down. I had hoped that my dull clothes would put him off the idea, but apparently they had had just the opposite effect.

“At any rate, I don’t think I want to end our association. A lot of designers want to offer you contracts, but as I said earlier, I think I deserve to make the first offer.”

I felt myself blush. I hadn’t been this embarrassed in years. All I had wanted to do was a favor for my sister; now it seems that everyone wanted to turn me into a Victoria’s Secret model. This had to stop.

“Thank you very much, but…”

“Just hear me out. My company is putting together a new catalog for fiscal 2001. Only we’re going to try something new. Instead of just having photos of models, we’re going to make it read like a story. We’ll follow a fictitious couple throughout their relationship. We’ll start with photos of them meeting, and end with them on their honeymoon. And I’d like you to play the bride.”

Yikes! Wearing a wedding gown was one thing, but I didn’t like the sound of going on a honeymoon with a guy, even if it was all fake.

Kunyak continued. “Shooting will begin in September, we’ll finish in July.”

Ah, there was my perfect excuse to back out. “I’m sorry, Mr. Kunyak. College starts in late August and I’m afraid that I can’t miss it. Thank you anyway.” I got up to leave.

“Sit down.” His voice was not to be denied. I don’t mean that he was threatening, or bossy or anything. It’s just that he had the forceful, commanding way of speaking that made me feel that disobedience was not an option.

“Ms. Woolsey, I didn’t get to where I am today by taking no for an answer. I want you for these shots. I’m willing to do whatever it takes.”

“I…I’m sorry, sir, but college is too important to me.”

“How are you paying for college? Scholarship?”

“No. Student loan.”

“What degree course are you going to follow?”

“I want to be a psychologist.”

“That’ll be about five years of undergraduate work. Then, if you hope to find work, you’ll have to get your masters. That still won’t guarantee you work, though it will mean you’ll be stuck with rather hefty student loan payments.”

“Mr. Kunyak, I don’t appreciate you trying to scare me into giving up my plans.”

“No one’s trying to scare you into doing anything. I don’t want you to skip college; I want you to postpone it for a year to do this promotion for me. In return, I will pay for your college until such time as you get your masters. No strings, questions. In addition, I’ll pay you a nice living wage. A student has to eat, doesn’t she?”

I nearly hyperventilated. Pay for college until I got my masters? That could take eight years! I could devote all that time to my studies without worrying about my finances or whether I’d find work after! If the job market was bad I could work a low paying job without the loan officers banging down my door.

Kunyak obviously was used to getting what he wanted and he clearly wanted me. Why me? Was I that pretty? I must have been; he was willing to plop down a sizeable chunk of cash just to get me to model for a year.

But then again, it would be for a whole year. Twelve months as Kim! No one but my family would know, but what would they think? Could I do it? Could I pull it off? The thought didn’t seem so repugnant now.

Mr. Kunyak mistook my silence for hesitation. “And of course, your sister will have plenty of work to do on the shoot. I’m quite happy with her work as well.”

That cinched it for me. Free college and work for Lori. All in all, I felt I was getting a pretty good deal.

I stood up and shook his hand. “It will be a pleasure to work for you, sir.”

“You won’t regret it.”

I was halfway to the door when a thought hit me. “Who will be playing the groom?”

“Oh, that’s part of the beauty of it. It’ll be your friend, Patrick.”

*

“YOU DID WHAT?”

If I was expecting my sister to be happy about the deal I had cut, I was sadly mistaken.

“Tell me you didn’t sign anything! You didn’t sign anything, did you?”

“Well, he had the contract all ready…”

“Oh, sweet Jesus, this is not happening. This is not happening!” I had never seen Lori this upset, not even after the car accident.

“What’s gotten into you? I thought you’d be happy.”

“Happy? You ruin both our lives and expect me to be happy?”

“Hey, you were the one who convinced me to dress like this in the first place. It’s not my fault it suddenly paid so well!”

Lori sat down. “Listen, Kim. The bridal show was one thing. A bridal gown could cover up anything we wanted hidden. But this is going to be a full year of shooting. It’ll end in the summer. You can’t wear heavy clothes then.”

“I guess we’ll have to think of something.”

“Think of something? Tell me, professor, what are you going to do when they tell you to put on a bikini?”

“I hadn’t thought of that.”

“Obviously not.”

“So what should I do?”

Lori massaged her temples with her hands. “Well, you signed the contract, and from the sound of things he won’t let you renege, so that options out. I guess we’ll just have to think about it for a while. You’ll be wearing heavy clothes for the first few months, at least. We can figure something out by the summer.”

Lori stood up to leave, then paused. “Did he really say he liked my work?”

*

The next day, Lori woke me up to tell me she had found a possible solution to our conundrum. “I’ve been on the Internet all night and I finally found a place in New York that can help us.”

“What kind of a place?” I asked sleepily.

“It’s a clinic. They help out transsexuals.”

“But I’m not a transsexual!” I meekly protested.

“True, but this place might be our only hope. I’ve already arranged an appointment. C’mon, get dressed!”

I pulled on a pair of shorts and a midriff-baring shirt (I had lost weight recently and didn’t look bad in it). After making up my face and doing my hair I got into the car with Lori.

We arrived at a small, nondescript looking building, with a sign that simply read ‘Pharmacy.’ Lori parked and we walked in.

I was surprised to notice the absence of the traditional pharmaceutical counter. Instead, it appeared we had walked into a doctor’s waiting room. Lori rang the bell. After a short wait, a middle-aged woman emerged from the interior of the building.

I found her attractive, from an older woman point of view. She had curly reddish hair mixed with gray, a plump, voluptuous build, and a pretty face. “Hello,” she said with a slight German accent. “May I help you?”

“Yes,” said my sister. “I’m Lori Woolsey, we spoke on the phone earlier.

“Ah, yes, Ms. Woolsey. And you must be Kim.” I nodded. “Please walk this way.”

We soon found ourselves in a small examining room. Standing by the examination table was a fiftyish looking man. He was compactly built, with stern features and surprisingly black hair.

“Please have a seat,” he said with an even more pronounced accent. “Which one of you is Kimberly?”

“That would be me.” I was beginning to wonder what was going on. Was this guy a doctor? A pharmacist? Just how was he supposed to help me pass as a woman for a year? He had a sterile, humorless air about him that frightened me.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Dr. Hienrich Klauss. This is my wife, Greta.” He motioned to the woman who had led us in. She passed the doctor a clipboard, gave him a flirtatious wink, and left us alone.

The doctor checked something off on his clipboard. “Ms. Woolsey, your sister explained your situation briefly to us over the phone. Would you care to elaborate?”

Wondering how wise it was to confide to this physician, I gave a run down of my story: pretending to be a model, signing a contract, and having to pass close physical inspection for a year. The doctor nodded.

“So can you help me, doctor?”

“Yes, but you won’t like it.”

When a German doctor says you won’t like something, it’s cause for alarm. “What do you mean by that?”

“Ms. Woolsey, did your sister inform you about what I do here?” I replied in the negative.

“I help transsexuals achieve the bodies that they have dreamed about. I give men the bodies of women.”

“You perform plastic surgery? You’re right, I don’t want any part of that.”

“Yes, surgery is one option, but I was thinking along a different line for you: hormones.”

“Hormones! That’s almost as bad!”

“As, I mentioned before, I didn’t think you’d like the idea.”

Lori piped in, “What effects would the hormones have?”

The doctor replied as if he were addressing the AMA. “A softening of the skin. A reduction in the amount of body hair. An added silkiness to the regular hair. A redistribution of body fat; it will stop collecting in the stomach and began to form around the hips and chest. An increase in nipple size and sensitivity. A decrease in male sex drive.”

I got up to leave. “No thank you. I don’t want to have breasts for the rest of my life!”

“The effects aren’t permanent. They take a long time to become noticeable but disappear at a much more rapid rate. If I were to start you on estrogen now you would develop a lovely figure by next summer. If you were to stop taking the hormones shortly after, you’d be back to normal in a matter of months.”

My head was swimming. “But don’t I have to have a note from a psychologist to get these hormones?”

The doctor looked a little nervous. “The law says you must live as a woman for a year and have a psychologist’s okay before I can prescribe you hormones. I do things a bit differently; I prescribe the hormones, then, after the patient has developed a life as a woman, any psychologist would have a hard time denying the patient permission to continue taking them.”

“So you’re giving out hormones against the law?”

“Perhaps. But is it fair to deny a woman the right to live as such because of some bureaucratic nonsense? If the hormones are a mistake, then they can stop taking them.”

“So what do you think?” asked Lori.

“What do I think? You’re asking me to illegally take hormones to give myself a feminine body! I’m sorry, my answer is an emphatic ‘no’.”

“Kim, listen to me. You agreed to model for a year. You knew that would mean that everyone would think you were a girl for the entire time. So you grow rounded hips and little breasts? What of it? It’s not like anyone you know will think those are strange features for a woman! And you heard the doctor; in just a couple of months your body will revert back to normal.”

“I’m still not convinced.”

“Ms. Woolsey,” interjected the doctor, “allow me to give my opinion. You have been successfully living as a woman for how long?”

“Over a month.”

“And you agreed to do it for an additional year.”

“Well, yeah.”

“And you do make a lovely woman. When you two walked in here, I honestly didn’t know which one of you was the man.”

Lori bridled a bit at this, much to my satisfaction.

Dr. Klaus continued “The point I’m trying to make is, if you are resigned to living this way for an extended period of time, then hormones are your best bet. If you take them, odds are you’ll never be discovered, even in a swimsuit. If you don’t, well, I’m almost certain you will be found out.”

“Kim,” said Lori, “He’s right. If you don’t go through with this, we’ll have to tell Kunyak the truth. It’s the only way he’d let you out of your contract. If he found out during the shoot he’d have to scrap everything, which would cost him millions.”

Someone once said ‘Life is what happens when you are making other plans.’ That phrase had never hit home for me until then. “Okay. But I’m only doing this for the cash.”

The doctor rubbed my arm with cotton and gave me an injection. “This is only for starters,” he assured me. “By the time you are away on your trip we’ll switch you to an oral regimen.”

Lori and I walked back to the waiting room to pay Frau Klaus for the visit.

“Doctor,” I said as I fumbled in my purse. “I’m curious. How does a guy like you get into the illicit hormone trade?”

“It’s a rather interesting story,” he replied. “When I was a physician back in the old country, I received a shipment of antidepressants from a supplier in the former East Germany. I prescribed them to a young patient of mine who was going through the post-adolescent blues.

“After a few months on the pills, I realized something was up. My patient was experiencing exactly the same side effects I described to year earlier. I did an analysis of his medication and realized that it was actually estrogen tablets that had been mislabeled.

