Missy

Will naming a boy after a feared Native American tribe of fierce warriors insure that he grows up to be a manly man? With apologies to Chief Sitting Bull and Johnny Cash and hugs to Darla for opening the door to the Big Closet.

Story:

It all started innocently enough. My parents were hippies. When we were born, my twin sister and me, they were traveling in their flower-power VW minibus though the West, heading for a commune in the smoky mountains of San Francisco. Yes, I know. The Smoky Mountains are on the East Coast. Smoky, as in getting stoned on pot. Okay, and there aren't any mountains in SF either, just hills. High is high, no matter where you are. So sue me. Actually, that's what this is all about. Me being Sue. They decided to give us non-establishment names, so they picked two of the local Indian tribes. My sister was Cheyenne and I was Sioux. Maybe if they weren’t buzzed all the time, they would have seen the problem. I mean, Navajo or Apache or Comanche, would have been fine. I could have been Jo or Che, a good revolutionary name, but no, I was Sue, at least that’s how it sounded to everyone.

It wasn’t so bad growing up. I mean a baby doesn’t care what he’s called. In those days hippies wore their hair long and the boys dressed the same as girls, jeans, a loose top, sandals and love beads, and the girls didn’t wear bras, so, except for facial hair, you couldn’t tell the difference. By the time we were toddlers, people were always mistaking us for identical twins with our shoulder length curly blonde hair, although, of course, identical twins aren’t of different sexes. Mom, Sunshine to her friends, which, by her philosophy, was anyone who didn’t wear a uniform, and Dad, Moondog, don’t ask me where that came from, had pretty much forgotten about us. I mean, it wasn’t like they didn’t want us kids, it was just that their idea of parenting was to let us run around without supervision while they tripped out. There wasn’t too much trouble we could get into in a commune and there was always someone around to give us a plate of tofu and a glass of soy milk when we were hungry. No animals died for our nourishment, or for our clothes for that matter, which were tie-dyed cotton t-shirts that hung down to our knees or, when it was really hot, tie-dyed tank-tops. Mom was really into tie-dying. It had something to do with the psychedelic colors. By the time we were four, Cheyenne and I were sisters as far as anyone knew or cared, which was fine with us. Then two things happened that changed my life or at least my gender.

First, Moondog got called up for the draft and had to take it on the lam to Canada. Second, we were supposed to follow him, but, before Mom could get herself organized, a monumental task for someone whose daily activity was experiencing the subtle differences between domestic and Mexican cannabis, the child welfare people showed up and whisked us off to a state home. Now Mom was in a quandary. She could abandon us and head for Canada to be with Dad or she could stick around, try to straighten herself out and get us back. To her credit, she decided to stay, although the fact that the narcs raided the commune, arrested her and confiscated the minibus might have had something to do with it. Eventually she was released and, since she was broke, she cleaned herself up and found herself a job as a waitress at an SF vegan restaurant. Sunshine went back to being Sarah and she worked her way up to shift manager, which earned her enough to rent a studio apartment. It also got her enough credit with DCW to have us returned to her, but what to do with us during the day was a problem. Finally, she found a woman in the building who would look after us, along with her own two girls.

Oh, did I mention that when we were put into the state home, everyone assumed that Cheyenne and I were twin girls? I mean, if I had been Jo or Che, it might have been different, but when people asked me my name, not being able to spell, I told them Sioux and, of course, the forms got filled out as Susan. Then again, when they asked my sister her name, they assumed that what she said in four year old kid-speak was that she was shy and her name was Ann, so she got put down as Ann. I was happy with the mistake, because it meant we could stay together. When they handed out our uniforms, we both got white cotton panties, white cotton socks, a white cotton blouse with a round collar, a white polished cotton full slip, a dark blue jumper and dark blue Mary Janes. A blue cotton nightie too. If there was any question about us both being girls before, the clothes put an end to them, and we were assigned to the girls’ dormitory. My secret was discovered when we showered. The older girls knew a boy when they saw one, but, nobody would tattle on me, as we considered the adults who ran the place to be our common enemy, so I got to stay. By the time we left, I was accepted as one of the girls and I could skip rope, play jacks, make a cat’s cradle and put my hair in pigtails with the best of them.

When Mom came to get us, they gave her our outfits. Since she was just barely able to afford the apartment, there were no new clothes for me, and, since she was pretty liberal about my sister and me anyway, having been a hippie, I continued to wear my girl’s clothes. That’s how I was dressed when she dropped me off at the neighbor’s apartment on her way to work. The woman showed us around and introduced us to her two daughters. Katherine or Kitty was almost nine and Patricia or Patsy just turned seven. The girls went to school and were getting ready to leave. Their school was only a few blocks away and Kitty was old enough to walk her sister there. Looking at her watch and realizing she was going to be late, Mom hurried off, neglecting to tell our new caregiver that all wasn’t as it seemed when it came to me. Once her girls left, Mrs. Eldridge brought out a big box of their old toys, dolls and accessories, and my sister and I played on the living room floor while she went about her housework. So it went for a few months, until one rainy afternoon. Kitty and Patsy came home from school a couple of hours before Mom picked us up. Usually, they would ignore us, because they were big girls and we were little girls, but this particular day they were bored and decided to play babysitter.

The girls took babysitting literally. They wanted to practice taking care of a real baby, so they could use their experience to earn some extra money when they got older. They found some diapers their mom had packed away and had us undress. It was perfectly harmless fun. Kitty and Patsy helped my sister and me out of our shoes, dresses and slips, leaving us standing in our socks and little white panties. Kitty picked up my sister, pretending she was a baby and talking soothing baby talk as she put her on the bed. She pulled down her panties and then lifted her legs, slipping a diaper under her bottom. Kitty demonstrated to Patsy how to fold the diaper in a triangle, bring the corners together and fasten them with big safety pins. The diaper was really skimpy, but she managed to get it on my sister. Next it was my turn. You can imagine the surprised looks on the girls’ faces when they pulled down my panties. They asked me why I was dressed up as a girl and I told them, as logically as a five year old could, that our mother always dressed my sister and me the same. After thinking about it, Kitty agreed that we had to do what our mothers told us and, actually, this was good, because now they could practice on a baby boy, so she continued to put on my diaper. Maybe the girls thought their mother knew or maybe they thought it was a fun secret, but, whatever their reason, they never told on me.

By the end of the school year, Mom and our neighbor had become good friends. We would all go out to eat or to a movie together. Kitty and Patsy were really sweet and always treated me as a girl. They would even take me to the girl’s room with them. Of course, the bags of their outgrown clothes that their mother gave to our mother and that Mom dressed us in probably helped. I mean, it’s hard to think of someone in a pink and white gingham sundress, pink socks with white bows and pink sandals as a boy. Even more so when he has long, curly blonde hair down his back and cotton candy pink nails from playing beauty shop. Now you’re probably asking yourself, why would my mother go along with this? Well, I found out later that my sister and I were the result of her participation in the free love movement. Tune in, turn on and get knocked up. Dad or, more correctly, our father, split on her while she was in jail. From what she heard, drugs weren't the only thing he was experimenting with. Moondog discovered that he was actually a gay dog and took up with some other draft dodger. That probably didn’t make her too fond of men. Add to that how much easier and convenient it was for a single mother to raise two girls, the economy of her being able to double our wardrobe by sharing Kitty’s and Patsy’s old clothes, and how well I got along as a girl in general and with my sister in particular, there was no reason for her to press the issue of my manhood.

Everything went well until the end of the summer, when Mom got letters from the School Department reminding her that my sister and I needed to be registered for kindergarten. The DCW must have sent over information about us, because the forms had us down as Susan and Ann. Our going to school wouldn’t have been a problem. We would be at the same elementary school as Kitty and Patsy, so they could walk us there and take us to their house after school, until Mom got home from work. However, in order for us to be registered, we had to have proof that we had our shots and a physical. Now, you have to remember that Mom was not big on government authority and the less she had to do with the man, as she referred to officials, the better. She figured that since they had made the mistake about me, it was up to them to fix it.

Mom took the next Monday off and brought us down to the free clinic for our shots and exam. My sister and I both had on shorts, tank tops, mine was pastel yellow and hers was white with multi-colored butterflies, and sandals. We took the bus to the clinic and went in. Mom spoke to the receptionist, who motioned for us to take a seat in the waiting room with about a hundred other mothers and children waiting for their shots and physicals. About an hour later a nurse came out and directed us into an examining room. She had my sister and I take off our tops, shorts and shoes. At that age, with our panties on, we looked the same. She asked which one of us was Sue. I said I was. She had me get on the scale, checked my height and weight, took my temperature and blood pressure, and wrote it all down on the form, then she did the same for my sister. She went out and came back with a tray on which were some syringes and bottles. She gave us our shots, recorded it on the immunization record card, handed the physical form to Mom on a clipboard to complete the information about our health, told us the doctor would be in to see us shortly and left. It took Mom about ten minutes to finish both forms and then we waited and waited and waited, but the doctor never showed up. Finally, Mom had enough. She noticed that there was a diploma on the wall with a doctor’s name on it. She signed his name to the forms, peeled off the pink patient’s copies, left the clipboard on the counter, took the immunization record cards and we left. Power to the people.

Mom sent back the forms and the Tuesday after Labor Day, she brought us for our first day of school. Our neighbor had given us a collection of school clothes and Mom found similar dresses. Mine was a blue and pink plaid A-line with long sleeves under which I wore a plain white nylon full slip and, since this was a special occasion, white lace trimmed nylon panties replaced my usual plain cotton ones. White ankle socks and blue Mary Janes completed my outfit. My sister’s dress was blue and yellow plaid. We each got Monkeys lunch boxes that Mom found on sale at the local five and dime store, although, not being able to read, we had no idea whose pictures were on it. When I got older, I heard some of their songs and understood why they were on sale.

School was fun. We played house with the other little girls. There was a pretend stove and refrigerator with miniature food. Sometimes we did art projects. We girls all drew pretty pictures of flowers and families with children playing. My sister and I become recognized as "the twins" and we went to lots of our girl classmates' birthday parties. Kitty and Patsy had a nice assortment of party dresses with big fluffy petticoats, sheer tights and shoes with ankle straps and little heels which we inherited. Mom did our hair in French braids and we looked adorable. Even at that age, we were heartbreakers and at lunch we had an endless supply of Ring Dings, Devil Dogs, raspberry filled, pink and white marshmallow frosted, coconut covered Hostess Snoballs, my personal favorite, and Scooter Pies from our shy little boy admirers.

Everything went well until the sixth grade, when the girls were shown a movie about menstruation in health class and the changes that would be happening to our bodies when we reached puberty. According to the narrator, we could look forward to cramps, bloating, headaches, backaches and a bloody flow every month. The good part was that along with our period came breasts. We all knew that having breasts was important, because boys would want to take us out on dates and try to get to second base, once we had bases for them to get to. Since the film was not very explicit and our gym teacher, who doubled as the girls' health teacher, was not particularly adept at gynecology, I looked forward to the day when I too could slap some fresh boy's face when he tried to feel me up.

About a couple of months after the movie, my sister developed little swellings on her chest and her nipples began to puff up. Of course, I was still flat. Mom found some training bras for her in the clothes from our neighbor. They weren't much, just a band of stretchy material with straps that pulled over her head. There were three plain white ones and a pink one with white lace edging and a little white ribbon bow in the center. The next morning, my sister put on one of the white ones and chose a box pleated skirt and thin white cotton short-sleeved blouse through which you could see the outline of the bra. We shared a room and a bureau, so I put on the other white one, stuffed in some Kleenex to give me a little shape and found a similar outfit. When we came down to breakfast, Mom gave me a curious look. At school, the girls were all excited about our new bras and the boys were all excited in a different way. There was this one boy, Jeremy, who had a crush on us. My sister, the flirt, made sure to brush against him as we left homeroom, resulting in his shuffling down the corridor holding his notebook in front of him. Then it happened. A few months later, she woke up one morning and saw that there were spots of blood in her panties. She excitedly showed Mom and they hurried into the bathroom for her initiation into the rites of feminine protection. I started to follow, but Mom shook her head and closed the door.

As time went on, my sister moved up to an A-cup bra, with a little help at first from the padded inserts, and started to develop a feminine figure, while I moved in the opposite direction. Mom, having reached the age at which she previously would have considered herself untrustworthy, tried to deal with my puberty maturely. She took me aside and explained the facts of life, including the developmental significance of the boy parts I did have and the girl parts I didn't have. The truth hurt. It was not that I really believed I was female. The thing I had to tuck into my panties every morning was a constant reminder that I wasn't. It was just that, well, to my naíve way of thinking, just because I was a boy didn't mean I couldn't be a girl, if I wanted to be one. I liked to wear girl's clothes, skirts and blouses and party dresses with lacy slips or frilly petticoats, tights and shoes with heels. I liked to have my hair and nails done, to wear lipstick when Mom let us, and to look pretty. My friends were all girls. I did all the things my sister did and I didn't do anything boys did, like sports. So why wasn't I a girl?

Mom explained that, although I could choose my own lifestyle, the physical changes that were going to happen to me would make it hard for people to accept me as a girl. Once that happened, she continued, the intolerance of both children and adults for what in those days was insensitively called queers would result in my getting teased, probably beaten up and certainly thrown out of school. She knew this from her own experience, because hippies were treated that way. She and her friends got called names, were harassed by the police, sometimes they were beaten up or thrown in jail and some were even killed, just because they were different. She assured me that I had time to think things over, because the changes would be gradual and most likely I could get through the rest of the school year as a girl, if I was careful. We hugged for a while and, when we parted, I told her that I was sure that I would not and could not be a boy. Mom nodded, kissed me on the forehead and told me she would support my choice.

As Mom predicted, nobody noticed me, but that was mostly because the other girls were developing into teenagers and I looked like their little sister. There's only so much you can do with Kleenex. Since my sister and the other girls were obsessed with dating, I was left behind socially too. Not that I didn't want to have a boyfriend to take me to the movies and buy me ice cream sodas at the drug store, but I couldn't take the chance of some boy putting his hand where it didn't belong and figuring out that he wasn't on third base. The school year dragged by and I was relieved when we graduated, but that also meant the time for me to choose my gender was running out. Mom was patient, but, after a couple of weeks of my moping around, partly because I couldn't make up my mind and partly because my sister looked like Annette Funicello in her bikini and I looked like Twiggy in my tank suit, she called a family pow-wow, particularly appropriate considering that our Indian names were the cause of the problem. My sister's solution was very simple. Of course I was a girl and anybody who wanted a piece of me because of it had to come through her first. Mom said she was proud of her for standing by me, but that confrontation and violence were the cause of the problem, not the solution. I had to make this decision on my own and live with it.

I tried to picture myself as a boy and couldn't. It wasn't the clothes or the hair or the makeup that made me want to be a girl. We had a dress code in school and girls could only wear pants in the winter under their skirts or dresses, but I wore jeans, plain tops, socks, and penny loafers or sneakers on the weekends, I pulled my hair back in a pony tail most of the time and wearing makeup was reserved for special dress-up occasions. The problem was that I didn't have anything in common with boys. There were a few in my class who were quiet and shy, but most of them were loud, crude and physical. I could never be like that. Great, I thought. I was doomed. Either I would be teased and tormented as a boy, because I was a sissy, or I would be teased and tormented as a girl, because I was a queer. I started to cry.

Mom came over and comforted me. I told her that I did not want to be a boy. I had already signed up for Home Ec and boys had to take Shop. Not exactly a compelling reason for gender reassignment, but it was a start. I didn't know anything about being a boy, I went on, gaining momentum. I didn't even know how to use the boy's room. Actually, it was Mom's fault. When my sister and I were little, she potty trained us at the same time, so I learned to pee sitting down. That got a giggle from my sister, who probably pictured me standing in front of the toilet with my panties and tights down around my ankles, trying to hold my skirt out of the way while I went. For my part, I could see the other boys wetting themselves as their attention was distracted from the business at hand by the spectacle. Returning to a more rational consideration of my choices, I told Mom that either I could pretend to be someone I wasn't or I could pretend to be someone I was. I chose to be a girl.

Mom nodded and smiled. She said she expected that would be my decision and had made some arrangements, but she didn't want to say anything that would influence me. First, she told us that we didn't have birth certificates. Neither of us knew what that meant. Mom explained that when a baby is born a record is made with the all of the information about them, like the name of their parents and grandparents, their date of birth, place of birth and sex. However, when she went into labor they were driving through some small town. She couldn't remember the name or even the state, because her head was so messed up in those days. They found a hospital and she delivered my sister and me. The next day, the nurse brought in some forms for her to fill out that would be used to complete our birth certificates, but, since they had no money to pay the hospital bill and since they thought it would be cool if we didn't exist officially, they packed us in a picnic basket and skipped out. Last week, Mom had gone down to the records bureau. They told her that they would issue us birth certificates with her sworn statement as to our date and place of birth, which she claimed was the commune, if there was some official record to prove that we were her children. Mom got the DCW records, which had her listed as the mother of Ann and Susan, so I was officially a girl, according to the State of California. Way to go, Mom.

Second, Mom said that she had been talking to our neighbor about my going to junior high school as a girl. She stopped when she saw the shocked expression on my face and asked me what was wrong. I told her I was worried that she would treat me differently, now that she knew I was a boy. Mom laughed. It turned out she had known all along, because Mom told her about having a boy and a girl when she arranged for us to stay with her. I couldn't believe it. All this time I thought I was fooling her and it turns out she was just a nice person who was considerate of my situation. It occurred to me that if everyone was like her, I wouldn't be in this predicament. Anyway, according to our neighbor, we would need to have our shots and a physical, because we were starting a new school. Mom told us that we could get our boosters anytime and that she had a plan for the physical. A few weeks before school started, she would take my sister to the clinic. Then she would take her back a few weeks later as me. Mom still did not have a great deal of respect for authority. Our neighbor also said that they had real phys ed at the junior high school, with a locker room. The girls had to change into gym clothes and take showers. Mom had that figured out too. The boys could exempt phys ed and take an extra study hall to get their homework done, if they were on an after school team. In those days, there were no girls' sports or teams. Mom had marched, so to speak, down to the School Department and insisted that girls should have equal rights. Enjoying the relative calm after the storm of the peace movement and student radicals, the Superintendent was willing to compromise to maintain the tranquility. He allowed that, if Mom could find a suitable after school athletic program for her daughter, she could skip phys ed. I was enrolled in Miss Kathy's Dance Studio, Mom announced with a grin. That brought more giggles from my sister, obviously picturing me dancing on my tippy toes in a tutu. Actually, that sounded like fun.

Even though Mom had tried her best, there was one problem she couldn't fix and my face showed it. She asked me what was wrong. I sighed and told her how much I appreciated what she had done, but that there was still my appearance. I was going to be the only girl in the seventh grade to shave her legs and her face. Mom shook her head. There was a pill I could take that would prevent it, but it was risky, which was another reason why she had waited to see how I reacted to her plan before telling me about it. I couldn't control my enthusiasm. Mom put her hand up to stop me. She emphasized that the pill was a drug, not magic. Actually, it was a birth control pill. Mom explained that a woman's body already made what was in the pill, taking it just gave her more. However, when a man took it, it made him look feminine. My jaw dropped. I asked Mom if it meant I would have real breasts. She said that I might have little ones, but nothing like the natural ones my sister would have. My sister chimed in that she was all for me not wearing the pants in the family, so long as she had the best chest. We all laughed. Then Mom got serious. She heard about the pill and its side effects on men from a nurse who was a regular at the restaurant. The nurse told Mom that their office had prescribed the pill for hundreds of women over the last few years without any problem, but that it was illegal to give it to minors, so she had no idea what would happen if it was taken by a girl before she was fully grown, let alone a boy. Mom made me promise that I would tell her immediately, if I had any type of problem. I promised and she handed me a bottle of pills. That is how a boy named Sioux became a girl named Sue.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.

A Sissy Fairy Tale

Author:

Missy

Caution:

CAUTION: Physical or Emotional Abuse

Audience Rating:

EXPLICIT CONTENT

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Transformations

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Sissy Fairy tale
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 1. Josh to Josie.

I got pregnant when I was sixteen. I'm not sure about the father. My parents talked me into keeping him to be the son they always wanted. My father died when Joshua was three. My mother and I struggled on. My mother died last year. By then he was the son nobody wanted.

He was small for his age, so I kept him back a year. It didn't matter. He stayed small and never developed much body hair. The doctor said
something about a hormone deficiency. At sixteen he dropped out of school. On his own and with my lack of parenting skills he was in and out
of the juvenile court system. The leniency ended when he turned eighteen. The next time he appeared in court the judge made it clear, either he got counseling or he would be sentenced.

I looked in the phone book for therapists and randomly chose one. They weren't taking any new patients. I called another. They only accepted private insurance. I tried a few more. No, no and no. There was an ad for a clinic that specialized in behavioral modification. I called and explained the situation: Court ordered, yes. He turned eighteen in April. No, just him. Height and weight? Five foot four and about a hundred and twenty pounds. What? Where did we shop? Target, mostly. Oh, the department. Boy's usually. Is that important? Self-image. Uh-huh. Yes, good health. No, just me, I was a single parent. No, I have no family support, my parents are both dead. No, I have no brothers or sisters or anyone else who could help me. Yes, we could come in for an evaluation tomorrow at two o'clock. Nothing about payment. I made the appointment.

I did my best to make Josh presentable. Wrangling him into the barbershop was more effort than it was worth, so he had a tangled mop of hair hanging below his ears. He put up a fuss, but I made it clear. He went to the appointment or he went to jail. We took the bus and then walked a few blocks. We arrived at the address, a brick warehouse-like building. The numbers on the door matched, but there was no sign. I tried the door. It was locked. There was a black button next to it. I pushed it.

"Yes," a woman's voice responded.

I gave my name and said I had an appointment. The door buzzed opened. I heard a click as it locked behind us. There was no door handle to open it from the inside. Weren't you supposed to be able to get out if there was a fire? Their patients must have one hell of a behavioral
problem, I thought if, they needed this much security.

We followed the hallway to a waiting area. The floor was cement and the walls were painted white. There were two plastic chairs and a table. The magazines on the table all were for women. On the other side of the room was another door above which was a TV camera. I took a
seat. Josh paced around. After about five minutes he pulled on my arm and wanted to leave. I assumed that we were being watched and that it was some kind of test, so I reminded him of the alternative. He sat down sullenly.

I kept looking at my watch and up at the camera. After about fifteen minutes, the door opened. A well dressed woman walked out. "Hi, um
doctor?" I asked tentatively. She did not respond. "I'm Rebecca, um, Becky," I continued politely. "I called yesterday. I, um, we, um, we're
here for an appointment."

"This way." I motioned for Josh as I followed behind her. "No, not him." She pushed him back into the waiting room and closed the door. We
continued to an office. A table, desk chair and side chair were the only furniture. There were no papers on the desk, just a computer monitor, no books and no diplomas on the wall.

"You have a problem with your son. He can go to prison and be some black guy's girlfriend or you can let us turn him into a sissy.

"I'm sorry. I thought we were here for counseling. You want to make him gay?" I asked incredulously.

"Actually, a sissy. Wouldn't you prefer that?"

"Isn't it the same either way? I challenged her.

"Prison bitches are a dime a dozen. Sissies are in demand."

"How much in demand?"

"Our clients can be quite generous."

"How generous?"

"Very. Do I take it that my proposition interests you?"

"Yes."

"Excellent." She opened a drawer and took out a candy bar. "Take this out to him and we can get started."

"Candy won't work."

"A tranquilizer will."

"You want me to drug him?"

"Of course."

"Be right back."

On my return, the monitor showed him sitting on the chair glassy eyed with a trickle of drool running out of the corner of his mouth.

"How long will it last?"

"A few hours."

"Can I get more?"

"Keeping him docile is an important part of his training, but once he accepts being a sissy it won't be necessary."

"What makes you think he will accept it without being drugged?"

"They all do."

"All?"

"We provide a service to a select group of men. They pay us a substantial membership fee and in return we arrange for discrete sex with sissies."

"Here?"

"No, you won't come here or see me again. What appears to be a school transport picks the sissies up and returns them when they're done. Where it goes and the identity of their admirers is confidential.

"What about payment?"

"One hundred dollars per hour. We schedule four one hour sessions per day, five days a week, fifty weeks a year. The weekends are yours and you can pick your two weeks off."

I tried to do a mental calculation, but I suck at math. She must have seen me struggling.

"One hundred dollars times four hours per day times five days per week times fifty weeks comes to one hundred thousand dollars per year."

My jaw dropped open. "Where do I sign?"

"You don't. When you get home, you will receive packages. Instructions for his training and everything you need will be in them.

"How long will it take?"

"Thirty days."

"Can I get an advance," I asked optimistically.

"No."

"What about the court?"

"As far as the authorities are concerned, he will be in a residential program for rehabilitation. We will take care of the paperwork."

Josh was still in la la land when we got home. I left him in his room and went to the kitchen for a glass of wine. I toasted myself and hoped that
whatever was in the packages would keep him under control. I didn't have long to wait. There was a knock on the door. A box was there. It had no name or address and whoever left it had disappeared.

I brought the box in and opened it up. It contained two CD's, three different color bottles, three medicine syringes with corresponding colored labels, a wooden paddle, a white and pink babydoll set with ruffled panties and frilly tops, a pacifier with an oversize hollow nipple, a box marked 'Suppositories', examination gloves, a black tapered plug and packets of KY jelly. I turned on the TV and loaded the first CD into the player:

Sissies must learn to be obedient. The brown bottle contains a strong laxative. It is tasteless. Fill the brown syringe to the top mark and add
it to his dinner. Within five minutes he will have uncontrollable diarrhea. Scold him for making a mess in his panties like a sissy. Put him over you knee and use the paddle. Give him ten strokes, alternating buttocks. Tell him that this is what happens to sissies who do not obey
their mummies. Afterwards, wash him standing in the bathtub while playing with his penis and inserting a finger in his bottom and repeating that mummy makes good sissies happy. Dress him in the white babydoll set. Fill the red syringe to the top mark from the red bottle and squirt it into his mouth. If he resists, pinch his nose shut until he opens it. Tell him that sissies obey their mummy or they get punished. The liquid
tastes bad, but it is harmless. Use the white syringe to fill the pacifier from the white bottle. It will seep out and numb his tongue. He
will suck on it to remove the bad taste. It also contains a tranquilizer. Before bed, use a glove to open one of the suppository packages and insert it at least half a finger's length into his bottom. It is a sedative which will put him to sleep within a few minutes and keep him asleep for
eight hours. Lubricate the plug and insert it fully. The sedative will make him compliant. Tell him that sissies obey their mummies and if they
are good sissies and do what their mummy says, their mummy will make them feel good. Leave the plug until dinner time and reinsert it at bedtime.

I put the brown bottle in the kitchen and the red bottle in the bathroom with the babydoll set. I filled the pacifier and put it on the nightstand in his bedroom with a suppository, a glove, the plug and the lubricant. Back downstairs, I poured myself another glass of wine and got ready. I
emptied a can of Spaghetti-O's in a bowl, heated it and added a syringe full of the laxative. I put the paddle on the counter within easy reach.

As he was finishing the last spoonful, he scrunched up his face, looked at me miserably and doubled over. From the sound and smell, the stuff
worked. I grabbed him by the front of his shirt and pulled him towards me. "You made a mess in your panties like a sissy." He tried to pull
away, but I held on. "No you don't. You made a mess in your panties like a sissy and you're going to be punished." I pulled him over my knee,
grabbed the paddle and started smacking him. "One, two, three ..." I counted out as he was kicking and screaming.

I dragged the sobbing soon-to-be sissy upstairs and shoved him into the shower. The directions said a bathtub, but we didn't have one. "Stand still you sissy or you're going to get another spanking." I stripped off his clothes, took the soap and began to wash him, lightly rubbing his crotch and sliding my hand around to slip a soapy finger in his butt. He jumped at the intrusion. "You need to be clean inside and out. Now stay still or you will get another spanking. "Mummy makes good sissies feel good." I worked on him for about ten minutes, then took him out and toweled him off.

I took the ruffled white panties and slid them up his legs. "Sissies wear what their mummy tells them or they get punished," I warned him. Not that his compliance mattered. I had the red syringe ready. I grabbed him by the nose and when he opened his mouth to protest, I squirted it in. His eyes went wide and he started to sputter and make gurgling noises, drool running down his chin. "sissies do what their mummy tells them or they get punished." I slipped the frilly top on, stood him up and pulled him down the hall into my bedroom.

"Sissies obey their mummy and if they are good sissies they get rewarded." I picked up the loaded pacifier. "This will make your mouth better.
Open." He gave me a worried look. "Open." His mouth parted tentatively and I put it in. He made a face, expecting it to be more punishment.
Then he relaxed and started sucking. "Good sisses who obey their mummies get rewarded," I confirmed.

After sucking on the pacifier for a few minutes he calmed down. I left him propped against the pillows. Back in the kitchen, I poured
myself another glass of wine. Whatever else, the drugs were working and I wanted to find out what was in store for him the next day.

While he is asleep, take all of his clothes and toys out of his room. Refill his pacifier. Keep him in his babydoll set after he wakes up.
Tell him to lift up his top and show you his panties. Say that good sissies always wear pretty panties. Have him walk around the room
exposing his panties and follow your directions to hop, skip and twirl. Keep telling him that mummy likes him in his pretty panties. Take the
pink set. Tell him to take off the babydoll set he is wearing and put them on. Scold him for not obeying quickly enough and use it as a reason
to give him another syringe full from the red bottle. Say good sissies always do what their mummy tells them. Wait one minute. Ask him if he
wants his pacifier. Tell him that good sissies say 'Yes please mummy' when they are asked a question. Make him say it multiple times. Give him back the pacifier. If he takes it out or drops it, give him another syringe full from the red bottle. Wait a minute and ask him if he wants
his pacifier. If he has not learned his lesson, say the correct response, 'Yes please mummy," and make him say it multiple times. Keep the pacifier in for fifteen minutes every hour for maximum effect. Have him dance around showing off his panties for thirty minutes. Swat him with the paddle if he resists or stops. He can have a normal breakfast. After breakfast, exchange this CD for CD two. Repeat the panty show until dinner time.

Since he was in my bedroom, I didn't need to wait until he was asleep to clean out his room. I gathered everything up, put it all in a trash bag
and brought it down to the dumpster. I laid out the pink babydoll set for him to wear in the morning. He was still slumped against the pillows when I looked in. I went to the kitchen and poured another glass of wine.

I stalled until ten o'clock and then moved him back to his own room. I took out the pacifier and rolled him onto his stomach. He tried to turn
over. "sissies who don't do what their mummy tells them get punished. Do you want more medicine?" He stopped struggling. I got the suppository ready and stuck it in up to my first knuckle. He bucked at the intrusion. "Stay still," I warned him. After a few minutes he started to fall asleep. I lubed the plug, shoved it into place, pulled up his panties and rolled him on his back.

After dinner I played the second CD. He had to listen to a nursery rhyme and repeat it with a proper lisp: Mawy hadth a widdle wamb, ith fweece wath thwhite ath thnow. Evwy where that Mawy wenth the widdle wamb would go.

The alarm went off at six o'clock. He was still asleep. I made myself a cup of strong black coffee to make up for over-celebrating with the wine. When I checked again, he was just waking up. I picked up his pacifier. "Open." He was still half asleep. "Good sissies do what their mummy tells them or they get punished." I put down the pacifier and picked up the red syringe. "Open." He started to cry. "Sissies do what their mummy tells them. Open." He gave a wimper. I pushed the syringe between his lips and squirted. "Good sissies do what their mummy tells them."

"Do you want your pacifier?" He nodded. "Good sissies say yes, please mummy." I held the pacifier out. "Good sissies say yes, please mummy." I picked up the red syringe. "Good sissies say, yes, please mummy." He broke into tears. I put the syringe down and picked up the pacifier. "Do you want you pacifier?"

"Wthwfftmph," was all he could manage with the residual effects of the syringe.

"Do you want your pacifier?"

"Yewthpweafthmmmth."

"Do you want your pacifier?"

"Yewth," he struggled with the words, "pweath." He closed his eyes and concentrated. "Mmummth," he finally managed.

I helped him into the bathroom and sat him on the toilet. He might as well start peeing like a girl. "Good sissies sit down to use the toilet."
He still had the plug in and didn't understand. "Just pee. Bad sissies who don't use the toilet and wet their panties get a spanking." When he
finished. I gave him a piece of toilet paper. "Wipe yourself. I don't want pee in your pretty panties." He looked at me blankly. I took the
toilet paper and dabbed. "Pull up your pretty panties."

Back in my bedroom, he pranced about under my supervision. Every so often I made up an excuse to swat him with the paddle. "Twirl for me. Faster. Again. Good sissies love to show off their pretty panties." Whack, whack. Between the tranquilizer and his performance, after half an hour I could see he was tired. "Will you be a good sissy and do what mummy tells you?" He nodded. I took the pacifier out of his mouth. "Use your sissy words."

"Ummm," he mumbled.

I picked up the red syringe. He cringed back and started to cry.

I put the syringe down. "Good sissies say yes, please mummy."

"Yewth, pweath mummy."

I took him to the kitchen and gave him breakfast. When he finished, I gave him back the pacifier to suck on. I brought him into the living room
and started the CD player. "Listen." He looked confused. The CD played the nursery rhyme again and again. I stopped it and took out his
pacifier. "Sissies do what their mummy tells them or they get punished." He looked worried. "Say Mary had a little lamb like you just heard." I
picked up the red syringe.

"Mahwry hadth a ..." He paused trying to remember the words.

"You know Mary had a little lamb. Say it."

"Mahwry hadth a widdle wamb," he continued. "Ith, ith ..." He started to cry. I put down the syringe and started the CD. After it played a few
more times, I told him to try again. He did better. By the fifth time he was able to repeat it. I let him have his pacifier to keep his mouth numb
and refresh the tranquilizer. We continued to alternate between reciting and the pacifier all morning.

After lunch, I had him change into the white babydoll set and show off his frilly sissy panties. We did that off and on for an hour, took a break
and then spent another hour working on his speech. In the afternoon I let him relax. We followed the same nighttime routine, dosing his meal with the laxative, punishing him for messing his panties, rewarding him in the shower and inserting the suppository and plug at bedtime.

The woman was right. By the tenth day of following the instructions, Josh was completely compliant. He grimaced, but opened up for his punishment, he was resigned to being spanked for making a mess in his panties after dinner, changed nighties, showed off his pretty panties, used his sissy words and accepted his suppository and plug without resistance. All three bottles were almost empty, so I expected to receive more supplies and instructions.

In the morning, there was a knock on the door and another anonymous box was there. It was larger than the first. Inside were two CD's, a refill for the pacifier and a number of paper wrapped packages. I took one out. It was labeled 'Catholic Schoolgirl'. Inside was a plaid jumper, short-sleeved white cotton blouse with a peter pan collar, white cotton panties, white ankle socks and black leather Mary Janes. 'Swimwear' had a tank suit, skimpy two piece and a micro bikini. 'Japanese School Girl' had a blue pleated skirt, white sailor pullover top, red scarf, pink hipster panties with a bow, blue knee socks and black flats. 'Party' had a frilly pink dress with full petticoats that ballooned out a short skirt, white nylon panties with three rows of ruffles across the bottom and frilly lace around the waist and leg openings, white nylon ankle socks with ruffled lace tops and pink T-strap shoes. Underneath the packages was a box labeled 'Baby' with cloth diapers, diaper pins, pink plastic pants, a romper with a snap crotch, a baby bottle and a container marked 'Formula'. Another box had a doll with doll clothes that matched the costumes. The final box had fleet enemas.

It was going to be fun dressing Josh up in girl's clothes, but I wasn't enthusiastic about treating him like a baby. My mother handled that. I
shrugged. They knew what they were doing. I played the first CD:

Sissies must learn to be feminine. Use a girl's name and female references. Ask her repeatedly to say her name and whether she is a girl.
Spank her for not remembering. Roleplaying is a necessary part of her activity. Dress her in the Catholic schoolgirl costume. Tell her that
good sissys love to play dress up. Describe each item as you dress her so that she will be familiar with wearing girl's clothes. Undress her and dress her again. Ask her to tell you about her clothes as you put them on. Have her dress and undress herself repeatedly. Compliment her on being a very pretty sissy. Give her the doll. Tell her that good sissies love to play with their dolly. Have her dress the dolly in the
same outfit she is wearing. Have her undress and dress the dolly. Tell her that good sissies always have their dolly with them or they get a
spanking. Repeat for each of the outfits. Continue with the pacifier and her sissy speech program. Follow her nighttime bath and plug routine. Put her in diapers, plastic pants and the romper to sleep in. Fill the baby bottle with milk and add a teaspoon of the formula. It contains a
diuretic and sedative to replace the suppository. When she wakes up in the morning, keep her in the diapers until she wets them. Encourage her to use them by saying the good sissies use their diapers to go potty. Change her and give her an enema. Tell her that good sissys always keep themselves clean. After she expels the enema replace the plug.

"Good Morning Josie, time for good girls to get up." She looked confused. "Your name is Josie and you are a girl." I put the pacifier in her mouth. "Your name is Josie and your are a girl." She Sucked on her pacifier. I took out the pacifier. "Say my name is Josie and I am a girl." No response. "Sissies who do not say what their mummy tells them get a spanking. Now," I said sternly, "say my name is Josie and I am a girl."

"My name ith Jothie."

"I am a girl. Say it."

"I'm a girl."

"Again. My name is Josie and I am a girl."

"My name ith Jothie and I'm a girl."

"Good girl. I have something special for you to wear today. This is a jumper. Say jumper." She repeated it. "Say mummy please may I wear my pretty jumper." I waited. "Sissies say what their mummy tells them or they get a spanking. Now, say mummy please may I wear my pretty jumper."

"Mummy, pweath may I wear my pwetty jumper."

"Yes, Josie, you can wear your pretty jumper."

I went through the same routine with the rest of her outfit. It took about a half hour before she was able to identify them: "Pwetty pantieth.
Jumper. Blouth. Thox. Mahwry Jaynth." I got her dressed, then undressed and dressed again. Then I had her dress and undress herself
until I she was able to tell me what she was wearing and put it on without coaching. She looked like an adorable schoolgirl.

After breakfast I had her change into the other costumes. "My name ith Jothie. I'm a girl. Thkirt, dweth, blouth, pwetty pantieth. Pwease may
I wear my pwetty clowth," we drilled as she danced and pranced for me, lifting her skirt to show off her panties. After a beak and session with
her pacifier, we did a half hour of the sissy speech CD. Then lunch and dolly playtime.

I was surprised how easily Josie was being transformed. I never thought about having a daughter, but then she wasn't really a girl I reminded
myself. She was what the woman had said, a sissy. And a source of future income. At least for me, the best of both worlds.

My thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. It was time for the next stage of the program. The small box contained three CDs, a pink
bottle and corresponding syringe, a penis shaped pacifier, a box labeled 'Trainer', a realistic pink rubber penis, a bottle of lubricant with a dispenser top and a larger plug.

I went to her room and checked on Josie. She was sitting on the floor with her legs spread open playing with her dolly. If she was a girl, I
would have explained that proper young ladies keep their legs together. Given that part of her training was to show off her panties, there was no need. "Thith ith a jumper. Thee, it goeth wif thith pwetty blouth. And theeth pwetty pantieth are jutht wike the oneth I'm wearing." She held up the panties to show the doll. She looked at me in the doorway. "Hewwo mummy."

I went back to the living room and put the first CD in the player:

Sissies must learn to please their daddies. Replace the white bottle with the pink bottle for filling her new pacifier. It has a lower dose of
tranquilizer and will not numb her tongue, so that she can use it more frequently and work on her oral skills. Assemble the stool. Instructions
are included. Have her watch and follow CD two every morning, afternoon and evening. Tell her that sissies never ever touch themselves without permission and punish her if she does. Continue with her other daily routines, except change the baby routine to the morning to teach her that watersports are part of playtime and not bedtime. Empty out any remaining contents of the brown, red and white bottles and syringes, wash them out and discard them.

I opened the stool kit and read the instructions. When assembled, it was two feet high with a threaded hole in the center, and four black rubber
pegs with rounded tops, increasing in length and diameter, and a bolt in the bottom that screwed into the hole. The training purpose of the
attachments and bottle of lubricant was obvious. I changed to CD two. It showed sissies in frilly party dresses lifting up their skirts, pulling
down their panties and pegging themselves to a slow count of ten, resting and repeating. It struck me how careful the Society was about protecting itself. By themselves, the CD's were just wanking material and the other items could come from any adult store.

"Josie, come here." She came to me holding her dolly. I took the pacifier out of her mouth and held out the new one I had filled. "Open." She looked at it and hesitated. "Good sissies obey their mummy or they get punished. Open." I watched as she tentatively sucked on it and then
relaxed. "Good sissies who obey their mummy get rewarded. Keep sucking." I waited a minute then I took it out. "Do you want your pacifier back?" She knew the correct answer.

"Josie, we have a new sissy game to play. Turn around and bend over." I removed her plug. As she watched, I attached the smallest of the pegs to the stool, pumped on lubricant and pointed to it. "I want you to do just like the video. The peg goes in you bottom." I guided her. "Good sissies do what their mommy tells them or they get punished. Sit down on the peg." I held on to her shoulders and guided her as her as she lowered herself. She gasped as the peg went in. I pushed her down until she was seated and started the CD. "Do just like the good sissy in the cartoon. Stand up and then sit down again. "Up." I kept pressure on her shoulders, so that she squatted over the plug. "Down. One. Up. Down. Two. Up. Down. Three. Keep going." I rewarded her with milk and a cookie after she completed the first round. By the end of her fourth day on the stool, she was impaling herself easily on the largest of the pegs.

Whether it was the drugs, the program or her nature, by the third week, Josie was completely submissive. I wondered what it would have been like if she had been born female. Would we have done mother and daughter things? Being a girl didn't help me get along with my parents. Having a sissy was better.

The next box arrived on Sunday. It just held a small black leather shoulder bag. Inside the bag was an envelope with instructions:

Dress your sissy in her Catholic school uniform and have her carry this bag. Be with her on the sidewalk in front of your apartment building at
8:00 AM on Monday. A van will pick her up. When the door opens, walk her to the van, put her in the seat closest to the door and buckle her seat belt. Do NOT get in the van and do NOT speak with the driver. The van will drop her off at 3:00 PM. Check her bag for further instructions when she returns. Continue with her regular home routine.

The woman at the interview said that it was a one month's program, so I assumed Josie was going to get some actual sex training. Would she enjoy being a sissy? Did it matter? Not really. We needed the money.

Chapter 2.

"Josie, tomorrow you will be going to school."

"I don't wike thkool."

"A special school."

"I don't wike thkool," she repeated.

I looked at her sternly. "I expect you to be a good sissy.

"Yeth, mummy."

"It's time for your sissy videos and training. Pull down your panties and lets get started"

"Yeth, mummy."

In the morning, I prepared her as instructed. After breakfast, I put the pacifier in her bag and walked her outside. Waiting on the sidewalk, she
looked like any other girl on her way to Catholic school. At eight o'clock a white van pulled up. It had a crest and 'St. Trinian's Academy' in blue and gold letters on the door. The side windows were tinted and from what I could see through the windshield, the driver was in uniform.
I couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman. The side door slid open. There was a partition blocking off the front and no one else was inside.
I buckled Josie into the seat.

"Mummy?" She looked at me nervously.

"It's okay, Josie. Just be a good sissy and do what you're told. I'll see you this afternoon."

"Yeth, mummy."

I stepped back, the door slid shut and the van pulled out. As it did, a terrible through crossed my mind. What if they didn't bring her back? I
just put my daughter, whatever, in a strange van. I turned around to see the license plate, but by then it was too late. I panicked. If she was
kidnapped, what would I tell the police? I met an unidentified woman in a pretend clinic who sent me instructions to turn my son into a sissy, which I did, and then I delivered him to them for a promise of two thousand dollars per week. How stupid could I be. Nobody was going to pay that kind of money when they could have Josie for free. Dejectedly, I walked back to my apartment.

I kept looking at the clock. At two forty-five I gave a sigh of resignation, went downstairs and nervously paced the sidewalk. I looked at my phone. It was two fifty-five. No van. At three, I panicked. Maybe there was traffic. I looked down the street expectantly. Then I saw a white van approaching. I walked to the curb. I saw the St. Trinian's name and crest as it pulled over. The door opened, a girl was in the seat. I didn't recognize her at first.

"Josie?"

"Yeth, mummy, ith me."

I unbuckled the seat belt and took her out. The door slid shut and the van left. Whatever my fears, the Society was the real deal. I hurried
her upstairs. Inside, I admired the changes. Her hair had been permed into soft waves with wispy bangs and lightened to a honey blonde. The hairdresser knew their stuff, the look was innocent and beautiful. He nails had been manicured and painted with a bubblegum pink polish, she had a bubblegum scented pale pink lip gloss and her face had a pink glow.

"Wook, mummy." She pulled back her hair to show me two gold heart studs in hear ears. "Ewwings." She was excited. "I had the betht time. Am I going to thkool tomowwow? Can, I, pwease?"

"Do you like being a sissy?"

"Oh, yeth mummy. I wike it."

"Yes, Josie, you are going to school tomorrow, but we have to do your homework now."

"Homework, whath thaht?"

"Being a good sissy and doing what your mummy tells you."

"Yeth, mummy."

"Now, go change into your party dress and then watch your videos."

"Yeth, mummy."

I was so taken with her makeover that I forgot to check the bag. There was a hairbrush, a bottle of nail polish and remover, clear and white bottles of solution, a tube of lip gloss, two prescription bottles and an envelope with instructions:

Swab your sissy's ears with the solution in the clear bottle and rotate her earrings morning and night. Have her brush her hair 100 strokes at
night and in the morning. Have her practice applying the lip gloss and nail polish. Sissies must be well groomed. At night, teach her how to
properly cleanse her face and use the astringent in the white bottle. Sissy's must have clear skin. Your sissy is to start on hormones. Give
her one of the purple capsules and one of the white tablets every day. Sissies must be hairless. Teach her to shave her pubic hair, underarms and legs. Be on the sidewalk in front of your building at 8:00 AM for pickup. The van will drop her off at 3:00 PM. Continue with her daily program.

Josie enthusiastically took to her beauty routine. She freshened her lip gloss, practiced removing and applying her nail polish., and constantly
fussed with her hair. From her appearance, you would never guess what she was packing in her panties.

Tuesday morning, she was dressed in her school uniform and waiting on the sidewalk. The van arrived, I put her in and off she went. Every day for the past three weeks I had been occupied with supervising Josie's training, so I was stuck at home. I spent yesterday anxiously waiting to see if she came back. Today was the first time I had nothing to do.

I looked at my phone. It was only ten o'clock. Josie hadn't started earning any money, so I couldn't afford to go shopping. When she did,
what would I buy. A big TV, clothes, shoes, jewelry, oh, and a car. No more busses. Could I? Maybe I should learn about managing money. I
couldn't afford cable or the internet, so the only way I could use my laptop was at a coffee shop with wi-fi.

I got my purse and took the bus downtown. I found a Starbucks and ordered a latte. I started surfing. What I found was that banks were suspicious of cash and had to report large deposits. I would also have to show where the money came from for taxes. There had to be a way to do this. Drug dealers and bank robbers had cash. What did they do with it? I wasn't that smart or that devious. Maybe what I should do was finish high school. There were lots of online programs to get my GED and it would give me something to do while Josie was out working.

Josie was dropped off by the school van. When we got to the privacy of our apartment, I asked her about her day.

"Oh, mummy, I had the betht time."

"You said that yesterday."

"Yeth, but today I pwayed wif my thithy thithters."

"Sissy sisters?" Tell me about them."

"Thewy're werry pwetty, wike me."

"You think you're pretty?"

"Yeth, mummy, I'm a pwetty thithy." she confirmed with a big smile.

"What are your sissy sisters' names?"

"Andwea, Thally, Thuthie, Mawia and Patthy."

"What did you do with them?"

"They hugged and kithed me hehwo and we pwayed thithy gameth."

Having friends and being included in their activities was something new for Josie. "What kind of sissy games?"

"Firtht, our teather had us undwess each other."

"Was your teacher a man or a woman?"

"Theth a weal woman, mummy, like you."

"Then what?"

"We pwayed wifff each other's penithes to make thiffies."

"Did you get a stiffie?"

"Oh, yeth mummy. Mawie and Thally wubbed me. It wath wery nith."

Even better being the center of attention. "Was that all?"

"No. mummy. After we got stiffies we wicked them wike wowwy popth and thucked on them. Andwea and Thally made cummieth in my mouf."

"Did you like it?"

"Yeth, mummy."

"And did you make cummies?"

"Yeth, mummy. I made cummies in Patthy's mouf."

"Anything else?"

"Oh, yeth, mummy. Our teather took out our pwugs and gave uth new oneth. Thiny thilver and mine hath a bwue jewel. Thewy're wery pwetty. She thaid our daddies like pretty jewelth in our bottomth.

"Well, you had a busy day. A good sissy gets rewarded. How about milk and a cookie before you start your homework?

"Yeth, pweath mummy."

"Okay, go put on your party dress and then come back." She turned to leave. "Wait. Lift up your jumper and pull down your panties. I want to
see your new plug.

"Yeth, mummy."

Friday was the last day of Josie's sissy training. She dressed in her school uniform. By now she did it herself, along with the other routines.
She really was an adorable girl or at least she would be, if she really was a girl. The school van picked her up. I went to the coffee shop and
checked out GED courses. I also stopped by a bank and got some information about opening a checking account. I was waiting on the
sidewalk when Josie was dropped off.

"So, Josie, did you play with your sissy sisters today?"

"No. mummy, I pwayed wiff my daddy."

"Just you and him?"

"Yeth,, mummy."

"Firtht, my teather took out my pwug and checked my pentih and puthy. Then I thaht in daddy's wap and he wubbed me awl over and kithed me."

"He kissed you on the mouth?"

"Yeth, mummy. We kithed and he put hith tongue in my mouf."

"What else did you do with him?"

"He kithed and wcked my nippleth and my penith. " Her eyes widened. "He kiithed and licked my bottom and put hith tongue and fingerth in too." She paused and smiled. "He thpanked me."

"Did it hurt?"

"Yeth, mummy, a widdle, but," she looked down, "I kinda wiked it. It made my bottom feel all hot and tingly."

"Did he do anything else to your bottom."

"Yeth, mummy. I wubbed and wicked his penith and he got a stiffie. I thaht in his wap and he put it in my bottom. I bounthed wike on my thtool and he made cummies in me and then he put it in my mouf and I cweaned it off." My teather thaid I did a good job and daddy thaid I was the betht thitthy ever," she said proudly. "We snuggled for a widdle while. I thucked on his penith and he made more cummies. I thwollowed motht of it, but there was awot and thum dwibbled out."

Looking closely I could see the four one hundred dollar bills. "Josie, I am very proud of you too." I gave her a hug. "It's Friday night. You
don't have to do your homework. Go upstairs, get undressed and I will wash you off. Then I will dress you and we can go to the mall. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yeth pweath mummy. Can I have eyth kweam?"

"Yes, Josie, you can have ice cream. Now scoot." I gave her a swat on the bottom and she gave a cry. "Oh, sorry, I forgot you got a spanking."

'Ith okay, mummy." She grinned and scampered off.

I washed off the dried cum, used the astringent to give her skin a pink glow and brushed out her hair. By now she was routinely applying the lip gloss. Her school uniform would be conspicuous on a Friday night. The last thing I wanted to do was to have a conversation about religious school with some random mother. The Japanese schoolgirl outfit had a navy pleated skirt, which I paired with the white panties, white ankle socks, Mary Janes and white short-sleeved blouse from her Catholic school uniform.

"Josie, when we get to the mall, I want you to hold my hand the whole time and I don't want you to talk to anyone, unless I tell you to. Remember, good sissies obey their mummy."

"Yeth, mummy."

We were off for our first outing as mother and daughter. Other than my trips to the coffee shop and Josie's going to school, as it were, we had
been cooped up in the apartment for a month. It was nice to be out with normal people, even if we weren't normal people. The bus dropped us off at the mall and we walked hand in hand to the entrance. Josie had a cute sway I hadn't noticed before. I wasn't sure whether it was the plug or just something she picked up as part of her training. "Do you like going out with mummy?" She gave me a questioning look. "Good girl, but you can answer me."

"Yeth, mummy."

Our first stop was the department store. Josie need a wardrobe and I didn't have a lot of money, so I had to find multipurpose outfits. Josie
held onto my hand as I moved from rack to rack. I let go of her and picked out a jean jumper and pink jersey with ruffled short sleeves. We
went into a dressing room and she tried them on.

"Josie, do you like the jumper and top? You can answer me."

"Yeth, mummy. Can I wear them?"

"You mean now?"

"Yeth."

"Yes."

We walked out to the sales counter. "My daughter likes her outfit so much she wants to wear it. Can you cut off the tags, please."

"Of course." The saleswoman looked approvingly. "You're very pretty," she looked down at Josie, but she didn't answer. "Is she a model?'

Her question caught me by surprise. I hadn't thought of Josie that way.

"No, she's very shy."

"I see," taking Josie's silence as confirmation. "Too bad, she's a natural."

"I need to shop for some underwear too. Do you want me to pay for what she's wearing first?"

"Oh, no problem. I can ring them up together. Go ahead. You can leave what she was wearing here while you shop."

I wanted Josie to keep feeling ultra-feminine, so I got a package of nylon panties in pastel colors with white lace trim, three matching AA bras with lace straps and bows, three pairs of pastel nylon ankle socks and a pink knee length nightie with a white dancing unicorn and rainbow.

The saleswoman admired the selection, "My goodness, she is a girly girl." And to Josie, "You're very lucky to have a mommy who buys you such pretty things." She bagged them with the other clothes. "She's such a doll." She looked around cautiously. "I'm going to give you my store discount."

"Thank you, that's very nice."

"No problem. If you come back, ask for me. I'm Tammy." She waved as we left. "Bye, sweetie."

The shoes with her outfits were sufficient, but I wanted to get some accessories. I picked out a pink Alice headband, a package of pink hair
clips, a gold heart necklace and a matching bracelet. Of course, Josie wanted to wear everything. She turned heads as we walked through the mall.

Josie looked up at me expectantly. "Yes, Josie."

"I hath to go to the baffwoom."

I found the ladies room and took her into a stall. I tried to remember my own training about how to hover over public toilets, but then Josie didn't have the same kind of exposure. I let her sit and go, then wipe herself off. I supervised as she washed her hands. "Fix your hair and lipstick." I took a brush and the lip gloss out of my purse and handed them to her. A woman standing next to us watched as she preened and smiled at me approvingly."

Josie looked up at me again. I nodded.

"Eyth kweam pweath, mummy?"

"Yes, Josie," I looked around to see if anyone could hear. "Good sissies get rewarded by their mummy." We walked to the food court. "What flavor do you want?"

"Chocowate, pweath, wiff spwinkles."

I got her a kiddy dish and a dish of rum raisin for myself. I guided her to a table. "Put the dish on the table and smooth out your skirt, before
you sit." She looked confused. I put down my dish and slid my hands under my butt and then sat. "Now you." She copied me. "Good girl. That way you don't bunch up your skirt or get it wrinkled. And good girls keep their legs together and cross them at the ankles, so people can't see their panties."

She looked at me questioningly. "Yes."

"I hath pwetty pantieth."

I leaned over and whispered. "Sissy's show off their panties, but girls don't. Your daddies might like to see them, but showing you panties in
public is naughty."

When we got home, there was a large box waiting at the door. Inside was a pink carry-on suitcase with wheels and instructions:

Dress your sissy in her Catholic school outfit. Pack up all of your sissy's other outfits and put them in the suitcase. Have her bring the
suitcase with her on Monday. Be on the sidewalk at 8 AM. The van will pick her up at 8 AM and drop her off at 3 PM.

What did they want with the clothes, I wondered? Was Josie going to wear them for her daddies or were they trying to prevent me from freelancing? Did the Society know that we went shopping to replace them? Were they
watching us? I resolved to be careful about what I said and did.

I got Josie ready and took the suitcase outside. "Whath that, mummy?"

"Your clothes in case your daddies want you to dress up for them."

"Dwess up for my daddyth?"

"I don't know Josie. Good sissies do what they're told."

"Yeth, Mummy."

The van arrived. I put her in with the suitcase. I had the rest of the day to myself. I thought that she'd be able to wear the shoes from the
outfits, but now she only had the Mary Janes, so I went back to the mall. I bought her a pair of black ballet flats and a pair of pink canvas shoes
with sparkles. I spent the rest of the day in the coffee shop looking at GED courses.

In order to sign up, I needed a credit or debit card. Without a job, I couldn't get a credit card and a debit card went with a bank account.
What I needed was some type of work that I could do at home. I could sell things online, but that meant I'd have to find something to pretend to make or buy to resell. Looking out the window, I saw a young woman walking five dogs. I got up and went after her. The dogs stopped to
sniff a mailbox. She told me she made about $100 a day walking the dogs and some other dogs she took care of during the day. She gave me a card: 'Pat's Pets, Sitting and Walking.' Okay, doggie daycare it was. I went to the bank and got the paperwork to apply for a personal and business account.

Josie was dropped off as usual. Her hair was matted, there was dried cum on her face and cum stains on her dress. All in all, I would say she had a full day, confirmed by the four hundred dollar bills in her bag. I hustled her into our apartment before anyone passing by got curious.
Sitting in the kitchen with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies, I asked about her day.

"Oh, mummy, I had the beth time."

"Again?"

"Yeth, but today I pwayed wif my daddies."

"What did you do with them?"

"Daddy undwessed me and kithed my nippleth and my penith until it wath thiff and thucked so I made cummieth. Then he took out my pwug and wicked my bottom awl over and made my puthy wet. I thaht in hith wap and he put his penith in and wifted me up and down until he made cummieth. And then he put hith penith in my mowth and I wicked it orf. He thaid I wath a wery good thtithy and kithed me.

She stopped to dunk a cookie.

"What else?"

"I had a bweak and wathed a video about themaleth having thex. They make loth of noith." She laughed. Then I dweathed in my baby clowths. The wady in the woom helpth me wif my diaper and pwastic panth. Daddy wathed me ath I kwaled awound, pwayed wiff toyth and dwank a bottle. He took off my baby dweath and pithed in my diaper.

"Did you like that?"

"Yeth, mummy, it felt nith and warm."

"Go on."

"Thath awl."

"You didn't have sex with him?"

"No, mummy, he pwayed wif himthelf and made cummies in my diaper.

"Okay, then what."

"Daddy took my diaper wiff him and weft. I went back to the woom and wathed the video and then put on my thkool clowth."

"The ones you have on?"

"Yeth, mummy. Daddy and I pwayed thkool. He wath my teacher and I wath naughty and he pulled down my pantieth and thpanked me. Then he wubbed my bottom and took out my pwug and puthed a penith in me."

"His penis?"

"No, mummy, wike on my thtool, but it wath bwack. He puthed it in and out and I got a thiffie and dwibbled cummieth. Then I wubbed and thucked on hith penith and he made hith cummies on me. He thaid I wooked wike a weal thithy covered wiff hith thperm," she said proudly.

"And did you have another daddy?"

"Yeth, mummy. It wath the betht one. I wore my party dweth and my thithy thithter Patthy was wiff me. Patthy pwayed wiff hith penith and I thaht on hith faith with my pantieth on. He wicked my ath and cwotch and made them wet. Then he made cummies in Patthy's mowth. Daddy told patthy not to thwallow and told me to kith her and puth my tongue in her mowth with hith cummies in it. I wike cummie kitheth. They're nith and juithy. Then daddy thucked on our penithes until we made cummies in hith mowth and we all kithed each other some more."

"You had a very busy first day."

"Yeth, mummy." She looked hesitant.

"What is it?"

"Do I haff to do my thithy homework? My bottom is thore."

"I don't wonder. It got quite a workout. That's enough for today."

Every weekday for the next month she put on her Catholic school uniform, was picked up by the St. Trinian's van, was dropped off in the afternoon, brought home four hundred dollar bills in her bag and enthusiastically told me about the variety of sex she had with her daddies. I opened a bank account and deposited a few hundred dollars every week. The rest I put in a shoe box and hid it in the closet. I signed up for my GED course and decided that when I finished, I would get a degree in education. In the afternoon we watched TV or a video and on the weekends we went clothes shopping until she had a wardrobe of skirts, dresses, shoes and underwear that any girl would envy.

Chapter 3.

As the months went by and the shoe box filled up, I sent a note to the Society that I wanted Josie to take a week off. I found a note in her
bag when she returned:

Your request for a one-week pause in your sissy's schedule is approved. Sissies need milky white skin. Plan accordingly.

A few days after we returned, I got another note from the Society. I was to go to the clinic at ten o'clock on Friday. Everything was going so
well, I hoped it wasn't bad news. As before, I rang the bell and responded to the woman's voice on the intercom. The door clicked open and
I proceeded to the reception area. Nothing had changed. I took a seat.

A few minutes later the same woman I met with before came out. "Good morning," she greeted me and held the door open. Inside she pointed to the chair in front of the desk and sat down on the other side. She took a laptop out of a drawer, opened it, typed something and turned the screen around. From my online courses I recognized the silhouette which appeared when the other person had their camera off. The woman got up and left. I stared at the screen and held my breath.

A man's voice said, "I want to make you a business proposition."

It didn't sound like bad news. I exhaled. "Okay, I'm listening."

"I missed Josie while she was away. I want to buy her."

"She's not for sale."

"Money is no object."

"She's not for sale," I reiterated. "I don't care how much money you have."

"You're already selling her. I just want her exclusively."

"If that's all you want, then just pay the Society for the hours that she's there. Problem solved."

"The Society's hours are not convenient."

"I suppose I could arrange for you to visit when she's home."

"That would not be discrete or convenient either."

"So you want her available all day every day."

"And all night."

"You want her to live with you?"

"Yes"

"No."

"One million dollars."

"No."

"Isn't having one man who cares about Josie better than many who don't?"

"This isn't about love. It's about sex and one prick is the same as
another.

"There's no need for insults. If I did not have good intentions, we would not be having this conversation."

He was right. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it the way it sounded. I just meant that Josie seems to like all of her daddies. She's never told me
about having a preference for one in particular."

"Two million dollars."

"No. I'm not selling her." I stood up and started to leave.

"Sit down," he commanded. "There has to be a way for us to work this out. If it isn't about money, then what?"

"I don't want to give Josie up."

"Okay, if you don't want to sell Josie, how about renting her to me."

"What's the difference?"

"You rent an apartment, don't you?"

"Yes."

"You don't own it. You just get to use it for a period of time and then you have to give it back in good condition.

"Go on."

"So, what if I take Josie for a year and then give her back to you. If she's happy, we can talk about a more permanent arrangement."

I thought about it. "If this is like renting an apartment, then what about month to month," I bargained.

"I do a lot of traveling and I don't know how much time I would have with her."

"Three months then."

"Six months."

"Agreed."

"I will have cash for you when Josie is picked up on Monday. You don't have to pack anything. I will provide it."

"We haven't talked about how much."

"You said it wasn't about the money. I will pay you more than Josie makes now."

"You will pay me a lot more than she makes now," I challenged him. "She only works four hours a day and five days a week. You want her twenty- four seven. Five thousand a week for twenty-five weeks. The last week she's with me."

"Two."

"Four."

"Three."

"Agreed. And I don't want cash. I already have a shoe box full of money I can't spend."

"What do you want."

"A trust fund."

"A what?"

"For Josie, with me as trustee. You said you cared about her. Pretty sissies grow up to be tranny prostitutes. I want Josie to be able to choose her own life."

"For Josie's retirement," he said with a laugh. "Agreed."

And I want it legit. All of the taxes paid."

"That makes it a lot more expensive."

"Money's no object. You said so."

"It will take some time to set up the trust fund. The papers will be dropped off for you to sign and you can bring them with you when you pick
up the checkbook at the bank. In the meantime, Josie can stay home. I will arrange it with the Society. Thank you and goodbye." The woman was sitting in the waiting room as I left.

It wasn't the best solution, but whoever he was, he must have clout with the Society if they were willing to give up Josie and he was right that
one man was better than many, she would be paid much better for probably not much more time, I didn't have to worry about hiding the money and it was only for six months. I thought about how I would tell Josie. A year ago, it wouldn't have mattered. I would've been happy to get rid of her, let alone get paid for it. Now I was sad to lose her even temporarily.

After the usual milk and cookies on her return, I brought up the subject. "Josie, do you have a special daddy?"

"Thepethial?"

"A daddy who you like the most."

She scrunched up her face trying to decide. After a minute she shook her head. "No, mummy."

"Well, one of them likes you so much he wants you to stay with him."

"Thtay whiff him? At thkool?"

"No, In his house."

"Will I come home to thweep?"

"No."

"I wike wiffing here," she said sadly.

"I know Josie, but good sissies do what their mummy tells them."

She sighed. "Yeth, mummy."

I tried to cheer her up. "You won't go to school this week. We can spend it together. Won't that be nice."

"Yeth, mummy."

By now Josie and I were comfortable about her being in public. We had lunch and dinner out, saw a movie and, of course, went shopping. On
Monday morning I woke her up early. We had a nice breakfast. She got dressed and we went to wait on the sidewalk. The van arrived. There was a packet of papers on the seat with my name on it. Josie got in, the door closed, the van pulled out and I waved goodbye, although I knew she
couldn't see me through the dark glass.

I went back in and crossed off day one of the calendar I bought. Over the next few weeks, I got cable and internet and upgraded my laptop and TV. The electronics store was happy to take cash. So was the car lot salesman, nothing flashy that would draw attention, and the furniture store. I picked out a white and gold French provincial set for Josie's room, with a canopy bed and big mirror on a stand. With nothing but time and being able to work from home, I completed my GED and started taking college courses. The six months went by faster than I expected.

I wasn't sure about the details for Josie's return and I had no way to get in touch with anyone to ask. I guessed that it would be on Monday
morning. I was waiting on the sidewalk at a quarter to eight, anxiously watching the traffic. At eight I saw a white van approaching and was
relieved to see the St. Trinian's crest and name as it pulled over,

"Hehwo, mummy," she greeted me with a big hug.

"I missed you Josie."

"I mithed you too, mummy."

"Let me look at you. Are you okay?"

"Yeth, mummy."

"I have a surprise for you." Inside I told her to close her eyes. "No peeking." I walked her to her bedroom. "Okay, open them. Do you like
it?"

"Yeth, mummy. Ith werry pwetty."

"Do you have a bedroom like this at your daddy's house?"

"Yeth, mummy. I haff my own woom. And a baffwoom too," she added.

"Your own bathroom?"

"Yeth, mummy."

"You are a lucky sissy."

"Yeth, mummy."

"Tell me about your daddy."

She hesitated. "Daddy saith I muthnt thay anyfing."

"About him?"

"Yeth, mummy."

"Can you tell me what you do all day?"

"When daddy's home we pway thtithy games wike at thkool and I sweep in hith bed. He dothent whet Pwintheth sweep wiff uth."

"Who is Princess?"

"Sheth my dog. Sheth a cocker thpaniel. Pwintheth sweeps with Mithtwith Gwethen when I'm wiff Daddy."

"And who is Mistress Gretchen?"

"Sheth my governeth. She taketh care of me when daddy ith away. Sheth wery stwict. She spakth me when I'm naughty." Josie gave me a big smile which I took to mean it was part of their games. "And Mith Thmith ith my
tutor."

"Pretend tutor or real tutor?" Josie looked at me blankly. "Does she play sissy games too or does she teach you like real school?"

"Like wheel thkool. I wead and white and do pwobwems. Daddy thayth, . . . ,she paused deciding whether she could repeat it, 'Daddy thayth
thithies need to be pwetty and obedient, not thtupid."

"What else do you do? You don't have to tell me about your daddy. Just about you."

"I had a birfday party," she said excitedly.

"Your birthday was in April."

"Daddy thaid . . . ," she paused again and thought about it.

"Just tell me about the party," I encouraged her.

"My thithy thithers came to pway whiff me. We all wore our pwetty party dwethes and had cake and eyeth kweem."

"Did you play party games?"

"Yeth, mummy. We undweathed each other and thucked and made dewithious fwosting for the cake." She smiled. "And we wathed a movie with twanny's fucking and uthing toyth. Daddy gave uth . . . um," she stopped, ". . . , we got toyth just wike the oneth in the movie as pwesents and pwayed whiff them. Mine had pearls inside and wiggled like a weal penith and vibwated. Thally got an egg and Thuthie got beadth. "

"Was Mistress Gretchen and Miss Smith at the party?"

"It wath thaturday. I thaid Mithtwith Gwethen liffs wiff uth. Mith Thmith only comes on thkool dayth." I got a weal gold pwug too as a thpecial pwesent whiff a weal whed jewel, a whuby," she added excitedly. Patthy wanted to wear it, but I thaid it wath mine, but she could put it
in me. She's my betht fwiend."

Obviously, her daddy did not go in for traditional celebrations, party favors or gifts.

You know, you could stay here with me," I suggested.

"No, mummy, daddy would mith me and I would mith him and Pwintheth."

"You could have a dog if you lived with me."

She looked at me tearfully. "Please don't cry, Josie. I just want you to be happy. If you want to go back with your daddy you can, but I want
you here with me for a while. Okay?"

"Yeth, mummy."

"Now, lets get you changed. I bought some pretty new clothes for you to wear. Josie stripped off her jumper and blouse. I noticed that her
chest had filled out. "Josie, take off your bra." The hormones were doing their work. There were definite swellings with puffy little pink
nipples, probably an A cup.

She stuck out her chest proudly. "Daddy thath I have pwetty titties. He liketh to whick and thuck on them. They're wherry thentitive. He maketh me thkweem and thomtimeth I get tho exthited I make cummies." Then she realized she had said too much. "Mummy, I thouldn't . . . ."

"Don't worry Josie, it's our secret." Let's finish getting you dressed and we can go to the mall for lunch." She looked at me expectantly. "Yes, and ice cream too. As much as you can eat. We're celebrating."

We hadn't discussed how long Josie would be with me or whether she would go back on the same terms. My questions were answered on Sunday morning with a knock on the door. I expected the usual anonymous delivery, but there was a tall blonde woman in a long black leather skirt, short black leather jacket over a red blouse and stiletto heeled black ankle boots. "Mistress Gretchen, I presume." She silently extended a gloved hand with an envelope. I opened it:

Monday, 8 AM. 6 months. As before.

Brief, cryptic and to the point. The woman waited impassively for my answer. Josie was happy and wanted to go back.

"Yes."

The woman turned and left.

Six months and another deposit to Josie's trust fund later, Josie stepped out of the van. She continued the Catholic school girl charade.

"Hehwo, mummy," she greeted me with a big hug.

"I missed you Josie."

"I mithed you too, mummy."

"Let me look at you. Are you okay?"

"Yeth, mummy."

"Smile for me. What's this, Josie, you have braces," I exclaimed with surprise.

"Yeth, mummy."

"Don't they bother you when you play with your daddy?"

"No, thilly, you don't uth your teef when you thuck a cock."

"I see you've been working on both your technique and your vocabulary." She looked at me blankly. "Never mind, I was being silly like you said. Tell me what you've been doing and how's Princess?"

She told me that she had gone on some trips to Switzerland and had chocolate candy and cocoa. I assumed with his resources he could pull
the right strings and no questions asked. Other than traveling, things were the same. She played with her daddy, got spanked by Mistress
Gretchen, was tutored by Miss Smith, had occasional orgies with her sissy sisters, had collected just about every adult toy imaginable and some I couldn't - it seemed like there wasn't much else to give the sissy who has everything - and was very happy.

I had Josie ready to go back on Monday. My only consolation was that she would grow out of being daddy's sissy girl and I would get her back
eventually. However, on the Monday morning that Josie was supposed to be with me for the week a black limousine pulled up instead. A man in a black suit and chauffeur's cap got out and handed me an envelope. I panicked, thinking that something had happened to her and tore the
envelope open:

Hello Mother, Don't worry. I am fine. Father and I are on a business trip and I won't be able to see you for another six months. Love you,
Jocie.

It was in Josie's handwriting, but the wording was strange. She never called me 'mother', she never referred to her daddy as 'father' and she
never signed her name with a 'c'. Was it some subtle code to alert me that she was in trouble and being forced to write the note? But why
would she be made to write to me at all? I had no way to find her and no way to explain what happened to her to the police. If she had been
kidnapped her daddy obviously had the money to ransom her and he had been as good as his word when we made the deal. There wasn't anything I could do except wait and hope for the best.

Six months later I was waiting on the sidewalk again. The black limousine pulled up. Another postponement. What if this time it was for good? The chauffeur got out and started to walk around the limo. I wasn't going to let them get away with it. A year was long enough.
Whatever it took, I was going to get Josie back. He opened the back door. A woman stepped out. So it was that bitch Mistress he sent to do
his dirty work. It didn't matter, I was Josie's mother and I was going to confront her. No, she had on a purple blouse with a bow at the neck
and long ruffled sleeves, a black skirt with a slit that showed a lot of leg when she got out, high heels and a large black leather shoulder bag.
It wasn't her. He must have sent the tutor this time. It didn't matter. No more excuses. The woman came towards me.

"Hello Mother."

I stared at her. She reached out to hug me. I pulled back. She looked startled.

"Mother?"

"Josie? Is that you."

"Yes mother."

"Your voice?"

"Let's go inside."

She took my arm and walked me to the door. Inside she turned to me. Can I have that hug now, please?" I hesitatingly put my arms around her. "Hehwo, mummy," she teased me, "thatithfied?"

"Yes." I gave her a real hug.

"Mmmm, I missed you," she said softly and snuggled against me. We held each other for a minute. "Let's go to the kitchen. I'd love a glass of
wine."

"Wine? Since when did you . . . ?" I stopped and looked at her, ". . . let's go to the kitchen." I poured us each a glass. She sat down at the
table, swirled the wine, sniffed it, took a sip and gave me a questioning look. "Sorry, its from the grocery store. I got milk for you. If you
want a cookie to dunk, you're in luck."

After we relaxed, I turned to her. "I've been worried about you. The note you sent didn't sound like you. Neither do you."

"My father . . ."

"He's not your father!" I emphatically interrupted her.

"I know mother, he told me about your meeting. He was impressed that you turned down quite a large sum of money for me and that you wanted to protect me with the trust fund. Please be patient and I will explain." She looked at me expectantly.

"Go on."

"Traveling for business can be stressful for father . . ," she paused to see if I reacted. I sat passively. ". . . the foreign sissies weren't
up to his, umm, standards." She gave a little laugh. "I spoiled him. Once I settled in he wanted me with him. He had connections to get me
travel documents, but we needed a back story. I was his daughter from a Bosnian woman with whom he had an affair. She died in the war and the records were destroyed. My name is Jocasta Ivanovic. Jocie with a 'c' for short. To be convincing, I had to speak Bosnian, which is impossible to learn with a lisp. So I had speech therapy." She sipped her wine. It turns out I have a knack for languages. I am learning French. Je t'aime, mama.

"You're completely femnine. Have you had . . . ?"

"The operation?" she anticipated me. "No, what kind of a sissy would I be without my toys, front and rear. Father prefers me as I am and so do I. It also comes in quite handy," she gave me a smirk, "for training our sissies."

"Your sissies?" I reacted with surprise, emphasizing, 'your'.

"Yes, we found an adorable ladyboy in Thailand and the prettiest sissy in Somalia. She's jet black with skin like velvet." I am now the Executive Vice President for Procurement and Training," she said mischievously. Then she turned serious. "Mother, sissies are so badly treated in Asia. Africa and the Middle East. I'm going to start a 'Save the Sissies' foundation. But that's another story.

Okay, you're a world class sissy with a good heart and a phony passport. That still doesn't mean he's your father."

No and that's one of the reason's why I'm here, besides missing you. He wants to adopt me."

"What," I stood up knocking over my wine glass. "No, no, no! I told him before that I wouldn't sell you and I won't give you to him. If you want
to pretend he's your father, that's up to you, but you are my daughter, not his."

"Actually, to be biologically correct, I'm not his daughter or yours and that's the problem. Please, mother, let me finish." I got a cloth to
wipe up the wine, refilled both our glasses and sat down. "Father wants to leave me his estate."

"He doesn't need to be your father to do that."

"Legally no, but practically, the story we have been telling about me being related to him is not true and a DNA test would prove it. His
adopting me will prevent any controversy." She paused and took my hand. "I am of age, mother. I don't need your consent, but I love you and I won't do it without your approval."

"I love you too, Josie," I said tearfully, "and if that's what will make you happy, then yes."

She started to cry too. "Stupid hormones." When she composed herself she continued, "I didn't want it to sound like a bribe, so I didn't tell
you before, but father is going to transfer the trust fund to you. I won't need it. You wanted to provide for my future and you have. Oh,
and he's going to add the two million dollars. He said a deal's a deal. Happy now?" She looked at me and started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh, mother, this really is a fairy tale. You know, the video we had about the dwarfs, one of them was Happy."

"What does Snow White have to do with this."

"I'm sorry, it's just that," she tried to take a drink and had to spit the wine back into her glass, "I'm the fairy princess and . . ."

"Snow White wasn't a fairy," I corrected her.

"Oh, mother, stay with the narrative. You're the wicked mother who tried to get rid of her."

"Josie!"

"Hold on. And father, he's the handsome prince who saves her with a kiss."

"I think you need a lesson in anatomy."

"This is the G-rated version. So the story is that the handsome prince ends up with the fairy princess, that's me, thank you very much," she
stood up and made a little curtsey with limp wrists. "The wicked mother turn's out to be the fairy's good mother," I groaned at her pun, which
made her just about fall off her chair with laughter, "and who ends up a multi-millionaire. And the fairy princess, that's me again," she stood
up and made another limp wristed curtsey, "she ends up as the world's first sissy billionaire." She sat down, laced her fingers together, held
them upside down under her chin and batted her eyes."

And they all lived happily ever after.

THE END

A Whole New World

Author:

Missy

Organizational:

Title Page

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

I can show you the world
Shining, shimmering splendid
Tell me, princess, now when did
You last let your heart decide!

A Whole New World

by
Missy

TG Themes:

A Whole New World: Let Your Heart Decide

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Whole New World:
Let Your Heart Decide
by Missy Crystal

Chapter 1

I can show you the world
Shining, shimmering splendid
Tell me, princess, now when did
You last let your heart decide!

"Why so glum, Bobby?" Ginny asked. "You look like you've lost your best friend." Virginia, was my older sister. She was 18 and a senior. I was 15. Considering the age and gender difference, we were very close. In a way, I wish we weren't. It would have been easier if she wasn't everything I wanted to be. Pretty, popular, and a girl

"Actually, you're right, I did."

"Oh well, those things happen. No biggie," she consoled me. "Betsy and I," Betsy was Ginny's closest girlfriend, "we have fights all the time. Usually about stupid things, like boys." She laughed. "We make up. I'm sure you and Jeff will too. You've been best friends, like forever." Jeff lived a few houses down the street. Our mothers met at a baby playgroup.

"It's not like that. We're still friends.

"Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is I don't want him to like me.

"I'm confused."

"So am I." I sighed dejectedly. "I have to tell someone."

"I'm someone."

"If I tell you, you'll hate me."

"I won't hate you."

"What if you do?"

"What if I don't?"

"I love Jeff." I looked at her expectantly.

"Love, like bromance or love like romance?" she asked matter of factly, to my surprise.

"I want him to be my boyfriend."

"That doesn't answer the question," she persisted. "He's a boy and he's your friend. So, do you mean you want to hang out with him or make out with him?

"Make out."

"You're gay?" she asked incredulously.

"No."

"Isn't wanting to kiss another boy gay?"

"If you're another boy, yes."

"We used to take baths together. I have first hand knowledge that you are not my sister."

"I am."

"Where's she been hiding for the last 15 years?"

"Inside me."

"All that time?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"Why didn't you say something?"

"You wouldn't have understood. Neither would Mom or Dad? You would have made fun of me and they, well, I don't know what they would have done. I was afraid to find out."

"Why now?"

"Because I love Jeff and I can't hold it back anymore."

"Well, little sister, this is an interesting development."

"Don't tease me."

"What makes you think I'm teasing."

"You're not?"

"No. I love you. If being a girl makes you happy, than a girl you are."

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"You don't mind that I'm transgendered?"

"No. It doubles my wardrobe."

"Seriously. What if your friends find out?"

"If they're my friends, they won't care. If they do, it doesn't matter. I'm going away to college in a few months, anyway. Having a transgendered brother will probably make me the coolest girl on campus. Is that how you say it, transgendered brother? It doesn't sound like they go together."

"Transgendered sister."

"Does she have a name?"

"I'm right here."

"Do you," she emphasized 'you'," have a girl's name?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to tell me?"

"You'll laugh."

"I do wish you'd stop telling me what I will or won't do. So far you've been one hundred percent wrong."

"Sorry."

"No apology necessary. So?"

"It's," I hesitated, "its Jasmine."

"Oh, like the princess in Aladdin? That Jasmine?"

"Yes."

"Well then, since we're short a magic lamp, what shall we do about Jeff?"

"I don't know," I moped.

"Why not just tell him how you feel."

"I'm love sick, not brain damaged. At worst, he'd beat me up for coming on to him. At best, he'd want nothing to do with me for coming out to him. I don't want to lose him."

"Uh huh. Well, we need a Plan B. How about you go to your room, log into Jeff's Facebook page, and wank your wiener. You can worship him from Jafar," she punned.

"Why don't you go wank your own wiener."

"Girls don't have wieners, present company accepted. We have clitorises or clitori, whatever."

"You do have a penis. It's pink and rubber and in a shoe box in the back of your closet."

"Whoa. Who gave you permission to be in my closet?"

"I like your closet better then mine."

"Okay. As my first official act as your big sister, mia closet sua closet." She walked over and put her arms around me. "Now then, enough of our penises, peni, whatever, and back to Plan B."

"What makes you think I haven't already tried Plan B?"

"Mmm, hmm," she nodded. "Plan C then." She stood back and studied me. "Walk over to the TV set."

"Why."

"Just be quiet and do what I tell you. Walk. Stop. Turn around. Put your arms out and turn around again. Turn sideways. Arms up. Bend from your waist and touch your toes."

"Ginny, now is not the time for exercising."

"Trust me."

"I do."

"Good. You've been going at this problem all wrong," she asserted confidently for someone with no experience. "You don't want Jeff to be in love with you. You want him to be in love with Jasmine."

"I am Jasmine."

"Yes, you know it. But Jeff doesn't. He needs to meet her."

"And how do we arrange that?"

"You go on a date."

"What makes you think that Jeff will want to go on a date with me?"

"He won't with you. But he will with Jasmine."

"How do you know he will?"

"He's a boy.

"So am I, through no fault of my own, which brings us back to the problem."

Ginny walked over, took my face in her hand and turned it from side to side. She let go and fussed with my hair. She stood back and nodded approvingly. "You'd be amazed what the right makeup and hairdo can do for a girl. By the time we get through with you, even our own mother won't recognize you."

"Seriously? And who's we?"

"Me and Darla. Her mom owns a beauty salon and day spa. She works there and she's going to beauty school so she can run it someday. She's a wiz with cosmetics and hair."

"No, please. She'll make fun of me."

"No, she won't. I guaranty it."

"Why not?"

"Because she's a lesbian."

"How do you know that? Oh, you and she? You're not, I mean, it's okay, if you are."

"Easy. No, I'm not, but, when we were in middle school she got me to practice for going out on dates. She's actually a heck of a kisser, but girls don't float my boat. We're just friends now."

"Okay."

"So, here's the plan. Mom and Dad are going to his conference in London next month. They're leaving on Wednesday and won't be back until the second Sunday. That gives us ten days for you to seduce Jeff into becoming your boyfriend. If not, then we can go back to Plan B. I'll even let you borrow my pink rubber one if your's gets too sore."

"Ginny, stop!"

"Hey, girl talk. Get used to it. Now listen, over the next few weeks, tell Jeff about your parents going away and how they don't want you home by yourself, so you're going to stay with gram and grandpa. Make a fuss about them not trusting you and its too bad, because you could have a big party. Invite some girls, wink wink. Put the idea in his head. On Thursday after they leave, I'll go over to his house and ask him if he'd help me out. Our cousin is staying with me while they're away. She's his age and your gone, so would he mind taking her out to a movie on Friday night."

"What if you're wrong and he recognizes me?"

"That's a risk you're going to have to take. A broken heart or a broken nose. Your choice, princess.

A Whole New World: A New Fantastic Point of View

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Shopping

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Whole New World:
A New Fantastic Point of View
by Missy Crystal

Chapter 2

A whole new world
A new fantastic point of view
No one to tell us no
Or where to go
Or say we're only dreaming

The next few weeks were the hardest of my life. I had to be careful not to let Jeff or mom know the truth about me. You'd think that after fifteen years of being a boy it would be easy to keep up the pretense. But, like the genie, once Jasmine was set free, there was no bottling her back up. Despite my best efforts, the change was noticeable. I followed Ginny's plan and told Jeff the story about my parents going away and me having to stay with my grandparents. When he wanted to know why I was acting weird, I blamed it on my disappointment at not being able to party with him. Mom was harder to convince that my change in behavior was because I would be on my own. At least I was telling her the truth, although not in the way she thought.

Ginny started to prepare me for my date with Jeff. I had a lot to learn. Mom was out shopping for her trip, so we had uninterrupted girl time after school. "What are you going to tell Jeff about yourself?" she questioned me.

"About me? He's supposed to believe I'm Jasmine. You said he would," I replied worriedly. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea after all."

"We can forget it and go back to Plan B. I can get the shoebox."

"Ginny, no."

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Then calm down. Everything's going to be fine," she reassured me. "I'll ask it differently. What's your last name?"

"You know my last name."

"Doh. What's Jasmine's last name?"

"Delaney?"

"Uh huh. So, Jeff, this is Jasmine Delaney," she pretended to introduced me. "Oh, she has the same last name as you and Bobby," she switched roles. "Hi, Jasmine. Where do you go to school? Ginny says you're my age, when's your birthday? Do you have any brothers or sisters? How come you're staying with Ginny? Maybe we can get an ice cream or something after the movie. What's your favorite flavor. Mine's rocky road. Chocolate chip. Wow, that's Bobby's favorite too." She gave me a patronizing look. "You did expect to talk to him didn't you? Or were you planning on skipping the conversation and going right to the kissing?"

"Oh."

"Yes, little sister, Oh. You need a cover story. You could be a Delaney. Jasmine having the same last name as us is one less thing to confuse. That would make you Dad's brother Frank's daughter, Mom and Dad's niece and our cousin. Adding you to their family, Barry and Lenny are your brothers and Judy is your mother. You live on Maple Street in Chesterton and you go to St. Katherine's, St. Kitty's. I'm not sure what school they really go to. I made it up, but Jeff won't know that. Whose birthday do you remember besides yours and probably his.

"Yours."

"I'm flattered. Just remember to use the month and day, not the year." She paused and nodded her head in agreement with herself.

"What?"

"We're going to have to tell Mom."

"Ginny, no, that would ruin everything. She'd never let me go out with Jeff."

"I didn't mean now, but what happens when Jeff tells her about going out with our cousin Jasmine while she was away. And does she know when Jasmine's going to come back, because he really likes her. Mom knows we don't have a cousin Jasmine and that we didn't have anyone staying here while she was away. How are we going to explain that?"

I gave it some thought. "I know. How about we tell Jeff that Jasmin's parents are very strict and she's not allowed to date, after all, she goes to Catholic school, so he has to keep it a secret or she and you will get in big trouble? If he wants to know when she'll be back, he can ask me. You aren't the only one who can be creative."

"Yes, that works. There's hope for Jasmine yet."

"Now here's a tip. Boy's like to talk about themselves. They think we're impressed. "Oh, Jeff," she smiled and batted her eyes , "do you play any sports? Baseball! That's sooo cool. I wanted to play field hockey, but my parents thought it was too rough. They didn't want me getting hurt. I just go right home after school and do my homework. Right field? That's important, isn't it? Do tell me more. The more you keep the conversation about him, the less you have to talk about yourself. You try."

Ginny pretended to be Jeff. I asked about school and his hobbies. I knew what courses he took and his interests, so it was easy. "We need to do something about your voice," Ginny cautioned me. "Try talking slower and softer. See if you can raise it a little higher. And you need to use more girl words, like 'sweet' and "nice' and 'lovely'. These seats are lovely. How nice, you're such a gentleman. Popcorn, why thank you, that's so sweet."

"I never knew that there was so much more to being a girl than being a girl."

"Well, we have a lifetime and you have three weeks. You're doing fine."

Once Ginny was satisfied with my skill as an actress, she began on my appearance. We had to be doubly cautious, in case Mom came back too soon. All of the clothes that I dreamed about, but never dared to try on, were now mine. Well, to borrow. Ginny brought me over to her dresser and opened the second drawer. I knew from my forays into her once forbidden world of nylon and lace that it was full of panties.

"Come over here. Seriously, Jasmine. Girls don't get all dopey about their underwear. Look, she pulled out a pair of plain white briefs from the back. These are cotton. They're comfortable and full coverage. Good for sports, because they stay up and are more absorbent, and for when you have your monthlies."

"Monthlies?"

"Period, dummy." She shook her head. "Right, never mind. Moving on, these are thongs. I hate having a sting up my butt, although they do avoid a panty line. Betsy talked me into buying them when were at Pink.

"What's a pink panty line."

"OMG. We have so much work to do. A panty line is the outline of your panties showing through tight pants or a butt hugging skirt and Pink is a store with sexy lingerie." She picked out a pair a pair of white ones with narrow sides and a lace front. "These are bikini's. I like them because they're practical, they cover what needs to be covered, and sexy. I'm wearing them now." She put them down and started to unbutton her jeans."

"Ginny, stop."

"What's the problem. Are we sisters or not?"

"Yes."

"Then get used to seeing me in my underwear. Geez." She pulled down her jeans and stepped out of them. "See," she modeled them, putting her thumbs in the waistband and snugging them up.

"They're adorable and I love the lace," I practiced my girl words.

Ginny nodded her approval. "That's my girl," she complimented me. I smiled back at her. She handed them to me. "Here. They're probably too skimpy, but try them on for me." She gave me a silly grin.

I took them and turned to the door. "Where are you going, little sister?"

"To my room?"

"Why?"

"To put them on?"

"Sisters, remember."

""Yes, but I have to get undressed. You'll see me naked."

"So?"

"I didn't want to embarrass you."

"I won't be embarrassed. Will you?"

"Yes."

"Get over it. I can't have you running out every time you need to try on clothes. Now strip, or do you need help?" She started towards me.

"No, I'm good." I took off my jeans and looked at her for confirmation. "Should I turn around?"

"If you've seen one wiener you've seen them all, and I've seen a wiener. Do you want to discuss my experience with wieners or are you going to stop wasting our time?"

"I'd like to hear about you experience with wieners, please.

"I'll bet. It was a rhetorical question. When you can tell me about your familiarity with other boy's wieners, I'll share mine."

"I can tell you all about them. Do you want to hear about Jeff's? We take gym and shower together. It's a very nice one."

"Thank you for sharing, but for now lets work on getting yours into my panties, figuratively speaking."

I shrugged and pulled down my underpants. Ginny handed me the panties. I stepped into them and pulled them up. They nylon felt wonderful. I walked over to the door mirror and admired them, front and back."

"You're sticking out of the waist," Ginny observed. "Try tucking it under." I reached down and adjusted myself. "Now your whole package is hanging out of the crotch. Hang on, let me get a pair of scissors and make some anatomical adjustments."

"Ginny!"

"Just kidding. Like I thought, bikini's are too skimpy." She went back to her panty drawer and pulled out a pair of shiny black ones with a lace waist band. "Here," she handed them to me. "They're hip huggers."

I pulled off the bikinis without any thought about modesty and stepped into them. They covered more and it seemed like they had a wider crotch, which held me in better. I tucked myself under.

"Turn around." Ginny inspected me. "Much better," she nodded her approval. Okay, keep those on. Come over here. Look," she pointed to the panties, "you're welcome to take whatever you want, but make sure you put them in my laundry basket when you take them off."

"Wow. Thanks, but I don't see much opportunity to wear them until Jasmine comes to visit. I can't wear them to school. We have gym on Tuesdays and Thursdays and they don't have an opening in front, so I would have to pull down my pants when I peed."

"Of course, which brings us to lesson two. Bathroom etiquette."

"Huh?"

"When you're on your date with Jeff and nature calls, which bathroom do you use?"

"I suppose I just wait until I get home."

"Girls do a lot more in the bathroom then pee. Mirrors are our best friend. We can't resist primping. Compacts are okay for touch ups, but for serious repairs we use the powder room. Get it? Powder room, as in makeup. If you want to be convincing, then you should go into the ladies room and make him wait for you."

"What if there are women in there?"

"Then you'll fit right in. We have separate stalls for privacy, so you're not going to see anything you shouldn't see and, if you do have to pee, then you do it sitting down. Actually, we don't sit. We straddle and hover."

"Why?"

"It's a girl thing. Literally. We have a girl thing that we need to keep sanitary. Feel free to do you own thing, since you are lacking in the girl thing department. Actually, come to think of it, if nobody ever sits down, then the seat is clean." She shook her head at the revelation. "I suppose better safe than a yeast infection. Not your problem. Just remember that you use the bathroom with the figure in a dress on the sign and sit to pee."

"Okay, got it. Figure in dress. Sit to pee. Make Jeff wait. Umm, how long do I make him wait?"

"Girls take longer to do their business, usually it's crowded, especially at the movies, because everyone gets out at the same time, so we have to wait for a stall, and another few minutes for doing our makeup. I'd give him a good five minutes."

"Got it."

"Okay, so we're good on panties. Next, you need a bra." She gave me a sappy look. "Aww," she gushed, "little sister's first bra and big sister is taking her shopping for it. Well, in a manner of speaking." She laughed. "Seriously, Jasmine, a girl's first bra is a big deal. It's our graduation from children to adults. Ask any of us."

"I'll take your word for it. When do I graduate?"

"Hah, funny." She opened the top drawer and studied its contents. "I don't think that any of these will work. I'm a full B cup. That's a little busty for a fifteen year old. Hmm, I wonder if Mom saved any of my stuff from when I was younger. Maybe. She took my hand. Come with me."

"I'm just wearing panties," I reminded her."

"Oh, right. Put on your jeans and meet me in the guest bedroom." She hurried out.

When I came in, she was in the closet rummaging though boxes. "Nope, nope, uh uh, nope, wait, ah hah. She pulled out a box labeled 'underwear'. Ginny opened it and started to empty it on the floor. "Bingo." She held up a white bra with pink polka dots. "This was one of my first bras. It's stretchy and pulls on, so you don't have to fuss with hooking it behind your back, and it has just a little padding to give you some shape. Perfect," she complimented herself."

"Shouldn't we put the stuff back in the box? What if Mom comes home. Won't she wonder what's going on?"

"Nah," Ginny dismissed my concern, "I'll just tell her I was nostalgic and wanted to reminisce about my childhood. Come on, we don't have all day. Seriously, we don't have all day." We headed back to her bedroom.

"Here, pull this over your head and adjust it so the cups are centered over your nipples. It's probably going to be tight. Your chest is bigger than mine when I was your age."

"I struggled into it and adjusted it the way she directed."

"Nope, too small. I think a 34 would do the trick. Actually, hold on. She went to her dresser and took out one of her bras. I'm a 34. Put your arms through the straps." She pulled it over the bra I was wearing and fastened it in back. "Definitely a 34A," she agreed with herself, inserting her fingers under the band and tugging on it. "When we go shopping, that's the size."

"We're going shopping?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, of course. You need your own clothes."

"I thought I would just borrow yours."

"Nope. Every girl needs her signature look. Something that makes her feel confident about herself. Skirts, dresses, pants, leggings, tights, pantyhose, shoes, its up to you to pick out an outfit for your date with Jeff."

"When?"

"As soon as Mom and Dad leave."

"What do you plan on using for money?"

"Mom's leaving me her credit card for emergencies."

"And what will she say when she sees the charges for my clothes?"

"It depends on your date. If it works out, then we're going to have to tell Mom and Dad the truth. You can't be dating Jeff behind their back. If not, then I will just return them for a credit. If Mom sees the charges on the statement, I'll tell her I was bored and went shopping for fun. She won't be able to tell from the charges what sizes I bought. It'll just say lingerie or juniors sportswear."

"You are very smart."

"That's what big sisters are for."

"Okay, moving on, you need to try on some skirts and tops for size too." We spent the next few hours with me putting on a fashion show. At four thirty we heard the kitchen door open. "Quick, take off your bra and panties, then scoot into your room and get dressed. I'll put the panties in the hamper and the stuff back in the closet."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Get." She swatted me on the butt. "Wait, silly." She handed me my jeans and shirt. "I grabbed the clothes, hurried into my room and closed the door, none too soon.

"Ginny, Bobby, I'm home," Mom called up the stairs. "Are you up there?"

"Yes," Ginny answered. "I think Bobby's in his room with the door closed. I was playing my music kinda loud and he wanted to do homework.

"Okay, well, dinner's in a half hour, so finish up please and tell Bobby too."

"Yes, Mom."

The next few weeks were a whirlwind of tutorials. After we got through diction, deportment and dress, we started on makeup. Ginny had already given me instruction on proper personal grooming. "Really, Jasmine, a girl's hair, skin and nails are her most important assets. You need to take better care of them."

"I thought it was her boobs."

She sighed. "Typical. Breast size is a guy thing. Why would we be preoccupied with something which we see and touch every day? No," she gave a little laugh of derision, "truthfully, we're much more vain. We judge each other by our grooming and our accessories. Hair style, makeup, manicure, pocketbook and jewelry. A man will spend a thousand dollars on some dumb jock's signed game jersey. A woman will spend a thousand dollars on a designer handbag or a diamond necklace. One must have proper priorities," she asserted wryly. That led to a lecture on proper washing with a facial scrub and nail care.

One afternoon, while Mom was on a grocery run in furtherance of her dire warning not to have pizza or take-out every night, knowing her children too well, Ginny was explaining the intricacies of cosmetics. "You're too young to wear makeup. Darla will do what she needs to for your date, probably shape your eyebrows a little, maybe a hint of blush, but lipstick is essential. You need to learn to put it on and routinely reapply it." She sat me down at her vanity. "Watch." She outlined my lips with a red pencil. This is lip liner. It defines your mouth." She stood back and studied her application, nodding her approval. She picked up a tube of lipstick and opened it. Placing her hand under my chin, she filled in my lips with a coating of bright red. "Purse you lips together to spread it evenly." I complied. "Again." I complied. She handed me a tissue. "Blot." I applied it to my lips. "No, not like that. Double it over, put it between your lips and press them together to take off the excess. Otherwise, it smears and gets all over everything. Now," she handed me a longer tube, "this is lip gloss. It goes on over your lipstick to set it and make it look moist. Go ahead, try it. It's clear, so you can't make a mistake."

I ran it over my lips. "Thanks. Do I need to blot again?"

"No, lip gloss just stays on." She put her hand on top of my head and turned it up, down and from side to side, finally nodding her satisfaction. "Good job. Okay, now take it off."

"Why? I just put it on."

"You need to practice." She opened up a package and handed me a square. "This is a makeup removing tissue. The lipstick's waxy and gets into the little lines in your lips. If you're not really careful, it's noticeable. Scrub it really well, until no more color comes off. Even so, use a hot washcloth to go over it and check carefully in the mirror. For now, just use the tissue. I followed her instructions. "Okay, now you try." She handed me the lip liner. I was lucky not to poke out my eye. She handed me another tissue and I practiced until I was able to make a reasonably straight line which approximated my lips. When she was satisfied, she handed me the tube of lipstick. I managed to get most of it within the lines. "Not bad for a beginner."

"Should I take it off and do it again?

"No, you can just reapply it. That's what we do all day. To the point where its so automatic we don't even know we're doing it. Sometimes, if we eat or drink and it comes off, we have to put it on again. Otherwise, once you have on a base coat, try just dabbing it and then pursing your lips to spread it out." I followed her instructions. She nodded her approval.

I was studying myself in the mirror when I heard a noise behind me. I turned around and Mom was standing in the door with an armful of Ginny's laundry. She gave me a bemused look. "Umm, hi, I umm."

Realizing that I was about to wet myself, Ginny came to my rescue. "I was just trying to see what Bobby would look like as a girl." Or not.

Mom continued into the room and put Ginny's clothes in her dresser. On her way out she turned to us. "She's too young for red, maybe pink."

After she left, Ginny and I looked at each other, trying to figure out whether she was just playing along with us by referring to me as 'she' or she knew. Finally, we both shrugged. It didn't matter. If she thought we were just fooling around, then no harm done. If she did know, then it would be easier when the time came for Jasmine to come out.

Ginny continued training me in the intricacies of being a girl. I was really pleased, both with my progress and increasing confidence that I might actually pull this off without bodily injury. Even more, by how close Ginny and I had become. The consolation was that, even if things didn't work out with Jeff, although I really wanted them to, I still had my new relationship with her. Whatever else happened, it was worth it.

A Whole New World : I Can't Go Back To Where I Used To Be

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Final Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

A Whole New World:
I Can't Go Back To Where I Used To Be
by Missy Crystal

Chapter 3

A whole new world
A dazzling place I never knew
But when I'm way up here
It's crystal clear
That now I'm in a whole new world with you

Wednesday morning arrived with a storm of activity. Mom was her usual organized wife and Dad was his usual patient husband. She went through her travel list. "Passports? Wallet and credit cards? Boarding passes? Honey, do we have everything?"

"The kitchen sink is still here."

Not funny, Ginny."

"Suitcases? Cell phone?" Mom continued undeterred.

"You need to get going. The airport shuttle is waiting."

Hugs and kisses. Almost out the door, Mom turned back. "The hotel information is on the refrigerator and a copy of the itinerary. We'll be back a week from this Sunday."

"Yes, we know."

"And Aunt Judy and Uncle Frank's phone number."

"Yes, we know for the hundredth time. You need to go."

"The emergency number and poison control too, on the magnet."

"Seriously, Mom?"

"You never know."

"We know. Dial 911 and puke."

"Still not funny, Ginny."

"Love you."

"We love you too."

Hugs and kisses again. "Remember to lock the house and, Ginny, drive carefully."

"Yes and yes. Very carefully. Like an elderly turtle. Go!"

We stood in the doorway and waved as they wheeled their luggage out to the van and loaded it in the back. Today was going to be the longest school day ever. I suggested to Ginny that we stay home and get a head start on cousin Jasmin's arrival, but she took being in charge seriously. No playing hooky. There would be plenty of time when we got home. Easy for her to say. There was no way that I could concentrate.

"Okay, lets get going." Ginny took the car keys and backed out of the driveway. Usually, Mom had the car and we took the bus, so this was a special treat.

"Um, Ginny, I don't know much about driving yet, but I'm pretty sure that school is in the other direction."

"Oh, I told Betsy I would pick her up. She's only a few minutes out of the way." Ginny must have called her cell phone, because she was waiting on the sidewalk when we pulled up.

"Hi, Bobby," Betsy greeted me. She came around to my door and opened it. "Would you be a lamb and get in back, please?" Ginny nodded her agreement. I would have to add 'be a lamb' to Jasmine's vocabulary. They spent the rest of the trip gossiping about school and clothes and boys and who was dating who and wearing what and going where. I listened closely for future reference when talking with other girls. The conversation ended when Ginny pulled up to the drop off area. "Bobby, hop out. I'm going to drive around to the student parking lot."

I stowed my backpack in my locker and got to my homeroom just as the tardy bell rang. I hoped Ginny made it in time. She said we'd go shopping and I didn't want to spend the afternoon waiting for her to get out of detention instead. I sat down at the desk next to Jeff.

"Hey," he acknowledged my arrival.

"Hey."

"Did your folks leave?"

"Yeah."

"When are you going to your grandparents?"

"Not sure. This afternoon, I guess. They didn't say exactly. Whenever."

"Ginny's not going?"

"No, my folks wanted her to watch the house while they're away. My cousin Jasmine is going to stay with her for the weekend."

"How come?"

"Her folks are going away too. They probably were afraid for her to be in the house with me alone." I did my best impression of a leer. "You know a pretty girl with a dude like me."

"How old is she?"

"Our age."

"She's pretty?" Bingo! He took the bait.

"Yeah."

"Maybe I should go over. You know, say hello."

"Suit yourself."

"Are you going to be in school tomorrow?"

"Uh huh. Ginny's going to get me."

"How come they're not staying at your house?"

"Don't know."

"So Ginny will be home with your cousin?"

"Jasmine, yes, she's getting dropped off Friday afternoon. Walk over and see. I'll tell Ginny you might stop by." The first period bell rang.

I tried to pay attention, force myself to take notes, but it was no use. I kept thinking about my date with Jeff. I pictured us holding hands. Maybe he'd try to do some stuff with me. Probably not. He wasn't experienced with girls. I remember us playing a game of spin the bottle in Kathy Rose's basement. He went in the closet with her twin sister, Maryann, but he told me that he only kissed her on the cheek. Hopefully his aim has improved with age. I continued to daydream as Mr. Gray droned on about frog's guts.

Finally, the third period bell rang and it was time for lunch. I hurried to the cafeteria. I found an open table and Jeff joined me. About ten minutes later Ginny came in surrounded by her usual group of girls and sat down at the cool kids table. I tried to catch her eye. She looked over and I motioned with my head towards the tray return. She got up, had a few words with some of the girls, and picked up her tray. I picked up my tray, excused myself and joined her.

"I told him about Jasmine," I whispered, "and he wants to meet her. I think he might stop over Friday afternoon."

"Convenient."

"Can we be ready?"

"We?"

"Can I be ready?"

"You?"

"Jasmine."

"I don't know. You'd have to ask her. Will she?"

"Yes."

"Then you know the answer to your question. Are we done?"

"Yes." She started to walk away."

"Bobby, wait." I turned back. "I'm going to drive my friends to the mall this afternoon. Can you take the bus? I'll be home in time to make us dinner."

"Yes, but I thought we were going shopping," I said with obvious disappointment.

"Don't worry," she looked around to see if anyone was listening, "little sister," she whispered. I'm going to get you ready for your date. When you get home," she looked around again, "take a nice hot soak in the tub. You've probably got peach fuzz, but shave under your arms and your legs. Use the pink razor and foam. When you get out, cream up with the body lotion. It's unscented. Then pick out a pair of panties and a cammie. Look through my closet and get an idea of what you'd like to wear for your date. Try some things on. We've been over your wardrobe choices. I'll be home by the time you're done. Keep your undies on under your clothes. Nobody will know. We can have a quick dinner and then go shopping for Jasmine. The mall's open 'til nine. You can stay up late to finish your homework. Better?"

"Yes, much." I looked around. "I love you," I whispered."

"And I love you," she said in a normal voice, not caring who heard. She walked off and joined her friends. I went back to sit with Jeff.

"What was that about?"

"We had to work out how I'm getting home. She's going to the mall with her girlfriends and I'm taking the bus."

"Did you ask her about me coming over?"

"Yeah. I told her that you wanted to take Jasmine out on a hot date."

"No! Really, you didn't say that did you?" He looked at me expectantly.

"Don't worry, dude, I just said you might stop by to say hello. After that, its up to you."

"Thanks." I couldn't tell if he was relieved or disappointed.

"Your welcome."

The rest of the day dragged on. I caught the bus and followed Ginny's directions. I always showered. I wasn't sure whether I was supposed to shave in the tub or do it first and then get in. I decided to try it first. Funny I thought, as a finished under my arms and started on my legs, that I was shaving my body before my face. After the bath, I toweled off and went into Ginny's room. I picked out a pair of pick panties with white lace trim and a camisole with matching lace around the yoke and a little bow at the front.

Opening the closet, I studied the different options. A dress was too formal. Jeans were too casual and too much like what I wore every day, even if they had decoration on the pockets. That left skirts. Ginny had lots of them, mini, midi and maxi, as she had educated me on girl's fashion. Maxi was too conservative. Mini the opposite. Something above the knee seemed right. I found a cute tiered denim skirt and tried it on. The waist was stretchy enough that I could get it buttoned. After struggling to reach the zipper, I realized that all I needed to do was put it on backwards and turn it around. I found a pink pullover to pair with it. Shoes were a problem. Ginny's were too small and she and Mom were the same size. When I was dressed, I sat down at the vanity and practiced putting on lipstick. As I was applying the lip gloss, I heard the kitchen door open and close. I looked at the clock on the night stand and it was five thirty. Time really does fly when you're having fun.

"Jasmine, I'm home," Ginny called from the bottom of the stairs. "Come down so we can get dinner and then we can go shopping." I ran down the stairs. She had the refrigerator open.

"Hi, Ginny," I greeted her happily.

She turned around. "Wow, I love that outfit you picked out. It's one of my favorites. You have good fashion sense," she complimented me.

"Thanks. I had a good teacher," I complimented her back.

"Is that what you decided to wear when you go out with Jeff?"

"I guess so. Why?"

"No reason. It's cute. I was thinking about when you meet him as I was driving home. Don't laugh."

"Why would I laugh? I'm clueless."

"I kinda pictured you in a Catholic school girl outfit. Remember I made up that cousin Jasmin goes to St. Katherine's."

"Yes."

"So you came right from school. I thought that it would reinforce that you're a good girl. We don't want him trying for second or third base and finding out that he's in the wrong ballpark."

"Huh? What does baseball have to do with it?"

"Don't you and Jeff talk about scoring with girls?"

"Scoring?"

"I just assumed you guys talked about your dates."

"What dates. Jeff's my first one. Or he will be."

"When a guy goes out on a date and he kisses the girl, that's getting to first base. If he touches her breasts, that's second base. If he gets farther south, that's third base and if they do it, that's scoring a home run. Get it?"

"Why not just say so?"

"Because it's teen code for talking about sex."

As she was talking she was checking the containers. She took out one labeled 'Mac and Cheese.' How about I pop this in the microwave. It should hold us until we get back from shopping and we can have a late snack."

"Sure, sounds fine."

"Set the table, please. Pour yourself a glass of milk. I'll have water." "When the microwave beeped, she took out the container and served us. Sitting down to dinner, she resumed her discussion of my outfit. "I have a plaid kilt and a white blouse. It's not an official school uniform, but Jeff won't know. Some knee socks or tights and Mary Janes and your all dressed."

"Mary Janes?"

"Flats with a strap across the top.

"Flats?"

"Shoes without heels or low heels. It's going to be a while before you're ready for heels."

"Okay, whatever you say."

"I really think the school girl look is going to work. After dinner, try it on. Then we can shop for a bra and shoes. That shouldn't take long."

We ate and cleaned up. I followed Ginny upstairs. She looked through her closet and took out a blue plaid pleated skirt with two buckles. She handed it to me. "Put this on." As I was changing, she handed me a white blouse with a round collar. "This too. We can skip the socks. I just want to make sure these will fit you."

I couldn't figure out how to get the skirt on. It didn't have a button or zipper. "It's a kilt. It wraps around." Ginny undid the two buckles. There were two hooks that held the waist closed. She fastened it, redid the buckles and adjusted it so that the split was above my left leg and the buckles went across my hip. I put on the blouse and tucked it into the skirt. Ginny showed me how to flip up the skirt to pull down the blouse. She nodded approvingly. "Look in the mirror." I checked myself out, turning from side to side.

"Cute."

"Very."

"Ready to go?"

"Like this? Seriously?"

"No. Put your jeans back on. Do you remember how to take off the skirt?

"Yes." I undid the buckles and unhooked the waist.

"Hang it up, please. The blouse too. Girls take care of their clothes."

Back in boy mode we got in the car and drove to the mall. "Penny's has a good junior's department. Let's find you a bra."

I hesitated. "I can't shop for a bra dressed like a boy."

"Why not? Nobody is going to know it's for you." I followed along as she checked out racks of bras, taking one, examining it, putting it back. She was right, nobody paid us any attention. Finally she found one she liked. She brought it over and showed it to me."

"Ginny," I looked around nervously, "what are you doing?"

"Showing my sister her new bra."

"Stop! Somebody will hear you."

"And if they did, what? They'd know you were transgendered. Aren't you?"

"Yes."

"So?"

"So, you're right," I agreed.

"Good." She showed me the bra. "Feel the cups. They have removable pads so you can go from an AA to an A. That's just enough to fill out your blouse. And the straps are stretch material.

"Okay?"

"Okay."

Ginny brought it to the counter. The woman rang it up, put it in a bag with some tissue and handed it back. "One down, one to go for tonight." As we left the department store she handed me the bag. "Your bra, you carry it." She linked her arm in mine and we walked through the mall.

We ended up at a Payless shoe store. "It's self service, so it will be easier to fit you." She took me down an aisle of women's shoes. There was a chart on the end of the rack which converted men's to women's sizes. "So women can buy men's shoes," she explained. "But it works both ways," she said with a smile. "What size are you?"

"Eight and a half."

She ran her finger across the chart. "A woman's ten." She took my arm and we walked down one of the aisles. "Here." She looked over the selection and picked out a black pair with a strap across the ankle and a low heel. "Mary Jane's, see. Let's try them on." I looked around. "Sit." She directed me to a stool. "Sneaker off." I took off my right sneaker. "Sock too." She bent down and slipped it on. "Other foot."

"You want me to try them on here?"

"Why not? Do you see a lot of people interested in your choice of footware?"

"No."

"That's because they're not. Now, other foot, princess." She put on the shoe. I stood up and took a few hesitant steps. "You're going to be walking around with Jeff. You need to be comfortable. Nothing ruins a date more than excruciating foot pain from shoes that don't fit. I know it for a fact. When you start wearing heels, you'll find out for yourself." I paraded the length of the aisle. "Okay?" I nodded. She paid for the shoes and we went back to the car. It was nine o'clock when we got home.

"Why don't you go upstairs and try on your bra. This one hooks in back, so, until you get the hang of fastening it behind your back, put it on backwards. When it's hooked, turn it around and slip the straps over your shoulder. See how it looks and feels with the blouse. Skirt and shoes too. Remember to keep you knees together or you legs crossed at the knees or ankles. I'm going to hop in the shower and wash my hair. If the house phone rings, let the answering machine pick it up in case its Jeff. Remember, you're supposed to be staying with gram and grandpa. London is five hours ahead, so it's early morning. Mom and Dad won't be calling us."

I followed her instructions and was working on my homework when she came into my room with a towel wrapped around her hair and another around her chest. "How're you doing," she asked while drying her hair.

" I have about another half hour of homework."

"I have some too. Come in when you're finished. I have something for you."

"What?"

"Come in when you're finished and I'll show you."

I worked quickly. I could always go over it in study hall. Ginny was at her desk when I went in. She didn't look up. "On the bed," she directed.

"A nightgown!" I held it up. It was silky white nylon, ankle length, with a pink bow at the neck and short sleeves with matching pink bows. "Ginny, it's so pretty. Thank you."

Ginny turned around with a smile. "Your welcome. Aunt Judy gave it to me for my sixteenth birthday." She shook her head and laughed. " It's way to girly for me. I sleep in boxers and a tee shirt. Now, off to bed and sweet dreams. "

"I will. Thank you again."

"You're welcome again. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Back in my room, I took off the cammie and slipped the nightgown over my head. It felt wonderful. I got into bed and pulled up the covers. I loved the way the nylon panties slid against the nightgown and the way the nightgown felt as I moved under the sheets.

The alarm went off and I sat up. It took me a minute to realize that I was in my room, in a nightgown and panties, waking up to a new day as Jasmine. I thought about holding on to the feeling by wearing the panties to school, but, like I told Ginny, Thursday was gym and getting caught would ruin everything we had planned. I took them off and put on my white briefs and tee shirt.

Ginny was already in the kitchen when I came downstairs. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, very well, thank you. I don't understand why you don't wear the nightgown. It feels so nice."

"I wore them when I was younger. Long ones, short ones, baby dolls, sleep shirts, teddies, they all bunch or ride up. You wake up with them around your chest or stuck in you crotch. There's no need for a girl to look pretty or sexy when she's sleeping by herself." I wondered who else would be in bed with her and then realized that she was talking about sex."

"Oh, you mean, oh. Have you ... ?

"Yes, that's what I mean, and no, I haven't done it" she interrupted me, "I'm still a virgin."

"I didn't mean to pry."

"Sister's don't have secrets from each other. You trusted me enough to share something very special about you. I don't mind reciprocating. Tim and I got pretty close, but I want it to be memorable, which the back seat of his mother's Camry is not. Now then, princess, finish your cereal and lets get going."

I took my dish to the sink, rinsed it and put it on the drying rack. Ginny picked up her pocketbook and we repeated yesterday's routine. I was a lamb and got in the backseat. Jeff was waiting for me in homeroom.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Hey, Jeff."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Is it all set?"

"Is what all set?" I teased him, knowing that he was asking about Jasmine.

"Did you talk to her about me?"

"Talk to who?"

"Jasmine."

"Why would I do that? I thought you were just going to drop over."

"Yah, but I thought you'd ask her."

"Ask her what?" I could see his frustration increasing.

"Ask her about going out with me."

"Dude, I told you, I was just kidding."

"I know. I just thought that maybe, you know, you'd tell her I was going to come over."

"Bad idea."

"Why?"

A perfect opportunity to make sure he doesn't tell anyone about Jasmine. "Because if I told her about you, she'd tell her parents and her parents are very strict. They'd probably ground her."

"Oh, wow. So she can't date? What's the point of my meeting her then?"

"I said they don't let her date. Maybe she has a different idea. Who knows with girls. There's only one way to find out. It's a five minute walk."

"Yah, thanks for the tip off, Bobby. You're a good friend." He gave me a playful punch in the shoulder. I punched him back. The first period bell rang. We headed off to class.

Today was easier than yesterday, because I had Jasmine waiting for me at home. Another day to practice putting on lipstick and wearing skirts. Another night to wear my nightgown. I had already picked out the skirts and tops I was going to wear when I met Jeff and on our dates, so I decided to try a dress, just for a different experience. I found a red velour one with a high waist and short skirt that ended mid-thigh. I thought that if I could manage to sit in it without showing my panties, I could manage any skirt. I practiced with varying degrees of success. I wished that I could fit into her heels. I was dying to try them.

"Jasmine."

"I'm upstairs."

"I'm sorry I'm late. We met up with some of the guys and, well, you know. Actually, you don't, but you will. Anyway, thanks for getting things set up. Come down in about twenty minutes."

I checked the clock and it was time. I put away my books and went to the kitchen. Ginny turned as she heard me come in. She had a surprised look on her face. "I didn't realize that we were dining formal tonight."

"You said to pick out whatever I wanted to wear."

"I did and you look lovely."

After dinner Ginny showed me her collection of pocketbooks. "I like a shoulder bag, because it leaves your hands free." She picked up a red leather bag. This is a Coach. That's who makes it. See the design? Mom and Dad gave it to me when I graduated from middle school. It's expensive, but it doesn't hold much and I have a ton of stuff. She handed it to me. This will be good for you. She put the strap over my shoulder. Let's go in my room and see what we can find to go in it.

Ginny started rummaging through the drawers in her vanity. "You need a mirror." She put a round one in the bag. "Lipstick, lip liner and lip gloss." She pointed to them on the vanity. "Tissues." She took about six, folded them over and tucked them in the bag. "A comb and brush and tampons." She went into the bathroom and came back with two pearly plastic tubes.

"Tampons?"

"If you're a girl, then you have them in your purse for emergencies." I shrugged. "And a wallet." She found one in a drawer and checked to make sure it was empty."Okay, you're good to go." She handed me the bag.

"Ginny, I'm not good to go. I know how to dress like a girl and act like a girl, but," I held my hands up to my face with the fingers spread, "I don't look like a girl." "If Jeff comes over tomorrow, he'll know it's me. When do you and Darla turn me into Jasmine?"

"Relax. I have it all planned. Tomorrow is Friday. I have honors study last period, so I can get out early. I'll write you a note from Mom saying you have a dentist appointment and need to leave after fourth period. Meet me in the parking lot and we can get your nails done and your ears pierced."

"What! Are you nuts? I can't have my ears pierced."

"Why not? I do. Two." She paged back her hair to show me her right ear.

"Yes, but you're a girl."

"That's the point. Girls have pierced ears. You want Jeff to believe that you're Jasmine. He knows that his friend Bobby doesn't have pierced ears. So if Jasmine has pierced ears, then she's a girl and, if she's a girl, then she can't be you. Right?"

"I understand the logic, but how do I explain it to Mom and Dad?"

"They're just two tiny holes in your earlobes. If you take out the earrings, they'll close up. Your hair covers your ears, so nobody will notice them. Or you could keep them open for when Jasmine comes to visit and just cover the holes with a dab of makeup. It's up to you."
I shrugged. "I guess so."

"You need to do more than guess."

"Yes."

"Darla works at the spa in the afternoons. She's coming over about five o'clock to do your hair and makeup. Tell Jeff that Jasmine needs time to get settled and not to come over until after dinner. You should be ready for your debut."

"Thanks, Ginny. You're the best sister a girl could ever have." I paused. "No, you're the best sister anyone could ever have. I love you."

"Don't get too carried away. I may not be doing you any favor. There's no guaranty this is going to work the way you want. Jeff's hormones are only going to make him stupid, not blind. You've got to convince someone who knows you that you're somebody else. If not, you could be in big trouble when Mom and Dad get back."

"I understand and whatever happens, it's worth it to me. I hope it won't make trouble for you."

"Nah, like I said, I'm off to college in a few months. I've already enrolled, my tuition is paid and I'm sure that whatever happens will blow over by the time I come home. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say. You're the one who's going to have to live with it."

I sighed. "There's no other way, Ginny."

She walked over and gave me a reassuring hug. "It's getting late. We have a big day tomorrow, so get a good night's sleep."

My alarm clock went off at six thirty. This was the day! I took off my nightgown and went to my dresser for a pair of briefs. I looked at them and put them back. I decided to wear panties. I went into Ginny's room to get a clean pair. She was in her bra and panties. As I watched, she stepped into a pair of jeans and wiggled them over her butt, finishing with a couple of hop and tugs to get them up to her waist. Another tug and she had them buttoned.

"Impressive," I complimented her."

She laughed. "It's not easy being a girl, you'll see." I went over to dresser and took out a pair of white panties. "Aren't you getting dressed for school?"

"Yes," I smiled.

"Oh. I thought you decided it was too risky to wear panties."

"I know, but we don't have gym today and I can practice sitting to pee, if I need to use the boys' room. We're going to get Jasmine ready this afternoon and I just wanted to feel like a girl."

"What about a panty line?"

"Oh, do you think they'll show."

"Maybe you should wear the thong."

"Seriously?"

"No, I'm teasing. You can't see panties under jeans. Now scoot so I can finish getting dressed."

Ginny drove right to school. We got there early so I could drop off the note at the office. I was waiting at my desk when Jeff arrived. Sitting next to him secretly wearing panties in anticipation of him meeting Jasmine tonight made me really pleased with myself.

"What's up, Bobby?"

"Huh? Nothing."

"Did you meet Jasmine?"

"What? No. Why would you say that? I told you, she's not coming until tonight. In fact, Ginny wanted me to tell you not to come over until after dinner and to call first."

"Oh. Okay. I don't know. It's just that you seem different today."

"Yeah, well, you know, staying with my grandparents is kinda weird." I gave as an excuse.

"Yeah, I guess so. Whatever."

Just to be safe, I tried to stay away from Jeff the rest of the day. At lunch I pretended to be concentrating on an English assignment. I got up about ten minutes before the period bell. "I gotta use the head," I excused myself. I stopped and turned back to him. "So dude, I won't see you until Monday. Ginny's taking me to the dentist this afternoon. I'm getting out early, and my grandparents are picking me up. Good luck with Jasmine." I chuckled. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," which, of course, he couldn't.

Ginny was waiting in the car. She drove to the mall and parked. "Let's do your nails first. Then we need to stop at Sephora and after that get your ears pierced."

"Sephora?"

"A cosmetics store. Mom was right, red is too dramatic. You need something lighter. And nail polish. I'm just going to have them put on clear. It will make a good base and I can polish them when we get home. Here." We went into 'Topline Nails.' Ginny spoke to the Asian woman at the front. Twenty minutes later I was done. "Let me see." I held out my hands. "Nice." I turned my hands and curled my fingers to look.

"That's how men do it."

"Do what?"

"Look at their nails. Women don't make a fist. Haven't you ever seen a cat fight? We scratch, we slap, we pull hair, but we don't punch. Hold your hand up and spread your fingers. Like this." She demonstrated. "There." She pointed to a woman walking in the opposite direction. "See how she holds her bag? Her palm is open and just the bottom of her fingers are curled around the handle."

"Thanks, but if only women know the difference, then only a woman would know that I'm not one of you, right?"

"Aren't you?"

"It's taking me longer than most."

"Here." We went in. I couldn't image anyone needing that much makeup, but apparently the women shopping knew differently. An attractive young woman in a black smock with elaborate eye makeup came over. Ginny told her we were looking for lipstick and she brought us to a display that put the rainbow to shame. Ginny picked out a pink one. "Put out your hand."

"Why?"

"So I can test it. You need to see it against your skin tone." She took my hand and made a streak.

"Ginny!" She rolled her eyes. "Right. Nobody cares," I conceded. She smiled.

She finally settled on one encouragingly called 'Addicted to You' and, after looking through an equally overwhelming, at least for me, collection of nail polish, she picked out a complimentary pink. A lip liner pencil and tube of lip gloss completed our shopping. "Anything else you need, either Darla will have it or you can borrow it from me. Speaking of Darla," she looked at the time on her cell phone, "we need to get going."

When we got home, Ginny started dinner. "While I'm getting it ready, shower and use the scented body wash. Just put on panties and your bra for now and wear Mom's big terry robe. It's on the hook in her bathroom. I'll polish you nails and help you get dressed after we eat.

Twenty minutes later I was back in the kitchen bundled up and smelling like lavender. Ginny had heated a tuna-noodle casserole. She looked at the clock on the stove. "We need to hurry. Darla will be here in a half hour. Leave the dishes. I can clean up while she's doing your makeover. C'mon." She headed upstairs and I followed.

In her bedroom, Ginny handed me the white blouse. I put it on, pleased with my skill at doing the buttons in reverse. She got a pair of black tights out of the dresser. "Watch." She slipped her hand into the leg all the way to the foot, then rolled them down her arm until. "See." She pulled her hand out and handed them do me. "Wait." She took my hand and examined it. "You'll snag them. Here." She handed me a bottle of hand lotion and I applied it. She supervised the application. "Okay." I followed her directions, pointing my toe, pulling one leg on up to my knee, then the other, tugging them up to my waist and smoothing the legs. She nodded her approval. I put on the skirt, stepped into my shoes and buckled them. I looked in the mirror, turning from side to side. I sat back down at Ginny's vanity and she adeptly polished my nails a pretty pink. After waving my hands in the air for ten minutes and confirmation for Ginny that they would not smudge, from the neck down Jasmine was ready.

Ginny fussed with the skirt and blouse. "Let's go downstairs and wait for Darla." No sooner had we reached the hallway when the doorbell rang. "You'd better stay out of sight, just in case Jeff's impatience got the better of him." I ducked into the den. She opened the door. I heard girl's voice.

"Hey there sweet cheeks. How about starting where we left off!" Ginny laughed.

"You can come out now." When I did, Darla had her arms around Ginny and it appeared that they were getting seriously reacquainted. "Enough, Darla!" They disengaged and Ginny stood back. "You never give up," she accused her playfully.

"Nope, not with my best girlfriend ever. If only. Okay, where's the little tranny?" She looked around. "Ahh." She came over and looked at me closely. "Turn around. Cute. I've never kissed a tranny." She moved in. To my surprise, Ginny didn't intervene. She released me and shook her head. "You need to work with your sister on kissing, doll," she suggested.

To my surprise, not having met any lesbians, Darla was petite, Ginny was about five four and she was much shorter, with short dark hair, and wearing tight jeans, a black sweater and tan pumps with heels. She saw me staring. "What? You were expecting a construction worker?"

I nodded sheepishly. "You're very pretty."

She smiled. "Looks can be deceiving. Which brings us to you." She turned to Ginny. She took my chin in her hand and turned my face from side to side."

"We're on a tight schedule, Darla." Jasmine's date is supposed to come over around six thirty. That gives us about forty-five minutes. Can do?"

She released me and stood back. "No problem, she's got good skin and features, won't need a lot of makeup, but I need to work where there's light."

Ginny suggested the kitchen. "This way."

Darla picked up the two cases she brought, one big rectangular and one smaller round, and followed her. She looked around. "Not ideal, but it will do." She pointed to a chair. "Sit." I sat. She opened the rectangular case and it blossomed into three tiers with compartments filled with what looked to me like an artist's equipment, brushes of every size and shape, tubes, bottles, jars and a lot of tools which I had no clue as to their use. She produced a cape and put it around me.

"Hmm," she studied my eyebrows, rubbing her thumb across them. "They need to be thinned." She picked up a tweezer. "Hold still. You'll feel a slight pinch when I pull a hair. Be brave. "

"Darla, hold on," Ginny interceded. "Jasmine has to go to school on Monday as Bobby and we don't want her boyfriend to recognize her."

"Uh huh. I'm just going to clean up the area between the brows and a few stray hairs. I'll use an eyebrow pencil to shape them. You won't notice much of a difference once it comes off." A little blush on the cheeks for color and, close your eyes, doll, a little mascara, um, actually, I think I have some day wear false eyelashes, hmm, yes, just to lengthen them a little," she nodded her head, "definitely. What about lipstick?" Ginny told her we already had it. "Okay, then." she pulled the first hair.

"Ouch," I winced.

Ginny laughed. "Nobody said being a girl was painless."

After what seemed like an hour of torture, Darla started on the makeup. She outlined my brows and filled them in, blending the color, applied the eyelashes, used one of the mysterious tools to curl them and brushed a light pink color over my cheeks. She stood back and looked at Ginny. "Yes?" Ginny nodded her agreement. She took a hand mirror out of the case and held it for me. I sighed.

"You don't like how you look?" Darla questioned me.

"No, Darla, I love how I look. It's just, well, I look like a very pretty boy."

"Aren't you?"

"Yes, but I'd rather not be. Thank you for trying."

Darla, gave Ginny me an impish look. "There's no pleasing tranny's. They're so dramatic." She shook her head. "Relax." She opened up the round case. "This should do the trick." She took out the most beautiful wig. She shook it out. It was honey blonde and had long hair with soft curls. "I borrowed this from the salon. It's real hair. "Happy?"

"Oh my God, Darla, I, I, I love it. Oh, thank you, thank you. Yes. Happy. Very happy."

She handed the wig to Ginny. "First, we need to get your own hair out of the way." She brushed it back, gathered it and tied it with an elastic. "And you need a cap that will hold it secure. Once it's pinned it will stay put. Now," she took the wig and placed it on my head, adjusted it and attached it to the cap with bobby pins. Once she was satisfied, she used a round brush to style it.

She stepped back, fussed with it some more, stepped back, more fussing, and finally she pronounced it done. She produced the hand mirror. I looked at my face framed with a sweep of hair over my forehead and framed by shoulder length blonde curls. Bobby was gone. Any bigger smile would have damaged my face. "I take it you approve."

"I love you," I gushed.

"I get that a lot from trannys," she joked. "Unfortunately, what they've got is not what I want." She leered at Ginny, who shook her head. Darla shrugged.

Ginny walked over to her. "Payment due." They had another long kiss. "Whew," Darla fanned herself. "Don't tell Carly." I assumed Carly was her girlfriend.

"And get my eyes scratched out for poaching. Uh uh. You're secret's safe with me."

"In that case, come to mama." She opened her arms.

"Be good." Darla put her arms down. "I'll return the wig to the salon on Monday, if that's okay."

"Any time. Seriously," she gave Ginny a wicked grin, "any time you realize that boys are a waste of effort." She looked at me, "present company excluded." She turned to me. "Jasmine, you're a sweetheart. Good luck with you boyfriend. I'm going to leave you the eyebrow pencil and blush. Ginny has whatever else you'll need. Oh, and the wig brush too. Bring it back with the wig." She closed up the makeup case and Ginny escorted her to the door.

I couldn't get over the transformation. If Jeff recognized me, it wouldn't be by my appearance. I went to the hall mirror and admired myself. I could see Ginny standing behind me with a big smile. I gently tossed my head."I wish this was really my hair."

"Yours covers your ears. If you let it grow, it should be almost that long in about six months. You can make it any color and the curls are easy. A hair dryer and a styling brush or big rollers."

"I wish."

"Ready for you debut?"

I took a deep breath and exhaled. "Yes.""

As if on cue, the phone rang. Ginny waited until the fifth ring, just before the voice mail picked up. "Hello. Hi. No, it's a good time. Yes, uh huh, she's here. This afternoon. Yes. Sure. Okay. See you in about ten minutes." She hung up and turned to me. "How do you want to do this? Do you want to meet him at the door or do you want to make a grand entrance?"

"At the door, I think." I went back and looked in the mirror. "Do I need more lipstick?"

"No, you look fine."

I adjusted my skirt. "Do I look okay," I asked nervously.

"You look fine. You're hair's fine, your makeup is fine, your clothes are fine, the only thing that won't be fine is if you wet your panties. Trust me. It's all fine. Take a few more deep breaths."

Chapter 4

A whole new world
A hundred thousand things to see
I'm like a shooting star
I've come so far
I can't go back to where I used to be

The doorbell rang. I panicked. "Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Ginny."

"Do you want me to tell him that Jasmine is indisposed?"

"No. Go ahead."

"Don't be so anxious. Let him wait. I guarantee that he isn't going anywhere." She held up her left hand and counted. "One - two - three - four - five." The doorbell rang again. "See, he didn't even get to six." She put her hand down and opened the door. I stood behind her. "Hi, Jeff. She invited him in and stepped aside, closing the door behind her. "Jasmine," she turned to me, "this is Jeff, Bobby's friend."

Okay, you can do this. I stepped out. "Hi." A brilliant introduction. Ginny looked at me encouragingly. "It's very nice to meet you."

"Why don't you two go in the den and get acquainted," Ginny interrupted our awkward introduction. She motioned with her head towards Jeff. I wasn't sure what she meant. "Arm," she whispered. I stepped forward, took him by the arm and guided him.

"Jasmine," I turned to Ginny, "I have a couple of errands to run. I won't be gone more than a half hour. Will you be okay with Jeff?"

I still had his arm. I looked at him and back to her. "I'm sure we'll be fine. Won't we Jeffrey?"

"Oh, ah, um, ah, ah,"

"We'll be fine," I mercifully answered for him.

"Okay, then." Ginny got her pocketbook and the car keys. "Be good." She winked at me and left.

"Jeffrey, would you like something to eat?" I let go of his arm. He followed me docilely into the kitchen. It amazed me how much control I had over him, that Jasmine had over him, I corrected myself. "Oh dear, I don't know where anything is," I pretended to be helpless. "Jeffrey, could you find some glasses, please." Of course, he'd been in our kitchen hundreds of times, so he knew where we kept them. I opened the refrigerator. "Milk, orange juice and cola. I'm going to have milk. What would you like?" I knew he preferred soda, but he politely agreed to have milk too. I took out the bottle and poured two glasses. "Do you think there are any cookies?" He found them in the cupboard and took out a package of chocolate chip and a package of Oreos. "A plate, please." He brought over a plate. "Thank you for helping." I gave him a demure smile and he gave me a dopey grin. I arranged four of each on the plate. "Shall we go into the den?" I picked up the plate with the cookies. "Be a lamb and bring the milk, please."

In the den, I put the plate of cookies on the coffee table in front of the couch. It had three cushions. I smoothed my skirt under me and sat down on the left side. Jeff put down the glasses and sat on the right side. Polite, but not what I had in mind. "Oh, dear. We forgot napkins. Would you mind?" When he left, I moved over to the center cushion and tucked my legs up, the way I had seen Ginny do, adjusting my skirt for modesty. Jeff returned and stopped when he saw that there was no way for him to sit down without being next to me. I patted the cushion to my right. When he still hesitated, I gave him a little smile and nod of my head. He took the invitation. Not exactly first base, but at least he was in position to play ball.

I sat quietly with my hands folded in my lap. "Um, do you want to play a game?" Jeff ended the awkward silence.

"A game?"

"Uh yeah, a video game. Bobby's got some really cool ones," he offered enthusiastically.

"I like the Disney ones."

"Oh, ah, I don't think he has any of those."

"Maybe we could just talk?"

"Um, okay."

I followed Ginny's suggestion and kept the conversation about him. He told me that he liked math and science and played sports, which I knew was a lie, but I pretended to be fascinated, batting my eyes and listening raptly to his effort to impress me. As we talked, I inched over until my shoulder was brushing his. Nothing happened. If this was the best he could do with girls, I was probably the only date he was ever going to get.

"Hi, I'm back," Ginny announced her return.

"We're in the den, Ginny."

She came in. "How're you doing?" She gave me a questioning look. I returned a little shrug. "Jeff, thanks for keeping Jasmine company."

"Uh, sure."

"It's getting late and I want to do some girl stuff with my cousin. Why don't you say goodnight."

He stood up. "Goodnight. Um, thanks for, um, you know, the cookies. It was, um, nice meeting you and maybe," pausing to work up his courage," we could, um, ... ."

Ginny looked at me for confirmation. I nodded. "Actually, Jeff," she interrupted him, "you could do me a favor."

"Um, sure."

I'm going out for a few hours tomorrow night and I don't want Jasmine to be home by herself. So, would you take her to the movies. I'd drive you and pay for the tickets. Jasmine?" She gave me a silly grin.

"Oh, yes, Ginny, I would like that ever so much. Jeffrey is such a gentleman, I would feel very safe with him."

"Jeff?"

"Definitely," he responded enthusiastically.

"I'll pick you up around seven o'clock." Turning to me she asked, "what movie do you want to see?"

"Jeffrey, can decide," I politely conceded.

Ginny gave Jeff a stern look. "Make sure its G rated."

"Yeah, sure, no problem."

"I'm going upstairs. Goodnight."

I took Jeff's arm and escorted him to the door. "Thank you for a nice evening, Jeffrey."

"You're welcome, Jasmine."

I opened the door and he started to leave. "Jeffrey." He stopped and turned to me. I looked over my shoulder like I wanted to be sure nobody was watching. I leaned forward and our lips more bumped than smooched. But it was a kiss. Jeff stumbled down the steps. At the end of the walk he turned. I waved and closed the door. Yes!!

I went upstairs. Ginny was getting ready for bed. "Well?"

"Well," I repeated, "He didn't quite make it to first base, but at least he was in the game."

She gave me a puzzled look.

"I caught him with a kiss as he was leaving."

"And?"

"It wasn't enough of a kiss to really tell. Hopefully he will figure out that there's more where that one came from. Goodnight, Ginny. And thanks."

"Goodnight little sister. I hope it works out the way you want." I started to leave. "Wait. You'd better let me take off your wig so I can see how to put it back on tomorrow." She removed the bobby pins, took off the cap and undid my hair. "And scrub the makeup off or you'll get zits."

It was another night that I couldn't fall asleep. I kept thinking of different romantic scenes with Jeff at the movies. If tonight was any preview, it wasn't going to be easy. Why are you in love with a dork, I asked myself. Because he's the dork of your dreams, I answered, which didn't make any sense, so maybe I was asleep.

The alarm clock woke me up at seven o'clock. I had no idea what I was going to do until tonight. Jeff thought I wasn't home, so I couldn't go out, in case he saw me. On the other hand, if he did, I could tell him that my grandparents dropped me off for the day and explain Jasmine's absence by saying that they picked her up in exchange. But that would mean you'd have spend the day as Bobby, I argued with myself. I decided to ask Ginny. I kept on my nightgown and went into her room. She was still in bed. She rolled over when she heard me come in.

"Good morning," she sat up a stretched. "Did you sleep well?"

"Good morning. No, I don't think so. I kept thinking or dreaming about Jeff. I'm not sure which. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. What should I do today?"

"What should you do today about what?"

"Maybe the better question is who should I be today?"

"Be yourself."

"Which myself?"

"Is there more than one of you?"

"No."

"Then problem solved."

I tried again. "Seriously, Ginny,what should I do until my date with Jeff tonight?"

"What do you want to do?"

"If I knew, we wouldn't be having this talk."

"Betsy, Pam and Jen are coming over. Why don't you call Jeff and hang out with him? Tell him you're home and Jasmine is with gram and grandpa."

"Yeah, great minds think alike. I suppose I don't have much choice."

"Unless you want me to introduce Jasmine to my friends, no." She thought for a moment. "You know, you could. If Jeff didn't catch on, I doubt that they will either. It's up to you."

"What about if they say something to mom about meeting me."

"Same story that you gave Jeff. I'll tell them that I'm not supposed to be having people over, so don't say anything about you being here or we'll get in trouble."

"Are you sure?"

"Like I said, I'm outa here in a few months. It's your problem if you get outed."

"Outed?"

"Discovered, revealed, come out in public as gay. Or transgendered."

"I appreciate the offer, but I think it's too much too soon. I'm okay with Jeff, but I'm not confident enough to take a chance convincing girls. You're the one who said that there are little giveaways, like the way I looked at my nails or how I hold a purse. I'd rather just deal with Jeff for now."

"Sure, I understand. Give me fifteen minutes and I'll be down to make breakfast. Why don't you call Jeff, tell him you just got dropped off and see if he wants to hang out."

"Yeah, okay," I said unenthusiastically and went to my room. Considering that I'd been doing it for fifteen years, it seemed strange getting dressed as a boy. Maybe strange isn't the right word. Wrong. Not wrong, like I was doing something bad. Wrong like they weren't my clothes. I was borrowing them from someone else. I put on my sneakers and went downstairs. Ginny had a bowl of cereal and a glass of juice on the table. I could smell bacon in the microwave.

"Did you call Jeff?"

"No, I thought I'd just go over after breakfast."

"You might want to take out your earrings and remove your nail polish before you see him."

I looked at my nails, fingers curled, and brought my hands up to my ears for confirmation that she wasn't teasing me. "Wow, thanks."

"Freudian slip?"

"What's that?"

"Doing something that you want to do but don't admit to yourself. Outing yourself to Jeff."

"Or just forgetting."

"Or just forgetting," she agreed. "Either way, use the cleaning solution you got and then put on a dab of my zit concealer. Its in a tube on my vanity. Make sure you clean the makeup off good before you put them back in. There's a bottle of nail polish remover in the bathroom vanity and a bag of cotton balls. Soak the cotton ball with the remover, do it over the sink, that stuff is like paint remover, actually, it probably is paint remover, hold it against a nail for about thirty seconds to soften the polish, the wipe it off. You should be good, because you had a clear base, so they color didn't penetrate into your nail."

After breakfast, I followed Ginny's instructions and was ready to leave. "Ginny, I'm going over to Jeff's now."

"Hang on. Let me give you a final inspection."

"I'm good."

"You were good when you came down to breakfast too. You sure?"

"No." I presented myself.

"She checked my ears, hands and studied my face."

"And the eyelashes."

"What?"

"The false eyelashes Darla put on you. You didn't take them off last night when you washed up."

"Oh, geez. Maybe you were right. You think I really want Jeff to know?"

"I'm not a psychologist. Maybe you do. Or maybe you're just not very good at going back and forth between a boy and a girl. Practice makes perfect. In the meantime, that's what big sisters are for." She laughed.

"What?"

"Actually, I'm not sure that checking on transgendered brothers who want to date their best friend is part of my job description."

"It is now." We both laughed.

"Speaking of which, you're good to go."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. Have fun."

I gave her a doubtful look and left. Jeff only lived six houses down the block. I rang the bell. His mother answered the door. "Hi, Mrs. Lewis."

"Bobby, hi. Jeff's in his room."

I went upstairs. He was reading and looked up. "Hey, Bobby. When did you get back?"

"About a half hour ago. My grandparents swapped me for Jasmine."

"Is she coming back? We, I thought, we, um, we were going to the movies. Ginny asked me to take her. She said it was a date. She really did,'' he insisted, in case I didn't believe him. "She didn't change her mind, did she?"

"Relax, dude. It's cool. They just wanted to spend some time with her. She's coming back and they're picking me up. I had to get some more clothes anyway."

"Oh, yeah, I knew she wouldn't stand me up," he said less than convincingly. "She likes me."

"How do you know."

He lowered his voice. "She kissed me."

"Wow," I pretended to be impressed. "You're a fast mover." Like a snail, I thought to myself. "Is she a good kisser?" Not that he'd know.

"Yeah, really good."

"Do you like her?" It was weird talking about Jasmine as though she was someone else.

"She's pretty." A step in the right direction, but no commitment. "Did she say anything about me?"

"We only had a minute before she left. She said she met my friend, you, and that he, you, seemed nice."

"That's it?"

"What more do you want? She thinks you're nice and I kept my mouth shut."

"Not cool, dude."

"Ease up. I'm just kidding. What movie are you going to see?"

"Don't know. Ginny said G rated. They're like lame."

"So take her to something else." A scary move would give me an excuse for holding onto him and from there I envisioned something more romantic.

"You think?"

"She's not supposed to be on a date either."

"Yeah."

We spent the rest of the day playing video games. His mom made us lunch. At about three o'clock I told him I had to get back to pack up. He was enthusiastic about my leaving, since it meant that Jasmine would replace me. "Tell her I'm looking forward to tonight."

"Tell her yourself, dude." I couldn't help a smile, since he already had.

"What?"

"Nothing, just trying to picture you smooching with her."

"You're jealous." I had to suppress another smile.

"Yeah. I wish it was me."

"She's your cousin."

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I know who she is. See you in school on Monday."

When I got home, Ginny's friends were still there. I said hi and went to my room. I was anxious to change, but Jasmine's clothes and makeup were in Ginny's room and I couldn't be sure of my privacy. Finally Ginny called up that they were leaving. I looked out the window to see her drive off and waited another ten minutes, just in case they came back for some reason. Finally, I got undressed and showered with the scented body wash.

I had already decided on the tiered denim skirt and pink pullover top. I only had the one bra. Pink panties and black tights completed the outfit. I modeled the outfit in the mirror, turning and posing. I wanted a more feminine look. I went back to Ginny's dresser and looked through her tights. She had a pair of light pink ones. I tried them on and liked the look. While I was waiting, I tried putting on a coat of polish. Doing my left hand was easy. Using my left hand to hold the brush was going to take more skill.

"Jasmine, I'm home," Ginny announced her return.

"I'm upstairs, getting dressed."

The nail polish wasn't dry and I was sitting at the vanity waving my fingers. I heard Ginny laughing and turned around. "Stand up." I got up. "Turn around." I did a slow turn. She shook her head in amusement.

"What's so funny?"

"Where'd you find those tights?"

"In your sock drawer."

"Those were from when I took dance. I'm surprised that Mom didn't pack them away. I'm sorry. It wasn't very nice of me to laugh at you, but I couldn't help myself. If you want to be a ballerina, there's a leotard and cute chiffon dance skirt that goes with them."

"Oh, no. I just thought they looked pretty with the skirt. I put on the black tights. They seemed too plain. I wanted a little color."

"My sister the fashionista. Seriously, I wouldn't have thought of pairing them with that skirt and top, but you do look kinda cute." She laughed again.

"Now what?" I asked petulantly.

"You have nice legs."

"Oh, thank you."

After dinner, we did my hair and makeup. Ginny handed me the lip liner and lipstick, finishing with the gloss, nodding with approval at the result. We saved the eyelashes, but Darla didn't leave the glue, so we couldn't use them. Ginny applied her eyeliner and mascara instead. Since we were still going for the innocent girl look, she applied just a touch of blush. When she was finished, I looked in the mirror and saw Jasmine.

Ginny stood back. "You really should have been born a girl. You're a knockout. Are you sure you want Jeff for your boyfriend? You could have any guy at school."

"I'm doubt it wouldn't work in reverse. Remember what you said about scoring. I don't think any of the guys at school would want to date a girl like me. I'm hoping that there's enough chemistry between us as friends that Jeff can accept me. If not, he's not going to admit that he went on a date with his transgendered best friend, so my secret's safe."

"Agreed. Just one more thing. You need some jewelry. You can put your earrings in for a start."

"Oh, right."

Ginny dug through her jewelry box and took out a gold heart on a chain. She fastened it around my neck. "Perfect." She looked at the clock. It's almost time. "Are you forgetting anything?"

"Probably or you wouldn't have asked."

"Think. What does every girl have that you don't."

"Anatomically?"

"No, doh. The one item that no girl would be seen in public without. Her pocketbook. It's essential. Even naked we'd still carry a bag." She picked it up and handed it to me. "Now you're ready."

"I hope so."

I got in the back seat and we stopped in front of Jeff's house. Ginny honked. The front door opened and he came out. Mrs. Lewis stood in the doorway and waved. I scrunched down. Jeff saw me and opened the back door. He turned and waved to his mother, then climbed in and sat at a respectful distance. I smiled at him.

"Hi, Jasmine. Wow. You look great." Since he hadn't really looked at me, he must have been rehearsing.

"Thank you, Jeffrey. You're sweet."

"Um, ah, I, ah, what movie do you want to see?"

I could see Ginny glancing in the rear view mirror with a big grin.

"Whatever you like. You decide for us."

"Um, ah, okay, sure." So much for his rehearsal.

I told him about spending the day with my grandparents and going out to lunch with them. I asked him about what he did. He went into Bobby coming over and hanging out. I was relieved. If he believed that I was with my grandparents and that he was with Bobby, then the deception was working. I casually paged back my hair to show my earring, toyed with my locket, crossed my legs and adjusted my skirt for confirmation.

The theater was only a twenty minute drive. Ginny pulled up to the entrance. "Here's twenty dollars." She handed it to Jeff. "That should cover the movie and snacks and something after." The theater had a food court. "I'll be back at ten thirty."

Jeff got out and I slid over, remembering to keep my knees together and swing my legs. I took Jeff's arm and we went in. We stopped to review the movies. "What would you like to see, Jasmine," Jeff asked politely.

"Why don't you decide, Jeffrey."

He studied the list. "What about the one with the fish?"

"That's nice." He started towards the ticket counter. I tugged on his arm. "Jeffrey, would you mind terribly if we saw the one with the robots. That's like the video games you and Bobby play, isn't it?"

"Sort of, yeah, but its PG-13."

"I know," I gave a little giggle. "You wouldn't tell on me."

"No, of course not, but Ginny said it had to be G rated."

"I know you're a gentleman, Jeffrey, but I'm with a boy," I hugged his arm for emphasis, "and I I never get to be naughty," I said suggestively. "I won't tell if you don't. Please."

"Are you sure?"

"Very. You do want to see the robot movie, don't you?"

"Transformers. Yeah. Actually, I was going to see it with Bobby."

"Do you mind seeing it with me?"

"No, that's cool."

We got into the ticket queue. As we were waiting, someone tapped Jeff on the shoulder. It was Greg, one of the kids in our class, with his group of jocks. Even worse, behind him was Nancy Foster, and her friends. I took a deep breath.

"Jeff, whose the babe?" Greg wanted to know, which was surprising. Not that he wanted to know who I was, that he knew Jeff's name. At school he and the other cool kids ignored us.

To my surprise, Jeff stood up to him. "She's my date!" Particularly brave, since Greg was the captain of the football and baseball teams.

To my even greater surprise, he got away with it. "Okay, chill, dude. I haven't seen her around."

Before Jeff's boldness got him in trouble, he'd be back in school with these guys on Monday, I answered for him. "I'm Jasmine. Jasmine Delaney."

"Hi, I'm Greg. I go to school with Jeff."

I wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible. "Hello."

Nancy must have thought I was competition, because she pushed forward and introduced herself. "Nancy." She put out her hand. Do girls shake hands? I put out my hand. She took it and held it so that she could see my nails. Nicely manicured and polished, thank you. She released it. "Where do you go to school?"

"Saint Kitty's."

"That's a funny name."

"It's what we call it. Saint Katherine's"

"Oh, yeah. I think I know a girl who goes there, Mary Connors?"

Did I know a girl who want to a made up school? "Sorry, no." She shrugged. By then we were at the front of the line. "Nice meeting you." I directed Jeff to the counter. I think he was in shock that he got that much respect for having me as his date. He bought the tickets. As we were leaving, I heard Greg ask for the same movie. Great, an audience. I should have stayed with the fish.

Jeff got two popcorns, a soda and a bottle of water for me. He asked me where I wanted to sit. I picked two seats in the center of the second section, half way back. I was hoping that the kids from school would sit in front, but no, they took the row right behind us with Greg behind Jeff and Nancy behind me and the others coupled up on either side of them.

Greg was engaged with his snack. It was clearly up to me to get things started. When the lights dimmed for the previews, I leaned over to him. "Jeffrey, this is lovely, thank you." That encouragement was to no avail. Something less subtle was required. "Would you put your arm around me, please." I got the deer in the headlights look back. "Your arm, Jeff. It's okay." He picked it up and rested it on the back of my seat. Fair is fair. This was his first date. I reached over with my left hand and moved his arm onto my shoulder. I wondered what Greg and Nancy were thinking.

The movie started. I waited for a combat scene. "Ooh, Jeffrey, this is scary." I cuddled closer. Would you hold my hand, please. I put my left hand out and he took it. "Mmmm, thank you. That's better." After a while, I wanted to see what the other girls were up to. I let go of Jeff's hand, opened my bag and took out my makeup mirror. As I touched up my lipstick, I could see that there was nothing going on, at least that I could see.

When the movie ended, I remembered Ginny's advice to use the bathroom. "Jeff, excuse me, please." Figuring out which one to use wasn't a problem as there was a line waiting to get in. Nancy and some of the other girls were behind me. "Enjoy the movie?" she asked me with a smirk.

"Yes, very much." I sighed contentedly. The less we talked, the better, but I didn't want to be rude. "How about you?"

"It was OK. Greg likes that stuff. I don't. How do you know Jeff?"

Not a conversation I really wanted to have. "He's friends with my cousin."

"Uh huh. Who's your cousin?"

"Bobby Delaney."

She shook her head. "I don't know him." Actually, you do. He's in your math class. Apparently I'm invisible as a boy. "Does he go to Memorial?"

"Yes."

"In the ninth grade?"

"Yes."

Our conversation ended as we reached the entrance. A woman came out and I went in. Ginny was right. There wasn't anything to see. I redid my lipstick, put on gloss and primped my hair. I gave one last look and went back out.

Jeff was patiently waiting. I took his arm and we walked to the food court. He pointed to an empty high-top table. “Is this okay?” I nodded and sat down on the stool, crossing my legs and adjusting my skirt. Jeff remained standing. “What would you like?”

“Some french fries would be nice. I don’t usually eat them, but this is a special occasion.” I gave him a big smile. “Don’t forget napkins, please.” A girl cannot be too neat when she’s trying to convince a boy she’s a girl.

He left and was back with the fries. “I, um, I, didn’t get you anything to drink. Do you want a soda or something? And did you want ketchup?”

“I have my water from the movie. No ketchup. I might get it on my clothes and my mother would ask me about it. I can’t lie to her. Then she wouldn’t let me come back.” I put my hand on his arm. "I’d like to see you again,” I said encouragingly.

“Me too, Jasmine. I like you a lot.” He likes me! “You’re different.” Oops, he should have quit while he was ahead. “Good different.” Nice recovery. “Can I see you next weekend?”

“I don’t know, Jeffrey. I'll talk to Ginny and she can ask my parents.”

“Can I have you phone number, so I can call you?”

“Oh no,” I put my hand to my mouth in dismay. “If a boy called me that would ruin everything. You mustn’t, please, promise me you won’t," I pretended to be worried.

“No, I won’t. I promise. Really.” He crossed his heart for sincerity. “If I give you my number, you could call me."

I shook my head. “I can’t. If they caught me talking to a boy on the telephone it would be just as bad. If it's okay, Ginny can tell Bobby and he can tell you. That’s the best way. Okay?”

“Sure, no problem.”

I ate some of the fries and patted my mouth with the napkin. While Jeff was finishing the last of them, I took out my mirror and redid my lipstick. Looking around, I saw that Greg, Nancy and their friends had come in and were in a booth near the entrance. It was almost time for Ginny to pick us up. “Are you ready?” He stood up. I took his arm and I put a wiggle in my walk as passed them. Babe indeed.

We waited on the curb for Ginny to arrive. On the way home she asked what we saw. I already told Jeff I couldn't lie. I looked at him to answer. "Um, ah, the fish movie?"

"Not really. We saw the one with robots. It was my choice. I'm tired of animal movies. Jeffrey's just being a gentleman."

"Your secret's safe with me, Jasmine," Ginny punned.

"So it was okay," Jeff asked with relief.

"Yes," Ginny assured him. "I wanted Jasmine to have a good time and it seems like she did."

"A very good time. Actually, Ginny, Jeffrey wants to go out again next weekend. Do you think you could talk my parents into letting me come back?"

"I don't know," she played along. "I'll try."

"Oh, thank you so much."

With that we arrived at our house. Ginny considerately stopped in the driveway and let us out, so Jeff could walk me to the door. She pulled into the garage, leaving us standing on the front porch. I turned to him. "Goodnight, Jeffrey. Thank you for a lovely time." I had my hands at my side flouncing my skirt."

"Ah, um, ah, Jasmine," he got up his courage, "can I kiss you?"

"Yes." He moved forward. I kept my arms at my side and leaned forward, flicking my tongue over my lips to wet them. Jeff put his arms on my waist and our lips met. It wasn't passionate. There was a space between us, but it was a wonderful first kiss. I wanted to tease him a little, so I pulled away. He let go of my waist. "Mmm, that was nice. You're a good kisser."

"You too, Jasmine. I had a really nice time. I hope I can see you next weekend." He turned and started down the walk. At the end he turned and waved. I waved back.

Ginny was waiting in the hallway. "So?" she asked eagerly.

"It was perfect. We ran into some of the kids from school, girls and boys. They didn't recognize me. Ginny, they thought I was a girl! I think the girls were even a little jealous." I spun around. "I'm a princess."

"Yes, well, being a princess does not guarantee a happily ever after. I'm sorry to mix fairy tales, but there's no bibbty bobbity boo here. Cinderella is going to have to go back to her old self tomorrow, because I told Darla I'd return the wig after your date, and I'm not sure how the story ends when Prince Charming finds out that the glass slipper fits his best friend."

"We have a week to figure it out. For now, I'm happy." I hugged her.

Sunday morning, I woke up feeling really good about myself. After breakfast Ginny asked me what I was going to do today. "I want to talk to Jeff and see how his date went."

"You were there."

"Yes, but that was last night. Maybe he's changed his mind."

"Why would he do that?"

"Who knows why boys do things."

Ginny laughed. "Welcome to the club."

As Ginny was getting ready to leave, the doorbell rang. It was Jeff. He was holding flowers.

"Bobby? I thought you were at your grandparents."

"They had some stuff to do and dropped me off."

"Is Jasmine here?"

"Nice flowers."

He ignored my sarcasm."They're for Jasmine. Is she here?"

"Nope, her folks came and got her on their way to church. Do you want to give them to me?"

"What?"

"The flowers. Do you want to give them to me and I'll put them in a glass with some water."

"They're for Jasmine," he insisted.

"Yes, I know, but she's not here."

"Did she ask Ginny about next weekend?"

"I didn't get a chance to talk to her and Ginny just left. So, what do you want to do with the flowers?"

"I don't care. Here." He handed them to me. I brought them to the kitchen. "So, did you, you know, get some," I provoked him.

"Don't talk about her like that. She's a nice girl," he said angrily.

This was working out even better than I hoped. "Jeez, sorry. You must really like her;" I prompted him.

"Yes. You sure she didn't say anything about me?"

"Very sure."

"It's just that I wanted her to know I really liked her."

"Yeah, the flowers."

The rest of the day and the next week were normal, except that every day Jeff questioned me about whether Jasmine would be back. If he only knew how close she was and how much she wanted to tell him. I kept him in suspense until Thursday. "Ginny talked to Jasmine's parents. They're going to let her stay over this weekend."

"Do you know when she's coming?"

"No. Call after dinner, like before."

"Maybe if you get a girlfriend, we can go on a double date."

"So Jasmine's your girlfriend?"

"Well, not officially. It's only our second date. But I was going to ask her."

"You understand that she isn't supposed to date and she isn't going to be staying over once my parents get back."

"Yes, but there has to be a way. We'll figure something out."

Friday afternoon I put on the same plaid kilt and white blouse to make it look like I was still in my uniform from school, except Ginny found some knee socks. Based on Jeff's behavior the last time, it didn't seem like there needed to be much of a barrier to exploration. Darla brought the wig over and did my hair and makeup. Ginny did my nails while Darla worked on me. At six thirty Jeff called and Ginny confirmed my arrival and availability.

At six forty-five, Jeff was at the front door. I opened it and he stood there with a big grin and another handful of flowers. "Hi, Jasmine." He offered me the flowers. I wondered how he was going to explain the decimation of her garden to this mother.

"Why Jeffrey, how sweet." I took the flowers and smelled them. "They're lovely. Let's see if we can find a vase. Ginny told me you brought me flowers last week too. I wish I was here."

"Me too, Jasmine. I, um, ah, um, I wanted to tell you that I, um, ah, well, I like being with you and, um, ah, well, I was hoping that, um, ah, maybe you would, you know, be my, ah um, girlfriend. I mean you don't have to if you don't want to, its okay if ... ."

I turned and put my finger to his lips. "Yes." His look of surprise was priceless. Jeff was now officially my boyfriend. That was the good news for him. The bad news for me was that after tomorrow night Jasmine was going back in Ginny's closet. I took has hand and we walked to the kitchen. "Do you know where they keep the vases?" He started opening cabinets. "It's okay. Just a glass for now. Ginny can find one when she gets back."