“I was about to inform my patient of the mistake, when I realized something interesting. He no longer seemed depressed; in fact he seemed to be enjoying life more than ever. I had originally attributed this to his medication, but since hormones obviously have different effects, I was stumped. But he was happy, so I kept the prescription the same.”

“You did what?” I asked, horrified.

“Like I said, he seemed happy. Of course, he was confused as heck about the changes that were happening in his body, but I told him they would pass in time.”

“How could you do that? That’s horrible!”

“Well, it made an interesting psychological study. By the end of six months he lost all trace of his former depression. By the end of a year he was living full time as a woman. After two and a half years he flew to Sweden for sex reassignment surgery.

“Of course, I had to come clean long before then, he obviously figured out what he was taking wasn’t antidepressants.”

“So was he angry, being experimented on like that?”

“At first. But he got his revenge.”

“What did he do to you?”

“I married him,” answered Greta with a giggle.

The doctor put his arm around his wife and, for the first time, smiled. It took me several seconds to figure out what they were implying.

“You were the patient?” Lori stammered to Greta.

“My name used to be Gunnar,” she whispered with a grin.

*

I couldn’t help giggling when we were alone in the car. Greta, the doctor’s attractive, curvaceous wife used to be a man! My God, I never would have guessed. I’m sure the doctor never would have guessed, either.

Then a frightening thought hit me. “Lori, hormones can’t change the way you think, can they? I mean, they couldn’t make gay, could they?”

“No, of course not. Why would you ask that?”

“Well, look at Greta! She wasn’t a transsexual, but hormones certainly changed her life. I don’t want to end up married to Heinrich Klaus, Jr!”

“Well, I’m no psychologist, but it would appear that Gunnar liked life better as Greta. I’m guessing you prefer life as Ken over life as Kim.”

“Of course.”

“Well there you go. Just keep thinking like a man and it’ll all be OK.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t convinced.

*

Soon the two weeks were up and it was time for me to return home. Since I still had about a month before the photo shoot started, Lori and I decided to spend a little time with Mom.

When I called Mom to break the news about my plans for the next year, she was shocked.

“You’re going to be living as a woman for a year? Ken, honey, don’t you think that this is kind of a radical step?” I could tell she was worried about me.

“Tell me about it, but I’m just doing it to pay for college. Trust me, this is all going to work out for the best.” I could tell Mom wasn’t so sure. Later, I asked Lori what she thought.

“Well, Kim, you know that Mom’s always felt guilty about not being able to afford to send you to college. I guess she’s feels that if she could have provided for you better then you wouldn’t have had to do this.”

“She shouldn’t feel that way. If I didn’t think I could do this, I’d just get a loan.”

“I know. Just let her know that this isn’t going to be a traumatic experience for you. Show her what a great woman you make.”

I guess that’s why when Mom met us at the airport, I was wearing a floral sun dress and heels. What the hell! No one would recognize me now, in fact I think Mom had to do a double take when she realized it was me. But she quickly recovered. Before we had finished the drive home, Mom was calling me Kim.

That night we all stayed up late and talked. It was kind of funny. I had grown up being the odd man out, so to speak. Mom and Lori were women and I felt that they had always been closer to each other than to me. No fault of their own, there are just some thing mothers don’t discuss with their sons and sisters don’t discuss with their brothers. But now things were different.

As we all sat there in our night gowns, eating popcorn and watching the late movie, I suddenly had a feeling like I belonged, that I was truly one of them. One of the girls, as it were. Obviously, Mom and Lori hadn’t forgotten my true gender, but the fact that I was now living as a girl helped them open up to me more than I ever remember them doing before. I went to bed that night contented; I felt like I had truly bonded with the rest of my family.

*

Sitting in front of the makeup mirror, I gazed back at the reflection in front of me and liked what I saw. My makeup was done to perfection. It was a little excessive for daily wear, but I needed to wear extra for the camera to pick up my features. My hair hung down around my shoulders. I had spent hours trying to make it look like I hadn’t done anything special with it. The dangling earrings that bordered my face added to my prettiness.

It was the first day of the big shoot. Today would make or break me. Today I would prove to Mr. Kunyak, Lori, and myself that I hadn’t done a dumb, selfish thing by agreeing to the shoot. Today, I was going to be a woman.

Looking at myself in the dressing room’s full-length mirror, it wasn’t hard to believe I really was a woman. It was early fall, so most of my femininity came from the clothes that covered most of my body. A long black skirt, panty hose, and a blue and white striped jersey were reminiscent of something my sister would wear. Of course, I had been living as Kim for several months now, so I was used to dressing like this. I was living with Lori again, and in order to simplify things, I had never gone back to being Ken since the last shoot.

What clothing couldn’t give me, padding provided. I still wore the device for hiding my penis, and generous padding for simulating breasts. Of course, this sort of thing would only work when I was heavily clothed. Once summer rolled around…

Well, I was working on that. After several months on hormones, I was beginning to notice their effects. For starters, I no longer had to worry about appearing too muscular for a woman. Most of my muscle tone had disappeared. Or, more to the point, it had changed into flab. Before getting on estrogen I never had to worry about keeping weight off; now I had to go to the gym three times a week just to stay slender.

My weight distribution had changed as well. Fat now gathered in my hips and rear. Nothing that you would really notice, I still had to wear the padding. Still, I knew that these changes were only the beginning. Due to the extra sensitivity in my chest, I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d start needing a training bra.

There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” I called. Randy, the teenager who did odd jobs around the set, stuck his head in.

“They’re calling for you, Ms. Woolsey,” he said, with forced nonchalance. I smiled back at him and he nervously left. I found his crush on me a little disturbing. At first I thought being mean to him would get him to keep his distance, but it just wasn’t in me. He was just lonely, and didn’t deserve to be mistreated. I simply tried to ignore him as much as possible.

I slipped on my heels, put my purse on my arm, and walked into the studio. As I mentioned before, the theme of Kunyak’s catalog was that it would be composed of seemingly actual photos of a couple falling in love. Today we would be shooting the ‘They Meet,’ scene.

The studio was set up like a coffee shot. I was to sit down at a table, and sip my espresso. Patrick, wearing a flannel shirt and khaki pants, would be sitting at another table. One shot would be him noticing me, another of him walking shyly towards my table, and a third of us talking, seemingly hitting it off. There would be several more of us talking, and then a final one of me handing Patrick my phone number. Each shot would be cleverly arranged so as to show off a particular garment of Patrick or myself. While the whole scene would only take up a couple of pages of the finished product, we’d be lucky if we finished in one day. Oh well, that’s why I got paid what I did.

Patrick was already on the set. “Hey, Kim,” he said as he grinned at me. That was another source of my unease. Patrick and I had never really talked in depth. I knew we’d end up shooting lots of romantic scenes together: holding hands, dancing, and, unless I was very lucky, kissing. I just hoped that Patrick knew what I did on camera in no way reflected my feelings in real life. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed that he would be interested in me, but I wasn’t about to take any chances. The first time I sensed he was getting too into it I’d take him aside and politely tell him to back off. Checking my makeup one last time, I slid into my seat.

There would be no more than eight pictures from this scene in the catalog, but the shooting took over nine hours. I was exhausted by the time Kunyak decided we had had enough for the day. I quickly retired to my dressing room to change back into my jeans and sweater. Though I had planned on leaving my makeup on until I got home, a glance in the mirror told me that stage makeup looked foolish on me. I cleaned it off, then reapplied it at a normal thickness. I sighed. Applying makeup had become a daily ritual with me. I was lonesome for the days when getting ready to go out meant taking a shower, nothing more. I shook my head and left the dressing room.

The studio was dark, but there was a light coming from under the door to the area where the film was processed. ‘Slim’ Arlo, the chief photo technician was probably working late again, trying to get everything processed and ready in time. I slipped through the door and into his workroom to tell him good night.

Slim was hunched over his computer, manipulating the shots of the day on his screen. “Hey, Kim,” he said, not turning around. “Check this out.”

Grudgingly, I walked over. Slim had the tendency to make me slightly nervous. He was middle aged, an ex-GI photographer from the Vietnam War who had a tendency to relate gruesome combat stories. Still, there was nothing overtly unlikable about him, so I bent over the screen to see what he had been working on. To my surprise, I was looking at a finished copy of the day’s shoot, just like it would appear in print.

“I’m impressed, Slim. How did you managed to get this done so fast?”

“Ah, you guys did all the work. They sent me a copy of the captions earlier, so all I had to do was…” he then gave me a five-minute technical explanation that might as well have been in Chinese for all I understood.

I gazed with interest at the screen. The page was titled “Love at First Sight.” Each picture contained a small caption describing a particular article of clothes. Everything was related in details, including my jewelry, and the name of the manicurist who had done my nails.

“This is kind of an odd feeling,” I thought out loud.

“What’s that?” said Slim, still never having looked up from the screen.

“All these photos of me; all these descriptions of what I’m wearing. It just seems like a lot of fuss over me.”

“Hey, you’re a professional model. There’s nothing strange about it.”

“Oh, I’m not really a model.”

“You’ve said that before. But you’re doing a year long shoot for a major bridal company. That makes you a model.”

I didn’t feel like arguing. “I guess it just hasn’t sunk in.”

“Here, let me show you something.” Slim pulled up another picture on the monitor. It was one of Patrick and I, sitting at the table. Patrick is smiling, and I’m laughing as if he had just told a funny joke. That had actually been a hard one to take; it’s not easy making a fake laugh look real. Luckily, Patrick had known a few actual jokes to help me along.

“You see here,” said Slim, “what do you see?”

“The photo form earlier today.”

“Okay, but say this wasn’t of you. Say you were someone else, seeing this photo and not knowing what it was from.”

“I see…” and then I stopped. I didn’t want to say it. I couldn’t admit it. What I saw, was a photo of a handsome guy and a pretty girl out on a date. We didn’t look like models. We just looked like a couple of young people enjoying being together. It was a photo of me on a date. And I was the girl.

“See what I mean?” asked Slim, almost reading my thoughts. “Most models make these shots look staged and awkward. You two, hell. If I didn’t know what I was looking at, I’d swear you were Patrick’s girlfriend.”

I was too flustered to reply. Upon my request, Slim gave me a copy of the photo from his color printer. I went back home to study it. Me, on a date. Me, on a date in a skirt. Me, on a date with a guy. Me on a date as a girl.

When Lori came home, I showed her the photo. “What do you think?”

“You look great. You’re becoming quite the makeup artist.”

“No, I mean what does this picture remind you of? Pretend it wasn’t staged.”

“It looks like a couple of young people out on a…out having coffee.”

“That’s not what you were going to say. You were going to say, ‘out on a date.’”

“Maybe. Look, don’t worry about it! It may look real, but we know it’s staged. Just a photo shoot. Don’t sweat it.”

Late that night, I thought about what Lori had said. It was just a photo shoot. But that picture looked so real. What would the coming photos look like? Me, at a dance with Patrick? Patrick asking me to be his wife? Me as a bride? Me on my honeymoon? I didn’t like to imagine what those pictures would look like.

*

“Lori, have you been using my razor again?” I called out through the bathroom door.

“Sorry, Kim. I’m out of blades.”

“Damn it, Lori, you know I have a shoot today! I can’t very well go in with patchy legs!” Lori was a great roommate, but she got on my nerves at times. As I searched for a fresh blade, I pondered getting my own place.

After sufficiently denuding my legs, I wrapped a towel around me and walked to my bedroom. Lori saw me and giggled.

“What, may I ask, is so funny?”

“Nothing. Sorry.”

“It must have been something, or you wouldn’t have laughed.”

“Oh, it’s just the way you’re wearing that towel. Not around your waist like a man, but under your armpits, like a woman. It’s like you’re trying to cover your breasts.”

Annoyed, I disappeared into my bedroom. I hadn’t even realized I had been doing that! Of course, I had picked up a lot of feminine habits recently. I now frequently ducked into the lady’s room to check my appearance. I was careful with the way I handled things; I didn’t want to break a nail. I signed my name as Kim without consciously thinking about it. The summer couldn’t come soon enough, in my opinion. I wondered if I ever got married, if I’d ever tell my wife what I had done this year.

I pulled on a sweater and a long skirt, caring little about how I was dressed. As soon as I made it to the studio, I’d have to change anyway.

I arrived at the studio about a half-hour early, and found the crew setting up the scenery. The set was supposed to be ‘my’ bedroom in my imaginary house.

“Hey Kim,” said Slim, who was readying his camera.

“Hey Slim. Ready for another day of work?”

“You bet. What’s the deal with the bedroom shot? Inviting Patrick to spend the night already?”

“Har de har har. Patrick’s not in this one. It’s supposed to be of me getting ready for the date. I have to go through about a dozen outfit changes.”

“For one date?”

“It’s supposed to be like I’m so smitten with Patrick that I have to try on every outfit I own, just to find the perfect dress.”

“Sounds like an excuse to show off more of Kunyak’s designs.”

“Bingo. This will probably take over a month to do.”

I left to find Kunyak, to see what the outfit of the day would be.

“Good morning, Kimberly.” Kunyak, as usual, was relaxed, as if everything in his life was going exactly how he had planned. Who knows, maybe it was.

“Good morning, Mr. Kunyak. What am I going to be wearing today?”

“I thought we’d start you off simple. DuProit and Company sent over a pair of jeans, and I thought we’d have you try those pumps we discussed earlier in the week.” Mr. Kunyak was the only man I ever knew who could say something like that and not sound effeminate. I, on the other hand, sounded totally girlish whenever I discussed my clothes.

I looked the jeans over. They certainly didn’t leave much to the imagination. I’d have to pad extra carefully that day, so the tight jeans would show off my ‘curves.’

“And what did you have in mind for the shirt?”

“Well, that depends. Um, have you been dieting?” Mr. Kunyak had been very embarrassed when he asked me if I could try to lose ten pounds. He was of the conviction that I was beautiful the way I was, but since other designers were also contributing to the catalog, he had to put forward their suggestion I slim down, just a bit.

“Well, it hasn’t been easy, but I think I’ve managed to flatten my stomach a bit.” I pulled up my sweater to display my tummy. I wasn’t as flat as Lori was, but thanks to my working out, dieting, and hormones, my belly now curved inwards.

“Thank you, Kimberly. In that case, I think we’ll put you in the short sweater.” I looked at the pink garment. It was a design by another company; a light sweater that cut off just above my navel. I gathered my clothes together and went to try them on.

Getting into the jeans was trickier than I thought. They barely left enough room for my panties. It would have been impossible to fit so much as my keys into jeans this tight. Taking a deep breath, I managed to fit all of me inside. They were uncomfortable as hell, I felt like my testicles had been forced up into my throat.

Next, after adjusting my falsies, I slipped on the sweater. I regarded myself in the mirror. The diet had paid off; I could proudly display my flat little tummy, as was the style at the time. After applying my makeup, we began the shoot.

The entire day’s work left us with only one picture. Me, standing in front of a wall mirror, looking at myself skeptically. There might as well have been a thought bubble above my head reading ‘Will he like me in this?’ Nine hours of shooting and all it netted us was a shot for page six of the catalog. Oh well, that was Kunyak’s business, not mine. He obviously knew what he was doing.

After all was said and done, I didn’t feel like peeling myself out of my jeans. “Mr. Kunyak, do you mind if I just wear these home?”

Kunyak assented with a wave of his hand, a gesture only the truly rich can successfully make. “Come back tomorrow. We’ll discuss the future shots.”

“Okay, see you bright an early.”

“Don’t bother. You won’t be in any shots tomorrow; it’ll be Patrick’s turn. Come in around noon.”

As I hailed a cab to take me home, I began to regret not changing at work. The pants were so tight that they were hard to walk in, and the midriff showing sweater was a bit chilly in the late September evening. The construction worker who whistled at me didn’t improve my disposition, either.

“Hey Lori, I’m home.”

“Hey Kim, I…wow, you look great!”

“What do you mean?”

“That outfit, it really suits you.”

“Please. These pants are about five sizes too small.”

“Really?” She looked at the tag. “They’re not too much smaller than the pants I got you when you first came here.”

“That can’t be. Hell, I’ve been dieting, they should be looser, not tighter.” I noticed Lori was looking at me in an odd way. “What?”

“Kim, do me a favor, and get undressed.”

“Why?”

“Please, I want to see something.”

I went into the bathroom and removed everything but my sex-hiding thong and my panties. Lori knocked and entered. She smiled.

“What?” I was beginning to get angry with her cryptic behavior.

“You haven’t noticed? Those hormones have done a number on you.”

“They might have made me a little chubbier in areas, but I fail to see anything major.”

“I guess you’re too close to things to notice. Good God, girl, your rear end is about twice the size as it used to be. And your hips are as big as mine! Your waist is thinner, but that’s probably due to your diet. And your chest!”

“What about my chest?” I examined it. It had changed, a little. The nipples were larger, and darker. And they stuck out as well, just a little. Humiliated, I pulled my top back on.

“I don’t see what you’re making such a big deal about,” I said, trying to mask my embarrassment. “We knew there’d be changes. That’s the whole point.”

“I know. I just think it’s cute. You are developing a nice figure, Kim.”

I snorted. Didn’t she know how hard this had been for me? I think she sensed my unease.

“Kim, don’t get mad. I’m not trying to tease you. It’s just hard sometimes, not to think of you as a woman. When I tell you that you make a cute girl, I mean it as a complement.”

“Well,” I said, somewhat mollified, “if you want to make me feel good, no more compliments.”

Lori winked at me.

*

The next day I returned to the studio. After a brief meeting with Kunyak to discuss the order and times of the shooting the following weeks, I stopped by the set to see how Patrick’s shooting was progressing. The crew was taking a break. I glanced at some of the proofs Slim was editing.

“What the heck’s this?” I said, looking at a picture.

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? All yesterday everyone kept telling me to look nervous and self-conscious, like I was worried about what Patrick would think of me. But Patrick looks like he’s about to go conquer the world.”

Slim grinned. “It’s what Kunyak wanted. Patrick is supposed to be totally sure of himself, but you’re supposed to be frightened that he won’t be interested in you.”

I turned away. It was a nasty experience to know what sexism is like. I guess people like Lori had to put up with it their whole lives; me, I was just starting to notice it.

I was interrupted from my sulking by a voice behind me. “Hi, Kim. Didn’t expect to see you here today.” It was Patrick.

“Hey, Patrick. What are you up to?”

“Just finishing up around here. So what are your plans tonight?”

Without thinking, I told him I didn’t have any.

“Well, maybe you’d like to have dinner with me?” he asked. He wasn’t cocky about it, but he was clearly asking me out.

I opened my mouth to tell him no, when I began to think. We would be working together for a long time, and asking me to dinner was rather innocent. If I said no, he’d probably think I was being snobbish, and felt too important to hang out with him. I’d be working with him for many months, and I didn’t want him to think I was a bitch.

“Okay. Sure. I’ll meet you here around 5:00.”

When I came home, I was restless and uneasy, wondering if I had made the right choice. Lori noticed my discomfort, and wangled a confession out of me.

“So you’re going out with Patrick tonight?”

“It’s not like that. We’re just friends.”

“I understand. So what are you going to wear?”

“I’m not sure. The last thing I want to do is give the impression I’m excited about going out with him. But I don’t want him to think I’m annoyed or bored with him. Jesus, I’m turning out worse than my image in the catalog.”

Lori smiled. “Just dress nice, but not erotically. Be friendly, but not flirty. I know you want to stay on his good side, so just relax, and have a good time. Most guys can tell when someone isn’t interested in them romantically. If you play your cards right, he’ll get the picture without you having to say a word.”

“Good advice. Now can you help me get ready? What should I wear?”

Lori and I scoured both my closet and hers. Finally, we selected a pair of black slacks, a tight gray sweater, and heels. The outfit gave the impression that I had put on something nice for the outing, but nothing out of the ordinary. We would just be a couple of friends out for dinner.

I met Patrick at the appointed time. “You look nice,” he said. As we walked out to his car, I mentally dissected the three -world sentence. What exactly did he mean by ‘nice’? What was he implying? I told myself to calm down and stop worrying.

We pulled up to a rather nice restaurant and soon we were seated and talking. It was the first time I had ever really talked to Patrick, and I quickly realized what a nice person he was. He wasn’t vain, or stupid, or overtly sexist. I began to regret that I wouldn’t be able to be friends with him after the year was over.

As the night wore on, I found myself doing something that I normally avoided: drinking. Maybe it was that I needed to unwind after the past couple of days of shooting, or maybe it was to hide my nervousness at being on a sham date. Whatever the cause, I found myself downing quite a few glasses of wine.

The liquor relaxed me. Soon I was guardedly talking about my fears about the photo shoot and how I would be glad when it was all over.

“It’s not that I don’t enjoy modeling, per se,” I babbled, “It’s just that it’s really not my thing.”

“Well, you’re rather good at it,” he replied. “Do you think you’d like to do more of it after this year?”

“I doubt it. I told you about the deal I made with Kunyak. After this, I’m hitting the books.”

“Wise choice.”

“Hey, what about you? I thought you were a college man.”

“I dropped out.”

“Why? I mean, if you don’t mind my asking.”