"Do you want to watch some television?" Of course he did. We went into the den. He turned on the TV and channel surfed until he found something on the Disney Channel that he thought I would like. Since we were now officially a couple, I sat next to him, swinging my legs up onto the couch and resting right hand on his chest. He got the message and leaned forward. I smiled approvingly and tilted my head. He put his lips against mine. This time I seriously kissed him and he kissed me back. This kiss lasted a long time. When we separated, I could see traces of my lipstick on his lips.

"Oh my, Jeffrey, you are a good kisser. I bet you've had a lot of practice," I suggested coyly.

"No, Jasmine, you're the first girl I ever kissed."

"No, really?"

"Uh huh. Really."

"Then perhaps we should practice some more," I said softly, lightly running the tip of my tongue over my lips to moisten them. We kissed again. Suddenly, Jeffrey broke it off. I looked at him questioningly. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh, um, ah, no, its just, um, ah, I remembered I told my parents I was just going to stop over for a little while and its getting late and, ah, um, I should get back, so that they don't call, because, you know, you aren't supposed to have boys over, so you can't answer the phone and I can't answer the phone and Ginny's not here, Bobby's not here, and I don't want to get you in trouble," he babbled on. He got up suddenly and started towards the door.

"Jeffrey," he turned, "aren't you going to say goodnight?"

"Oh, heh, heh, yeah, goodnight." I could see he was embarrassed.

"Are we going out tomorrow night?"

"I'll call you."

I got up and followed him to the door. Love 'em and leave 'em made no sense after how much Jeff anticipated seeing Jasmine last week and her agreeing to be his girlfriend. Something was going on and I had no idea what it was. Maybe we went to fast and he was afraid he couldn't control himself. He was being a gentleman.

Jeff opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. I stood in the doorway and waved to him as he hurried down the walk. He turned when he reached the sidewalk and waved back. He made the 'I'll call you sign' with his hand. I made the sign back.

There wasn't any reason to stay dressed. I went upstairs, took off my wig, hung the skirt and blouse back in Ginny's closet and went into the bathroom to remove my makeup. As I was finishing my beauty routine, Ginny walked in.

"Jeff went home early?" I nodded. "Did something happen?" she asked with concern.

"I'm not sure. I don't have a lot of experience dating boys. We were," I sighed contentedly, "kissing and then he remembered he told his parents he was only coming over for a short visit. He said he was worried that they might call and I couldn't answer and you weren't here to answer and if nobody answered they'd be worried, so he had to rush home." I shrugged. "He said he'd call me tomorrow, so it wasn't anything I did, I don't think."

Ginny shook her head and started laughing.

"I don't see why Jeff running out on our date is funny."

"It's very funny." She calmed down. "Does your big sister have to explain to you what happens to boys when they get excited?" I gave her a puzzled look. "Really? What happens when you play with yourself?"

"Ginny, please, I don't do that."

"Sisters don't have secrets, remember. What do you think I do with what you found in my shoebox? Its not unique to boys."

"I thought you said you were a virgin?"

"Virginity is a state of mind, not body. Or, as Captain Barbosa would say, 'Arr, them's more like guidelines than rules.' Now, answer my question."

"I, um, I get, ah ... ."

" A hard on, a boner, a stiffie, a woodie. You don't think girls talk about it?"

"I haven't been a girl long enough to know."

"Well, we do and that's what happened to Jeff. You got him turned on and he didn't want you to see it."

"Wow!"

"Don't take too much credit. Boy's get excited just thinking about sex. When I was in ninth grade and wore a mini skirt, half the guys in my class had to walk around holding their notebooks in front of them. They don't think we know what's going on," she laughed, "but, I'll tell you a secret, little sister, its fun to tease boys. It has to be subtle, though, or you get a reputation as a slut."

"So Jeff really likes me?"

"He really likes kissing you. Anything more and he probably would have had an accident."

"An accident?"

"OMG, you really are naive. What's the end result of playing with yourself?"

"Oh, you mean, ... ."

"Uh huh, he'd cum in his pants. Another reason to carry tissues in your pocketbook, in case things get out of hand." She giggled. "Or in hand."

"Ginny!"

"Sorry, but you need to understand pussy power." She started laughing. "Present company excepted, at least for the time being." She stopped laughing. "Seriously, if you are going to make out with Jeff, you either have to figure out how to keep it down, literally, or be prepared to give him some relief. That's just the way it works, Jasmine. It's up to you to decide how fast and how far the relationship is going to go."

"Okay, so how do I keep things under control?"

"With Jeff, it's going to be hard," she laughed, "umm, difficult. He's got no experience with girls, so anything you do is going to get his motor running. Go slow to start. No marathon making out. Okay?" I nodded. "Remember, supposedly you just met him last week and tonight was only your second date."

"Thanks, Ginny. This would be impossible without you."

"Just one thing little sister." I looked at her attentively. "If you lose your virginity before I do, however that works, I'm going to be pissed." We both broke into laughter. "Speaking of which, are you going out with Jeff tomorrow night?"

"Probably. He said he'd call me."

"Am I driving you?"

"I don't know what he wants to do. From what you said, just the two of us hanging around the house is dangerous. Maybe another movie, if you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. Let me know. Goodnight."

I finished washing up and got into bed. I tried imagining what else we could do, but I kept coming back to kissing. I feel asleep dreaming of romance and pirates. Strange.

Saturday morning we were just finishing breakfast when the phone rang. "Jasmine, it's Jeff," Ginny announced. She held up one finger, then two, three, four and five and repeated the count to ten, before she gave me the phone.

He apologized for not being able to stay longer and gave me the same excuse. "Oh my, Jeffrey, that was ever so thoughtful," I complimented him on his pretend chivalry. He asked me if I wanted to do something. I told him yes, of course, now that he was my boyfriend. Following Ginny's suggestion, I decided that a movie might be too much opportunity. I suggested dinner at the food court and walking around the mall. Ginny would drive us. He should come over about six thirty. "Bye, Jeffrey, see you tonight."

"You heard?" Ginny nodded. "Is that okay?" She nodded again. "What should we do today?" She suggested we get a manicure. "What if someone sees us? Not someone from school, someone who knows Mom?" She shrugged. "You don't know or you don't care."

"Both. Mixing fairy tales again, the spell ends at midnight. On Sunday, Mom and Dad come home and Jasmine turns back into a boy. This is your last chance to be a princess. You can spend it hiding at home or you can enjoy it out with your sister. Its unlikely, but, if we run into someone we know, you're just my friend. There's no reason why they should suspect otherwise. You convinced Jeff and the kids from school. If they do out, well then, that's the risk you take. So?"

"The mall. Definitely, the mall." I said enthusiastically.

"I know you like skirts and dresses, but being pretty is not always an advantage. You'd attract less attention if you wore jeans and blended in with the other girls who are dressed casually. I have some super cute ones. Makeup, hair, panties and a bra should be girly enough." I agreed. We went upstairs and Ginny started going through her closet. She must have pulled out a dozen pairs of jeans. "No, no, maybe, maybe, yes, no, no, maybe, yes," she sorted them out.

"Ginny, why so many pairs of jeans? I have two and the only reason I have two is so that I have one to wear when the other's in the wash."

"Yours are the same. Mine are all different." She started pointing them out. "Regular, skinny, boot cut, cute, this is the one I think you should wear, it has embroidery on the back pockets and little rhinestone studs, super cute, low rise. She picked up another pair. These are super cute too, really skinny, you have nice legs, they'd be super cute on you too." She handed me the first pair. Try these on.

I had given up modesty. I stripped off my nightgown, changed panties, slipped into my bra and tried them on. They were snug over my hips and butt. I understood now why Ginny had to do her little hip hop dance to get them up. I. I turned from side to side and admired myself in her door mirror. "You're right, super cute."

"Try this top." She handed me a white v-necked sweater. She shook her head. "It would look better if you had bigger boobs. We could stuff your bra. I read somewhere that baggies filled with rice work. Do we have any rice? Mom must have some. She's got a mini-mart in the cabinets. Yes?"

"You're the one who thought I'd be better off not drawing attention to myself, although it would be fun to see what I'd look like if I really did have boobs like yours."

"We can try, but I think you're right. Maybe a different top. Here, try this." She handed me a pink jewel necked cardigan. I put it on and buttoned it up. It was short, so there was a little bit of my stomach that peeked out. I nodded my approval.

"Pink is definitely your color," she agreed."

Shoes were more of a problem. My Mary Janes were the only ones that I had. "You could wear you own sneakers. They're pretty much unisex and girls wear boy's shoes anyway. She handed me a pair of sneaker sox. I got my sneakers and put them on. She made a so-so sign."After our manicures, we could go back to the shoe store and look for some pumps with kitten heels." She saw that I didn't understand. "Low spike heels, maybe an inch, just to get used to them."

"Can you return them? It doesn't make much sense just for a couple of hours of walking around the mall."

"Maybe, if the soles don't look too worn, but I don't mind if you keep them. Every girl should have a pair of heels. Like I said, I've got Mom's credit card and I can tell her I bought them for college. If Jasmine ever does come back to visit, she'll have some shoes."

Ginny was right. Nobody paid any attention to us. The Asian manicurist found a match for my polish and did her work. Having my nails done made me feel really feminine. We wandered from store to store looking at clothes. In one of the them Ginny picked out a really pretty dress. She held it up to herself and flared out the skirt, swinging from side to side. "Do you like it?"

"Very much."

She held it up to me. "Let's go try it on you."

"On me? I thought you ... . She took my arm and started towards the dressing room. "Wait, Ginny, no. What if ...."

"No what ifs." The dress was fabulous. So were the shoes I tried on. Ginny found some really high heels and had me practice walking in them, just for fun. She made sure to hold my arm as I teetered along the aisle between the shoe racks. We finally picked out a pair with the little heels. I exchanged them for my sneakers and wore them out of the store for practice. Ginny looked at her watch. "It's four thirty. We should head back, if you want to get yourself put together for your date. Unless you just want to keep wearing what you have on."

"I'd rather change. It's my last chance to dress up. Besides, I like being girly when I'm with Jeff."

When we got home, there was a message from Jeff on the answering machine. He wanted to know when he could come over and what I'd like to do. I had Ginny call him back. "Oh, hi Mrs. Lewis, its Ginny. Uh huh. We're fine. Yes, they get back tomorrow. Bobby's in the shower. Have you had dinner yet? Uh huh. No, us neither. Bobby thought that he and Jeff could get something at the food court and then hang around the mall for a while. I don't mind driving them and picking them up. Okay, good. Why don't you tell Jeff to come over at six. Yes, home by eleven. No problem. Thank you."

I hurried upstairs to get ready. Earlier, I picked out a brown corduroy jumper, light coffee blouse and brown tights. My new shoes completed the outfit. I adjusted my wig, freshened my lipstick, added some blush and went downstairs to wait. Jeff was punctual. Knowing him, he probably was standing on the porch for ten minutes looking at his watch, so he wouldn't seem too eager.

"Wow, Jasmine, you look beautiful." Flattery will get you everywhere.

"Why thank you, Jeffrey." I gave him a kiss on the cheek. He looked disappointed. I winked at him and took his arm. "We need to get going. Ginny, we're ready when you are."

Ginny met us in the kitchen. She motioned with her head. I couldn't figure out what she was trying to tell me. Finally, she pointed to her pocketbook. "Oh, Jeffrey, how silly. I left my pocket book upstairs. I'll be right back. I checked to make sure everything I needed was there. I got in the backseat behind Ginny. Jeff got in the other side. I patted the middle seat and he slid over. I took his arm and put it over my shoulder and nestled against him. I could see Ginny checking us out in the rear view mirror. I gave her a contended smile back.

Walking around the mall may not seem special, but going out as Jasmine with the boy I've had a secret crush on for years was an indescribable feeling. A wonderful memory I'd always have, no matter what happened. I was so happy. I couldn't help myself. I stopped in the middle of the concourse and kissed him.

He was embarrassed by the PDA. "Jasmine!"

"Yes, Jeffrey. Do you have a complaint?"

"Um, uh, no, I, just," he looked at me, "no."

"Good." I looked at my watch. It was nine thirty. "I'm going to call Ginny and see if she can pick us up. I want our last night together to be special." He gave me a curious look as to what I had in mind to make it special. "You'll see when we get home."

Ginny came and got us. When we got home, she took me aside. "Are you sure about this?"

"It's our last night together."

"Yes, but remember what we talked about. He really likes you. You can't turn him on and turn him off like a radio. You have to finish what you start."

"I intend to finish what I start."

She shrugged. "I hope you know what you're doing."

"I hope so too."

"Goodnight, Jeff. Please keep an eye on the time. I told your mother you'd be home by eleven. Jasmine, I'll see you in the morning."

We both said goodnight to Ginny. I took Jeff's hand and led him into the den. I pointed to the couch and Jeff sat down, I'm sure he was eagerly anticipating whatever I had in mind. I got up my courage. "Jeff, I'm sorry. You deserve better." He had no idea what I was talking about. A better girlfriend? Better kissing? "I shouldn't have tricked, you but I couldn't help myself. All the time I've known you, I've wanted to tell you how I feel, but I couldn't. You wouldn't have understood."

He thought I was talking about our dates. "Jasmine, I do understand. I feel the same way."

"No, Jeff, you don't. I wish you did, but you don't." Now he was confused, but by calling him Jeff instead of Jeffrey, the way Jasmine did, and the change in my voice, he was beginning to realize that something was different. I put my hand under my wig and caught hold of the cap. I pulled it off exposing my own hair.

Jeff's eyes went wide. "Bobby! No, it can't be you? How? Why? It's not possible." He shook his head in denial. "No. I don't understand."

All I could do to calm him down was apologize. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry." There was no point in holding back. "I love you. I couldn't help it. I needed to know how you felt about me as a girl."

Jeff stood up and confronted me. "You're not a girl," he accused me angrily. "Wearing girl's clothes and pretending to be one doesn't change that. All that lovey dovey stuff. You tricked me into kissing you. I'm not gay. That's just plain wrong, man. Whatever." He paused as he realized the social implications. "Jesus, Bobby, what if the kids at school find out? Shit, they saw us in the movie holding hands and stuff. I'm screwed."

"It's okay, Jeff. Nobody will find out. We were very careful not to let anyone know Jasmine was here and I'm not going back to school. I can't. I'm transgendered."

"What's that mean?"

"It means that I'm not pretending to be a girl. I am a girl. I was born a girl in a boy's body. All these years, I denied how I felt, who I really was, but I can't any more." I let out a sad sigh and little whimper. For the first time, Jeff looked at me sympathetically. "I don't now what's going to happen when I tell my parents. Maybe they'll send me away or put me in some kind of special place for kids like me? Whatever happens, Jeff, I'm not going to be able to see you again. I wanted this one last time together, so that you'd know me as I really am.

Jeff softened. "Why aren't we going to see each other again?"

"Because you hate me and you're not gay."

"I don't hate you and if you're really a girl, then I'm not gay."

"You still like me?"

"I wouldn't be much of a best friend if I didn't."

Maybe things weren't as bad as I expected them to be. "Would you kiss me?"

"I did."

"No, you kissed someone you thought was a girl named Jasmine. I want you to kiss me. One last memory for me to hold onto." I changed back into my Jasmine voice and gave him a smile. "Please, Jeffrey."

Before he could think too much about it, I moved forward, put my arms around his neck, ran my tongue over my lips to moisten them, tilted my head and pressed my lips to his. He remained passive, but as the kiss lingered, he put his arms around my waist and I pressed against him. I don't know what he was thinking. That he was kissing a girl or that he really liked kissing me, but whatever was going through his head, I felt something stir in his pants. So did he. He let go and pulled back, looking embarrassed. I pretended not to have noticed.

"Thank you, that was lovely."

"Um, ah, Bobby?" He wasn't sure of who to call me.

"Jasmine," I confirmed to assure him that his reaction was to her.

"My Mom said I had to be home by eleven. I have to go."

Jeff allowed me to take his arm and I walked him to the door. Still holding onto his arm, I said in my Jasmine voice, "Just so you know, Jeffrey, if I was your girlfriend, there isn't anything I wouldn't do for you." It took him a few seconds to process the implication. From his expression, he figured it out. I leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "yes, anything." Then I kissed his ear. He was startled and bumped into the door.

"It works better if you open it first." Jeff stopped when he reached the sidewalk and looked back conficted. Silhouetted in the light I waved to him. He turned and headed off. I closed the door and leaned back against it with a sigh of contentment.

Ginny must have heard the door close. "Jasmine, has Jeff gone home?" She stopped halfway down the stairs when she saw me without my wig. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows went up. "You told him?" she asked me with concern. I nodded. "I though you didn't want him to know that you were Jasmine. What made you change your mind?"

"If you care about someone, you can't hurt them. Either I tell him the truth or I break his heart by letting him think that Jasmine dumped him when he never hears from her again. I'm the one who should take the consequences, whatever they are."

Ginny came the rest of the way down the stairs. She took me in her arms and hugged me. "I'm proud to have you as my sister. You really are a princess." She let me go. I flared out my skirt with my hands and extended my left leg behind me in an awkward curtsey. "Speaking of broken hearts, how did Jeff take finding out that his girlfriend was really his boyfriend."

I gave her a big smile. "He kissed me."

"As Jasmine, a girl?"

"As Jasmine, me. And," I paused dramatically, "from his reaction, he liked it ... a lot."

"You mean ....?"

"Uh huh."

"So now what?"

"I don't know." When he left I told him that I would do anything for him, if I was his girlfriend.

"Anything?"

"That's what he asked. I said yes."

"I told you that I'd be pissed if you lost your virginity before I did," she teased me.

"Don't worry, I'm sure you will get the prize. I think third base, wherever that might be in this ballpark, is probably the farthest we would go." She laughed and we hugged again.

"I'm happy that things worked out with Jeff, but, more importantly, what are you going to tell Mom and Dad? Will they meet Jasmine when they come home?"

"No, I don't want to spoil their trip as soon as they get home. Tonight, after they get settled, I'll tell them that I'm transgendered and I don't want to go back to school as a boy. There's only two months left before summer vacation. I could be tutored at home. Or whatever they want to do with me. I hope they'll understand. I'm sure that they'll want your input. That will make it much easier."

"Are you sure about this?"

"Yes, very. I have no choice. It's a whole new world for me, Ginny. I can't go back to where I used to be."

The Beginning.

Adventures in Wonderland

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

ADVENTURES IN WONDERLAND

Chapter 1. Down the Rabbit Hole.

From the moment I fell down that rabbit hole,
I've been told what I must do and who I must be.
I've been shrunk, stretched, scratched and stuffed into a teapot.
I've been accused of being Alice and of not being Alice, but this is my dream.
I'll decide where it goes from here.
Alice in Wonderland (2010)

"I don't think I will."

"You don't think you will what?"

"Get dressed."

"I thought all of this was about you becoming Grace?"

"It is and I am. Get undressed and I'll show you."

"What?"

"Take off your clothes."

"Are we experimenting with transgendered sex? Is there such a thing? I mean how do you decide who does what? Is there a book or diagram or something?"

"No, this isn't about sex."

"You want me to get undressed, but this isn't about sex?"

"No. Humor me."

She gave me a skeptical look. "All of my clothes?"

"You can leave on your panties, um, underpants."

"Whatever." Helen stepped out of her shoes, unfastened her skirt and let it drop, unbuttoned her blouse, and reached behind her to unhook her bra, which she let slide off of her arms. "Now what?"

"Patience." I took of my shoes, socks, shirt and pants. I made a pile and handed them to her. "Put them on, please."

"You want me to be the man?"

"I want you to put on my clothes."

"And are you going to wear mine? Sorry, but we're not even close to the same size."

"No, please, just do what I ask."

"Whatever," she repeated, stepping into my pants, cinching the belt to hold them up, and putting on my shirt. "Socks and shoes too?"

"Yes."

"Okay, now what?"

"Like you said, now you're the man."

"What? No, I'm not. You're being silly. I'm still a woman. Oh, you want me to pretend to be the man so we can have sex?"

"No, I told you. This isn't about sex. The point is that what you wear doesn't change who you are. You're still Helen. I'm still Grace. Wearing women's clothes won't make me any more of a woman than I already am. I like feeling feminine, the same way you do, but pretty has already done what pretty needs to do. When I do get dressed, the clothes will help others to relate to me as a woman." I pretended to look around. "I don't see any others."

"Neither do I." To my surprise, she moved forward, threw her arms around me and gave me a passionate kiss.

"Helen, I told you, this isn't about sex."

"It's like telling someone not to think of pink elephants. Once you put the idea in their head, they can't get it out. I'm the man, so it's up to me and I say its time to smooch. So pucker up, sweetie." I put my arms around her and kissed her back. She sighed. "Do you now how long it's been since we really kissed?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. It's just, well, it's just that I felt guilty, because I wasn't who you thought I was. It's not that I don't, that I didn't, love you. I do, with all my heart, but that made the deception even more difficult."

"Okay. All of that is in the past. Right now, I'm the one wearing the pants. So, how about you cooking dinner? Like I told you, there's no end of fun to being a woman. She swatted me on the butt as I turned to go. Oh, and gender issues aside, since pretty is in her underpants, she might want to put on one of the aprons in the third drawer next to the stove."

"Yes, ma'am." I headed for the kitchen and then turned to her, "but we're not stopping the cleaning service, are we?"

I made my specialty, spaghetti with marinara sauce, actually a jar of Prego doctored up with oregano, garlic, onion, tabasco sauce and a bay leaf, a salad with Italian dressing and garlic bread. I set the table, opened a bottle of red wine and called Helen. She came in carrying my nightgown and handed it to me. I took off the apron and put it on. She was in her pajamas. We enjoyed the meal, took a second glass of wine into the family room and watched TV. When the eleven o'clock news ended, we went upstairs. Since I wasn't wearing any makeup, I just did a quick scrub and got into bed.

"Grace?"

"Yes, I'm here."

"I know you're here. I can smell the peanuts on your breath."

"What?"

"It's an elephant in the bedroom joke. Forget it. I have a question for you."

"About sex?"

"No, its not about sex, unless you want it to be about sex. Do you?"

"No, I'm tired. It's been a long day. What's your question?"

"What are you going to do tomorrow?"

"About sex?"

"You know, if you don't stop, I'm going to have sex with you, just to shut you up. No, about you?"

"What about me?"

"Yes, exactly. What about you? Tonight you and I stayed home. Tomorrow, what do you plan to do about Grace meets world? Are you going back to work? Don't you think you need to prepare your office first? Are we going out? You've never been out as a woman. Are you ready? The clothes may help, but there's a lot more to it. They way we walk. The way we talk. Our mannerisms. Your nails. You need a mani. Look at them." I turned my hand over and curled my fingers. "There, you see."

"Yes, I need my nails done."

"No, you gave yourself away."

"Looking to see if I need a manicure?"

"No, the way you looked. Men do what you did. Here. Women examine their nails like this." She held her hand up with her fingers spread. "We've spent our whole lives learning to sit in skirts and dresses without putting on a show, crossing our legs or our ankles, putting our pocketbook in our laps and keeping our legs together. It's second nature. We preen in front of any reflection, refresh our lipstick constantly, fuss with our hair, how about going to the bathroom? Are you familiar with ladies room etiquette?"

"I hadn't really thought, I mean, it just seemed like, I don't know," I conceded. "You're right about work. I can't just show up. Maybe if we just go somewhere quiet. A movie. Probably nobody goes to the movies on Thursday. I could get used to being out as a woman. You could help me. You will, won't you. Teach me about using the bathroom and things. Please."

"Of course I will, but I can't teach it to you in a day. There has to be a way to work into this. Maybe I wasn't so far off when I suggested that we go away. It would be a lot easier dealing with strangers. How about that?"

"It's okay with me, but where? Do we just get in the car and drive somewhere? Here, there, does it make a difference? People aren't going to be any more tolerant. It's taken me too long come out. I won't hide in the closet or the house."

"You can't be the first transgendered person to go through this. What if we call Dr. Rosen? This is her area of expertise."

"Yes. Please. Let's call her tomorrow. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." She poked me. "I've changed my mind."

"About talking to Dr. Rosen?"

"No, about sex." She started to nuzzle my neck.

"Helen!"

"What? I'm still wearing the pants," she giggled, something I don't remember ever hearing from her, "although not for long. So get with the program while you've still got a program to get with. With which to get? I never could get that straight. Which brings us to . . ." She slid her hand under my nightgown. "Definitely more than decorative. Do we get to keep it in a jar on the mantelpiece as a souvenir, you know, afterwards?"

"They use it."

"What about these? Shouldn't we give them a proper send off?"

"Helen! Please, I'm not sure this is the way . . ."

"It worked before. Or did you have something else in mind?"
"I didn't have anything in mind."

She hiked up my nightgown and pulled down my panties. "What about now?"

"I, mmmm, ah, mmmm . . ahh."

When I woke up, I heard Helen in the shower. I got up, found my panties under the sheet, put them in the wash basket and got a clean pair out of the dresser. I looked at the bras, but there wasn't a need, so I picked out a matching cammie instead. A fitted grey skirt, knee length, and pink blouse with a round collar completed my outfit. I took out a pair of flats and realized I didn't have on stockings. I decided on tights which I worked up and under my skirt. I slipped into my shoes and went downstairs.

I started the coffee brewing and was setting the table when Helen came in. She looked at me approvingly. "Very pretty." I poured the coffee. She smiled at me. "Do you think Dr. Rosen is in her office?" she continued our conversation from last night.

"I don't know. My appointments are always in the afternoon. We can leave her a message." I called her office. It connected on the third ring.

"Hello? Dr. Rosen? Oh, hello. I didn't think you'd be in this early. I was going to leave a message. Oh. Uh huh. I'm fine thanks. She's fine too. No, no problem. A question. Yes, that. How did you know?" I laughed. "Uh huh. Uh huh. No, I understand. "I looked at Helen and shrugged. "You don't make life decision for your patients," I repeated. "Yes, she's here. Okay. Well, we were thinking that there might be some place where we could go to, you know, get accustomed . . . Uh huh. Really? I never heard of it. Provincetown. Where's that? Massachusetts. Uh huh. A large lesbian and gay community. TG friendly too. Sounds good. In October? Fantasy?" I motioned for Helen to get something to write on. She took a pad and pen out of a drawer and held them out to me. I shook my head and pointed to her. "Oh, not fantasy, fantasia, with an i-a, okay, fair, no e. There's a website. Dot org. "I looked at Helen. She nodded. "Okay, got it. When we see you on Wednesday. Yes, She will. Definitely." I looked at Helen to see if there was anything else. She shook her head. "Thank you." Helen pointed to herself. "Oh, Helen says thank you too." I hung up. "She says you're welcome."

Helen held out the pad with the notes. "What's all this?"

"Dr. Rosen said that there's a place," I looked at the pad, "Provincetown, it's a small town in Massachusetts, on Cape Cod, and that they have an annual fair in October for trans men and women."

"A fair? You mean like a carnival, with games and rides?"

"No, it didn't sound like that. More serious, like the kind of fair where you go to meet people for a purpose, you know, like a job fair, that kind. They have a website. We can check it out."

"It's in October?"
"Yes."

"That's more than a month from now. Do you want to wait that long?" She gave me a questioning look. "Can you wait that long?"

"Do I want to? No. Can I? From what you said last night, I don't have much of a choice, if I want to do this right, and I do."

"Well, I'm not the best resource for making that decision. What did Dr. Rosen think about it?"

"She made it clear that it was up to us."

"Us?"

"She said that you and I should talk it over." I looked at her. "So, what do you think?"

"Just because there's a fair in October doesn't mean that we can't go now. Why don't we check out the website and decide." She thought for a moment. "Or both. We can go now and, if we like it, we can go back for the fair. Come on."

We went into the study. I turned on the computer. After it booted up, I entered the address. A pinkish purple screen came up with a 'Fantasia Fair 'logo and a description of it as 'a week-long celebration of gender diversity and the longest-running annual conference in the transgender world.' The logo turned into a slide show of different activities and events. Clicking on the logo opened up the home page. I was impressed. I looked over at Helen studying the screen. So was she. We clicked through the various links. There were workshops, discussions, speakers, special sessions for couples and an explanation of local bathroom etiquette too. We explored the site for over an hour. When we finished, we had a new designation for Helen. She was an s-o, short for significant other.

"What do you think?"

"About the fair or about going?"

"Both."

"The fair sounds like a good place to start, if you want to wait until October. There are plenty of things for you to do here until then. Provincetown seems like a good place to start, if you don't."

"Like what?"

"Like what what?"

"Like what can I do here?"

"Well, for one thing, you don't have enough clothes for a week, especially for what looks like dressy dinners, there's a banquet, or even underwear for that matter, or shoes. That won't take a month, but it still takes time to find the right outfits." She looked me over. "You need some work on your face," she put her hand on my chin and turned it from side to side, "maybe electrolysis to get rid of some of the hair. We need to thin your eyebrows too. "She ran her hand over my cheek, "and makeup. Mine's too light. Maybe another wig, if you want to change your hair style." She stepped back. "And something about that," looking at my chest. "I'm assuming not surgery, so maybe breast forms? I'd say at least two to three weeks anyway before you're ready."

"So I should wait."

"Oh no. Don't put your monkey on my back. What I said was that there are things to do, if," she emphasized if, "you," she emphasized you, "want to wait. I'm with Dr. Rosen on this one. Whether you do is up to you."

"I think it would be easier to start my transition there. I've postponed it this long. Another month isn't going to make a difference." I suddenly realized that I was being selfish. "I never asked you if this was something you wanted to do. I can go by myself. I'd understand."

"You don't think much of our marriage vows. For richer or poorer, better or worse, high heels or flats, with or without testicles. I'm your significant other. Of course I'm going with you. Go get a credit card, so we can register. I get a discount too. We s-o's are a bargain."

We logged back in, filled out the registration form, decided on the workshops and events we wanted and selected our daily lunch venues, a choice between the nautically named Bayside Betsy's and Crown and Anchor. We got our confirmation, which left transportation to Provincetown and where to stay when we got there. We decided to fly into Boston. I had plenty of frequent flyer miles for both of us. We'd rent a car and drive to Cape Cod.

"There's a list of hotels and guest houses. I can handle the reservations. Why don't you change the sheets on our bed and do the laundry? You should throw in your nightgown and my pajamas too. Somehow they got messy." She gave me a silly grin.

"I don't know how to use the washing machine."

"Oh for goodness sake, really? You can run a computer program to do a tax return for a mega-corporation, but you can't operate a washer?"

"Is the washer computerized?"

"No."

"Then no."

She got up and started messing with my wig. "What are you doing?"

"Checking for how much, blonde there is. You're a ditz."

"Laundry was not in my job description until recently."

She gave me a patronizing look. "Here, I'll draw you a diagram." She picked up a pen, turned over an envelope and drew a large and small circle. "You see, there is one dial," pointing to the large circle, "and one button," pointing to the little circle. "It will be struggle, but I am sure you can master it. Set the dial to sheets and push the button. It says 'start.' You are now an expert on doing laundry. When it's finished, it will stop and beep. Come back and I will give you a tutorial on the dryer. Oh, sorry. Open the lid, put in the sheets, nightgown and pajamas, add one half capful of the liquid detergent, it's next to the washer in the big red bottle, and close the lid. Now shoo."

Twenty minutes later, I returned to the study. Helen was on the phone. I could hear music, so she was on hold. She turned to me. "This Fantasia Fair is one big deal in Provincetown. Most of the places on the list had no vacancy. I spoke to the chamber of commerce and the woman directed me to a friend of hers who runs the Sage Inn. They had a cancellation. She's running our credit card for the deposit. I checked it out on line. The rooms look really nice and its right in town, so we can walk to everything. Now all we need are the plane and rental car reservations. I can do those while you put the sheets in the dryer. Open the door, put them in, there are dryer sheets in a box, throw one in, close the door and push the button. It says 'start.' Do you want me to draw you another diagram?" I shook my head. "Shoo."

The timer on the washer showed another twenty-three minutes. While I was waiting, I walked by the study. Helen was still on the phone. I stuck my head in and she waved me away. I went in the kitchen for another cup of coffee. Finally she came in. I poured her a cup. She sat down and looked at her notes.

"Okay, we have reservations on Jet Blue for a nonstop to Boston. Check in for the fair is between one and five on Sunday. We're on a red eye which gets us in about eight thirty. I looked up the travel directions and it's a good drive, a little over two hours. Once you get outside of Boston, it's all highway. We're going to have checked bags, so by the time we get them, pick up the car, I got us a mid-size from Enterprise, get out of the city and get on the highway, we should be there around one or two o'clock. I couldn't tell if there is any place to stop for lunch on the way. Otherwise, we can get something after we register."

"You left out something."

"I don't think so."

"Me."

"You?"

"Yes, it's my trip. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but shouldn't I be involved?"

"There's lots for us to do still."

"Us, not me."

"Okay, you. I have to go to the grocery store, pick up the cleaning and stop at CVS. Why don't you," she emphasized you, "go clothes shopping and buy some makeup."

"You're kidding right? We just decided I would wait until the fair."

"Didn't you just say you wanted to be more involved?"

"Yes, but involved in getting ready, not involved with myself."

"Aren't you the one getting ready?"

"Yes."

"Then go shopping on your own. You have to start sometime. What's the worst that can happen? You'd be embarrassed. So what? You can't make an omelette without spilling the beans. I just made up that metaphor. Is it a metaphor? Saying? Whatever, but it's true if you're transgendered. You are going to run into lots of people who are inconsiderate, rude, obnoxious, insulting, hurtful, demeaning, pick an uncomplimentary adjective, when they find out. There's nothing you can do to avoid it, so screw them. We'll, metaphorically anyway."

"I hadn't thought about it that way. You're right. I'll go." I hesitated. "Um, where am I going?"

"It depends on what you want to buy." I looked at her blankly. "Why don't you start by browsing at Kohls. We've been there and it's an easy store to shop. You're at the fair for a week. We arrive on Sunday and leave on Sunday. You know the schedule. Casual clothes during the day. I'm probably going to wear jeans, a sweater and boots or flats. It looks like we'll be doing a lot of walking. Something a little dressier for night, if we go out to a nice restaurant or for drinks. I'll bring a couple of skirts and tops, dresses and heels for the dinners. Sweaters and a jacket, if it's cold. If you do want pants, you can probably take them into the men's fitting room, like when I took you shopping. They're similar enough that nobody is going to notice. Tops too.

Helen took my arm. She moved in close and whispered in my ear, "I'll tell you a sisterly secret." She turned her head, pretending to be on the lookout for eavesdroppers. Unlikely in our kitchen. "We don't wear skirts and dresses because we like them. We wear them because we think we look good in them. Annie, you know Annie right, Larry's wife," I nodded, "she wears pants. I can't remember seeing her in a skirt or dress. Even for formal events, she wears dressy silk pants. Betsy, down the street, she's the opposite. She dresses to make a statement. Probably I'm a slut." She made a cat sound."Most of what she wears is so tight fitting, low cut or short that I can't imagine how she manages to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. Every woman has her signature look, good, bad or indifferent.

"I figure it will be about two hours for me to finish my errands. I have to stop home with the groceries. Then I was going to make a two o'clock appointment at Fancy Nails for a mani-pedi. If Amy can take me, I should be home by two or three." She held up her hand. "What do you think?" Should I go with the same boring French tips or something exotic." She wiggled her fingers. "Bright red? Plum?" I shrugged. "Big help. In the meantime, if you finish at Kohls, you can go to the mall. Walk through the department stores, try telling one of the saleswomen that you're transgendered and see how helpful she is. Like you said when you used to shop by pretending to be buying for your mother, a sale is a sale. And there's Sephora. The women I know buy their cosmetics at the boutiques, so I doubt you will run into anyone. You can ask for a concealer foundation. I'm willing to bet they will be more than happy to do a consultation.

We got in our cars and went our separate ways. I was nervous. This would be the first time that I was shopping for myself without some pretense or Helen as camouflage. I parked and went in. Helen had said I'd need casual clothes and that she was wearing jeans, so I went to the denim section. There was an overwhelming selection of skirts, dresses, shirts, jackets and pants. One display had what the label said were skinny leg jeans with a soft, flower pattern. The mannikin showed them paired with a long cowl necked top. I liked the look, but wondered if I wanted pants, after wearing them all of my life. These were different. They were a stretchy material. Helen had talked about managing a skirt or dress, so maybe a pair of pants wouldn't be a bad way to practice without embarrassment. I picked up a pair, but couldn't figure out the size. Where was she when I needed her? They didn't go by waist measurement. The pair I was holding was an eight. Helen had held the clothes up to me to check the size. I figured what the heck. I put the pants against my waist, except that the crotch was above mine. I lowered them so that they were at my hips. They looked like they would fit. I took them and a ten. I looked around and found the top that was displayed. Unlike the pants, it came in small, medium, large and extra large. I was definitely not a small or medium. I took the large and extra large and went into the men's dressing room.

Over the course of the next hour, I slowly learned the intricacies of women's sizes. I ended up with a pair of the flowered jeans, the top, a long denim skirt with a zipper which let you adjust the front opening, a long sleeved turtleneck to go with it and a jean jacket that I could wear with both. I thought that was enough for the first day and took my purchases to the check out counter. The woman gave me a smile. I smiled back. She took my credit card, offered me some type of discount coupons for future purchases and put the clothes in a bag. I thanked her and left.

Encouraged by my experience at Kohls, I decided to try the mall. I skipped the department store. I had already shopped for clothes and I wasn't ready to have a conversation with a saleswoman about my being transgendered. I checked the directory. Sephora was at the other end of the mall. I was overwhelmed by the size of the store. They must sell every cosmetic made. As I stood in the doorway, a young woman in a black smock came over. "Hi, I'm Emily. May I help you?"

Okay, Grace, I thought, here you go. "Yes, please. I need a concealer foundation," repeating what Helen had described. She turned and I followed her. "It's for me," I admitted to her back. If it made any impression, she didn't show it.

She stopped in front of a counter and picked up a jar. "This will give you good coverage. I could never understand it, but beards have a green tint and a foundation with an orangy tint hides it." You'd think she sold makeup to men every day. Maybe she did. "The best way to put it on is with a sponge." She picked up a small round white applicator and dipped it into the jar. "May I?"
I looked around. As far as I could tell, everyone was minding their own business. She waited patiently. "Sure."

"Dab, don't smear," she recommended. "It gives you better coverage." She applied it to my right cheek. Once you get the look you want, blend it lightly with your fingers. She reached over and stroked my cheek. "See." She picked up a mirror and handed it to me.

I cautiously looked at my reflection. It did look good. I assumed she was waiting for confirmation. "It looks good. Thank you."

"You're welcome. You know, the foundation will go on and stay on better, if you use a moisturizer first." She got up and came back with a bottle. She held it out. This is really good for hydration. I use it. You could also use a finishing powder to give a nice matte look. We have one that comes in a compact with a mirror. It's on sale too. She looked at me expectantly. She had spent so much time with me, I felt obligated, not that I didn't want a nice matte look. And it was on sale. I agreed. Blush and an applicator brush were also a necessity. She definitely was a good sales person.

"Did you just get your ears pierced?"

I reflexively put my hands up to my ears and felt the studs. I had forgotten to take them out. Apparently you don't need a blonde wig to be a ditz. No wonder I got a smile from the cashier at Kohls. Then again, maybe it was an easy way to let people know I'm transgendered. That would also explain why it didn't come as any surprise to Emily that the foundation was for me. Grace is out buying herself clothes and cosmetics. Good for her. "Yes, I just had it done this week."

"Be careful taking your makeup off," she continued, as if chatting with a peer. "This foundation is stubborn and makes a mess of your washcloth and towel. I recommend using these makeup removing towelletes." She popped one out of a case and handed it to me. I rubbed it over my cheek. It was covered with makeup. I threw it in the trash basket and she handed me another. It took four before it was off. "We sell them, but, honestly, you need to use a lot and can get the same thing at the drug store. Our eye makeup remover is really good though and what about your other makeup," she segued in, "would you like me to show you?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Come with me." She brought me to a station at the back of the store. "Sit here." She pointed to a stool. Emily left and came back with an assortment of lipstick and pencils. "Okay, first you need to outline your lips. It gives them definition and keeps the lipstick in place." She picked up one of the pencils. I leaned forward. She shook her head and took my hand, making a line. She took two other pencils and did the same. "I think this one," she pointed to the second line. "You want it to blend in with your natural color." She held up a mirror for me to compare it with my lips. I nodded. She set it aside. "You'll want a sharpener too." She picked up a tube of lipstick. "There's other kinds of lipsticks, paints, dyes, they don't smudge or wear off, but for a beginner, this is easier to fix, if you mess up applying it. Nothing too dramatic, I think. Light reds or pinks." She took my hand a drew a line. I picked a rose color.

"Eye liner and eye shadow are really difficult to do. Even experienced women have trouble getting it right, regardless of the instructional videos on UTube," I shrugged, indicating I had no idea. She nodded. "I would just use mascara, your lashes are very good for a . . ." she caught herself. "Well, you know. You could try false eyelashes, but they take practice. Otherwise it looks like you have a caterpillar on your eyelid." She gave a little laugh. "You can get a cheap set at the drugstore and play with them. Once you get the hang of it, ours are really nice and they're reusable. And an eyebrow pencil." She brought back an assortment. "I'd stay with your natural color. Sable, I think." She matched it to my eyebrow. "Yes," she approved. "That's it. Shall I ring you up?" I left with two bags, a gift Sephora lipstick case with a mirror for my pocketbook, which I made a mental note to remember to buy, and over $200 worth of makeup.

Helen's car was in the garage. I went into the kitchen and put my bags on the table. "Helen, I'm home. I'm in the kitchen." She came in and stopped when she saw the bags. "Look," I said excitedly, taking the clothes out of the bags. I showed her the different outfits I picked out.

"Yee, ha," she whooped.

"What?"

"Yee, ha. You went for the cowgirl look."

"I can take them back," I said defensively, "but you said you were wearing jeans and they were casual."

"I am, they are, and I'm just teasing you. I'm sorry. It was mean. I forget you're a new woman. Actually, I like what you bought. In fact, I'm jealous. You're going to look better than me. Than I?" she shrugged. "I haven't bought any clothes for a long time. Maybe I should have you shop for both of us."

"And makeup." I emptied the bag. "You were right. The salesgirl couldn't have been nicer. Of course the earrings I forgot to take out were a giveaway."

She burst out laughing. "I wonder what Dr. Freud would say about that?"

"He'd say that sometimes a cigar is just a good smoke."

"Do you think so, if the cigar was about to be surgically removed?"

"Maybe not," I conceded. "It doesn't matter. People can think what they want. The important thing is that I did it."

"You did and I'm proud of you. As a reward, I set up twice weekly appointments for you with Alice, my electrologist, and you have an appointment with Doris for a wig fitting on Sunday. That just leaves the breast forms. I found a foundation store which has them in stock. They're open on Saturday ten to one. You can go or I can go with you."

"Now that I know I can do it on my own, I don't need to. Together is better. Besides, you need my help shopping." That got a laugh.

We spent the rest of the week completing my wardrobe. Helen decided that if I was going to buy an evening gown for the final banquet, so was she. It was wonderful shopping together, going from store to store, looking at party dresses, sharing our thoughts about how we looked, what worked and didn't. Well, how she looked. I still wasn't comfortable trying on clothes, especially dresses, in the store. I modeled mine at home. The strange thing was that I felt closer to her than I ever did when we were husband and wife. Not that we weren't still married. It was just a different kind of open, honest emotional relationship that I could never have with her as a man.

I started electrolysis. Alice told me that I was lucky to get an appointment, because she was fully booked up now that health insurance covered, in her words, 'men going through the change.' The woman at the foundation shop was equally pleased, although no more appropriate, by the number of breast forms she was selling to men. She didn't take health insurance, because she wasn't an approved prosthesis supplier, but she understood that the cost was reimbursable. I made a note to ask Dr. Rosen for a prescription. A dollar saved on breasts is a dollar spent on bras to hold them.

It was hard bringing back George. Putting on white cotton briefs, I didn't want to get caught with my pants down, literally, in the men's room, felt strange. I found my briefcase in the hall closet and was on my way to the garage. Helen stopped me for a final inspection, especially my ears. I had been wearing my earrings all week and took them out last night. I had used a tiny bit of the concealer to cover the holes. She nodded her approval. I drove to the office, parked in my space and took the elevator up to my office. My assistant Claire was waiting for me. After the usual pleasantries, she went over the work that had come in and my schedule for the rest of the week.

As she started out, she turned, walked back and looked intently at me. "There's something different about you."

Instinctively, I put my hands up to see if I still had my earrings, but remembered Helen had checked, so I caught myself and turned it into sort of a shrug. I had to think quickly. "Helen took me to a spa. They had these, um, services which were included, so I got a facial. She, Helen, said that men were paying more attention to their skin nowadays. They gave me a whole bunch of skin care product samples to use too." I gave her a sheepish grin.

"Oh." She seemed satisfied with my explanation and left.

Over the next two weeks I finished up my remaining work, explaining to Claire that Helen and I had booked a two week's vacation for the end of October, which was true. She didn't mention my appearance again, so either she believed my story about a facial and skin care or she was too discreet to question it.

2. The Mad T Party.

You could stay.
What an idea. A crazy, mad, wonderful idea.
But I can't. There are questions I have to answer, things I have to do.
Be back again before you know it.
Alice in Wonderland (2010)

We completed shopping for my our wardrobes, packed our suitcases, Helen bought me a makeup case with multiple compartments as a gift, and got our carry-ons ready. I decided to take my laptop. The guest house had complimentary wifi. Helen said that the first thing that women checked when they met each other was their pocketbook, so I splurged on a Coach tote to carry it. I had to travel as George to get through airport security with my license for an ID and I made sure that there was a heavy duty luggage tag on my checked bag, so I wouldn't have to identify it by the contents, if it got lost.

The night we were to leave, I was really nervous. "Isn't this what you've wanted your whole life?" Helen asked reassuringly.

"Yes, but you know the saying, 'Be careful what you wish for, because you might get it.' What if this isn't what I thought it would be?"

"You mean that it turns out you're not transgendered? Then we have a lot of returns to make, you have a really smooth face, Dr. Rosen is short one patient, I get my husband back and were both lucky you waited for the surgery."

"No, I know that I'm transgendered. The last month has been the happiest I've ever been, but what if Provincetown, the fair, isn't a good experience. What if I don't fit in or get along with the others?"

"Relax. You sound like Marissa when we put her on the bus for the first summer of sleep away camp. Remember? We had to watch her sad face as it pulled away. A week later, we got her first letter that she was having a great time, she made new friends and at the end of the summer the counselors had to drag her out of her bunk, because she didn't want to come home." Helen went upstairs and came back with a big floppy stuffed dog. "Here, it worked for Marissa." She handed it to me. "Give Snuffles a hug and get the bags, the taxi should be here soon."

We got to the airport, checked our bags, went through security and waited. I kept snuffles in my tote, just in case. The plane was delayed an hour, which threw us off our schedule, but still would get us to Provincetown before registration closed. While we waited, I wondered whether I should change before we got there. Helen questioned where there was. If I meant Boston, she doubted there was room in the airplane lavatory and, leaving aside the cabin attendant's confusion at the change in gender of the passenger in seat 12C, I didn't have anything packed in my carry on. That left the men's room at Logan, after we got our bags. As both a practical matter and with Helen's reminder that clothes don't make the woman, I decided that discretion was the better part of valor when it came to putting on women's clothes in a public men's room.

Everything went smoothly on our arrival. We took the shuttle and picked up our car. There was very little traffic on Sunday morning and the route out of the airport and to the highway was easy to follow. The trip wasn't scenic until we got to the bridge over the Cape Cod canal. After that it was highway until we got to the town of Truro and, just before we reached Provincetown, the road opened up into a spectacular seascape with sand dunes and a lighthouse in the distance, across an expanse of ocean.

We turned off the highway onto a narrow street lined with small houses with weathered shingles and after a few miles and a confusing back alley, we arrived at the inn. The woman at the reception desk told us about the various amenities. They downstairs was a lounge with light food. There was an area on the second floor where they served a complimentary continental breakfast. If we wanted to have dinner, she recommended reservations, considering how crowded it would be with the fair. We thanked her, took our keys and took the elevator to our room. It was very tastefully decorated, but small, there was just room for a bed, dresser with a mirror and night stand, maybe compact would be a better description, because it had everything we needed and we weren't going to be spending much time in it. We unpacked. Helen was a good sport. My clothes filled up the dresser and most of the closet space.

Helen was comfortable wearing her jeans, sweater and sneakers. "I'm not the one transitioning," she reminded me. I couldn't decide. She suggested that I put on my underwear and start on my makeup. She would take a walk, see what everyone else was wearing and come back to help me. About a half hour later she walked in. "I went to the Boat Slip and talked to the women at registration."

"Oh, I thought we'd do that together."

"I didn't register. I just told them that this was our first time and we weren't sure about what to wear. Barbara and Mickey, although her name tag had an unusual spelling, M-i-q-q-i. They were lovely."

"And?"

"They said you could wear anything you want."

"If I knew what I wanted to wear, I wouldn't need to ask. What were they wearing?"

"Dresses."

"So, should I wear a dress?"

"The impression I got was that it was more a matter of preference then propriety."

"What does that mean?"

"What the Ricky Nelson song says."

"Helen, I'm not in the mood for your musical trivia."

"The refrain from 'Garden Party, 'You can't please everyone, so you got to please yourself.' You should wear whatever you like, because you like it, and not worry about what anyone else thinks."

"Is that what they said?"

"The didn't sing the song, no."

"Helen, I need to put something on."

"You look cute in your underwear."

"You're not going to help me, are you?"

"No, but I will make a suggestion. Hold on." She called reception, wrote something down, took the laptop out of my tote and checked her note, which must have been the wifi password. "According to the fair schedule, tonight is a welcoming reception." She read from the Fair website: "'After a long day of travel, relax with your old friends and meet your new ones.' Here we go. 'Come dressed formally, come dressed casually, come dressed as a guy or come dressed as a gal, just come by and enjoy yourself.' Sounds like they're channeling Ricky Nelson."

I decided on a long sleeved cable knit sweater dress with a mock turtle neck, charcoal grey tights and pumps. Helen looked at my choice of footwear. "The sidewalks are brick. I would be careful about heels." She held out her foot to show her sneaker. I changed into grey suede booties with a low heel. Helen nodded her approval. I put on my wig. Helen took a brush and fussed with it until she was satisfied. Lip liner and lipstick completed my makeup.

"Okay, I'm ready."

Helen shook her head. "No, you're not." She went over to the bag and took out a case. "No woman goes out without her jewelry." I had forgotten that I took out my earrings when we traveled. She fastened a pair of small gold hoops in my ears.

"Thank you."

"You're not done." A gold neck and wrist chain and a gold ring with a small sapphire completed my ensemble. "I don't wear these any more. I was going to give them to Marissa, but she can wait." She laughed.

"What's so funny?"
"I was just thinking, usually it's the mother who hands down her jewelry to her daughter. I guess we'll start a whole new tradition."

"Okay, let's go."

"You have a lot to learn about being a woman."

"Now what?"

"Do you have money, credit cards, lipstick, a comb, a mirror, or Kleenex? Women don't wipe their nose on their sleeve. You forgot your pocketbook. You know the saying."

"Another song?"

"No, the American Express ad, 'don't leave home without it.' No woman would. Here." She went over to the shelf in the closet and took down a black fabric bag with a shoulder strap. "Kate Spade. It was Marissa's when she was in college." She laughed. This time I got the irony of my daughter passing down her pocketbook to me. I deposited the essentials in the bag. I gave Helen a questioning look. She smiled and nodded her approval. "Let's go."

We left the room. Helen knew the way. We walked down to Commercial Street, the main street through Provincetown. She was right about the sidewalks. They were narrow and uneven brick. I had limited experience in heels and it would have been difficult. A cast was not a fashion accessory I needed. We passed a number of openly gay and lesbian couples. We were walking arm and arm. Nobody paid us any attention. As we got into the center of town, we saw other fair attendees. They stood out, like me, because we were the only ones dressed up. We smiled and nodded as we passed them. After about fifteen minutes on the street, we arrived at the Boat Slip, actually a hotel which it turned out had neither boats nor slips, but it was on the water with a deck overlooking a small beach. The sun was going down and we stopped to admire the harbor view.

We went into the lounge where there were two women seated behind a table. Helen introduced me. We chatted. Where were we from? Was this our first time out? How did we decide to come to Fantasia Fair. Barbara was the Director. She handed us our registration packets and asked us to be discreet in photographing others or inadvertently including them in our own, unless we had their permission. There were badges which said 'no photographs,' but not everyone wore them and it was courteous to ask. Miqqi encouraged us to be involved in the sessions for couples and to come to tonight's reception. We said we would. We asked about restaurants. All were good. It depended on what you wanted to eat and where you could get a reservation. They recommended 'The Lobster Pot,' for at least one traditional Cape Cod lobster dinner.

As we were completing our registration, two other couples came in. Barbara and Miqqi got up, there were greetings and hugs, obviously regulars. Barbara introduced them. Susan and Amy and Denise and Cindy. We got to talking. Susan was recently post-op and Denise was completing her HRT. They were both mentoring first timers. That would be us. Would we like to have dinner with them? We accepted. Their favorite restaurant was in the West End. They already had a reservation and thought they could add two more without a problem. We'd meet them there at five thirty. We said our goodbyes. They stayed to chat with Barbara and Miqqi. It was four thirty. Helen wanted to go back to the room and change for dinner.

I sat in the lounge. I saw a few other fair goers come in and go upstairs. For someone who was so nonchalant about what she wore, Helen was taking an awful long time. I called her. She was almost ready and coming down. When the elevator door opened, I was surprised to see her in a very pretty dress with boots and a short jacket. When she saw my surprised look, she shrugged, which I took to be an admission that she was wrong about this being just about me. We asked the woman at the front desk for directions, turn left walk five blocks, it's on the right, and we left.

The restaurant was very nice with water views. Our new friends were already seated and waved us over. This was my first time going out dressed and I felt conspicuous. Susan and Denise were already on their way to womanhood and were used to being in public. Helen started chatting with the other s-o's. I surreptitiously looked around. Susan caught me. "Relax Grace. This is Provincetown." She motioned to the chair. "Sit and have a drink."

Denise laughed in agreement. "Seriously. The week after the fair is Halloween, anything goes, it's Mad Max meets Walt Disney, and after that it's spooky bear weekend, big hairy guys in leather. We're the calm before the storm."

Susan and Denise were right. The waitress came over and asked how we ladies were doing tonight. "Fine, thank you," Susan took the initiative to reply for us. She ordered a bottle of red wine for the table, which avoided my deciding whether to go for something girly, and we put in our dinner orders. To my surprise, both Susan and Denise were very open about their families. Susan had a boy and a girl, like we did, and Denise had three foster children whom they had adopted. Susan's parents were still alive, as was Denise's mother. It was difficult, but they were dealing with it. The subject turned to the fair and we talked about the different workshops and presentations. They were particularly enthusiastic about the talent and fashion shows. We absolutely couldn't miss them and didn't I want to perform or model. Given my lack of any musical ability, a deficiency which neither Susan nor Denise saw as an impediment, no to the first, and, due to my insecurity about my appearance, no to the second.

After dinner, Susan reminded me that there was a welcome reception at seven and we'd have to hurry to get there. We paid the check and headed downtown. When we arrived, there were already about a dozen people in the room and it was filling up. Barbara and Miqqi were there and our new friends introduced us around. Everyone was warm and welcoming. When the reception was over, we were invited to a guest house for an after-hours get together. One of the women played the guitar and we had the best time I can remember.

Back in our room, Helen couldn't stop talking about how nice it was to know that she wasn't alone. It was a struggle, Cindy and Amy had told her. They were open about their relationship being strained, but were working with therapists to deal with it. Having been self-absorbed with my own transition, I had not considered that Helen was going through a transition of her own.

We took turns washing up and got into bed. I hugged Helen. "Thank you for being here with me. I couldn't have done this without you."

"Where else would I be?"

"Reno?"

"I don't gamble."
"You're here."

"I only bet on sure things." She bent over and kissed me on the cheek. "Now shut up and go to sleep. We have a big day tomorrow."

"We?"

"You said you were happy I was here with you. No more kisses. Goodnight."

"Goodnight." I rolled over. I felt a kiss on my cheek.

"I lied."

The alarm went off at seven o'clock. The activities began at nine. Helen took half the time I did to get herself ready, but then she wore a lot less makeup and didn't have to shave before putting it on. I decided to wear my denim skirt, demurely zipped to just above my knee, nude pantyhose, I liked the way the nylon felt on my legs and how it glided under my skirt, tall brown boots with a stacked heel, mindful of the brick sidewalks, and a pink long sleeved turtle neck.

Helen came out of the bathroom and gave me the once over. "Very pretty." She looked at the clock. " I'm going to go downstairs and see what they have for breakfast." She took a key and left. About ten minutes later the phone rang. "They have coffee, yogurt, granola, and muffins, blueberry, corn and, I'm not sure, looks like either carrot or morning glory. Do you want me to bring you something?"

"Coffee and a mystery muffin, please."

We repeated the routine for the rest of the week, except for my clothes and the variety of muffin. The workshops were amazing, I had never thought that, in addition to my appearance, I needed to work on sounding more feminine, the speakers and presentations were impressive, sensitivity and awareness over advocacy, and the activities were tremendous fun. The fashion show was hilarious. The women strutted their stuff. Susan was daring in a form fitting bathing suit and heels, but then she had the form to fit it. I imagined that next year it would be me. The locals were invited and all of the proceeds went to support a summer camp for transgendered children. The enthusiasm for stuffing dollar bills in the model's décolletage kept pace with the consumption of alcohol. To my surprise, Helen was a generous donor and had the hangover to prove it.

During our free time, we shopped. There were a variety of boutiques and stores, including two with yummy salt water taffy and fudge. Helen had different tastes. On one of our strolls along the main street, she grabbed my arm and pulled me into a store called 'Toys of Eros,' which I found to be aptly named. I never imagined that a penis could come, not a pun for some models, in such a variety of sizes, shapes, colors, textures or materials. I reluctantly followed her as she browsed. Her fascination with one device caught the attention of a young women in leather with a collection of hardware decorating her eyebrow, lips and nose, and tattoos covering the generously exposed portions of her body. I heard her mention a 'rabbit,' although I was far enough away so that I could not overhear her explanation of the zoological context. The woman proceeded to demonstrate its operation, producing a variety of shaft gyrations that were well beyond my own ability to duplicate. Moving along, I picked up an interesting piece of glass with a tapered knob and handle, quickly putting it back when I read the description of the functional purpose of its shape. That left either a variety of leather garments or a display of flavored lubricants to occupy my time. Looking over, I was relieved, more or less, to see that Helen was following the woman to the sales counter. The woman put a box in a bag and Helen motioned to me that she was ready to leave.

Once safely outside, I suggested we return to the hotel with her purchase, given the eponymous name on the bag. "Seriously, Helen, what were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that girls just want to have fun and since we don't get to keep yours, at least one of us ought to have one. She stopped, turned to me and exclaimed, "Oh my God, I never thought that you would . . .," she started laughing.

"Helen, stop, you're making a scene. That I would what?"

"That you would," finally getting herself under control, "that you would have penis envy."

The fair ended on Saturday with the awards banquet, at least for us. Helen decided to wear a cocktail dress. "This is your night and I want you to shine." We found a fabulous floor length sheath with a black lace bodice and tulle skirt over a beige slip. Helen went online and ordered a high wasted panty girdle to nip in my waist and with silicone padding on the hips and butt to fill out my figure. Black opaque pantyhose and black fabric high heeled pumps completed the ensemble. I wore the fashion wig we brought and Helen did my eye liner and a smoky eye shadow. She loaned me her diamond studs with a circle of diamond jackets and diamond pendant on a gold chain. I looked in the mirror and saw that I had become the woman of my dreams.

Chapter 3. Leaving Wonderland.

If I had a world of my own, everything would be nonsense.
Nothing would be what it is because everything would be what it isn't.
And contrary-wise; what it is it wouldn't be, and what it wouldn't be, it would.
You see?
Walt Disney's Alice in Wonderland

There was a farewell brunch on Sunday, but I had to fly as George and we had an early afternoon fight, so there wouldn't be time for me to change or a place, because we needed to be out of the room by eleven. We had said our goodbyes at the banquet, hugs and kisses, an exchange of email addresses, promises to keep in touch and assurances that we'd see each other next year. We checked out, thanked the people at the inn, got in the car, and headed for Boston. Helen was still Helen. Grace was packed away. We drove without speaking, holding onto the memories of the wonderful people we met, friends we'd made and experiences we had, until we crossed over the bridge separating Cape Cod from the rest of Massachusetts.

Helen broke the silence."Now that you're adventures in Wonderland is over, what are you going to do?" Before, Helen had compared herself to the timid Alice in the Johnny Depp movie, facing her fears and transforming herself into the right Alice, a woman ready to face the risks and challenges of exploring a new world. After my adventures at Fantasia Fair, I was the Alice from the Disney movie, going from a mad world full of colorful characters and new experiences to the drab reality that was responsible for her daydream. For a moment, I had an impulse to turn around and go back, except that Wonderland was gone and wouldn't return for another year.

"I don't know."

"What if we have a party?"

"Who would we invite?"

"Everyone."

"Literally, a coming out party."

"Yes, exactly."

"I suppose so. Do we send out invitations? What would they say?" Helen started to laugh.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking of a card. It would have a picture of a man on the front and would say, 'It takes balls to be a woman." and you'd open it up, there would be a picture of the same person as a woman and it would say, 'Or not.'" She gave me a playful nudge. "I could go to work for Hallmark with a whole new line of transgender cards."

"How about something a little more subtle. A picture of you and me on the front, so that everyone would see that we were together, and on the inside it would say, 'Grace and Helen invite you to their home from six to nine p.m. on whatever date.' I don't think we should ask people to rsvp. They shouldn't have to make a commitment."

"Do you think that they'll know who Grace is? There's a resemblance, but you being transgendered is not an obvious explanation. Wouldn't they be likely to think that I've become a lesbian and Grace is my girlfriend?"

"We could be more direct: 'Please come and celebrate George's transition to Grace?' How about that?"

"I'm not sure that 'celebrate' is the right word and I'm not sure that people will know what 'transition' means. What about, 'George has become Grace. Please come and meet her.' Simple and unmistakable."

"We've had this conversation. I haven't become grace. I am Grace."

"We have, but they haven't. As far as they're concerned, you're George, a man who has chosen to wear women's clothes, pretend to be a woman and calls himself Grace. Not Grace, a woman who, by a mistake of nature, was born male and is taking hormones and going to have surgery to correct her anatomy. It seems to me that now is the time to introduce yourself in the least contentious way, not educate people as to the nuances of you being transgendered."

"Yes, you're right."

"We could probably get the invitations done at one of those quick print places in a week. I'm wondering how much notice we should give people? Probably not too much time to think and gossip. It should take a few days for them to get the invitation in the mail. How about two weeks from today? It's not a party. We don't need refreshments. People are probably going to be uncomfortable, so just meet, greet and go."

"Okay."

"What are you going to do until then?"

"Well, I can go to work tomorrow. I'll tell Claire that I am taking the following week off for family business. True enough. We can go shopping. I have causal and dressy outfits, but nothing for the professional woman to wear. Maybe call Alice to see if she can fit in a few more electrolysis appointments and I need my eyebrows and nails done. I want to look my best for the party and my return to work."

"Sounds like a plan, except that I am going to be upset if you're prettier than me."

"It will take a lot more than superfluous hair removal, waxing and a manicure," I reassured her.

Once we got home, we unpacked and moved my men's clothes to the guest room, the first stop on their migration to Good Will. I got out my camera and we did some auto-timed shots of us as a couple. The ones standing up looked too much like 'American Gothic.' The ones seated on the couch with our hands in our lap looked like one of those 19th century poses. Then Helen remembered we had a lot of photos from Ptown. Going through them, we found one we liked with her seated on a high stool, me standing with my arm around her shoulder and the harbor in the background.

On Monday, I went through the same routine I did every weekday morning since I started working, a shave, white cotton briefs and undershirt, black socks, white dress shirt, dark suit and tie. The drudgery was relieved by knowing that next week I began living my life as a woman. I went downstairs and had a cup of coffee. I didn't feel like eating. Helen understood. We left together. She had checked online and Walgreens could do photo cards with same day pickup at the Greendale Avenue store. They were only a dollar each for up to 60. Always Ms. Efficiency, she had made a list and thought twelve for friends and neighbors, six for my office, two for my primary care doctor and our dentist, who she doubted would come, but at least would be prepared for my next visit, I never would have thought to include them, six to send to out of state friends and relatives, two for Susan and Denise and a few extra, in case we added to the list. Forty total and we could keep what were left for our scrapbook.

"Grace has a scrapbook?"

"We have all of the photos and materials from the fair. Don't you want to preserve them for posterity?"

"I do, but I doubt posterity does."

When I got home after work, she showed me a stack of very nice cards. They had our picture in a frame on the left and the wording we had decided to use on the right, silver print surrounded by a thin silver line and scrolled brackets, very tasteful, on a black background, with the date and time. She said that the woman was fine with the photo, but confused by the text. Rather than explain about me being transgendered, she told her that it was for a costume party where the men would come as women and vice-versa. The funny thing, funny amusing, was that she had no problem with the cards when she thought it was make-believe.

On Wednesday we had our appointment with Dr. Rosen. We thanked her for recommending Fantasia Fair and showed her some of our pictures. She was pleased that we had such a good experience and complimented us on our creative idea of using a house party to introduce Grace. She'd have to remember that for the future. We discussed my beginning HRT. She agreed that I was ready and wrote a prescription.

"Be careful when you start it," she warned me. "Your body isn't used to the hormones and it takes a few cycles to get the levels regulated. Everyone reacts differently and you may experience symptoms similar to having a period, bloating, mood swings, muscle aches and cramps. Tender breasts too. They're transitory, but you should consider waiting to start until after the party, if you want to be at your best."

"Like I told you, being a woman is nonstop fun." Helen gloated. Turning to Dr. Rosen, she asked, as though ordering a la carte from a menu of female complaints, "Can she have nausea and vomiting too?"

Putting away her professional demeanor, Dr. Rosen quipped, "Not unless you can figure out how to get her pregnant. If you do, let me know. I want to write a paper."

"We could try." Helen raised her eyebrows suggestively. I guessed that she was thinking about her acquisition in Provincetown. I shook my head at her request for my participation in the unsuccessful advancement of medical science.

Saturday we sent out the cards. Helen had gone to the post office and asked the clerk whether she had any transgender stamps. Apparently the United States Postal Service had not worked its way down to the T of LGB. After a lot of consultation and consternation, the best they could come up with was a Harvey Milk stamp with a little rainbow stripe in the corner. Looking through the catalog what was available, Helen was excited to find one with a butterfly. She thought that it was perfect to have Absalom delivering our invitation.

The next week I was home. We went shopping for my office attire. I picked out two dresses, two straight skits, charcoal gray and mauve, knee length, a black blazer, and two skirt suits, dark blue and brown, assorted blouses and shells, two more bras, an assortment of panties, a woman can never have enough underwear, pantyhose and opaques, and comfortable mid-heel pumps in black and dark brown. Dr. Rosen felt that I had made enough progress that I could cut back my sessions to every other week, which meant my next appointment would be conveniently after the party and I had started HRT.

The invitations must have arrived on Monday morning, because our phone started ringing at about ten o'clock and continued through the day. We anticipated the confirmatory calls and changed the message on the answering machine. "Hello. You've reached the home of Helen," her voice, "and Grace," my voice. In unison, "We are looking forward to seeing you on Sunday evening, seven to nine."

On Friday I went through my wardrobe and decided I didn't have anything to wear for the party. I wanted understated elegance and what I had either was too casual, too dressy or too conservative. I complained to Helen. "A closet full of clothes and nothing to wear. Welcome to the club. You need an LBD," was her solution.

"What's that?"

"You still have a lot to learn. LBD is girlspeak for little black dress. It's the go to dress in a woman's wardrobe, good for any occasion. The good news is that the department stores always have a good selection. You're okay with personal attention now?"

"Yes, if it will get me an LBD ASAP," I offered wittily.

"Well then, we should get going PDQ," she countered, always having the last word or letters.

It was interesting that, even with the disclosure that I was transgendered, the response to a man shopping for a dress was generational. We went to three stores. At the one with an older saleswoman, her disapproval was obvious. We left. At the other two, the younger saleswomen were helpful. One of them even let me try on dresses after checking that the dressing rooms were empty and asking me if I minded staying in the room and waiting to come out in my own clothes, if there was another customer. I agreed and Helen offered to be the lookout. We ended up buying a dress from her. I wasn't sure, because it was sleeveless, but Helen convinced me, with the concurrence of the saleswoman, who pointed out a variety of LBD's with short skirts, plunging necklines open backs, or what she called 'peek-a-boo' features, that bare arms was a very modest concession to style.

Saturday night I couldn't sleep, wondering if tomorrow was going to be a success or failure. My heart hoped for the former, my head expected the latter and the rest of me was occupied with preventing dinner from escaping in one form or another. I finally got up at six o'clock. Helen rolled over and went back to sleep. There wasn't anything to do, so I went downstairs, puttered around the kitchen, made coffee and waited for the Sunday paper to be delivered.

Helen came down at seven thirty. She saw my state and tried to calm me. "I have an idea. Let's go to church."

"Church? We haven't been to church in years."

"I know. Maybe it's time."

Maybe it was. I needed all the help I could get. That got me to thinking. Would I get help? What was God's position on being transgendered? He created men and women. Would He be upset that we were messing around with his handiwork? Would he care? He had to have better things to do than worry about gender reassignment. That got me to thinking, what if Jesus was transgendered. How would God feel about his son being a woman? He had the power to change him to her, but would He? If Jesus was a man and men had free will, why should He interfere? My conclusion was that it would have been a lot simpler if God had left Adam's ribs alone.

"Grace, what's going on? You're in another world."

"I was wondering if God loved me the way I am?"

"Why wouldn't She?" Helen asked provocatively.

"I never thought of it like that. Does our church have a woman priest?" We stayed home.

After breakfast, I went upstairs and laid out my clothes. The dress had a fitted top and slightly flared skirt. I decided to wear the high waist panty girdle with the padded hips and butt. A girl needs all of the enhancement she can get. I took out a black bra and nude control top pantyhose. The more compression the better for bulge control, even tucked under. Considering the struggle for access, I reminded myself to pee before getting dressed and not to drink. For shoes, a pair of black leather pumps with an ankle strap and mid heel. Helen gave me a string of pearls, matching pearl earrings and a black enamel bangle bracelet. I stood back and admired my ensemble. If appearance counted for anything, I was all set.

I wanted to wait to shower and shave until it was time to get dressed. If ever there was a need for the power of 'Secret' deodorant, it was tonight and I didn't want to waste it by premature application. I got the newspaper and started on the crossword puzzle in the magazine. That killed an hour. I went back upstairs and looked at my clothes again. They were the same as when I looked at them an hour ago. Helen suggested I take a nap, which wasn't a bad idea actually, since I didn't sleep last night. I turned on the TV to a Sunday news of the week panel analysis, guaranteed to produce somnolence, and lay down on the couch. I woke up three hours later.

I couldn't wait any longer. I turned on the shower, got my razor and shaving gel and carefully did my legs and underarms. When I was satisfied, I went over my arms, since the dress was sleeveless. I knew that shaving wasn't the best method of hair removal, but we didn't have Nair, there wasn't enough of Helen's Jolen and, lacking foresight, our bathroom was not equipped with a laser. I got out, put on a terry robe and finished shaving, going over my face twice. I waited twenty minutes to dry off and started applying my makeup. By now, I was proficient with the basics and had been practicing with eye makeup. Nothing exotic, just mascara, eyeliner and a neutral champagne powder for my lids. I put on my underwear, slipped on my dress and stepped into my shoes. I was able to reach behind me and get the zipper half way up, but I wasn't flexible enough to reach the final foot or dexterous enough to fasten the hook and eye. I needed Helen to help with my wig anyway. With my jewelry on and her final inspection completed, I was ready.

I cautiously went downstairs, holding onto the railing. Better safe than to postpone the party with a trip to the ER. I went into the living room and waited. I heard the front door open and voices. I wondered who would be so inconsiderate as to show up early. Giving in to my insecurity, I imagined it was someone who wanted a private opportunity to have at me. "Grace," Helen called, "there's people here to see you." I took a deep breath and went to the front hall. Our children were standing there. The look on their faces at seeing me and on my face at seeing them would have made a priceless Kodak moment.

"I told them that you've been there for them since they were born. Rain, snow, heat, cold, games, recitals, visitation, graduation, moving in, moving out," she recited the litany, "now it was time for them to be here for you," Helen explained. She looked at me with a big smile and gestured toward them, "and here they are."

Marissa hurried over and stopped an arm's length away."Daddy?"

"I'll always be your daddy."

"It's okay. Daddy, mommy, it doesn't matter. Actually, a girl can't have too many mothers." Realizing she might have offended Helen, she looked over to her and added,"because the one I have is so wonderful." Turning back to me, "I love you." She hugged me and kissed me. "Oh, I've got lipstick on you." She reached up to rub it off. "I'm sorry. I've smudged your makeup." A funny look came over her face. "That's something I never thought I'd say to you." We all started laughing. Marissa looked for Frank and realized that her brother was still standing on the other side of the room. "Excuse me. Frank's a jerk. Is, was, always will be, despite my best efforts." She walked over to him and took his arm, escorting him over to me. "Say something, jerk," she affectionately ordered him.

"Hi, um. . . He put out his hand. I took it gently and released it.

"That's it? Hi and a handshake?"

"How?"

"How? Really, Frankie? How? For crying out loud, we're not having a powwow. Tell her she looks nice. A compliment. Something that has more than one syllable. A hug. She doesn't have cooties. I did my best to teach him the social amenities" she feigned an apology, "but an artist is only as good as her materials and there's not much she can do with silly putty."

"Ease up on Frank, please, Marissa. I doubt you would have covered this situation and it's a fair question. The answer is that you're born transgendered. You know it by the time you become aware of the difference between boys and girls." I could see a concerned look on Frank's face. "It's not hereditary," I reassured him, "at least not in the sense that it predictably runs in families, so, if growing up you didn't have a desire to dress up in Marissa's clothes, you don't have to worry."

"So that's where my panties and bras went," Marissa teased him.

"Marissa, that's not true and you know it," Frank protested."Actually, she's the one. She borrowed my shorts and undershirts," he accused his sister. "I couldn't keep her out of my room."

"That's different. I'm a girl. And they were beach cover-ups."

"In the winter?"

"Boxers and big t-shirts are comfortable to sleep in," she defended herself.

"Enough you two. Stop your bickering," Helen scolded them. "Some things never change," she said with a sigh, then looked over to me, "and some things do." She smiled. "You two, this is Grace's night. Speaking of which, our guests should be arriving soon. Marissa and Frank, I think you should be at the door with me, so that they'll see we're a family, so behave yourselves."

Helen and the children went off. While I was waiting, I tried to anticipate what people would say and how to respond. I guessed it would depend on how much or, more likely, how little they knew about being transgendered and how well or, more likely, how poorly they dealt with it. The best I could come up with was Popeye's alliteration, "I yam, whats I yam, whats I yam." As apt as it might be, reciting the philosophy of a cartoon character probably was not a good response. I'd just have to improvise.

After about twenty minutes of trepidation, the doorbell rang. I heard voices, but couldn't make out who they belonged to. Bill and Donna came in. It made sense that our next door neighbors would be the first to arrive. They stopped and stared. Donna came over. Bill hung back.

"George?"

"Grace."
"I don't understand. All these years you were a man? What happened?" Donna questioned me.

In fact, Popeye's syllogism might actually be helpful. "I don't understand either. It's just the way I am and always have been."

"You fooled me."

"I fooled everyone. It was difficult, but necessary." Redirecting the conversation, I thanked them for coming. "You and Bill have always been such good friends. I hope this won't change that." She looked over to bill who was hanging back. "Bill?"

Donna realized she was by herself. "Bill, come here! Say something."

Actually, knowing Bill, it was probably better that he didn't speak. Given the usual topic of his backyard conversation, he'd probably say something like, "nice tits."

"Bill says that of course we're still you're friends," Donna spoke for him.

"Good, because I need to borrow his hedge trimmers. The bushes are going wild and I haven't had time to trim them with everything that's been going on."

"You're still going to do the yard?" Bill asked.

"Fortunately, gardening is gender neutral. If you're lucky, I'll wear my short shorts and halter top," I teased him, a mistake I realized too late. Bill looked like a deer in the headlights at the suggestion of his being turned on by a sexy tranny neighbor.

"Well, good luck. C'mon Bill." About halfway across the room, I heard him mutter, "fuck'n pansy." Donna glanced nervously over her shoulder. I smiled at her. She took him by the arm and hurried out. I made a mental note to buy a hedge trimmer.

By the time that our conversation ended, a few more people had come into the room. Most were obviously uncomfortable, but polite. A few were supportive. Thankfully, none were critical, at least to my face. I didn't see anyone from my office. That worried me. Towards the end of the evening, Andre and Eric, two of my partners, walked in. By now, my feet were tired and I was sitting down with my legs demurely crossed. The came over and I stood up, smoothing and straightening my skirt.

"George, what is going on?" Eric asked excitedly. Not the good excitedly. The 'what the hell were you thinking' excitedly. "When did all this," he moved his arm up and down in front of me, "happen? Are you serious?"

After two hours of answering questions, I had gained confidence in replying. "I'm transgendered to answer your first question. I've always been this way, to answer you second question. And yes, to answer your third question. It's nice to see you both, too." I added politely.

"What's going to happen to the firm?" Andre got to the point of their attendance.

"Nothing. I've moved most of my clients to you and the other partners. As far as those clients know, I'm getting ready to retire. I have a few clients with whom I've had a professional relationship long enough that I would like to continue with them, if they want me. Hopefully, it's my ability and not my gender that's important to them. If not, I will assure them that there are other well qualified partners who can handle their account. It is my firm. My name is the first on the door and I intend to keep it there. You can rest assured that I won't do anything to hurt our practice. Or your income, if that's your concern," which it obviously was. I could have two heads and paint myself green, as long as their paychecks and profit sharing weren't effected. I could see their look of relief."

"Okay, well, um, I guess, that's all we needed to know. Um, when will you be back," Andre's implication being that never was too soon."

"On Monday."

"Will you be . . ?"

"In a dress. Yes," I interrupted Eric. "Actually a skirt and jacket. Gray, with a pink blouse. Thank you for asking." They turned and left.

Looking up, I noticed Claire discretely waiting. I motioned for her to come over. "How are you?"

"I'm good. How are you?" she asked with genuine concern. She always was protective of me. Nobody and nothing got to me without her approval.

"I'm doing well, thank you."

"A facial at the spa and men's skin care products. Hah! My Aunt Fanny's cat. I knew something was going on." She looked around. "I've got a secret too. There's something I've always wanted to do, but couldn't before," she whispered. She was short, just a little over five feet. I bent down to hear her. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed me on the cheek. "Am I fired?"

"Not unless you want to be. Do you?"

"No."

"Good, then you're not. I'm going to need you more than ever."

"I'll tell you another secret." I bent down. She kissed me on the cheek again.

"Now?"

"No."

"Good. I'm really going to like working for a lady boss."

"I'll see you on Monday."

After the last guest left, I spent another hour with the children. They both needed to get back and had flights out Monday morning, so they booked a room for tonight at the airport hotel. I offered to drive them back, but that would have meant me having to change to match my license. They would share a cab. We talked about what we should do about Frank's wife and children. She knew why he had come. When and how to tell their children was a difficult decision. We agreed that for now it would be too confusing. Helen and I would talk to Dr. Rosen and see what she suggested. The cab honked. We hugged goodbye, even Frank.

"What a wonderful night," I said with a satisfied sigh. I kicked off my shoes and massaged my feet. Helen did the same. "I know, the joys of womanhood. It was worth it."

Monday morning I got ready for work. I fussed with my clothes, makeup and hair. "Really, Grace, you're going to the office, not on a date. You look fine. Let's go." Helen was going to drive me until the DMV processed my gender designation change form and issued me a new license.

I arrived at the building, took the elevator to the tenth floor, and stopped in front of the office door. I took out my free Sephora lipstick case and used the mirror to put on more lipstick. I walked in. The receptionist looked up and greeted me, replacing the Mr. with Ms. So far so good. I walked through the office to a chorus of good mornings.

Claire was at her desk. She got up and opened my office door for me, a courtesy she had never before shown. I thanked her and walked in. On my desk was a huge glass vase filled with more roses than I could count.

"They're beautiful. Thank you."