“I…I just went through a nasty breakup. I couldn’t concentrate on my classes, so I took a year off. Hopefully working on this shoot will help me to forget…things.”

I smiled my sweetest smile. “Well, it beats the foreign legion. I’m sure you won’t even remember her name once we’re finished.”

Patrick got an odd look on his face when I said that. For a moment I feared that I had offended him; for all I knew, he didn’t want to forget her. We were silent for a while. When Patrick spoke again, he took the conversation in another direction.

“Kim, I’ve really enjoyed tonight. You’re a good conversationalist. I feel that I’ve known you for a long time.”

‘Oh God,’ I thought. ‘Here is comes. He’ll tell me what a friend I am, how he feels a bond between us, how he thinks we’ll get along well, and would I like to come back to his place? Forget it.’

I had misjudged Patrick, however, as I found out when he continued speaking. “Kim, I’m going crazy here. I was in love last year, and when we broke up…I guess I’m wondering if I’ve made the mistake of my life. I’m sorry to unload on you, you’re the only person I know here in New York.”

Relieved that he at least wasn’t going to make a pass at me right then, I began to relax. “Patrick, I know how lonely this town can be (cue musical score). If you feel like talking, I’m a good listener.”

He smiled. “There’s not a lot to tell. I guess I’m wondering what I’ve given up.”

“I take it you still have feelings for her?”

Patrick got the funny look again. “Kim, I know I’m telling you a lot of personal things for someone you don’t know very well. Seriously, we can talk about something else, if you like.”

Though I didn’t exactly feel like playing Freud that night, I figured he needed a friend to listen to him. “Please Patrick, let it out. It’s okay.”

“Kim, can I tell you something personal? Something you’ll have to swear not to tell another soul?”

“Sure…certainly.” Actually, I didn’t like the sound of that. Just what was he about to reveal to me?

“The relationship I ended last year,” he paused again. “It was with a guy.”

I guess my shock was obvious, because he looked deeply ashamed. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” he said, humiliated.

“No, no, Patrick, please.” I felt like the biggest heel in the world; after all, I was sitting there dressed like a woman. Who was I to be shocked at someone ‘coming out’? Overcoming my revulsion, I reached over and patted his hand. “I just had no idea you were…”

“But I’m not!” he interjected. “I never have been!” He couldn’t make eye contact when he said this. “But when I met Jeff last year. I dunno…first we were friends, but then it got physical. I never thought I’d ever feel that way for a man, but I guess that was the closest I’ve ever come to being in love.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, I wasn’t gay, but Jeff was. Openly. He got tired of sneaking around, said he wanted us to be a couple. I couldn’t do that. So we ended it.” Patrick rubbed his forehead. “What the hell’s wrong with me?”

I was surprised how despondent he looked. It wasn’t hard for me to sympathize. He had done an unmasculine thing, and now he was worried about the significance. I certainly felt for him, I was in the exact same situation. Of course, I had Lori to talk to; Patrick probably didn’t have anyone to confide in. On the other hand, Patrick did what he did freely; I had been forced.

I knew what I had to do. Knowing that I would soon be desperately trying to suppress the memory, I took his hand in mine. “Patrick,” I began, “you have nothing to worry about. You were just curious, that’s all. I bet you’d be surprised at the number of guys who’ve been in similar situations.” Patrick instantly brightened. I think he just needed someone to tell him he wasn’t less of a man. I continued. “Now you seem to think highly of this Jeff person, but I don’t think it would have lasted. You obviously aren’t ready to make a relationship like that public, and it would have been unfair to both of you to assume things would have worked out. Treasure your memories, and don’t worry about it.”

Patrick smiled and me and squeezed my hand. I politely retracted it. “Thank you so much, Kim. I guess I just wanted to hear that from someone else.”

“No problem, Patrick.”

Patrick called me a cab to take me home. At the sidewalk, he gave me a hug. I wanted to wrench away, but I couldn’t. Ducking out of a kiss was one thing, but refusing a hug from a friend would have been callous.

*

Due to a series of technical setbacks, Patrick and I didn’t go on our ‘date’ until late October. This set production back considerably. By the time we were ready, it looked like we’d have to work ten-hour days until new years.

On the day of the shoot, everyone looked like they were ready to pull out their hair. I know I would have, had I not just gotten a permanent.

Today’s shooting would be outside on the New York City streets. I was wearing black leather boots, dark hose, a long charcoal skirt, and a white sweater. Patrick met me as I stepped out of the trailer where I dressed. “You ready?”

“I suppose. Let’s get it over with.”

Patrick grinned. “What kind of attitude is that for a first date?”

“I’m not in the mood, Patrick.”

“No, I’m serious. We’re supposed to be falling in love. I know things have been rough recently, but if both of us don’t look like we’re on cloud nine, Kunyak’s going to make us do it all over.” He paused. “Just pretend…uh, that we’re just going out for the night. Just us. No cameras, no catalog. Just relax.”

It sounded suspiciously like Patrick was trying to make this a real date, but I ignored it. He had made a good point. He was playing my future husband, I shouldn’t look as stressed and irritated as I felt.

“I’m sorry Patrick. I’ll put on a happy face. I’ve just been strung out recently.”

“Well, with the schedule we’re going to have to work, I can’t say I blame you.”

“Well, it’s not just that. I don’t know what’s wrong with me; I’ve just been real moody recently.”

“Have you been on any medication? I was on this stomach medication once that made me loopier than a bedbug.”

“Nothing new, just…” just synthetic female hormones. Yikes! Was that why I’d been on an emotional roller coaster recently? I’d talk to Lori about it when I came got home.

Patrick took me by the hand and we went off on our date. We tried to act casual as the cameraman snapped shot after shot of us dining, talking, drinking, window shopping (in front of a store displaying many of Kunyak’s designs, of course), and strolling through the park at twilight. Finally, we came to the scene I had been dreading: the goodnight kiss.

Now, despite the fact that Patrick had given me a kiss at the bridal show, this was different. The bridal kiss had been brief and almost chaste, a public kiss from a groom to a bride. This was different. This would be an ‘end-of-date, will I sleep with this woman someday?’ type of smooch.

Even though it was all staged, his lips would touch mine. And not briefly. We’d have to hold the kiss as the photographers set up the lighting, decided on angles, and a thousand other technical details. Which meant I could be spending about a half-hour with my lips against his.

My senior year in high school, I had been in a production of ‘The Music Man.’ In once scene I had been called upon to kiss a pretty girl. I was all for it, but she let me know that there was no way. We got around it by my putting my back to the audience and pretending to kiss her. I had hoped that I could do it like that here, but no dice.

“The kiss,” Kunyak had told me, “is vital. This catalog is targeted to young brides. They have to be thinking ‘this is true love.’ After that, they’ll associate my clothes with that feeling. So kiss him like you mean it. He’s not bad looking, it shouldn’t be too hard.”

Shouldn’t be too hard. Right. Maybe if I was a real woman, but as a guy I had zero desire to lock lips with Patrick. I wondered what he’d think if he knew my true gender. At first I thought he’d be disgusted and angry, but now that he had confided his romantic past in me, I had begun to wonder. Maybe he’d even like the fact I was secretly a guy. Well, it was an academic point. He’d never know my secret.

I approached the kiss the same way that I faced having my wisdom teeth out: I didn’t think about it until it was happened. Even when I stood in front of him at the door to ‘my’ apartment building, my mind was elsewhere, avoiding what was about to occur.

Patrick placed his hand on my cheek. He moved his head closer. I could smell the chewing gum on his breath. His lips touched mine, and pressed. Hard.

At first, I closed my eyes and tried to pretend I was kissing a girl. No such luck. Patrick’s stubble, prominent jaw, and rough hand precluded any thoughts of femininity. No, I was kissing a man.

I tried to relax. Really I did. But the fact that I was locking lips with someone of the same gender kept creeping back to my mind. I guess it showed, because Kunyak yelled for us to stop.

“Kim,” he said, “you need to calm down. I know it’s not easy kissing someone on command, but remember what I told you earlier. Try not to look so tense.”

Take two. I took a deep breath and let him kiss me. I put everything out of my head. With a little biofeedback I managed to let my muscles go limp, my breathing to calm, and allow myself to be smooched. In a little more than ten minutes, it was all over. When Kunyak announced we could stop, I got the irritating impression Patrick held on to me just a little longer than he needed to.

Wishing to avoid looking at Patrick, I excused myself to go home. In order not to think about what just happened, I engaged in mindless banter with the cabby. Soon I was back in Lori’s apartment.

“So how did the shoot go?” she asked.

“It went okay, I guess.” I could tell Lori was dying to ask about the kiss, but prudently held her tongue. She knew how sensitive I was about this.

“Lori, can I ask you a personal question?” I ventured, wondering if I should even mention it.

“Of course, Kim. What’s on your mind?”

“Would you ever consider dating a guy who’d spent a year as a girl?”

Lori sat me down on the sofa. “That’s a good question. I guess you deserve an honest answer. I don’t know. That would be a lot for a woman to take.”

I sighed. “Lori, I’m getting scared. I’m wondering if I’ve got in too deep. Being Kim for a year, growing breasts, dressing as a bride…not to mention I practically had to make out with Patrick tonight. Maybe I should just give this up and get my manhood back.”

Lori slung an arm around me. “Kim, you’re right, you are in very deep. Too deep to walk away just now. After all you’ve suffered, do you really want to stop now? You’d be giving up a great opportunity, not to mention all the work you’ve done so far. See this thing out; you’ve worked too hard to quit.”

“Maybe so, but I feel like I’m loosing my mind! One moment I’m disgusted with myself, the next, I’m upset because I broke a nail. I go from ecstatic to weepy in a couple of minutes. This lifestyle’s making me bonkers!”

Lori smiled. “I don’t think it’s the lifestyle, sis.”

“Then what is it?”

“The hormones. You’re experiencing the ups and downs of womanhood. Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it. Just keep a cool head.”

“So in other words, I’m going through PMS. Jesus, could I be any less manly?”

“I’m starting to worry about you. I’ll tell you what, maybe you’re approaching this the wrong way.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just forget you were a man. Pretend you were always a woman. Hell, sometimes I forget you weren’t born my sister.”

“Don’t be stupid, Lori. I can’t ‘forget’ my gender.”

“I don’t mean literally. Just stop thinking of how a man would act. Every time you have to do something unmanly, just tell yourself ‘I am a woman.’ Living in denial can be powerful.”

I shook my head, and locked myself in my room. I disrobed down to my panties and regarded my naked form. Hairless. Big rear. Hips. Flat stomach. Tiny breasts with sensitive, perky nipples. My sex drive had decreased recently, as well. I could still get an erection, but the lust I used to feel for all pretty women was gone.