"Don't thank me. Everybody in the office chipped in." I wasn't sure if it was an expression of unanimous approval or fear of Claire's wrath for abstaining, probably more the latter than the former, but it didn't matter.

"Can we move them, so I can get to work?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

That afternoon, Helen picked me up. "How'd it go?" she asked anxiously.

"Alice is home and she's very happy. The only thing we need for a perfect ending to our adventures in Wonderland is a Cheshire cat."

All Dolled Up

Author:

Missy

Organizational:

Title Page

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Taxonomy upgrade extras:

All Dolled Up

by Missy

All Dolled Up - 1

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

All Dolled Up - Part I
By Missy Crystal

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

My son James, I call him Jamie, got a gift certificate to the local mall toy store from his Aunt Karen for his sixth birthday, which was in July. July 5th to be exact. From the time he was a baby, we took him to the town fireworks and told him they were for him. At least we did until my husband Jim, he was James too and our son was James, Junior, so we called his dad Jim and him Jamie for short, died two years ago. He was a technician for an environmental control company and maintained the emissions monitoring equipment they installed at power plants all over the country. They discovered him at the bottom of one of the stacks. The OSHA investigation found that the access ladder lacked a safety cage. We got a very sizeable settlement from the utility company. It paid off the mortgage and meant that I didn't have to work, but it was still a struggle raising a little boy without a father. It was hard on Jamie too.

On the Saturday after Jamie's birthday, I drove us to the mall, so that he could pick out a toy. We went into the store and walked up and down the aisles. I followed along behind him as he went past shelves of police cars, fire engines, bulldozers, trains, planes, games of all descriptions, building sets, and then he turned the corner and was in the girls' section, with an array of dolls and accessories. I expected him to go back to the boy's toys, but instead he stopped in front of a very pretty doll, about a foot tall, in a pink party dress. I watched and waited as he took it off the shelf and examined it.

Turning to me he asked, "Mommy, can I have this one?"

I was taken by surprise at his picking out a doll and it took a few seconds for me to answer him.

"No, Honey, dolls are for girls," I told him.

"Why are dolls for girls?" he asked me naively.

"Because girls play with dolls to practice for when they're mommies." I explained as simply as I could to a six year old.

"Oh," he said, looking down at the doll and then up at me. "If I play with a doll, will I be a mommy?" he asked with a child's confused logic.

"No, Jamie," I told him patiently. "Only girls can be mommies. Boys grow up to be daddies."

"Why can't boy's be mommies?" he persisted.

I knelt down to talk with him.

"In order to be a mommy, you have to have a baby. Only girls can have babies."

"Why?" he asked me.

I really did not want to get into an explanation of female reproductive anatomy with a six year old in the middle of a toy store.

"Jamie," I tried to simplify, "girls and boys are, well, they're bodies are different. It's the way they're born, Sweetie. Now, why don't you put the doll back and we'll go find a different toy. Then we can go get an ice cream cone," I offered as encouragement.

He continued to hold the doll and looked disappointed.

"Do I have to?" he asked.

I didn't want to upset him. He had enough trauma in his young life. Maybe having a doll was his way of finding comfort, an understanding companion with whom he could share his feelings. Jamie's aunt, my sister Karen, the one who gave him the gift certificate that started all this, was a psychologist. I remembered when she was in graduate school she had an internship with the one of the social service agencies counseling abused children and that she told me how they used dolls to get the children to act out painful memories.

"Jamie, why do you want a doll?"

He shrugged.

"I don't know."

If it was some type of a need for an emotional outlet, I supposed he wouldn't be able to explain it. The more I thought about it, the more I couldn't come up with a good reason not to let him have it. I mean, besides the usual stereotype. I decided to change my approach.

"Jamie, if I bought you the doll, would you play with her?"

I intentionally used the feminine pronoun to emphasize that he was buying a girl doll.

"Yes," he replied looking up at me hopefully.

"Honey, people might not understand why a boy would play with a doll," I cautioned him. "They might make fun of you. If I buy you the doll, you have to promise to keep it a secret. Not to tell anyone. You'll have to keep it in my room, so, if you have any friends over, they won't see it. Is that okay?"

I was hoping that he would decide he didn't want to go through all of that, just to play with a doll, but to my surprise he agreed.

"All right then, Sweetie, lets see if I can find one that's boxed."

I reached out and he handed me the doll. I stood up and looked on the shelf where she came from. There was a box with a plastic cover holding an identical doll. I took it down and showed it to him. Jamie nodded his approval. I put the doll back on the shelf. He reached up to take the box, but I shook my head.

"I'll hold it, Honey," not wanting anyone to question why a boy had a doll. I suppose it could have been a present for one of his cousins. Karen had two girls, and the older one, Debbie, was Jamie's age. We got married at the same time, a double wedding, which saved Dad a lot of money, and we had our first baby within a month of each other. Jim got a promotion to Senior Technician right after Jamie was born, which meant more money, which we could use, but it also meant he would have to do more traveling. We held off having another baby, while Karen didn't, so Amy, her youngest child, was four and a half. Even so, I preferred not having to explain, if we ran into someone I knew.

As we walked to the sales counter, I rehearsed to myself, "Oh, hello, Sarah. I'm well thank you. Hi, Susie. Jamie, say hello to Mrs. Kraft and Susie. Shopping for a birthday present. Us too. Oh, yes, it is a pretty doll, Susie. You have a pretty doll too? I'm sure. It's a present for one of my nieces. Yes, nice seeing you too Sarah. Bye. Bye Susie." No need for that.

When we reached the register, I handed the box to the salesgirl. It rang up at $29.95, $31.45 with tax. I was so surprised by Jamie's choice of the doll that I hadn't even looked at the price. His gift certificate was for $25.00. My sister and I didn't believe in giving each other's kids expensive gifts. I had already told Jamie he could have the doll as his present and I didn't want to go back on what I said, so I took out my credit card and paid the difference. Not that it was the money. We could afford it. It just seemed wasteful to spend that much on a toy he would probably not play with once he got it home. At least I couldn't picture him playing with it. Not that a boy couldn't play with a doll, but girls grow up with them. Oh well, I thought to myself, I can keep the box and return it.

The salesgirl handed me the credit card slip. I signed it and she put the doll in a plastic bag.

"Do you want the receipt in the bag?" she asked.

"No, thank you." I told her, wanting to make sure that it didn't get lost, so I could take it back. "Oh, and this is a gift," I added for insurance. What is your return policy?"

"Ten days, with the receipt for a full cash or charge refund. Otherwise only a store credit. But I can give you a gift receipt that makes it thirty days," she informed me.

"Yes, please."

She ran up another receipt and handed it to me.

"Thank you," I said, putting it in my wallet with the original receipt.

"You're welcome."

I held the bag in my left hand and reached down to Jamie with my right. He took my hand and we left the store. Walking through the mall, we passed an ice cream stand and I remembered that I had offered to buy him a cone. I stopped and he asked for his favorite, vanilla ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. I had them put it upside down in a cup, so he could eat it with a spoon. I ordered a small dish of maple walnut for myself. We sat at one of the little tables. Watching him, I wondered if maybe I was being too fussy. So what if he got messy. I remembered Jim digging into a juicy burger smothered in ketchup, his favorite when we went out, and always having to remind him to use his napkin. Jamie spent a lot of time around me. Maybe he was getting the wrong message?

We finished our ice cream and walked back to the car. I put the bag with the doll in the back seat and buckled Jamie in. When we got home, I brought the bag into the kitchen and took out the box. Jamie reached for it, but I stopped him.

"Hold on, Honey. The doll has to be taken out of the box carefully," I cautioned him. And I don't want you to mess up the packaging, so I can take it back when you're through with it, I thought to myself.

The clear plastic top was held on by tape. I used my nail to peel it off the plastic, leaving it still attacked to the cardboard box. I had not looked at the doll carefully in the store and now I saw that it came with accessories, a small pink pocket book with a white plastic handle, a pink plastic headband with three white flowers, a pink plastic hairbrush, with a flower decal, a matching mirror and a comb. The doll was fastened to the cardboard liner with plastic ties a round her neck and waist. I lifted the liner out and turned it over, using a scissors to carefully cut the plastic, releasing the doll. The accessories were basted onto the cardboard with white thread, which I also cut. I picked up the doll, put on her headband and handed her to Jamie. He took her and held her by the arm, the way a child would dangle a stuffed animal.

"No, Jamie," I explained patiently. "The doll is fragile and you have to be gentle with her. Here," I took the doll and cradled it in my left arm, holding it securely with my right hand resting on its tummy. "See."

I handed the doll back to him. He copied me and looked up for my approval. I nodded and smiled at him, although I felt funny teaching my son how to hold a doll. Then again, Jim came to birthing class with me and he had to be shown how to hold the baby after it was born, so there was no harm in starting early, was there? Jamie started to leave and I called after him to wait. He stopped and I brought him the accessories. He was using both hands to hold the doll, so I tucked the purse into his right pants pocket and the comb, brush and mirror into his left one. He hurried upstairs.

I followed him to the stairs and called after him, "Jamie, remember, play with the doll in my room, please." That way I could be sure it wouldn't get left in his room by accident, if he had a friend over, and it was also less likely to get dirty, if it wasn't around his other toys, so I wouldn't have a problem returning it. He disappeared at the top of the stairs.

I went back to the kitchen, carefully saved all the packaging materials and put the box on the top shelf of the hall coat closet, remembering with a twinge of sadness that was where Jim and I always hid Jamie's birthday and Christmas presents. Passing by the front door, I noticed that the mail had been delivered through the slot and picked it up from the floor. The usual supermarket circulars, a gas bill, and a fall department store catalog. That reminded me it was almost time for Jamie to start kindergarten and I need to take him shopping for some school clothes. Maybe next weekend, I thought, hoping that by then he would be done with the doll too and I could return it.

I took the mail into the kitchen and put a cup of water with a chamomile teabag into the microwave. When it was ready, I sat down at the counter and sipped the tea while browsing through the catalog. The first section was women's clothes. Plaids were back. So were long skirts and boots. I hadn't updated my wardrobe for years. Since Jim died, most of my time was spent with Jamie. Now that he was starting school, I would have more free time, but nothing to do. Since I had my LPN certificate, I suppose I could volunteer at the hospital. Even so, I didn't need any clothes. Lingerie was next. I skipped over that with a sigh. Then came cosmetics and perfume. None of that interested me. The drugstore's brands were good enough. Girls' school clothes followed. Pretty wool jumpers and kilts in bright plaids were featured, silky polyester blouses in coordinating powder blue, yellow, green and pink, red and blue nylon tights, pretty undies, and shoes with ankle straps and little heels. Finally, two pages of boys clothes. Tan cotton pants and corduroys in dark colors, blue, green and brown, plaid cotton flannel shirts, plaid was definitely in with a vengeance, sneakers with Velcro fasteners and shoes with laces. The same things Jamie always wore. He hadn't grown much over the summer, so everything still fit him, but a boy should have new school clothes.

Looking at the clock, I was surprised it had been almost an hour since we got home. I decided to check on Jamie. I rinsed out my teacup and put it in the dishwasher, then went upstairs. There were three bedrooms on the second floor. Ours, well, mine now, was front to back on the right and Jamie's was the front left. I peeked in his first, but he wasn't there. I went to the doorway to our bedroom and saw him sitting on the bed. He was holding the doll and speaking softly, but I couldn't hear what he was saying. I wish I could have known whether he was pouring his heart out or just talking make believe, but I didn't want to disturb him. He didn't see me and I quietly stepped back and went downstairs.

In one sense, I was disappointed. I had hoped that Jamie's lack of experience playing with dolls would frustrate him and that he would return to his familiar boy's toys. Then again, he seemed happy, which was what I wanted for him more than anything. All I could do was wait and see how it worked out. I should call Karen and get some professional advice, I thought.

When I got back to the kitchen, I looked at the clock on the microwave. It as half-past four, time to start getting dinner ready. Karen was probably busy with her family too and I wanted to wait until Jamie was in bed, so that I could talk to her without him overhearing. Little pitchers have big ears, Mother used to say, when she wanted Daddy not to talk while we were around. I took out a package of macaroni and cheese, Jamie's favorite, and put a pot of water on the stove to boil. About a half hour later, it was ready.

"Jamie," I called up to him, "dinner's ready. Please wash up and come down."

I went back into the kitchen and finished putting our dinner on the table. As I was pouring him a glass of milk, I saw him come in out of the corner of my eye. He had the doll in his arms.

"Jamie, we don't bring toys to the table," I reminded him.

I walked over and held out my hand to take the doll.

"Sit down, Honey. I'll put the doll on the stairs. You can play with her after dinner."

He handed her to me. I put the doll on the bottom step and went back to the table.

"Well, Jamie," I said, making small talk, "have you thought of a name for your doll?"

Of all things, I don't know why that came out. The last thing I wanted to do was encourage him to become more attached to the doll.

He shook his head and took a forkful of macaroni and cheese.

"Do dolls have names?" he asked.

Of course, girls gave their dolls names, but he wouldn't know that. Now that I had said it, I couldn't very well tell him no.

"Yes. When I was a girl, I had a doll named Cricket. I didn't give her that name. There was a storybook about a girl named Cricket that came with her. Your Aunt Karen had a doll she named Cindy Lou, after the little girl in the Dr. Seuss book about the Grinch. You remember her, the littlest Who? She is nice to the Grinch and saves Christmas for Whoville."

Jamie smiled and nodded, taking another forkful of macaroni and a drink of milk.

"Jamie," he said.

"That's your name, yes, Honey," I agreed.

"No, mommy, the doll's name is Jamie," he corrected me.

"You and the doll have the same name," I questioned him.

'Uh huh," he confirmed.

"Wouldn't you like to giver her a girls name?"

I tried to think of the girls in the Disney videos we watched.

"How about, Belle, the girl in 'Beauty and the Beast'?"

He shook his head.

"What about Jasmine, the Princess in Aladdin. That's a very pretty name girl's name and it kind of sounds like Jamie. Would you like to name her Jasmine?"

He shook his head and took another forkful of macaroni.

I was at a loss. Why did he want to give the doll his name? If he was telling her his troubles, maybe he identified with her. Just because it was a girl to me, didn't mean it was a girl to a six year old boy. Maybe it was just friend whose sex didn't matter. Or, I continued to consider, his father's name was James and we named him James too, so, he might think that a child is named after his father.

"You know, if your name is Jamie and the doll's name is Jamie, it might be confusing. How about if we call you Jamie and we call the doll Jamie Girl?" I suggested.

The distinction didn't seem to make a difference to him, which made me think that maybe my first explanation was right. He took another forkful of macaroni and shrugged.

We finished dinner and I cleared the table. Jamie got up to leave.

"Hold on, Sweetie. You didn't finish your milk. Do you want a cookie to go with it for desert?"

He shook his head and drank down the last of the glass. He looked up at me.

"Okay, Honey, you're excused. Oh, I called after him, I want to give you a bath in about half an hour. I'll let you know when its time."

Jamie scampered out. Through the doorway, I could see him pick up the doll and go upstairs. I finished cleaning up and putting the dishes in the dishwasher. Then I went into the den and turned on the TV to watch the six o'clock news. When it was over, I went upstairs and started to run a bath. I looked into my, bedroom to check on Jamie. He was sitting on the floor with the doll in his lap. I noticed that he wasn't playing house. I suppose he didn't have the right accessories. My sister and I had a play stove and kitchen items, even pretend food. Or dress-up, but then the doll didn't have a wardrobe. My sister and I had boxes full of doll clothes. Or school. That wouldn't require any props. Or even beauty parlor, since he had the comb and brush. Maybe I was right; that a little boy wouldn't know how to play with a doll and that he would be bored soon.

"Jamie," I said softly, so as not to startle him, "your bath is ready, Honey. Put the doll on my bed and go get undressed."

He did as I asked. I went into the bathroom to wait for him. A few minutes later he came in wearing just his white briefs and white socks.

"Okay, Honey, take off your underwear and hop in."

I checked the temperature of the water with my hand as I waited for him to finish undressing. Jamie got in and I took out some of his usual bath toys from the plastic bin we kept them in, a motor boat, a sail boat, a plastic whale and a rubber shark. I watched him play normally, which was a relief.

"I'll come back in fifteen minute," I told him.

I went into my room and picked up a woman's magazine. I thumbed through it, skipping over the articles on how to improve your sex life, natural cures for yeast infections after you improved your sex life, and looked for some recipes that might spice up, I laughed at my little pun, our meals. I mean there's only so much hamburger, pasta and pizza you can eat. Jim used to love a good steak or roast and we both enjoyed shrimp and scallops, not so much fish, but we had it occasionally for variety. Now I had no one to cook for. I looked over at the clock on my nightstand and it had been about twenty minutes. Jamie was probably getting waterlogged. I went into the bathroom and he was still playing with his bath toys. A good sign I reassured myself.

"Okay, Honey. I want to wash your hair."

I took a small plastic bucket I used for clean rinse water and the baby shampoo out from under the vanity. Jamie was a red-head, like his father, the McCarthy's Irish heritage, and it was wavy. He hadn't had a haircut in two months. I let it grow over the summer, figuring that I would give him a haircut before school. I filled the bucket with warm water from the tap and dumped it over his head. Then I lathered in the shampoo, rinsed, holding my hand over his eyes to keep the soapy water out, even though it was baby shampoo, and repeated. When I had finished, I soaped up a washcloth and handed it to him to wash himself. I supervised, making sure that he got his feet and under his arms. Then I took the washcloth, rinsed it out, re-soaped it and did his face and ears. When he was squeaky clean, I had him stand up and step out of the tub.

"Okay, Sweetie, scoot into your room and put on clean underpants and your PJ's," I directed him, once I had toweled him dry. "Then come back and brush your teeth."

After he left, I took his toys out of the tub and put them in the bin. Jamie returned wearing his light blue shorty animal print pajamas. I supervised him while he brushed his teeth, a full minute on the uppers, equal time on the lowers and a good rinse with kid's plaque removing mouth wash. I believe it's important to develop good oral hygiene habits early.

"Okay, Honey, scoot into your bedroom. I'll be there in a minute to read you a bedtime story."

The tub had drained by the time he was done, so I finished cleaning up the bathroom, using the towel to wipe down the tub and hanging it and the wet washcloth on the towel bar. I turned out the bathroom light and went into his bedroom. To my surprise, he had gotten the doll out of my room and was holding it, looking at me expectantly.

"Jamie, I told you, the doll has to stay in my room," I reminded him. "Besides, dolls aren't sleeping toys. They're not cuddly and her dress will get all wrinkled. If you want something to sleep with, I can get you one of your old stuffed animals."

He looked at me and shook his head.

"Look, Sweetie, I'll put the doll on the big chair in my room. She'll be very comfortable there," as if she were real, "and you can come get her as soon as you wake up, if you want to play wither her," which I hoped he wouldn't. "Okay?"

He shook his head.

"Why not?"

"Jamie wants to hear the story too."

It took me a few seconds to realize that the Jamie he was referring to was the doll.

"Oh, you want her to stay while I read to you?"

"Uh huh," he said with a smile.

I nodded my concession. Going over to the bookcase, I looked for one of the fairytales he enjoyed. We had a collection of the Disney versions and some of the Golden Book abridged stories too. I wanted to find one with a strong male character, hoping to offset at least some of the doll's effect. "Cinderella," no. "Sleeping Beauty," no. "Snow White," no. "Beauty and the Beast," no. "Rapunzel," no, the main character is a girl with long hair. Rumpelstiltskin, no, the title is about the dwarf, but the story is about the miller's daughter who outsmarts him and saves her baby. Was there a conspiracy among children's books authors only to write about girls? Finally, I came up with "Jack in the Beanstalk." Not that it was my favorite. I mean a homicidal kid who destroys a natural wonder in order to steal someone else's property is not my idea of a role model, but at least he was a boy. I brought the book over and got on the bed. Jamie put the doll on the pillow between us.

"Once upon a time, there was a poor widow who had an only son named Jack," I began. I continued through the story, showing Jamie the pictures of Jack trading their cow for the magic beans, and so forth. By the time I got to Jack going back the second time for the hen that laid the golden eggs, Jamie's eyes were closing and by the third trip for the singing harp, I could tell by his rhythmic breathing that he had fallen asleep. I picked up the doll, got up, turned out the light and left, keeping his door open just enough to let in a bit of the light from the hall.

I took the doll and brought it into my room, smoothing its dress, the way I used to do with Cricket, and sitting her on the upholstered chair next to the window. It was too early to call Karen and I had nothing else to do, so I got undressed, put on my nightgown, did my nightly beauty routine, old habits die hard, and got on the bed to watch TV. I went through the channels and found a dance program. Jim and I used to love to dance when he was home. Not ballroom. He thought that was for sissies. Rock and roll at one of the clubs when we were able to get a babysitter. I picked up my magazine and continued to go through it, looking up now and then to watch a bit of the show. I kept glancing at the clock and finally, at about eight thirty, I couldn't wait any longer. Karen would be done with dinner and Debbie probably went to bed around seven or seven thirty, like Jamie, so she should be free by now.

I pushed one on the speed dial. I called Karen more often than anyone else. The phone rang three times and she picked up.

"Hello," she answered.

"Hi, Sis."

"Ginny, hi. I was just thinking of you and Jamie. I took Debbie shopping for school clothes today and wondered if you were doing the same?"

"No, not yet. Girls are much higher maintenance than boys. As you might remember, Miss I-can't-go-to-school-in-old-clothes. All Jamie needs is a couple of pairs of pants, a few shirts and a pair of sneakers."

"Who, me?" she replied with a laugh. I thought that was you?"

"Me? I was the one who got your hand-me-downs, as if you don't remember. 'I just bought this for your sister last year and it's almost like new, Ginny dear,' Mom would always say. Good thing you have the boobs in the family though. At least I got to have my own bras. Not that I wouldn't rather have been a C than a B."

"So, is that why you called, to complain about your breast size?" Karen kidded me. "You know they do wonders with silicone, if you're still jealous."

"No, actually, there was another reason, Karen. I was hoping you could give me some advice. I'm worried about Jamie."

"Oh," Karen said with concern, "is he acting up? That's not unusual, Ginny, when a child has lost a parent. Maybe he could use some counseling. I can check around for a child therapist in your area. Maybe it would be good for both of you," she suggested.

"No, we're both fine. Well, you know, we're okay. The problem with Jamie isn't his behavior. He's a perfect angle. In fact, that's the problem, sort of."

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I don't get it. How can his not being a problem be a problem?"

I sighed.

"Let me start at the beginning."

Karen listened patiently.

"Today I took Jamie shopping. Just like you took Debbie," I added, "although it wasn't for clothes. We went to the toy store to use the gift certificate you gave him for his birthday." Karen kept quiet. "We'll, to make a long story short, he picked out a doll."

"You mean one of those action figures? I wouldn't worry about it, Ginny. Boys tend to be more aggressive in their fantasy play then girls. I'm not a big fan of war toys, but they promote them heavily on TV and the consensus is that they're harmless."

"No, Karen, not an action figure, a girl doll in a pink party dress, like Cindy Lou."

"A girl doll?" Karen questioned.

"Yes," I confirmed.

"I see." She paused and then asked me, "if you were concerned about the appropriateness of his picking out a doll, why didn't you tell him he couldn't have it?"

I sighed again.

"I did. Or at least I tried."

"What did you say to him?"

"I told him that dolls were for girls and suggested he find something else."

"And?"

"And he asked me why."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him that girls played with dolls to practice for when they became mommies."

"He didn't accept that?"

"He asked me whether he would be a mommy, if he got the doll."

I could hear an intake of breath as Karen stifled a laugh at the humorous question."

"What did you tell him?"

"I said that only girls could be mommies. Boys grow up to be daddies."

"Go on."

"He asked me why. I told him that boys' and girls' bodies were different. That's about as far as it went. I encouraged him to find another toy, even tried to entice him back into the boy's toy aisle with an offer of ice cream, but he really wanted the doll." I paused and then continued. "Karen, I just couldn't think of a good reason not to let him have it and I didn't want to tell him no without a good reason. He's been though a lot and I thought, well, maybe he needed a companion. There's just the two of us. I mean, kids have imaginary friends. Maybe he was being more realistic. Or maybe it was just one of those childish whims and he would get tired of it quickly. What do boys know about playing with dolls? I saved the packaging, so I can return it."

"Has he gotten tired of it, Ginny?"

"No, not yet, but it's only been a day."

"If you think that he will give it up, why are you concerned?"

"I'm not concerned. I'm, well, I'm just curious. I was hoping you could give me some help on how to deal with the situation."

"Ginny, curious means looking something up in Dr. Spock's book; concerned means calling your sister and asking her for advice about your son's behavior. The first step to solving a problem is admitting you have one. That is what I tell my patients. Having said that, I have to tell you, it is not considered good practice to counsel your family. You can't have the necessary professional detachment and, if something turns out badly, and psychology is not an exact science, you can damage your relationship with someone you care about."

"It's okay, Karen, I understand. You can't help me. I'm sorry I asked."

"Ginny, no, I didn't say I couldn't help you. I said I couldn't counsel you. The difference is between providing general advice and getting myself personally involved. Let's start with identifying what is really bothering you and then we can look at how to deal with it. Okay, Sis?"

"Okay, Karen."

"All right, then. I assume your basic question is whether it is harmful for a boy to play with a girl's toy. The short answer is no. Toys aren't gender specific. It's our society that makes the distinction. Think about it, Karen. If Jim were alive," she waited to see if she had touched a painful subject."

"Go ahead," I reassured her.

"Fathers are concerned about their sons being manly, much more so than mothers. Jim never would have allowed you to buy Jamie a doll. I'm sure Dave," that was Karen's husband, "would be equally opposed to it, if we had a boy, even with my assurance that it was harmless. You would have told Jamie that his father would not allow it, end of story. Without that masculine constraint, you had no excuse and the fact that Jamie's been through a lot made it even easier for you to give in."

"I'm relieved that I didn't do anything wrong. Thank you so much, Sis. I don't know what I would do without you?"

"Ginny, you never have to do without me. I'll always be here for you, but not so fast. Although there is no harm in a boy playing with a doll, children can be very cruel. His friends will not be as understanding as his mother and aunt. In that regard, you may not have done him a favor. I'm sorry, Ginny, but you asked and I have to give you the full answer."

"Well, I did tell him he only could play with the doll in my room, in case he has friends over, and I also told him not to talk about it either. Do you think that will prevent him from being teased?"

"Ginny, I told you, I can't give you personal advice. You have to make your own decision and live with it. So will Jamie. Is it more important for him to have the doll and whatever enjoyment it gives him or more important to protect him from being hurt, if he can't keep it a secret? You now him better than I do. You know how vulnerable he is and you know his needs. If you want to talk it over with someone, I can find you a therapist."

"No, not right now anyway. Like I said, it's only been a day. As long as having it isn't bad for him, I'll wait and see what happens. I'm still hoping he'll lose interest and I can return it. I remember that we had all sorts of doll's stuff and each other or our girlfriends to play with to make it fun."

"Okay, Ginny. Please call me in a couple of days and let me know what happens."

"I will, Karen, and thanks."

"No problem. Love you."

"Love you too. Bye."

I felt relieved as I hung up the phone. It was nine o'clock. I picked up a book I had started and read a few more chapters. At ten thirty, I put the book down. I decided to get up early and make Jamie his favorite breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes, hoping that his coming right down to breakfast would make him forget about the doll. Then I would take him to the park. He could use the wooden playground and feed the ducks in the pond. He liked that and it would get us out of the house. We could stop for a burger and fries on the way home. Maybe, I thought, he had been spending too much time around me. Jim would have taken him out in the backyard to play a sport. He was a big baseball and football fan, or even to a game. I played field hockey in high school, but they didn't have girls' sports teams when I was growing up. Do they have teams for six year olds? Soccer was popular. I should look into it. Jamie definitely needed to be around men and other boys more. Jamie usually woke up about seven, so I set the alarm for six thirty. I got up to look in on him, then got into bed and turned out the light.

The alarm went off and I got up, put on a robe and went down to start breakfast. On my way, I checked on Jamie. He was asleep and the doll was next to him. He must have come into my bedroom during the night. Children, at last six year olds, have no sense of time. He probably got up thinking that it was morning and then fell asleep playing with it. I decided not to take the doll away from him. I didn't want him to wake up and worry about what happened to it. Well, so much for the diversion of chocolate chip pancakes. Even so, I might as well make them, since I was already up. I could still follow my plan to get him out of the house and away from the doll for the day. Since I no longer had to have breakfast ready before he woke up, I went back to my room, washed up, put on some makeup, tied my hair back with a scrunchy, and went down to the kitchen. I mixed up the batter, but waited to make the pancakes, until Jamie came down. I expected that he would sleep late. Who knew when he got up or how long he played before his wee hour excursion caught up with him.

At about a quarter of nine I head him moving around upstairs and a few minutes later he appeared in the kitchen. He had the doll with him.

"Jamie," I chided him, "I told you before, we don't bring toys to the table. And," I added," you should not have taken the doll out of my room without asking me."

"You were sleeping, Mommy," he explained.

"I was sleeping because it was nighttime and you should have been sleeping too. Not wandering around the house and not playing with your toys. It was dark when you woke up, wasn't it. That's nighttime. If you need something, you can call me and I'll come, but you need to stay in bed. It's not safe for you to be walking around the house when I'm not up and I don't want you taking things out of my room without asking me. Okay?"

"Uh huh," he agreed sheepishly.

"Good. Now, here's the story. I made you chocolate chip pancakes. Sit down and have your breakfast. I'll put the doll on the stairs. After breakfast, you can get dressed and we'll go to the park. Then we can get a burger for lunch. How does that sound?"

Jamie nodded his approval and then he asked, "can Jamie come too?"

I sighed with exasperation.

"No, you need to leave your doll at home. I told you about not letting anyone know you had her. Remember. It is important," I emphasized. "Some of the other boys and girls might not understand. Jamie, if you can't keep it a secret, then I will have to take the doll back," I warned him.

"No, Mommy, please," he said excitedly. "Please don't take Jamie back. I'll won't tell. Honest. Please, Mommy, please?"

"I didn't say I was going to take her back, Honey," I relented. "I only wanted to be sure you understood that you can't tell anyone about her. If you do, I will have to take her away, but not otherwise. Okay?"

"Okay," he conceded.

"Okay," I agreed. "Eat up and then we'll get ready to go out. It will be a fun day." Especially for me, if I don't have to deal with the doll, I added to myself.

After breakfast, we went upstairs. Jamie washed up and brushed his teeth. I combed his hair. He really did need a haircut. I had him change his underpants and picked out a light blue cotton t-shirt and dark blue shorts with an elastic waist. White cotton socks and a pair of sneakers completed his outfit.

We got in the car and drove to the park. It was a beautiful, sunny summer day. I sent Jamie off to the playground while I sat on one of the benches and watched. He seemed to be enjoying himself and I was happy to see that he was playing normally with the other kids. After an hour or so, I called him back and we went over to the duck pond. Lunch was a kids' meal with a plastic figure of a pirate. Jamie looked at the toy and put it back in the bag.

It was three thirty when we got home. I had put the doll back on the upholstered chair in my room and hoped that Jamie would go back to his regular toys, but no. As soon as we got in the house, he went upstairs and I could see him turn right, into my bedroom.

Jamie needed back to school clothes, but I had put off our shopping trip, hoping to be able to return the doll when we went. Since it did not seem like that was going to happen any time soon, the next day I took Jamie back to the mall. We went into the department store. It was set up so that you had to go through the girls' 4-6X section to get to the boys' side. As we passed through, Jamie stopped.

"Come on, Honey, these are girls' clothes. The boys' clothes are over there," I told him, taking his hand and starting to walk.

He resisted and I stopped. I turned and saw that he was looking at a pink taffeta party dress with a full skirt and white sash tied in a bow around the little girl manikin's waist. The dress looked similar to the one his doll wore.

"Oh, yes, Honey, that dress does look like the one on your doll. It's very pretty. Now let's go, we have to buy you clothes for school."

"Can I have that?"

It took me a couple of seconds to realize what the 'that' was that he was talking about.

"You mean the dress?"

"Uh huh."

"No, Jamie, absolutely not. Boys don't wear dresses. They're for girls when they want to look pretty."

"Please, Mommy," he asked nicely.

I knelt down, so that I was at his level when I spoke to him.

"Jamie, you can't have a dress. Only girls wear dresses."

"Why?"

The same question as he asked about the doll.

"Because girls wear different clothes than boys, that's why," I explained patiently.

"Girls wear pants and shirts like me."

"Girls wear pants and shirts in different colors and designs than boys." Looking at the dress, I pointed out, "see, its pink. That's a girl's color and the dress has lace around the neck, sleeves and hem. Lace is especially for girls too."

Jamie gave me a puzzled look.

"You wear the same clothes as me."

I had on a pair of jeans and a white, jewel neckline short sleeved cotton top that looked similar to a t-shirt. This was not going as well as I would have liked.

"Jamie, my clothes may look like yours, but they're designed differently for a woman."

Not that women didn't or at least couldn't wear men's clothes. Growing up, Karen and I would borrow our Dad's shirts for beach cover ups, although we left them open and knotted the tails, and Mom bought us boy's boxers to sleep in. This wasn't the time for debating the double standard.

"Jamie wears a dress."

That took me by surprise. No he doesn’t. Then I realized he was talking about Jamie, his doll. That would make it easier, since she was a girl.

"You doll is a girl, Jamie. That's why she is wearing a dress."

"No."

"No, what?"

"Jamie's not a girl. She's like me."

This was getting out of hand. How could I argue with a six year old about his doll's gender. He was too young to understand the physical differences between men and women and the doll wasn't anatomically correct anyway. I needed to put an end to his confusion once and for all.

"Jamie, I am not going to argue with you. Boys wear boy's clothes and girls wear girl's clothes. This is the Girl's Department. We need to shop in the Boy's Department, because you are a boy. Now I don't want to hear any more about you wanting a dress."

I stood up and took his hand.

"Let's go, please."

Jamie was carried along by my momentum as I started to walk and, after a few seconds of resistance while he got his balance, began to follow along. When we got to the Boy's Department, I made a show of picking out pants and shirts, asking him his opinion as to color and style. He was agreeable, but unenthusiastic. After buying two pairs of corduroys, a pair of chinos, two pairs of jeans, an assortment of shirts and a dark blue and dark green long-sleeved knit pullover, we were done. He had plenty of underwear and socks, but I wanted him to have another pair of sneakers. I also wanted to avoid going back through the girls' clothes. Unfortunately, children's shoes was a single department and there were a lot of girls' styles on display. I watched Jamie as his eyes went to a pair of black patent leather Mary Jane's, similar to the one on his doll. I shook my head, regretting my decision to buy it for him, regardless of Karen's assurance. I kept hold of his hand and quickly went to the boy's sneakers. I had Jamie sit down on a stool while the salesclerk fitted him to a very expensive pair of Nike's. They were black, with a high tech sole for kiddy athletes, which I hoped would make him feel more masculine. I added the shoe box to the three bags of clothes.

On the way out, Jamie stopped and looked at me.

"Mommy, please."

"No."

We left the mall and drove home. As I was driving, I debated taking the doll away from him, but my being an Indian-giver wasn't the solution. It would just upset him. Was there another way to handle this? Karen had said that it wasn't the toy, but our prejudices that determined who could play with it. Could it be the same with clothes? Was I being too conventional? What was it about dresses that limited them to being worn by females? What if I bought him the dress, I wondered? It definitely would make him happy. Just like the doll, I could have him wear it around the house and keep it in my closet. Nobody would know. Just a special secret shared between the two of us. Besides, I rationalized, he has plenty of boy's clothes and once he starts school, once he gets involved with other boys, maybe I even get him on a team, he will forget all about the doll and the dress. Maybe I should run this by Karen. Then again, whether I should let Jamie wear a dress is well beyond general advice and she said she couldn't counsel me. That means our going to a stranger and having to spend months talking about my most intimate feelings. No thank you.

"Jamie," I called up to him, "come down here for a second, please."

About a minute later he appeared.

"I've been thinking, Honey. Are you really serious about wanting that dress you saw at the mall? If I bought it for you," I added without giving him time to respond, "would you really wear it?"

"Uh huh," Jamie said nodding his head and smiling. "Uh huh," he repeated.

"Jamie, if," and I emphasized 'if,' I did buy it for you, you would have to promise me, 'promise me,' I emphasized, cross your heart, Sweetie, that you would never ever, I emphasized 'never' and ever' tell anybody about it. Jamie," I said very seriously, "people would not understand why a boy wore a dress and it would be a big, big, I emphasized both 'bigs,' problem.

"I will Mommy, I promise," he quickly agreed, making an X over his heart.

"I need to think about it some more. I'll tell you what. Let me put one of my t-shirts on you. I have some pretty ones. They're long enough to feel like a dress. Why don't you see if you like it before we buy one for you. Okay?"

Jamie shook his head enthusiastically.

"Come with me."

We went into my bedroom and I looked through my dresser. There was a light yellow ribbed cotton tank top that had gotten in with some of the towels and went through the hot wash cycle and into the dryer on high. It had shrunk up to child's size and would be just right for Jamie to try. I took it out and held it up against him. It was perfect.

"Let's take off your clothes and try this on."

When he was down to his underpants, I slipped the tank top over his head and adjusted the wide straps to sit on his shoulders. I tugged on the bottom to stretch it out, which brought it down to about his mid-thigh and made it fit tighter. I couldn't resist and used my brush to fluff up his hair into a more feminine style. I was tempted to part it in the middle and make bangs, but that would be going too far. Even so, he could have passed for a little girl.

"Well, Jamie, do you like your dress?"

To my surprise, he wasn't enthusiastic.

"It's okay."

"What's wrong with it?"

"I don't know."

"Come over her and look in the mirror."

I brought him over to my full length mirror on the back of the closet door.

"Look at yourself. Turn around," I directed. "Hold out the bottom of the skirt a little. Do you like it or not?"

"I don't look like Jamie."

"You mean your doll?"

"Uh huh."

"Jamie, mothers and daughters," I didn't know how else to put it, "don't always wear the same clothes. Sometimes they have matching outfits, for special times, like a birthday, but otherwise they wear different things. You didn't wear the same clothes your father wore and you wouldn't wear the same clothes that I wear, if you were my daughter."

I have no idea why I made that comparison.

He thought about it for a minute, then turned back and admired himself in the mirror, holding out the hem of the dress again, the way I had showed him. He nodded his head and looked up at me, which I took to mean his asking whether we were done.

"Go ahead, Jamie. You can play for a bit. Then I want to talk to you a little more, once you've had a chance to see how you feel about wearing a dress. Okay?"

When Jamie came downstairs, he left the doll on my bed and it was still there, after we finished putting him into his make-shift, I gave a little laugh at my pun, because that was what we had done, made him a shift dress. He went over, picked her up and, to my surprise, walked back to the mirror, cradling her in the crook of his arm, the way I had shown him, and modeling it for her, at least a boy's version of how a girl would preen in front of a mirror. He spent about five minutes turning this way and that, talking softly to the doll, holding her out to look at him and then went back to sit on the bed with her. I decided to give him his privacy and left. On the way out, I noticed that he had let his dress ride up and his underpants were showing. He would obviously need some instruction on skirt management, I thought to myself, which also got me to questioning whether I was serious about buying him a real dress. There was a lot more to being a girl than the clothes. Was I prepared to go that far with him? Then again, why even bother, if nobody was going to see him? Did he want to be a girl or just to look like his doll? Well, he was satisfied for now. I had time to give it some more thought.

TO BE CONTINUED

All Dolled Up - 2

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

All Dolled Up - Part II
By Missy Crystal

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

Jamie played with his doll for the rest of the afternoon. I wondered what was holding his interest for so long, since children usually had a short attention span. He had no experience with dolls and he lacked the accessories to create more elaborate make believe. Finally, my curiosity got the better of me and I decided to see what he was doing.

"Jamie, Honey, can I play too?" I asked.

He looked at me blankly.

"I used to have fun playing with my doll, Cricket. I wish I knew what happened to her. She's probably in a box in your grandmother's attic." I pretended to give it some thought and then suggested, "It was even more fun when my sister, your Aunt Karen, played with me. It's been a really long time, so could I play dolls with you?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You don't want me to play with you?"

He shrugged his shoulders again and held the doll tightly.

You don't have to share the doll, Honey. Let's just pretend we're at the grocery store. I can get some cans of food and little boxes of cereal and I think we have a cardboard box you could use for a shopping cart. We can use the kitchen table to checkout. I'll give you some coins from my pocketbook and I can be the cashier. How does that sound?"

Karen and I used to play store with our dolls. Sometimes we raided Mom's kitchen cabinets, sometimes we used our play food and sometimes we pretended it was a department store using our dolls' wardrobes. For some reason, probably the same one that made her such a good psychologist, she always ended up as the customer. I made that concession to Jamie, but it didn't make any difference. Since the more subtle approach wasn't working, I decided to be direct.

"Jamie," I asked as casually as I could, so as not to make him think I was concerned, "what do you do when you play with your doll?"

"I don't know," he answered noncommittally.

"Jamie, you must do something. Do you play a game with her?"

He shook his head.

"Do you talk to her?"

"Uh huh," he answered quietly.

"What do you talk about?

"I don't know."

"You talk to her, but you don't know what you say?"

"Nothing."

"Jamie, you can't talk about nothing," I insisted. "Do you talk about you? Do you talk about your friends? Do you talk about me?" I hesitated and then asked him, "Do you talk about your father? Please tell me."

I could see tears forming in the corners of his eyes and heard a quiet sob. Obviously, it was something very personal and he wasn't comfortable sharing it with me. Maybe I was right about the doll being an emotional outlet for him, a companion who he could trust not to give away his secrets. The reason I didn't want counseling was because I didn't want to explain my intimate feelings to a stranger, no matter how well meaning. Why shouldn't I give Jamie the same respect for his feelings? I got down on my knees and took him in my arms, the doll in between us.

"Jamie, Honey, Mommy's sorry. Please don't cry. If you want to talk to me, you can, but you don't have to," I apologized. "I, well, I just thought maybe it would be fun to have someone to play with, like when I was a little girl and played with my sister, but it's up to you. Really, Honey. I have lots of things to do. If you change your mind, you can come get me. Okay?"

I let go of him and stood up.

He clamed down and, as I left the room, he was back talking to the doll. I wondered if I bought him some different outfits for his doll, would he change how he played with her? Would he dress her or did clothes not matter to him, the way it did to girls. He had the comb and brush, but he didn't style her hair either. Then again, girls are used to fooling around with their hair and boys aren't, so that wasn't surprising. I sighed. In one sense, it really didn't matter. So long as it made him happy, that was good enough; but was that all there was to it?

That evening, we went through the usual routine. Jamie had the doll with him when he came down for dinner, but remembered to leave her on the stairs before he came to the table. After dinner, we went into the den to watch a video. We decided on Disney's Aladdin. He sat down on the sofa, while I put the tape into the VCR. When I came back, his dress, well I guess it had become that, was rumpled and he had his legs spread out.

"Jamie, Honey." I instinctively corrected him, "Girls don't sit like that." Or boys in dresses either, the thought came to me. "You need to tuck your dress under you and cross your legs at your knees or your ankles. Or you can sit Indian style and pull your dress down to cover your legs. It's not polite to let people see your panties." Oops, silly slip of the tongue. "I mean your underpants. Try it."

Jamie stood up and looked at me questioningly. He was still holding the doll.

"First, Sweetie, you need to put the doll down. You can pick her up in a minute."

He put the doll on the sofa.

"Okay, now take your hands and slide them underneath your bottom, then slide back on the cushions, like this."

I wasn't wearing a skirt, but I demonstrated the motion for him to copy.

"Good boy." Boy? "See, your dress is nice and smooth. Now you need to keep you legs together. Try pulling them up and crossing them under you. Is that comfortable?"

He was awkward, but at his age he was flexible enough to get in position.

"Now, cover your legs with the dress. Hmm, it is a bit short. Okay, then, tuck it down between your legs. Here, like this."

I adjusted the dress so that it was about as concealing as possible. If Jamie was a girl, she would have to wear leggings or shorts under it for modesty. Since he wasn't and he wasn't going out dressed like that, I don't know why I even bothered with the lesson in feminine deportment. When I indicated my approval, Jamie picked the doll back up and I pressed the play button on the remote. The video started and, as he watched the TV, I wondered whether he saw himself as Aladdin, the brash boy who saves the kingdom, or as Jasmine, the pretty girl who inspires Aladdin to overcome his past.

After the movie, we went upstairs to get Jamie ready for bed. I had him take off his dress and put on his regular pajamas. When it was time for the story, the doll was on the pillow between us. When I finished, I looked down at him and decided that there was no longer any reason to take the doll away for the night. It would also avoid any more of his nocturnal adventures to retrieve it.

"Jamie, I'm going to let you keep the doll with you. Do be careful with her. Sweet dreams."

He looked up at me with a smile and snuggled down under the covers, with his left arm resting on the doll."

I left, turned out the light and closed the door, leaving it ajar. I went to my bedroom and got undressed. As I was pulling on my old t-shirt, I thought back to when I would wear seductive nightgowns for Jim. Because he traveled so much, our time together was precious and I always wanted to look ultra-sexy for him. I had one black lace number that never stayed on me very long. I wore panties under it to keep him at bay for an additional thirty seconds, I reminded myself nostalgically. It was still early. I debated calling Karen and filling her in, but I knew she would discourage me from buying Jamie the dress until we had gone though counseling and I had already decided that I would not put either him or me through that. I picked up my book and read until I was tired, set the alarm for seven thirty and turned off the light.

The alarm went off and I got up. I peeked into Jamie's room to check on him. He was still asleep. He had rolled over, so that the doll was lying on the pillow next to his head. I went back to my room and used the time to wash up, do my hair, put on some makeup, since we would be going out later, and get dressed. I looked at my nails, which needed attention, and made a mental note to get a manicure. I didn't go to the beauty salon anymore, because I had no one to watch Jamie. If he was into dolls and dresses, maybe I could take him with me and he wouldn't be bored? No, what are you thinking, Virginia, I chided myself. Dolls and dresses or not, he is still a boy and you want him to get over it, not into it. Should I buy him the dress, then? I had already told him I would and it wouldn't be right to disappoint him. Besides, wearing my old tank top for a day is one thing, but he can't be serious about dressing like a girl. Why would he want to do that? Girl's clothes, at last the feminine ones, are complicated, with what they have to wear under them, and a nuisance. He's already seen how much trouble it is to sit in a dress. Wait until he has to manage a party dress with a stiff crinoline. He'll see how much better it is to be a boy.

On that note, I went down to get breakfast ready. On the way, I thought about the practical details of buying a boy a dress. What size did I wear when I was six? I had no idea, since my mother bought my clothes for me or I got Karen's hand-me-downs, which I would "grow into," as Mom assured me. I suppose I could call her and ask. That would be an interesting conversation. Why get her involved at all? Mom loves to gossip, so she would tell Karen, who would put two and two together and I would get an inquisitive call. Anyway, I had no idea if Jamie and I were the same size at that age. He is small, but how big was I? Misses dress sizes also vary between brands. Sometimes I wear a six and sometimes an eight. Girl's dresses probably were the same. Could I take him into the dressing room to try it on? Would they let a boy try on dresses? Probably not, if they knew. Do they have to know? He looked like a girl when I dressed him in my tank top. It was too skimpy even for a little girl to wear in public. She'd flash her panties, no matter how careful she was; but, with a little styling of his hair and some unisex clothes, like shorts, a plain top and sneakers, he could probably pass for my daughter.

I remembered that a couple of months ago I had mixed some of his white underwear in with the dark wash and they had come out tinted pink. I had been meaning to get some Clorox to try bleaching them, but hadn't gotten around to it. They should still be in the laundry room. I went in, rummaged around the odd clothing pile, socks that didn't match, but which I optimistically believed would have their mate turn up, and ripped t-shirts that would be good for cleaning rags, that kind of stuff, and found a pair of the underpants and a crew-necked short-sleeved t-shirt. They would do nicely to enhance the illusion of Jamie being a girl, while he tried on dresses. I brought them to the kitchen and put them aside, while I finished making breakfast.

About twenty minutes later, I heard him coming downstairs. As before, he had obediently left the doll on the stairs. I gave him his breakfast and sat down across the table from him.

"Did you sleep will, Sweetie?" I inquired, making small talk.

"Uh huh," he answered between spoonfuls of fruit loops.

"Jamie," I continued nonchalantly, "do you still want to me to buy you the dress?"

I was hoping he would say no after my coaching with the tank top, but he nodded his head.

"Okay, then. If you really want me to, I will. But Honey, you have to remember, it's our secret. You can't let anyone know that I bought you a dress. It's, well, boys don't wear dresses. I mean they can, you can, but well, people, most people, would think there was, umm, that you were, umm, that it was wrong." No, that wasn't what I wanted to say. "Not wrong, Jamie, but, umm, different. Different," I repeated. "Sometimes people are not very tolerant, umm, patient, you know, nice, when things aren't what they expect." How do you explain prejudice to a six year old? "Do you understand, Jamie?"

He gave me a puzzled look.

"Never mind, Honey. Don't worry about. Mommy will take care of it. Let's go get you dressed, so we can go to the mall."

I picked up the underwear and brought it with us. We went into his room and I had him take off his pajamas. I showed him the underpants and undershirt.

"Jamie, remember when you were looking at the dress in the store, I told you that pink was for girls?"

"Uh huh."

"Jamie, you really need to use words and not sounds," I corrected him. "Yes or no and the person's name, if you know it, or Mommy, if your talking to me. Please and thank you too. That is the way polite children speak to adults or their mother. Will you do that, please Jamie," I illustrated. "Now, I'll ask you again. Do you remember when you were looking at the dress and I told you that pink was for girls?

"Yes, Mommy," he complied.

"Thank you for listening, Sweetie. When we go shopping today, you have to pretend to be a girl, so that we can shop in the Girls Department. I need to have you try on the dress to make sure it fits and they won't let a boy do that. See," I said, holding up his underpants. "They're the same as a girl would wear." Well, except for having a fly, but he wouldn't know that girls pulled down their panties when they tinkled. "And your t-shirt is pink too."

I handed them to him. Except for the color, they were identical to what he was used to, so there was no difficulty in him putting them on. I went to his bureau and found a pair of red cotton shorts with white piping. Plain white sox and his old sneakers, which weren't as macho as the fancy Nike's I just bought completed his unisex outfit. I got my round styling brush and fluffed up his hair, pulling it forward to frame his face. I had a silly thought of using some perfume, but I didn't think a six year old should smell like Passion. Jim loved that scent on me, but bubble gum was probably what little girls wore. Or maybe a little nail polish to give him a more feminine appearance. Except that all I had was red, much too grown up. Besides, why get into that with him? The less feminine he felt, the more likely he would give up and go back to being a boy.

Once Jamie was ready, I got my pocketbook and we headed for the mall. I could see that he was excited. We parked and walked to the department store. When we reached the Girls Department, I took Jamie's hand. The pink party dress was on a manikin set on top of a circular rack of the same dresses, separated by size with dividers, 4, 5, 6 and 6X. Jamie wore a boys' size six. Boys' sizes corresponded to their age, if they were average in height and weight. I assumed girls' sizes were about the same, although there was only one way to find out. I took a size six and went up to the sales counter.

"Hello," the salesgirl greeted us.

She was a young woman, maybe in her mid-twenties, very pretty, with dark hair pulled back off her face with a gold clip on either side, dressed in a faded blue denim skirt with a summery pale yellow short-sleeved blouse, open at the neck to show off a gold chain.

"I'm Claire." Looking at the dress I was holding and then down at Jamie, she smiled and asked, "Would you like to try it on and see how pretty you look in it?" accepting him as a little girl, to my relief. Here," she offered, handing me a plastic card with a large number one on it. "The dressing rooms are over there," she directed us.

I took the dress and held Jamie's hand as we walked to the dressing room. If Claire did suspect anything, she was considerate enough not to embarrass us. I wondered if she ever had a boy try on a dress, as a boy. Well, no reason to start now. We got to the doorway that led to the dressing rooms, which had a louvered swinging door for privacy, but underneath which you could see the legs of the people inside. At least you could have, if there was anyone else using them, but we were alone. I took Jamie into the last one on the right. Inside, I hung the dress on a hook. There was a large floor length mirror on the left partition, as you went in.

"Jamie, let's take off your shorts and sneakers. You can keep your underpants and t-shirt on."

He reached down and undid the Velcro tabs on his sneakers and stepped out of them. I helped him pull down and step out of his shorts. Okay, the moment of truth. Truth or dare, I joked nervously to myself. Okay, Ginny, I dare you to put a dress on your son. I pulled down the back zipper and held it over Jamie's head.

"Arms up, Honey."

He raised his arms. The skirt was flared out by a built in nylon net crinoline, so it slipped over his head easily I settled the shoulders on him, pulling up the zipper to secure it in place. There it was, then. He was wearing the dress. I fussed with the bodice, tied the sash in a big bow in back and fluffed out the skirt, the way I would have done if Jamie really was a girl. I was standing behind him and could see him looking at himself in the mirror.

"Jamie," I asked, trying to avoid using any words that would give away that he was a boy, just in case anyone might overhear me, "do you like the dress? Do you like the way it feels on you? You, you look pretty," I complimented him. I made the commitment and it seemed wrong to spoil the moment by being negative. "If you don't like it, we can find something else," I offered.

To my surprise, he put his hands on the skirt and swung back and forth, similar to how he modeled the tank top for his doll. A girl would have spun around and looked over her shoulder to see how she looked from the back, but Jamie was content with seeing how he looked in the dress from the front.

"Jamie?" I repeated.

"I like it, Mommy," he finally responded. "Can I have it? Please," he added.

"Yes, I said I would buy it for you." I bent down and said softly, "but remember, Jamie, it is our special secret. You can't tell anybody that Mommy bought you a dress and you can't tell anybody about wearing the dress, either. Okay?"

"Okay, Mommy."

"Honey, you need to take off the dress and put your shorts and sneakers back on." I untied the sash. "Now, lift up your arms and hold still, while I undo the hook and the zipper. There."

If he were doing it himself and could manage the back zipper, no easy feat, even for a girl who was used to wearing dresses, he would let it drop and step out of it; but, since I was taller, it was easer to lift the dress over his head. I put it back on the hanger while Jamie got himself dressed. I took the dress and went back to the sales counter, where Claire was waiting. I handed her the dress, which she laid on the counter.

"Well, you we're right, it does look pretty on her. We'll take it."

"I'm glad you like it. I wish you had come out and let me see. Pink is definitely her color with the red hair and green eyes. She's going to be a heartbreaker when she grows up. Is she in school?"

"She starts kindergarten in the fall."

"Oh, I'm sure the little boys will be in puppy love," she said with a smile. "You know, we have some really adorable outfits for her to wear to school. Would you like me to show you some?"

"No thank you, Claire, we're all set for now."

I opened my pocketbook and took my credit card out of my wallet.

"Oh, Mrs. McCarthy," she read my name off of the card, "I picked out a few things. I wasn't sure if you would want some nice undies to go with the dress."

Claire was obviously a very good salesperson. She held up a pair of white nylon panties with pink lace trim around the waistband and leg openings and two pink hearts appliquéd on the front and a matching camisole.

"These are so pretty," she enthused. "I just love them and they'll make her feel ever so feminine. These too."

Claire held up a package of white nylon tights. I glanced at Jamie, but he didn't seem interested. I wondered if the doll wore panties. Usually they had something on under their dress. Had he looked? Did he care? Should I get him the real girls' underwear, instead of what he was wearing? Nobody was going to know, so why bother? Why not? Maybe once he wore the dress, he would pay more attention to his doll's outfit and discover that she had girls' underwear. I could always return it, if he didn't want it, the dress too, I hoped. I tried to remember what the doll had on her legs. I doubted she had tights. That would be too difficult for a little girl to manage taking off and putting back on. She probably had socks.

"We'll take the panties. They are very pretty. Not the tights. Jamie has enough of those," I lied. "Perhaps a pair of anklets though? Do you have some dressy ones?"

"Yes, Mrs. McCarthy, I can find some for you, but they only come in cotton, with an eyelet ruffle. Will they do? Oh, we also have some white nylon knee socks," she grinned, "but a lot of the moms think they make their girls look too much like Alice in Wonderland, if you know what I mean. Like in the movie. Do you want the socks?"

"Yes, please."

Claire went over to a rack, conveniently next to the sales counter, and took down a package. Showing them to me for my approval, she asked, "Are these okay?"

"Yes, that will be fine thank, you."

Looking at what Claire had picked out, it struck me that she hadn't asked about sizes, which was really good, because I had no more idea about girls' underwear sizes then I did about dress sizes. I assumed that she must have enough experience to either figure it out from looking at Jamie or matched them to the dress size. At least that was one problem I didn't have to deal with. I heard her mention my name.

"Mrs. McCarthy?"

"Yes?"

"That will be $101.20, with tax, please. Shall I put it on your credit card?"

I hadn't been paying attention and realized that I was so absorbed with Jamie trying on the dress that I hadn't bothered to look at its price tag or the price tags on the other items either.

"Oh, may I see what you've rung up?"

It was a lot more expensive than I had thought, but then, hopefully, I would be returning most of it. Not the socks, once I opened the package, and I didn't know about their panty policy. Some stores, at least women's stores, wouldn't take women's undergarments back for sanitary reasons. Even more so, I thought to myself, if a boy had them on. I could just picture some little girl complaining, "Ewww, mommy, a boy wore these panties. They have cooties."

Claire showed me the register tape. The dress was $68.88 and the panties were $9.00. I didn't pay that much for my own underwear, well, unless I was trying to vamp Jim. Otherwise three to a package cotton panties at the discount store. The cammie was 12.00. The socks were a bargain at $6.50. I gave her my permission to charge everything and signed the slip."

"Would you like the dress on the hanger or in a bag?"

I didn't want to be seen carrying the dress through the mall, in case I ran into someone we knew. It just wasn't worth making up an explanation.

"In a bag please, but may I have the hanger too?"

All of Jamie's hangers were the wire kind that you got from the cleaners. The dress hanger was plastic with a foam covering and had a swivel hook.

"Yes, of course."

Claire folded the dress with tissue paper to keep it from getting wrinkled, slid it into a bag, did the same for the panties and cammie, put in the hanger and handed it to me with the sales receipt and my credit card.

"Thank you very much for shopping with us, Mrs. McCarthy. Please do come back. Ask for me, Claire. I work Tuesday through Saturday, nine to four. It's been a pleasure."

Bye Jamie, she waved.

"Say goodbye to the nice lady, Jamie."

"Goodbye," he repeated as we left the department.

That went well, I congratulated myself. Either Claire was fooled or she put on an academy award winning performance to make the sale. Then a thought crossed my mind. Did she try to sell underwear to every mother or was it because she knew that Jamie was a boy and wouldn't have it. Then again, if I was picking out a party dress for my son, why wouldn't she think that he must already have a wardrobe of girl's clothes at home? Not that what Claire thought mattered. I just wondered how convincing Jamie was at being a girl.

We started through the store towards the mall exit and I felt Jamie stop.

"What's wrong, Honey? Do you have to use the bathroom?"

"No, Mommy. What about the shoes?"

"What shoes, Jamie?"

Like Jamie wears," he explained.

Then it dawned on me, he had seen the Mary Janes in the Children's Shoe Department when we bought him the Nikes.

"You want girl's shoes too?" I said softly, looking around to make sure we were alone.

"Yes, like Jamie has."

I suppose in for a penny, in for a pound, as my Dad would say. As we started towards the Shoe Department, it struck me that the same salesperson who sold Jamie the Nikes as a boy might wait on us, which would be awkward. He sees lots of kid's feet, maybe he won't remember us. Then again, we've been so careful, why take a chance on the deception being discovered? I stopped.

"Jamie, there's another children's shoe store in the mall," which there was.

Even better, considering how much I had already spent and how little he was going to wear the dress, it was one of those self-service, discount stores. That would also avoid the problem that I didn't know what size Jamie wore in girls' shoes. He wore a size 1 boy's shoe, but did girls' shoes use the same size system? As I recalled, women's shoes were a size or two larger than the corresponding men's shoes, which always struck me as backwards. Wouldn't our vanity about having small feet mean that a man's size 9 should be a woman's size 7 or 8 and not a 10 or 11? So would Jamie wear a girls' 1, 2 or 3?

We left the department store and walked through the mall towards the shoe store, which was near the other end. On the way, we passed the ice cream stand. Since we weren't in any rush, I asked him if he would like to stop, which he did, of course. What normal kid would say no to ice cream? As usual, he wanted a vanilla cone with rainbow sprinkles, and I ordered the same small dish of maple walnut. When they came, I decided to let Jamie eat the cone like a boy, so I handed it to him to lick and took my cup. He hesitated and then asked me if he could have it in a cup too. Well, I tried. I asked for a cup and got a spoon and some napkins. When we finished, I picked up the bag and we continued on our way to the shoe store.

The store was set up with long aisles with tiered shelves of shoes in their boxes. Women's were up front on three aisles on the left and men's were on either side of one aisle to the right. At the back were four aisles of kid's shoes and sneakers in open boxes. We went by the displays, until we came to the girl's dress shoes. There was a good selection of Mary Jane styles. As I recalled what Jamie wanted was the black patent leathers. I searched the shelves until I found a pair and took down two boxes, a size 1 and size 2. I had him sit on one of the stools scattered throughout the aisles, undid the Velcro fasteners on his sneakers and slipped on the smaller pair. They were, narrower, which wasn't surprising, since girls' feet ran narrow than boys', and were tight, but then his casual socks were thicker than the anklets. I took off the 1's and tried on the 2's, which fit much better.

"Jamie, Honey, try walking in those. How do they feel?"

He took a few steps up the aisle and back?

"Well?"

"They're okay, mommy. Can we buy them?"

"Jamie, are you sure you want shoes to go with the dress. You can just wear your socks around the house. You could take the doll's shoes and socks off too and both go barefoot," I suggested.

"No," he said and shook his head. "Please?"

"Very well, Sweetie."

I took off the shoes and had him put his sneakers back on while I packed the Mary Janes back in their box, covered it with the lid that was underneath it, took the bag and carried the box to the sales counter. The shoes were a bargain at $14.99. The salesgirl put the box in a plastic bag and I handed it to Jamie to carry, since nobody could tell what was in it. We headed back towards the other end of the mall where I had parked.

As we were just about at the exit, I saw an accessory store with a display of headbands in the window. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I reminded myself to kill my father for putting that stupid expression in my head. Just kidding, I loved him.

"Jamie, would you like a headband like your doll's?"

The idea hadn't occurred to him, but, having been asked, he nodded enthusiastically. We went into the shop. The front had racks and cases of costume jewelry, rings, bracelets, necklaces and every style of earring imaginable. Luckily, I thought to myself, the doll didn't come with pierced ears. The hair items were in the back, a whole wall, from floor to ceiling, of ribbons, barrettes, clips, pony elastics, scrunchies and adornments. At one side, there was a stand with headbands of every material and assorted sizes for infants to adults. I looked through them while Jamie waited patiently and found a small pink plastic one with little flowers that looked similar to what I remembered came with his doll. I took it down and showed it to him.

He smiled. Just to check it was the right size, I slipped it over his head and fitted it behind his ears, pulling back his hair. It stayed in place. I took it off and we took it to the front of the store. At $1.49, it was another bargain. I put the little bag in with the shoes and we went to the car.

It was mid afternoon when we arrived home. I parked the car in the garage and we went into the kitchen. I put the bags down on the table. Jamie looked at me expectantly, obviously anxious to try on his dress.

"Jamie, Honey, please go upstairs and get undressed. Keep on our underwear. Come into my room when you're ready and you can try on your outfit."

He hurried out. I brought the bags upstairs, emptied them and arranged the dress, panties, camisole, socks and shoes on my bed. As I was finishing, Jamie came in. Before we left, I had put the doll back in my room. He went over and picked her up.

"Are you sure, Honey, that you want to wear a dress? You know, they're a nuisance. You saw how much trouble it was to sit in one yesterday and a party dress is even more difficult."

"Yes, please?"

"Yes, you don't want to put on the dress or yes, you do want to wear it," I asked to be doubly sure.

"Wear it," he confirmed.

"Okay. Do you want to keep on the underwear you have on?"

"Does Jamie have pink underpants?"

"You mean Jamie, the doll?"

"Yes."

"I don't know, Honey, I'd have to look. If you give her to me, I'll check."

He handed me the doll. I turned her upside down, exposing what she had under her dress. They were white with gathers at the leg openings and waist that made ruffles. She had nothing on top. I showed Jamie.

"I want what she's wearing, mommy."

"The white underpants?"

"Uh huh?"

"Excuse me."

"Yes, Mommy. Please."

"What about the top, Sweetie. Your doll doesn't have one, but you might be more comfortable with something underneath."

He shrugged, which I took to mean it was up to me.

"Take off your underwear," I directed him.

He pulled the t-shirt over his head and pulled down his underpants, stepping out of them.

I held out the panties and he stepped into them, pulling the smooth material up his legs and settling them around his hips, since they were hip-huggers. Actually, they looked cute on him, with only a tiny bulge at the crotch to give away his secret.

"Arms up."

I slipped the camisole over his head. It had wide straps with the same pink lace edging as the panties and the same heart appliqués.

"Do you like the way your new undies feel, Honey? You can take them off and put on your other underwear, if you don't like them."

He shook his head.

"Words, Jamie, please."

"No, Mommy, I like them. They feel nice."

Oh well, I tried to discourage him. I slipped the socks on next and turned down the cuffs. Finally, it was time for the dress.

"Arms up again, please."

I unzipped the back and slipped the skirt over Jamie's head, then let it settle on his shoulders and did up the zipper. I adjusted the top, tied the sash and reached under the skirt to flare out the crinoline. Last came the shoes, which I had him slip on and buckled. Now the outfit was complete. Oops, no I forgot the headband. I used my brush to give his hair some fullness and slipped it on. Looking at him, I couldn't get over it. He was a real doll. Except for the fact that he was awkward in the way he moved, girls become accustomed to wearing dresses from the time they're old enough to walk, he could easily be my daughter. Not that I wanted a daughter. I was happy with a son. He was happy dressed like his doll.

"Jamie, are you really sure you want to do this? You know, you don't have to wear the dress to play with your doll."

Then he said something that worried me.

"No, I'm Jamie's mommy."

I thought back to the day in the toy store when I was trying to talk him out of the doll. I told him that girls play with dolls to practice for when they grow up to be mommies. He asked me if he would be a mommy, if he played with the doll, and I told him no, he would grow up to be a daddy. Then at the department store, I explained to him that only girls wore dresses. Did he put the two together and believe that wearing a dress would turn him into a girl and make him a mommy? Standing in front of me, wearing a dress and holding a doll, now did not seem like the right time for me to disappoint him with the reality that he was a boy and could never be a mother.

"Look in the mirror," I directed him. "Are you really sure you want to wear the dress," I asked, offering him a final chance to change his mind.

He swung to and fro, with the skirt swirling out, holding the doll so to face the mirror, so that she could see he was dressed like her, and shook his head.

"Okay," I agreed reluctantly, "you can play. Please stay in my room," I cautioned him. I don't want you to get your dress dirty. It can't be washed." It also meant that he would be restricted to playing just with his doll, which might be less fun, unless he figured out that he could bring toys from his room into my room. Then again, he didn't seem to be into the elaborate make-believe girls played. "And please sit carefully, so you don't get it wrinkled," so it won't look like it was worn, in case you get tired of wearing it, and I can return it, I encouraged myself. "I'm going downstairs for a little while. I'll call you when dinner's ready. Oh, and Jamie, Honey, you'll have to change back into your own clothes to eat. You wouldn't want to spill anything on your dress and spoil it. Have fun, Sweetie."

I cleaned up the tissue paper from the bed, putting it into the bag to save, in case I took the dress back, covered the shoe box, put it and the shoe store bag into the large department store bag and took them downstairs to put in the hall closet with the doll's box. Closing the closet door, I picked up the mail from the floor and went into the kitchen. I made myself a cup of tea and went through the mail, a few circulars and a couple of bills. Since I had time before starting dinner, spaghetti and jarred meat sauce didn't take very long to prepare, I took my checkbook out of the drawer and paid the bills.

After I finished my tea and bookkeeping, I was curious to see what Jamie was doing, so I went upstairs quietly and stood outside the doorway. He was sitting on my bed, I noticed that he had pulled down his dress, so it covered his knees, like I had showed him, and he was again talking to the doll. I strained to listen to his conversation without revealing that I was eavesdropping.

"Mommy," "Jamie," "pretty," "good," "girl," "play" and "sister," were the words I overheard. Sister? Where did that word come from? Jamie didn't have a sister. We never talked about a sister. Maybe he knew that Karen's daughters were sisters, but, if he was pretending to be the mother, then the doll would be his daughter, not his sister. Did the doll have an imaginary sibling or was he talking about someone else in that role? Me? Technically, I would be the doll's grandmother, although he was too young to understand family relationships. Karen was his aunt and she was my sister. Maybe he was confusing the two. Maybe I should mind my own business and then I wouldn't be puzzled, but I was his mother and had a right to know what he was doing. I turned and went back downstairs to start dinner.

At four thirty, I decided Jamie had been in his dress long enough. I went back upstairs and into my bedroom. He had moved from the bed and was sitting on the floor in front of the mirror. The doll was sitting in his lap and he was still having a conversation with her.

"Jamie, Honey, it's time to change for dinner. Let's get you undressed and put on your regular clothes. Actually, you might as well get into your pajamas. Put the doll down and come over here, please."

I helped him out of the dress and put it on the hanger it came on. As he watched, I made some space in my closet and put it away, closing the door.

"It will be there tomorrow," I assured him. "I want to keep your panties, I mean underpants, and top in my room too, so they will stay nice."

I helped him off with the cammie and waited for him to slip off the underpants and step out of them. I folded them neatly on top of my bureau.

"They'll by here for you tomorrow, too. Now, scoot in your room and put on your regular underpants and PJ's." I waved my hand to dismiss him and he went out slowly, looking back over his shoulder."

"Jamie, enough with the doll and the dress for today, Honey," I chided him. "Really, they're not going anywhere, I promise." Not that I didn't hope they would eventually go somewhere, back to the store. "Come downstairs when you've changed."

I followed Jamie out of my room and went downstairs to finish getting dinner ready. He came down dressed for bed, as usual. I was hoping he had enough of the doll for one day, but I saw it sitting on the stairs. During dinner, I casually asked him how he liked the dress. Okay, he told me, uninformatively. Did he want to keep it? Yes.

We ate quietly. There isn't a lot of conversation that you can have with a six year old boy, particularly if he spends most of the day dressed in girl's clothes and playing with a doll. When he was done, he looked at me and I told him he was excused.

Jamie got up and started to leave, then hesitated and turned to me.

"Mommy, can I put on the dress please?"

I was relieved to hear him say "the dress," rather than "my dress," which made it sound to me like he considered it more of a costume and not his wardrobe. Then again, children are not very precise in their language, so perhaps it was just wishful thinking. Either way, I had enough of dressing him up.

"No, Jamie, you cannot wear the dress again today. You're a boy, not a girl, and boys don't wear dresses. I should never have bought it for you," I said angrily. Now go watch TV or play with your toys."

I watched Jamie's face as it turned from an expectant smile to sadness. His lip began to quiver, then shudders, sobs and tears began to stream down his face.

Virginia, what in the world have you just done? That is twice in the same day you have made your son cry. You are an awful mother, I admonished myself. Children need consistency more than anything. You told him no, then yes, now no. If it is no, then it has to be final. Take the dress away, return it, and the shoes, get rid of the underwear, and be done with it. It won't be the last time that you change your mind or that you tell him he can't have something he wants. That's what being a parent is about, keeping your child from doing things that are harmful. Was it harmful? If it was, could the harm be undone by taking it away? Whatever you decide, I warned myself, you will have to live with it. So will Jamie. I made up my mind.

I went over and hugged him tightly as big sobs continued to wrack his body.

"Jamie, I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. Sometimes, sometimes Jamie, grown-ups, mommies, say things they don't mean. We, we don't think before we speak and when we do that we hurt people's feelings. We, we, don't mean to, we just, well, we just make mistakes. I, I, made a mistake when I got angry with you, Sweetie. I bought you the dress and it's yours to wear whenever you want to when we're alone in the house. Okay, Honey? Please forgive me. I did a mean thing and I apologize. I'll tell you what. Let's dry your tears and then I'll help you put on your dress and you can play until bedtime. You can even play in your own room with your doll, if you want to, or watch TV. You know what Jamie? We can keep the dress and doll in your room too," I offered to show my unconditional approval, "so you can have them whenever you want. Okay, Honey? Please forgive, mommy. I love you Jamie. I love you so very, very much."

I could feel Jamie relax and when the sobs subsided, I released him.

"Let me clean you up a little, please," I requested, going over to the sink and wetting a paper towel. "We don't want tears on your dress," conceding that it was his dress.

I cleaned his face, wiping off the tears, and dried it with the dish towel.

"Okay, lets go get you dressed," I offered, taking his hand.

We walked to the stairs and I released his hand, so he could pick up his doll. We continued upstairs to my room, where I took the dress out of my closet, retrieved the shoes and underwear and went through the routine of dressing him up.

"There," I said, standing back and pretending to admire him, like I would if he really was my daughter. "You look pretty Jamie, just like your doll. Why don't you go and play for an hour or so, while I clean up the kitchen. Then we can watch a video. Okay?"

"Uh huh."

"Jamie, words please," I reminded him, "the way polite boys talk. Girls too, I added," so I wouldn't hurt his feelings again, if that was how he thought about himself when he was wearing the dress.

"Yes, Mommy."

I went back to the kitchen, cleared the dishes, glasses and silverware off of the table, rinsed them and put them in the dishwasher. Once the table and counter were wiped down, I put detergent in the dishwasher's cup and started it. As it began to fill, I finally had time to think about what I had just done. Jamie was happy, I told myself and that's what's important, wasn't it? My debate was interrupted by the telephone.

"Hi, Ginny."

It was Karen.

"Hi, Karen, how are you?"

"Fine thanks Sis, but I was hoping to hear from you. How'd it go with Jamie?"

I paused.

"Ginny?"

"I'm here Karen. You were wrong."

"Okay, I was wrong," she conceded. "But, if I'm going to take the blame, would you at least tell me what happened, so I won't make the same mistake again."

I paused.

"Ginny?"

"Jamie's gay," I revealed.

"Ginny, what in the world are you talking about. Jamie's not gay," she insisted.

"What would you call a boy who wears a dress?" I challenged her.

"Well, if it was Halloween, I'd say he was a boy in a costume. If it was Elizabethan England and he was playing Juliette, I would say he was a Shakespearian actor. Since it is neither of those, I would have to say that he was just what you described, a boy in a dress, without any additional information."

"Karen, this is not the time to be witty," I chastised her. "This is serious."

"I am being serious, Ginny. Jamie's not gay, unless you caught him snogging the little boy next door."

"Snogging? Is that a psychological term?"

"Sorry, no. It's an English term from a popular children's book. It means kissing. What you and I would call making out in our day."

"Karen, that is disgusting. Jamie is only six years old. He is too young for such behavior. How could you even suggest it?"

"I suggested it," she answered calmly, "because you just refuted your own contention. Being gay refers to a male's preference for a same-sex partner. Six year old boys have not become sexually active, so it is impossible for them to have a preference in partners. They can't be gay by definition. Occasionally, Ginny," Karen lectured me, "we see a boy acting inappropriately towards other boys, which is a sign that he is a victim of sexual abuse, not gay. I only tell you this to emphasize that sexual orientation does not manifest itself in prepubescent children."

"I'm sorry, Karen, for being so upset with you. I appreciate your assurance, but it still doesn't explain why Jamie wants to dress up in girl's clothes and play with a doll."

"Hold on, Ginny. I know where Jamie got the doll. We went over that the last time we spoke. But where did he get girl's clothes? He doesn't have a sister, so has hasn't been raiding her closet, and he certainly wouldn't fit into your clothes. By deductive reasoning, that means that you bought them for him. Why?

"I don't know, Karen. I honestly don't know. One thing led to another and I guess I listened to my heart instead of my head. I made a mistake and now I don't know what to do about it."

"Ginny, hearts are not always wrong. Sometimes the smart thing is not the right thing. I can't tell without knowing what has been going on. Do you want to explain? You don't have to, Sis, but I'm here, if you need me."

"Of course, I want your advice, Karen, but I thought you couldn't counsel a family member?"

"It's not a law Ginny. It’s an ethical and practical restriction to protect the patient's privacy and the therapist's integrity. Besides, I'm not offering counseling, I'm offering guidance. There's a big difference between active and passive involvement."

"Oh, well, then, what do you need to know."

"Everything, Ginny. The more details, the better. Just start at the beginning and tell me what happened. Don't leave anything out, even if you think it isn't important, because sometimes it is just that type of seemingly trivial information that helps to provide perspective. Go ahead."

"There isn't that much to tell, really. The day after I spoke to you, I took Jamie back to the mall to buy him some new clothes for back to school. Actually, Karen, you put the idea in my head. The way the store is laid out, to get to the boys' clothes you have to go through the Girls Department and, on the way, Jamie stopped and admired a party dress. It looked like the one the doll was wearing and he asked me to buy it for him."

"Why didn't you tell him no, Ginny?" Karen asked.

"I did," I answered her.

"Then how did he end up with it?"

"I, well, I thought about it and decided that I should let him try it and get it out of his system. You and I wear dresses. Mostly they're a nuisance. I expected him to realize that and go back to wearing his comfortable boy's clothes."

"Ginny, your rationalizing. As grown women, dresses no longer hold the fascination for us they did when we were younger, but we both loved to wear our party dresses, because they made us feel special. Even more so with Jamie, because the dress makes him look like his doll, to which he appears to be very attached."

"I know, Karen," I admitted. "I just couldn't say no to him, he's been through so much."

"If he was going through the Sporting Goods Department and asked you to buy him a hunting knife, would you do it?"

"No, of course not. Knives are dangerous."

"So are boys in dresses apparently, or you wouldn't be worried."

I sighed.

"Karen, I know I made a mistake, but it all started with the doll and you said it was harmless."

"Ginny, the doll is harmless. You were hoping Jamie would give it up, which he might have done, if you hadn't reinforced his behavior by buying him a matching dress."

She paused.

"Ginny? Did you buy him just the dress?"

"No," I admitted, "he saw matching Mary Janes when I took him into the Shoe Department to buy new sneakers. Boy's sneakers," I added defensively.

"And you bought girl's shoes for him too?"

"Yes."

"Anything else?"

"When I was buying the dress, the salesgirl picked out some underwear to go with it. Honestly, I didn't ask her to, Karen. She was just doing her job. I wasn't sure if he would wear it. He seemed interested in just the dress, but I bought it just in case."

"Just in case of what?"

"Just in case he checked and the doll had on girl's underwear?"

"As a matter of academic interest, did it?"

"Yes."

"So he wears panties with his dress. Cotton or nylon?"

"Nylon, and a matching camisole and ankle socks too, since you said details were important. Oh, and a headband."

"A headband? You bought that for him too?"

"The doll has one," I explained.

"So Jamie and the doll are twins, right down to their panties and accessories?"

"Yes."

"How often does he wear the dress?"

"As often as I let him."

"How often do you let him?"

"Whenever he asks."

"How often does he ask?"

"Whenever he is home, except when he goes to bed, obviously. Then he wears his usual underpants and pajamas."

"I see. Have you taken him out in the dress?"

"No, I made it clear that he could only wear it in the house and that he could not tell anyone about it or they would tease him."

"Secrecy and guilt are not solutions, Ginny."

"I know. It was the best I could do."

"The best you could do as a parent was to say no, if you thought it was harmful or inappropriate. That's what parenting is about, setting limits, even if it makes you unpopular with your child."

"You’re the one who said it was okay to buy him the doll. If it wasn't for the doll, none of this would have happened."

"So, we're back to blaming me. Okay, Ginny, it's all my fault, if you want me to take responsibility. But remember, I didn't tell you to buy the doll for Jamie." She emphasized 'buy.' "You had already bought it for him when you called me. All I did was reassure you that his playing with a doll would not be harmful by itself. It isn't. Dressing Jamie as a girl was your decision."

"I'm sorry, Sis," I apologized. "I know you're right. One thing has nothing to do with the other. Have I really messed Jamie up, Karen? What should I do? If you tell me to take away the doll and the dress, I will."

"Ginny, don't do anything for the time being. Taking something important away without an explanation will only make the situation worse. Let me check around and find you a therapist. You need someone who can work with both of you to transition Jamie into or out of whatever is making him want to play with a doll and dress like it."

"Into, Karen?"

"This is not my area of practice, Ginny. I've read some literature about being transgendered, but I don't have either the clinical training or experience to make a diagnosis, even if I wanted to, which I don't.

"Karen, what does that mean?"