I pulled on a padded bra and looked at the girl in the mirror. “I am a woman,” I told her. “I am a woman and the year will be over before I know it. Be brave.”

*

It’s weird how often an innocuous event can change the course of one’s life. People meet their soulmate at a change encounter at a 7-11. Someone gets hit by a car crossing the street to buy a newspaper. A summer job becomes the career of a lifetime.

Sometimes I’m amazed at how many little events lead up to what eventually happened. Lori breaking her legs. Kunyak taking a shine to me. My avarice overcoming my pride when he offered me a job. And of course, there was the snowstorm.

November passed in a series of ten to twelve hour a day blurs. Patrick and I went on several more sham dates. Parties, where dozens of models had a chance to show off their clothes. A symphony, where Patrick and I could model our fancy formalwear. A winter hike, where we could display the outdoorsy designs of one of Kunyak’s colleagues. We were about to get back on schedule and be able to slacken our pace again, when the blizzard hit town.

It was a freak, late fall occurrence. Anyone who lived out east at that time is sure to remember it. Roads shut down, schools closed, electricity out, general headaches all around. Everywhere we had planned to shoot was buried under two feet of snow. We managed to do a few impromptu shots in the studio, but that quickly petered out. We could only show Patrick and myself in our ‘apartments’ so many times.

Kunyak was beside himself. He’d pace the darkened studio, tearing at what little hair nature had left him. Every day without shooting would mean a few less pages in the finished product. And less pages meant fewer ads. And fewer ads meant less money.

I remember it was December 3rd when Kunyak called me at home, telling me to meet him at the studio, ASAP. I wondered what was up. I hoped he had found a new photo location. With the money being lost every day, there was talk of postponing the whole project indefinitely.

When I arrived at the studio, a found Kunyak leaning back in his director’s chair, calm and confident as ever. Patrick arrived a few minutes later.

“So what’s the big news?” asked Patrick. “Figure out a way to do some shooting?”

“Perhaps. Kimberly, would you mind showing us your back?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Your back. Could you pull up your shirt, please?”

Wondering what was going on, I hiked the back of my sweater up over my shoulders.

“Hmmm,” said Kunyak. “What do you think, Patrick?”

“Uh, about what?”

“About Kimberly’s back.”

“Um. Well, it’s nice. Muscular. A guy might enjoy rubbing lotion on it.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

I let my sweater drop, offended. “Are you two through?” I asked, angrily. “Or should I show some leg now?”

“I apologize,” said Kunyak. “But believe it or not, I do have a reason behind this. You see, I think it’s time for you to sleep with Patrick.”

“All right!” yelled Patrick. I assumed he was horsing around. I, however, was much less enthused.

“What exactly do you mean?”

“Hear me out. In catalog time, you and Patrick have been dating for almost half a year. I have a friend who has a cabin upstate. I was thinking catalog Kim and catalog Patrick could spend a weekend there. More outdoor clothes, bathrobes for when they change out of their winter things, and pajamas for the night (we’ll save the lingerie for the honeymoon). Also, a supplier of home furnishings has expressed interest in this spread. You know, bedding, curtains, throw rugs. If this goes off, we can recoup most of the losses.”

That wasn’t what was on my mind. “So what does this have to do with my back?”

“Well, myself and several of the other designers thought that there hasn’t been enough sensuality between you and Patrick. We’re going to need a shot of you two in bed. And in order to really sell it, you’ll need to be topless.”

“Topless? No thank you! This is a clothes catalog we’re making, not soft core porn.”

“Relax Kimberly. The shot will be set up with Patrick in the background, facing the camera. You’ll be facing him, with your back to the camera. Very sexy, very erotic, but only your lovely backside visible.”

“So that means Patrick will see my bare chest.” Patrick looked nervous, but not unhappy, when I said this.

“I suppose, but if you just try to see things…”

“No way! Not a chance. Nothing doing.” I couldn’t very well let Patrick see my tiny little fake breasts. He’d know the truth instantly.

Mr. Kunyak looked at Patrick. “May we have a few moments alone?” Patrick excused himself.

“Kimberly, I have to be honest with you. We’re really hurting financially here. I can’t afford to keep everyone on the payroll when we can’t shoot. We must do this, or I’m just going to write this project off. And I’m afraid that means your scholarship will go too.”

“Is it really that serious? I mean, does this whole shoot depend on Patrick seeing my breasts?”

“I’m afraid so. The sponsors want sexy. You should have seen the shoot they originally wanted to do.”

I was growing upset. Giving up the scholarship I had sacrificed all these months for. I wanted to cry. But one fact remained. There was no way I could let Patrick in on my dirty little secret.

“Look, just think about it tonight. I’m sorry I have to be like this, but I’m a businessman first.”

I left without saying goodbye.

When I got home, Lori was out. ‘Stupid sexist society,’ I thought. ‘They can’t even sell bed sheets without me taking my top off. I should have known better than to try and get away with this.’ Taking off my shirt and inspecting my breasts, I wondered if they could pass for real.

No, no such luck. While I was surprised at how quickly they were developing, they still looked like they belonged on a thirteen-year old girl, not a woman. True, they jiggled a bit. They were also pert and soft, with brown nipples the size of quarters. Extra sensitive as well. I now knew why women wore bras, even when they were home alone. But I could never pass myself off as extra-flat. Patrick would think something was up.

But then I began to think. Hadn’t Patrick confided an embarrassing secret in me? True, one homosexual experience wasn’t nearly as weird as dressing like a bride, but it was a bond. Maybe if I leveled with him, told him what to expect, he’d understand. Or at least keep his mouth shut about what he saw, if not for my sake, for the sake of his job.

Now the fact that we had kissed several times complicated matters. How would he react? Well, he had kissed another man willingly, so he’d probably let this go.

There was a knock at the door. I wasn’t surprised when it turned out to be Patrick. “Kunyak sent you over, didn’t he?” I said before he could say anything.

“Uh, yes he did. Listen, would it really be so bad? I promise to be a gentleman. Seriously, would this be the first time a guy saw your breasts?”

“Yes, Patrick, it would.”

“Oh.” Patrick seemed stunned, I guess he didn’t have me pegged for a virgin.

“But that’s not why I’m scared,” I continued. “Look, I’m mature enough to do this, and I trust you. But I have a secret, Patrick. Something I’m afraid to let you know.”

“Please Kim, you can tell me. What? Do you pad your bra? It’s okay, I won’t tell.”

“Well, yes, but it’s not that. Patrick, earlier this year you told me a secret. Can I tell you one now? A bigger one?”

“Um, all right. What?”

“I’m not really a woman. I’m a man in drag.” Patrick laughed.

“No, I’m serious. I’m Lori’s brother, not her sister. I had to fill in for her at the bridal show after the accident, and I stayed on because the money was so good. Here, look at this.” I showed him my old driver’s license. “See, that’s me.”

Patrick stared at the picture a bit. Then, without a word, he stood up and kicked Lori’s coffee table half way across the floor. “You son of a bitch!” he screamed.

I began to fear for my safety. “Patrick, what the hell’s gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into me? How in God’s name can you ask that? You let me kiss you a bunch of times, and then expect me not to be pissed off?”

“Well Patrick, I thought you’d understand. I mean, you’ve already…” I trailed off.

“I’ve already what? Kissed a guy? Is that what you were going to say?” He punched the wall. “I guess you think that makes me a fag, huh? Well it doesn’t. I told you before it was a one time thing. I don’t care how you live your life, but I’m sure as hell never getting close to you again. In fact, I’m going to go tell Kunyak the truth.” He left before I could say anything else.

It had never occurred to me he’d be this angry. I should have left bad enough alone and quit when I still could have. Now, Kunyak and all my friends from the shoot would know my horrible secret. I was sunk. I curled up on the sofa and did something I hadn’t done since Lori’s accident: I bawled.

I must have fallen asleep on the couch. When I glanced around the apartment, I realized it was the middle of the night. I rubbed my tear swollen eyes and got up. A lone answering machine message told me that Lori was going to spend the night at a friend’s house, thereby depriving me of the one person I could confide in.

I wandered to the bathroom to wash my face. ‘What should I do?’ I asked the frightened, disheveled girl who started back at me from the mirror. ‘Face Kunyak, or just run away now?’ I was interrupted from my introspection by the shrill ringing of the phone.

Late night phone calls are never a good thing. Perhaps it was Mr. Kunyak calling to fire me on the spot. Or Patrick, wanting to yell at me some more. Still, it could have been a real emergency, so I picked up.

“Kim, is that you?” It was Patrick.

“Yes,” I answered guardedly.

“I’m sorry to call so late, but I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere?” He didn’t seem angry. Hoping for a way out of the mess I found myself in, I gave him the address of a local greasy spoon and told him I’d be there in a half-hour.

When I arrived at the all-night diner, Patrick was already there waiting for me. “Kim, please sit down.” Good, he was calm. Maybe we could work out some way for me to hold on to my secret.

“Patrick,” I began, “I’m sorry for lying to you. I shouldn’t have…”

“No, Kim, I’m the one who should be sorry. I confide a secret in you and you’re there for me, you confide in me and I blow up. I had no right.” I tried to interject something, but he held up his hand.

“Look, it’s just after what happened between Jeff and myself, I’ve been really questioning my manhood. I was afraid I was gay. And when I met you, I…well, I might as well be honest. I was really attracted to you. I’ve been thinking about you constantly, ever since the first bridal show. I really enjoyed kissing you on all those shoots, and when I thought I was going to see you topless…well, let’s just say I was convinced that my attractions lay firmly with women. Then, when I found out the woman I had been fantasizing about all these months was a man, it just put me back to square one.”

I hung my head. “I’m so sorry, Patrick. It wasn’t fair to you. At least you were honest with from the start. I haven’t been honest until now.”

Patrick took my hand and I didn’t pull away. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s just pretend tonight never happened. If you’ll forget my bad attitude, I’ll forget your secret. And if you do decide to do that topless shoot, trust me, I’ll never tell.”

As I left the diner that night, I was both relieved at Patrick’s understanding, and ashamed at my own deception. I was also nervous. I had no idea Patrick’s feelings were that strong for me.

Of course I ended up agreeing to that damn sexist shoot. Our jobs would have been in jeopardy otherwise. So for two solid days, I held hands with Patrick as we pretended to ice skate, toasted him as we snuggled in front of the fireplace, and made out with him as we rolled around on a bearskin rug.

Finally, ‘the’ shoot came. I warned all the crew that if anyone so much as tried to catch a glimpse of my front side, I was walking off the project. It was bad enough I had to expose my new breasts to Patrick, a guy who admittedly had the hots for me. The crew agreed. Since my back was to the camera, they all stood a few paces back, allowing me security from any prying glances.