"Ginny, the human mind, particularly a child's developing mind, is incredibly complex. We exhibit behaviors which have multiple causes, often illogical and sometimes incapable of rational explanation, which we call mental illness. I am not suggesting or implying that Jamie has a psychiatric problem. To the contrary, there are many reasons he might be behaving the way he is. Children don't understand death. Even adults have a hard time with it, but to a child all they know is that someone who they loved has gone away. That makes them very attached to the remaining parent. They will do anything to please them, so that they won't go away too. Like I said, children do not always think logically and Jamie may have gotten the impression that by being like you, you will like him better. It could be as simple as that misperception. Or, according to what I have read, even at an early age, children can be confused about their gender. They see themselves as the opposite sex and want to behave accordingly. That's what it means to be transgendered, literally from one sex to the other. What is causing Jamie's behavior is something a qualified therapist needs to diagnose and counsel you accordingly.

"Oh, do you think Jamie wants to be a girl?"

"I don't know, Ginny. I doubt he knows. It takes professional training and a great deal of counseling to know. Be patient. I will get you some names. What you do after that is up to you. Please don't take this the wrong way, but I don't need to know and I don't want to know. I'm already overly involved in this, but I couldn't let you deal with it on your own."

"Thanks, Karen," I said gratefully.

"You don't have to thank me. That's what big sisters are for, Ginny."

"Thank you for being my big sister, then."

I laughed.

"Thank Mom and Dad for that, not me. I had no say in the matter," she joked.

"I love you, Karen."

"I love you, Ginny."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone and cried. I'm not sure if it was from relief or remorse. From what Karen had said about our behavior, probably both.

TO BE CONTINUED

All Dolled Up - 3

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part III

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

After I regained my composure, I looked at the clock. My talk with Karen had taken over half an hour. I wondered what Jamie was doing, so I went upstairs and quietly looked in my room. He wasn't there. I had changed my mind and given him permission to play in his room, so I went to the doorway. There he was, in his dress, holding his doll and talking to her. He had his back to me. As I watched, he pointed to different toys. If I had to guess, he was telling her about them, the way a mother might tell her child about her own treasured possessions. It was really sweet or it would have been if he was a girl. I turned and went back downstairs, so he wouldn't know I had been watching him.

"Jamie, Sweetie," I called up to him. "I've finished cleaning up. Do you want to come down and watch a video with me?"

He appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying the doll. As he started down, his unfamiliarity with managing a skirt with a full crinoline was apparent as it bobbed up and down providing little glimpses of his panties from the bottom of the steps. A girl would have known about the potential for embarrassment and used her free hand to hold the skirt down. Not that it mattered. We went into the den and I turned on the TV.

"Which video, Honey?"

He chose Cinderella. I found the video and slipped it into the VCR. Towards the end, when she changes from a raggedy servant girl to a glamorous princess, I watched him and wondered if he identified with her because her fairy godmother dresses her up in a beautiful gown? Or was I reading too much into it? Not that that mattered either. Hopefully, Karen would get me the name of someone who could sort it out. When the video was over, we went upstairs and I got him ready for bed. As I had promised him, he slept with the doll and I kept the dress and everything else in his room.

Even though I had approved of his wearing the dress, I decided I would still try to distract him, so I found as many excuses as possible for us to be out of the house. I did a lot of grocery shopping and took him along with me, because he couldn't stay home alone. We went to the park. I took him to a cartoon movie. I took him out for lunch to a kiddy restaurant, where he could swim in a pool of plastic balls, climb through a play structure, and ride on a carrousel. Twenty dollars worth of tokens later, we were both exhausted. I thought about trying to make a play date for him with one of the other boys in the neighborhood, but it was too risky. He might naively mention something about his doll or wearing a dress, even though I had cautioned him not to and he had promised he wouldn't. Six year olds aren't that reliable when it comes to keeping secrets.

I kept waiting to hear from Karen but it wasn't until the morning of the third day that she called me back. It was about ten o'clock when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Ginny, hi. Sorry to take so long, but I wanted to be sure that I found you the right person, so I had to do some checking. There was only one name that was consistently recommended, Dr. Jenny Mitchell. She's a psychiatrist. I read some of the work she's published, Ginny. It's very impressive. She's recognized as an authority on gender disorders and better yet, she practices at City Hospital.

"I appreciate your efforts, Karen, but really, I don't see why Jamie needs to see a psychiatrist, especially since you weren't sure if he is," it took me a few seconds to recall the unfamiliar word, "transgendered," I protested.

"Ginny, psychiatrists treat all forms of emotional and behavioral problems. Think about it. If Jamie is not transgendered, then who better to say so than someone who is an authority on the subject?" Karen paused and then added, "And who better to help you with him, if he is? I don't know the answers, Ginny. If anybody does, it's Dr. Mitchell. If you'd like, I can call her and make an introduction. Sometimes specialists like her have a full practice or at least a very long waiting list for an appointment. I'd be happy to see what I can do."

"I'm not sure if I want to see her, Karen. There's too much, well, I just, I, I don't want to tell my life story to a stranger, no matter how qualified she is. I can't and, Karen, Karen, I'm, I'm, terrified. What if she doesn't approve of what I've done? What if, oh my God, what if she reports me and they take Jamie away. What if they take Jamie away from me? I'd die, Karen. No, I can't, I won't. I'm sorry, I can't take the chance."

By now I had worked myself into hysteria. What had I done? I was frantic.

"Ginny, Ginny, please, please, Sis, get hold of yourself. You haven't done anything wrong and nobody is going to take Jamie away from you. I promise you. Calm down. Take a deep breath. Take another. And another. Now, listen to me. Whatever is going on with Jamie is of his own doing, not yours. You didn't force him to play with a doll or wear a dress, they were his own choices. Placating a child is not abuse. Put that thought out of your head." Karen went on calmly, "Ginny, the biggest, the biggest mistake you can make is ignoring the problem, because the longer you wait, the more difficult it will be to deal with it. I'm already more involved in this than I should be, but there is no way to avoid it. You and Jamie need counseling.

"All right, Karen, you win, as usual," I conceded reluctantly. "Go ahead and talk to Dr. Mitchell. I'll wait to hear from you, but I'm not promising anything. I need to think about it."

"Ginny, this isn't a game that someone wins," Karen admonished me. "This is Jamie's life and the sooner you get over your self-doubt and start dealing with his behavior, the better for both of you. I will make the call, but I am not going to intervene, Ginny. If you procrastinate, it is likely you won't get to see her. Please give it serious consideration," she appealed

"I know, Karen, and I will. I promise."

"I love you, Ginny."

"I love you too, Karen."

"I'll talk to you soon."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye."

My hand was shaking as I hung up the phone. I wanted only good things for Jamie and instead I had managed to make things worse. What would I say to him about seeing a psychiatrist? Why didn't I just tell him no when he wanted the doll. Karen was right. It's not his fault or my fault or her fault. It's Jim's fault. If he hadn't died, then this wouldn't have happen. Like she had said, I never would have let him have a doll, if his father were around. Damn him. How could he do this to us? I started to cry uncontrollable. Then I looked up and saw Jamie watching me. I pulled myself together and dabbed my eyes with a dishtowel.

"Nothing like a good cry to make a mother feel better," I told him, trying to sound convincing. "Do you want to do something? How about if we go to the toy store?"

Damn, why did I say that? It's the last place I want to go with him, to get more doll stuff, if that's what he picks out. Damn the toy store and damn the stupid gift certificate. That's where this all started. Ginny, you're losing it, I warned myself. No, wait. That's it!

Children are always giving up one toy for another one. What was that story that always made you cry when you were growing up? Something about a rabbit that becomes real. What was it called? Oh, The Velveteen Rabbit. The little boy used to love the rabbit, then he got a new toy and it ended up in the dustbin. That name always sounded funny to you. The trash basket we call it. Yes, a new toy for Jamie and off to the dustbin with the stupid doll. But what? Think. A car! Boys love to pretend they are driving a car. One that he can actually ride in. A Jeep. He can ride it around the backyard. He can't wear the dress outside and the doll can't leave the house, that's the rule. Brilliant, Ginny. You don't need to waste your time with psychiatrists. Okay, let's get going.

"Jamie, Honey, let me get you dressed in your own clothes. We can pick out a new toy for you. Come on, let's get going."

Twenty minutes later I had Jamie ready. We got in the car and drove to the toy store. Once we were inside, I made sure to keep him away from the girls section.

"Over here, Jamie," I guided him, "as we went past the rows of trikes and bikes and came to the ride on cars. Luckily, he was small for his age, so he would still fit in one. "How about this one, Jamie. See, it's a Jeep. You can ride it in the backyard. Get in and try it."

He looked at me and shook his head.

"What about this one, Jamie. It's a fire engine with ladders and everything. You can play fireman. No? What about the dump truck. You can carry stuff in it and dump it out, just like a real dump truck. Do you want to try it? No? Well Jamie, I want to buy one of these for you. Which one?"

He continued down the line of play vehicles until the very last one. I followed him.

"This one, Mommy," he pointed.

No, no, no, damn it. It wasn't possible. It was a bright pink convertible. A Barbie car. He didn't know anything about Barbies, but he picked the only one of the ride on toys that was for girls. How could this happen? You had it planned so carefully. Now what, Ginny? You told him you would buy him one. He's all excited. Lie to him. Tell him that one is too expensive or out of stock or not for sale, whatever, so you don't have to buy it for him. Don't you dare, I debated with myself. That is dishonest and cowardly. I sighed. How could my plan have gone so wrong?

Well, maybe it wasn't that bad, I consoled myself. Yes, it was a pink Barbie car for girls, but he still had to use it outside and that means he has to wear his boy's clothes and leave the doll in the house. Out of sight out of mind. What would the neighbors say if they saw him? I could say we borrowed it from his cousin. Did I care? Not really. Okay, anything that replaces the doll is a good thing, pink or not.

"You're sure you want this one, Jamie. A fire engine or dump truck would be more fun to play with, wouldn't it?"

He shook his head.

"This one, Mommy, please," he asked politely.

"Okay, Honey, this one. You're sure?" I asked him one final time, hoping he would change his mind at the last minute.

He nodded and then caught my disapproving look. I was frowning because I really did not want to buy him the Barbie car. He took it as a reprimand for his manners.

"Yes Mommy, I'm sure," he corrected himself.

"Very well, then."

We took the inventory slip up to the checkout counter and I handed it to the clerk. She looked at it, then at me.

"You know that these cars can only operate on smooth surfaces?"

Excuse me?"

"People buy these thinking that their kinds can whiz around the backyard on them, then they bring them back saying they're defective. The Jeeps and some of the other ride-on toys have bigger tires and more powerful motors, so they can go over uneven ground and get traction on grass or dirt, but the cars can't."

"Then why do you sell them?" I argued.

"They're very popular. The kids love them, but it's an expensive item and we don't want it back," she said pleasantly. "The store wants us to warn people, so they're not disappointed. It's not good PR and we don't get stuck with an expensive used toy we can't resell on top of it. To be honest, Ma'am, the other consideration is that these cars can go pretty fast. Five miles per hour at top speed. Little kids aren't that careful and we also caution parents to supervise their children, if they let them ride them on the sidewalk or on a driveway that goes into a busy street. An injured child is not good PR either. I'm sorry. We do sell lots of them, but we'd rather be safe than sued."

"I see. Thank you. Jamie, would you like to pick out a different type of car that you can ride in the backyard?"

"No, I want this one."

"Jamie, I'm sorry," I said with relief, since now I had an excuse for which I did not have to take the blame. How about the Jeep or the dump truck instead?"

"Uh uh," he shook his head.

"Jamie!"

"No, Mommy, I want this one. Please," he added.

"You can't have this one," I insisted. "Either pick a different one or we can find another toy instead."

I had no idea what it would be. We already had most of the games for children his age. There was no use in buying him sporting goods. He wasn't interested in sports and the only ones I knew anything about were field hockey and figure skating. Not that I was any good at either. I stunk as an athlete. Of course, Karen was a cheerleader. What did that have to do with anything? Getting Jamie to play boys' sports was supposed to have been Jim's job. What did that leave? Some type of building toy? He never played with the big set of Legos my parents got him for Christmas. Or maybe one of those educational computer games that taught reading or math. He had never shown any interest in them either. Could I get him interested? Probably not. Brilliant, Ginny, I criticized myself. Just brilliant. Then Jamie solved the problem, although not the way I had planned.

"Mommy, can we buy Jamie a new dress?"

"Thank you for your advice," I told the woman. "We don't want the car."

I quickly took Jamie aside, so she wouldn't hear the conversation.

"You want a new dress?" I asked with dismay.

Things were going from bad to worse.

"No, Mommy, Jamie."

"Oh, Jamie your doll," I said with relief.

"Uh huh. Yes, please," he quickly added.

I thought about it. Maybe we could find some clothes that were more like boys' clothes. Pants and a top. That's the practical way girls dress most of the time. If I could get him away from the party dress and more towards unisex clothes, that would at least be a start. He asked for a dress, though. Could I get him to accept pants? Was his request based on his preference for dresses or on his misunderstanding that dresses were what made the difference between boys and girls? He had no understanding of anatomy or biology, only appearance; that girls somehow looked and acted differently than boys. Well, in for a penny in for a pound. I really would have to kill my father for putting that stupid expression in my head. It didn't even make sense.

"Okay, Jamie. We can look for something else for your doll to wear. But Jamie, Honey," I cautioned him, "if we do buy your doll a new outfit, that doesn't mean you get one too. Do you understand what I'm saying, Jamie? You and the doll can't always look alike."

"Yes, mommy."

"Yes, you understand that new clothes for the doll doesn't mean new girl's clothes for you?" I repeated to be doubly sure.

"Yes."

"Okay, let's see what we can find."

I took his hand and we went to the doll aisle. I found the shelf with similar dolls and checked their size, eighteen inches, just to be sure that we got clothes that would fit her. Then we went further down the aisle and found a whole boutique. The majority of the outfits were for Barbies and her playmates. Maybe I could get him interested in a Ken doll, I kidded myself. They went up in sizes and at the end were the clothes for the larger dolls, like his. I looked down and Jamie seemed to expect me to pick something out for him, so I did.

"How about this, Honey," I asked, handing him a pair of pink slacks and a matching pink peasant blouse top with a gathered scooped neck, gathered short sleeves and a flounce at the bottom. It was feminine and in his preferred pink, but closer to boys' clothes. "You have pants and pullover tops too, so you could still kind of match," I encouraged him. "See, we could get her sneakers too, like yours," so she could play with you. Party dresses are pretty, but they're not comfortable. Girls only wear them for a little while, then they change into their regular clothes, like these," I encouraged him.

He looked at the outfit. I am guessing that he liked the pink, but pants didn't correspond to his image of how girls dressed. I could see that he was hesitant. Finally, he shook his head.

"No, Mommy, a dress. Please."

Another plan gone wrong. Was there a divine conspiracy to turn my son into my girl? Did God take away my husband and give me a daughter in exchange? Ginny, stop it, I scolded myself. Take responsibility for your own choices. Karen was right, you don’t know what you're doing and every time you try to make it better you make it worse. She warned you not to do anything more, until you got professional help, but you wouldn't listen. You thought you knew better and you proved her point.

I continued to look through the dolls clothes to find something innocuous. There was a packaged set with a pair of red bib overalls, close enough to pink, I hoped, a white t-shirt with a flower blooming on the front, a floppy straw hat, a miniature watering can, small hand spade and a little packet of flower seeds. It was a really cute gardening outfit. I would have loved to play with it when I was Jamie's age. It was also expensive, $14.95, but price was no object, if I could convince him to get something less feminine and do something more masculine, like playing in dirt, even if it was gardening with a doll.

"Jamie, how about this?" I encouraged him. "Look, you and the doll can plant the seeds and watch them grow into pretty flowers. She'd like that," I suggested enthusiastically.

He studied the package for a while and then shook his head.

"No, a dress please. Jamie likes dresses."

Okay, Ginny, lets get this over with. I was curious if his idea of a dress was something fancy or it was just the idea of having a skirt, instead of legs. What about a skirt? He's never mentioned that. Does he know the difference? Does it make a difference? I decided to test him. Searching through the rack some more, I found a 50's pink felt poodle skirt, long and very full with an attached net crinoline under it, and showed it to him.

"How about this, it’s a skirt, put it's very pretty? See, there's even a poodle doggie on it. I had one just like it when I was a girl," I exaggerated. Actually, I borrowed it from one of Mom's friends for a Halloween costume. "We can get a pretty blouse to wear with it."

As before, Jamie studied it. I could see that he was conflicted. It was like a dress, but it wasn't a dress and he only knew about dresses, because that was what his doll had on when we bought her and that was what I bought for him.

"It's not a dress," he concluded.

"Not exactly, but it's like a dress. Actually, Jamie, girls wear skirts more than dresses. I did when I was a girl," trying to make it more personal. "So did you Aunt Karen. She loved to wear skirts and had a closet full of them," which was true and I had no choice as she outgrew them. Focus, Ginny. "They're more, umm," not practical, Ginny, he doesn't care about that, "umm, they're more fun to dress up in, because you can wear different tops with them, blouses and sweaters or pullovers. We can even buy a couple of different tops to go with it, so you can change the doll's outfit. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"It's not a dress," he repeated.

"No, it's not a dress," I agreed.

I went back to find something else. There was a powder blue A-line corduroy jumper. I showed it to him.

"This one is pretty."

"No, that one."

He pointed to a pastel pink dress with a white stitched smocked bodice and puffy sleeves. Actually, he had good taste or he would have, if he was a girl. Was he just picking randomly or was he prompted by some intuition that guided him? I suppose that is something that Dr. Mitchell might determine when we see her. If we see her. No, Ginny, when we see her. You've proven that you are totally incapable of dealing with this on your own. Well, that's settled, I agreed with myself. Now let's get this done. I took down the dress he pointed to.

"This one?"

"Yes, please."

Well, at least I had succeeded in improving his social skills. He'd be the politest little boy who ever wore a dress, I observed humorously.

I took his hand and we went to the front of the store. I was hoping that the clerk who talked me out of buying Jamie the car was not there. Buying him doll's clothes instead would not make a lot of sense to her. Luckily, there was a different clerk. I handed her the dress, which came on a little hanger, paid for it with me credit card, took the bag and left. Returning to the car, I buckled Jamie in. I put on the radio and we drove home without talking.

When we got into the kitchen, I removed the dress from the hanger, checked to see that it didn't have any pins and handed it to him.

"Jamie, do you know how to dress your doll? Do you want me to show you?"

Dresses were different to put on than pants and it was not a skill I expected him to have.

"I can do it."

"Are you sure?"

"Uh huh. Yes, Mommy."

He didn't want me involved. Well, that was his choice and I wouldn't force the issue.

"Okay, Honey," I agreed, handing him the dress. "Please be careful undoing the buttons on the back and with your doll's party dress. It has a zipper. Open it all the way, before you take it off of her and put it away neatly, so it doesn't get wrinkled," I instructed him. "If you need help, just ask me."

He scampered off and went upstairs. I made myself a cup of tea and picked up the mail.

About twenty minutes later, I went upstairs to see how Jamie was doing. He was in his room, on the floor, reading the doll a book. At least showing her the pictures and it sounded like he was making up a story or repeating what he remembered of it, because he could only recognize a few words. I noticed that he had gotten the doll dressed correctly and, at least from what I could see, that her party dress was placed neatly on the bed.

I turned and left him to his play. Then it dawned in me. Doh, Ginny. He was still wearing his boy's clothes! He hadn't asked you to dress him up as a girl. Your plan did work, I congratulated myself, but not in the way you had thought it would. The doll didn't go in the dust bin, but the dress stayed in the closet. No need for a psychiatrist. Who cared if he played with a doll, as long as he played with it as a boy? I gave a sigh of relief and went downstairs to celebrate with a second cup of tea. I thought about calling Karen and telling her the good news, but decided to wait for her call, so I would know how she made out with Dr. Mitchell and whether I needed to cancel the appointment.

About half way through my cup of tea, while I was thumbing through the "People" magazine that was in the day's mail, Jamie came into the kitchen, holding his doll.

"Hi, Sweetie," I greeted him happily. "Having fun?"

"Yes. Mommy?"

"What, Honey?"

"Can I put on my other dress?"

"What!" I exclaimed, startling him. "What other dress Jamie? You don't have another dress, just the party dress. It's different than the one we bought for your doll," I emphasized, as an additional deterrent."

"No, my other dress," he repeated.

"There is no other dress, Jamie," I insisted.

"Yes, Mommy. The first one. Yours."

Mine? What was he talking about? I never gave him a dress of mine. Oh no! I did. I let him try on my old tank top, to see if he was serious about wearing a dress.

"Jamie, that doesn't match what your doll is wearing. It isn't even a dress, really. It's just a tank top that I let you try on to see how it felt."

"Jamie and I don't have to look alike. You said so," he reminded me.

Why did he have to listen to me and remember what I said when I didn't want him to and I had to repeat everything else ten times?

"I'm not even sure where it is Jamie," I stalled.

"In your room, Mommy. You put it in your drawer. I remember."

Great, the kid's an elephant when it comes to dresses. So much for congratulating yourself prematurely. It's a good thing you didn't call Karen and call the counseling off. You'd confirm her suspicion that her little sister is an idiot. There's some good news, I consoled myself.

"Okay, Jamie. Let's go upstairs and I'll see if I can find the tank top for you."

I started upstairs and he followed me with the doll. We went into my room and he pointed to drawer.

"That one, Mommy."

"Thank you, Jamie."

I opened the drawer and, sure enough, there was the tank top, neatly folded in with my other t's and tops. I have no idea why, since it had shrunk and was too small for me to wear. If I was smart, I would have thrown it out and solved the problem before it became one. I took it out and held it up.

"Okay, get undressed and I'll put it on you."

"Wait, Mommy."

Before I could say anything, he and the doll disappeared. I remained puzzled until he returned a couple of minutes later in his pink cotton boy's underpants and undershirt that I had told him were for girls when we went to buy the party dress. I'm sure he didn't understand that he didn't need the undershirt, but then the tank top was pretty skimpy on top and I had seen little girls wearing t-shirts under revealing party dresses. Did he put on the undershirt, because he wore a cammie with his party dress or was this more of his intuition about being a girl?

After he went through all that trouble, I couldn't deny him, and I had been so accepting about his wearing a dress up to know. In for a penny, in for a pound. Okay, Dad's dead.

"Arms up, Jamie," I instructed him.

He lifted his arms and I slipped the makeshift dress over his head. It was still to short for him to wear outside without something underneath it, but it didn't matter, since not going out dressed up as a girl was the one rule I had consistently required him to follow. I resisted my urge to fool with his hair and sent him off.

This whole dress business was beginning to get out of hand. I wanted to discourage him from dressing as a girl. Instead, my plan had backfired and he now had two dresses. Ginny, I rebuked myself, you have to get some help before you completely mess up your son. I went to the phone and picked it up. If Karen had spoken to Dr. Mitchell, she would have called me immediately, which means she hasn't, which means there is no point in calling her. I put the phone down. As soon as I did, it rang, which startled me.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Ginny."

"Karen, I was hoping you'd call," which was true. I've given it some thought and I agree that seeing Dr. Mitchell would be good for Jamie, if you were able to arrange it," which was not true. Jamie was fine. I was the one who needed help.

"I'm glad, Sis, and I did speak with Dr. Mitchell. I was as impressed with her in person, well, in person on the telephone, as I was reading her publications. I think you'll like her, Ginny. I didn't give her any specifics and I didn't mention that we were related. I just told her that I had been consulted by a mother about her six year old boy acting like a girl and that it was beyond my area of expertise. She was intrigued and asked me to have the woman, you, call her secretary, Kelly, to make an appointment. Get a pencil and paper and I'll give you the number."

I wrote down the name and number.

"Thanks, Karen. I really will call her as soon as I get off the phone with you. I hope she can help Jamie. He's a really good kid." I hesitated and then added nervously, "Ginny, you're sure that nothing bad will happen. Please, Sis, tell me that I'm not going to get in trouble, once Dr. Mitchell hears what's been going on. Please."

"Ginny, I promise you, as your sister, that this is for the best. Nobody is going to criticize you or punish you. That is not how it works. Therapists work positively, not negatively. Trust me."

"I do trust you, Karen, with my life, because if something happened and I lost Jamie, I would end it."

"Ginny! If you talk like that to Dr. Mitchell, it won't be Jamie who gets taken away, it will be you, for observation in a locked ward. Do you understand me, Ginny? Stay calm and be rational."

"I'm sorry. I got too emotional. This has been a strain on me. I want to be a good mother and so far I have done everything wrong."

"Ginny, I told you, sometimes the smart thing is not the right thing. You have a good heart. I may be the brainy one, at least by doctoral degree, but you've always been the sensitive one. If you only knew how many times I wished I could stop thinking and start feeling. Do you remember, Sis? My friends came to me for advice. Your friends came to you for support."

"That's the nicest thing you've every said to me, Karen," I acknowledged tearfully. "Thank you."

"I should have told you long ago, Ginny. There just, well, you know, sibling rivalry and all. You're not just my sister, you’re my best friend. I love you."

"I love you too."

"Let me know how you make out with Dr. Mitchell, Ginny."

"I will."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone and waited a few minutes to compose myself. I wanted to be calm and rational, as Karen had warned me, when I spoke with Dr. Mitchell's secretary. When I felt ready, I picked up the phone and dialed the number. A pleasant voice answered after two rings.

"Dr. Mitchell's office, Kelly speaking. How may I help you?"

"Hello, this is Mrs. Virginia McCarthy," I began formally. "I believe Dr. Karen Dalton spoke with Dr. Mitchell about an appointment."

"Yes, Ms. McCarthy. Dr. Mitchell told me to expect a call from you. She can see you at eight o'clock on Monday morning. Is that convenient?"

"Yes, I can be there at eight o'clock."

"This is about your son, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Mitchell would like to meet with you first. A trip to the hospital to see a doctor can be upsetting for a child, so she likes to make sure that there is a need for her involvement, before she has them come in. Do you have someplace to leave your son?"

"Actually, no, I don't."

"Yes, well, that happens. It's not a problem. You can bring him and he can stay in our daycare center while you meet with the doctor. He doesn't have to know you here about him. It's a very lovely environment. And free," she added. We all use it when we run into childcare problems." She laughed. "The hospital would rather have us come to work with our kids, then stay home with them. Shall I notify the center that your son will be coming on Monday?"

"Yes, please?"

"How old is your son?"

"He just turned six."

"And what's his name?"

"Jamie."

"Okay. After you come into the lobby, ask at the information desk for the daycare center. It opens at seven am. They'll be expecting Jamie. Leave yourself a little time, because you have to fill out some forms. You know, the usual, allergies, health problems, dietary restrictions, etc. and how to find you, if you decide to take off and stick us with him." She gave another little laugh. "Any questions?"

"No. Eight o'clock Monday morning, I'll be there.

"Do I need to bring anything with me?"

"Doh, I am such a ditz," she accused herself. "It's a wonder Dr. Mitchell puts up with me. Yes, you need to complete a questionnaire. You know, the usual." She gave another laugh. "Well, not the usual, usual. We need some social and family history too. It saves time if you do it at home and bring it in. Other than that, no." There was a pause. "Oh, of course, I need your address to send it to you. Please don't tell Dr. Mitchell what a ditz I am," she said softly, although I'm sure she was kidding. "I think I need another cup of coffee for sure."

"It's our secret, Kelly," I assured her.

"You're a doll, Ms. McCarthy."

"I winced at the word which was the cause of all my problems with Jamie."

"Thank you, Kelly," I said politely.

"You're welcome, Ms. McCarthy. See you Monday Morning. Doh, no I won't. I don't get in until eight thirty. Dr. Mitchell is coming in early to fit you in ahead of her regular patients. She'll leave the office door open. If her door is closed, just knock when you arrive. It's okay. She's expecting you to let her know when you get there. Okay?"

"Okay."

"Bye."

"Goodbye, Kelly."

I hung up the phone. That went relatively well, I complimented myself. I promised Karen that I would let her know what happened and she had done me a favor by getting Dr. Mitchell to see me on short notice, so I called and got her voice mail.

"Hi, Karen. It's Ginny." Not that she wouldn't know her sister's voice. Force of habit in talking to machines. "I spoke to Kelly and we, well I, she, Dr. Mitchell, doesn't want to see Jamie until we've talked, have an appointment next Monday morning. They said, Kelly, her secretary, said that Jamie can come with me and stay in their daycare center during my appointment. Thanks again. Love you, Bye." Not exactly coherent, but she got the basic idea that I was going to see Dr. Mitchell on Monday morning without Jamie.

The form arrived the next day and I spent the evening filling it out. It was very detailed and took a lot of time. I had to look up some of the information in Jamie's baby journal, like some of his developmental milestones, and I had to think about how to explain the nature of the problem. Should I be succinct? My son acts like a girl? Should I be precise? My son likes to wear dresses when he plays with his doll? Should I be detailed? My son picked out a doll when I took him shopping for a birthday present and then he wanted a dress and shoes to match and I bought him girl's underwear and a headband. I made him a dress out of an old tank top too. No. She'll think I'm nuts. Keep it simple, I advised myself. My son has shown an interest in being feminine and I don't know how to deal with it. There. Concise and to the point.

The rest of the week and the weekend dragged by. I continued to find things that would keep Jamie and his doll apart, which separation would also keep him out of dresses. Unfortunately, there are only so many activities to do with a six year old that didn't take him near a mall or a toy store. Somehow, I managed to make it to Sunday night without adding to his fascination with femininity.

As I was getting him into his PJ's, I mentioned, "Jamie, tomorrow Mommy has to go to the hospital and you can come."

He gave me a funny look.

"I have to see a doctor. It's nothing serious. I just need some advice. They have a great play area where you can wait for me. It won't be that long. Then we can go out for lunch. Okay, Sweetie?"

"Okay.

I finished our nighttime routine, read him and the doll a story, tucked him in, kissed him goodnight and went to my room. I tried to decide what I should wear. The options were pants and a blouse, a skirt and a blouse or a dress. I wanted to make a good first impression on Dr. Mitchell. I ruled out the dress as too formal. If I was going to wear a skirt, I needed to shave my legs. Then again, if I wore a sleeveless blouse, I'd need to shave my pits anyway. Okay, a skirt would give me a more motherly image than pants, I thought. Into the shower with you, Virginia, I ordered myself. Once I was satisfactorily hairless, I got out, creamed myself up and completed my nighttime beauty routine.

After I got myself ready for bed, I picked out my outfit and hung it on over the closet door. A yellow straight above-the-knee skirt and a white collared sleeveless cotton blouse. Very summery, but sophisticated, if I dressed it up with a gold chain necklace, a gold bangle bracelet and my yellow leather strappy sandals. Excellent, Ginny. Dr. Mitchell will be impressed as all get out with you and your doll playing, dress wearing son. Whatever. I got in bed and turned out the light.

The alarm went off at six the next morning. I got up, paid particular attention to my hair and makeup, wished I had gotten a manicure and pedicure, got myself dressed and went downstairs to make breakfast. I was too nervous to eat, so I just made myself a cup of tea. At six thirty I went upstairs and woke up Jamie. He couldn't tell time, at least relative to when it would have been his usual time to wake up. He yawned. I got him washed and dressed in a pair of chinos I had bought for back to school and a short sleeved cotton pullover jersey, white sox and his fancy sneakers. We went down and he had a quick breakfast, then we got into the car. Jamie was still sleepy and nodded off as we headed through the early morning traffic to the hospital.

I pulled into the parking garage and found a space. It was seven forty when I finally got to the daycare center and five of eight when I rushed out and got on the elevator to the seventh floor. I hurried down the hallway, following the signs for suite 704. The sign outside read 'Jenny Mitchell, M.D.' It was just eight o'clock when I opened the door and went into the reception area. I took a minute to get myself together, took a mirror out of my pocketbook and checked my hair, put on some fresh lipstick, straightened my skirt and blouse, got up my courage and knocked on the door.

The door opened and I was greeted by a pretty brunette. I'm five five and she was at least three inches taller than me. I took a quick look down and she had on mid heels, about the same height as my sandals, so she was tall. On first impression, she was in her mid-thirties, which, from my training as a nurse, would mean she had been in practice for four or five years. Then again, with some women, it's hard to tell their age. She was one of them. I didn't have time to do more of an assessment before she spoke.

"Good morning. I'm Dr. Jenny Mitchell. If you're Jamie's mother, then you're right on time. Please come in," she said cordially.

I went into her office. It was nicely furnished. There was a large mahogany desk with a high backed chair behind it and two side chairs with arms in front of it. Off to one side, in front of a set of windows overlooking City Park was a conversation area, with four comfortable upholstered armchairs around a circular glass coffee table with a low floral arrangement in the center. I noticed a number of diplomas and certificates on the wall, but I couldn't read them without taking my attention away from her, which would be rude. She walked behind her desk and motioned for me to take one of the chairs in front of it. She waited for me to be seated and then sat down.

"Did you have time to complete the survey?"

"Yes, Dr. Mitchell."

I reached into my pocketbook, took it out, stood up and handed it to her over the desk. She unfolded it, spread it out and began to skim through it, pausing at the last page where I had described my reason for consulting her. I saw a brief look of amusement when she got to my explanation. Like reading the last page of a detective novel, once she knew who done it, so to speak, she went back to the beginning and studied the form.

While she was engrossed, I had a chance to get a better look at her. Not that it mattered, but it was a natural reaction to assess another woman by her appearance. She was slim and had medium features with brown eyes and thin arched eyebrows. Her medium length nails were manicured and had French polish, pink with white tips, and there was a wedding band and diamond engagement ring on her left hand. I noticed some picture frames on her desk, which I guessed were her family, but I couldn't see them from where I was sitting. When she walked to her desk, I could see she had on a dark blue skirt suit with a short jacket over a white silk round collared blouse, closed at the neck, around which was a string of gold and turquoise beads. She had a stylish wristwatch on her left hand. Her hair was cut very unusually, long in front, shorter on the sides and then long in the back, covering her neck and stopping about an inch above her shoulders. It was very attractive and framed her face, which was beautifully made up with mascara, eyeliner, blush and a surprising medium plum lipstick. Her hair was over hear ears, so I couldn't see if she was wearing earrings and her legs were covered by the desk, although I guessed she wouldn't be wearing stockings in the summer. I had already checked out her pumps, which were dark blue leather with a fashionably uncomfortable pointed toe. Altogether, if I didn't know she was a doctor, I would have guessed she was in the fashion industry, she was so stylish and well coordinated. If she noticed me checking her out, she was considerate enough not to mention it.

Finally, she looked up from the form and smiled at me, which made me wonder. Had she deliberately given me time to study her and put myself at ease, before moving on to more serious matters? She was a psychiatrist and she did know about human behavior.

"I see that you have given me the usual response, Ms. McCarthy. No offense, but you are wasting my time and yours if you aren't going to be candid. Do you want to try again, Virginia?" she asked encouragingly, using my first name to make her request more personal."

I took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Mitchell, but, candidly, I'm terrified."

"Good. That is an honest answer. We can deal with terrified," she said confidently. "Why are you terrified, Virginia? Do you mind if I call you by your first name. It is hard to observe the social formalities when having an intimate conversation."

No, please do, but I prefer Ginny."

"Well, Ginny?"

"I, I, I love my son very much and, well, I don't want to do anything that might, that might hurt him." I paused. "Or me either. It's been so difficult without my husband," it came pouring out. "I try to be a good mother, but, I don't know, it's just, he's a boy and I don't know that much about raising a boy. I think, well, maybe I mixed him up and you will, you will think it's my fault and take him away from me."

I began to sniffle and opened my purse to take out a tissue. I dabbed at my nose and eyes. Dr. Mitchell stood up.

"Ginny, come over here and let's chat."

She motioned to the conversation area. She took the seat in front of the windows and motioned to the chair next to hers. I sat down.

"Feel better?"

"No," I sniffled.

"Good. More honesty. We are making progress. Ginny, I am here to help you and you are here because you realize you need help. There's nothing wrong with reaching out. That's being a good mother. Ignoring the problem or forcing a child to be something they're not to conform to social convention is what is harmful. You have my promise, Ginny. Whatever is happening, you and I will figure it out and do whatever is best for you son. Jamie, isn't it?

"Yes, Dr. Mitchell."

"Jenny, please. I don't like social conventions in any context. Now, tell me what is really going on with Jamie."

I went on to explain the whole situation with buying him a doll, then a dress and his wanting to wear it whenever he played with the doll. I added my having let him try on one of my tank-tops and how he accepted it as an additional dress to wear with the one that we had added to his doll's wardrobe. Once I started, it wasn't that hard to get it all out. Dr. Mitchell, Jenny, was a good listener, as you would expect. To my surprise, she didn't record anything or take notes. She just let me ramble on. When I had finished, she reached over and took my hand.

"See, a journey of a thousand miles starts with but a single step. An old Oriental saying. Or in this case, a single statement. Now we have something to work with."

She looked at her wristwatch.

"We still have about fifteen minutes, Ginny. I have to say, this is unusual. Not generically. A boy who has feminine tendencies is my stock in trade, so to speak. However, it is unusual to see it in someone as young as Jamie. If he had a sister, I would consider it to be some form of sibling jealousy. That somehow he got the impression that you favored her, so he wanted to be like her. She plays with dolls, so he plays with dolls. You fuss over dressing her up, so he wants to dress up. But he doesn't have a sister, so he hasn't learned this behavior from one. Are there any other girls in his life?"

"My sister Karen, you spoke to her, has two daughters, one of whom is Jamie's age. We get together once or twice a month. She works and it's hard to coordinate our schedules. They do play together. Sometimes they come to our house, where we would have just boy's toys, until recently, anyway. They haven't visited us since Jamie got the doll," I clarified. "Other times we go to their house and it's all girl's toys. About fifty-fifty our house and theirs, at least we try to reciprocate. I suppose he could have learned about being a girl from Debbie. That's Karen's older daughter who is Jamie's age. Cindy is two years younger. She's only four. She might hang out with them, but they wouldn't play with her."

Jenny looked at her watch again.

"I'm sorry. I don't meant to be rude, but I usually do only forty-five minute appointments, so that there is fifteen minutes between patients, to protect their privacy, considering the nature of my practice. I don't want them sitting together in the waiting room. I gave you the extra fifteen minutes, because you're not the patient, but I do need to keep on schedule."

"I understand Dr. Mitchell, umm, Jenny. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"Thank Dr. Dalton. She's your sister?"

"Yes, my big sister. I will thank her. Jenny, will Jamie be alright?"

She smiled.

"Define alright and I'll give you an answer."

"Happy."

"No."

"He won't be happy?" I asked dismayed.

"No, Ginny. Happiness is a transitory state. What I try to do with my patients is make sadness transitory too. That's the best I can do. Ginny, we have a lot to go over. Please speak with Kelly about making an appointment for next week, same day and time. I want another session with just you, so we can work on a strategy. In the meantime, don't discourage Jamie and don't encourage him either. Just let nature take its course."

Dr. Mitchell walked to the door and opened it. I could see Kelly, or at least a woman who I took to be her, sitting at the desk. She looked over when she heard the door open and smiled.

"Kelly, Ms. McCarthy needs another appointment. Same day and time."

"Yes, Dr. Mitchell," Kelly confirmed.

I walked over to her desk, waited while she made an entry on the computer screen and gave me an appointment card that she had filled out.

"It's nice to meet you, Ms. McCarthy," she said looking up. "And thanks for not reporting me to Dr. Mitchell," she whispered.

"Do you tease all of Dr. Mitchell's patients with that ditzy routine?"

"You caught me. No, just the GG's."

"I don't understand. What's a GG?"

"GG stands for genetic girl. Born female, like you and me. The opposite of TG, which means transgendered. Born male, but psychologically female. Like Dr. Mitchell.

"What!?"

"You didn't know that she is a transsexual?"

"No, certainly not. You're kidding me again, right?"

"No, that's the truth. I guess it didn't come up."

Kelly looked chagrined.

"That's not exactly the phrase I wanted to use."

It took me a while to figure out what she was talking about, then the double entendre of 'it didn't come up' in reference to someone who appears female but is really male struck me and I blushed.

"Kelly!"

"I know. I'm bad. I told you, I don't know why Dr. Mitchell puts up with me."

"Because you like her?"

"Like her? I'd marry her, if she didn't have a hunk of a husband."

"I saw she is wearing a wedding ring. Dr. Mitchell is married to a man?" I asked incredulously.

"Of course to a man. Who else would a hot babe like her marry?"

I gave her a blank look.

"And they have two kids, a boy and a girl."

"They can do that?"

"If 'they' means TG's, no. Medical science hasn't figured out how to get men pregnant yet. But I can't wait for the day," she said with a big smile. "But, you don't have to be able to have children to have children," she reminded me.

"Oh, now I'm the ditz," I kidded her.

"Welcome to the club. See you next week.

All Dolled Up - 4

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part IV

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

I picked up Jamie from the daycare center, signed the release form, which confirmed they had delivered him to me in the same condition they got him, and took him home. I gave him some milk and a cookie and then he went upstairs. About fifteen minutes later he was back down with his doll, which he had changed into her party dress, and wanted me to get him dressed the same. Dr. Mitchell had recommended that I not change anything, so I went upstairs and helped him into the dress. I felt somewhat better about doing it with her approval. Then again, Kelly inadvertently revealed that Dr. Mitchell was a transsexual. Could she, I suppose that's how you would refer to one of them, be too permissive, because of her own decision to be a woman? But you liked her, Ginny. She seemed genuinely compassionate. You wouldn't have any misgivings about her advice, if you hadn't discovered her secret. Was it a secret? Kelly had obviously been with her for a long time and she didn't seem particularly concerned about revealing it. I decided to speak with Karen.

The rest of the day was difficult, because of my conflicted feelings, which led to me wonder if maybe I was too hasty in getting counseling. Why did I need a psychiatrist to tell me to let nature take its course? I can do nothing without her help. This was getting much too complicated and giving me a headache. I really needed to talk to Karen. I looked at the clock. It wasn't even dinner time yet. I could call her at her office, but probably she was with a patient, then she would get a message to call me and be worried something bad had happened. I didn't want to alarm her. Take it easy Ginny, I advised myself. Things will work themselves out, if you are patient. Make yourself a cup of tea. In the midst of chaos, tea is comforting.

I managed to get through the rest of the day. Preparing dinner was a helpful distraction. I decided to put a lot of energy into it by making one of Jamie's favorite meals, spaghetti and meatballs. I put the hamburger in a plastic bag and soaked it in hot water to thaw it out, then mixed it with seasoning and formed it into meatballs, which I roasted in the oven until they were nice and brown on the outside and juicy on the inside. I went through the rest of the routine with the pasta and sauce. It took almost two hours to get it done, together with a salad and white toast, since I didn't have any Italian bread handy. Luckily, Jamie wasn't a fussy eater. I set the table, poured him a glass of milk and went upstairs to get him out of his dress and into something that would withstand a kid's confrontation with red sauce.

After dinner, I offered to watch a video with Jamie, but he wanted to go upstairs. I decided to be firm about his balancing dolls and dresses with normal boy's activities. He complained for a bit, but agreed to spend the rest of the evening with me. We sat on the couch in the den and watched Beauty and the Beast. That was one of my favorites. I loved the music. Jamie disliked the final scene where the Beast is pursued by the villagers and then seems to die protecting Belle. Thinking about it, I wondered if it raised any memories of his father's death. I doubted that he remembered much about what happened. Even so, I decided not to play that tape again. We had enough psychological issues to sort out. When it was over, we went upstairs and I put him to bed. As soon as I was sure he was asleep, I called Karen.

Dave answered the phone. I went though the usual pleasantries and asked for Karen. She was at a meeting and wouldn't be home until ten. Great, the one time I need her she's not around. Stop it, Ginny. Your not being fair, I reprimanded myself. She didn't know you were going to call her. She is entitled to her own life.

"Thanks, Dave. I have something I need to go over with her. Nothing life or death." Well, pretty darn close, but I can't tell you that. "Please ask her to give me a call when she gets in. I'll be waiting up for her."

"Ginny, is there something I can help you with," Dave offered. He was a really nice guy. I liked him a lot.

"No Dave, thanks, but it's, well, you know, girl stuff. I want to go shopping for back to school clothes for Jamie tomorrow and I have been so out of touch with what kids are wearing, I hoped Karen could give me a fashion update. I wanted to be sure I spoke to her, before I bought the wrong things and he was scarred for life by the other kids making fun of him for being a nerd," I explained, checking my nose to see if it had grown significantly.

Dave gave a laugh.

"Well, if you avoid high top sneakers, pants that are a couple of inches too short and a pocket protector, you should be okay, from a strictly male point of view."

"That's exactly the reason why I want a female point of view," I kidded him.

"Okay, Ginny. I'll make sure that Karen gets the message. Night."

"Night, Dave."

I hung up the phone, took out my book and tried to read to kill time until Karen called me. I had just gotten myself into the story, when the phone rang, startling me. I grabbed it.

"Karen?"

"Ginny, what's the matter?" she asked in a concerned voice.

"I'm sorry to bother you Karen," I apologized, "but I saw Dr. Mitchell today and, well, I, I'm not sure about her, Dr. Mitchell, being the right person for us. I wanted to see what you thought about it."

"Why wouldn't she be the right person?"

"Well, she, Doctor Mitchell, said to just let things stay the way they are and I'm just not sure she, Dr. Mitchell, is giving me good advice, because she, well, Dr. Mitchell's a transsexual."

"What?"

"Karen, I'm confused too. This is all new to me and having a psychiatrist, who used to be a man, well it's hard for me to accept. I was hoping you could help me sort it out. I mean, honestly, I like Dr. Mitchell, but that's not what's important."

"Whoa, Ginny, lets take this one step at a time. We'll play twenty questions, or so. Just answer yes or no and that way there won't be any misunderstanding. Okay, Sis?"

"Okay."

"First, I take it you went to see Dr. Mitchell today. Yes or no."

"Yes."

"She told you she was a transsexual."

"No."

"Who told you?"

"I can't answer that yes or no."

"My sister, the lawyer. We'll modify the rules to allow a one sentence answer. Now, who told you Dr. Mitchell was a transsexual."

"Her secretary, Kelly."

"Why did she tell you about Dr. Mitchell being a transsexual?"

"I don't know why. We were kidding around and it came out. That's two sentences."

"Ginny! Did she seem concerned about having told you?"

"No."

"Why are you concerned?"

"I don't want someone who has chosen to be a woman giving me advice about how to raise a boy not to be a girl."

"Yes, well, that's your problem."

"My problem?"

"Yes, Ginny, it is your problem," she emphasized 'your.' "People don't choose to be transgendered. They don't wake up one morning and say, 'Gee, wouldn't it be nifty if I was the opposite sex.' If Dr. Mitchell is a transsexual, and I wouldn't say so without confirmation from her, regardless of what her secretary might think, it isn't because she wants to be. It's because she has to be. I told you before, this is not my area of expertise, but I would venture that, considering how difficult it is to be transgendered, a transsexual psychiatrist would not encourage a patient to be like her, just because misery loves company. Even more so for Dr. Mitchell, because I have great respect for her and I wouldn't have recommended her to you, if I didn't."

"Are you sure, Karen. I mean, why didn't she tell me herself? Doesn't that mean she's keeping it hidden. She wanted me to be honest with her, but she wasn't honest with me. How can I trust her?"

"Look, Ginny. I can't answer those questions. Only Dr. Mitchell can and I think, since you're asking my advice, that you owe her the courtesy of asking her, before jumping to conclusions about her sincerity and objectivity. Do you have another appointment?

"Yes, a week from today."

"It's up to you, Sis, but I would go back and ask her the same questions you've asked me. If she is as good a doctor as I believe she is, then she will answer them to your satisfaction. If she doesn't, then you should find another therapist. One recommendation that is often made to patients when considering a doctor is to make a list of questions to ask. A reputable doctor should not be offended by a patient wanting to make an informed choice."

"Okay, Karen, I will do that, and thank you. I feel better. I do hope that I can keep working with Dr. Mitchell. She's, Karen, do you call transsexual's 'she' or is there another term you use."

"Was Dr. Mitchell wearing women's clothes?"

"Yes. Makeup too. She was very attractive. I wished I looked that good. What am I saying? I want to look as good as a man pretending to be a woman? That doesn't make sense."

"Ginny the correct pronoun is the feminine, if a transsexual is 'en femme,' which means dressed as a woman, and a transsexual is not pretending. That's what men do for Halloween and New Years Eve masquerade balls, but at midnight they change back. Transsexual's don't. Do you consider yourself to be a man, Ginny?"

"Karen, don't be silly, of course not."

"Neither does a transsexual."

"But, Karen, they are. They're men who wear dresses when it isn't Halloween or New Years Eve. You just said so."

"Ginny. I'm not good at explaining this. You really need to talk to Dr. Mitchell. In the meantime, I would follow her advice. It's accepted practice for all of the mental health profession. Don't go messing about with a patient's behavior, until you have a definitive diagnosis and treatment plan."

"Thanks, Karen. That was really helpful. I want you to understand, it's not that I don't like Dr. Mitchell and it's not, really, it's not that I have anything against her, just because she isn't what she seems. I just need to be sure that this is what's best for Jamie."

"Ginny, for goodness sake, listen to me. Dr. Mitchell is what she seems. You'll see what I mean when you talk to her. You know that I would tell you, if I had any concern. I don't. Now goodnight and stop being such a worry wort.

"Good night, Sis."

"Love you, Ginny."

"Love you too."

I always felt better after speaking with Karen. She was the one person in the world who I could turn to for good advice. She was always the rational one, the one who could look at any problem and find the most logical solution. I suppose that's what makes her such a good psychologist. I was an emotional mess growing up. A zit was a life crisis. I would do what she suggested and make a list of questions to ask Dr. Mitchell tomorrow. I turned out the light and went to sleep.

The next morning, I was up early. I checked to see that Jamie was still asleep and then went downstairs. I made myself two poached eggs on toast and poured a glass of orange juice, then took out a pad of paper and started to make up some questions for Dr. Mitchell. I tried a few times, but couldn't get it right, so there was a pile of crumbled paper on the counter:

'Why didn't you tell me you were a transsexual?' No, too confrontational.

'Dr. Mitchell, Kelly, told me you were a transsexual, is that true?' Better, but should I get Kelly in trouble?

'Dr. Mitchell, is there something about you that I should know?' No, too general.

'Dr. Mitchell, I didn't get a chance to find out about your background the last time I was here. Would you tell me about it?' Yes, polite, discrete, it doesn't get Kelly in trouble and it gives her the opportunity to be open.

If she doesn't mention that she is a transsexual, then I will know she is concealing it and that Kelly spoke out of turn. Then again, Ginny, it is a personal matter, I debated with myself. She might not be keeping it secret. She just might believe that it wasn't important. After all, you’re a nurse. Would it make a difference to you whether a patient was a transsexual, when you were caring for him. Him? Were transsexual's only men? Would a woman want to be a man? No, Ginny, not want. Karen told you it isn't a matter of choice. Would a woman feel like a man? I suppose she could. Were you getting completely distracted from your original purpose? Yes. Look at it the other way. If you needed nursing, would it matter to you who provided it? No. Not if they were qualified, but I might if it was a gynecological problem and I knew the nurse was male. Really? There are male nurses and male gynecologists. You wouldn't let them treat you? Of course you would, if you needed it. Why couldn't a transsexual provide counseling in an area with which she was personally familiar. Wouldn't she be the best person to understand the problem? Understand it, yes. Treat it, maybe not. So should you ask her directly? Maybe you should wait and see if she brings it up herself. Wouldn't that be better? Give her the benefit of the doubt? That way she wouldn't think you didn't have confidence in her. If she thought that, she might decide she shouldn't take Jamie as a patient and you might lose the opportunity to work with the most qualified therapist you could find. Ginny, you have given yourself Excedrin headaches numbers one through ten. Enough! I put down my pen and crumpled the sheet of paper, tossing it in the wastebasket along with my earlier efforts.

The rest of the week went by slowly. I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Mitchell on one the hand and was dreading seeing her on the other. The irony was that I was worried about being considered a good mother the first time I saw her and now the table had been turned and I was challenging her about being a good therapist. Even so, this was about Jamie and whatever embarrassment or consequences were the result, it was something I had to do for him. Things couldn't continue as they are. School would be starting in about a month and I had to have the issue of his playing with a doll and wearing dresses under control by then. Otherwise, his entire school experience would be ruined, if it came out. There's your answer, Ginny. You have no choice.

Monday finally came. The night before, I had told Jamie about having to go back to the hospital and again I assured him it was just routine. He enjoyed his morning in the daycare center and didn't resist going back there. I woke him up early, got him ready, gave him a quick breakfast and we drove to the hospital. Since I had already done the paperwork, it was much easier to leave him, and since I knew my way to Dr. Mitchell's office, it was much quicker for me to get there.

I arrived at about ten minutes to eight. The door to the reception area was open and I went in. I wasn't sure if I should let Dr. Mitchell know I was there early or wait until eight. I decided to knock on her door. I waited a minute and it opened. From a preliminary glance, I could see that Dr. Mitchell was impeccably dressed in a dark grey sheath with a matching short jacket, a pearl necklace, smoke grey stockings and dark grey leather pumps. If she was a man, and from what I could see the jury was still out, she could put Christian Dior to shame with her fashion sense.

"Ginny, I'm so glad you're early. It gives us a few extra minutes. Please," she pointed to the conversation area, "come in and let's get started."

"Good morning, Dr. Mitchell, I greeted her formally, as we walked to the chairs."

She waited for me to sit down and then took her seat. I noticed she still did not have any recording device or notepad. Looking at her more closely, I could see that her makeup was as perfect as her outfit. Eyeliner, maybe just a hint of smoky opalescent eye shadow, probably mascara, from the fullness of her eyelashes, subtly applied blush, if she had foundation, it was imperceptible, maybe she just had really good skin, and her signature plum colored lipstick. She must have caught me staring and smiled. I looked down in embarrassment.

"It took me forever to learn to do my hair and face. Luckily, my stepfather is a world class cosmetician and hairdresser. If it wasn't for his efforts and education, I would have never made it through high school as a girl."

She seemed surprised by the astonished look on my face. Not that I was surprised she was what Kelly had said, but that she was so nonchalant about it.

"You didn't know that I was transgendered?"

"I wasn't sure," I admitted. "Kelly mentioned it last week, but Karen, you know, my sister, Dr. Dalton, well, I did have some, I don't know, honestly, reservations about your judgment, so she told me to ask you about it today." Then I realized I had spilled the beans about Kelly. "Oh dear, Dr. Mitchell, I hope I didn't get Kelly in trouble. She was, well we were just having conversation and she was very complimentary," I added in her defense.

Dr. Mitchell grinned, exposing white teeth set off by her darker shade of lipstick, and tossed her hair back in a typical feminine gesture.

"You don't have to get Kelly in trouble. She's perfectly capable of doing it by herself. However, she has organized or disorganized my office, depending on how you look at it, so that she is indispensable. I wouldn't have a clue how to function without her and she knows it, so she is pretty impertinent sometimes. That having been said, my being transgendered is not a secret. I just assumed that you knew. That is the reason most of my transgendered patients come to me and feel comfortable working with me, because we have a common understanding of the issues. If we were little kids, I'd use the playground retort to an insult, that it takes one to know one."

"Kelly used the word 'transsexual'."

"That's what I am. I was thinking of getting a big red "T" tattooed on my forehead to warn people who might not know about me, but you'd be surprised how hard it is to find makeup to coordinate with a scarlet letter.

She said it with such sincerity that it took me a minute before I caught on to the humor. I struggled to maintain my decorum, but I lost and couldn't help giggling. Dr. Mitchell gave me a big smile.

I don't understand Doctor, Jenny, you look so. I couldn't get myself to say the words. Realistic, convincing, I finally came up with feminine.

"Amazing what a boatload of hormones, a couple of bags of silicone and the removal of some superfluous plumbing can do for you," she retorted.

I couldn't help myself, I cracked up.

"None of that would make a man a woman." I finally got out. "He'd just be a very emotional soprano with a lumpy chest," I kidded her back.

Now it was Jenny's turn to crack up.

"That is the best response I have ever heard. Maybe you and I should do a comedy routine. Laughter is the best medicine, so they say. Although I suppose that depends on whether you’re the laugher or the laughee. Most of my patients would not find our jokes amusing. But you are exactly right, Ginny. Being transgendered is a state of mind, not body. Physical appearance simply helps others to relate to you in the proper perspective, which brings us full circle to your son's behavior."

She looked at her watch.

"Thirty minutes and that's pushing it. Last week, I recommend that you let nature take its course. What course did Jamie's nature take?"

"The same one. He plays with his doll. He has learned to change her dress and when he does, he has me dress him in the matching outfit or at least the one he associates with each of the doll's outfits. His party dress does match hers. The tank-top dress doesn't, but he seems to understand that the doll and he can't have a coordinated wardrobe. Other than that, he seems normal. We go out, have lunch at one of the kiddy restaurants, go to the park and play and watch videos. When we go out, he doesn't make a fuss about leaving his doll at home and he doesn't seem to mind wearing his boy's clothes. That's about it. He's no better and no worse than last week."

"Since we haven't made a diagnosis, it's hard to say whether he is better or worse. Sometimes staying the same is a good thing and sometimes it isn't. Think about someone who gets lost while hiking. Staying in the same place is not a good thing. They are still lost. It is true they won't get more lost, but can you be more lost than lost? What they won't accomplish by staying in the same place is finding their way out."

"Yes, but, aren't people told to remain where they are, so it is easier for rescuers to track them down, rather than wandering around aimlessly?"

"A true outdoors woman. Yes, Ginny, if you're sure help is on the way. However, to continue with the metaphor, in my practice, I want my patients to be self-reliant. My job is to point them in the right direction and to teach them how to recognize and avoid dangers on the way out."

"Doctor, Jenny, sorry my nursing training makes it hard for me to call doctors by their first name. Jenny," I started again, "how can you be, I'm sorry, I don't mean to be disrespectful… "

"You cannot hurt my feelings, Ginny. If there is something that might interfere with our relationship, then you do neither of us a favor by not telling me about it," she interrupted me.

"How can your being a transsexual not affect the direction in which you point your patients?"

"It does affect my work, Ginny, but not in the way you mean. Did miss-big-mouth happen to mention that I am married and have children?"

"Yes."

"It was a very difficult transition from boy to girl, Ginny. It always is. You’re an attractive woman. I imagine that when you were in high school you had your share of boyfriends."

"Yes, I did have boyfriends, but no steady."

"There was a boy I liked. His name was Brian. He liked me too. I was open about being transgendered in high school. I wasn't a transsexual then. That's a decision that can't be made until you're an adult, so you can give informed consent, and even then, you have to have undergone lengthy counseling and received the therapist's approval. I was still physically a boy. We saw each other secretly, because the other kids would have made fun of him, if they found out he was dating me. Nothing physical. Eventually, I fell in love with him. I couldn't help it. He is everything a girl could look for in a man." She paused and looked at me.

"I know you lost your husband. I hope this isn't difficult for you, but there is a point I'm getting to."

"No, Doctor, Jenny, please continue. I was very happy with Jim, my husband, and wouldn't trade that time or my memories for all the riches in the world. I am not jealous of other people's happiness."

"Thank you. You are a very impressive woman, Ginny."

That was quite a compliment from someone whose profession is analyzing people. I smiled and bowed my head in recognition.

"We got married and I wanted to have his child. Obviously, I was not equipped for that, so I used my influence as a doctor to convince the fertility clinic in the hospital to get me an egg donor. When I told my older sister, Beth, about it, she had a fit. 'No niece of mine is going to be a stranger, Jenny.' Beth was always bossy."

"Been there," I agreed.

"She offered to give me one of her eggs, so that the baby would be a member of our family genetically. Of course, she also offered to let Brian come over and fertilize it."

I chuckled.

"When my little sister, Susie, heard what Beth had offered, the little showoff had to top her. 'I want to have your baby, Sis,' she insisted. So Brian Junior is a family effort. Brian and I didn't want him to be an only child, but we couldn't ask Beth and Susie to go through it again, so we adopted a Chinese baby. She came with a birth certificate as being named Mingmei, which means smart and beautiful, but we call her Mimi."

"That's a pretty name."

"Ginny, I love my children with all my heart. They're still young, but eventually I am going to have to tell them about me. I don't know when I will tell them, I don't know how I will tell them, I don't know what I will tell them, but I can't deceive them. You said you were terrified about losing Jamie. That will never happen, if I can help it. But I am just as terrified about losing my children, when they find out the truth, and I can't help that. Nobody can. Do you see now why I would never encourage anyone to be like me?

The woman had shown me how vulnerable she was to make me understand that I had nothing to be concerned about, because she was a transsexual. I could see now why Kelly loved her."

I stood up.

"Jenny, please, I need a hug," I told her emotionally.

"It must be contagious. I need one too."

We embraced as sisters and any doubt about her sincerity or objectivity was gone. When we released, we sat down. Returning to her professional demeanor, Jenny looked at her watch. We now have fifteen minutes to deal with Jamie. I would like to meet him next session.

"He won’t be starting kindergarten for about a month, so he is available. I'll bring him with me," I agreed.

"I would also like to try a little experiment. It's controversial and it's up to you, but I don't know of another way to find out how he feels about his gender. A six year old doesn't understand the biological or anatomical differences that distinguish boys from girls. All he knows at his age is that there is one group of people who dress and act differently than another group of people. That makes it very difficult to determine if what he is doing is an early expression of his being transgendered, a behavior that will make him increasingly fascinated with looking and acting feminine, or there is something else going on. From what you have told me, Jamie's interest in being feminine is related to his playing with his doll.

"Yes, he asks me dress him up when he wants to play with her."

"I would recommend that you buy him more girl's clothes and see how he reacts to them. Does he want to join the group of people who he recognizes as being girls by their attire or are the clothes only important for whatever role he is taking when he plays with the doll? I would try to make the clothes feminine enough that they are easily recognizable as distinctly for girls and I would try to make them different enough that they don't correspond to the doll's dresses. Then just let him choose what he wants to wear. Ginny, it is very important for the experiment that you don't give him any cues. Don't encourage him to dress one way or the other. Don't discourage him from mixing and matching, even though he may look silly. Don't compliment him, if he looks nice. Try not to even give him subliminal messages, by smiling or frowning or being enthusiastic or unenthusiastic when he picks out his clothes. It has to be completely his decision or it won't be valid."

After our discussion, I had no reason to doubt Jenny's prescription.

"Okay, you're the doctor," I acknowledged. "I will take Jamie on a shopping spree."

"No, don't take him, Ginny. I don't want him involved with it. Since you will be only shopping for girl's clothes, I don’t want him to associate them with spending time with you. I want you to do it casually. Just give them to him they same way you would if they were boy's clothes. You wouldn't make a fuss about a pair of jeans and a sports shirt, so don't make one over a skirt and blouse. Do you understand what you need to do to make this work?

"Yes, Jenny, but what do I do with him once he picks out his clothes, if he dresses as a girl?"

"For the experiment to work, the effect of what he wears has to be neutral. He can't think that wearing one type of clothes gets him a trip to the zoo and ice cream and wearing another type of clothes gets him stuck in the house by himself."

"You mean I should take him out dressed as a girl?"

"Yes. At his age, most people can't tell the difference. I would be careful about exposing him to situations where he might be outed."

Jenny saw that I had a puzzled look.

"Sorry, I forgot you're new to this. 'Outed' means two things. First, that someone recognizes you under circumstances where you're exhibiting behavior you wanted to keep private, cross-dressing or having a romantic relationship with a partner of the same sex. Second, that someone publicly discloses your gender preference or sexual orientation, that you're transgendered, gay or lesbian."

"Oh."

"I could take him to Karen's for the week. They've been begging me to visit. I know she would be okay with Jamie dressing like a girl. I bet her daughters would love a girl cousin too. I'm not sure about her husband. Men seem to be more traditional when it comes to that type of thing. Karen and I talked about how Jim would never have let me buy Jamie a doll, let alone a dress. I suppose I could run it by her. If anybody could make it work, it would be her."

"That sounds like a good plan, but, Ginny, we don't know if Jamie won't prefer being a boy. That's what the experiment is designed to discover. You can talk to your sister about it. She's a professional and will understand, but I wouldn't have her announce it to the rest of her family, until we have some assurance Jamie wants to dress as a girl. You need to go slow with this. And Ginny, speaking of going slow, be mindful of the differences in the way mothers treat sons and daughters. It's well established that mothers are much more tactile with girls, fussing with their hair and clothes, holding them, touching them."

Jenny, looked at her watch.

"That's a wrap, my dear. Same time next week, please."

"Yes, Ma'am. And Jenny, could you spare another hug, please?"

"By coincidence, I do happen do have an extra one handy."

We stood and embraced one another and then she walked me to the door.

Opening it, she told Kelly, who had arrived and was at her desk, "same time for Ms. McCarthy and she will be bringing Jamie with her. I want a longer session with them both, so see if you can cancel Jacqueline. She can get through the week without me holding her hand. Tell her to call me if she has another crisis with her girlfriend."

Jenny, looked at me and shrugged, then went back into her office and closed the door. Kelly handed me the appointment card.

"You can't marry Dr. Mitchell," I told her. "I'm going to."

"Unfortunately for us and fortunately for her, we'll have to get in line behind her husband, at least until bigamy becomes legal. Maybe she'll adopt us. She'd probably be as a good a mother as a wife. Bunny slippers, cocoa and a bedtime story from doctor mommy sounds delicious."

"I think that Dr. Mitchell has enough going on with her own children," I replied cryptically.

Kelly knew her well enough to get the meaning.

"Yes," she sighed. "We've talked about it over the years. She's been working with a wonderful older woman, Dr. Goldfarb, since she was a child herself. This was Dr. Goldfarb's office. Dr. Mitchell went into practice with her when she finished her post-graduate work. Dr. Goldfarb retired a few years ago, but Dr. Mitchell still sees her regularly. I can't imagine how hard it is for her. Not only dealing with the problems of her patients, I can't tell you specifics, but some of their stories would break your heart, Ms. McCarthy. You don't know how blessed we are to be content with being women. Then she has to go home and deal with her own problems. Thank God for Brian. He is an exceptional man."

"And Dr. Mitchell is an exceptional woman."

"You won't get an argument from me."

"Thanks, Kelly. See you next week."

"Yes, I'm looking forward to meeting Jamie. In fact, you know what? I'm coming in early, so I'll be here when you arrive."

"You don't have to do that, we'll be fine."

"I don't have to. I want to."

"You're married, aren't you?"

"Yes, you caught me again. I wouldn't really divorce George to marry Dr. Mitchell. At least not this week. Why?"

"Well, if I can’t marry Dr. Mitchell, I was going to propose to you, but I guess I'm destined to be an old maid."

"Doubtful, Ms. McCarthy."

"Bye."

Kelly waived and then blew me a kiss. I caught it and planted it on my cheek, which got her to laugh. I went to the daycare center, got Jamie and we drove home.

The rest of the day was routine for Jamie, but I was planning how to go shopping without him. I couldn't get a baby sitter, because he would want to play with his doll and dress up, which she wouldn't understand. I couldn't make a play date, because I couldn't count on his discretion. Then the idea of leaving him at the hospital's daycare center struck me. I could drop him off in the morning, go to the mall and then pick him up in the afternoon. It would be a long day for him, but he was used to the center. Would they give him lunch or would I have to pack it for him, I wondered. I decided to call and find out.

Francine, the head of the center, was very accommodating when I explained that I needed to do some testing, which was true in a sense. It just wasn't medical testing in the usual sense. No, they could provide lunch from the cafeteria. There was a five dollar charge. Or I could bring his food, if he was a fussy eater or had some dietary restrictions. I choose to pack him a bag lunch. He was always happy with PB and J. I could add one of his favorite cookies and a banana. That should hold him. Francine said they could give him a carton of milk or juice at no charge. They kept it in their 'fridge for snack time. That took care of the logistics of buying Jamie his trousseau.

Tuesday morning, I dropped him off at the center and drove to the mall. I could have stayed downtown, but I was more comfortable shopping in a store that I knew. I went into the Girls 4-6X Department and saw that Claire was working. I went over to the sales counter and said hello. She didn't recognize me until I reminded her of the pink party dress I bought for my daughter.

"Oh yes, the pretty redhead with the green eyes. Now I remember you."

"I want to take you up on your offer to pick out some back to school clothes for her."

"Of course. Did you have anything special in mind?"

"Well, she's pretty much of a tomboy. I was hoping that when she started school she would want to be more feminine, so the more girly the better, if you know what I mean."

I hoped Claire did, because I didn't.

"Yes, of course. My little sister was like that. All she wore was jeans or pants and jerseys. Mom tried everything to coax her into skirts and dresses, but it wasn't until she discovered boys that she realized showing off some skin was a good thing. Let's see what we can find to catch her fancy." She paused. "She did wear the party dress, didn't she?"

"Yes, it was for a special occasion and I insisted that she get dressed up. That's why I bought the underwear to go with it. All she wears is the plain cotton briefs. She needs the works."

"The works it is," Claire agreed enthusiastically, probably thinking about her commission. Then again, if she got me what I needed, she deserved it.

"I would recommend a corduroy jumper with a linen blouse. They're in style, very comfortable and easy for kids to dress themselves in. Add some nylon panties and a nylon camisole and they feel really pretty. Knee socks are easy to wear too and look great with a jumper. She should have at least one A-line dress. We have some nice ones in an easy care polyester blend. Tights complete the outfit. Of course, she needs a couple of skirts too," Claire recommended, getting carried away, but I didn't want to discourage her. "Kilts are in. So are pleated skirts. A pullover top will go with both and you can mix and match the knee socks and tights. That should pretty much do it. Do you want to look around or do you want me to bring you a selection?"

"I trust your judgment, Claire, and you know styles and your stock better, so why don't you start. Jamie is a size six."

"Super."

She started off, gathering things from racks. It was still a few weeks before school started and early in the morning, so it was quiet and Claire could give me her full attention. I waited by the sales counter as she brought back armfuls of clothes. She was really into being Jamie's personal shopper. Going through her selection, there was a rainbow of colors and soft, silky coordinating items that would have delighted any little girl. I complimented her on choices and gave her my credit card.

"You want everything I picked out, Mrs. McCarthy?"

"Yes. I'll take it home and see how they look on Jamie. He's visiting his Aunt, which gave me more time to shop. I know he… . Oh no. I outed him. Just what Dr. Mitchell had warned me against. Ginny, you're an idiot.

I could see Claire give me a strange look. I decided that I could confide in her. There was no reason she wouldn't sell me the clothes. I just wouldn't come back, if it was a problem.

"Claire, I'm sorry to have told you a story. Jamie's a boy. He's, well we're not sure, but he likes to dress as a girl sometimes. That's why I bought him the party dress. We want to see how he feels about becoming more feminine. He may not care about the clothes, which would be fine, or he may like them. I won't know until I bring them home and give him the opportunity to wear them."

"Cool," was all she said.

"Cool?" I echoed.

"Hey, I sell clothes, Mrs. McCarthy. What my customers do with them is their business. And who am I to judge anyway. I bet your son will look really pretty all dolled up in his new outfits. If he doesn't like them, just bring them back. Since you're taking them on approval sort of, I'm going to ring them up on my account. You get the discount and I won't have to deal with the paperwork reversing my commission."

"Claire, thank you. That's very understanding and generous," I said appreciatively.

"No problem. You're welcome to shop with me anytime," she offered, ringing up and bagging the items. "And Jamie's welcome too. It will be our secret."

"Thank you again, Claire. You've made this much easier."

"My pleasure. Please let me know how things work out."

"I will."

I took my bags back to the car and put them in the trunk. Then I went back to the discount shoe store and bought Jamie a pair of casual pumps with a little heel that he could step into, to go with his dresses, and a pair of black leather t-straps. There was also a pair of pink and tan saddle shoes I couldn't resist. I added those to the collection in my trunk and made a final trip to the accessory store, where I picked out some hair items, some magnetic earrings, a gold tone heart locket necklace and a matching bracelet. I didn't know how far Jamie would want to go dressing up. He may not be interested at all or he may enjoy his new wardrobe, but I wanted to be ready, especially if I was going to take him out, I think the word Karen used was en femme, dressed as a girl, so he would be as convincing as possible. Not that it probably mattered, since I couldn't keep my big mouth shut. Then again, I wasn't exactly an old hand at having a son who might be a girl at heart.

I picked Jamie up from the daycare center and took him home. As usual, he went upstairs, got his doll and asked me to help him get dressed. Instead, I told him that I had bought him some new clothes and wanted to show them to him. I brought in all of the bags and boxes of shoes and began laying them out on his bed, trying to put them together in outfits, skirt and top, tights or knee socks and shoes. Jamie watched me and when I was finished, I told him I had to get something downstairs, but he could pick out what he liked and I would help him put it on when I came back. I left, wondering what I would find when I returned.

TO BE CONTINUED

All Dolled Up - 5

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part V

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

I managed to keep my curiosity in check and stayed downstairs for about fifteen minutes, to give Jamie time to make his selection. When I finally went into his room, he was sitting on the floor with his doll. He looked up when I came in.

"Jamie, Honey," I asked casually, as if it didn't matter, "have you decided what you'd like to wear?"

His response took me by surprise.

"My dress, Mommy, please."

"Which dress?" I asked puzzled.

I was hoping it would be one of his new ones or maybe one of the skirts. They were the same as a dress from the waist down and, since Jamie never had a skirt before, he might not know the difference.

"My dress, Mommy," he repeated.

"They're all your dresses, Sweetie," I pointed out.

"No, the one Jamie wears too."

"You mean Jamie, your doll?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Your party dress?"

He nodded his head.

"Wouldn't you like to wear one of these," I suggested, knowing that I was not following Dr. Mitchell's instructions by expressing my preference, but then it wasn't between boy's and girl's clothes, just one type of girl's clothes and another.

He shook his head.

"No, Mommy."

At this point, I had no choice. If I was any more explicit, it would definitely affect the outcome of the experiment.

"Okay, Sweetie," I agreed, getting the dress from his closet and finding the rest of the items that he wore with it. "Get yourself undressed."

After putting Jamie into his party dress, I left him to play.

"Have fun, Honey," I remarked pleasantly, not wanting to show my disappointment that the experiment had failed.

The best laid plans of psychiatrists and mothers, I thought to myself as I went downstairs, but why? It seemed so logical. Give Jamie a choice between pretty girl's clothes and his usual boy's clothes and see which he preferred. Perhaps, Ginny, the logic of a six year old was different. What were you missing? Maybe the girl's clothes didn't mean the same to him as they did to you and Dr. Mitchell. Why should they? He knew nothing about them. Most of the time he got together with his cousins, they wore jeans, tops and sneakers. Then I remembered our conversation at the mall, when I was telling him why he couldn't have a dress. Only girls wear dresses, I told him. He asked me why and I explained that girls wore different clothes than boys. He disagreed. Girls wear pants and shirts like him, he told me. Then it hit me. Ginny, it's not the clothes, it’s the doll he cares about! Debbie and Cindy are girls. When he goes to their house, they play with dolls, so having a doll, not wearing a dress, is what makes them girls. Maybe he is transgendered. He's just expressing it in a different way. Is that possible? I'd have to ask Dr. Mitchell at our next appointment. In the meantime, Ginny, is there a plan B? Do you need one?

If there is no Plan B, then there is no need for the clothes, I reasoned. I should take them back. Why are you admitting defeat so easily? Just find a way to leave the doll out of the experiment and it will work, but how? Of course! He isn't allowed to take the doll out of the house. Take him out and let him wear whatever he wants. Dr. Mitchell said you could take him out dressed as a girl. Brilliant, Ginny, if you do say so yourself. It was still early. I decided to let him have another hour to play, just to be sure he didn't suspect anything. Around five o'clock, I called up to him.

"Jamie, I didn't have a chance to go grocery shopping, Honey. Let's go out for dinner. I'm coming up in a few minutes to get you ready. Finish up whatever you're doing, then take off your dress and pick out something else to wear."

As before, I controlled my curiosity and gave him ten minutes. Then I went upstairs, anxious to see what he had picked out. Nothing. He had taken off the dress, which was on the bed with the other clothes, and was wearing the nylon panties and cammie.

"Jamie, you'll be starting school in a few weeks and children who go to school get themselves dressed. Let's practice," I encouraged him. "What would you like to wear, Honey? Anything on the bed or in your closet, you choose."

He looked at me blankly.

Well, Ginny, why would he care about what he wears? Girls are taught to appreciate fashion. Mothers are always oohing and aahing over their daughter's clothes, reinforcing how looking pretty is essential to their femininity. Jamie wasn't brought up that way. As far as he knows, one pair of pants or shirt is as good as another and the same plain white underpants go with everything. Should I start to educate him about how girls dress themselves or is that contrary to Dr. Mitchell's admonition about my influencing his choice? You know the answer, so why even ask the question. So much for Plan B. Is there are Plan C?

Let's see. Whatever plan you come up with, it has to have something to do with the doll. That's the key to his dressing in girl's clothes. What if you let him take the doll with him when you go out to dinner? No, you've already made a rule that he can't take the doll out of the house. Even if you did let him, he'd pick his party dress. Think, Ginny. Yes, that's it. Jamie wears the same thing as the doll, so if you want him to wear the clothes you bought for him, then the doll has to wear them too. All you have to do is to buy the doll matching clothes. Since you're not doing anything to influence his behavior, at least directly, the experiment should still be valid. Okay, here goes.

"Jamie, let's stop off at the toy store after dinner. I promised you a big toy and we ended up with just one dress for your doll. Wouldn't you like to have more clothes for her to wear, Honey?"

Jamie shrugged.

"Words please."

"I guess so, Mommy. What kind of clothes?" he wondered.

"We'll see what there is. I bet she'd like a skirt and top and maybe something for her legs, just like what I bought for you," I suggested.

Jamie looked at the clothes on his bed.

"Like these, Mommy?"

"Yes, Jamie. Those are for you and we can find the same things for the doll. Wouldn't you like to look like her?"

"Can I?"

"Well, I did say that you couldn't always look like her, emphasizing 'always', but sometimes it's okay for you to dress the same, emphasizing 'sometimes'," I equivocated.

"Okay," he agreed.

"Okay, then. Let's go."

I decided to let him wear his familiar boy's clothes and gradually move into taking him out as a girl, once he become comfortable with his new wardrobe by playing dress-up with his doll. I had him change out of his panties, put on his briefs, a pair of shorts and exchanged the cammie for a t-shirt. White socks and his old sneakers, a quick session with the comb, and we were ready.

Dinner was pizza and then we were off to the toy store. By now, I knew how to navigate to the doll's section and find the right clothing. Studying the display, I was surprised by the wide variety of styles, colors and materials. Anything that you could find in a regular department store was there. Looking at the price tags, you could probably buy the same things for real in a department store, but I wasn't bargain hunting. If this helped Jamie to express his feminine nature, if he had one, it was worth it.

"Jamie, they're lots of pretty things here for your doll. What do you think she'd like?" I asked him, hoping that he would express his own preference.

"I don't know, Mommy. A dress?"

"Yes, we can buy her another dress, but she already has two of them. How about buying her a skirt and some tops? Those are fun to wear. And tights would look nice on her. Shall I pick out a few things and you can decide what you want to keep after we get them home," I offered as a compromise.

"I guess so," Jamie conceded.

I sorted through the clothes, trying to find things that were similar to what I had bought Jamie. I found a jumper, a pleated skirt, a kilt and an A-line dress, two blouses, a pullover top and an assortment of tights and knee socks. The colors and materials were different, but he had accepted my old tank top as the counterpart for the doll's dress we bought last time, so I hoped he wouldn't be too fussy about these. When I had finished making my selection, I turned to him and asked if there was anything else he saw that he would like me to buy. He had no additions to make. I carried the collection to the checkout counter. The woman gave me a curious look as she began to scan them.

"We're having a birthday party for my daughter and her girlfriends are all binging over their dolls. I'm going to give the clothes as prizes for the games," I explained creatively.

The woman gave me a small smile and continued to scan the items. When she had totaled it up, I handed her my credit card, she rang it through, put the clothes in a plastic bag and we left.

By the time we got home, it was past Jamie's bedtime. I told him that I would get all of the clothes ready and leave them in his room, so he could play with them in the morning. Jamie was tired and didn't protest. We went though his usual nighttime routine. I read him and the doll a story and tiptoed out as he nodded off. I went downstairs, found a large plastic storage container and put all of the clothes in it. I took the box upstairs and left it on the floor of Jamie's room. I went into my room, got myself ready for bed and read until I was sleepy. I turned out the light and lay in the dark, wondering if Plan C would work. You'll know in the morning, Ginny.