Patrick did a good job of playing it cool. Very rarely did I catch him stealing a glance at my developing nipples. But he did see everything, from my head to my navel. I was glad when Mr. Kunyak said “That’s a wrap,” and I could get dressed again.

As I sipped hot chocolate and waited for the drivers to bring around the trucks to take us back to town, I pondered what had happened. Why did I feel so naked back there? I had been topless at dozens of pools, beaches, and locker rooms all my life. And yet with Patrick, I felt I was standing there without a stitch on.

God, these hormones were doing strange things to me. I guess now that I had breasts, I felt quite girlish. Women don’t take off their tops for the world to see. I guess I was experiencing was typical feminine modesty.

Patrick tapped my on the shoulder. “Great shoot. Bet you’re glad it’s over with.”

“Bet you aren’t,” I teased him.

“Well, I’m not the only one. Randy (the teenage gofer), has been pestering me to give a Technicolor description of what I saw.”

“Wonderful. Just remember your promise.”

“Yeah. Hey listen,” he looked around to make sure no one could hear us. “You told me you were a guy, but that sure wasn’t a man’s chest I saw there. I mean, they were tiny, but those were definitely breasts.”

I blushed. “I’m taking estrogen. I’ve developed a bit, you might say.”

Patrick shook his head, as if to clear it. “Kim, I know you claim to be a man, but if you don’t mind my saying, you’ve got the makings of a damn fine woman.” He hurried off before I could think of a comeback.

*

That was the last major shoot of ’99. We all had a week off for Christmas. Lori and I both looked forward to spending Christmas with our mother. Since my rapidly increasing breasts made wearing male clothes impossible, I elected to spend the holidays as Kim.

Christmas was relaxing. Mom eagerly asked questions about the shoot, the clothes I was wearing, how I wore my hair, and such. At first I found it a little unnerving; it was if I were her daughter and had always worn dresses, but after a bit the three of us were chatting away about female clothes, as natural as could be.

When Christmas morning dawned, Lori and I rushed to the tree, as eager as if we were still both six years old. Mom and Lori both appreciated the clothes I had gotten them with my employee discount at Mr. Kunyank’s firm. Most of my presents were my usual Christmas fare: books, CDs, a video game. But a couple of presents made me wonder. Lori had gotten me an expensive makeup mirror. Mom had gotten me a curling iron and a blow dryer. I thanked them, but I began to wonder. In six months the photo shoot would be over. Why would they get me presents that I would only need for half a year?

Finally, Lori and I opened two presents that mom insisted that we open together. I was surprised to find that both boxes contained a white sundress, with a floral design. Lori squealed and thanked mom, I did so with less enthusiasm. It seemed like such a waste of money. I’d maybe be able to wear it a couple of times in the summer; after that it would just go to goodwill (or more likely, Lori’s closet).

“Well, what are you waiting for?” asked Mom. “Try them on!”

Lori took me by the hand and lead me two her bedroom where we began to change into our Christmas gifts. It wasn’t until Lori was helping me button up the back that I realized we both had just stripped to our skivvies without a second thought. We were both used to thinking of me as Kim, I guess.

Lori insisted that we dress as much alike as possible. Matching shoes, matching jewelry, matching makeup. When she finished, we stepped out and presented ourselves to Mom.

“You two look darling!” she said. “Like twin sisters.”

“Hang on, now,” I replied. “Remember, only one of us is a sister.”

“I know,” said Mom, “but you could easily pass for one now.”

I didn’t want to cast a pall on Christmas by arguing, but I felt I had to say something. “What do mean by that? You realize I’m only doing this for the money.”

“But are you having any fun?” asked Lori.

I was about to answer with a resounding ‘no,’ but decided to think about it a bit. “Well, New York’s been fun, and I guess I’ve met some interesting people. But it’s only going to last for a few more months. Why did you guys get me all this girl stuff?”

Mom looked at Lori and she nodded. “Well,” began Mom, “I know you keep saying you want to go back to living as a guy. But Lori and I both want you to know, that if for any reason you want to continue being Kim, well, you won’t owe us any explanations.”

I tried to protest, but Lori beat me to the punch. “We’re not saying that you like living as a woman, or that you should or anything. But we both think you make a lovely girl. So if, for some reason, you don’t want to go back to being Ken, we’d support you completely.”

I took a deep breath to control my temper. “Thank you, but that won’t be happening. Now who’s up for ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’?

As we watched the Christmas classic, I tried to decide why my family was acting this way. I confronted Lori when we were alone.

“What was all that about?”

“I guess we were a little presumptuous there. I’m still trying to figure out how you feel about things.”

“Nothing’s changed. I don’t like this lifestyle, I can’t wait to change back.”

“We figured as much. But you used to complain about it constantly, now you seem to really be happy. I haven’t seen you in male clothes since the summer, and those hormones are turning you into a doll! I guess we just figured that if you happened to enjoy being Kim, you didn’t need to be ashamed of it.”

“Well, thanks for the sentiment, but come July, it’s all over. Still, I guess I am getting used to Kim. It won’t be easy turning back.”

“You’ll do fine. Just remember what we said.”

*

All too soon the vacation was over and we had to fly back to New York. We did not, however, have to immediately have to return to work. Kunyak had arranged a huge New Year’s party for everyone involved in the shoot. Just about everyone attended. As the world rang in the new millennium (or hunkered down in Y2K survival shelters), Lori, myself, and about forty crew members gathered at Kunyak’s mansion to count down till midnight.

Soon the party was in full swing, with all kinds of dancing, romancing, and drinking. Since I didn’t care to do any of these things, I ended up in a back bedroom, watching a broadcast of the celebrations in La Paz, Caracas, and Halifax. I was lonely. This was the big new years, the once in a thousand years celebration, and here I was, alone. No date, no chance of romance, not even a kiss at midnight.

There was a tap at the door. Patrick walked in. He was wearing wet swim trunks and had a towel wrapped around his shoulders. I had never realized how muscular he was.

“Hey Kim. You ought to go for a swim. The water’s great.”

“Sorry, Patrick. Um, I don’t exactly fit in a swimsuit.”

“Oh, er, right. Sorry. I keep forgetting.”

“So do a lot of people. My family included.”

Patrick shut the door and sat down next to me. “So why are you back here all alone?”

“I guess I’m a little depressed. It’s new years and I’m alone. I can’t meet a girl like this, and I’m not interested in meeting a guy. I’m just stuck between two worlds and I’m beginning to realize just how long a year is.”

Patrick patted my shoulder. Ever since I started being Kim, I became aware of how guys would use any excuse to touch a woman. I couldn’t help thinking that even Patrick’s friendly pat was an excuse to make physical contact with me. I sighed.

There was a hubbub from the main room of the house. I realized that the final countdown to midnight had begun.

“Patrick, you better join everyone or you’ll miss the big moment.”

“Are you going?”

“No. I don’t feel like it.”

“Can I stay with you?”

“If you like.” I could hear the other partygoers chanting TEN, NINE, EIGHT… Patrick touched my cheek.

“Happy new years, Kim.” SEVEN, SIX, FIVE

“Happy new years, Patrick.” FOUR, THREE, TWO… Patrick moved in to kiss me.

“Patrick, no!”

ONE! Suddenly, all the electricity in the house went off and didn’t come back on. We found out later that it was the world of a prankster who had snuck down to the fuse box to give everyone a Y2K scare. He screwed something up and couldn’t get the power back on immediately.

We were in a windowless room and the door was shut. It was pitch black. Patrick gently took my face in his hands and pulled me towards him.

I don’t know why I didn’t resist. ‘It’s new years,’ I told myself. ‘Out of all the girls here, he chose to be with me. What’s the harm of one little kiss?’

His lips pressed to mind. Soft, yet forcefully. ‘We’ve kissed before, why should this be all that different?’ His arms wrapped around my waist. ‘I’m going to have to tell him to stop soon. Very soon.’

I laid my hands on his bare, powerful chest. His tongue probed my lips. We began to breathe harder. Suddenly, we were startled by the flash of the lights going back on. And there I sat, on the bed, making out with a half naked man.

“I have to go!” I said, as I darted from the room.

*

The next day, as Lori nursed a hangover, I sat around and thought. Why had I kissed Patrick? Much as I wanted to think otherwise, Patrick never forced me to do anything. Of my own free will, I sat and kissed him. It wasn’t for a shoot, or for the sake of the public. I had kissed a guy for no reason.

Lori, even with her headache, noticed my squirreliness and asked what was wrong.

“Lori, I need to talk to you. Can you promise to stay serious and be honest?”

“Of course, Kim,” replied Lori, obviously worried.

“I kissed Patrick last night.”

“So? You’ve kissed him lots of times.”

“That was for the catalog, this was different. It was a new years, midnight kiss. And it lasted a few minutes.”

“I was wondering where you were. But what’s the big deal? It was new years, and you got caught up in the moment.”

I wished I could be convinced. “But it was more than that. I mean, I’m a guy! What am I doing kissing another guy for?”

“Listen, Kim. You told me yourself that thanks to the estrogen you’ve lost most of your sex drive. Patrick’s a cute guy, and you’ve been playing the part of a woman for months now. You’re just getting into the roll, that’s all. I wish I had a nickel for every guy I kissed that I shouldn’t have.”

“So what do I tell Patrick when I see him next?”

“You won’t have to tell him anything. Just because you kissed him, doesn’t make you his girlfriend.”

I pretended to take Lori’s words to heart, but I was still a bit disturbed. I wouldn’t have kissed a woman I didn’t like as long as I kissed Patrick. What had I been thinking?

When the time came for me to go back to work, I honestly wanted to call in sick rather than face Patrick. I knew better than Lori did about how guys think. I wasn’t so sure Patrick wouldn’t take my kiss as proof that I liked him.

I ran into Patrick in the studio parking lot. “Hey Kim, great to see you,” he said.

“Hi Patrick,” I replied, a little more enthusiastically than I had planned. “It’s nice to see you too.”

“I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye after new years.”

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that. Listen…” How to put this?

“Don’t worry, I understand. It was just something special for new years, that’s all.”

“Um, yeah. That’s it.”

“Okay. I hear ya. See you inside.” He grinned and entered the building. It was simple as that. He blew off what had passed between us. Just like it was nothing.

True, that was just what I wanted, but I felt strangely annoyed. I didn’t think anything of the kiss, but I was a little put out that it meant so little to him as well. He could have at least pretended I meant something to him.

The shot for today was another sham party, with more models and more clothes to try on. As I pretended to mingle comfortably in my blue pantsuit, I tried to shake the bizarre feelings that assaulted me. Why was I so offended at Patrick’s seeming indifference? What did it matter?