My alarm went off at seven thirty. I got up, put on a robe and went into Jamie's room. He was still asleep, so I went downstairs for my morning cup of tea. Jim was a coffee drinker and I would join him to be sociable, but I preferred tea. He would have two cups while I was only half way through mine. He thought I didn't like hot beverages, so I was waiting for it to cool, but I was stalling and after he left, I would pour it out. The only time I couldn't get away with my little trick was if we went out for breakfast. Luckily, or perhaps unfortunately in retrospect, considering how little time we had together, we didn't go out for breakfast often, as we had more intimate morning activities to occupy ourselves. I missed him.

C'mon, Ginny, no time for that, I scolded myself. Jamie needs you. He'll be up soon. Get yourself together. I went back upstairs and got dressed. I looked in on him again and I could see that he was beginning to wake up. I debated whether I should offer to pick out an outfit for the doll and him or give him time to do it himself. I decided to wait. I went back downstairs. After watching the clock on the microwave advance through fifteen minutes, Jamie appeared. He had obediently left the doll on the stairs and was still in his pajamas. Glancing into the hallway, I saw that the doll was still wearing her party dress from last night. I gave Jamie breakfast and then sent him upstairs. Showtime, or maybe not, be patient.

About ten minutes later, Jamie came back downstairs. He had the doll and he also had something in his hand. He was holding a pair of white tights I bought for him and a pair I bought for the doll. I noticed that he had put on the nylon panties and cammie he wore with his dresses.

"You want me to help you, Honey?"

"Yes, please, Mommy. I don't know how."

"Do you want me to dress your doll or you first?"

"Jamie."

"You mean Jamie, you doll?"

"Uh huh."

"Yes, please," he corrected himself.

"Can I have her, please?"

He handed the doll to me and I put her on the table. He had already taken off her party dress and she had on just her panties and white socks. I left on the panties and removed her socks. I looked down and saw that Jamie was barefoot.

"The way to put on tights," I explained, "is to bunch up one leg, like this."

I demonstrated how to use your fingers to gather the material until it was all scrunched up with just the foot sticking out.

"First you do one side and then you put your foot in and unroll it a little bit," I showed him, pulling the fabric up to below the doll's knee. "Then you do the same thing to the other leg. Once you have both legs in, you pull them up gently, until the waist band of the panty part is around your hips. Then you run your hands up the legs to smooth them until the bottom part of the panty is in place." I avoided using the word crotch. "See, the tights cover her legs and the panty part holds them up. Do you want to try to try putting on your tights?"

Jamie looked at the tights and then at me. He shook his head.

"No, Mommy, you do it, please."

"Sit in the chair, Honey, and stick out your right foot," I instructed him, bunching up the right leg of the tights the same way I had when I was dressing the doll. "Point you toe." I slipped his toe into the foot and worked the material up a little way. "Do you like the way it feels, Jamie."

He nodded and I didn't correct him. It was too special a moment, helping him to be a girl for the first time. When I dressed him up before, he was my son. Now he was my daughter. This wasn't a costume to match what his was doll was wearing, they were his clothes. The ones he would wear for the rest of his life. Ginny? They're tights. Male dancers wear tights. So do men on the flying trapeze, don't they? And wasn't there once something about a football player who wore pantyhose to keep his legs warm? You and Karen giggled when you heard about it. Boys in pantyhose seemed so silly, little did you know. So Jamie hasn't committed himself to being transgendered. Not yet, anyway. This was just an experiment and it took three tries before you got it right. Maybe you got it right, I corrected myself. Wait to see what Dr. Mitchell thinks, before you sign him up for ballet class. I laughed to myself. He could wear the tights either way, but I'd have to hold off on the tutu.

Once Jamie had on his tights, he went back upstairs. I wondered whether he would understand that they were underwear and pick out something to wear over them, one of his dresses, a skirt, or maybe his own clothes. Dr. Mitchell told me not to say anything, if his inexperience resulted in him mixing boy's and girl's clothes. Now I was really curious, but I let him have time to make his own choice. After about fifteen minutes, he came downstairs in the jumper and he had put the same thing on the doll. The doll had on her black shoes and he was wearing his Mary Jane's. What was missing was a top. He wore the jumper like a dress, with just his camisole underneath and the doll had nothing on under it.

"Can you help me, Mommy, please," he asked, turning around to have me pull up the zipper, the way I did when he was putting on his party dress.

"Sure, Honey."

I zipped up the back and fastened the hook at the top. The doll's dress just pulled over her head. I thought about suggesting that he find a blouse to put on, but I refrained from coaching him. I also resisted complimenting him on how nice he looked. Jamie went back upstairs to play. I wondered if he would change the doll into some of the other outfits, but he spent the rest of the day dressed as he was and so did the doll. Well, it was a start. Let's see what tomorrow brings, Ginny. Maybe he just needed to get it out of his system and now that he has done it, he will be himself again. Unless, of course, his self was a girl in a boy's body, the way Karen explained being transgendered.

I puttered around the house for the rest of the day. I was anxious to try taking Jamie out dressed as a girl, but I decided to wait until I was sure he accepted his new wardrobe as everyday clothes, not just what he wore to play with his doll. I also wanted to give him some time to learn about coordinating his outfits, so he wouldn't be embarrassed by people staring. That evening we watched TV together. He had forgotten about the way to sit in a dress, so I reinstructed him about acting ladylike. To my surprise, he was very cooperative. Would a boy care? Was this more evidence of his being transgendered or was he just a good kid who wanted to please his mother?

When it was bedtime, I helped him to get undressed, since he couldn't manage the zipper on the back of his jumper. As I was exchanging his panties for briefs, I had a thought that I should have bought him a nightgown, something really frilly and lacy, so that he could continue to feel feminine, even at bedtime. Did little girls even wear nightgowns to sleep in anymore? I didn't when I was growing up and neither did Karen. Either extra large t-shirts or regular sized ones with boxers in the summer and flannel PJ's in the winter were more practical. Maybe just a pair of pink nylon pajamas for him would be a nice transition. He could keep his panties on. For some reason, the image of Jamie in a baby doll nightie with little ruffled panties peeking out from under the short top struck me. Ginny, really!

After breakfast the next morning, I gave Jamie the opportunity to select his own clothes again. I wondered if he was interested in trying different outfits or his choices were just random. If he took whatever he happened to pick up first? Since he didn't know what went with what, I didn't see how it could be otherwise. That would explain why he didn't pick out a blouse or top to wear with his jumper yesterday. Even so, that was only the first day, Ginny. He could have ignored all of his new clothes and gone back to the party dress, like he did with Plan A. I busied myself around the kitchen, so it wouldn’t' seem like I was too interested in what he was wearing. Finally he appeared. I pretended not to notice.

"Mommy?" he asked to get my attention.

"Oh, hi, Sweetie."

A casual look revealed he was still in his pajamas.

"Do you want to play with Jamie?" he asked me.

"Your mean Jamie you doll?"

He nodded his head.

This was a development I hadn't anticipated. The last time I asked, he didn't want to share her. Either he was becoming more sociable in whatever he played with the doll or he was tacitly admitting he needed my help with her new clothes. There was only one way to find out.

"Sure, Honey. Let's go upstairs."

We went up to his bedroom. All of the doll's outfits were still in the plastic box, except for the tights and jumper, which she was still wearing. I looked through the selection and picked out a few things.

"Let's see. Jamie has never worn a skirt before. I think she'd like this one. I held out the blue, yellow, green and red plaid kilt. She needs something to cover her on top. I found a yellow long sleeved blouse with a peter pan collar. How about this?" I asked rhetorically. "She's got her panties on already. Just some knee socks, I think." I found a pair of dark blue ones. "There. Do you want me to help you get her dressed?"

"Yes, please."

I explained what I was doing as I fastened the kilt around her waist, pulled on the knee socks and slipped on the blouse, fastening the buttons. When she was all dressed, I held her out to Jamie. He took her and cradled her in the crook of his arm, the way I had shown him to hold a baby.

"What would you like to wear, Jamie?" I asked neutrally.

"Her clothes, Mommy."

"You mean the same thing that Jamie is wearing, a skirt and blouse?"

"Yes."

Well, he did make the choice. Finding the clothes and helping him into them wasn't really getting involved. Okay, it was, but in for a penny in for a pound. Oh, for goodness sake, Ginny. Get over that expression. It's just an excuse to do what you want and you know it. I found the more or less matching items I had bought for Jamie and helped him get dressed. With his Irish heritage, he really looked cute. Any little girl who saw him would be jealous. I was glad that I hadn't cut his hair yet. I wouldn't have the slightest hesitation about taking him out as my daughter in that outfit. Except that it was still summer and he was dressed for fall. The little girl sweltering in long sleeves, knee socks and a wool skirt would certainly draw attention. You forgot all about the seasonal wardrobe you bought him. How could you take him out in the summer dressed like that?

"Go ahead and play, Sweetie. Mommy's got some things she has to do. Maybe later we can go out," I suggested optimistically. Assuming Mommy can solve your wardrobe problem, I thought to myself.

Okay, Ginny, he can't wear those clothes now. Either you have to buy him something appropriate for summer or give up on taking him out as a girl. Claire was really sweet. You could take him back to the mall. That would work, but didn't Dr. Mitchell tell you not to take him shopping, so he wouldn't associate girl's clothes with having fun. Yes, but you won't be shopping for him as a girl. He'll be dressed as a boy. It won't be any different than the other times you've gone shopping with him. He doesn't need to get involved in choosing the clothes and now you know his size, so he doesn't have to try the them on in the store. Besides, if you don't buy him some summer outfits, then he has to stay home when he's dressed as a girl, which is contrary to Dr. Mitchell's recommendation that he do whatever he would do normally, regardless of what he was wearing.

"Jamie, you can play for a while, then I have to change you into your, ummm, your other clothes and we can go to the mall."

An hour later, I interrupted his playing. I still had no idea what it was he did with his doll without any accessories. I changed him into his shorts and a t-shirt, socks and sneakers. We drove to the mall and went into the department store. I looked around and saw Claire sorting through a rack of dresses. I walked over to her.

"Hi, Claire."

She turned around.

"Oh, hi, Mrs. McCarthy."

She remembered my name, but then how many mothers shop in the Girls 4-6X Department for their sons and lie to her about it. I certainly was memorable.

"Do you have some returns?"

Then she recognized Jamie.

"Hi, Jamie" she greeted him.

She remembered his name too, but then to how many boys has she sold a party dress?

"Say hi to Claire, Jamie."

"Hi."

"No, no returns. That seems to have worked out. Actually, that is the problem in a way. Everything I bought was for fall and Jamie has nothing to wear now. Do you have any summer clothes left?"

"Oh, sure, Mrs. McCarthy. We moved them all to the clearance area at the back of the department." She pointed. We haven't advertised our end of summer sale yet, that won't be until mid-August, so there's still a pretty good selection of styles and sizes. Did you want me to find some things for Jamie?"

"Yes, please. You have good taste. I'm sure whatever you pick out will do nicely. I'm going to take Jamie for some ice cream. It's better if we're not around. It's complicated. Anyway, here's my credit card." I handed it to her. "I'll be back in about fifteen minutes. Oh, and if you don't mind, he," I rolled my eyes, "we need some cotton undies too. Thanks, you're a doll." I winced at the word 'doll," which got a curious look from Claire. "It's complicated," I reiterated.

Jamie and I had our usual ice cream and returned to find Claire at the sales counter with a number of items laid out.

"Do you want me to show you what I picked out?"

I shook my head.

"I'm sure it's fine."

"I didn't want to ring it up without your approval. Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I'll ring it on my account again. Just in case," she said with a smile.

"Claire, it's not necessary. You deserve your commission. I'm sure we'll keep the clothes, really."

"That's very nice of you Mrs. McCarthy, but, well, I want to do this for Jamie. I hope everything works out for her."

I was impressed both with Claire's empathy and her willingness to recognize Jamie as a girl.

"Thank you again, Claire. I don't know what I would do without you."

"No problem, Mrs. McCarthy."

She smiled as she finished scanning the tickets and ran the receipt. I signed it while she folded the clothes with tissue paper and put them in the bag. It looked to be an assortment of dresses, skirts and tops, with a couple of packages of assorted pastel cotton panties and matching tank tops. I was impressed that she remembered I wanted the clothes to be very girly. When she had everything packed, she handed me the two big bags. I thanked her again, had Jamie say thank you to her and we went back to the car.
Jamie sat quietly as we drove home.

Once we were in the house, I sent Jamie upstairs to play while I looked through what Claire had picked out for him or her. I suppose I should start referring to him as a girl. To her as a girl? This was confusing, since there were times when he was still a boy or at least he still wore boy's clothes. Returning to the bags, I took out a summer dress. It was white eyelet, knee length and sleeveless, with a square neckline that was lower in back and a full skirt with a sash that tied in back to gather in the waist. It would look adorable with a pair of dressy ankle socks and strappy little sandals. Doh, Ginny. You didn't buy any summer footwear, so Jamie still can't go out in any of his new outfits yet. Next was a pretty pink and yellow floral print sundress. No wait. The bottom was actually culottes. It was kind of a romper. A light pink skort, a flouncy aqua miniskirt and three coordinating cotton short sleeved cotton jerseys completed the ensemble. Jamie was going to love his new outfits. Any little girl would. But he wasn't any little girl. There was only one way to know for sure.

"Jamie, Honey, can you come down here for a minute," I called up to him.

I waited a couple of minutes.

"Jamie, now please."

I heard him starting down the stairs. When he arrived, he had his doll with him. She still was wearing the outfit I dressed her in this morning. Jamie had managed to put on the matching blouse. Except for buttoning the opposite way, which apparently did not deter him, it was the same as his shirts. I could see the outline of his camisole under the blouse. He also had on the knee socks and his nylon panties, but his skirt was missing. Forgetting about why I had called him down, I questioned him about his incomplete attire.

"Jamie, what happened to your skirt, Honey?"

"It fell off."

Unlike regular skirts, kilts had a complicated wrap around fastening system that took some time to master.

"Do you want me to help you with it?"

"Yes, please."

He turned to start back upstairs.

"Wait a second, Honey. I wanted to show you your new clothes."

I started to hold up the white eyelet dress, but he wasn't interested. Okay, Ginny, Plan C was not going well either. What was the problem? Of course, the stupid doll again. I had to buy her matching clothes before he would wear what I bought for him. Now I needed to add more outfits to her wardrobe. Enough is enough. I'm his mother and it is up to me to decide how Jamie dresses, not his doll.

"Jamie, I will help you with your kilt and then you can play for a while, but remember, I told you, sometimes you can wear what your doll wears, but not always. I want to go to the park with you later and you need to choose something from what I bought today. Okay?"

"Okay," he agreed.

I followed him upstairs and found the kilt on his bed. I picked it up and wrapped it around him.

"See Honey, first you bring this side across, like this, with this hand and then fasten it," I showed him. "There's a button hole here and a button on the inside of the waist here. Now it will stay up. Then you bring the other side across and button it. See the other button and button hole. Once you have it on, you buckle the straps that keep it closed."

Jamie happily picked up his doll. I left him and went downstairs to decide what I would put on him when we went out. Since we were going to the park, the skort was the most practical, particularly because he could wear his sneakers with it. I opened a package of the cotton panties and took out a pink pair. The white top would look nice with the skort. He could wear his usual white socks. No, don't mix his boy's clothes with his girl's clothes. Don't be silly, Ginny. How would he know the difference in socks? If you've seen one pair, you've seen them all. Hold on. There were some socks in the load of laundry that got tinted pink. Genius. You already told him pink underwear was for girls. Pink socks too. It was about two o'clock. I'd give him another half hour and then have him change into what I picked out.

At two thirty, I took the outfit and went upstairs.

"Jamie, it's time for you to change, so we can go to the park. See this, it's called a skort. That's because it’s a combination of a shorts and a skirt. See."

I showed him how the front panel covered over the shorts, so it looked like a skirt from the front, but you could see the shorts from the back.

"It kind of looks like one of the skirts we bought for your doll," I encouraged him. "We can put it on her when you come home. She has a white pullover top like this one too."

I held up the top for him to look at.

"Let's get you undressed. I’ll help you with your kilt. Take off the knee socks and your panties too. I have different panties and socks for you to wear."

I showed him the pink cotton panties and tinted pink socks. Once he had them on, I had him step into the skort. It had an elasticized waist, so it was easy to pull on. The top went on the same as the t-shirts with which he was familiar. I gave his hair a brushing to fluff it up and we were ready. Almost ready. I remembered that when I bought him the first set of clothes, I had picked out some accessories to go with them. They were still in the bag. I looked though them and found the gold heart locket on a thin chain and two butterfly clips for his hair. I couldn't resist, even though Dr. Mitchell had cautioned me against rewarding him for being a girl.

"Jamie, Honey, I bought you this locket. It will look really pretty on you. So will these hair clips."

I opened the clasp, reached around his neck and fastened it, then used the clips to pull the hair back next to each ear. There was no doubt that anyone looking at him would think he was a natural girl. He even had me convinced and I was his mother. Ginny, if you're going to take him out dressed like a girl, you have to start referring to him as a girl, to her as a girl. Do little girls carry pocketbooks? No, not if they're going to the playground. He, she doesn't have one of those anyway. Add it to the list with sandals.

Jamie was very patient while I got him dressed. I expected him to complain, but he accepted the unfamiliar clothes without a fuss. When I finished, I took him into my room to see himself in the full length door mirror. He turned around twice and smiled, which I took as a sign of his approval. Congratulations, Ginny, Plan C was finally working.

I went to the kitchen and put a juice pack and some cookies in a plastic bag, in case he wanted a snack while we were at the park. When he went to get in the car, I showed him how to slid in sideways and then swing his legs in. I didn't matter with the skort, but there's no harm in learning good habits. At the park, I had him do the reverse when he got out of the car. We went over to the play area. I sent him off while I sat on one of the benches in the shade of a tree and kept an eye on him. About ten minutes later, I saw another child come over to him. It was a girl, about his age. I could see her talking to him and then they went over to the slide. They both climbed up and went down, then up and down a few more times. After the slide, they went over to the climbing structure. It looked like he was having a good time playing with her. I hadn't anticipated Jamie finding a playmate and I was concerned that he might reveal that he was a boy, but so far, so good it seemed.

I had been so focused on Jamie that I hadn't noticed the woman approach.

"Hi, I'm Helen Nelson. Merry, Meredith's, my daughter."

She pointed to the little girl playing with Jamie.

"Is that your daughter?"

I wasn't prepared for her question and hesitated. She mistook my silence for a denial.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just thought, since I didn't see any other adults around, that you. I apologize for disturbing you. "

"What, no, excuse me, umm, yes, Jamie is my, umm, daughter," I babbled." I wasn't, umm, you caught me by surprise," which was an understatement. "I'm Ginny. You're, umm, Ellen?"

"Helen," she corrected me.

"It's nice to meet you Helen."

She smiled.

"Our girls seem to be getting along nicely. How old is Jamie?"

Careful Ginny, I warned myself. If you're going to be taking him out as a girl, you have to get it right.

"She's six."

"Oh, Merry will be six at the end of August. What grade is she in?"

"He," damn, "rr, her," nice recovery, "birthday's in July. I held her," good, "back a year, so she," you're improving," wouldn't be the youngest in her class. She's," you're on a roll, "just starting kindergarten."

"Great mind's think alike. Merry will be starting kindergarten in the fall too. May I sit down?"

"Please."

"What school will Jamie be going to?" Helen continued.

"Oak Hill."

"Merry too. That's so nice. We just moved here. My husband was transferred and she hasn't made any friends yet. Would you believe it, the few neighborhood children who are her age are all boys. Sugar and spice and snips and snails, if you know what I mean."

I smiled knowingly, disguising the fact that my puppy dog's tail, to complete the nursery rhyme, was playing quite well with her daughter.

Helen was very chatty and I would have enjoyed her company if it wasn't for most of the conversation being about her daughter, a subject which I assume she thought would be an equally interesting topic for me. Instead I had to struggle to keep referring to Jamie in the correct gender and make up stories about her girlhood, substituting my own experiences growing up. Finally, I looked at my watch, pretended to have an appointment and called to Jamie, motioning for him to return.

I watched as Merry took Jamie's hand and the two little girls, or so it appeared, skipped over. I didn't know Jamie knew how to skip. Maybe it was something he learned when he played with his cousins. I never really paid attention to what they did together. Maybe I should have. Jamie and Merry arrived. Up close, she was very pretty, about Jamie's height, with big brown eyes and brunette hair done up in two long pigtails that went halfway down her back. When they arrived, she let go of Jamie's hand and went over to her mother.

"Oh, Mommy, can Jamie come to our house?" Merry asked enthusiastically. "I can teach her how to play cat's cradle. I can do up to this many turns," she turned to me and announced proudly, holding up five fingers.

Helen looked at me.

"Can she, Ginny? If you have something to do, I can drop Jamie off later. If they're both in the same school, we must not live too far away from each other. Oh, I suppose you don't know anything about us, do you. No, I guess you're right," she agreed with herself, "it's not a good idea to let your daughter go off with a stranger. I know, maybe when you're done you could stop by our house. Let me give you our address and telephone number."

Before I could say anything, she reached into her purse, took out a large appointment book which had a pen and notepad, wrote the information down and handed it to me. I was waiting for her to ask me for my address and telephone number, which I was reluctant to give her. Since I did not offer to reciprocate, she was polite enough not to ask for it.

"Thank you, Helen. It's not that I'm concerned, but we do have other plans for today. I'll give you a call and the girls can get together another time."

"Great, Ginny, have a nice day."

"You too. Say goodbye to Merry, Jamie."

"Bye."

"Bye," Merry waved.

Once we were safely in the car, I asked Jamie how he liked playing with Merry.

"Okay, Mommy. She's nice."

"What did you two do?"

"I don't know. Just played. On the swings and slide and stuff."

"What did you two talk about?"

"Nothing."

"You and she didn't talk to each other while you were playing?"

"Uh uh."

"Jamie!"

"No, not talk. I don't know. Stuff."

I decided not to press him. If there was something he wanted to tell me, he would. At least it didn't seem that he had revealed himself, probably because they were so active. I wondered how he would do if they did something more feminine. He had some experience with his cousins. They knew he wasn't a girl, so they made allowances, I would think. Would Merry recognize the difference? It didn't matter, because I couldn't take the chance.

Then it struck me. Oh my God! He and Merry would be in school together. I was pretty sure there was only one kindergarten class at Oak Hill. What would happen on the first day of school when Merry's new girlfriend showed up as a boy? Now you've done it, Ginny. Dr. Mitchell warned you to be careful, not to take Jamie out where he might be recognized. What were you thinking? Well, he never made friends with anyone in the park before, I defended myself. Then again, he wasn't a girl. Maybe boys were less social. Well, add one more thing to talk about with Dr. Mitchell.

When we got home, I sent Jamie up to his room to play. I was angry with myself for the predicament I had caused. The more I thought about it, the more upset I became. I could have said no to the doll and none of this would have happened. Or would it? According to Dr. Mitchell, it just would have postponed the inevitable, if Jamie was transgendered. He wouldn't be, though, if I hadn't bought him the doll. No, he would be, you just wouldn't know he was. If you didn't know he was and he didn't act like he was, because he didn't have the doll, then he wouldn't be, would he? I was going around in circles. I needed some help. I should call Karen. No, not Karen. She knows we are seeing Dr. Mitchell and she would defer to her, I was sure of it, probably with a lecture on professional responsibility to boot. I looked at the clock on the microwave. It was four forty. I found Dr. Mitchell's number and I called it, hoping she'd still be in her office.

"Dr. Mitchell's office."

"Hi, Kelly?"

"Yes, this is Kelly. Who's this?"

"It's Virginia McCarthy, Kelly."

"Oh, Ms. McCarthy, I'm sorry I didn't recognize your voice. Between us girls," she gave a little chuckle, "most of Dr. Mitchell's clients disguise their voice to sound female. It's very confusing to sort out who I'm talking to most of the time. What can I do for you?"

"Is Dr. Mitchell available, Kelly?"

"She's still with a patient. Usually, she has her fifteen minute privacy window, but, Samantha is the last appointment for today, so she won't be done until five. Do you want her to call you when she's finished?"

"Yes, please, Kelly."

"Is it about your appointment, Mrs. McCarthy. If there's a problem, I can take care of that for you."

"No thank you, Kelly. I need to talk to Dr. Mitchell about something that's come up. I'd just feel better if I could get some reassurance."

"No problem, Mrs. McCarthy. Can Dr. Mitchell reach you at home?"

"Yes, please."

"Okay, maybe in about fifteen minutes. I'll give her the message."

"Thanks, Kelly."

"Your welcome, Mrs. McCarthy. Bye."

"Goodbye."

I hang up the phone and started getting dinner ready, while I waited for Dr. Mitchell to call back. I was anxious to talk to her and I didn't want to start anything elaborate that might distract me during our conversation. There were a few slices of cheese pizza in the freezer which I could put in the oven for Jamie. I wasn't hungry. I took them out, put them on a cookie sheet and turned on the oven. While I was waiting for the oven to preheat, I set the table and cut up some lettuce and a few other vegetables I found in the crisper drawer to make a salad. The preparations distracted me enough so that when the telephone rang I was startled. I recovered quickly and grabbed the receiver.

"Hello."

"Ginny, hi, it's Jenny Mitchell. Is there a problem?"

"Thank you for returning my call, Dr. Mitchell, Jenny." I was going to be cool, calm and collected. "I'm sorry to bother you. It's just, well, something happened today that, well, that, I …" so much for cool, calm and collected. "I think I made a mistake," I blurted out, "I, I tried to be careful, but, well, I, I should have, I didn't mean too … I don't know, this is all so difficult. I, I, maybe I wasn't very good at raising Jamie as a boy, but I'm awful at raising him as a girl."

"Ginny," Dr. Mitchell finally interrupted my ranting, "calm down. You're not bothering me. That's why I'm here, to help you. You don't have to do this by yourself and you might as well get used to the reality that it's not going to be easy, even with my help. Now tell me what happened that has you so upset. Start from the beginning and go slowly. Okay?"

"Okay. We went to the park. Jamie was dressed as a girl. Not femmy or anything, just a skort, plain top, sneakers and sox. He met another little girl. Well, she thought he was a girl too. They played nicely together. Her mother introduced herself to me. Dr. Mitchell, she, the little girl Jamie made friends with, her name is Merry, Meredith, she's going to be in his kindergarten class at school. Jamie's been to the park dozens of times. He plays with the other children, but he's never made a friend before. Do you see the problem?"

"First of all, Ginny, you're making an assumption that is not true."

"I don't understand, Dr. Mitchell, Jenny. What is it that isn't true?"

"You're assuming that Jamie will start school as a boy. That is one option. The other option is for him to start school as a girl."

"You mean the school would let a boy come to class dressed as a girl?"

"No, not unless it was Halloween, but, with a clinical diagnosis from me backed up by state and federal laws requiring children with disabilities to be educated in the least restrictive environment, the school authorities can be persuaded to accommodate a transgendered student."

"Jamie can go to school as a girl?" I asked incredulously.

"That's one option. There are others. We can discuss them on Monday. I was planning on spending most of the session with Jamie, but now we need time to deal with school. You've put him in the daycare center before, haven't you?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then check him into the center when you arrive. You can leave him while you and I talk about his going to shcool. Afterwards, you can get him and bring him here to meet with me for however much time is left. I don't want to leave open something that has you this anxious and I can work with Jamie later, rather than sooner.

"Thank you so much, Doctor, I mean Jenny. I am relieved."

"Good. I'll see you on Monday."

"Yes. Oh, Jenny?"

"Yes?"

"How should I dress Jamie?"

"You mean should he come to the session as a boy or a girl?"

"Yes."

"I doesn't matter to me, Ginny. To reverse an old saying, clothes don't make the girl. However, since you previously brought him to daycare as a boy, it might be confusing if his twin sister showed up."

"Oh, right. I hadn't thought about that."

"Any other questions?"

"No."

"Goodnight."

The rest of the week went by quickly. Jamie continued to dress the same as his doll with my help, except when we went out. I decided not to take any more chances. As long as he didn't have the doll with him, Jamie was not interested in what he wore.

All Dolled Up - 6

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part VI

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

On Sunday night, I told Jamie that we would be going to the hospital again. To my surprise, he asked me if he could wear Jamie's clothes. I understood him to mean Jamie the doll, so he wanted to go out as a girl. No, Ginny, not as a girl, but in girl's clothes. Whether he wanted to be a girl was a question I hoped would be answered soon. For a number of reasons, in particular Dr. Mitchell's observation that Jamie was registered with the daycare center as a boy and my concern about running into someone we knew, I told him no. Jamie didn't seem disappointed, which also surprised me. If he didn't prefer to wear girl's clothes then he couldn't be transgendered could he? Then again, I remembered Dr. Mitchell's comment that clothes don't make the girl. Does a doll? Be patient Ginny, I advised myself. If you knew the answer, you wouldn't need this appointment.

The next morning, I woke Jamie, got him dressed in his usual boy's underwear, shorts, top, white cotton socks and sneakers and we had a quick breakfast. At the hospital, we went through the now familiar routine of placing him in the daycare center, after which I went to see Dr. Mitchell. I got to her office a few minutes before eight. The door to the reception area was open and I went in. I was surprised to see Kelly at her desk. She said she was coming in early, so that she would be here when I arrived with Jamie, but I assumed Dr. Mitchell had told her about the change in plans.

"Kelly, hi," I greeted her. "I didn't think you'd be here. Didn't Dr. Mitchell tell you we decided that I would meet with her first?"

"Yes, about five minutes ago," she said good naturedly, considering that she was at work before eight o'clock and then explained, "my bad, though. I never told her that I was coming in early, so she never told me not to. No harm done. My husband can burn his toast and make a cup of instant coffee as will as I can."

"Kelly, you are bad," I agreed, "not that I believe you, but for making up such stories."

"You caught me again, Ms. McCarthy. Actually, George does quite well in the kitchen. My talents are lie elsewhere, if you get my drift."

"Kelly, really!"

She gave me a big grin.

"The Doctor is in and she's expecting you."

"Thank you Kelly."

"You're welcome, Ms. McCarthy."

I knocked on the door to Dr. Mitchell's office. A minute later, it opened and Dr. Mitchell came out.

She posed in the doorway, one hand on her hip and the other on the door frame. Then she put her arms at her side, fingers splayed out, and did a complete turn taking little steps. I glanced at Kelly and she had about fallen out of her chair trying to stop from laughing. I had no idea what Dr. Mitchell was doing and tilted my head quizzically.

"I love getting compliments from genetic women. It reinforces my self-image as a transsexual. So?"

I glanced at Kelly again. She was close to wetting herself she thought it was so funny. Looking back at Dr. Mitchell, she was stylishly dressed in a dark cranberry straight skirt that ended just above her knees, a pale pink blouse, probably silk, with a pointed collar, open at the neck to display a string of pearls, a matching short jacket with long sleeves and pearl buttons, opaque pearlescent stockings and cranberry leather pumps with a mid heel. Her makeup was perfect with the signature plum lipstick, flawless skin with a hint of blush over her cheekbones, beautifully accented eyes with liner, mascara and a light pearlescent eye shadow, and her hair was held back with a cranberry scrunchy showing off her gold pearl drop earrings. Any genetic woman would have killed to look that good. I would have.

"Definitely a ten." I turned to Kelly. "Don't you agree?"

"No." She paused while we both looked at her. "A twelve. And can I have a raise?"

"Insincerity should not be rewarded," Dr. Mitchell playfully scolded her. "This way please, Ginny."

Dr. Mitchell went into her office and I followed, closing the door behind me. She went over to the conversation area and took her usual chair. I sat across from her. She crossed her legs and lightly tugged on the hem of her skirt for modesty. As with our previous sessions, she did not have a notepad or recording device.

"Why don't you bring me up to date, Ginny?" she began. "Tell me how Jamie did dressing as a girl and about the incident in the park."

"Well, Doctor, Jenny, I, umm, he, umm, the experiment didn't work as we planned," I finally got out.

"What happened?"

"It seems, well, it seemed to me anyway," I rambled, "he wasn't interested in the girl's clothes I bought him. At least he didn't seem to care about what he wore. That is, not unless it was what his doll was wearing. The first time I let him pick out his clothes, he went back to the party dress, because that's what she, the doll, had on. Of course, he really didn't know anything about girl's clothes and you cautioned me not to influence his choice, so I didn't. I don't know if I was doing the right thing, but I figured out that he would wear what the doll wore, so I took him to the toy store and we picked out some doll clothes that were similar to his new outfits. That worked, except that what I had bought him were back to school clothes. He would have looked silly going out dressed like that in summer. So then I had to buy him some summer outfits. I might have gone too far though, Jenny, because the next day I picked out an outfit for him to wear. He went along with it though. That was when we went to the park and ran into the little girl who's going to be in his class. Then this morning, he asked me if he could wear the same clothes that his doll had on, but you and I had already discussed dressing him as a boy for his appointment, so I told him no,"

"I see," Dr. Mitchell said.

"Does that help at all Jenny?" I asked hopefully.

"Everything helps at this stage, Ginny. The experiment wasn't meant to be a definitive test of whether Jamie is transgendered; only to see how he reacted to dressing as a girl. From what you told me, without encouragement he is ambivalent. The average boy Jamie's age doesn't like girls and would hate being dressed like one. However, Jamie isn't necessarily average, so it doesn't prove anything more than that he likes girls better than most six year old boys. We still have a lot of exploring to do, which brings us to Jamie's making friends with a female classmate who thinks he's a girl. What is it about the situation that concerns you, Ginny?"

Was she serious?

"Isn't it obvious that Jamie would be embarrassed, if she told the other children in the class about him pretending to be a girl?" I challenged her.

"No. Children their age have very short memories. She met him once. It is likely that she won't recognize him when she sees him as a boy or that she won't care about it, if she does. Six year old girls have a reciprocal dislike for boys. Children their age also have very short attention spans. Even if she did remember Jamie as a girl and tattletaled, it would probably go in one collective class ear and out the other, as they say. Prejudice requires maturity."

"So going to school as a boy won't be a problem for Jamie, Jenny?" I asked optimistically.

"No, it is a problem, Ginny. It just isn't the one that you're worried about. My concern is whether Jamie's affinity will be with the boys or the girls in his class. It would be more harmful to him psychologically if he was rejected by the boys, because he was too effeminate, and not accepted by the girls, because he was not feminine enough. That brings us back to how he feels about himself."

"Well, except for his recent fascination with his doll and her clothes, he has always been a typical boy." I paused and thought. "At least he never showed any interest in doing girls' activities, like cooking or wanting to play dress-up in mommy's clothes. Karen and I were always hanging around Mom or fooling around with her stuff. 'For goodness sake,' she used to warn us when she caught us parading around in her heels 'will you girls stay out of my closet. You'll have plenty of time to be grown ups. Enjoy being kids.'"

"That's because you were raised as girls and trying on your mother's clothes is accepted as normal curiosity. I bet that most boys have tried on some item of their mother's or sister's clothes too, but that behavior is negatively reinforced. Our society is so irrationally homophobic that even otherwise liberal women are afraid of exposing their sons to any feminine influence."

"Did I do wrong, then, Jenny, by letting Jamie have a doll? Is this all my fault?" I asked anxiously.

"No, Ginny, as far as our studies show, you cannot influence a child's gender preference. Boys who have been inadvertently or involuntarily raised as girls usually revert back to being males when given the choice."

"I don't understand, Jenny. How can a boy be raised as a girl by mistake?"

"Today, in the developed countries, where babies are born in hospitals and get a thorough pediatric neonatal examination, it doesn't happen, but a century ago, maybe even as late as fifty years ago, home birthing with no doctor in attendance was common. A boy with undescended testicles or malformed genitals could, on cursory observation, be mistaken for a girl. There is also one well documented case of a boy in Canada who suffered genital mutilation as the result of a botched circumcision. A misguided doctor convinced his parents that he would be better off undergoing SRS, sexual reassignment surgery, rather than being a non-functional male. He had his testicles removed when he was an infant and was raised as a girl, but he always felt that he was different. When he finally discovered the truth, he became a man again."

"What happened to him?"

"Knowing that his parents had changed his gender without his permission or knowledge, that they deceived him into believing he was a girl, finding it out at a time when he was still young and vulnerable, having the same physician try to intimidate him into accepting himself as a transsexual and the transition back to being male were all too much for him. He tried to lead a normal life, he even got married, but it didn't work out and he committed suicide in his thirties."

I stared at her in shock.

"Oh, my God, Jenny! Is that Jamie's future?"

"No, Ginny, that boy was the reverse of being transgendered. He never wanted to be a girl. The doctor who recommended the sex change mistakenly believed that it was nurture, the way a child is raised, not nature, which determines one's gender preference. We know now, both from that tragically failed experiment and other research, that it is not true. You can't turn boys into girls or girls into boys by raising them to be the opposite sex or make children homosexual by example. There are many gay, lesbian and transgendered couples who have children and those children do not grow up to prefer same sex partners or want to have sex changes. Our children grow up to be normal, healthy adults to the same extent as the children of heterosexual couples. If I didn't believe that, Ginny, I would never have children of my own."

"Thank you, Jenny," I said with relief.

"Your welcome, Ginny, that's my role. To help you understand how to deal with Jamie and to help Jamie deal with himself, if he is transgendered."

Dr. Mitchell looked at her watch.

"I do want to spend some time with Jamie. There's about 45 minutes left of our session. In the next fifteen, we should decide on what to do next and then you should go get him."

"What do you suggest, Jenny?"

"Actually, it's your suggestion. When we discussed Jamie going out dressed as a girl, you mentioned visiting your sister's family. On the one hand, it can be a good test and a positive experience, if things go well. If they don't, it can make your relationship with them very awkward."

"Yes, I think it would work. I know Karen would accept Jamie as a girl. She's already aware of the situation. I think her daughters would enjoy him as a girl, too. That's pretty much how they treat him when they're together, anyway. I don't know about her husband, Dave. He's a really good guy, but, well, from what Karen said and from my own experience, men are much more conservative. He'd probably have a hard time accepting it. I suppose I could talk to Karen and see what she thinks. She knows him better than I do."

"Why don't you do that, Ginny? If Dave's okay with it, then do it for the weekend. Just a couple of days to get a sense of how Jamie feels about being treated as a girl, not just dressing up like his doll. He seemed to be comfortable as a girl when you took him to the park and he played with, Merry, I think you said was her name."

I nodded my head.

"Merry, yes."

"He should do fine with his cousins then. I would recommend you keep it low key for Jamie's first outing en femme."

I smiled at her, indicating that I was now familiar enough with the nuances of being transgendered to have caught the double entendre.

"Go ahead and get Jamie." She dismissed me with a motion of her hand towards the door. "Bring him right in when you get back, please."

"I will, Jenny. See you in a few minutes."

I went out. Kelly was typing and looked up. There was no need to say anything. I quickly left, went to the daycare center, signed the release form and took Jamie back up to Dr. Mitchell's office. When we entered the reception area, Kelly stood up and came out to greet us.

"Hi, Jamie. I'm Kelly. It's nice to meet you," she said softly, kneeling down to his level. "Your Mom and I are friends," she looked up at me and grinned. "When you're done, come say goodbye and I think I can find a lollypop for you. What's your favorite color, red, purple, green, yellow or orange?"

"Red," Jamie replied shyly.

"Red it is then, if it's okay with you Mom."

"Thank you, Kelly, that's very sweet. Did you go to all of that trouble just for Jamie?"

"No, actually you'd be surprised how many of our patients feel better getting a lollypop after their session. I'm about to run out of red though. Girl's seem to favor that color."

"Kelly!"

"Okay, okay. You're a tough audience, Mrs. M. I bought them for Jamie, 'cause he's special. We have lots of red ones."

I shook my head. Kelly went over and opened the door to Dr. Mitchell's office. I took Jamie's hand and we went in. Dr. Mitchell had been working at her desk. She got up and came over. Like Kelly, she knelt down to Jamie's level to introduce herself, gently placing her hands on his shoulders."

"Good Morning, Jamie. I'm Jenny Mitchell. It's nice to meet you. Would you come over and sit with your Mom and me, please?"

Jenny stood up and walked to her chair. I took my chair and had Jamie sit in the chair next to me."

"Your mother tells me you have a new doll and her name is Jamie, just like yours. Is that right?"

Jamie gave a small nod.

"Words, please, Jamie."

"Yes," he replied softly.

"Is the doll your friend?"

Jenny waited, but Jamie didn't answer.

"Is the doll your sister?"

No answer.

"Is the doll your child?"

No answer.

"Is the doll you?"

"Yes."

It was a response I never expected and sat in surprised silence. I thought that, having hit upon the right question, Jenny would have given me a satisfied look, but she continued to focus on Jamie.

"Jamie, is your doll a boy or a girl?"

"Jamie's like me."

"You’re a boy."

Jamie looked puzzled and then began to cry. I started to get up to comfort him. Dr. Mitchell shook her head. Instead, she got up, got on her knees in front of him and held him. As his sobs turned to sniffles, she turned her head towards me and explained.

"I need to have a relationship with Jamie and this is a start."

I nodded my understanding.

After a few minutes of comforting, Jamie quieted down. Jenny got up and sat back down.

"Jamie, why did my saying you are a boy make you cry?"

He looked at me.

"You can tell Jenny, Jamie. She's a friend and she wants to help you," I said with an assuring smile. "It's okay, Sweetie, really it is."

"Jamie's like me," he repeated.

"How is Jamie like you?"

He didn't answer.

"Jamie's a doll. You're not a doll, are you?"

He shook his head.

"Do you like Jamie's clothes?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to wear Jamie's clothes all of the time?"

He shrugged.

"If you had a choice, would you wear your clothes or Jamie's clothes?"

"Jamie's clothes."

"Why can't you wear Jamie's clothes all of the time?"

Silence.

"Is it because you mother says you have to wear you own clothes sometimes?"

Jamie nodded.

"When you're not dressed like Jamie, how does she feel?"

I leaned forward and anxiously listened for his answer.

Silence.

"Is she sad?"

He shook his head.

"Is she happy?"

From Jamie's reaction, it was a sensitive topic. He started to sniffle and I could see tears starting to form. Jenny did too. She went over and got back down on her knees to comfort him. After a few minutes he was better and she returned to her chair.

"I think we've done enough for today," she announced, looking at her watch. "At this point, I'm not sure whether Jamie's behavior manifests an identity crises or gender confusion."

Shifting my eyes towards Jamie and back, I gave her a stern look to indicate my disapproval of her discussing his behavior in front of him. She nodded slightly to indicate she got the message.

"I do not have secrets from my patients," she countered, "any of my patients," she repeated for emphasis, "regardless of their age. I doubt Jamie understands what we are talking about, but he is entitled to hear it. Openness may not be important now, but it will be as he gets older. He needs to believe that you and I are acting in his best interest and he cannot have that confidence, if he is excluded from our conversations."

"What I would recommend," she continued, "is that we try to distinguish between Jamie being the doll and being like the doll. Sometimes a person who is having a life crisis escapes by taking on a different identity. They become that person or object. Or it may be that the doll has a quality that appeals to Jamie. It could be her clothes, it could be her gender or it could be that she does not have emotions. I told you not to influence Jamie's choices. Now I think you should. Let's give him the opportunity to express his feminine side and see how he interacts with the doll. Treat him like your daughter. In the meantime, talk discretely with your sister about the visit we discussed. Don't make any commitment, until we see what happens in the next few days. Please call me on Thursday and let me know."

"You mean I should do things with him that I would do, if he was a girl?" I asked Jenny to clarify.

"No, you should do whatever you would do with her, because she is a girl."

"Like go to the beauty parlor and get our hair and nails done?"

"Worked for me."

I thought she was being facetious, but then she went on.

"The first time I really felt like a girl is when my mother took me to get my hair done at a salon. That's how my mother met my stepfather."

"You discovered you were a girl when you mother had your hair done and she married the hairdresser?"

Ginny laughed.

"No, it all started playing Barbies with my sisters. Interesting, now that I think of it, that involved dolls too, but in a different way. It's a long story."

She looked at her watch.

"Oh, Oh. We're out of time. You two have to leave now."

Jenny walked over to Jamie, who had been sitting quietly while we talked. As she predicted, he did not seem to have paid any attention to our conversation.

"Jamie, thank you for coming, you've been very patient. Will you come back and see me. I'd like that and maybe I can help you be like Jamie. Okay?"

He nodded his head.

I got up and went over to him. He got up and I took his hand. Jenny had crossed to the door and opened it for us. She waved goodbye. I turned, so that Jamie could see her and he waived to her. Kelly had gotten up and walked over to Jamie, kneeling down.

"Jamie, here's the red lollypop I promised you."

She put her hand on his left shoulder and turned him, so that his ear was near her mouth."

"There's another red lollipop for later, too. I'm putting it in your pocket. It's our secret," she whispered loud enough for me to hear.

Then she realized that his shorts didn't have pockets and looked up at me chagrined. I look down and laughed.

"Serves you right for being sneaky."

"Sorry, Jamie, we're busted," she admitted sheepishly.

"What do you say to Kelly, Jamie?"

"Thank you."

"Your welcome. Another appointment Ms. McCarthy?"

"Dr. Mitchell didn't say. We ran out of time. She wanted me to call her Thursday. I guess that we still need the regular Monday appointment though. Can you put us in and check with her?"

"No problem. And Jamie, next time, Honey, wear pants with pockets," she told him with a wink. "Really big pockets," she added, looking up and sticking her tongue out at me.

She stood up and opened the reception room door for us. As we were going by her, I took her arm and gave her a peck on the cheek for being such a sweetheart.

"My proposal still goes, Kelly," I kidded her.

"I'll talk to George," she kidded me back, adding in a whisper, "I think he's always dreamed of a threesome." She paused and then added, "Although I'm not sure I'm included."

"You're bad. Bye."

"Bye."

As we walked to the car, I decided to start following Jenny's recommendation. I pulled out of the garage and headed for the mall. I took Jamie into the discount shoe store and had him try on an assortment of girl's footwear. I tried to judge his expression as I strapped on a pair of really cute white sandals to go with his sundress, but there was no reaction. I suppose getting excited about picking out shoes to match a dress is a girl thing and Jamie had a lot to learn in that department, if it turned out he was in that department. I ended up with two pairs of sandals, white and pink, a pair of sneakers in white, pink and aqua, two pairs of ballet style flats and a dressy black patent leather pump with a little heel. After checking out, we went to the accessory store, where I bought him some additional hair accessories, barrettes, clips and headbands, a bangle bracelet for dress-up and a gold chain bracelet.

By the time we got home, it was lunch time. I decided to change his clothes first and then take him out to eat. We went into his room. The doll was on the bed, propped against the pillow. She still had on the kilt, tights and blouse I dressed her in yesterday, but there was nothing in his summer wardrobe like what she had on. Hopefully, he would prefer anything that resembled the doll's outfit to being dressed in boy's clothes.

"Jamie, Honey, how about one of your skirts and a cute top? I'd really like you to wear them for me. You'd look very pretty," I appealed to his vanity, just the way I would coax him into wearing what I picked out if he was a girl."

I held up the flouncy aqua miniskirt and a white cotton peasant blouse with a wide neck trimmed with eyelet and matching puffy short sleeves. The bodice was embroidered with little pink, aqua and yellow flowers. It went nicely with the skirt. Claire had good taste. I opened up the package of cotton panties and found a light pink pair. A pair of white ankle socks with the white sandals I just bought completed the outfit. Should he wear the sandals without socks? No, he wasn't used to wearing shoes without socks. Okay, no socks. Girls don't wear socks with sandals. What difference would it make if he wore socks? Isn't it more important that he be comfortable than stylish? Okay, socks. Was it always this hard dressing a girl? Were you and Karen fussy about what you wore? No, mother dressed us as she pleased. There was no debate. Right or wrong, fashionable or not, it was her choice. I sighed. Okay, socks. Having reminded myself of my mother's influence on my own girlhood, I took charge.

"Stand up, Sweetie," I directed him.

I helped him out of his boy's clothes and held out the panties for him to put on. The skirt had an elastic waist. He stepped into it and I pulled it up.

"Arms up, Sweetie."

I lowered the top over his head and tucked it into the waistband, reaching under the skirt and pulling it down.

"Hop up on the bed."

He jumped up, bunching the short skirt under him.

"Jamie, when you're wearing skirts and dresses you have to smooth them under you when you sit down. Otherwise, they get all wrinkled in back. Please stand up and try again."

He got to his feet.

"Like this," I demonstrated, turning around, reaching behind me and sliding my hands over my behind and down to my mid thigh as I slowly seated myself. "You try."

I had showed him before, when he first wore my tank top as a dress and we sat together on the couch watching a video. I explained about keeping his skirt down and his legs together too, but I never thought it was going to be practical knowledge. Turning my attention to Jamie, I watched as he awkwardly copied me, but the bed was too high for him to coordinate holding down the skirt and hopping up backwards at the same time. He couldn't get the momentum and bounced off the edge.

"Jamie, Honey, if it's too high for you to sit down, climb up and then shift from one side to the other to lift your bottom and pull your skirt straight."

This time he got up on the bed as he usually did and wiggled around until he had the skirt smoothed out under him.

"Good girl," I complimented him. Either he didn't pick up on it or it didn't mean anything to him, because I didn't notice any reaction to my referring to him as a girl.

"Remember, Sweetie, girls do not let people look up their skirts," I continued with my lesson. "You need to cross your legs at the knees or ankles, so you won't show your panties. Except when you need to put on shoes or socks, like now. Then you can just keep the upper part of your legs together."

Jenny was right when she observed that there's more to being a girl than the clothes. Its her mannerisms and demeanor that make the difference. Mothers are constantly coaching their daughters how to behave like young ladies. Jamie did okay at the playground, but boys and girls use swings and slides the same way. What would he do in a group of girls? I suppose spending the weekend with his cousins would be a good indication, but they would know he wasn't a girl and make accommodations. Can he be taught to be convincing over a weekend? Does he need to be? Will he want to be?

I finished putting on his socks and sandals.

"Stand up, please. Turn around. You look very nice, Jamie. Come here, please."

I sat down on the bend and lifted him onto my lap. He was till small enough that he fit comfortably.

"Jamie, I know I told you that you couldn't always wear what your doll wears, but you two do look alike. You both have on skirts, blouses and sandals. Do you like what you're wearing?"

"Can I play now?" Jamie asked in typical children's non sequitor, which I took as tacit approval.

"Yes, Honey, for a little while. I have a few things to do and then we can go out to lunch."

I left him in his room and went downstairs. I opened up the cabinet above the telephone and found the Yellow Pages. Now was as good a time as any to get his hair done. I looked through the ads to find a salon which specialized in children, to make his first experience at the hairdressers as comfortable as possible. There was one ad for Priscilla's that said they did Little Miss Pageant styling. I wasn't sure what that was, but 'little miss' sounded like they would be accustomed to working with girls. I dialed the number.

"Hello, Priscilla's," answered a pleasant woman's voice.

"Hello. This is Virginia McCarthy. I would like to make an appointment for my daughter to have her hair done."

"Very good, Mrs. McCarthy. When would you like to schedule her?"

"I was hoping you might have an opening this afternoon. Do you?" I inquired.

"Oh, I thought you were booking in advance for a fall pageant. In the summer, most of the girls who compete are off to camp or on vacation with their families, so we close for a month," she explained. "We'll reopen the end of August, if you'd like to book your daughter then.

"No, I'm sorry to have bothered you. I saw your ad in the phone book and wanted Jamie to get hi, h, her first styling at a salon that worked with children."

"How old is your daughter?"

"Jamie just turned six."

There was a pause.

"I'm Priscilla, the owner. We are closed, but, actually, I'm bored. That's why I'm here today puttering around. I could do your daughter, Jamie, was it?

"Yes, Jamie. I wouldn't want to impose."

"It's no imposition. What time do you want to come in?"

"Would two o'clock be convenient?"

"Yes, that would be fine."

"Thank you," I said appreciatively. We'll see you at two. Thank you again."

"No problem," she replied and hung up.

I looked at my watch. It was almost one.

"Jamie," I called upstairs, "it's time to go, Honey. Please come down."

I heard him moving around and a few minutes later he appeared carrying his doll.

"Jamie, the doll can't go out of the house," I reminded him.

Then I thought about the reason why I had made that rule, so that nobody would see a boy with a doll. But he wasn't a boy, at least not for the rest of the week. What would happen, if I let him take the doll? Would it make him feel more feminine? How would it make him feel more feminine than being dressed in a skirt and blouse? Would it make him feel more comfortable or confident as a girl? He didn't seem to be uncomfortable or lack confidence. Would it be helpful to see how he acted with the doll when there were other people around? It might and he could pass as a girl, so it would look normal. Very well then, Ginny, let him take the doll.

"You know what Jamie," although of course he didn't, "I'm going to change my mind about your doll. Since you've been so good," which wasn't my motivation, but he didn't need to know that, "I've decided to let you take her with us when we go out. Would you like that?"

He put the doll down on the stairs, where he usually left her at mealtimes.

"Don't you want to take her?"

He shook his head.

"Words, Jamie, please."

"No, Mommy."

"Really? I know I said that you couldn't, but now that you look so pretty, it's different."

I waited to see if my compliment persuade him, but it didn't.

"No, Mommy," he repeated.

Considering that Jamie and his doll were inseparable at home, it was a puzzle to me why he would not want to take her with him, if given the opportunity. Had I so intimidated him about being seen with a doll that even the change in my attitude was not enough to overcome his reluctance? Or was it more complex? Was his relationship with the doll, whatever it was, so special that he couldn't share it with strangers? He only brought her to me when he couldn't manage dressing her and he got upset when Jenny questioned him about her. If I had to guess, that was it. I made a mental note to tell Jenny about this development. Even if I didn't understand it, maybe she would find it significant.

"Very well, Honey, Jamie can stay home," I agreed. "We girls," I looked to see his response, but, as before, either he didn't detect the nuance or he ignored it, "will have a fun day. You know what? We're going to get your hair done at a real beauty salon, just like Mommy does!" I announced enthusiastically, "a real girl's hairstyle to make you look even prettier."

Again, I looked to see his response, but there was none.

"Let's go, Sweetie," I directed him, picking up my pocket book and walking towards the door to the garage. Jamie followed. I opened the car door for him and buckled him in. First stop would be for a burger. We still had a little more than an hour and the salon was two towns over, about a thirty minute drive. I was happy it was so far, because that made it unlikely we'd run into anyone we knew, particularly anyone Jamie would be going to school with, even more so, because the salon was closed and we would be the only customers. Jamie sat quietly as we drove to the restaurant. We went in and I ordered his usual kid's meal with milk and a cookie. I got a salad and we sat at a booth.

After we finished, I wanted to wash up. I took him to the restroom area at the back of the store. I started into the ladies' room and hesitated. Should I be taking him in there? Mothers do take boys in with them, if they are too little to go by themselves, but Jamie was well beyond that age. However, he wouldn’t be welcome in the men's room the way he was dressed. Women did their business behind a closed door, so he wouldn't see anything he shouldn't and we wouldn't be intruding on anyone's privacy. I took his hand and in we went. It was empty. We went over to the sink, I ran the water for him to wash his hands, handed him a paper towel and then washed my hands. As we left, I wondered how many of the girls, maybe even women, with whom I shared the ladies' room over the years were not what they seemed.

Back in the car, we drove to the area where the salon was located. I had to stop twice and ask directions, but we finally found it. It was in a small strip mall, between a real estate office and a jewelry store. There was a blue awning across the front with white letters which read 'Priscilla's Pageant and Performance - Hair and Wear.' The entrance had a glass door with a 'closed' sign. I took Jamie out of the car and we went to the door and tried the handle. It was open. Inside was a very pretty reception area with a turquoise carpet, pink, white and turquoise patterned wallpaper coordinating fabric couches in front of which were glass tables piled with magazines, the top one titled "Pageant World." At the back was a counter and behind the counter there was a window looking into the salon.

When we entered a chime sounded. Looking through the window behind the desk, I could see a woman approaching. She was tall, at least five ten, maybe wearing high heels, but probably not, because they wouldn't go with her casual outfit of light pink Capri's and a sleeveless white blouse with pink trim. I would guess she was in her thirties and that she must have been a real beauty when she was younger, probably a model. She came into the reception area and greeted us cordially.

"Hello, I'm Priscilla. You must be Mrs. McCarthy and this lovely young lady is Jamie. My goodness," she enthused, "what a beauty with her red hair and green eyes. Have you ever thought of entering her in a pageant? With her looks, she'd be a shoo in." She shook her head. "So many blue eyed blondes. I can't remember a redhead." Walking around Jamie, she studied his hair and then turned to me. "No offense, Mrs. McCarthy, but she looks like Raggedy Ann with that mop of hair. Let's go into the salon and see if we can't find a style that's more becoming."

Priscilla turned and started through the doorway. I took Jamie's hand and followed her. She went into the salon area and directed us to the end station. It was a little larger than the others, because the counter wrapped around the back wall. She took a booster cushion and put it on the seat of the chair.

"Okay, Jamie, up you go."

Jamie looked at me, unsure of what he was supposed to do, never having had his hair done before.

"Come on, Jamie."

I walked him over and helped him up.

"Well, Mrs. McCarthy. Her hair really isn't long enough to do anything too stylish. She ran her fingers through it a few times and bunched it, letting it spring back. "It's very fine, but it has good body. Is Jamie in school?"

"She's just starting kindergarten this year."

"Well, I would recommend something simple that she can do herself. A girl can never start caring for her hair too young. It is her greatest asset." She walked around Jamie. "I suggest a doll cut."

Of all the styles, I thought to myself, how could she possibly come up with that one by sheer coincidence.

"I would do short bangs in front, so as not to detract from her eyes, a center part and make the sides and back even. In a month or two, it will be long enough to angle it a little, front to back. Is that to your liking?"

"Whatever you think would be best, Pricilla. He's in your hands," I said, trying to be clever with the double meaning.

Priscilla gave me a strange look.

It took me a second to realize what I had just done. I outed him again. I shook my head, disgusted with myself.

"Mrs. McCarthy, I need to speak with you."

She took my arm and escorted me to the other end of the salon, so that Jamie wouldn't hear what she had to say.

"Jamie is a boy," she accused me.

"Yes."

"I am a very tolerant woman," she said angrily. "Most of the people I work with have," she paused to find the right words, "alternative lifestyles. That's their business, so long as they act professionally when they're here. However, I cannot condone what you have done to your son," she admonished me. "I will not have any part in it. Please leave."

"Yes, of course, Priscilla. I apologize for deceiving you, but, please understand," I pleaded with her, "it's not what you think. Jamie is confused about his gender. We are working with a psychiatrist, Dr. Jenny Mitchell, to understand what is going on." I tried to be coherent, but couldn't control myself. "It all started when he wanted a doll for his birthday. I, well, my husband passed away two years ago and it has been hard for both of us. I don't know how this will turn out. Spending the week as a girl, doing things that girls do, is an attempt to see how he feels about himself. I, I, I wouldn't force him to be a girl, but I wouldn't prevent him from being one either, if that's what makes him happy. There's a word for it, transgendered. I'm, well, I am sorry, but it isn't the kind of thing that you reveal. We'll go now and thank you for your time and for hearing me out. I hope you won't think too badly of me. I'm only trying to do what's best for Jamie and it's been very difficult," I concluded tearfully.

I could see a softening of Priscilla's expression.

"Wait, Mrs. McCarthy. You say you are working with a psychiatrist and she recommended this as therapy?"

"No, not therapy, she's not treating him, not yet anyway, because we still don't know why he is behaving the way he is. It is sort of an experiment."

"Hasn't Jamie told you what he wants?"

"No, he doesn't want to talk about it. At least he hasn't so far. That's why we're observing him over the next week, to see how he reacts to being treated like a girl. It was Dr. Mitchell's suggestion, actually, to get his hair done, because that is typically a female thing to do."

"Mrs. McCarthy, I work with a lot of mothers pushing their daughters into pageants and modeling to satisfy their own interests. It bothers me, but they are entitled to raise their children as they see fit, within bounds. This is different. You are truly concerned for your son, I can sense that," Priscilla said sympathetically. "If Jamie's going to spend the week as a girl, he might as well do it right. Anyway, his hair can be trimmed into a unisex cut if things don't work out or do work out, depending on how you look at it. I'm sorry if I upset you."

"No, no, please, Priscilla, don't apologize. I, well, I appreciate your helping us. It is a very kind thing to do. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, let's not keep Jamie waiting."

She turned and went back to where he was sitting. I watched, to see if he had noticed our conversation or my emotional response, but he seemed to be unaware of what had been going on.

"Jamie, I'm going to give you a nice shampoo. It's easier to cut your hair when it's wet. Do you like apricots? That's what the shampoo smells like." She held the bottle for him to sniff. Pretty, isn't it," she commented, removing the bottle and putting it next to the sink. "I need to cover you up, so you don't get your clothes wet." She took a pink plastic cape and draped it over him, fastening the tie behind his neck. "Now we spin you around," she swiveled the chair, so that his back was to the sink, "and drop you down," she released the back of the chair and guided his head until it rested on the edge of the sink," and get the water nice and warm, "she turned on the faucets and adjusted them, using her hand to test the water, "there, just right."

Priscilla used the apricot shampoo and vigorously rubbed, the room was filled with the fragrance, working it into a thick lather. She rinsed and repeated.

"Head up a little, Jamie," she directed him, sliding a towel underneath and wrapping it around, so that his wet hair wouldn't drip. "Hang on, up we go," she warned him as she lifted the back of the chair upright and turned it to face the mirror. "Now we're ready to cut your hair." I could see her watching Jamie's face for any reaction. I suppose some little girls are nervous about getting their hair, but Jamie didn't show any concern. He just sat quietly.

Priscilla walked around him, using a comb to find the right length that would give an even cut. Once she was satisfied, she started on his bangs and then worked around each side, ending at the back. I watched as little snippets of hair fell and a real girl's hair style began to take shape. Usually, hairdressers are chatty, but Priscilla was intently concentrating on her work. After about twenty minutes, she stood back and nodded her satisfaction. She motioned for me to come over.

"What do you think, Mrs. McCarthy, before I blow it out?"

"I love it Priscilla, she's beautiful," I complimented her work, remembering to use the right gender reference, although it was much easier seeing the little girl emerge.

"Jamie, what do you think?" she asked him, holding a mirror behind his head, so he could see the back. "Do you like the way I did your hair?"

I was hoping he would respond favorably. It did look something like his doll. That should be enough at least to get his approval. I waited expectantly.

"Yes," he answered finally.

I gave a sigh of relief that at least he hadn't been negative. Priscilla looked at me and I gave a small shrug, meaning I really didn't understand why he wasn't more enthusiastic. A girl would have been ecstatic to have her hair professionally styled, but, as with everything else, though, Jamie wasn't familiar with the nuances of being a girl. Why should he be? I couldn't expect him to turn into Shirley Temple, the little moppet in those corny old movies Mom used to bring home from the video store for Karen and I to watch, overnight or even in a week. The important thing, at least from what Jenny said, was that, at least so far, he allowed himself to be dressed and treated as a girl.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a hair dryer. Priscilla had started blowing out Jamie's hair. She had a round styling brush and was using it to turn the sides under, which gave the style more fullness and brought the ends framing his face to a point.

"You see, Mrs. McCarthy, just a little attention with a hair dryer and brush can make a big difference. It's probably a two person operation at Jamie's age. She's too small to hold the dryer for very long, its pretty heavy, and use the brush with her off hand. She can get pretty much the same effect using the brush alone, although the heat from the dryer keeps the curl longer."

I notice that Priscilla was referring to Jamie as 'she.' I smiled in appreciation for her acceptance.

"Would you do me a favor, Mrs. McCarthy?"

"Anything, but please call me Ginny."

"Jamie, we're done. Let's get you down."

She took off the plastic cape and helped him down.

"Come with me, please."

She went into the corridor, but, instead of turning left towards the reception area at the front of the store, she turned right. I took Jamie's hand and we followed her to a door. She opened it, turned on the light and we went in. My eyes went wide. The room was filled with rack after rack of the most exquisite gowns and against the walls was shelf after shelf of shoes and glittering accessories. It was a little girl's dress-up fantasy come true. She must have expected my reaction, because she waited a few minutes for me to take everything in. Finally, she explained.

"The reason I can close the salon over the summer is that we have a big catalog business in used pageant dresses and performance costumes. In fact, the reason I was here today was to go over the inventory for the fall. We're constantly getting in new clothes. Mothers pay a lot for these dresses and shoes, but usually the girls only wear them once or twice and then they try to recoup some of what they spent by consigning them to us for resale. We advertise in all of the pageant and modeling magazines."

Now I understood the meaning of 'hair and wear' on the awning in front of the salon.

"There is one dress here, not one in a hundred girls could wear it because of the colors, but I thought that it would look smashing on Jamie."

She went over to one of the racks, moved a few dresses and took one. She brought it over to show us. It was gorgeous. The sleeveless bodice was dark red velvet with sparkling rhinestones accenting the jeweled neck, the short full skirt was emerald green silk sprinkled with sparkling rhinestones and the waist was defined with a matching silk sash that was tied in back with a big bow.

"Do you like it, Jamie? Would you like to try it on?"

"Yes, please."

I was surprised and pleased that he accepted Priscilla's offer.

"Would you get her undressed, please, Ginny?"

I helped Jamie out of his blouse and skirt, leaving him in just his panties, socks and sandals.

"Socks and shoes too, please. They will spoil the look."

I unbuckled his sandals, slipped them off and removed his socks.

Priscilla unzipped the dress and took it off of the hanger.

"Arms up, Jamie."

She lifted the dress over his head, revealing the attached net crinoline underneath, settling it on his shoulders, zipping up the back, adjusting the bodice and playing with the skirt, until she was satisfied with its appearance, and finally tied the sash in a bow. Admiring his appearance, Priscilla went over to a rack and found a pair of black patent leather pumps with a rhinestone buckle and little flat heel. She slipped them on Jamie's feet.

"I knew it, that dress was made for Jamie."

I had to smile, because it wasn't possible that whoever designed that dress had a boy in mind as its owner, but Priscilla was right, the dress looked beautiful on him.

"If you look around, Ginny, you'll see that those colors are not used for pageant dresses."

Sure enough, from what I could see there was no other dress in with either red or green in them.

"You have to be a redhead to wear those colors and I can't remember the last time I saw one like Jamie. And the green eyes, they are the frosting on the cake. If I had to guess, a gullible mother was talked into it by some kiddy boutique trying to unload a left over holiday dress. Red and green are Christmas colors. How it ended up here is a mystery to me, but it's unsalable as pageant wear, so it's Jamie's."

"Priscilla, please you've been too kind already. I can't accept an expensive dress. Please let me pay you for it."

"No, I want Jamie to have it, but you can pay for it in trade."

"What could I possibly trade you?"

"A photograph of Jamie wearing that dress."

"Why would you want a photograph of Jamie when you have so many little princesses to choose from?"

"Just for that reason, Ginny. The mother's are oh so proud of their little princesses and when one of them really gets on my nerves carrying on about how her darling daughter should have won and I want to tell her off, I can look at a picture of a," she dropped her voice, "boy whose prettier and silently laugh at their vanity. Do we have a deal?"

"Yes, on one condition."

"What is that?"

"You send me a copy of the photo."

"Deal," she agreed, extending her hand. We shook.

"Bring Jamie over here, please."

I looked over to where she was pointing and saw a small round platform, the kind you see in tailor's shops for fittings.

"Jamie, Honey, Priscilla wants to take your picture. Would you be a good," I hesitated for a second, "girl and hop up on the platform. Hold your skirt at the sides and lift it up a bit, so you can step up. That's very good, Sweetie."

Priscilla left and came back with a professional looking camera with a flash. She was obviously experienced, probably from her own modeling, positioning Jamie in a number of different poses, front and sides, and she took about a dozen pictures. When she was finished, I helped Jamie down. I took off the dress and put him back in his own clothes. Priscilla put the dress back on its hanger and put it in a pink dress bag with 'Priscilla's Pageant and Performance' stenciled on it, above which was a tiara with a star on either side. She handed it to me and escorted us to the reception area. I realized that I hadn't paid her for the styling and took a credit card out of my wallet. I tried to hand it to her, but she wouldn't accept it.

"Priscilla, please, you must," I insisted.

"No, you can pay me when you come back and I finish doing Jamie's hair. This way you will be obligated and I will find out how it turns out. Good luck, Ginny." She turned to Jamie, "Jamie, Honey, it was a pleasure and you were an angel. Enjoy your dress and please come back to see me. Okay?"

"Okay," Jamie agreed.

Priscilla stood in the doorway and waved as we got into the car and drove off. It was a little after four o'clock when we arrived home. I sent Jamie up to play while I got supper ready. I watched from the kitchen as he picked up his doll and went upstairs. I wanted to speak with Karen about the second part of the experiment, but it was too early.

I made myself a cup of tea and tried to plan out the rest of the week. We had gone to the hairdressers. What else would I do with my daughter? Not the park, because we might run into Merry. How about the beach? That was a fun summer activity. Jamie didn't have a girl's bathing suit. I tried to picture him in a bikini. I doubted he would want to wear the bra top. Little girls knew that it was practice for things to come. It would make no sense to Jamie. A modest two piece would work. He was used to a fitted top from wearing his cammie and the bottoms were like panties. A tank suit would be cute too. He wasn't used to wearing tight fitting clothes though, so the stretchy material might be uncomfortable. There was also the question of hiding some non-female equipment that might make a revealing bulge. Could he tuck himself in so it wouldn't show? Would it be asking too much for him to hide it? The idea was to see how he felt about being a girl, not to embarrass him about being a boy. Maybe a bathing suit was not a good idea right now. What else was there that girls did? Thinking back to my own childhood, other than having our hair done and shopping for clothes, there wasn't anything that was uniquely female that I did, except for hanging out with my girlfriends. We'd play jump rope or hop scotch, dress-up, do makeovers, play with our dolls or Barbies, listen to music, practice dancing, make up performances, all of those were things Jamie might do when he visits his cousins, if he does, but they're not things we could do together. It was going to be a long week.

TO BE CONTINUED

All Dolled Up - 7

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part VII

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

It had been an emotionally exhausting day. A good dinner and a hot bath before bed would do us both good. Jamie had a burger for lunch, so I wanted to make him something more nutritious. Mac and cheese was always a good, quick meal. I prepared it, made a salad, set the table and called Jamie to dinner. He came down, still dressed in his skirt and blouse, carrying the doll. He left her on the stairs and came into the kitchen.

"Sit down, Honey, dinner's ready."

He got in his chair and I served him. For desert I offered him an ice cream sundae cup, that was usually a favorite sweet, but he didn't want it, a sure sign that he was tired.

"Sweetie, why don't you go upstairs and get undressed. I'll be up in a few minutes, after I clean up the kitchen, and you can take a bath."

He turned and left, picking up his doll and going upstairs. I finished rinsing the dishes and putting them in the dishwasher, gave the table and the counter a quick wipe and went upstairs. I went into the Jamie's bathroom and started the water running in the tub. Then I decided that I would let him finish the day like a girl, in a scented bath. I turned off the faucet and went into my bathroom. I found a heart shaped plastic box of bath beads someone had given me years ago and that had been gathering dust under the sink, returned to Jamie's bathroom, put three in the tub, as the package directed, and started the water. Within a few minutes, they had dissolved and there was a very pretty floral fragrance. I wondered why I had never thought of using them and realized that it was Jamie who had renewed my attention to being feminine.

While the tub was filling, I went to get Jamie. He was in his room. I had told him to get undressed, but he was sitting on the floor talking to his doll. He stopped when he saw me come in.

"Jamie, I thought I asked you to get undressed. Put the doll down and come here, please."

He placed the doll on the bed and walked over to me. I took off his blouse and skirt, sandals and socks, leaving on his panties. He would be naked when he got into the tub and when I got him out and dried him, but I didn't see any reason to get him in the habit of parading through the house without clothes. By now the fragrance from the bath had drifted into his bedroom.

"Smell that, Jamie. I made a special bath for you. The scent is from bath beads that Mommy uses, but I wanted to share them with you, because you are going to be my special little girl this week and little girls love to smell pretty. Do you like it?"

He took a sniff and nodded his head. I wondered if his approval was because he liked the smell or because of the association I made between smelling pretty and being a girl.

I walked him into the bathroom and had him take off his panties. Jamie stepped into the tub, sat down and then slid back, so that only his head and shoulders were above the fragrant bubbles floating on the surface. I took his usual bath toys out and handed them to him. I had never really paid much attention to Jamie's aquatic amusement before. Before what? Before he was a girl? He isn't a girl, seeing him in the tub made that evident, even though he behaves like one. Sometimes. What did Karen and I play with in the tub? Ariel! We had a little mermaid doll that was submersible. She had all sorts of accessories. Her little fish friend, what's-his-name, and the crab. Oh, for goodness sake Ginny. Umm, Sebastian, was the crab, and umm, Guppy, no, you've seen so many of those animated fish movies with Jamie. Whatever, it doesn't matter. I looked down and watched Jamie playing with his toys. Would there be motor boats or mermaids in the tub next week?

"Okay, Honey, time to wash up."

I took the washcloth, soaped it up and bent over to scrub his chest, arms and legs. He had his hair washed when it was cut, so he didn't need to shampoo. I handed him the washcloth to finish. Would I wash him all over, if he was a girl? I remembered a camp joke about a girl giving herself a sponge bath. 'First I wash my face and as far down as possible. Then I wash my feet and as far up as possible. Then I wash possible.' I laughed to myself. How old was I then? It was overnight camp, so I had to be older than Jamie. Did it matter? Not really. He was old enough to wash possible himself. Jamie finished and handed me the washcloth. I wrung it out and draped it over the faucet. By now the bubbles were gone.

"Stand up, let's dry you off."

I held the big, fluffy bath towel and wrapped Jamie up. I used a second towel to do his legs and feet. When he was dry, I walked him back to his. I took out a pair of pastel blue cotton panties and handed them to him. He let the bath towel drop and stepped into the panties, adjusting them around his waist. I started back to his bureau and stopped. Oh no, Ginny, you forgot to buy him a nightgown. Well, you can't blame yourself for being distracted. Didn't girls sleep in boy's pajamas? I remembered that in some of those corny old movies Mom watched the woman wore the man's pajama top. That might be sexy, but it wasn't feminine. Girls slept in big t-shirts as nightgowns. That wasn't very feminine either. Then I had an idea.

"Jamie, you know my tank top that you wore as a dress?"

He gave me blank look.

"You know, you wore it when we watched the video the other night. It has shoulder straps and its lots of different colors. Let me see if I can find it."

I looked in his closet, but it wasn't there. Then I remembered. When he first started dressing up, I hid his clothes in my room, in case he had a friend over.

"Wait a second, Jamie. I'll be right back."

I went to my room and found the tank top hanging in my closet. I took it down and brought it back to Jamie's room. It was skimpy as a dress, but just the right length to sleep in. Brilliant Ginny. Tomorrow you can take Jamie shopping for a real nightgown. Another mother daughter activity, but this will do nicely for tonight. I handed him the tank top. I expected him to question why he couldn't wear his regular pajamas, but he accepted it and put it on without a word.

"You look very pretty, Jamie," I complimented him. "There's one more thing, Honey. Girls have to take care of their hair. They brush it out every night before bed. It makes it shine and takes out the tangles. I'll do it for you tonight."

I looked around and realized that he only used a comb."

"Wait another second, Jamie. I have to get a brush from my room"

I left and returned with my round styling brush. I gently stroked his hair a few dozen times and then slipped the brush underneath the sides and back to give them a little turn under. There was no doubt that Jamie could pass for a girl.

"Okay, bedtime. Let's get you snuggled in. I picked up the doll and placed it next to him. "Which story would you two like me to read? How about The Little Mermaid, I suggested, with the ulterior motive of finding out Ariel's little fish friend's name. Hearing no objection, I got the book and began the story. It was Flounder.

After Jamie had nodded off, I returned to my room and got ready for bed. I needed to call Karen to ask her about Jamie spending the weekend with her family as a girl, but it was still too early. I put on a robe, went downstairs, made myself a cup of tea and found a news program on the television. When the show ended, I made the call.

"Hello," a man's voice answered.

"Oh, hi Dave. I hope I didn't call at a bad time. May I speak to Karen, please?"

"Ginny, hi. Karen's not here. She has a group therapy session on Monday nights, but she's usually home by ten. Do you want me to have her call you? If it's something important, you can try her cell phone. Do you have the number? Well of course you do, I'm sure," he answered his own question.

"No, it's nothing important, just girl talk." Trying not to seem concerned, I kidded him, "Oh, and I took your advice. I didn't buy Jamie a pocket protector for starting kindergarten," which was true, although what I did buy him was much more controversial.

Dave laughed.

"Well, at least someone listens to me. With a house full of females, I have no say in clothing decisions around here. I'm glad we have a boy in the family who can use my manly advice."

Little did he know, but he would soon, maybe. Or maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all. I started to have second thoughts and wanted to end the call.

"Thanks, Dave. Please tell Karen that I'll be up until eleven o'clock, if she wants to chat when she gets home. Otherwise, I'll try to catch her tomorrow night. Bye.

"Night, Ginny. I'll give Karen the message."

I hung up the phone and went upstairs to read in bed while I waited. Every so often I would check the clock and about ten thirty the phone rang.

"Hi Karen," I answered, not expecting anyone else to be calling me at that hour.

"Hi, Ginny. Dave said you wanted to talk to me. How's it going?"

"Well, we're not making much progress, which is why I called you."

"Ginny, you know I can't get involved professionally. Do you want me to try to find you someone else?"

"Oh, no, no, Karen. I didn't mean it like that. Jenny, Dr. Mitchell is great. She's kind and sensitive and caring and Jamie seems to be comfortable with her, although he's only had one session so far. The difficulty we're having is that he doesn't seem to have a preference. He likes being a girl or at least dressing like one, but he doesn't not like being a boy. I paused. "Does that make any sense?"

"Yes, please go on."

Well, Jenny's, Dr. Mitchell's suggestion was … ."

"Ginny, I know who Jenny is, continue, please."

"Sorry. Well, she suggested I let him spend this week as a girl to see how he feels about it. That's where you come in. I was hoping we could come to visit this weekend."

There was a pause while Karen considered the implication.

"Jamie is spending the week as a girl and you want to bring him here?"

"Yes."

"I see," she replied neutrally.

"Karen, I know it's an imposition. I'll understand if you say no. Really, it's not a big deal. I just thought, well, girls play with other girls and it's, it's too dangerous for Jamie to get together with any of the girls around here, even if I knew any, which I don't, because up to know he's only played with other boys, so, well, I thought, maybe, it'd be okay with your girls. It wasn't Jenny's idea, it was mine, she just went along with it, so it's not like doctor's orders or anything."

"Ginny, if it was up to me, it wouldn't be a problem. I love Jamie and can accept him whichever his gender preference, but I have to consider how it would affect Dave and the children. Debbie and Cindy would probably think it was fun having a girl cousin to play with, but I'm not sure they're ready for a real life lesson in diversity. I think it would be more difficult for Dave to accept Jamie as a girl. He liked Jim and I think he would feel that he had to be his surrogate in opposing Jamie being feminized, at least that would be his perception of what was going on. Please understand, Ginny, I'm not saying no. I just need time to think it over and discuss it with Dave. What if I call you in a day or two? Can you wait for an answer?"

"Umm, sure, but, well, I don't, you don't, it's not necessary. I'm sorry, Karen. It was a bad idea. I’m just not thinking very clearly right now. I, I have no right to drag you and your family into this. It's not your problem. Please, forget I asked you."

"Ginny, please, calm down. It's not a problem. It's a question of timing. If Jamie is transgendered, then sooner or later he has to come out to the rest of the family. All you're asking is that it be sooner, rather than later. That may well be the psychologically healthier course, rather than to make him feel guilty and ashamed by hiding it. Give me a little time to sort things out. I promise I'll be discrete."

"Okay, Karen" I agreed reluctantly. "I'll wait to hear from you and thanks. I love you."

"You're welcome and I love you too. Goodnight, Sis."

"Goodnight."

I hung up the phone, took a tissue from the box on my nightstand and wiped away the tears that had started to form. You have to hang on, Ginny, for Jamie's sake. Things will work themselves out. You have Jenny and Karen as resources. You're very lucky. There are probably other mothers who have to deal with it on their own. Now get some sleep. I rolled over, turned off the lamp, checked that the clock radio was set for seven thirty and lay back. I tossed and turned, going over the events in my mind and trying to picture how it would be having Jamie as my daughter. Finally, I fell asleep.

I woke to the alarm clock. It was another sunny, hot day from what I could see out the window when I raised the shade. I put on a robe and checked on Jamie. He was still asleep, cuddled up with the doll. I wished he had picked out a teddy bear or at least a stuffed animal. It would have been easier to explain if he carried it around with him and they don't wear clothes. Well, I guess some of them do. Winnie the Pooh has a red sweater, if I remember correctly, but they're not identifiably boys or girls. At least regular teddy bears aren't. Not that it mattered at this point.