I couldn’t think of an answer. All I knew is that I was miffed. I guess that’s why when Patrick asked me if I wanted to have dinner with him that night, I agreed.

When I got home, Lori asked me how it went. “Okay, I suppose. But, um, I agreed to have dinner at his place tonight.”

“Hmm, wouldn’t take no for an answer, would he?”

“It’s not like that. In fact he kind of blew me off. I don’t know why I agreed to do this.”

For a second Lori looked stunned, but then she quickly recovered. “So he’s cooking you a meal? I can’t remember the last time a guy did that for me.”

I wore my hair up that night, with a long black skirt, and a sleeveless white top that buttoned in the front. I put on heels and spent almost an hour doing my makeup. Lori helped me. Following her advice, I unbuttoned my top further than I was used to wearing it, and spritzed on a bit of perfume. A little voice in the back of my head kept asking me why I was making such as effort. But I ignored that voice. I wanted to dress up. I’d work out the psychology behind it later.

When I arrived at Patrick’s place, I touched up my makeup one last time. “This is just a friendly dinner,” I told myself, and knocked.

Patrick was showered, shaved, and dressed up. His apartment had been cleaned and I could smell something delicious cooking in the kitchen. Light music played on the stereo. Patrick took my coat and asked me to have a seat. Then he poured us each a glass of wine.

As I relaxed and Patrick finished the meal, I pondered what I was getting myself into. Obviously, Patrick had planned a romantic evening for us, and wasn’t letting my protestations of non-interest get in his way. But for some reason, I was more flattered than disturbed.

During dinner, neither of us mentioned what had passed between us earlier. We chatted, laughed, and enjoyed each other’s company. After dinner, we sat on the couch and sipped some more wine. I giggled at Patrick’s attempts to subtly turn the lights down lower.

I wasn’t surprised when I felt Patrick lay his hand on the back of my neck. “Patrick,” I said, in spite of myself, “I told you, just friends.”

Patrick grinned sheepishly, but didn’t remove his hand. “I know, Kimberly. But I’m only human. I told you earlier how hard I’ve fallen for you. I thought your, ah, confession would make me stop seeing you like that, but it hasn’t.”

I stood up to get out of his reach, and turned my back towards him. “I’m sorry, Patrick. But you know…what I am.” I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘you know I’m a man.’ “I could never think of you in a romantic way.”

Patrick put his hands on my shoulders. “Look me in the eye and say that. Tell me, face to face, you have no feelings for me and I’ll never put the moves on you again.”

“Patrick, I have no feelings for you!” There, I said it.

“You’re still turned around. Face me and say it.” Patrick’s fingers pressed into my shoulders and gently massaged my neck. It felt good.

“Patrick, I…”

“Yes?” I could feel his breath on my neck.

“I…are you sure you want to get involved with me? I’m not sure what I want right now, but I am sure I’m going back to a life you can’t be part of in a few months. And that’s a fact.”

“We’ll worry about that when the time comes.” I felt his hot mouth kiss my neck. I stopped talking.

A few hours later, I was home, disheveled, makeup smeared, and nervously giddy. I removed all my clothes and climbed into the bathtub. I felt a little guilty, but not ashamed. While Patrick and I never went past first base (at my insistence, not his), we certainly had done more than I ever thought I’d happily do with a man.

I was confused, tired, and secretly happy. Nonetheless, I waited up for Lori to get home. When she entered and found me half-dozing on the couch, she smiled.

“So how did your…evening out go?” she asked, slyly.

“It was a date. We might as well say it.” Lori giggled.

“You like him, don’t you?” She seemed happy at the news.

“I’m not sure. Well, I guess. We just spent two hours making out.”

“You slut!” she chided, and hugged me. “But, um, Kim. Does he know about, you know?” I nodded, giving a brief account of how I told him, but leaving out his secret confession to me.

Lori collapsed in a spasm of laughing. “What’s so funny?” I asked.

“Nothing. I’m just happy for you. Patrick’s a great guy.”

I laid my head on Lori’s arm. “What the hell’s happening to me? I’m dating a guy! I’m not gay! I’m not a woman! So why am I enjoying it so much?”

“I dunno. Maybe I’m not the one to ask. You ought to talk to Dr. Klaus, he might have some ideas. Or better yet, his wife.”

“Good idea. I’m not sure I like the idea of getting involved with a guy when I’m about to give up womanhood forever.”

Lori looked a bit sad. “Truth be known, I’ll miss Kimberly. Just remember what we said at Christmas.”

*

The next day, I managed to make an appointment with Dr. Klaus, the German physician who supplied me with hormones. As I hung out in the waiting room, a young redhead exited his office. She was pretty, in a washed-out sort of way. What I couldn’t help noticing was how tall she was. She was well over six feet, a good deal taller than myself. As I gaped at her height, I suddenly realized what kind of doctor’s office I was in, and the probable reason behind why she was so tall. I caught her looking at me from the corner of her eye; she had probably come to the same conclusion about me.

‘She’ left and I was called into the doctor’s office. “How are you feeling today?” asked Dr. Klaus.

“Fine, thank you.”

“You’ve taken to womanhood quite well, if I may say so. Tell me, are you enjoying yourself?”

“That’s kind of what I need to talk about. Listen, is your wife in?” Dr. Klaus summoned his wife from the other room, and left us alone.

I surveyed Greta again. It was hard to believe she was anything other than an attractive, somewhat plump, middle-aged woman. “So what can I do for you?” she asked.

“Well, I’m having a lot of confusing thoughts recently. I was wondering if you could help me sort through them.”

“I’ll do my best.”

“Well, you know I only agreed to get on the hormones for my job. But the longer I’m on them, the more it seems like my life as a woman is the normal one. I think less and less about changing back, and more and more about becoming more of a woman. My family seems to think that there’s no reason for me to become a man again, and to make things worse…there’s this guy.” Greta smiled.

“He knows my secret, but he still likes me. And I think that I’m falling for him! I don’t know why that should be, but it is! Does any of this make sense?”

“Of course it does. When I first started taking hormones, I had no desire to become a woman. I didn’t even know I was on hormones. But after the physical changes forced me to adopt a female lifestyle, I loved it! I was attractive, popular, and had much higher self-esteem. Perhaps you’re just finding that your life is more exciting and fulfilling as Kim than it was as Ken.”

I thought about it. My life certainly was more exciting, with all the work, glamour shots, and popularity. But what about Patrick?

“As for this young man, I’m willing to guess he’s a nice guy who you get along with. There’s no telling what’s behind your attraction. My advice is to just go with it. If he knows your secret and your family is supportive, then there’s no reason not to risk seeing where this leads.” I thanked Greta and hugged her.

When I returned home, I noticed a big bouquet of roses on the table. “Who sent you the flowers?” I asked Lori.

She sighed over-dramatically. “No one.” My curiosity piqued, I looked at the card.

‘Kim’ it read,
‘I had a great time last night.
I have a feeling this is the start
of something wonderful.
XXX

Patrick’

“Oh, that is so sweet!” I said, no longer caring how girlish that sounded. Lori pretended to be jealous, but I could tell she was happy for me.

*
And so began three months where I stopped thinking of myself as a man. I took a ‘why fight it?’ attitude about the whole thing. I was going to be living as a woman, so, following Lori’s advice, I starting trying to think like one. It made things simpler.

It was hard to describe the relationship I had with Patrick at that time. I guess the easiest thing would be to call us ‘boyfriend and girlfriend,’ thought it wasn’t quite like that. I knew that come July I would be returning to manhood; I wasn’t so far gone as to want to spend the rest of my life as a woman. On the other hand, we certainly acted like a happy couple. We’d go out every weekend, go on dates, and do a lot of kissing. Patrick, in fact, wanted to do a lot more than kissing, but I refused. I was growing very fond of him, and didn’t allow myself to think of what would happen after the shoot was finished.

I was living in a fool’s paradise. Did I honestly think I could play with fire like that and then have everything turn out okay? I guess I assumed that Patrick never had any long-term plans that involved me, that he, like I, saw this as a fling, not a commitment. Still, the long nights and exciting weekends I spent with Patrick were a lot of fun. Little did I know how hard I was falling for him.

The whole thing came to a head when Patrick proposed to me. Not in real life, in the catalog. It was springtime, and I had shucked my winter clothes for halter-tops, sundresses, and spaghetti strapped tank tops. Patrick and I spent many days being photographed running through meadows, making necklaces out of daisies, and wading in brooks. I knew swimsuit season wasn’t far off, which worried me, but Lori said she had the situation under control.

Anyway, the plans called for Patrick to ‘propose’ to me while we were out on a romantic picnic. As I adjusted my sleeveless, backless dress and put on my sun hat, Patrick knocked and came into my dressing room.

“So are you ready to pop the question?” I teased him.

“Yep. And just look at the diamond the prop guys gave me.” He displayed a little plastic trinket that would only pass for the real thing in a distant photo.

“You honestly expect me to say yes to that? Please.”

“Don’t worry, if I ever ask you for real I’ll get something nicer.”

I didn’t like him even joking about that. Didn’t he know this was a one-year thing? “Let’s keep this serious,” I told him.

He frowned. “Well, you never know what the future holds,” he said, defensively.

“I know what the future holds for me. In a year I go back to being plain old Ken.”

“And adios to me?” he said, suddenly angry.

“Patrick, you knew when this started what my plans were. Did you honestly think I was going to spend the rest of my life as Kim?”

“I honestly thought I meant something to you. That maybe we had something special. You never even considered a long term relationship?”

“Of course not! Well, I guess I thought about it…”

“Kim, don’t do this to me. I couldn’t stand to lose you!” I had never seen him this shaken up.

“I’m sorry, Patrick. You…I’ve never felt this way about a man. If I were a real woman I know there’d be no problem. But I’m a man and I have to go back.”

“You make a lousy man. You’ll never be able to go back easily. Why do you need to go back at all?”

“How can you even ask that? I have to change back because…because…I just do!”

“You ‘just do’? You’re going to walk out on me because you ‘just do’? Wonderful. Goodbye, Kim.” He left and slammed the door.

That scene obviously cast a pall over the romantic proposal. It made both of us so edgy that Kunyak postponed the shot until tomorrow. Then, in front of the whole crew, he said “I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but by tomorrow I want it stopped. You’re about to start a new life together, so try to project a little less hate.” Ouch.

I didn’t stop to talk to Patrick after the shoot. I was too angry. Did he honestly expect me to give up my manhood forever, just to please him? What did he think, that I’d marry him? Be his wife? Settle down, buy a house, and spend my life with him? I paused a bit, thinking about that sort of future. As a wife. Patrick’s wife.