I went downstairs to start breakfast. This was going to be the first full day that Jamie would spend as a girl and I might as well make something special for him. I took out the mixings to make pancakes from scratch and a box of fresh blueberries to add in. The aroma must have carried upstairs, because, as I was finishing up the last batch, Jamie came into the kitchen. He must have still been sleepy, because he was holding the doll, which he was not supposed to bring into the kitchen for meals. Looking at him dressed in a nightie with his tousled hair framing his sweet face, he was the picture of an adorable little girl.

"Mommy?" he asked as I stood there admiring him.

"What? Oh, sorry, Honey. I was thinking how pretty you looked. Breakfast is ready. I made blueberry pancakes. Sit down."

He gave me a questioning look.

"It's okay if you keep the doll with you."

The time was long gone for trying to separate them. Little girls carried their dollies around. For now Jamie belonged to that gender and gained the privilege.

"Just put her in you lap and eat neatly, so you don't get anything on her," I cautioned him."

I made a stack of three pancakes, with a little pat of butter on the top that began to melt with the warmth, cut them into bite sized pieces, poured on hot maple syrup and served him. He gave me a big smile and I smiled back.

"Jamie, after breakfast, we'll get you dressed in one of your new outfits and then we have to do some shopping. There are still a few more things I need to buy you."

"More clothes for Jamie?" he asked.

"More clothes for Jamie you, not Jamie the doll, Sweetie. She has enough clothes."

"She doesn't have anything to sleep in, like me," he contradicted me.

"No, but she's a doll, not a person like you. It doesn't matter what she sleeps in."

"Jamie's dress will get all wrinkled. You said I had to be careful, Mommy, but when I'm sleeping I can't take care of her."

Boy or girl, Jamie was definitely going to be a lawyer when he grew up. Considering that the only mother-daughter activity I had planned for today was shopping for a nightgown, looking for doll clothes would be a good addition to our itinerary.

"Okay," I conceded. "We can shop for her too. Now finish up and then go pick out something to wear."

After breakfast, I cleaned up the kitchen and then went upstairs to see what Jamie had picked out. To my surprise, he was on the bed putting on the doll's party dress.

"Jamie, I thought I asked you to pick out something for you to wear, not your doll. You're going out and she's staying home, isn't she?"

At least he hadn't wanted to take her out yesterday, when I offered. He shook his head.

"No you're not going out, no she's not going out or no she is going out?" I questioned him.

"Jamie's staying home."

"Jamie, the doll?"

He nodded his head.

"That's a yes?"

"Uh huh."

I rolled my eyes and he gave me a sheepish look.

"Why does she have to get dressed up, if she's not going out?"

He shrugged.

"She likes to get dressed up."

Then I thought of something that had me concerned. If he and the doll dressed alike when they could, did this mean that he expected to wear his party dress when we went shopping? Thinking back to what I had said at breakfast, I hadn't been specific about which of his new clothes he could choose from. Jamie had no familiarity with girl's clothes, so maybe he was confused about what he could wear.

"You don't want to wear your party dress to go out, do you?"

He looked at me blankly.

"A party dress is only for special occasions. That's why it's called a party dress, because it's for birthdays or holidays, like the pretty green dress Priscilla gave you. You don't wear them every day. You can dress your doll up however you like, but you can't wear whatever you like."

Unfortunately, when I went shopping for summer clothes, I hadn't expected Jamie would need a whole week's worth of skirts and dresses. If Jamie was a girl, he'd pretty much dress like a boy in shorts or pants and a top. The whole point of him spending the week as a girl was to let him express his feminine feelings, if he had any. Maybe I was being too concerned about not exposing him to anything that wasn't girly-girl, but a boy in his own clothes is a boy and he wasn't supposed to be a boy this week. The only two items that Jamie hadn't worn yet were the white eyelet dress, which was too dressy and the romper. That would be perfect. I looked through the assortment, found it and held it up.

"Look, Jamie, this is really cute. I'd like you to wear it for me please. Okay?"

He looked at it and then looked at the party dress he was putting on his doll, then he looked back at me. I moved the skirt to show how it was really culottes.

"See Jamie, the bottom actually has legs. They're called culottes. Girls really like them, because they look pretty, like a skirt, but they're much easier to wear. We do need to hurry up, Sweetie, if we want to get everything done," which wasn't true. We had the whole day with nothing else to do. "I'll tell you what," I bribed him, "put this on and we'll go shopping for you and for the doll too."

Before he could argue, I asserted my authority as a mother by going over to him and taking off his top, leaving him in his panties. I handed him a clean pair and unbuttoned the front of the romper while he was changing.

"Okay, Honey, turn around and lift one leg," I directed him, slipping on one side of the culottes. "Okay, now the other leg. Good." I held out a sleeve. "Arm in. Other arm, please." I lifted the top over his shoulders. "Turn around again and face me." I buttoned it up. The romper was smooth polyester and cotton with a pink, aqua and bright yellow awning stripes, cap sleeves, and a collarless v-neck. "I think your white sandals would look very nice. I got them and fastened the buckles. "There. All that we need to do is to brush your hair. Oh, Oh, silly me. I was so involved in getting you dressed, I forgot to have you use the bathroom or wash up. Let's go."

We went into the bathroom. Now was as good a time as any to teach him about the difference between boys and girls bathroom technique. I recalled how long it took me to get him off the potty and to go standing up, first in the bathtub and, once he became sufficiently proficient at aiming, graduating to the smaller target of a toilet.

"Umm, Jamie, girls, well, umm, when you're a girl, umm," this was not going well at all. "Umm, you remember when you were little and you sat down to make a sissy? Well, umm, that's how girls, umm, that's how you do it when you're, umm, wearing a skirt or dress, because, umm, you have to lift them up and hold them out of the way," except that he couldn't lift up the romper, because it had legs, so that explanation made no sense. Try again, Ginny.

"Jamie, girls are different than boys." Doh. "We sit when we make sissies and when you're being a girl, you have to sit too." I unbuttoned his top and let the romper slip down to the floor. "Okay, Honey, make a sissy." I turned away to give him some privacy and waited. "You can't shake when you sit." Can you? I didn't have the equipment to experiment. "When you sit, you use a piece of toilet paper to clean yourself off, so you don't get dribbles in you panties."

I got Jamie re-dressed, had him wash his hands and used a washcloth on his face after he brushed his teeth. We went back into his room. I brushed his hair and put in a barrette on each side with a little butterfly, very summery. I took out a pair of gold heart shaped magnetic earrings and held them out.

"Jamie, would you like to wear earrings like your mother?"

I paged my hair back to show him my gold hoops. He looked over to the doll, but her ears were covered by her hair, then at me, thought for a few seconds, and nodded. I put on the earrings.

"Honey, they may feel a little funny at first. You're not used to having anything on your ears, but you'll get used to them and pretty soon you won't even know you are wearing them."

The last item I took out was the gold heart locket on a thin gold chain, which I hung around his neck. There was a matching bracelet, but I didn't want to overdo it. Little girls loved to dress up with jewelry, but this was all new to Jamie. I stood back and looked closely at him. A pretty little girl looked back at me.

"Okay, Sweetie, you look like a little doll," hoping that the comparison would make him feel good about himself or herself. Ginny, you need to be very careful. You've already outed him twice. Third time is not a charm. Jamie may look like a girl, but you've got to treat him like one, if this is experiment is going to work. Remember, he, oh for crying out loud, Ginny, she is your daughter. I gave her hair a final primp.

"In the car and off we go, Honey. Remember how I showed you to smooth your skirt when you sit."

I buckled her, very good, Ginny, in and started for the mall. Maybe Claire would be there. I couldn't remember if she worked on Tuesdays. Did we really need to shop in a department store? I remembered seeing children's clothes advertised in a discount store's circular in the Sunday paper. They must have nightgowns and Jamie doesn't need anything fancy. You don't even know if he, Ginny!, if she will be wearing it after this week. Besides, nobody assists you in those kind of stores, so you and Jamie can have fun browsing and they have a toy section too, so you can shop for doll clothes at the same time. There was one discount store about ten minutes away and another across town. We were in no hurry and we were less likely to run into someone we knew there.

Jamie sat patiently while I drove to the store. I parked and we went in. There were convenient banners that indicated the different sections. I found the one that said "Girls" and headed over there. Unlike the orderly display at the department store, there was a sea of racks with every type of clothing. I held Jamie's hand as we wandered around. I tried to see if there was anything that caught his eye, but he just followed along. Finally, I found the sleepwear area. I looked through the racks and found a very feminine t-shirt style pastel pink polyester Barbie nightgown, with her as a ballerina pirouetting on the front and a little white bow on each sleeve. I held it up for Jamie to see.

"Do you like this one?"

He studied it for a few seconds.

"It's nice. Is there one for Jamie?"

"I don't know, Honey. I told you, we are shopping for you, not your doll. When we're done, we can look to see if there is anything like it for her."

"It doesn't look like my other one."

What other one?

"Oh, you mean the tank top you wore last night? That's not really a nightie, Honey. This will be much more comfortable. Feel it. It's so soft and silky."

I held it out and Jamie ran his hand over it.

"I'm going to buy this one for your," I announced, "and we should find one other nightgown for you."

I looked through the racks and saw a cute white cotton peasant style top with puffy, ruffled sleeves and a flounced hem, under which went white capris with a matching ruffle around the cuff. I couldn't resist it.

"And these, Jamie, they're adorable."

I was hoping that Jamie would show some enthusiasm, but no. She just waited for me while I shopped. Patience, Ginny. She's only been girl for a day and a half.

"Okay, Honey, these will do. Now let's go to the toy section and see what we can find for your doll."

I checked the banners, found the toy section in the middle, rear of the store and navigated there, weaving out of the racks and bins of juniors, misses and women's clothing, through lingerie, then shoes, finally arriving at the beginning of an aisle stacked with children's games. We continued down the aisle and up the next aisle, which had an assortment of action toys. The next aisle was all girls' toys. There were lots of boxed dolls, Barbie and her friends predominated, but there were other sizes and types, and an assortment of boxed sets of accessories for playing house; but no wardrobe for Jamie's doll.

"Jamie, listen, how about if I buy you some toys that you can use with your doll?"

I showed her a set of pots and pans with miniature cooking utensils and different kinds of pretend food, but she had no interest in it. Why should she? Little girls grow up with these kinds of toys. Maybe she'll get into it after she plays with her cousins, if she plays with them as a girl, which thought reminded me I was waiting for Karen's decision. In the meantime, there was no point in buying Jamie an unfamiliar toy. The problem was that I had made a commitment of sorts to buy Jamie's doll something to sleep in, if he cooperated with my dressing him up. Where else could I find doll sized clothes? Then it struck me. Maybe there was something that would fit her in the infant's section. She wasn't a baby doll, but she was about the same size as a newborn.

"Come on, Jamie, there's another place I want to look for doll clothes."

Jamie followed me to the infant's section. Sure enough, there were tiny t-shirts that were for slightly older babies, but they would fit his doll. I found one in light pink with a rainbow design on the front. I also found a two piece powder blue sleeper set with a loose top and short pants that looked a little like the pajama outfit. Hopefully, Jamie wouldn't notice how loosely the bottoms fit to accommodate a diaper or realize that pink was for girls and blue was for boys. She seemed satisfied. I took the purchases to the checkout counter, paid for them and we went out to the car. It was almost one o'clock when we pulled out of the parking lot.

"I'm hungry, Honey. Let's stop. I headed back towards our house. On the way, we passed a nice looking casual restaurant and I pulled in. It wasn't that crowded on a beautiful summer weekday and the hostess seated us in a booth. The waitress came over and gave Jamie a big smile, believing her to be what she seemed, a very pretty little girl.

"That's a beautiful locket," she said making polite conversation. "I had one like it when I was a little girl. And I love your hair." She unconsciously primped her own short blonde hair. "What can I get you ladies? Would you like a cold beverage, a glass of milk for your daughter or ice tea for you?"

"Yes, both please, you read my mind. I don't need a menu. I know what we want to order, a grilled cheese on white for her and a grilled cheese and tomato on whole wheat for me. Ask the cook to go light on the butter, please."

"Yes. Do you want the child's special? It comes with potato chips, milk and a small dish of ice cream for $4.99. Your sandwich comes with chips too, but the beverage is extra and no desert for grown-ups." She winked at Jamie.

"The special, please. Does she get a choice of ice cream?"

"It's vanilla, but I'm can get you any of the flavors on the board."

"What would you like, young lady?" she asked Jamie.

"Vanilla, please."

"That was easy. Okay, grilled cheese on white and grilled cheese on whole wheat, light on the butter, milk, iced tea, and a dish of vanilla ice cream," she confirmed and left.

She returned with the milk and iced tea. While we were waiting for our lunch, I took Jamie to the ladies room to wash up. I no longer had any concern about taking her in with me. A few minutes after we returned, the waitress brought our sandwiches to the table. After Jamie finished her desert, I paid the bill and we left. It was a little after two o'clock. There was nothing left for us to do, so I drove home.

When we got in the house, I told Jamie to go play. I took Jamie's nightgown and pajama's and the baby clothes for the doll into the kitchen and cut off the tags. Normally, I would go out in the backyard to sit in the sun and take Jamie with me to play, but I didn't want the neighbors to see her. I went upstairs and got my book. I made a mental note to stop off at the library and get some more reading material, because I was going to be spending a lot of time in the house.

Time dragged on. I tried to concentrate on my reading, but I had too much on my mind. Finally, it was four thirty and I could start dinner. After dinner, I sent Jamie upstairs and followed a little while later to get her ready for bed. It was early, but I wanted to see how she looked in her nightgown. I got her undressed, washed her up and slipped the nightgown over her head.

"Do you like it, Jamie?"

She nodded.

"What about Jamie's pajama's?" she asked.

"It's not pajamas, Honey. Pajama's have pants. It's a nightgown. And yes, here's a nightgown for the doll. Do you want me to put it on her?"

He shook his head.

"Okay, you do it. Then come downstairs and we can watch a video until it's your bedtime."

I left and went to the den. I went through the Disney videos and picked out Sleeping Beauty. It seemed appropriate. About ten minutes later, Jamie came down with his doll dressed in the t-shirt. The nightgown rode up as Jamie settled herself on the couch and I reminded her to pull it down to cover her legs. She held the doll in her lap and snuggled up to me. By the time happily ever after came around, Jamie's eyes were closing. I took her upstairs, put her into bed, pulled up the covers, kissed her goodnight and left. I waited outside her room for a few minutes, until I was sure she was asleep, and then went into my room to get ready for bed. I hoped that the phone would ring, but it had only been one day and, knowing Karen, she would not make a quick decision.

The bedroom was dark when I woke up. At first, I thought it was still early, but I glanced at the clock on my nightstand and it was almost eight. I must have forgotten to set the alarm. I went to the window and opened the shade. It was a dreary day and looked like it was going to rain. Not that I had any outdoor activities planned. I looked in on Jamie and she was still sleeping. I went downstairs and looked through the local paper while I had my morning cup of tea. I checked the weekly event calendar to see if there were any mother-daughter activities. There was a promotion for a two o'clock performance of Jack and the Beanstalk at the Children's Puppet Theatre. Jamie would enjoy that. The main branch of the library offered a weekly story on Wednesdays at eleven o'clock. Jamie would like that too. He couldn't read yet, well, he sight read a few words, but he could get some picture books and I could find a novel or two. That would work perfectly. Good, Ginny, you had the day planned.

I went up to Jamie's room and stood by his bed.

"Good morning, sleepy head. Rise and shine. We have a fun day today. We're going to the library to hear a story and then to a puppet show. Let's get you washed up and dressed before you have breakfast. That way we can get going after you eat."

I pulled back the covers, revealing Jamie in her nightgown. She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. I put out my hand, she took it and I took her into the bathroom.

"Go to the bathroom first, and then I'll help you wash up."

Jamie stood in front of the toilet, but hesitated. I realized that she was used to pulling down her pants instead of lifting up her dress for access.

"Turn around, reach up under your nightgown and pull down your panties. Then pull your nightgown up to your waist and sit down," I explained.

He followed my directions.

I remembered that when she was being potty trained the seat came with a guard to insert at the front for boys to avoid accidents.

"Make sure you point down," I cautioned him.

She finished and started to get up.

"Wait, Sweetie."

I handed her a folded up piece of toilet paper.

"Make sure you're dry and then drop it in the bowl."

She patted himself, disposed of the toilet paper and stood up.

"Good, now pull up your panties and straighten out your nightgown."

I supervised her washing up and brushing her teeth. Back in her room, I gave her a clean pair of panties. She would be sitting a lot today, so I dressed her in the skort and top she wore when we went to the park to be on the safe side of girls' fashion. I brushed her hair, put in the butterfly barrettes and accessorized with the earrings and necklace. Looking at her, I thought to myself that, although she wasn't born a girl, she should have been. Ginny, I reprimanded myself, that's silly. He may look girlish now, but remember what Jenny said about what she had to go through to be feminine, hormones, implants and surgery. You couldn't wish that on Jamie.

I gave Jamie a bowl of cereal with fruit, toast and a glass of juice so that it would be a quick cleanup and then we could leave for the library, but I was interrupted by the telephone. I assumed it was a sales call, but then I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was Karen's office number. It was unusual for her to call me during the day, especially from her office.

"Karen, hi."

"Hi, Ginny. I knew you were anxious about this weekend. Ginny, I need to explain …," she hesitated - I had never known Karen to be at a loss for words before - "… but the short answer Sis is no. I'm sorry. I love Jamie and I would do anything for him, but the timing is wrong. Ginny, I want you to understand, I gave this a lot of thought. I researched it and, just to get another perspective, I talked it over with a gay couple I know, in the abstract of course. It all lead to the same conclusion, that Jamie's not ready to come out."

"Karen, I don't understand," I said with my hand in front of my mouth, so Jamie wouldn't overhear. "Jamie's already out. She wears girls' clothes, she had her hair done in a beauty salon and everyone who sees her thinks she's a girl. She really looks pretty all dressed up," I bragged. "I'm sure Debbie and Cindy will accept her as a girl. So will Dave, once he sees her."

"Yes, Ginny, they will and that's my concern. Jim and Chuck, my gay friends, said it best, that coming out redefines you. I want my family to love Jamie for himself or herself, but we don't know which one yet. Do you understand Ginny? If Dave and the children do accept Jamie as a girl, then that is how they will continue to see him, even if it turns out that is not how he sees himself. I hope you're not upset with me, Ginny."

"No, Karen, of course not, but why did Jenny, Dr. Mitch..., sorry, approve of it when I made the suggestion.

"Did she?"

"Did she what?"

"Did she approve of it?"

I thought about what she said.

"Well, no, not exactly, I guess. She said I should talk to you about it and then speak with her on Thursday."

"Ginny, the more I hear about Dr. Mitchell, the more impressed I am with her. A good therapist doesn't want her patients to become dependent. You're Jamie's parent. You have to decide what is best for him. Counseling you afterwards allows her to discuss your decision without influencing it."

"Oh, that makes sense. If she didn't feel Jamie was ready, then she would have advised me not to do it, but now she doesn't have to, because I decided not to do it on my own."

"Well, it's more of a compliment to you that she trusts your judgment, rather than an effort by her to avoid counseling you, but yes, Sis, that's the general idea. I'm sorry, but I've got to go. I just wanted to get back to you as quickly as possible."

"Thanks so much, Karen."

"You're welcome, Ginny. Please call me."

"I will, Sis. Love you, bye."

"Love you too, bye."

As I went to hang up the phone, I saw Jamie standing by the door, waiting patiently like a little angel."

"I'm really sorry, Sweetie. I had to talk with Aunt Karen," I explained.

I looked at my watch. It was only a little after ten.

"We have plenty of time."

We drove to the library. I parked and we went in. I asked the woman at the front desk where to go. She directed me to the children's section, which was upstairs. I was familiar with the library. I came here often with Jamie after Jim died, just to get us out of the house. The children's area was a happy place, with low shelves loaded with books and small futons that the kids could climb on to read or look at pictures. I noticed about a dozen boys and girls, from toddlers to a little older than Jamie by their looks, who I assumed were waiting for story time to begin. I let go of Jamie's hand. She loved books and I let her wander around, picking up whatever caught her attention.

Browsing myself, while we waited, I was impressed with the selection. Bears, bees, birds, bunnies, butterflies, cats and kittens dogs and puppies, lions, snakes, every animal imaginable and imaginary had their own story. There were lots of stories about children too. I wondered if there was one about a boy who wanted to be a girl. Probably not, it would be too controversial. That got me to thinking about what the people here would say if they knew about Jamie. What if I told them? Would they tease her? Children can be cruel. Would the ignore her? Adults can be insensitive. Would they accept her? Accept her as what? Not a girl and not a boy. Karen was right, I realized. Coming out changes the way people define you. Better to be sure than sorry.

At about a quarter to eleven, an older woman came into the area. She clapped her hands to get the children's attention.

"Boys and girls, I'm Mrs. Altman. Welcome to the library. Story time will begin in a few minutes. Please find yourself a place to sit. Today I'm going to read you the story of Peter Rabbit. She held up a large picture book she was carrying. He is a very naughty bunny who has a very exciting adventure. Mother's if your child needs to use the restroom, now would be a good time." She had obviously done this before.

A few of the mothers took Mrs. Altman's advice and headed off with their child in tow. Jamie had managed to claim a futon. A few unruly boys tried to bully their way into a seat that was already occupied, but Mrs. Altman refereed. She had definitely done this before. Mothers with the little children sat cross-legged on the floor with them in their laps. A little girl, perhaps a year or two younger than Jamie came over to him and, to my astonishment, she slid over to make room. The two sweet little girls sitting together looked like sisters, I though nostalgically.

At eleven o'clock Mrs. Altman moved to the front of the circle of children and clapped her hands again.

"All right boys and girls, I'm going to start story time. You need to be very quiet." She held her finger up to her lips and made a shushing sound. "Quiet like a mouse, she emphasized. An itsy, bitsy teensy, weensy mouse," she added for dramatic effect. She waited while the children quieted down. Looking to the back of the circle, where I was standing with some of the other mothers she offered, "Ladies, if your child is old enough to be on their own, then you may use the library facilities. Story time will be over at eleven thirty. Please be sure to return by then and please, if you do leave, make sure your child understands that they are not to leave the circle until you are back. Thank you."

I looked over to Jamie and motioned that I was going to go. She smiled, which I took to mean she was comfortable without me around. I waved, so that she would know that I was leaving. She waved back. I heard Mrs. Altman pleasant voice begin the familiar story, "Once upon a time there were four little rabbits, and their names were Flopsy, Mopsy, Cotton-tail, and Peter." She held up the big story book to show an illustration of mother rabbit with her little bunnies. I turned and quietly left.

Downstairs, I looked through the current best-sellers and found two books by authors I enjoyed. I took them to the front desk. I opened my pocketbook to get my library card. As I was rummaging around, I came across the note that I got from the mother of the little girl at the playground, Merry. I tucked it away, got out my wallet and gave the librarian my card. She checked out the books and handed it back to me.

"One week on those novels," Ms. McCarthy, she reminded me, reading my name off of the computer screen. "You can renew for one additional week by telephone. The slip in the inside pocket has the code."

"Thank you Edna," I read the name off her tag, "I know." Since I still had some time before I had to go back, I asked her, "I'm sure most people renew, so why not two weeks to start with?"

"If we gave people two weeks, they'd take two weeks and then they'd want a third week. It's human nature to procrastinate," she observed cynically.

Human nature is to judge a book by its cover too, I thought to myself. I took the books and went back upstairs. Mrs. Altman was finishing the story. I pretty well knew it by heart. It was one of my favorites growing up.

"... Peter was not very well during the evening. His mother put him to bed, and made some chamomile tea; and she gave a dose of it to Peter! ... ." She held up the big story book to show an illustration of mother rabbit dressed in an apron cooking up dinner for her bunnies. All except Peter, who was too tired from his adventures, the end. The children all clapped enthusiastically. They started to leave and Mrs. Altman watched carefully to make sure that each child was reclaimed. I got Jamie and took her over to Mrs. Altman.

"Say thank you to Mrs. Altman."

"Thank you, Mrs. Altman," Jamie complied.

"You're most welcome, sweetheart. Please come again."

"Jamie, would you like to find some books to take home?"

She nodded.

We looked through the books and found four picture books that looked interesting. I checked them out and we drove home.

It was noon and the puppet show didn't start until two, so there was time for me to make lunch. I got out a loaf of white bread, grape jelly and peanut butter to make the always favorite standby, a PB and J sandwich. I poured a glass of milk and called Jamie down to eat. Of course she came with her doll. While Jamie was eating I thought about the note in my pocket book. I took it out. It had the woman's name, address and telephone number. I wondered. I wanted Jamie to socialize as a girl, but she couldn't go to her cousin's house, because they knew she was a boy.

The mother at the playground, Helen, had offered to have Jamie and her daughter play together. What if I took her up on it? She thought Jamie was a girl. Jenny was not concerned about the encounter in the park. Merry seeing Jamie again would make it more difficult for him to go to school as a boy. Even so, she might not go to school as a boy and then it would be even better to have a girl friend in her class, I rationalized. If worse came to worse, I could enroll her in a different elementary school. If Jenny could arrange for Jamie to go to school as a girl, she must be able to get her transferred as a boy. It would be inconvenient having to drive him across town, but I have nothing else to do. Or, I could send her to private school. That's an option. We can afford it. Why didn't I think of it before? I guess because Karen and I went to public school, but that would be the perfect solution. It wouldn't matter what happened when they got together, because he won't be in school with her. Brilliant, Ginny.

Maybe, I thought, we should go slowly. Let the girls get to know each other. I doubted that they'd be home, although it was a dreary day, so maybe they were. I could invite her to go to the puppet show with us. Then maybe out for ice cream. If it worked out, I could arrange a play date. Was Jamie ready for that? She looked like a girl, but she knew nothing about being one, other than dressing her doll. Would Merry catch on? Was it too soon for Jamie to socialize as a girl? Was it too risky? What would happen to her, if she was rejected or worse, ridiculed, by a real girl? Maybe I should call Jenny and ask her advice, but, like Karen had said, I was Jamie's mother and it was up to me. Okay then, Ginny, try the puppet show and see what happens. I picked up the phone and dialed the number on the note.

TO BE CONTINUED

All Dolled Up - 8

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part VIII

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

The phone rang four times. I was just about to hang up when a woman's voice answered.

"Hello."

"Helen?"

"Yes."

"This is Virginia, Ginny McCarthy. I'm Jamie's mother. We met last week in the park. I hope I'm not calling at a bad time."

"Ginny, no, not at all. Your timing is perfect. We just walked in the door. I took Merry to get her hair cut."

"Oh, that is a coincidence. Jamie got her hair cut on Monday. Listen, Helen, I'm taking Jamie to a puppet show this afternoon, Jack and the Beanstalk. It starts at two. I know it's short notice, but, if you don't have any plans, would you and Merry like to come?"

"Ginny, that is so sweet to think of us. Honestly, Merry's been pestering me to get together with Jamie, so I was hoping you'd call. We'd love to go. Wait a second while I get a pen and paper. Okay, go ahead. Where is the show?"

I gave her the address.

"It starts at two?"

"Yes."

"I'll meet you there. Do you think it will be crowded? Maybe whoever gets there first should buy the tickets. Oh, do you mind? I'll pay you back."

"It's okay, Helen, don't worry about it. I have your phone number. I'll just call you morning, noon and night until you pay up."

She laughed.

"See you at two."

"Bye."

I hung up the phone. That went well, I thought. I hadn't said anything to Jamie about inviting Merry to go with us to the puppet show. I wondered how she would react when I told her. There's only one way to find out, Ginny. I went up to her room.

"Jamie, Honey, listen. Do you remember Merry, that nice little girl you played with at the playground?"

"Uh huh."

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"Yes, Mommy?"

"Yes, Mommy."

"Good. Well, she and her mother are going to go to the puppet show with us this afternoon. Won't that be fun?" I asked encouragingly.

Jamie nodded.

"Yes?"

"Yes."

"We need to leave in about a half hour, if we want to be sure to get tickets and good seats. Finish up playing. I'll call you when it's time to go. Make sure you use the bathroom before we leave, please."

I was getting the laundry started when I heard the doorbell. I wasn't expecting anyone. I went to the door. It was the mailman. He handed me some letters and a large manila envelope. It was too big to fit through the mail slot, he explained, and it said 'Photographs - Do Not Bend,' so he didn't want to fold it. I took the mail and thanked him. I had no idea who would be sending me photographs. Then I saw the return address was 'Priscilla's Pageant & Performance' and realized that she had kept her offer to give me a copy of her photos of Jamie. I took the mail into the kitchen, put the letters on the counter and used a knife to open the envelope. I carefully took out the photos. They were very professional eight by ten glossies. I didn't realize she took so many, three different poses, right, left and front and two close-ups of just Jamie's head and shoulders, full face and a profile. She looked like a real beauty queen. I wondered if I'd ever be able to show them to anyone. Would Jamie?

I glanced at the clock on the microwave. It was time to leave.

"Jamie, Honey, we have to go. Don't forget to use the bathroom," I reminded her. You never know what kind of facilities these places have and it would be a nuisance waiting to use it.

A few minutes later, Jamie came down carrying her doll.

"Are you taking her with you to the puppet show? Do you want to show her to Merry?" I asked expectantly.

For a moment, I thought that she was becoming more social about her doll, but from her surprised look, I concluded that she wasn't aware she had it with her. She put her down on the stairs, confirming that the doll was still a private companion. What did you call it, Ginny, a private companion? Was the doll just the equivalent of the imaginary friends children create? Have you been overly concerned that it's a girl? Do children have to create imaginary friends of the same gender? What about the clothes though? They're not imaginary. Jamie didn't need to put on a party dress to play with the doll. Why wouldn't he want to look like his friend? Did he know that boy's couldn't dress in girl's clothes? How would he know that? You told him, but he wasn't convinced. Was this all a big mistake? I looked at my watch. We'd be late if we didn't hurry.

"Jamie, let's go, Sweetie."

I took her hand and we went out to the car. I drove to the puppet theatre and found a parking space. It was about ten minutes to two. I looked around, but didn't see Helen or Merry. There were lots of children of all ages with the mothers in line to get tickets. We joined them.

"Ginny?"

I turned towards the voice.

"I got the tickets already."

I got out of line and went over. Merry was standing next to her.

"Hi."

She handed me two tickets.

"Let's go in and get seats."

I was still holding Jamie's hand in the crowd. Merry took her other hand as we waited. Helen and I both let go and the two girls ran ahead and sat down next to each other in the first row. Helen and I looked at each other, silently agreed that the girls were fine on their own, and found two seats farther back.

The theatre filled up quickly and at about five minutes past two the lights dimmed, the curtain opened and the show started. Obviously familiar with their young audience, the show was in three acts, each fifteen minutes long, with a ten minute intermission between them. When the show was over, everyone applauded, the puppeteers came out to take bows and the children and their mothers started to leave. Helen and I waited for Jamie and Merry and escorted them out.

"Did you have fun, Sweetie?" I asked Jamie.

He nodded.

"How about you Merry, did you enjoy the show."

"Yes, I liked it. It was very amusing."

'Amusing,' from a six year old pre-K? Where did that come from? I gave Helen a funny look. She smiled and shrugged.

"Helen, how about some ice cream?" I looked at my watch. "I don't think it will spoil their dinners. I'll treat."

Then I remembered I hadn't paid her for the tickets.

"Oh, Helen, that reminds me."

I opened my pocket book and took out my wallet. I handed her a ten dollar bill.

"You're paying for the ice cream in advance?"

"No, silly, for the tickets. You bought them for us."

"Oh, right."

She took the ten dollars and put it in her pocket book.

"Ginny, how about if the girls come back to our house for milk and cookies instead of ice cream. They can play for a little while. Would that be okay?"

I wasn't prepared for this. It was supposed to be a limited get together in a neutral environment. I suppose I could lie and say we were in a hurry, so just a quick stop for a scoop of ice cream and then we had to go. I'm sure that Helen would interpret that to be a rejection. I had already put her off once. Jamie hadn't played with another child since this whole thing began. He and Merry got along so nicely. He deserved a playmate and it's only for an hour or so.

"Ginny?"

"Oh, sorry, Helen. Okay, fine, for a little while anyway. I have to do some grocery shopping or we won't have any dinner, but it can wait. What's your address?"

"We live at 22 Maple Terrace, a few blocks from the park. It's a white colonial with black shutters at the end of the street. Do you know how to get there? You can follow me."

"Okay."

We got into our cars and drove off. I didn't know exactly where she lived, but her street was in one of the nicest areas of town. Sure enough, after about a fifteen minute drive, we turned onto a tree lined street and arrived at a large house with a circular driveway. Like the other houses in the neighborhood, it had a beautifully maintained lawn and landscaping. Helen pulled up in front and I parked behind her. She got out, opened the front door and waited for us. Merry ran over as Jamie was getting out, took her in tow and disappeared inside. Helen shook her head as she watched.

"It's so nice to see Merry with a friend, Ginny. You know, well, of course you don't, we moved here a few months ago. Have I told you this."

"You mentioned that you had just moved here and Merry hadn't made any friends yet when we were chatting in the park."

"Oh, well, Art, my husband Arthur, he was relocated by his company. It was a big promotion. We couldn't turn it down. The company found us this house. It's very nice, but, well, you can see the neighborhood is," she shrugged, "you know, older. I was hoping that once she started school she'd make some new friends, but I'm so happy we met you and Jamie. Don't get me wrong, I love spending time with Merry, but there's only, you know, so much you can do with a six year old.

I nodded.

"What about your husband?" I continued with our girl talk. "Jim, my husband, he used to spend time with Jamie."

"Really? That's so nice. Sometimes fathers and daughters don't have a lot in common."

Then she frowned.

"I'm sorry, Ginny," she comforted me, gently touching my hand. I forgot your husband passed away, didn't he."

"Yes."

"That must make it doubly hard for you, if he and Jamie were so close.

"Yes."

"Art is an accountant. He supervises bank audits and he's always traveling. He comes home on the weekends, but he's tired and wants to rest." She paused and then added, "He's a really good father, Ginny. He does it for us." She sighed. "It's just, well, sometimes I wish ...," she trailed off. "Oh my, I am such a bad hostess. Would you like a beverage and there's some coffee cake, and I told the girls that they could have milk and cookies."

Helen got up and started going through cabinets.

What kind of cookies does Jamie like? Merry is a chocolate chip-aholic. If I don't hide the bag, they're gone. Oh, I wish I'd baked cupcakes. That's one of the things Merry likes to do, cook with me. Does Jamie like to cook?"

"No, not really."

Helen put an assortment of cookies on a plate, filled two tall glasses with milk and set two places at the table. She got a box from the refrigerator and took out the remainder of a coffee cake. She sliced it into pieces and put them on a plate, which she brought to the table with the plate of cookies. She poured two glasses of iced tea from a carton.

"Oh, Ginny, I'm sorry. I didn't ask. Is iced tea okay? There's fruit juice and I can make coffee or, oh, I'm sure we have some soda in the bar."

"Iced tea is fine, Helen. Thank you."

"I'm sorry, Ginny, I guess I'm trying too hard. I, well, I haven't made any friends and, well, I was hoping, since our girls get on so well, maybe, well, you and I, we ... ."

"We can be friends." I finished her sentence. "Yes, I'd like that Helen."

"Really? I mean that's wonderful."

Yes, I thought to myself, wonderful. A friendship based on deception. Way to go Ginny.

Helen went to the hall and called upstairs.

"Merry, Jamie, girls, cookies and milk. Please come down."

A few minutes later there was the thumping of feet and the two girls appeared. Merry made for the table, plopped herself in the chair, grabbed a cookie off of the plate, dunked it in her milk and stuffed it in her mouth.

"Merry!" Helen scolded her. "Wait for Jamie and mind your manners."

Jamie got onto the chair next to Merry. He looked at me. I nodded. He picked up a cookie and took a little bite, then a sip of milk.

"See, Merry, Jamie doesn't gobble her food."

Merry looked at her mother, gave Jamie a big smile, grabbed another cookie, dunked it and ate it.

"Merry! That is enough, now behave."

Helen gave me an exasperated look. I smiled back sympathetically.

Merry waited for Jamie to finish her cookie. She jumped out of her chair and pulled on her arm.

"Let's go."

Jamie looked at me for permission. I looked at my watch.

"Helen, it's getting late. I think we should be going."

"Please, just five more minutes," Merry pleaded. "Please, please," she persisted..

"What are you girls doing?" I asked her.

"I'm teaching Jamie to play cat's cradle. She's really good. We're up to foursies. Do you want to see?"

She put her hand in the pocket of her shorts and took out a long multicolored loop of string, which she deftly wove between her fingers into a crisscross pattern.

"Okay, Jamie, your turn."

To my surprise, Jamie went over, intertwined her fingers with the string, twisted her hands around and produced another pattern. Merry, studied it for a second, then reached in, pinched some of the strands together and lifted it onto her own hands. Jamie looked at the new pattern."

"Come on, Jamie. You can do it," Merry encouraged her. "Remember, what I showed you. Here, take it."

She held the string out and Jamie reached in to duplicate the configuration. Once it was transferred, Merry reached in again and took it back in another multiple diamond pattern.

"Please, Mom, just five more minutes. She's almost got it. Please?"

Helen looked at me. I nodded my assent.

"Okay, five minutes. Then she has to go."

Merry grabbed Jamie's hand and they ran off.

"I hope I didn't inconvenience you," Helen said apologetically.

"No, not at all," I assured her. "The groceries can wait. It's more important that the girls are having fun together."

She broke into a big smile.

"Ginny, I have a great idea. Why don't you leave Jamie here and go do your shopping? She can have dinner and then you can come back and get her." Helen thought for a moment and then added excitedly, "better yet, Ginny, they can do a sleepover. That would be so much fun. Art will be home tomorrow, so this is our last free night this week. Would that be okay? I was going to make hot dogs on the grill. Jamie likes hot dogs, doesn't she? All kids do," she answered her question. "I have plenty. Jamie and Merry are about the same size, so she could borrow some pajamas," she went on with her sales pitch, and ended with the extra inducement, "I have an extra toothbrush too."

Obviously, Helen was well prepared for drop in guests. I shook my head.

"I'm sorry, Helen, no, Jamie can't stay."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ginny. I didn't mean to put you on the spot. I understand. Some other time."

I looked at Helen and shook my head. She gave me a curious look.

"No? Jamie doesn't like to sleep over other people's houses. I guess some children do get homesick. I could bring her home later."

"It's not that, Helen. Thank you, but we should go."

"Ginny, what's wrong. Did I say something to upset you? I'm sorry. Really. Please don't let whatever I did spoil the girls' friendship," Helen pleaded frantically, "or ours."

Wonderful, Ginny, you've hurt two innocent people. You can't let Helen blame herself. It's wrong and you know it. Whatever the consequences, you have to tell her the truth. That will put an end to it.

I sighed.

"Helen, Jamie's not a girl, she's a boy."

Helen paused for a minute and then started to laugh. I couldn't imagine why my revelation was so funny.

"Oh for goodness sake, Ginny," Helen said with relief, "is that all? Merry can be a tomboy too. I'm used to it."

"No, Helen, not a tomboy, a boy. Jamie's male, not female."

"What?" she gasped incredulously. "You mean she's got a ... ."

"Yes, Jamie's got an outie and not an innie," I answered her unfinished question.

"How," she searched for words, "how, how could you do that to him? Turn him into a girl. Why would you do it to him?"

"I didn't do it to him, Helen. This isn't punishment. This is something we're trying to work through with the help of a psychiatrist."

I had a flashback to the incident with Priscilla. Is this how it always goes when you come out to someone, having to defend yourself? Karen was certainly right about the timing being wrong.

"I really am sorry. It was thoughtless of me. I'm sorry. We really should be going. I've done enough damage."

I got up to leave.

"Ginny, stop!" Helen said assertively. "Sit back down"

I sat down.

"My mother always said, to have a friend you have to be a friend. You said we're friends. Are you taking that back?"

"No, Helen, of course not, but I should never have gotten you involved in this. What about Merry?

"What about Merry?"

"Aren't you afraid of how this will affect her?"

"Affect her? You mean like your son is contagious? I don't think Merry will turn into a boy. No more so than she already is, anyway. In fact, maybe she'll learn something from Jamie about being feminine," she contradicted me, making light of the situation. "Besides, right now they're girlfriends and they're having fun. There's no reason to disappoint Merry or embarrass Jamie. Ginny, please tell me what is going on?"

I thought about whether I wanted to confide in her. Was she truly concerned about someone she hardly knew or was she just a busybody? Was she sincere or just curious? Did her motive matter? She wasn't family, so she could be critical without worrying about hurting my feelings. She wasn't a therapist, so she would see things differently than Karen or Jenny. Would she be judgmental? Did I care what she thought of me? Yes, I liked her, but I would get over it. Jamie liked Merry, but he'd get over it too. Well, any port in a storm. Why couldn't Dad come up with good sayings like Helen's Mom?

I started telling Helen about Jamie picking out a doll for a birthday present and went through his wanting to dress like her, our shopping trips and Karen's advice to get counseling. I told her about Dr. Mitchell and our attempt to determine whether Jamie was transgendered. I could see from her expression that she wasn't familiar with the term, so I explained how it meant someone who wanted to be the opposite sex. Helen was skeptical.

"I can see why a girl might want to be a boy. There's a lot more tolerance for misbehavior. I remember when I was growing up, my brothers would get into all kinds of trouble and Mom's attitude was boys will be boys. There's a lot more freedom too. Boy's get to do things girls can't do. My brothers played football and hockey. I took piano and ballet lessons. I can even see why a woman might want to be a man. They have more social and occupational opportunities. But I don't understand the reverse. What's so special about being a woman? Long hair may be pretty, but it's a nuisance, our clothes and shoes are impractical and uncomfortable, we spend a small fortune on cosmetics and beauty products and it takes us hours to put ourselves together. Don't get me wrong, Ginny. I love being a woman, but that's who I am. I don't understand why someone would put themselves through all of that, if they didn't have to?"

"I don't think people want to be transgendered, Helen. They can't help themselves. I'm sure Dr. Mitchell could explain it better. She's a transsexual."

"You left out that little detail. Dr. Mitchell is a man?"

"She was. She had a sex change."

"I wasn't a whiz in biology class, but from what I remember, if you're born a male you remain a male, with or without the equipment. So the person who's encouraging you to let Jamie be a girl is a man who's living as a woman?"

"I don't think you'd say that if you met her. She's as female as any woman I know, maybe more so," I argued in her defense.

"Ginny, I'm sure Dr. Mitchell does a great job of impersonating a woman, but this isn't about her, it's about Jamie. Why don't you find someone who will help him to be the boy he is, rather than the girl he isn't." Helen paused and thought for a minute. "Has Jamie said he wants to be girl?"

"No, we tried to talk to him about it, but it upset him."

"By 'we,' you mean Dr. Mitchell."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Ginny. I'm a financial analyst and nobody has nominated me for a parenting award, so I'm not an authority on children's behavior by any means, particularly when it comes to raising a boy, but I think you're making a mistake listening to Dr. Mitchell. You should go home, take away the doll and get rid of the clothes. Jamie may be upset for a while, but sometimes tough love is necessary. That's my unprofessional advice."

Now I was conflicted. What Helen said made sense, but I trusted Karen and she trusted Jenny. Did they know what was best for Jamie? Did Helen? Did anybody? My thoughts were interrupted by Helen's voice.

"Ginny, you're so quiet. I hope you're not mad at me for speaking my mind."

"No, not at all, Helen. I'm supposed to call Dr. Mitchell tomorrow to update her. You've given me a lot to think about. I appreciate it."

"Well, whatever you decided, I'm here, if you need me."

I went over and gave her a hug. We held each other for a minute.

"See, Ginny," Helen commented as we released, "we women have something special when it comes to comforting each other."

You haven't hugged Dr. Mitchell, I thought to myself. She's a world class comforter. What else are you wrong about?

"You and Jamie are going to stay for dinner, aren't you? You didn't go grocery shopping, so you have nothing to eat at home. You can' admit to fibbing to me, so you're stuck," she teased. "I'm going out to start the grill. There are some packages of hotdogs in the freezer. Would you take them out? Take out a big pot too, the one with the handles on the sides. It's in the cabinet under the island. I like to parboil the hotdogs first. They taste better. Oh and grab a package of buns out of the freezer, please.

The kitchen connected to a back hallway that went out to a large patio set up for entertaining. There as a big grill on one side and a round glass table with four chairs and an umbrella for shade. Beyond the patio there was a large backyard with an elaborate wooden swing set and play structure. I assumed that she went to the park so that Merry would have someone to play with. When dinner was ready, she called the girls. A few minutes later they came running out, laughing and giggling. Helen gave me a perplexed look as their compatibility confounded her advice that Jamie was better off as a boy. I smiled and shrugged in response. Merry seated herself and Jamie sat down next to her. Helen served her and she immediately attacked her meal. She finished while Jamie was still eating and hopped up. Helen sternly directed her to sit back down until her guest was finished eating. She reluctantly complied. When Jamie finished, Helen offered them ice cream, but Merry was anxious to get back to whatever they were doing and tugged on Jamie's arm.

"Merry, please behave. Jamie, do you want ice cream?" Helen intervened.

"No thank you," Jamie responded politely, in deference to Merry's efforts to pry him away from the adults. He looked at me to be excused.

"Thank you for dinner, Helen, but I think we should be going. Jamie, say goodbye to Merry, Honey."

Merry pleaded for Jamie to stay for a little while longer. Unlike Merry, Jamie was not used to challenging my decisions. He hesitated, not wanting to disappoint his new friend, but not wanting to disobey me either.

"Please, Mrs. McCarthy. Can Jamie stay a little longer?" she advocated on his behalf.

Jamie was having a good time.

"Just for bit, while I help you mother clean up.," I compromised. "Then we have to go."

The girls ran off. I helped Helen bring the dishes and glasses inside. Everything was plastic picnic ware, so the dishes and glasses went right into the dishwasher, the condiments went in the 'fridge and the utensils were disposable. Once the kitchen was cleaned up, Helen asked me if I wanted anything else. I told her no, we really did need to get home. She called upstairs for Merry and Jamie to come down. We waited a few minutes and then Helen invited me to go upstairs to investigate. We went down a hallway and into Merry's room. It was beautifully decorated with a lilac carpet, coordinating window treatment, bedspread and pillow shams, white wood shelves with an assortment of dolls, toys and games, and matching white wood dresser, desk, nightstand and headboard. Looking around the room, there was a large dollhouse in one corner, but no girls. Helen and I looked at each other. She put her finger to her lips and we stood silently. After about a minute there was a rustling from the door which must have been the closet. Helen opened it. Hiding inside were Merry and Jamie. We pretended to be surprised. They burst into laughter at the joke they thought they played on us.

"We have to go now Jamie. Say goodbye to Merry and thank Mrs. Nelson for having you over and for dinner."

"Thank you, Mrs. Nelson."

"You're welcome, Jamie. I hope you come back soon."

"That was Merry's cue."

"Tomorrow? Please, can she, pretty please?"

"Maybe," I equivocated. Have your Mom call me and I'll see what we can arrange. Okay?"

Merry nodded enthusiastically.

We went downstairs and out to our car. Merry followed along. She gave Jamie a big hug and Jamie hugged her back. Their innocence was touching. It was going to be hard to explain to Jamie why he and Merry could not be friends. I could see that Helen was troubled too.

"Goodbye, Ginny. She held my arm. Please call me tomorrow. I, well, you know.

"I know, Helen. I will."

We got in the car and drove home. I thought about calling Karen, but I was sure she would give me the same advice she did the last time, talk to Jenny. Jenny was expecting me to call her tomorrow, so I might as well wait. It was Jamie's bedtime, so I got her ready. I debated whether to put her to bed as a girl or a boy. She hadn't worn the cute pajama set yet. I had already taken the tags off, so I couldn't return it. One more time couldn't make a difference. After Jamie was snuggled in bed with her doll next to her, I quietly left, looking back at what probably would be the last night I spent with Jamie as my daughter.

I went into my bedroom and got ready for bed. It was still early, so I went downstairs to watch TV. I didn't want a TV in our room when Jim was alive. We had better things to do when he was home. There was no reason I couldn't have one now. I tried to watch a current events program, but I was too distracted by rehearsing in my mind what I was going to say to Jenny tomorrow. I didn't come to any resolution and about ten o'clock I gave up. I got into bed and made sure the alarm was set for seven thirty. I tossed and turned, looking at the clock which crept along in ten minute increments, until I finally fell asleep around midnight.

The alarm went off. I woke up and got out of bed. The rain must have gone through overnight, because it was another hot sunny day. I got dressed, pulled my hair back in a ponytail with a scrunchy and went to check on Jamie. She was still sleeping. I went downstairs and made myself breakfast. No sense reporting to Jenny on an empty stomach. I kept an eye on the clock on the microwave and at eight o'clock I decided to take a chance and call. Kelly didn't come in until eight thirty, but maybe Jenny was in early. She came in for us, so maybe she came in for other patients too. I dialed the office number and got a recording in Kelly's voice.

"You have reached the office of Dr. Jenny Mitchell. Our office hours are eight thirty am to four thirty pm, Monday through Friday. If you need critical care, you should go to the hospital emergency room. Admit yourself as Dr. Mitchell's patient and they will contact her. If you need to speak with Dr. Mitchell, please leave a message and your call will be returned. Thank you."

I thought about leaving a message, but I wasn't sure when they checked the answering system. I decided to call back after Kelly got in. I'd rather talk to her than a machine anyway. I went through the bills on my desk and wrote some checks. At eight thirty-five I picked up the phone and dialed the office again. To my relief, Kelly answered.

"Hello, Dr. Mitchell's office."

"Hi Kelly, it's Ginny McCarthy, Jamie's mother."

"Oh, right, like I forgot who you were. Geez. How are you and how's my favorite patient. Ooops, bad Kelly, she's not supposed to tell you that. Forget I said it. I like all of Dr. Mitchell's patients equally. Except for the one that comes in smelling like she fell in a vat of perfume. Somebody needs to tell her that being a woman is not determined by how much fragrance you use. Oh, and the one that thinks that spandex and silicone go together. Oh, and … ."

"Kelly, I need to talk to Dr. Mitchell before she gets busy," I interrupted her. "She asked me to call her today."

"Well why didn't you say so, Ms. McCarthy?"

"Lack of opportunity, for one, Kelly," I chided her.

"Me? She's not in yet. I just thought you needed some entertainment while you waited. Do you want her to call you back? Her first appointment is at nine. It's twenty of now and she's usually in by quarter of."

"Yes please. I'm home and I'll wait for her call."

"Good enough, Ms. McCarthy. I'll give her the message. Are you keeping your usual Monday appointment? I haven't been able to unload the lollipops. I should have gotten the sugar-free ones. All of Dr. Mitchell's patients are trying to keep their girlish figures, as if." She laughed.

"I'm not sure Kelly. You'll have to ask Jenny after I talk to her."

"Okay, will do. Anything else?"

"No. Thanks Kelly. I'll wait for Jenny's call. Bye."

"Goodbye."

I hung up and stayed near the phone. I didn't want it to wake Jamie. About ten minutes after I got off the phone with Kelly, it rang.

"Hello."

"Ginny, good morning, it's Jenny Mitchell. How are you?"

"I'm okay, Jenny, but I have a lot of questions. I hope you have a little time to talk."

"Of course, Ginny. Let me put you on hold while I tell Kelly to hold my other calls and tell Tiffany that I am running late."

The phone went dead for a minute and then Jenny resumed the conversation.

"I hope I'm not inconveniencing you, Jenny."

"No, Tiffany's is a pre-op. That means she's waiting to have SRS, sexual reassignment surgery, a sex change. It's a one way procedure, as you can imagine," what I pictured was not pleasant, "so a TS can't have it without psychiatric pre-approval and I'm not ready to sign off. Not everyone is cut out to be willy-less. That's a TG joke. Anyway, a short session today won't make a difference, so don't worry. Now, Ginny, please tell me what's happened."

"Well, Jamie spent the week as a girl. I dressed him in girl's clothes and had his hair done, like you suggested. We found a really nice woman at a salon that specializes in girls who do pageants. Jamie really looks cute. I have some pictures she took. Do you remember the little girl we met in the park, the one who is going to be in Jamie's kindergarten class?"

"Yes, the one who you were worried would discover that Jamie was a boy when he started school."

"Yes, her. Her name's Merry. Anyway, she went to a puppet show with us and then we went over to her house and Jamie played with her. She had a really good time. I was surprised they got along so well."

"How did you go from worried to happy?"

"Oh, I kind of jumped ahead, Jenny, sorry. I called Karen to see if Jamie could visit as a girl. She was concerned that her family would have a hard time getting over seeing him like that, if it turned out he wasn't going to stay a girl. She said she talked to some gay friends and they said, let me make sure I say it right, they said that coming out defines you. That's how she put it."

"That is the perception. I don't agree with generalizations. It might have been innocuous and it might have been problematic. Your sister knows her family best and, given her background as a therapist, I assume she erred on the side of caution. I can certainly understand that. I told you how concerned I am about telling my own children that I am a transsexual."

"That's one of my questions, Jenny. If you didn't think it was good idea, why did you let me do it?"

"Your sister already knows about Jamie, so there was no harm in asking, Ginny. It's up to you and her to work it out. I help my patients deal with their problems, but I don't run their lives."

"That's what Karen said you'd say."

"It's standard practice, so no surprise. You said it was one of your questions," she emphasized the word one, "so there must be more. Go on, please."

"Well, Helen, that's Merry's mother, was skeptical about my treating Jamie like a girl. She saw no benefit to being female that would justify a sex change. To be honest, she was critical of your advice too, especially when I told her you were a transsexual. I hope you're not mad at me."

"Ginny, it's not a secret. If you feel it's pertinent, you're welcome to reveal it. As to Helen, I've heard it before and she's right in the abstract, but we don't choose our gender in the abstract. Did Helen want to be a man? Do you?"

"No, of course not."

"Why not?"

"Because that isn't who we are."

"That's not who I am either."

"Jenny, please don't take this the wrong way. Helen's argument was that you can change your anatomy, but you can't really change your sex. Please Jenny, please don't be insulted. This is very difficult for me to understand. Helen says that you're just a man who is pretending to be a woman and that I shouldn't listen to you."

"Is that what you think?"

"No."

"Are you just saying that to be polite or do you mean it?"

"I mean it, but this isn't about you. It's about Jamie and I don't want to make a mistake and ruin his life."

"If Helen is wrong about me, maybe she's wrong about Jamie too."

"Maybe I'm wrong about you and she's right about Jamie. I just don't know what to do. I am so sorry I bought him that stupid doll. None of this would have happened."

This conversation was not going well and I was getting more and more frustrated. Jenny must have heard it in my voice.

"Ginny, I will make you one promise. You have to trust me on this. Nothing bad will happen to Jamie. I told you before and I will tell you again, you cannot turn a boy into a girl by dressing him as a girl or treating him like one. If Jamie isn't transgendered, then nothing that you have done so far will make a difference. He will grow up to be a normal boy. However, if he is transgendered, then early recognition will save him from a lifetime of unhappiness. I have to see my next patient soon, but let me tell you one case history.

"I will call her Angela. She was one of six children in a devoutly Catholic family. She grew up knowing that she was different, but she couldn't reveal it. She hated herself and had a miserable childhood. When she went off to college, she joined the campus GLBT group, it's an alliance for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgendered students. That's what the initials stand for. They convinced her to come out. Her parents cut off her tuition and refused to have any contact with her. She got into drugs and ended up on the street as a prostitute to support her habit. I got involved with her when she was hospitalized after being beaten up by a customer, which is an occupational hazard for these girls. We are trying to work through her guilt and lack of self-esteem, but she is so self-destructive that it's only a matter of time. Now do you understand why I am not concerned about toys, clothes and playmates? It's Jamie's future, not his present, that's at risk. If you're not convinced, Ginny, you should find another therapist. I won't be offended. I mean that with all of my heart.

I was overwhelmed with emotion by how much Jenny cared.

"Ginny?"

"I'm here, Jenny. Thank you. I am sure you're the right woman for the job. What do you recommend I do now?"

"Whatever you think best and I'll see you on Monday."

"Why did I know that you were going to say that?"

"Consistency is a virtue," she retorted.

"Thank you, Jenny."

"Thank you, Ginny."

She hung up. I felt much better. Definitely waffles for breakfast. We're going out. As mother and daughter, I decided, and Jamie was going to wear her white eyelet dress. Then maybe we'd get our nails done. My plans were interrupted by the phone. I wondered if it was Jenny calling me back or maybe Kelly to confirm our Monday appointment.

"Hello."

"Ginny, hi, it's Helen. I'm sorry, I couldn't wait. Did you talk to the doctor yet? What are you going to do?"

"Yes and nothing to answer your questions in the order which you asked them."

"I don't understand."

"I've decided that my daughter and I are going to spend the day together. Would you and Merry like to join us? I'm taking her to the pancake house for waffles and then I thought we'd get a manicure."

"Ginny, I still don't understand. I thought you were going to put an end to Jamie pretending to be a girl?"

"Jamie's not pretending to be anything, Helen. Right now she is enjoying being a girl and having Merry as her playmate. Monday we will decide whether or not to continue."

"I have to say, Ginny, I've never had a friend like you. Merry already had breakfast, but she's a little chow hound. Where is the restaurant? I'll meet you there. What time? Are you sure about this?"

"You mean about having waffles? Yes, I'm sure. In about half an hour."

"Ginny, really. Have it your way. For once I hope I'm wrong. That didn't come out right," she said with a laugh. "I'm wrong lots of times, but this time I want to be." She paused considering her logic. "I give up."

"See you soon."

All Dolled Up - 9

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part IX

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them.

I went upstairs to wake up Jamie and get him ready to go out for breakfast. He was sleeping peacefully, with the doll next to him on the pillow. I bent over the bed and gently stroked his hair.

"Wake up sleepy head, rise and shine. We're meeting Merry and her mother at the pancake house, won't that be fun, and then you and I are going to get manicures. Girl's love manicures, that's what you call having your nails polished, and I want you to wear your pretty new white dress. Now we have to hurry. 'Spit spot,'" I mimicked Julie Andrews getting the children ready to go to the park in the 'Mary Poppins' video.

I pulled back the covers, revealing Jamie in her adorable jammies, and playfully pushed her legs off of the mattress, pulling her into a sitting position with my other hand. She looked at me sleepily. I left her sitting on the edge of the bed while I got out her dressy white nylon panties. She was going to wear a sundress, so she didn't need anything under the top. I went and helped her up.

"Undies off, quick like a bunny," I coaxed her.

She slid the panties down and stepped out of them. I handed her the clean pair and picked up the ones she had worn, dropping them in her laundry bin. I unzipped the back of the dress and held it for her to step into, pulled it up, slipped it over her arms and zipped it up. Her white sandals without socks completed the outfit. I stood back to admire her. She looked beautiful. Oh for goodness sake Ginny, you were in such a hurry you didn't take her to the bathroom. Well, she needed to practice going in a dress. Did she? It might not be life skill that she would use much longer. I took her into the bathroom and reviewed the process. A quick once over with a washcloth, tooth brushing, a session with the hairbrush and we returned to her room. I couldn't resist adding her headband, the gold locket necklace, this time with the matching bracelet, and her earrings. We were good to go, except, of course, I needed to get myself ready. I left Jamie with her doll and hurried into my room, paying a lot less attention to my appearance. After all, it was Jamie's day. I collected Jamie, we went downstairs, I got my pocketbook and we left.

Fifteen minutes later, we were at the restaurant. I made a quick check of the parking lot, but I didn't see Helen's car, so we were there first. I went in and gave our name to the hostess. She said there was about a ten minute wait. We sat on a bench in the waiting area. I reminded Jamie to collect her dress when she sat down. About five minutes later, I saw the door open and Merry came bounding in with Helen following her. She ran over to Jamie and hopped up next to her. Helen came over. She studied Jamie and then turned to me.

"You are serious about turning Jamie into a girl, Ginny, aren't you?"

"Please Helen, keep your voice down. Let's go over there," I pointed to the area near the door. I got up and took her arm. "I told you that Jamie was going to continue to be a girl until Monday, when we meet with Dr. Mitchell."

"Yes, but my God, Ginny, I never expected this. You've turned him into a fairy princess."

I glowered at her use of the word 'fairy'. Did she mean to say 'fairytale' or intend to be derogatory? She ignored my reaction and went on.

"Whatever advice Dr. Mitchell gave you to encourage this charade is just plain wrong. I'm sorry, but I won't be a part of it. We have to go." She turned to Merry, "Merry, we're not staying."

Helen walked over and reached out to take Merry's hand.

"Mom, please, I want to eat with Jamie. Please, Mom?"

"No, Merry, we are leaving now and no backtalk young lady."

She took her daughter's hand and pulled her towards the door.

"Bye Jamie. See you," Merry called over her shoulder.

Jamie waved at Merry's back as the door closed behind her. I looked to see her expression. Luckily she didn't understand Merry's abrupt departure.

"I'm sorry, Honey. Merry's Mom forgot they had something else to do this morning. She couldn't call me, because we had already left, so she stopped by to tell me. That's what we were talking about," I covered up. "We can still have breakfast and go for our manicures."

I went over and told the hostess it would just be the two of us. She had a table for two open and seated us. Jamie got a placemat and a small box of crayons to color with while we were waiting. The waitress came over and I ordered the number two breakfast for me, two eggs, an English muffin, juice and tea, and the strawberry Belgian waffle for Jamie with a glass of milk.

Jamie was full after finishing half of the waffle. I paid and we left. I wasn't going to let Helen spoil the day. How could she judge me and how could she be so cruel to someone so vulnerable? I suppose it was my fault for trusting her. Apparently honesty is not the best policy when your child is transgendered. Well, once bitten, twice shy. At least Dad had one useful expression. I won't let it happen again. So, Ginny, all dressed up and somewhere to go, we're having our nails done. I remembered passing a nail salon in a small shopping center on our way to the restaurant. We didn't need anything fancy.

Jamie was quiet as we drove. I glanced at her to see if she was sad about Merry, but, if it bothered her, she didn't show it. I parked and walked to the entrance. A sign in the window said walk-ins were welcome. Looking inside, I didn't see any customers. We entered and were politely greeted by an older Asian woman. Two young Asian women were seated at stations chatting in their own language.

"My daughter and I would like manicures, please. This is her first time, so it=s special."

The woman looked at Jamie and grinned.

"Yes, yes, mama, special," she agreed. "I do. Come."

She motioned us to an open manicure station and pointed to the chair.

"She sit, prease."

I had Jamie sit down.

"You go, mama" she pointed to the station opposite where one of the young women was sitting. I went over and sat down. I was nervous that I couldn't see what was happening with Jamie. I tried to watch over my shoulder, but the older woman smiled and waved for me to turn around.

The woman doing my nails added her assurance. "Hi, I'm Kim. Aunty Mai raised three daughters. My sister and I," she pointed the orangewood stick she was holding at the other girl," are her nieces. This is a family business and we take good care of our customers, especially the young ones," she said with a big smile. I turned back and decided to enjoy being pampered for a little while.

Kim was very good. When it was time for the polish, I chose a dark red. She applied it in long smooth strokes. It wasn't until she finished and my nails were under the dryer that it struck me I hadn't chosen a color for Jamie. What would it be, I wondered? Oh well, it didn't matter really.

"Do toes, mama?"

"Aunty wants to know if you want her to give your daughter a pedicure too?"

"Rittle toes, no pay," Aunty offered as an inducement.

It may well be a once in a lifetime experience for Jamie and the price was certainly right.

"Yes," I agreed. "Thank you."

"Jamie, the nice lady is going to make your toes look pretty like your nails, Honey. It's called a pedicure."

"You come, prease."

Aunty took Jamie's hand. Looking towards the back of the salon, I could see that there were chairs set up with foot baths. I hoped Jamie was going to enjoy her day, or at least morning, of beauty.

"Go ahead, Honey."

"You too? No charge. Introductory offer," Kim enticed me.

"No, I couldn't. Please, only if I pay for it."

"Okay, you win. One dollar, American money," she teased me.

I knew when to give in.

"Okay, you drive a hard bargain," I teased her back.

She laughed and brought me to the back. I sat down in the chair next to Jamie. It really was delicious to relax and forget about everything that had happened. Having a daughter was an advantage. I could never do this with Jamie as a boy. It didn't seem fair. If Jim was around, then he and Jamie could do guy stuff, but that left me out. I wondered how Dad felt with two girls. Did he envy Mom? Did he secretly wish that one of us was a boy? Was it different for fathers? Were they more detached from their children than mothers? What if Jamie went back to being a boy? No, he couldn't go back to being what he already was. What if it turned out that he wasn't transgendered? Would our relationship change? How could I let that happen? There must be way for a mother and her son to be close. I suppose I could do guy stuff with him. Be a soccer mom or a Cub Scout den mother. He'd look a lot cuter in a Brownie uniform. Did they still wear those silly beanies with the loop on top?

"Other foot please," Kim directed me, interrupting my thoughts.

When we were finished, the women brought us to the front.

"You like, mama?" Aunty asked me.

I inspected Jamie's fingernails. They were bubble gum pink, with a tiny white flower design on the pointer fingers and his toes matched, except for the flower. Aunty really had done a beautiful job, much more than a usual manicure. What a sweet woman. I wished we could make this a regular routine.

"I like them very much. They're lovely. Thank you."

I took out my wallet and handed her a credit card. I didn't even bother to check the amount. I just signed the charge slip. Aunty was the owner and I didn't want to insult her generosity by offering her a tip, but Kim certainly deserved one. I took out a ten dollar bill and offered it to her.

"No, please. One dollar, American money," she insisted.

"No, please take it. This morning was priceless. I'm not sure if we will be able to come back. We may be moving," I made up as a reason, "so please let me thank you for your kindness. Please."

I put the money on her station and she accepted it graciously.

"That is very generous. Thank you."

"You're very welcome. Thank you."

I took Jamie's hand and we left. I looked back at the smiling women. Who cares about Helen!

We got in the car and I tried to think of something else for us to do as mother and daughter. I looked over at Jamie, sitting like a little angel with her pretty hands resting in her lap. A tea party would be perfect. I imagined Jamie with a group of little girls in pinafore dresses, sitting in a circle with their dollies next to them and sipping tea in little floral decorated china cups. Too bad my little Alice doesn't have a magic rabbit hole to tumble down, I sighed. We could go shopping, but there was no point in expanding her wardrobe until we knew whether she wanted to be a girl. Should I ask her, I wondered? Jenny tried at our last session and upset her, but maybe it was too soon then. Jamie had more time to sort out her feelings.

"Jamie, your nails look very nice," I began casually. "Do you like being a girl?"

She looked at her hands.

"Yes."

Brilliant, Ginny, wrong question. Yes, she agrees her nails look nice, or yes, she likes being a girl, or yes to both? And why wouldn't she like being a girl with all of the attention she's been getting. That's just the type of encouragement that Jenny had cautioned you against initially. Even if she likes being a girl, does that mean she wants to be a girl? She likes vanilla ice cream, but it doesn't mean she wants to have it every day for the rest of her life. Is that a silly analogy? And even if she does want to be a girl, is it because she thinks that's what you want her to be, you certainly act like it, or because it's what she wants for herself? Should I ask her the right question? What is the right question? Do you want to become a girl permanently? Are you really a girl? Not on the outside. On the inside? Would she understand the difference? Would it be the right answer? Only Jenny would know and you still have three days before you see her again.

We arrived home and I sent Jamie upstairs. She hadn't had any playtime with her doll today and I expected she would enjoy the opportunity. I puttered around, trying to decide how to spend the rest of the week. Other than socializing with another girl, which was out of the question, given my experience with Helen, there was nothing left for us to do that was uniquely feminine. What would happen, I wondered, if Jamie went back to being himself? Wasn't he still himself, just wearing different clothes? What would happen, then, if I went back to dressing him as a boy? Whether he refused or accepted the reversion would be a good indication of how he felt about his gender. Even better, as a boy I could take him to visit Karen's family. Excellent, I will call her tonight.

The rest of the evening went as usual. I didn't want to spoil her manicure and pedicure by letting Jamie soak in a bath and she hadn't done anything that would require one, so I just gave her a once-over with a washcloth. Since tonight might be her last as a girl, I let her wear her panties and nightgown to sleep in. I completed her girl's bedtime routine by brushing her hair, cherishing what might be our final activity as mother and daughter. I read her a story with the doll resting on the pillow between us, waited for her to get drowsy and tiptoed out. Looking back, I lingered over the vision of my little sleeping beauty and struggled with the thought that the next morning's waking kiss would turn her into a prince. Not that there was anything wrong with princes, I reminded myself.

I got myself ready for bed and passed the time watching the news and reading until it was a little after nine o'clock. I picked up the phone and pressed the speed dial.

"Hello."

"Hi, Karen."

"Ginny, I'm glad you called. I've been thinking about you. How are you and Jamie doing?"

"Honestly, it's been difficult. We, well I, had an unpleasant experience with the mother of the little girl Jamie met in the park."

"The one you were worried about, because she was going to be in Jamie's class?"

"Yes, her, Merry."

"How did you happen to run into them?"

"Actually, I arranged it."

"Ginny?"

"Well, I decided that Jamie should socialize as a girl, so I called her mother. She had given me her number, so the girls could get together. I thought I could keep things under control by not letting them get too personal, so I invited them to go to a puppet show. After the show, I suggested we go out for ice cream, but Helen, that's Merry's mother, asked us to go back to their house. I know I shouldn't have, but this was the first time since this all started that Jamie had a playmate and they got along nicely on the playground and at the show, so I thought it would be harmless."

"Obviously, it wasn't," Karen anticipated.

"Well, it was, up to a point. I told Helen that we could only stay for a little while, because I had to go shopping, so I would have an excuse to leave. She thought she was doing me a favor by offering to let Jamie stay for dinner while I went to the store. That led to her suggesting that Jamie do a sleepover, so I didn't have to rush back. I don't know why, Karen, but I felt guilty about the deception. I tried to say no politely, but I ended up by telling her the truth."

"And she reacted badly?"

"No, not badly. She was, it's hard to explain, curious, or maybe dubious is a better word, I don't know, as to why a boy would want to be a girl. I think she believed that this was just some kind of whimsy in which I was indulging Jamie and that he or I would eventually realize that there is no reason to be a girl if you weren't born one."

"Why were you bothered by her questioning the benefit of being female?"

"It didn't bother me, it encouraged me."

"What?"

"I told her about Dr. Mitchell and that we had an appointment with her on Monday to make a decision. I thought she understood and would go along with letting Jamie and Merry being friends until then. So, the next morning I called her and invited them to join us for breakfast at the pancake house. She said yes. I got Jamie dressed really pretty, in a white cotton sundress. When Helen met us and saw her, she got angry and walked out. Luckily, Jamie didn't catch on. That's why I was upset, because it was a mean thing for Helen to do after leading me to believe that she didn't mind Jamie was a boy and she wanted to be my friend.

"I'm sorry Sis, but if you knew the woman was dubious, to use your word, why did you challenge her by dressing Jamie up. You could have had him wear something less conspicuously feminine. If I was analyzing your behavior, which I'm not, I would say that subconsciously you were testing her acceptance of Jamie as a girl."

"Karen, no, I wasn't. I wanted Jamie to look pretty so she would have something in common with Merry."

"Merry was wearing a dress too?"

"No, I mean that they were both girls. I wanted Jamie to feel really girlish."

"Why?"

"I thought that Merry would like her better that way."

"Did Merry not like him the way he was before?"

"No. They got along fine. I just wanted Jamie to look pretty. What's wrong with that?" I asserted defensively.

"Ginny, nothing is wrong with that in the abstract. Jamie is supposed to be exploring his gender. Obviously, something is wrong with that in real life or it wouldn't have ended the way it did. I'm not being critical, Sis. I know you meant well, but I'm at a loss to understand why you got together with the girl in the first place, considering how anxious you were about their being classmates."

"Karen, it's been really hard for me to find things to do with Jamie as a girl and I felt guilty about her being with me all of the time. I wanted her to have some fun and you didn't want her to play with Debbie and Cindy, so Merry was the next best alternative."

It was Karen's turn to be defensive.

"I did what I thought was best for both Jamie and my family, Ginny. You know that."

"Yes," I conceded, "I do. I'm sorry, Karen. Actually, that's why I was calling. Jamie's done about as much as she can do as a girl, so I was going to let her return to being a boy. I was hoping that we could spend the weekend with you. I mean, you don't have to. I'd understand. I, well, I really need to be around someone supportive after what I went through with Helen. Could we Karen? Would it be alright? She'd be a boy and she doesn't have to bring her doll."

"Ginny, for goodness sake, of course you and Jamie can come for the weekend, with a doll, in a dress, it doesn't matter. If you need us, we're here for you, Sis."

"You've changed your mind?"

"I thought it would be best for both Jamie and my family, if they didn't seem him as a girl until we were sure he was one. That was a preference, not a prohibition, Ginny, and, since you've decided to bring him as a boy, it doesn't matter, although you might want to stop referring to him as 'she' and 'her'."

"Oh, yes. I, well, I've been so careful about not outing him that I have to get out of the habit of referring to her, him, as a girl. Once she's, he's, back to being a boy it will be easier. I really appreciate you letting us come, Karen. It means a lot to me," I sniffled.

"When will you be here?" she asked, moving our conversation in a less emotional direction.

"Jamie isn't up yet and I want to straighten up the house before we leave. How about around dinner time, would that be okay?"

"Of course, Ginny, I'll do barbeque. Jamie likes hot dogs, doesn't he?"

"Yes. That would be fine."

"Great, I'll do the works, potato salad, coleslaw, pickles and watermelon for desert. It'll be just like old times, Sis."

"Thank you, Karen. I need some nostalgia. I wish Jim was here" I added with a note of sadness in my voice. "If he was, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"Ginny, this isn't a mess. Jim might have had a different view as to how to deal with Jamie, but he couldn't prevent it or change it any more than you can. Now stop feeling sorry for yourself, just because you had a bad experience. I'll see you tonight. Love, you."

"I love you too. See you tonight and thanks again."

"You're welcome again."

I hung up the phone and went upstairs to wake up Jamie.

"Sweetie," I whispered, so as not to startle her.

She, well she was still in girl mode, rolled over and opened her eyes.

"Good morning, rise and shine. We're going to Aunt Karen's this afternoon, so we have to get ready."

I went to her dresser and got out a pair of white cotton briefs.

"Arms up."

I slipped the nightgown over her head and folded it neatly, putting it in her bottom bureau drawer with her pajama set. I handed her the boy's underpants. To my surprise, she put took off her panties and put them on without any resistance or reluctance. It was the same with the rest of her boy's clothes. Was she just being compliant or didn't she care. I suppose there was no reason why she should. Her feminine outfits were my choice. She never expressed a preference, except to dress the same as her doll, and we seemed to be over that. I suddenly realized I was still referring to Jamie as a girl. He's a boy now, I reminded myself. Well, with his girl's hairstyle, more like a tomboy. I needed to do something about that.

I remembered that Priscilla had offered to do a unisex style. Should I wait to have it cut until after Jenny makes her diagnosis on Monday? What about Karen? I told her I was bringing Jamie as a boy. I decided to call Priscilla. I knew her salon was closed, so maybe I wouldn't reach her. If not, then Jamie would go the way he was. I would put it in the hands of fate, I dramatized.

Once Jamie was ready, I walked him downstairs and gave him breakfast, just cereal with milk and a banana, cinnamon toast and orange juice, nothing fancy. While he was eating, I got the phone book and looked up the number for Priscilla's Pageant and Performance. I dialed and got a recording, as I expected. I left her a message, cryptically reminding her that I was the mother of the redheaded girl who she photographed last week and asking her to call me back this morning. I left Jamie to finish his breakfast while I went upstairs to pack our suitcases. I was in his room when I heard the telephone ring. Could it be Priscilla getting back to me so quickly?

I hurried into my room and answered the phone on the fourth ring. It was Priscilla.

"Hi. I didn't think I would catch you," I greeted her cheerfully, although I had mixed feelings. After the usual pleasantries and thanking her for the photos, I asked whether she had time today to do a unisex cut. Maybe she didn't. No, she could do it at eleven o'clock. The Greeks were wrong. Fate is obviously a man. I confirmed the time and fibbed that I was looking forward to our visit. I hung up and went back to finish packing.

Jamie had come upstairs and was on the floor with his doll. I worked around him, trying to be unobtrusive, but curious about his interaction with the doll. Whatever he was doing with her, it didn't appear to be the kind of fantasy play that Karen and I did with our dolls. We pretended to be the mommies and cared for our babies. From what I could see, Jamie treated the doll like she was his friend, not his child. I finished packing, closed his suitcase and took it into my room. I still needed to put in his toothbrush. Karen would have toothpaste, shampoo and the other bath items.

I kept an eye on the clock and at ten fifteen I asked him to get ready to leave. We got in the car and I drove to Priscilla's salon. On the way, I told Jamie that I was going to have her trim his hair, so it would be easier to take care of when he started school, which was true enough. We arrived at the salon about fifteen minutes early. I went up and tried the door. It was locked, so we walked to the coffee shop a few stores down. I got an iced tea for me and an iced chocolate latte for Jamie. We sipped on our beverages while we waited for Priscilla to arrive. A few minutes before eleven a yellow convertible pulled up in front of the salon and a tall, attractive woman got out. There was no mistaking Priscilla. I took Jamie's hand and we went out to greet her. She unlocked the door and had us wait while she deactivated the alarm and turned on the lights. Once we were inside, she directed us to her station in the salon area. She had Jamie get in the chair and looked him over, turning his head from side to side. She took me aside.

"It appears you've decided to let him be himself," she said discretely. "Do you want a regular boy's haircut?"

"He's always been himself, Priscilla," I politely disagreed. "Whether he's more comfortable as a boy or a girl is what we've been trying to decide. For the time being, he's a boy and I want him to look like one. You suggested a unisex style. I'd like that please."

"Of course, Mrs. McCarthy. He'll either look like a very boyish girl or a very girlish boy, depending on how you dress him. Is that what you want?"

"Yes, that would be a good compromise."

"I can always take a clipper to him later," she jested.

"I can always buy him a wig to cover it up," I countered, provoking a smile.

Priscilla took Jamie over to the sink and did the same shampoo routine as before. She toweled him and brought him back to the chair, using scissors to shorten the back and angle the sides, leaving a fringe over his forehead. When she was finished, she used a styling brush and blow dryer to smooth it into shape.

"Viola," she pointed with the brush.

I expressed my approval of the attractive little boy who emerged. I thanked her, offered to pay, which she refused, gave her a hug and had Jamie do the same, and asked if she wanted before and after photos. She laughed and told me that she didn't want to spoil the illusion. She walked us out and waved goodbye as we drove off.

By the time we got back home it was almost one o'clock, so I made Jamie a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich and gave him a glass of milk. While he was eating, I finished packing. We really didn't need a lot for the weekend. Play clothes for Jamie, a sweatshirt if it got cool, and some jeans and shorts for me. I could borrow a sweater from Karen if I needed it. I went into the bathroom and thought about taking my cosmetic bag. I wore makeup for Jim, when he was home, but had stopped using it, except for lipstick. I studied my face. There was no need to impress Dave, but there was no need to look like a Russian peasant either. I found a pair of tweezers and plucked my eyebrows into the semblance of arches. I had forgotten what a pain, literally and figuratively, it was to look pretty. Since I had been spending so much time with Jamie, I hadn't been in the sun and looked pale. I rummaged through the vanity drawer and found a tube of some type of bronzing stuff. God knows how old it was, but I supposed that it doesn't go bad. I took a dab and applied it. Satisfied with the improvement, I continued with the application.

I made my bed, straightened up the room and then went into Jamie's room and started to make his bed. He came in as I was pulling up the spread. His doll was on the pillow. I handed it to him to hold while I finished.

"Okay, Sweetie, it's time to go."

We started downstairs and I noticed he still was holding his doll. I considered saying something, but decided not to make it seem important. Maybe he would realize he had it with him on our way out and leave it downstairs or maybe he would take it with him in the car, but not bring it into the Karen's house. It was his choice. Karen said he could bring the doll and there was no need for me to be involved, although his leaving it at home when he was a girl and taking it with him when he was a boy seemed backwards. Then again, I was becoming quite aware that six year olds don't think like adults.

I put our suitcases in the trunk and we pulled out of the driveway. It was about two thirty and the trip usually took a little over an hour. Leaving now, we would avoid the Friday rush hour. I looked over at Jamie in the passenger's seat with his doll in his lap and remembered the pretty little girl in her white sundress and bubble gum pink nails who had been sitting next to me the day before. Bubble gum pink nails, Ginny. He still had them! So much for going to Karen's as a boy. I pulled over, waited for traffic to pass and made a u-turn.

"Jamie, Honey, We have to go back home. We need to take off you nail polish. It will only take a minute."