I shook my head. No! It couldn’t be! It wasn’t right! I was a man. Maybe it was for the best that we had a falling out now, it would save heartache later. I just had to get through the next few months and be done with it.

Slim, the fifty-something photographer, tapped me on the shoulder. “What’s up with you and Patrick?” he asked. He was always direct; ‘mind my own business’ wasn’t part of his vocabulary.

“Just a fight, that’s all.”

“About what?” About none of your concern, that’s what.

“Nothing. We just want different things out of life. I don’t think it’s going to work out.”

Slim sat down, and motioned me to do so as well. “Let me tell you a story,” he began. “You probably aren’t in the mood, but I’m old and you’re young, so you really have no choice.” Looking off into the distance, he related his tale.

“It was back when I was in ‘Nam. I was young then, and in love. Her name was Li Duk Thou. By God, she was lovely. I never stopped loving her. Everything I was looking for. I wanted to marry her, but…” Slim paused. Painful memory.

“She didn’t want to come back to the States with me. Not for at least a few years. I, on the other hand, had no thoughts but getting back, I had been overseas almost two years. One thing lead to another, and the next thing you know, I’m back stateside. I never saw her again.

“It’s funny really. I thought my whole future lay in coming back home. But when I did, everything was different. My friends were gone, my parents died a few years later, I couldn’t find work. I could have stayed in-country. Lots of guys did. I didn’t have to leave her, but I was so caught up in what I thought my destiny was, I gave up my one true love. I’ve been divorced twice. I never stopped loving Li Duk. I pissed away my chance at happiness for my friggin’ plans.

“Listen, I don’t know how serious you and Patrick are. But before you decide to end it, think about your choice. Remember, plans can usually wait, but true love doesn’t happen often. Don’t ruin your life like I did.” Without making eye-contact, he got up and left.

I went home, burst into the apartment, and screamed. Lori came running out of her bedroom and asked me what was wrong.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong? Everything’s wrong! Patrick wants me to stay a woman!”

“Well…I guess that’s bad news. Right?” She was uncertain.

“Yes! I have to be a man! I am a man! I’m going to change back!”

“So what’s the big deal? Patrick won’t die.”

“I know but… but maybe I don’t want to give up Patrick. I’m not saying I want to live as Kim forever, but maybe…one more year. Just to see how things work out.”

Lori hugged me. “Kim, maybe I’m not the one to be telling this to.”

Despite the fact that it was eleven at night, I took a cab over to Patrick’s place. There was no answer, but the light was on, so I continued to bang. Eventually he came to the door, wearing nothing but a towel, and soaking wet.

“Kim!” he gasped, surprised to see me. I barged into his apartment and shoved his bare chest as hard as I could.

“You jerk!”

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” He was confused.

“You jerk! I had my life all planned out, and then you come along…come along…” I started crying again. “You jerk!” I sobbed, and buried my head in his chest hair.

He wrapped his damp arms around me and held me. Finally, I pulled myself together. “I’m so confused, Patrick. I don’t know what I want anymore. But I don’t think I can leave you. I’m not promising anything, but…I can do another year as Kimberly. One year, that’s all I promise. I’ll be able to make a decision one way or another after that.”

I didn’t have time to say anything else. Patrick grabbed me and gave me a five-minute kiss. Finally, I broke free. “Er, Patrick, I think, your towel fell off.”

“Did it?” he asked, running his hands over the back of my skirt.

“Put some pants on.” Men. Always one thing on their minds.

The next day, Patrick proposed to me on the shoot. Kunyak commented on how this time, it really seemed like we were in love. Who knows, maybe he was right?

As June wore around, Kunyak brought up the topic that I had been dreading: swimsuits. The shot called for Patrick and I to spend a day on a North Carolina beach with our ‘friends,’ displaying a wide variety of beachwear. I was nervous. How was I going to fit into a woman’s bathing suit? Lori had always claimed to have the situation under control, but would never elaborate. Well, it was time for her to come clean.

“Don’t worry,” she said, when I brought up the conundrum that night. “I told Kunyak that I had a special bathing suit I wanted you to wear. He approved it.”

“So what is it? How will it cover up…you know?” Recently, I had found myself unwilling to mention my true gender, even to Lori. As for Patrick, he never brought up the true state of things.

Lori escorted me into my bedroom, and told me to disrobe. This time, it didn’t even occur to me to feel any sort of shame. Why shouldn’t a girl get dressed in the same room as her sister?

As Lori left to fetch the swimsuit, I regarded my body. My breasts had blossomed. I still only had A cups, but so did a lot of woman. I could, I supposed, shuck all upper body padding, but decided against it. The whole crew, Mr. Kunyak included, thought I was well endowed, and I couldn’t very well let them know otherwise.

My hips were rounded, my stomach flat, my skin smoothed. Now that I thought about it, all that was left of my maleness were my genitals. I looked at my small, withered, and almost forgotten penis. It really wouldn’t be so hard to hide.

Lori interrupted me by smacking my bare butt with a towel. I squeaked and jumped away. “So what kind of suit do you have for me?” I asked.

“A bikini!”

“You have got to be joking!”

“But I’m not. The hormones have really changed your appearance. It just took a little ingenuity on my part, and I’ve made you a suit that will make you rival any swimsuit model you’ve ever seen.”

My curiosity aroused, I took a look at what Lori displayed to me. The lower half of the suit was composed of a pair of loose fitting, women’s bathing trunks. They allowed me to show off most of my thighs and the area below my navel, but still covered my manhood. A latex sex-hiding device was sewn into the inside. I quickly grunted my way into it. Not bad. Not bad at all.

The top of the bikini was a large, spandex halter-top. Inside the cups, two foam pads were sewn, to give me the impression of large breasts. The top covered everything from the bottom of my neck to the bottom of my ribcage, covering up all areas where my breasts supposedly were. My arms, back, and shoulders were exposed to the air.

I twisted and twirled around in front of the mirror. “Lori, you are a genius. I never thought you could do it, but you made me look great in a two piece!”

“I didn’t do anything. You made yourself look great!” We hugged.

The beach shoot was one of the most grueling we’d done yet, and lasted for three days. We played volleyball, barbecued, and swam. Most of these activities I had to perform while wearing makeup, dangling earrings, and heels. I had to hand it to Lori, not once did anyone suspect a thing. Eventually, we came to the last shot.

It was of Patrick and I, laying down in front of a beach fire at night. I’d be laying back on a towel, with Patrick bending over me. The next shot would be Patrick and I, kneeling in front of each other. Patrick would be untying the back of my top. The final shot, only our feet would be visible behind a sand dune. In the foreground would lie Patrick’s trunks and my entire swimsuit.

After everything was over, Patrick and I sat alone on the sand dune, still wearing our swimsuits (we weren’t really naked behind the dune; they were extra suits in the foreground). We stared lazily at the dwindling fire. Patrick put his arm around me. I winced.

“What’s wrong, honey?” he asked, concerned.

“I didn’t put on enough lotion today. I’m burned.” In the firelight I pulled back part of my top, revealing the contrast between my sunburn and the covered area. I now had a bikini tan.

Patrick retrieved some aloe from his bad and began rubbing it in my shoulders. “That feels good. Don’t stop.” Soon he had rubbed my entire back, arms, neck, and legs. I lay down so I could enjoy his touch more. I guess I wasn’t surprised when he undid the back of my top to have easier access to my back.

It doesn’t take a genius to guess what happened next. My top came off, soon I was being kissed and fondled in a way I had never experienced before. I didn’t move, I felt like I was melting. Soon, Patrick was groping with my shorts.

“No, Patrick…”

“Kim, I love you. I need you.”

“Oh Patrick…”

“Let me make love to you.”

“Patrick…be gentle. It’s my first time.”

*

There was pain, but more pleasure. There were tears, but more smiles. There was regret, but more relief. My decision was made.

An hour later, Patrick and I went for a midnight skinny dip. The ocean at night had always scared me, but with Patrick’s arms around me, I felt safer than I ever had. Soon we were in up to our necks. He kissed me in the moonlight.

“Kim, I love you.”

“I love you Patrick.”

“I want to marry you. Will you marry me?”

That was totally unexpected. “Patrick…”

“I promised myself I’d wait until you had more time to think about things. But tonight, I realize I don’t need any time. I’m going to love you forever, and I won’t be happy until you are my wife. You don’t have to make a decision now; take your time. Take a year if you need it. But I want you to know just how deep my feelings are for you.”

I let him hold me. I felt drowsy. I remember the warmth of the water, the silver of the moon, the ache between my legs. “Patrick, I don’t need a year. I don’t need another minute. I love you. I want to be your bride.” And there you have it.

*
Kunyak was ecstatic when we told him we wanted to get married on the set. The final page of the catalog would show our actual wedding. Mr. Kunyak said that you couldn’t buy publicity like that. An actual wedding? Two models who fell in love on the set? People would go nuts!

The wedding was easy enough to set up. It was simply a matter of finding a cameraman who was subtle enough not to interrupt the ceremony, and getting some of our guests to wear Kunyak’s designs.

I remember Mom started crying when my maid of honor, Lori, walked down the aisle, arm in arm with Patrick’s best man. She wasn’t ashamed, she had made that clear. She was just weepy. After all, her youngest daughter was getting married.

As the wedding march played, I paused. This was truly it. There was no going back. I couldn’t very well get married to a man and then decide I didn’t want to be a woman anymore. But then I caught site of my groom waiting for me. Patrick. I had to stop myself from running down the aisle to be next to him.

Of course, Lori had designed my gown (and the gowns of my bridesmaids). My gown was white, with a long train, huge ribbons, and a veil. I felt like the most feminine person on the planet. Who cares if I was still, technically a man? We managed to wrangle a legitimate marriage certificate, and the union was legal. Maybe someday I’d have a full sex change, but we’d worry about that later.

Patrick and I danced every dance at the reception. Mostly with each other, though of course he danced with my mom, Lori, and Greta; I danced with Dr. Klaus, Slim, and Randy (hands where I can seem them, please).

Eventually, it was all over. We drove to the hotel where we’d spend the night, before going off on our honeymoon (a trip to Hawaii, Mr. Kunyak’s wedding gift).

Patrick picked me up and carried me across the threshold, laying me gently in bed. “Kim, you’ve made me the happiest man on earth.”

“Oh Patrick, I love you so much.” We kissed. We then wasted no time removing each other’s clothes. The catalog originally called of some honeymoon shots, but you have to draw the line somewhere. Tonight was ours, and ours alone.

“Kim,” he said, as he turned out the light. “We’re going to have a wonderful life together. Welcome to our new life.”

I kissed him and let him take me. Our new life? You bet. My new life? Absolutely.