Did I even have nail polish remover in the house? I must have some somewhere. We pulled into the driveway and I took Jamie upstairs to my bathroom. I rummaged through the vanity and found a bottle and some cotton balls in the back of the cabinet under the sink. I watched Jamie for any emotional reaction as I applied the saturated cotton ball and swabbed off the polish nail by nail. I supposed that having polished nails was not something that mattered to him. Girl's, well most girl's, like to look pretty, because they're indoctrinated into our beauty culture by their mothers. There's no reason why he should be disappointed about having something unfamiliar taken away.

I inspected his nails to make sure there were no traces of pink and touched up a few areas around his cuticles. Once I was satisfied, we got back in the car. I kept some tapes of children's songs in the car for when we made the trip to Karen's. I put it in the player and we passed the time to "there was a farmer, had a dog and Bingo was his name, O, b-i-n-g-o, b-i-n-g-o" and another tape of Disney movie tunes. Would you like to hear my rendition of "Under the Sea"? Neither did Jamie.

Traffic on the interstate was heavier than I had thought it would be. Apparently a lot of people decided to head home early for the weekend. It was a little after four when we turned onto Karen's street. Her house was a ranch, near the end of a cul-de-sac. As we approached I saw Debbie on a bicycle and Cindy pedaling a big wheel. Debbie recognized my car, Karen must have told them we were coming, and waved. I made sure they were out of the way and pulled into the circular driveway. Debbie and Cindy got off their bikes and ran over to Jamie's door, but couldn't get it open, because the doors locked automatically when the car started.

I pushed the unlock button and they opened the door, excitedly tugging on Jamie, who was still held in by his seatbelt. I watched to see Jamie's reaction when the girl's saw his doll. Noticing it in his lap, Debbie asked me in typical children's self-centered curiosity, "Aunt Ginny, is that for me?"

"No, Debbie," the doll was Jamie's birthday present," I explained. "It's his," I repeated to make sure there was no question.

"Oh," Debbie said rebuffed in her enthusiasm for an undeserved gift. "Can I see her?" she asked, reaching for it. To my surprise he let her have it. Letting go of the doll freed Jamie's hands to release his seatbelt. In the meantime, Debbie gave the doll a thorough going over, even lifting the dress to check her underwear. When Jamie finally slid out of the seat, she handed it back to him and expressed her approval.

"Neat. C'mon."

She ran off to the house with Jamie and Cindy trailing along. I was surprised by how readily she accepted Jamie having a doll. She and Cindy had dolls, she didn't have any brothers who were told they couldn't and at her age I doubted she played with boys, so why would she know any different? Jenny was right when she said that prejudice requires maturity. They disappeared into the backdoor. A few minutes later Karen came out, apparently alerted by the girls that we had arrived.

She hurried over and gave me a gigantic hug. I really needed it. We held each other for what seemed like ten minutes. I couldn't let her go. All of the doubts and worries of the past few weeks seemed to melt away by the warmth and affection of my sister. Karen just let me hang on until I was ready.

"It's good to see you, too Ginny. Let's get your stuff inside. She reached into the trunk and took Jamie's smaller suitcase. I picked up mine and closed the trunk. She shifted the suitcase into her offhand and took my arm, escorting me to the door. We went to the guest bedroom, where we left the suitcases. Debbie had bunk beds in her room for sleepovers and the usual arrangement was for Cindy to move in with Debbie, Debbie being older took the upper bunk for safety, and Jamie stayed in Cindy's room. Her room was pink and pastels with the usual assortment of dolls and toys. I thought how ironic it was that Jamie had a boy's room when he was being a girl and a girl's room now that he was back to being a boy.

Dave had not gotten home yet, so Karen and I had time to catch up on her family. We talked about Debbie going back to school. Even though she and Jamie were both six, she had started kindergarten last year, so she would be a first grader. Karen showed me her 'Hello Kitty' school bag with all of the crayons, blunt scissors, pencils and little pencil sharpener required for her academic debut. Cindy was in pre-school and loved her teacher, who was the same one Debbie had when she went to the Teddy Bear Club. The owner was French and for enrichment the children were taught the language, so Karen told me how cute it was for Cindy to go around calling her 'mere' and her father 'pere,' the French words for mother and father she explained, since I took Spanish. Of course, Karen went on, Debbie had no idea what her sister was saying and made fun of her for talking baby talk, which gave both of us a laugh. Karen carefully avoided talking about Jaie and it was nice to have a conversation with her that didn't involve his gender.

About an hour after we arrived, Dave came home. He greeted me with a big bear hug. It felt good to have a man's arms around me, even if they belong to my brother-in-law. He was a really nice guy and Jim and Dave got along wonderfully. They would go off and talk sports for hours. I think Jim would have wanted Jamie to be an athlete. He played four varsity sports in high school. He didn't go to college, he went into the service and then to a technical school. I was sure that Dave would be disappointed if it turned out that Jamie was transgendered, which confirmed Karen's judgment about postponing the revelation until we were sure.

Dave went to change and wash up. When he came back, we chatted while Karen prepared dinner. Since it was barbeque, she bought most of it at the deli and only had to empty the containers into bowls. Dave went out to start the grill. When the hot dogs were ready, we called the girls. Ooops, and boy. Jamie came in carrying his doll. Debbie and Cindy had dolls too. Apparently they intended to have a doll's picnic. There was a child-sized plastic table with attached benches for them to sit at and Karen set places for them with paper plates. If Dave thought anything was strange about Jamie having a doll, he didn't mention it. He probably thought the doll belonged to one of the girls and that Jamie was just humoring his cousins by taking part in their game. I didn't see any need to change his mind.

We had a lovely dinner. Jamie always got along with his cousins and, with their company to keep him busy, I could relax with a glass or two or three of wine. By the end of the meal, I was feeling really mellow. Dave and I helped Karen bring the leftovers into the kitchen. We excused him and he went off to do whatever guys do while the women do the dishes. Not being much of a drinker, I wasn't a great deal of help. Mostly I swayed and giggled for no reason. Karen was very patient with her tipsy sister. She offered to put Jamie to bed when she did the girls. I accepted her offer and told her that his toothbrush and pajamas were in his suitcase. She gave me a patronizing look at my statement of the obvious. I went into the den and sat on the couch next to Dave. I didn't think Karen would mind my appropriating her husband for a bit, not that I had anything intimate in mind. It just was nice to have adult male company. We watched a nightly news program until it ended and then he asked if I minded if he changed to the sports network, which I didn't. By then Karen came in to report that the kids were all tucked in. She noticed that I was sitting next Dave and sat in one of the upholstered armchairs on the other side of the room, indicating her acceptance of the arrangement. She really was a good big sister.

I woke up the next morning with a headache. Sitting up slowly, I saw that it was almost ten o'clock, a luxury I could never enjoy at home. I noticed that I had fallen asleep in my panties and bra. I changed into clean underwear, pulled on a pair of shorts and a top, slipped on my sandals, ran my fingers through my hair and went to the kitchen. Karen was sitting at the counter sipping a cup of coffee and reading the paper. There was still half a pot on the coffee maker. Coffee wasn't my beverage of choice, but today it was just what I needed. I poured myself a cup and doctored it up with milk and sugar.

"Thanks for letting me sleep in, Sis," I said appreciatively.

"No problem. Three's as easy as two. Sometimes I regret not having another baby, a boy for Dave. He loves the girls, but I think every man wants a son. Of course there's no guarantee if we had another child it wouldn't have added to his harem," she rationalized, "and it would have been harder for me to go back to work."

"Where are the girls, umm kids."

"They're playing on the swing set."

I went over and looked at the patio door. Debbie was pushing Jamie in the swing and Cindy was going down the slide. They always played nicely together. I tried to remember back when Karen and I were the girls' ages. I recalled more fights than fun. Maybe they were on their best behavior for company. I went back and sat next to Karen on one of the stools at the counter.

"Where's Dave?"

"He's playing golf with his buddies, like he does every Saturday and Sunday. They have an early tee time, so he should be done by noon. I thought we'd meet him at the club and the kids could use the pool. There's supervision for the little ones, so we can grab a couple of lounge chairs and get a tan."

"Sounds great, Karen, except that I didn't bring a bathing suit for Jamie."

"No problem, he can borrow one of Debbie's."

It was the first time the subject came up and we both laughed.

"Do you think Dave is ready to meet his niece?"

"No. Seriously, Jamie can wear a pair of Debbie's shorts. They're just plain cotton pull-ons and she has plenty of flip-flops."

"I brought some shorts for him."

"I know, he's wearing them."

"You dressed him?"

"Yes. I thought you would prefer that to having him run around naked. As unfamiliar as I am with boy's clothing, I managed to put shorts on him," she teased me. "I let him put on his own underwear."

"I didn't pack a bathing suit for me either. Is it okay if I wear what I have on?"

"Suit yourself," she punned.

Before we left, Karen made the kids lunch, ants on a log, peanut butter stuffed celery sticks for the logs and raisins for the ants, with big glasses of milk. Soft-baked chocolate chip cookies finished the meal. Karen suggested we wait to eat at the snack bar. They had really great vegieburgers. Karen was into health food. After lunch, Karen sent the kids to their rooms to change. She instructed Debbie to find a pair of her shorts and flip-flops for Jamie. A few minutes later, Debbie came running in.

"Mommy, Jamie has nail polish on his toes," she tattled. "I want polish on my toes too. He's got it," she repeated to enhance her argument.

Karen gave me a puzzled look. I completely forgot about our pedicures when I did his nails. I looked sheepishly at Karen and shrugged.

"Debbie, Honey, I was doing my toes and, well, I goofed around and did his too. Let me see if your Mom has some nail polish remover and I'll take it off, okay?"

I gave Karen a questioning look.

"Didn't you notice it this morning when you got him dressed?"

"I told you, he put on his own underwear."

"Oh, right. Do you have any remover?"

She went out and came back a few minutes later with a bottle and some gauze pads. I took Jamie outside and took off the polish while Debbie supervised.

The club was fun. Dave left early to putter around the yard at home. We got back around four thirty. Karen offered to order pizza for dinner, which brought a profuse expression of gratitude from Dave, who was usually deprived of such exotic fare. Having learned my lesson, this time I had lemonade with my dinner. After we ate, I suggested to Karen that she and Dave go out to a movie and I would babysit. She enthusiastically accepted my offer and dragged her husband from in front of the TV. I got Cindy ready for bed, reminiscing that Jamie had a Barbie nightgown too. Debbie and Jamie changed by themselves and I supervised their washing up and brushing their teeth. I offered to read them a story and they both got their dolls and sat on the bed in Cindy's room. When the story was over, I walked Debbie back to her room. I tucked her in and then went back to say goodnight to Jamie. He was already asleep, cuddling his doll. So far, so good, I commended myself.

Sunday morning Karen reciprocated and let me sleep late again. The kids were already in the backyard when I came downstairs. Dave was with them and had set up some type of game where they hit a ball off of a stand with a bat. Karen explained it was called T-ball, a form of baseball for little kids. I was surprised that both Debbie and Cindy were on a team and even more so to find out that Dave coached it. Girls would never be allowed to play on a boys' team when Karen and I were growing up. It also answered my question about what fathers did to spend time with their daughters. Times had changed, although not enough in Jamie's case it would seem.

"Debbie is one of the best players on her team," Karen bragged. "In part it's Dave's coaching, but girls have better eye-hand coordination than boys at that age. When they reach puberty, the testosterone makes the boys stronger and the estrogen gives us our curves. Well, most of us," she teased me. "Co-ed teams don't work well after that."

I watched as Jamie made a number of attempts to hit the ball off of the stand. Most of them whiffed over it, a couple hit the stand under it and a few glancing ones dribbled it to the ground. Debbie patiently picked up the ball and teed it up each time. Finally he connected, the ball rolled about ten feet and Jamie ran to the base with Debbie and Dave cheering him on. There were no fielders, so speed wasn't required, but it didn't matter. Jamie proudly jumped up and down on the base. Jamie played with his cousins for the rest of the afternoon. Karen reverted to her old ways and served tuna noodle casserole with soy cheese and organic pasta. It tasted like cardboard soaked in glue, but I was a good guest and complimented her cooking. Jamie didn't seem to mind, although I worried that it might have done permanent damage to his taste buds.

After dinner we said our goodbyes. If Dave thought anything strange about Jamie carrying a doll out to the car, he was considerate enough not to say anything. At home I got Jamie undressed and ready for bed in boy mode. I read him a story until he got drowsy. I went to the kitchen and checked the mail. There was nothing important. I watched the news and got ready for bed. We had to be up early for our session with Jenny tomorrow. I tossed and turned most of the night, worrying about her diagnosis. If he was transgendered, how would I deal with a boy who was a girl? So far, I hadn't done very well. If he wasn't, could we go back to the way things were after everything that has happened? I doubted it.

TO BE CONTINUED

All Dolled Up - 10

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

By Missy Crystal
All Dolled Up - Part X

Jamie wants his mother to buy him a doll for a birthday present. She does and a journey of discovery begins for both of them. This is the final chapter for those (few) waiting to find out if Jamie is transgendered.

I woke up at six thirty and got dressed casually, putting on tan slacks, a white cotton short sleeved blouse and white sandals. I washed up, did my teeth, ran a brush through my hair and put on some lipstick. Looking in the mirror I noticed a few stray hairs on my eyebrows, so I tweezed them. Jenny always was meticulous about her appearance. It wouldn't hurt if I paid attention to how I looked too. When I was satisfied, I went downstairs and made breakfast, keeping an eye on the clock.

At seven, I went upstairs and gently woke up Jamie.

"We have another appointment with Dr. Mitchell. You remember she has that nice secretary, Kelly, with the lollipops," I reminded him. "We need to hurry."

I got him dressed as a boy, just the same as when we were at Karen's. Jamie didn't complain. We went downstairs, he ate quickly and at twenty past seven we were in the car. I parked and we took the elevator to Jenny's office. It was a few minutes before eight when we arrived. I tried the door and it was open. Kelly was sitting at her desk.

"Ms. McCarthy and Jamie, hi," she greeted us cheerfully. Turning to Jamie, she pretended to tell him a secret, but made sure I could hear. "I got a bunch of red lollipops for you and no excuses this time. They're in a plastic baggie." She gave me a smirk.

"Thank you, Kelly, that's very nice, and thank you for coming in early for us again. If it's okay, Jamie will get them when we leave."

"No problem, Ms. McCarthy, and I will take good care of the lollipops, don't worry Jamie. Nobody messes with Kelly's candy." She scowled and held out her hands in a pretend Karate pose. "I've got a black garter belt, eyaah." She gave me a sheepish look. "Sorry, it's a tranny joke." Then she turned towards the office to see if her shout had gotten the doctor's attention, which it had. The door opened. Kelly put on an innocent look.

"Dr. Mitchell is expecting you, go right in," she stated in her best office demeanor.

Jenny shook her head at Kelly's characteristic foolishness and motioned for us to come in. As we followed her to the conversation area, I conducted my usual surreptitious survey. She had on a beige skirt suit and an ivory linen blouse, open at the collar with a gold bead necklace. Tan open toed mid heeled shoes which showed off three plum polished toes completed her ensemble. She turned and seated herself, primly arranging her skirt, which had a front slit. I smiled at her and she smiled back. She had the coloring book and markers ready for Jamie.

"Jamie, your mother and I have to talk for a bit. You can color."

He got down on floor and opened the coloring book, skipping over the pages he did at our last appointment and beginning a new page. When he was focused on his artwork, Jenny looked at me.

"It has been a confusing week," I volunteered anxiously.

"Confusing, Ginny? Why would you use that word?"

"Well, Jamie spent most of it as a girl. He seemed to enjoy it. Like I told you on the phone, I got his hair done at a salon that specializes in children, particularly girls who do beauty pageants. The owner, Priscilla, was reluctant to give Jamie a feminine style when she found out that he was a boy, but changed her mind when I explained that he might be transgendered. It was the opposite with that woman, Helen. I thought she understood that we were exploring whether he was transgendered and then she confronted me about my dressing him up like a girl.

"Is that what has you confused?"

"Yes, well, two people having opposite reactions is confusing enough, but there's more. Jamie and I got our nails done," I held out my hands with the fingers pointed down to display my nails. "And pedicures too," I added, moving my foot forward and wiggling my toes. I saw Jenny's eyes shift to check Jamie's hands as he was coloring. "It was a fun mother-daughter activity," I continued. I wondered if Jenny would react to my using 'mother daughter', but she didn't. "That was about all I could think of to do with Jamie as a girl, so I called Karen to see if she would let him visit as a boy. To make a long story short, …" which did get a reaction.

"Please, Ginny, don't give me the abridged version. Sometimes what seems trivial can turn out to be useful," she reminded me.

"I'm sorry, Jenny, I didn't mean to leave out anything important."

"I know," she sympathized, "but until we come to a diagnosis, there is no way to know what is important."

Mindful of Jenny's directive, I went back to her unasked question about Jamie's nails. "I took the polish off when we went to visit Karen. Actually, I forgot to take the polish off of his toes. He had on socks, so I missed it," I explained, "which got Debbie's, his cousin, the one who is his age, interest, but she was satisfied when I borrowed some remover from Karen and took it off. It wasn't a problem."

"If it wasn't a problem, then what happened at Karen's that added to your confusion?

"Jamie brought his doll with him. It was the first time that he had taken it out of the house. He even let Debbie hold it. Most of the time, Jamie and the girls played outside on the swings or a yard game. Dave, that's Karen's husband, coaches something called T-ball, Debbie is on a team, and they played that. When they were inside they did art projects or watched TV or videos. I don't know if they played with their dolls or did other girl stuff, because they were in Debbie's room by themselves. I would guess so, because she has girl's toys, but I couldn't tell if he was behaving like a girl or a boy during our visit." I shrugged. "That's why I'm confused, Jenny. After everything we've been through, I still don't have any idea how Jamie feels about being a girl and it's getting closer to his starting school. Do you know?" I asked hopefully.

Jenny gave me a reassuring smile.

"Yes, he told us and what you've told me confirms it. We just weren't listening. Adults do that. We assume that children are not capable of expressing themselves, but they do. We just need to interpret it in context. They don't have our vocabulary and they don't have our experience, so they use non-verbal behavior.

"By non-verbal behavior, do you mean the doll?"

"Yes, the doll."

"So Jamie is transgendered. He wants to be a girl."

"Why would you say that?"

"Now that you've shown me how to understand what's happened, it's obvious. The doll is a girl and Jamie wants to be like her, to wear the same clothes, so Jamie sees himself as a girl."

Jenny gave a small laugh and shook her head.

"No?"

Instead of answering, Jenny asked me a question.

"What makes you believe the doll is a girl?"

"Jenny, I don't want to play truth or dare. I need an answer."

Realizing that I had raised my voice in frustration, I glanced down at Jamie, who seemed to be unmindful of our discussing his future, and ameliorated my outburst with "please."

"Ginny, be patient," Jenny said calmly. "Do you remember a conversation we had about being lost in the woods?"

I thought back.

"Yes, vaguely, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"I told you, I'm only a guide. I help my patients to find their own way. You are Jamie's parent. I know you trust me, but there is no way for you to know if I am giving you good advice. You've already expressed some concern about my ability to be impartial.

"Yes, but that was before … ," I started to protest.

"No offense taken, Ginny," Jenny interrupted me, holding up her hand, "caution is important when it comes to making life decisions, even more so, if that is possible, when you are making life decisions for a child. Work with me and you will arrive at the answer for yourself. Then you will be confident that you are doing the right thing."

I nodded my understanding.

"What makes you believe the doll is a girl?" she repeated."

"It's obvious."

"Perhaps it is obvious to you, but maybe not to Jamie. Genetically, a female has two X chromosomes. You have a nursing background. Is the doll female?"

"No, of course not."

"Biologically, a female has ovaries. Is the doll female?"

"No.

"When I was Jamie's age, was I female?"

I was at loss how to answer Jenny's question without hurting her feelings.

"I assume from your hesitation that the answer is 'no' and that you're too considerate to say it, but I have no pretensions. Genetically and biologically I was and, as your friend or ex-friend Helen observed, so you tell me, will always be male."

"Jenny stood up."

"Look at me, Ginny. What do you see?"

"A woman," I confirmed.

"What makes me a woman?"

"You're clothes, your appearance."

"For a time, Jamie dressed in girl's clothes. He even had a girl's hairstyle. Did that make him a girl?"

"I don't know, maybe, if that's how he felt about himself. Oh," the light bulb went off. "It's how you feel about yourself, right? That's what makes you a woman."

"Yes."

"I still don't understand, Jenny, where is all this going?"

"It's going to help you answer your question, Ginny. Let's go back to the doll. What makes you say it is obviously a girl?"

"From what we've just been talking about, I guess it isn't so obvious."

"What would happen if you dressed the doll as a boy and gave it a haircut."

"I guess it would be a boy, wouldn't it?"

"Would it?"

"Ginny, I get the point. The doll is whatever you make it."

"No."

"I give up."

"Try one more time. Think Ginny."

She waited patiently.

"If the doll isn't a girl and it isn't a boy, then it has no gender."

"Yes."

"I'm sorry, Jenny, I don't understand. Jamie's not a doll."

"Didn't you quote him earlier as saying he was like the doll?"

I tried to recall our discussion.

"Yes, I said that, but I meant that he was a identifying with the doll as a girl."

Jenny shook her head.

"I'll give you a hint. Couldn't Jamie have been identifying with the doll as a doll?"

"You mean that he didn't see it as a girl?"

"Yes."

"Why wouldn't he?"

"Why would he? As adults we associate certain types of clothes exclusively with a particular gender, but a child does not necessarily make that association by himself."

Thinking back, I remembered when we were in the department store and Jamie wanted me to buy him the dress like the one his doll wore. He didn't understand when I explained that only girls wore dresses.

"Then Jamie isn't transgendered?"

"Not as that term is commonly applied."

"I'm sorry, Jenny, I'm back to being confused. You helped me to understand that Jamie did not see the doll as a girl and that his wanting to be like the doll didn't necessarily mean that he wanted to be a girl, even though it appeared that way to us, just that he wanted to be like the doll. I get that now, but, if Jamie doesn't want to be a girl, then he isn't transgendered, is he?"

"What makes you think that Jamie wants to be a boy?"

"Jenny, he has to be one or the other."

"Why can't he be like the doll?"

"You mean not have any gender? Because he's a person, not a toy, that's why."

"Biologically," Ginny lectured me, "in order to reproduce you need to have two different sexes, a male and a female. Neither Jamie nor I can escape our birth sex. Psychologically, gender determines how we relate to others. I am a woman, a wife and a mother. Jamie has not yet recognized his gender. I think when he said that he was like the doll he meant it literally. He doesn't see himself as a boy or a girl. He and the doll are both just Jamie."

"So he still could be transgendered?"

"It is too early to tell. Right now, gender is not relevant to him. He is as happy as a girl as he is as a boy. As his parent, you can choose for him, keeping in mind that the wrong choice can have unfortunate consequences, or you can let Jamie make his own choice when he's ready."

"When will that be, Jenny?"

"I don't know. The more Jamie socializes, the more likely it is that he will identify with one gender and, if he hasn't chosen by the time he reaches puberty, then nature will make the choice for him. I doubt it will come to that. Every transgendered person I know, and I know a lot of them, says that they realized they were different as a child."

"What do I do until then?"

"About what?"

"Jenny!"

"You wanted a diagnosis, you got a diagnosis. You want me to run your life too? I can't even run my own very well, Ginny. It's up to you."

"Should I send him to school as a girl?"

"What do you think?"

"You're not going to make it easy for me, are you?"

"No."

"He's registered as a boy and his medical forms say he is male, so I suppose I can't send him to school as a girl, can I?"

"You could, but it would require my intervention. Do you want me to speak with the school administration?"

"Not right now."

I looked at her to see if there was any sign of agreement, but, obviously anticipating my seeking her reassurance, she gave me an enigmatic smile and looked down at Jamie.

"Jamie, your mother and I have finished our conversation. Thank you for being so quiet while we talked. You might have heard that your mother was worried about your having a doll and wearing girl's clothes sometimes, but there's no problem. I want you and your mother to come to visit with me once in a while, just to see how you're doing. Would that be okay?"

"Yes."

"Good, then we're done. Ginny, I think about every four months would be a good interval to follow up. If there's something that concerns you, of course call me. I'm always here for you. And please tell your sister I said thank you for her referral."

"Thank you, Jenny, I will, but there's one more thing I need before we go."

Being a very insightful therapist, she walked over and gave me a big hug. Then she bent down and hugged Jamie. If she wasn't Jamie's therapist and happily married, I definitely would have considered dating her. Surprisingly, at least it surprised me how I felt, her being a transsexual didn't matter to me and I couldn't have cared less what people thought. I hoped people would be as accepting of Jamie, if that's how things turned out.

Jenny stood up and went to the door.

"Kelly, please schedule Ms. McCarthy and Jamie for an appointment in four months. You can make it an afternoon appointment, after Jamie gets out of school. Actually, my last appointment of the day would be good. Then we wouldn't have to rush. She waved to us as she went back into her office and closed the door. Jamie waved back.

"That stinks," complained Kelly.

"What?"

"All of her other patients are here day in and day out and you two are on holiday for four months."

She got up from behind her desk and gave the bag of red lollipops to Jamie.

"And what am I supposed to do with the rest of these?"

"Eat them?"

"No way, George says I'm too fat."

"George doesn't know a good thing when he sees it," I complimented her.

"Too much of a good thing, unfortunately," she retorted, patting her butt.

"Well, now that Jamie will be starting school, I'm free until two o'clock. How about if I stop by and have lunch with you?"

"You'd do that?"

"I'd love to do that."

"Yes, please. I'd like that very much. When?"

"Kelly, I don't know. I'll call you."

She pretended to wipe a tear from her eye.

Then I had a thought.

"Better yet, Kelly. I'm a nurse. This is a hospital. Doh. I will have time, I should volunteer. Do you know if there are any opportunities?"

"Are you kidding? If they knew you were a nurse, they'd never let you leave without signing you up. Of course, I'll arrange it. Then we can have lots of lunches."

"What about your weight?" I teased her.

"We have a great salad bar."

"Deal."

"I'll call you with the information. You'll have to stop by Human Resources to do some paperwork and they have to do a background check. It might take a few weeks."

"No problem. Like I said, I need to get Jamie settled at school."

"Great, talk to you later, Mrs. M."

"Ginny, please, if you're going to be my lunch date."

"Ginny. Bye, Jamie."

She blew him a kiss and he waived back. The day that I dreaded turned out to be one of the best days of my life. Jamie got a clean bill of health, mental health, so to speak, I resolved my issue with Jamie's school, I got something to keep me occupied while Jamie's in school, something that makes a difference, and I made another friend. What a great day!

"Jamie," I said euphorically. "Let's celebrate. Let's feast on ice cream."

The rest of the summer went quickly, now that I could let Jamie play with other boys. I wasn't worried about them making fun of his doll or discovering that he wore girl's clothes. I tried to find a T-ball team for him to join. If I couldn't be a soccer mom, at least I could get involved with that, but it was too late in the season. I wondered about cub scouts too, but there wasn't a local den. There was a Brownie troop, but it would have been too complicated and yes, they still wore those beanies with the loop on top. Someday maybe, since from time to time he picked out girl's clothes to wear. I let him make his own selection and he preferred to sleep in his nightgown. I gave him panties to wear when he did and I got him a pair of bunny slippers and a nylon robe, for when it got chilly in the fall. He also enjoyed dressing up his doll in the different outfits and dressing himself to match. He got very good at putting tights on both of them and mastered the art of fastening a kilt. All together, it was a wonderful time and I never felt closer to him.

School started the Wednesday after Labor Day. Memorial Elementary School was within walking distance of our house, but I decided to drive, just in case there was a problem and we needed to leave. I also wanted to wait until just before class started, so I would be there to intervene, if necessary. Who knows what that hateful Helen had done to poison Merry, the other children or their mothers against Jamie? Maybe she even complained to the school authorities. I wouldn't put it past her. I had bought Jamie his back to school wardrobe of boy's clothes at the beginning of the summer and last week I went back to Priscilla, who was wading through a bevy of little girls getting their fall pageant cuts, but found time to give Jamie a trim. We were ready. I got in the car, buckled Jamie into his seat, checked to make sure he had his lunch box and off we nervously went. At least I was nervous. Jamie seemed happy as a boy on his way to his first day of school.

I had to drive around, waiting for someone to move their car, so I could park. It was almost eight o'clock when I finally got to Jamie's classroom. There were a few other mothers waiting to introduce themselves to the teacher. I got in line and then realized that Helen was ahead of me. So much for my plan to avoid her by coming late. I looked for Merry and found her surrounded by a group of girls all chattering away. Whether it was because she was older or just her personality, there was no doubt that she was the alpha female, if there was such a thing, or maybe queen bee would be a better title. Oh, oh, Merry was looking our way. She stopped talking, stared for a minute and then hurried towards us. I stepped in front of Jamie, like a mother bear protecting her cub. She stopped.

"Jamie?"

He peeked out from behind me. Merry moved forward. I waited, ready to pounce, but I didn't want to make a scene on Jamie's first day of school, so I hesitated. Maybe she would just say something mean and leave. She looked at me, smiled, took Jamie's hand and escorted him back to the group of girls. I watched nervously as she introduced him. Were they going to make fun of him? The girls resumed their activity with Jamie in the middle of them. What in the world?

"Ginny, hi."

I turned to find Helen standing beside me.

"I see Merry found Jamie."

I ignored her.

"Ginny, please, I hoped I would run into you here. Merry has been pestering me to get together with Jamie. Please don't punish her for my behavior."

"Did she know that Jamie was a boy?"

"Yes."

"You told her?"

"Yes. I thought that would put an end to it, but I was wrong. She's a better friend than I am. I should have given you the benefit of the doubt. Listen, Ginny, this year I decided to wait to have Merry's birthday party until September, so she could invite the girls in her class. Merry wants Jamie to come and so do I."

"As a girl?"

"He doesn't look like a girl," Helen observed, "but yes, if that's how you want to dress him."

"Jamie picks out her own clothes," I challenged her, deliberately referring to Jamie in the feminine to see Helen's reaction."

There was none.

"Does," Helen paused, "she," another pause, "have a party dress?"

"Yes."

Helen shook her head. Looking at Jamie and Merry's happy reunion, she conceded, "Jamie can dress as he or she pleases, just so long as he or she comes to Merry's party, although it would be easier if you or he or she picked one or the other, so I wouldn’t have to keep referring to him or her in the alternative. Okay? Now will you please have coffee with me? I'll buy."

"Yes."

Helen took my arm and we left.

"Maybe Jamie will make Merry a good wife."

I wasn't sure if she was joking or serious, but I punched her in the arm just in case. It was turning out to be a very good year for Jamie and me

THE END

... and a little child shall lead them. Isaiah 11:6

Conversion Therapy

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Child

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

CONVERSION THERAPY
BY MISSY CRYSTAL

March 2, 2022: 11AM – Videotape Transcription and Office Notes

Doctor. Good morning Mr. and Mrs. Lambert. Please have a seat. Frank and Emily, is that right?

Father. Yes.

D. I record all my sessions for later review. You’re probably imagining the old-time psychiatrist with a goatee sitting next to a couch with a notepad and pencil. My wife likes me clean shaven, chairs are more comfortable and modern technology is much more efficient. As to the recordings, I can assure you that HIPPA, a federal law protecting a patient’s privacy, makes them confidential. Do I have your permission to record our sessions?

Mother. (Turns to F. He nods) Yes.

D. Mr. Lambert, I need your verbal permission for the record.

F. Uh huh.

D. I need you to say Yes or No.

F. Yes.

D. You are here about your son, Fred Jr., is that correct?

M. Yes, Doctor. It’s been very difficult. We’ve tried talking to him. We’ve tried punishing him. He won’t stay out of his sister’s room.

F. Or her things.

D. You mean using her personal items or wearing her clothes.

M. Both.

F. I don’t want my son to grow up to be a fairy.

D. A fairy?

F. You know, queer.

D. You mean gay?

F. (Shrugs).

D. I need words please, Frank.

F. Yes.

D. Not every boy who likes feminine things is gay. Sometimes it’s just curiosity. The more you discourage it, the more enticing it can be. Or it could be that he is envious of his sister’s relationship with you, Emily, and wants to be closer to you. That is often the case where the father is very masculine, Frank, and the boy doesn’t easily identify with him.

M. (Shakes head). No Doctor Goodman. He says he’s a girl.

D. How old is your son?

M. He’s seven.

D. When did this behavior begin?

M. I don’t know exactly. When Frankie and Juliet were younger, they used to play with her dolls. Occasionally, I would see that Juliet had dressed him in some of her clothes. I just thought it was harmless make-believe. Now Juliet’s at an age where she wants her privacy. For about the last year she’s been complaining about Frankie going into her room and taking things.

D. And when did Frankie claim to be a girl.

M. About two months ago, Juliet was getting dressed to go to a friend’s birthday party. Frank was at work, so I had to take Frankie with me. He wanted to wear a party dress too. When I told him that he couldn’t, he got very upset. I tried to explain that boys don’t wear dresses. That’s when he said he was a girl. I just thought he was being obstinate, but since then his behavior has gotten worse. He’s constantly getting into trouble at home and at school. Frank tried talking to him and punishing him, but nothing worked. We don’t know what to do with him.

D. I haven’t examined him, but for the purpose of this consultation, I assume he is biologically male. In very rare cases, there can be initial confusion as to a baby’s gender. It’s much more common for boys with undescended testicles to be mistaken for girls, but also, they can be undiagnosed hermaphrodites, having both male and female genitalia.

F. I used to help Emily give them baths when they were younger. There’s never been any question that Frankie is a boy. (Looks at wife. She nods)

D. Of course. Just checking. As I said, I haven’t examined him and I would be remiss to make a diagnosis and treatment plan without making sure that it is gender dysphoria, the DSM-5, it’s a standard psychological reference of mental diseases, term for confusion about one’s true gender, rather than a medical problem. Shall we continue?

F. Yes.

D. Emily?

M. Yes.

D. Good. Now for conversion therapy to work you must be totally committed. Your daughter too. How old is she?

M. Juliet was ten in April.

D. Here’s the important thing. Studies have shown that neither aversive therapy nor rewards are effective. At best, they make the boy more secretive. They hide their behavior. At worst it alienates them. As soon as they are old enough, they run away. The only way to cure their disease is to break them psychologically by destroying their belief that they could ever be a girl. Are you prepared for that?

M. Dr. Goodman, is that, is that necessary? We love Frankie. We don’t want to hurt him. Do you have children?

D. Yes. Mei and Jose. You spoke to my wife when you made this appointment. Andreas’s my secretary. She can’t’ have children, so we adopted. I know that sometimes parents must make difficult decisions for their children’s wellbeing.

M. (Nods).

D. Emily, if your son wanted to eat a gallon of chocolate ice cream, would you let him?

M. No, of course not.

D. Why.

M. Because it’s not good for him.

D. Neither is his confusion about being a girl. That’s what you want, isn’t it. To put an end to his belief that he is or could ever be a girl. Or do you want him to be a fairy, as you put it, Frank. It’s up to you. Like I said, sometimes parents must make difficult decisions.

F. Dr. Goodman’s right, Emily.

M. I wish there was another way.

D. I wish there was too. But scientific studies have shown that there isn’t.

M. (Nods)

D. Yes?

M. Yes.

D. Frank?

M. Yes.

D. My conversion program uses reverse psychology. In the example I gave, you would let your son eat all the ice cream he wanted, until he got sick. That would teach him that there are physically painful consequences for his unhealthy behavior. The same is true for him being transgendered. You need to let him be a girl. Get his sister involved too. Have her help him to pick out a girl’s name. Make sure that you use that name and the correct pronouns: she and her. Take them shopping and buy her (pause) her (emphasis) own wardrobe, the more feminine the better. Nothing resembling his boy’s clothes. Redo his room too. Get rid of anything that would remind him of being a boy. And Juliet needs to encourage him by prentending that he is her little sister. Any reluctance or rejection at this stage will make the treatment ineffective. Your son needs to be totally immersed in his feminine persona, so you should keep him home from school. I will give you a note about him having some behavioral issues that need to be addressed.

F. I don’t understand. How does letting him be a girl turn him back into a boy?

D. By the psychological consequences of having his illusion destroyed. We will need to find the precise time that he is most emotionally vulnerable. Then you will take it all away. Laugh at him. Ridicule him. Let him see how ridiculous it is for him to believe he is or ever could be a girl. With counseling he will overcome the trauma and accept that he is a boy. You will have your son back, Mr. Lambert. That is why you are here, isn’t it. That is what you want.

F. I, I, I don’t know. It seems very severe.

D. Tough love, but necessary. The session is up. Follow the treatment plan I’ve given you and make another appointment for next week. I will need both Frankie and Juliet to come. In the meantime, if you have any questions, concerns or problems, feel free to call me.

F. Thank you, Dr. Goodman.

M. Thank you, Dr. Goodman.

D. You’re welcome.

11:32 AM: Session ends. No notes dictated.

March 9, 2022: 11AM – Videotape Transcription and Office Notes

Secretary. (Intercom) The Lamberts are here.

D. Please have Mr. Lambert and Juliet wait while I speak with Frankie and his mother. Is the boy en femme?

S. Yes.

D. Please have a seat. Has she picked out a name for herself?

M. Yes, Aurora.

D. Like the princess in “Sleeping Beauty.”

M. I hadn’t thought about it, but I suppose so.

D. Good morning, Aurora. I am Dr. Goodman. You look very pretty.

Aurora. (No response)

M. Aurora, the doctor gave you a compliment. What do you say?

A. (Softly) Thank you.

D. Aurora, I need to examine you. That is why your mother is here. Would you stand up and take off your jumper and blouse, please.
A. (Pulls legs up and hugs knees)

M. Aurora, really! You need to stand up, young lady. I will help you undress.

D. Lift up her vest and pull down her panties. Turn around for me Aurora, please. (Doctor visually examines patient) All good. Thank you, Aurora. You can put your pretty clothes back on. Emily, when Aurora is dressed, please take her out to the reception area. Andrea will watch her. Bring in your husband and daughter.

F. (Door Opens) Good morning, Dr. Goodman.

D. Good Morning Frank and good morning Juliet. It’s nice to meet you.

Juliet. Hello.

D. From what I can see, everything is going according to the treatment plan. How is Aurora doing?

M. It’s amazing doctor. She’s a different person. (Small laugh). With Juliet’s help, she’s taken to being a girl completely. A sweet, cooperative little girl. At first, I thought it was going to be like Halloween, but it’s different. She’s happy. We’re happy. Is that how it’s supposed to work?

D. The last time you were here, I explained that there are many possible explanations for Frankie’s behavior. Emily mentioned Halloween, boys dressed up and pretending to be girls for fun. From the way Emily has described Aurora’s transformation, she is not a boy in girl’s clothes. Together with my physical examination today, that confirms my diagnosis and brings us to the second stage of the treatment plan. For it to work, Aurora needs more girl time. Here is a card for a salon that I work with. Emily and Juliet, you’ve helped show aurora how girls dress pretty. Now you need to show her how girls feel pretty; hair, nails and skin care. Andrea has made an appointment for you tomorrow. When she finishes, it is doubtful that anyone will out Aurora when you’re in public.

F. You want Emily to take her out?

D. Well, “out” in that context means recognize as a boy. You can pass the resemblance as her being a cousin. Juliet, I see that you have pierced ears. Emily, you should get Aurora’s ears pierced too. Juliet can help her pick out earrings.

F. I thought this was just temporary.

G. To the contrary, they will be a permanent reminder.

F. (Shakes head).

D. We have five more minutes of the session. Juliet, would you go out to the reception room and keep Aurora company. I want to talk to your parents.

M. Say goodbye to the doctor.

J. Goodbye.

D. Goodbye, Juliet. You’ve been very helpful. (Door closes). I am very pleased with you following the treatment plan and how well things are going. The change in Frankie’s behavior means that the destruction of his alter ego will be very effective when the time comes. Continue convincing him that you accept him as Aurora for the next two weeks, particularly mother daughter activities while Juliet is in school. Frank too. There is another woman I work with who has a dance studio. Frank can take her after work. Aurora in a leotard, tights and dance skirt should make her feel ultra feminine. Andrea will give you the dance studio information and set up an appointment. Call me if there is a problem.

11:34 AM: Session ends. No notes dictated

March 23, 2022: 11AM – Videotape Transcription and Office Notes

Secretary. (Intercom) The Lamberts are here.

D. Please have Mr. Lambert and Juliet wait while I speak with Frankie and his mother. (Door opens and closes) Please have a seat. Good morning, Aurora. Who did your pigtails with the pink ribbons?

A. (No response)

M. Aurora.

A. My sister.

D. And pink nails too. You look very pretty today.

M. Aurora, Dr. Goodman gave you a compliment. What do you say?

A. Thank you.

D. Is everything going in accordance with the treatment plan we discussed.

M. (Pause)

D. Emily?

M. I’m sorry doctor. Aurora is very happy and so are we.

D. That wasn’t my question, but I’ll take it as a yes.

M. Yes.

D. Excellent. Aurora, I need to talk to your parents and sister. Can you go out by yourself and ask your father and sister to come in, please. (A leaves. J and F come in. Door closes). Good Morning. Please sit.

F. Good Morning. (Takes seat)

J. Hi. (Takes seat)

D. You all have done a good job with Aurora. Now we need to start stage three. As soon as you get home, you must tell Frankie that he is not and can never be a girl. Return his room to the way it was and replace his boy’s clothes. Juliet, you especially need to laugh at him for thinking he could be your sister.

J. No.

D. No?

J. I won’t do it. I love Aurora.

D. Juliet, it may be fun to have a make-believe little sister to play with and dress up, but there is no Auora. Frankie is not a girl. He’s your brother.

J. Aurora is a girl.

D. Aurora may look like a girl and act like a girl, but she will never be a girl like you. You and she may be similar now, but that will change. In a few years, you will become more female. Maybe you have had a talk with your mother about those changes or you will. It’s something all women share. Frankie won’t. It is just part of being a woman that he can’t experience. And what happens when Frankie returns to school as Aurora. You know how mean children can be to someone who is different. Adults too. How will you feel when you hear the whispers and laughs; when you don’t get invited to sleep-overs or birthday parties; when girls don’t want to come to your house because their parents don’t approve. This isn’t just about love, Juliet, this is about a lifetime commitment.

J. I won’t make Aurora unhappy. Ever! If my friends are mean to her or me, then they’re not my friends. Or I’ll make new ones.

D. Frank, you came to me because you didn’t want your son to be a fairy.

J. (Turns to father) Daddy!

F. Juliet, no, I, I, I didn’t understand. (Turns to her) I was wrong. I thought it would be a bad thing for my son to be gay, but Aurora is a girl.

D. Frank, gender and sexuality are two different things. This isn’t the time to have that conversation, but not every transgendered person is inherently gay, as you now seem to realize. However, most people, especially men, are not so liberal. How will your co-workers and clients feel about your having a transgendered child? How comfortable will you be introducing Aurora as your daughter? How will you deal with people who are trans- or homophobic? As I said to Juliet, this isn’t about love, it is about commitment.

F. I was wrong Dr. Goodman. I can see now that the harm to my family by forcing Aurora to be something she’s not is far worse than letting her be who she is.

D. Then Emily, you are the last hope to get this right before you all make a choice you will regret. Frank is at work all day. Juliet’s generation is more accepting of gender diversity. You are the one who will have to deal with the phone calls from the school to come get Aurora, because she was bullied. As she gets older, you are the one who will have to explain to her why she can’t play girls’ sports or use the girls’ bathroom. You are the one who will have to console her when she comes home in tears, because nobody invited her to the prom. And you know the saying, it takes a village to raise a child. If it is a transchild, the villagers are more likely to show up with torches and pitchforks than smiles and open arms. Those women who you thought were your friends, they will turn away when they see you with Aurora. Sleepovers, playing with the neighborhood children, transchildren are social outcasts. Is that the life you want for yourself, for Aurora, for your family?

E. You said that sometimes parents must make difficult decisions for their children’s wellbeing. I cannot do anything about our child growing up unhappy as a boy. I can deal with the school, I can advocate for her rights and I can find other parents who are raising a transgendered child. As to those people who don’t approve of Aurora or can’t accept our decision, Juliet, please cover your ears, screw them. And as for you Dr. Goodman, we’re done. Frank, Juliet, let’s go!

11:20 AM: Session ends. No notes dictated

Secretary. (Enters office) The Lamberts left without making another appointment. I take it that your conversion therapy was successful?

D. Yes, very.

THE END

Gay Guise

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

Crossdressing

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Gay Guise
by Missy Crystal

I have always enjoyed fashion. There were a lot of gay and lesbian students at FIT, sounds like it should be about clothes, right? The Fashion Institute of Technology in New York. I was the first trans-woman to complete the program. Yep, that's me, BFA. Sexist. Why "bachelor." How about TGFA. I'm going to start a campaign right after they figure out which restroom I can use to pee. Back on topic. As I completed the different design and business classes, I realized that women's clothes were designed for, ta da, a woman's short torso, narrow waist, wide hips and long legs and men's clothes were, wait for it, for a male's body. Nobody designed bras for men or panties which would accommodate a little something extra. If there were such things, then maybe men could enjoy the same pleasures of lacy lingerie as women and the world would be a better place. Men in panties and bras don't start wars. That's where the idea for Gay Guise was born. Not world peace, although that would be nice. Missy the entrepreneur. Cool, according to spell check I got it right. I'm always getting the r's messed up. Sorry, back on topic.

All I needed was about a hundred grand to get going, which is why I was working at Saks doing window dressing instead. That's when I met Eric. He was the assistant manager of the shoe department. One day I needed some pumps for a display and he got them for me. It was love at first sight. The pumps, not Eric. Jimmy Choo black patent four inch stilettos with the classic red soles. Eric was kind of cute too, in a gay way, which he was for sure, but I flirted with him anyway. A girl can always use an extra discount and those shoes were sooo hot. Sometimes the display items don't go back into inventory and you can pick them up cheap. Buy me a pair of expensive shoes, those puppies were about a grand, and you can pretty much have your way with me. Actually, forget the pretty much. Just thought you might like to know. So, Eric and I got to talking and he was interested in fashion design too. No surprise there. I told him about my idea for Gay Guise and he was like all over it. We should open a store. He would talk to his father who was an investment banker.

Daddy Bigbucks was in for ten percent and Eric got fifty. Do the math. He had his lawyers draw up a partnership agreement which I gladly signed. We couldn't afford New York rents and selling men's panties and bras from a suitcase in the subway did not seem a practical way to launch a fashion dynasty. I was sure that Calvin Klein did not start that way. Eric had a friend in Provincetown. Doesn't everyone in the rainbow brigade? He had a shop on Commercial Street and would give us some space. That would let us use our funds for inventory. I spoke to a friend of mine who did web design and she would build us an e-commerce site and manage it for 5% equity, which I negotiated to 2% and an option for another 2%, if we hit a benchmark for on-line sales. Those business courses at FIT paid off. I'm not just another pretty face. Actually, I am, if I do say do myself, which I just did. Just thought you'd like to know.

Of course, you can't sell an idea. Well, yes you can, but not in a shop, so I needed to start designing. All of my fashion courses were for women's clothes, so I had to do a lot of research. It turns out that there is a lot of information on line about men's anatomy. No, not porn, although studying the male actors did give me an education as to plus size dicks that I would need to accommodate. No, in their own panties, not mine. Seriously, all business. Uh huh. I figured mine was about average and, luckily for me, not him, Eric was on the skimpy side. Actually, south of skimpy. He gave me a good discount on the Choos when I took down the display and I'm a woman of my word.

Thinking about it, for however long men have been wearing women's clothes, they have been clothes made for women to wear, not men. My idea was that, instead of wearing their mother's or sister's or wife's or girlfriend's bras and panties or surreptitiously browsing in the lingerie department for themselves: "Yes, Valentine's day, oh, heh heh, it's only September, um, I meant Christmas, right, getting it done early;" men should have their own. No secrecy, no guilt and no embarrassment. I have to digress here. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. Patience is a virtue. Also a cute name. No, that's not the digression. Me and my ilk, the ones with a store bought rack, not the ones with a rack on their head, we wear women's clothes because we are women. Not everyone is that lucky. In an age of equality, men are not equal in the underwear department, figuratively and literally. That's me, making the world a better place one pair of panties at a time. Did I mention world peace? Back on topic.

Bras are two pieces of material which cover and support the breasts, more or less, and are attached to a band which goes around the chest to hold them in place, more or less, with or without supporting straps, more or less. Men are like girls in the titty department, so what I designed was a pull on lacy adult training bra in varying degrees of modesty. A way for a man to feel the sensuous embrace of the materials against his skin, waxing recommended, privately, if he wanted to enjoy it, or openly, as a fashion statement. The material was a silky nylon and lycra blend which followed the contours of the chest. It could be worn inconspicuously by itself or with thin foam pads to give a subtle rounded shape. Anything more than that would mean the bra would have to be structurally engineered for support and the man would need a bodice to cover it. To differentiate it as a man's bra, I changed the way it was sized. Women's bras use the chest wall and breast measurements. For most men that would be a 38AA to 44A, which was impossible to find, and a matronly contraption, if you could. I decided to use the Australian system, which made no sense, but had nice numbers: 16 was a 38 chest, 18 was 40 and 20 was 42, etc. Cup size was irrelevant. Also, it corresponded to large dress sizes with which women would be accustomed, but not challenged that men were usurping their underwear.

Bras are unisex in the sense that men and women share a common rib cage. Ask Adam and Eve. But finding panties to fit me was always a problem. With no hips to hold them up, they were saggy, and with no butt to fill them out, they were baggy. The crotch was too narrow, so anything other than granny panties left my former boy bits playing peek-a-boo, and the cotton panel was useless. I had to redesign them using men's briefs as a template. Pretty and practical. When I had six panty and bra sets ready for manufacturing, we put out bids. Lingerie companies have years of sales information to customize their ordering. We had no idea about our demographic. Celine, our web designer, suggested that we take pre-orders, but pricing depended on quantity and we had to have enough inventory to open our store in P-Town by Memorial Day, when the tourist season began. I ordered the minimum quantity for a discount. In the meantime, we set up the store. The sign maker delivered the banner with our name, 'Gay Guise', in case you forgot the title of this story; our tag line, "Her Clothes For Him"; and our logo, the ubiquitous half male, half female silhouette. I wondered whether it would draw people in thinking it was a tg bathroom, but, to paraphrase P.T. Barnum. anything that puts asses in the seats is good. Well, he probably said something like it.

Our grand opening was May 1 for the locals and it was a big success. Gay Guise for gay guys. By the time we started getting crowds of tourists, a lot of the locals were showing off their feminine side. I mused with Eric about whether that was good. I wanted real men as customers. He gave me a look of derision, not easy to do with his neatly trimmed beard and pink glitter eye shadow, professing that he and his friends were "real men" and offering to pull down his adorable lilac with white lace panties to prove it. ROFL. Over the summer, we became so popular that Jeff, the store owner, moved us to the front. What surprised me the most was how many of our customers were women. Standing at the register, I could see couples stop, check out the window display and then the woman would drag the man in and select a set for him. I spoke with a local therapist about it. Not professionally, socially. He told me it was Halloween syndrome. You made that up, I challenged him. He agreed it was his own metaphor. Women, he explained, enjoy dressing men up in their clothes as long as it is make believe. You've given them an excuse to have Halloween year round.

I have to say, things have worked out, although not in the way I expected. Unlike women, who need to wear panties and bras every day and have a full wardrobe which gets replaced regularly or updated to coordinate with new outfits, our customers usually buy just one or two sets. Even so, looking to expand its business to the other half of the population, Victoria's Secret is in negotiations to carry our line of GG, double entendre there, lingerie and we are looking at expanding into a full line of women's wear designed for men. Heels and kinky boots too. Life does imitate art.

Author's Note: This is a fantasy of mine, so please don't go looking for our store in P-Town or on line. The story is copyrighted, but the idea is open and so is the name, gratis. Just give me credit when you win the Nobel Peace Prize. Missy.

Genesis

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

College / Twenties

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Synopsis:

Mike was a tough little guy, until he got thrown off his motorcycle and left his manhood hanging on a picket fence. Dr. Vinci did the only thing possible with what was left. Now Michelle has to adapt to her new life. A TG twist to a classic story.

Story:

Genesis
By Missy Crystal

Mike may have been little, but he was tough. At only five foot five and with a baby face, he took a lot of abuse growing up. He made up for it by being a scrapper. The first insult or joke, no matter how big his opponent, Mike took them on. He lost a lot of teeth and spent a lot of time in the Emergency Room, but nobody made fun of him. He was such a difficult kid that when he turned eighteen, his parents threw him out of the house. He moved to the city and got a job washing dishes at a restaurant. After a while, he took the money he had saved up and bought himself a motorcycle. He wanted a big Harley, but the only one that fit him was made for girls. That was out of the question, so Mike worked with the dealer on a custom bike. It was expensive, but worth it. When it was ready, he roared off down the road. Mike the biker was a bad dude, even if he couldn't grow a beard. Nobody was going to mess with him now.

Mike pulled up to a stoplight. He looked to his left and there was a hot babe in red sports car. He revved the engine to show off. Vrooom. Vrooom. Vroom. The exhaust resonated. The girl turned her head and smiled at him. Then the light turned green. Mike popped the clutch, the bike did an impressive wheelie, shot across the intersection and slammed into the back of a car which had stopped to pull into a parking space. He sailed over the car, across the sidewalk and almost cleared the pickets of the ornamental iron fence. The MedFlight helicopter brought Mike to the City Hospital, where he was rushed into surgery.

Mike opened his eyes and tried to move, but found that he was strapped down to a bed. He was able to turn his head and saw he was in a hospital room. There were tubes running into his arm and some bottles and bags hanging on a stand next to his bed. He was very groggy and in a lot of pain. He tried to remember what had happened, but it was a blank. After a while, he heard the door open and he could see a nurse coming towards him.

"What, what, what happened to, what happened to me?" he managed to get out. His mouth was incredibly dry and it hurt his throat to speak. It was a struggle to get his thoughts together. "Why, why am I, why am I here?"

"Hi," the nurse said cheerfully, "my name is Maggie. I'm afraid you had a very bad accident. It's a miracle that you're alive at all. You've been sedated for almost two weeks while Dr. Vinci completed the reconstructive surgery and you've had an airway in you for most of the time, so your throat is going to be very sore. You shouldn't try to speak. Would you like a sip of water?"

Mike nodded his head. The nurse went over to the bed stand, poured some water out of a carafe into a glass, put a straw in it and held it for him.

"Just a sip," the nurse cautioned him.

The nurse went over to the foot of the bed and picked up a clipboard.

"Are you in a lot of pain?" she asked.

Mike nodded his head.

"The doctor left an order for some medication that will help. Would you like it?"

Mike nodded his head.

"Okay," the nurse smiled at him. "I'll be right back. Don't you go anywhere," she said with a laugh.

A few minutes later, the nurse returned with a syringe.

"This is pretty heavy duty stuff," she told him. "It should send you off to la la land. Pleasant dreams."

She inserted the needle into a nipple on the IV tube and pushed the plunger. Mike could feel warmth as the drug made its way into his vein, there was a brief buzzing sound in his ears and then the room dissolved into swirling colors.

Mike woke up to the sound of voices. He tried to move, but he was still restrained. He couldn't see the people, but he recognized one of the voices as Maggie. The other voice was a man's.

"Yes, yes. Excellent. The surgery is healing nicely. I'm afraid if she stays in bed too much longer, she will have a problem with atrophy. She's already lost a great deal of muscle mass being on IV feeding. We need to have her begin a rehabilitation therapy program. And we should start her on HRT. I will put the medication I want her to have in her chart."

Mike relaxed and drifted off to sleep. They were talking about a woman.

"Rise and shine, sleepy head." Mike recognized Maggie's voice. "The doctor wants you up and out of bed as soon as possible. Let's see if we can sit you up." She pushed the control and the upper part of the bed began to move up. "There, that's better," she said cheerfully.

Mike was a little dizzy, but it felt good to be able to look around. He saw that it he was in a standard hospital room. It had two beds, but he was the only patient. Now that the pain had pretty much stopped and he was not on medication, he tried to remember what had happened, but couldn't.

He looked over to the nurse. "Your name's Maggie, right?"

"Yes. It says 'Margaret' on my name tag." She held it out for him to see, "But everyone calls me Maggie."

"It's nice to meet you Maggie. My name's Mike."

Maggie gave him a strange look, then quickly turned away.

"Is something wrong?" Mike asked nervously. "Why am I here? What happened to me? How long have I been here?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't answer all of your questions. As to your memory, well, often when a person has been in a serious accident they have what we call 'traumatic amnesia'. Their mind wipes out the experience. As to your medical condition, you will have to speak with Dr. Vinci about that. He should be in to do his rounds this afternoon."

Now that Mike was fully alert for the fist time, he noticed that he had bandages that covered his lower body.

"Maggie, why do I have these bandages? Did something happen to me? Did something happen to me, down there? Nothing happened to my, to my, you know, my balls or anything did it? I'm still a man! Please tell me," Mike pleaded with her. "Please, please. Oh my God, no. No, no, no. Please, tell me I'm not, its not," Mike started to sob hysterically.

The nurse pushed the emergency call button and immediately an orderly came in.

"Hold him down," she directed him.

In his weakened condition, Mike was in no shape to resist and his feeble struggles were easily overcome.

The nurse left and quickly came back with a syringe.

"Now you need to calm down. Everything will be okay. Dr. Vinci will be here soon, but for now, I am going to give you a tranquilizer."

She stuck the needle in his arm and within a few seconds, Mike's eyes became glassy and he went limp. She lowered the bed and told the orderly to replace the restraints.

As Mike came out of his fog, he heard the two voices again: Maggie's and the doctor's.

"Well, it looks like our patient's awake," the man's voice said. "Sit her up, please, nurse."

Mike felt the head of the bed moving, until he was sitting up. As his vision cleared, he could see a man in a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. He was average in height and size. He had curly, sandy blonde hair and a small mustache. Mike guessed he was in his thirties. He moved close to the bed.

"I'm Dr. David Vinci, your surgeon. I'm afraid you were badly injured in a motorcycle accident and it has taken a lot of work to fix you up. Margaret tells me that you don't remember the accident. Is that right?"

Mike nodded his head. For some reason, tears began to form in his eyes. The doctor looked down.

"Make a note to take a blood sample. I want to check her hormone levels. She seems to be overly emotional."

Mike looked at the doctor imploringly.

"No, please doctor, no. It can't be. Why do you say, 'her'? I'm a man. I'm not a woman. My name is Mike," he said agitatedly.

"Now," said the doctor sternly. "It will do you no good to get yourself upset. I will explain what has happened, but you must remain calm. If not, then I will have to have you tranquilized and postpone our conversation for another time. Do you want that?"

Mike shook his head as tears began to run down his cheeks.

"Very well then," said the doctor. "You motorcycle struck the rear of a car and you were thrown off." He turned to the nurse and shook his head. "Why people ride those things is a mystery to me." He turned back to Mike. "Your crotch caught on a metal fence as you went over it and tore off your genitals."

Mike shook his head and began to sob uncontrollably. The nurse looked at the doctor to see if he wanted to medicate him. He shook his head.

"It was a very nasty injury. Nothing was left. If the EMT's had not arrived quickly, given you a transfusion and had you medivacced here, you would have bled to death. As it was, the damage was too extensive to try to repair. The only thing left was a radical procedure we normally only do on very young boys who have suffered severe genital trauma. I reconstructed a vagina."

At the word, 'vagina' Mike broke down into sobs. The nurse again looked at the doctor and this time he nodded his head. She gave Mike an injection and he drifted off.

"Keep her sedated until tomorrow. Let her subconscious try to understand what she was told. I will be back. Oh, and keep the restraints on her too. I don't want her doing anything foolish to my work. Frankly, a lot of women would kill to have a pussy that nice."

Maggie couldn't believe her ears. "Really doctor!" she admonished him. He grinned at her, turned and left.

Mike spent most of the next day weeping. He couldn't seem to control his emotions. Every so often Maggie would come in to wipe his eyes and hold a tissue, so he could blow his nose. They brought in a tray with some food, but he was too upset to eat. Finally, Maggie got cross with him.

"Listen to me. You are lucky to be alive and you have had hundreds of thousands of dollars of the best medical care in the world to save you. You should be grateful. This accident was of your own doing and nothing is going to put things back the way they were. Nothing! Now you can either spend the rest of your life depressed, probably end up in a mental hospital, or you can make the best of it. You weren't born female, but there is nothing wrong with being a woman. I am a woman and I'm quite happy about it. Now, I am going to release your right arm and I want you to start eating your lunch."

Maybe it was her tone of voice, maybe Mike had finally come to recognize that he had no choice, maybe he was just worn out or maybe the hormones were changing his behavior, probably a combination of all of them; but he did as he was told. He picked up a spoon and began to feed himself some soup.

Later that afternoon, Dr. Vinci came in.

"Well, it seems our patient is doing better," he observed. "Do you want to hear the rest of what I have to say?"

"Yes," said Mike softly.

"Good," said the doctor.

"I am sorry to have to tell you this, but the change we have made is irreversible. There is no way to put back what was amputated by the fence."

Mike sniffled. The doctor went on.

"When we do this procedure on boys, they are pre-pubescent. That means they have not started to produce testosterone and at that age they do not have any secondary male sexual characteristics. They won't develop any without testicles and with replacement female hormones, estrogen, they will go on to develop normally, in a manner of speaking, the way a girl would. It is different with adults. There are some males, transsexuals, who feel that they should have been born female. After counseling, they begin with HRT, hormone replacement therapy, taking large amounts of estrogen, as we are giving you in your IV. Eventually, they undergo SRS, sexual reassignment surgery, as you have, and live their lives as women. Many even get married and have families, although they obviously have to adopt children."

Mike stared at him in disbelief.

"You mean, I have no choice? I have to be a woman?"

"Yes," agreed the doctor. "You have no choice. You are a woman. The name on your chart is now, 'Michelle' and your sex is noted as 'female'."

Mike started to cry. Maggie went over, sat on the bed next to her and put her arm around her.

"There, there dear. That's it. Have yourself a good cry. That's what we women do to feel better."

After a few minutes, Mike or now Michelle, regained a little composure. She looked up at the doctor who had been waiting patiently.

"Now then," the doctor went on matter-of-factly. "There are a number of things we can do to help with your transition. The more feminine you look, the easier it will be for others to accept you and for you to accept yourself as a woman. There are many enhancements we can do to accomplish that with cosmetic surgery. If you will place yourself in my hands, I am sure that you will be quite pleased with the results. Do you want me to help you, Michelle? Do you trust me?"

"Yes, Dr. Vinci," Michelle said sadly. "Whatever you say."

"Good. Now the most important thing is breasts. Of course, you could use breast forms; but having your own will make you feel much more comfortable and confident as a woman. You may have already noticed some sensitivity and swelling of your chest from the hormones. Let me take a look." He pulled down her gown to expose her chest. "Hmm. Yes, they are coming along nicely. The nipples are puffy. Are they sensitive?"

The doctor brushed Michelle's left nipple lightly with his finger and Michelle let out a little gasp. He gently manipulated her right nipple between his thumb and first finger and got the same response. The nurse raised her eyebrow at the unorthodox examination. The doctor ignored her.

"Excellent. I think another few weeks though, before there is enough to really work with. In the meantime, I can do some work on your face. Is that Okay?"

By now Michelle was resigned to her fate.

"Do what you think is best."

"Sign here," said the doctor, handing Michelle a form.

The next morning, Maggie came in quite excited.

"I can't believe this!" she exclaimed. "There's a hairdresser here to see you. Dr. Vinci arranged it. According to your chart, it's part of your rehab therapy. He thinks you will feel better about yourself with your hair and nails done. The hospital is paying. Can you beat that?" She paused. "Then again, there's nothing like a day of beauty to make you feel like a new woman."

"I'm the newest woman you'll ever meet," Michelle observed.

Maggie cracked up. She couldn't stop laughing. The door opened and a woman in a powder blue uniform came in. She had two big cases with her.

"Is it a private joke, or can anyone get in on it?" she kidded Maggie. "Hi, I'm Beverly." She looked over to the bed. "You must be Michelle."

Beverly walked over and eyed Michelle's hair. It was dark brown. Mike had worn it biker style; shoulder length and tied back in a pony tail. She reached down and ran her fingers through it.

"Oh, my Gawd!" she exclaimed. "That is nasty. When was the last time you had your hair done sweetie?"

"Never," Michelle answered honestly.

"From the looks of it, I'd say that's true," Beverly agreed. "The ends are split and it looks like you went ten rounds with a blender and lost. But never fear, Beverly's here. Makeovers are my specialty. Ugly ducklings into swans. You'll see. Now then," she said, looking at Maggie, "can she get up and go into the bathroom? I need to do a shampoo, cream rinse and, oh, a color treatment too. Honey blonde. It's right here in the instructions from, doctor, umm, I can't read his scribble. Looks like Viceroy?"

Maggie nodded her head and pointed to the bathroom door.

"You wait here for a few minutes while I get set up. I'll call you when I'm ready."

Beverly picked up her cases and went into the bathroom.

Maggie looked at Michelle and raised an eyebrow.

"I've never seen a doctor so involved in his work," she commented. "You have to give him credit though, he's thought of everything, right down to the smallest detail."

"Ready," Beverly called out.

Michelle got up and headed towards the bathroom.

"I wish I could stay," Maggie told her, "but I have other patients. Buzz me when the swan arrives."

Inside the bathroom, Beverly had set up a mini beauty salon. There were all sorts of bottles, combs, brushes and scissors laid out on towels. She was sitting on the edge of the tub, holding a hand shower.

"First we need to wash that mop. Can you kneel down here and bend over the tub?"

Beverly proceeded to wash, rinse, wash and rinse, finally applying a conditioner, which she combed through. By the time she was finished, Michelle's back ached from bending over.

"All done, sweetie. Sit here." She pointed to a potty chair she had placed in the center of the bathroom. "Not exactly what they have in the fancy downtown salons, but it will do." She put a towel over Michelle's shoulders and started to snip away. "Actually," Beverly went on, "I like doing house calls. Or in this case, hospital calls. Not many beauticians do. It's too difficult to schlepp all the stuff you need around, but then you make better money, because you don't have to share what you make with the shop's owner. Usually," Beverly continued to chatter as she cut, "I do little old ladies in nursing homes, so working on a young woman like you is a treat. Anyway, what's with you, if you don't mind my asking. Nothing serious, I hope?"

Michelle thought for a minute. "Female trouble," she finally answered.

"Oh," said Beverly sympathetically. "I hope it isn't something that will prevent you from having babies? You're so young." Then she quickly added apologetically, "I hope I'm not being too personal. You know us hairdressers, we can be real yentas. That means busy bodies. You just tell me if you don't want to talk about it."

"No, it's okay," Michelle assured her. "I can't have babies. But then I was never planning on having them," she said truthfully, "so it's no big deal."

"I'm sorry sweetie. But you know what they say. The cradle may be empty, but the playpen is still there." Beverly gave a little laugh and changed the subject. "All done with the styling. Now for the color," she announced.

Beverly was a perfectionist and the color process took a long time. While she was waiting for it to develop, she gave Michelle a manicure and pedicure. Mike had never paid much attention to his nails and they had grown even longer while she was in the hospital, almost an inch. Beverly shaped and smoothed them, did the cuticles and applied a coat of bright red polish.

"Usually, they don't allow you to wear nail polish in the hospital. They want to see the pink color through the nail, so they can make sure you have good circulation. That's what a doctor told me one time, anyway. I'll leave you a bottle of remover. I'm sure the hospital has lots of cotton balls or gauze pads to apply it with. There's no reason why you can't look pretty for a least a little while. A girl just doesn't feel well dressed without polished nails."

Michelle smiled politely and nodded her agreement.

When the color process was done, Beverly combed Michelle out and fussed with a curling iron, making small waves. Another twenty minutes with a blow dryer and styling brush and she was finally satisfied. Michelle had no clue as to what was going on. She simply waited patiently for Beverly to finish her work.

"Come here," Beverly directed her, pointing to the mirror over the sink. "So? What do you think?"

Michelle looked in the mirror and couldn't believe her eyes. Her face was framed with wispy bangs and beautiful blonde hair cascaded down to her shoulders with gentle curls. She tossed her head from side to side and the hair swirled, just like she had seen on the hair styling commercials on TV. She reached up and gently brushed it back with her manicured fingers, the red nail polish contrasting with the blonde hair. For the first time, Michelle forgot about Mike and saw herself as a woman. A beautiful woman.

Michelle turned to Beverly and gave her a hug. "You are wonderful," she complimented her. "I never dreamed I could look this good. Thank you so, so much."

"Honestly, Michelle," Beverly responded, "it was my pleasure. I told you, ducklings to swans is my specialty and you are one of my best results. Just what the doctor ordered."

After a few more hugs and a promise by Michelle, taking one of Beverly's business cards, to look her up when she got out of the hospital, Beverly packed up her cases and left. Maggie saw her on the way out and headed for Michelle's room. When she walked in, her jaw dropped and the usually talkative nurse was at a loss for words. Finally, she got out, "Michelle, you're gorgeous."

That afternoon, Dr. Vinci stopped in to tell Michelle that he had scheduled her for surgery. She hoped that he was pleased with her appearance. He examined her and said clinically, "You are progressing nicely."

Over the next few days, Michelle was in and out of the OR. He face was bandaged and finally Dr. Vinci came in for the grand unveiling. He carefully removed the gauze and examined his work. He nodded his head approvingly, then held up a mirror.

Michelle didn't recognize the person who looked back it her.

"What I've done, Michelle, is used collagen to give you fuller lips, raise your cheekbones and define your chin. I've also bobbed your nose and made your eyes appear larger. You may have wondered why you were told not to speak during your recuperation. While I had you under, I shaved your larynx and did some adjustment to your vocal cords, so that you will no longer have a visible adams apple and your voice will be higher pitched. Since you are new to using makeup, I took the liberty of tattooing on permanent eye liner and lip color. You can use lipstick over it, if you wish. I pierced your ears too. After a few weeks, you can pick out some pretty earrings. Oh, and your teeth were a mess, so I had them capped. Are you pleased? You can speak now."

Michelle was not paying attention to the doctor. She was admiring herself in the mirror. If it were not her own reflection, she would be turned on by the beautiful face reflected back.

"What? Oh, yes, Dr. Vinci. It is, well, it is very beautiful. Thank you," she said with a smile, trying out her new pouty red lips and white teeth.

"My pleasure, Michelle. However, beauty is as beauty does. You do have very nice skin, but you need to maintain it soft and smooth. I've asked Nurse Margaret to help you with the various beauty preparations a woman needs to use. Oh, and you really do need to work with rehab to get your muscle tone back. Goodbye for now."

Later that afternoon, Maggie came in with a box full of bottles and jars.

"Dr. Vinci must want to protect his investment in you, because he had me charge a couple of hundred dollars worth of preparations and cosmetics on his Master Card. I have to admit though, it was fun. I'd never spend that kind of money on myself, but he only wanted the best. Let's get started with the skin cleansers and moisturizers you need to use at night. One good thing is that he put on the permanent eye makeup. Otherwise, that stuff is waterproof and a bitch to get off. I've got to tell you Michelle, you are quite the hit on this floor. The orderlies are fighting to see who gets to take care of you." Maggie laughed. "Your chart has always had you as a girl, so, as far as they know, you are one hot babe. You better be careful," she kidded her, "or one of these nights one of them may sneak in to take your new vagina for a test spin."

That was the first time that it struck Michelle, technically she was a virgin.

The next morning, Michelle was taken in a wheelchair to the Rehabilitation Therapy Department. The therapist did an evaluation and consulted the doctor's note. She had a puzzled look on her face.

"I'm Dottie and I'll be working with you. According to this, Dr. Vinci wants you to try walking in high heels. I've never heard of that one before, but he thinks it will help you to regain your muscle tone and balance. I don't know where he thinks we're going to get high heels around here. This is a hospital, not a shoe salon. Hang on, let me see if I can get hold of him and see what he has in mind."

The therapist returned a few minutes later carrying a box and shaking her head.

"This is really weird. Apparently he left these for you to wear." She opened the box. There was a pair of black leather pumps. They had an ankle strap with a pointed toe and four inch spike heel.

"Oh my God!" exclaimed the therapist. "I've never seen anything like that. I'd break my neck trying to walk in those. And he wants us to have you wear them. I sure hope he has his malpractice insurance paid up. Okay, Michelle, put 'em on and let's see what happens."

Michelle looked at the shoes and then at the therapist.

"I've never worn high heels before," she admitted. "Would you help me please?"

"What? You're only about five five and don't wear heels?" the therapist said skeptically.

Michelle decided she could confide in Dottie.

"I used to be a man. I don't know anything about how to be a woman."

Dotti looked closely at her.

"No way!"

"Unfortunately, way," said Michelle. "I had a motorcycle accident and damaged myself so badly the only thing they could do was turn me into a woman. Dr. Vinci has done a lot of work on me."

Dottie looked at her sympathetically.

"Really? Oh, you poor dear. I can see we'll have to work on more than just walking in heels. You need a whole lesson in body movement. Let me help you with the shoes and then we can get started."

For the next two hours, Dottie guided Michele back and forth between the parallel bars, at first holding on for support, but eventually walking with poise and confidence, chin up, shoulder's back, chest out, balancing a book on her head and turning like a model on a runway.

"Holy cow, Michelle. You are a natural. Are you sure you're not putting me on about the accident?"

Michelle grinned and shook her head.

"But my legs ache and my feet are squished to death in these pointy shoes. Women sure go through a lot to be pretty."

Dottie nodded her head. "You ain't seen nothing yet toots. Wait until you wear short skirts in the winter. Having the wind whistle up your keyster is no fun." She laughed. "You're good to go with these things. Why don't you take them back to your room and practice. You really need to wear clothes to get your hip and butt movement down. I will speak to Dr. Vinci. If he can find you heels, maybe he's got a dress to go with them." She shrugged her shoulders. "See you tomorrow."

To Michelle's and Dottie's surprise, the next day there was a box with a pretty pastel pink dress. It was a clingy jersey material with a high round neck and three quarter sleeves. The skirt flared and came to just above the knee. In with the dress was a pair of lacy pink panties and nude pantyhose.

"I don't know where Dr. Vinci is getting this stuff," said Dotti, "but whoever is picking it out has great taste and seems to know your size. Take these in the other room and put them on."

Michelle hesitated.

Dotti looked at her, then hit her forehead with her hand. "Doh. You have no idea how to put on a dress and stockings, do you?"

"No," admitted Michelle.

She shrugged. "Okay. First, step into the panties. The label goes in back. I can help you with the pantyhose when you have the dress on." She picked up the dress and unzipped it. "Slip the dress over your head and put your arms in the sleeves, then let it slide down. No sense struggling with the zipper. It takes some getting used to. I will zip you up when you come out."

A few minutes later, Michelle reappeared, pretty in pink.

"Wow, you look great in that dress. Turn around. There. Not much in the boob department, huh? Don't need a bra yet. Sit on the chair and we'll put on the pantyhose. You slide your hand down the leg and bunch them up, then point your toe and slide them up to your knee. Then do the other once. Once they're on, you work them up until the panty is up to your crotch. Then smooth the material up towards your waist. Now, step into your heels and we're ready to work on your movement."

A few days later, Dr. Vinci came in to see Michelle.

"I have some good news," he told her. "It's time to do your breasts. That's the final stage. Everything else is perfect. We will prep you tomorrow morning. Are you happy with everything I've done so far, Michelle?"

"Yes, Dr. Vinci. I mean, as happy as I can be, all things considered. You have been very kind and I am very grateful. I don't know how I will ever be able to repay you for everything you have done for me."

Dr. Vinci looked embarrassed. "Really Michelle, I am very happy to have had the opportunity. It is not often that a doctor gets to create a work of art. Now then, get some rest. You have a big day tomorrow."

The next morning, Maggie came in. "It's D-Day. Or A- or B- or C-Day," she said playfully.

Michelle gave her a blank look.

Maggie caught on.

"Sorry, I forgot you're new to the girl game. Those are bra cup sizes. The smallest is A, about what you have now, and the largest is D. Well, actually they can go up to DD and even bigger, but those are the common ones." Maggie pointed to her own breasts. "I'm a 34C. The number is your chest circumference. Anyway, the orderly will be in shortly to take you up to the OR, but you need to take this pill to relax first."

Michelle took the pill. She woke up in recovery a few hours later. Dr. Vinci was there. She looked down and saw bandages wound around her chest.

"The operation went fine," he reassured her. "It will take about a week for the incisions to heal and then you will be the perfect woman." He smiled at her. "However, I have some bad news."

Michelle gave him a worried look.

"Oh, no. Not about your surgery. About staying in the hospital. Breast augmentation surgery, which technically is what you had, is a day procedure. The rest of your treatment is complete and the hospital has to discharge you. I'm sorry, but those are the rules."

Michelle panicked.

"Oh, Dr. Vinci. I never thought about what would happen when I had to leave. The room I lived in was rented by the week. I've been here for so long, I'm sure that the landlady has thrown my stuff out by now, not that I have any use for my clothes any more. I spent just about everything I had on the motorcycle. I'm broke and homeless. What am I going to do?"

Michelle started to cry.

Dr. Vinci looked down at her.

"Please don't cry. I have a solution. You can move in with me. I have a big house with lots of room and that way I can keep an eye on you, until your breasts heal up."

"Oh, no, Dr. Vinci. I couldn't. Maybe, if you could loan me a little money, I could get another room and try to find a job. I'll bet I could be a cocktail waitress. Everyone who sees me thinks I'm pretty. It isn't hard work and I heard they make decent money. I would pay you back as soon as I could. Honestly."

"Michele," Dr.Vinci said sternly. "That is not an option for the time being. You cannot do anything that requires lifting, even trays, until the incisions heal and the last thing in the world I want is some drunk deciding to feel you up and ruin my work. Now I insist that at least you stay with me for a week. I won't hear otherwise. You are going to be discharged at two o'clock and I will pick you up."

The doctor walked off before Michele could protest.

When Michelle returned to her room, Maggie was waiting.

"I heard you're being discharged today. I'll be sorry to see you go. Nurses aren't supposed to say this, but you're my favorite patient. I'll miss you."

Michelle went over and gave her a hug.

"I'm not very good at this kind of thing. Being emotional is new to me. But I couldn't have done this without you. You've been my best friend and I'll miss you too. I'll be staying with Dr. Vinci for a week, until I'm healed up, so maybe I can come in with him one of these days and visit you."

Maggie's eyes went wide.

"You're moving in with Dr. Vinci?"

"Just temporarily. Is there a problem with that?" Michelle paused. "Oh my. I never thought to ask him. Is he married?"

Maggie shook her head.

"No, not that I know of. At least he doesn't wear a wedding ring," Maggie observed. "Women notice those things, at least with eligible young doctors." She laughed. "He's very private. I've never heard him talking about anyone in his life. He just comes in, sees his patients and leaves. Come to think of it, I've never even seen him being friendly with any of the other doctors or staff. He's pretty much a loner, which surprises me that he invited you home with him."

"Well," explained Michelle, "he really didn't have a choice. I lost my room and have no place to go. I don't think he wanted to take a chance on having his masterpiece damaged, if I ended up on the street."

"I suppose that makes sense," agreed Maggie. "Have you thought about what you will do, once he finishes with you?"

"No, not really. Maybe be a cocktail waitress. I don't have any other skills. I wish I hadn't dropped out of school."

"Well, if you ever need any help, get in touch with me. I'm not rich, but I know my way around the block. I bet we can come up with something, if we put our heads together." Then she looked down. "Or our chests. Wow! When those wraps come off, it's going to be an impressive rack. Look down. Can you see your feet?"

"Uh, no. Am I supposed to be able to?"

"It depends on whether you're a guy or a girl," Maggie said with a laugh. "Most men would say no. Most women would prefer to be less well endowed. It gets to be a nuisance with trying to find a bra that gives you enough support or finding clothes that fit. Dresses and blouses are designed for an average figure. On the other hand, at your age, they're definitely more of an asset than a liability. Enjoy them. Oh my, it's getting late," Maggie said, looking at her watch. "You better get dressed."

Michelle gave Maggie a panicked look. "Get dressed! I never thought about it. I don't have any clothes."

Maggie thought for a minute.

"What about the outfit you did your rehab therapy in. It's still in the closet." She opened the door. "Yes, the underwear, dress and shoes are here."

"Those aren't mine," Michelle explained. "They belong to the hospital. I just borrowed them."

"Are you nuts? The hospital doesn't provide street clothes. Dr. Vinci must have bought them himself. They're yours. Now hurry up and get dressed."

Michelle put on the panties, the pantyhose, slipped on the dress and stepped into the heels. She had been practicing each day, since she had nothing better to do, and was quite used to them.

Maggie looked at Michelle.

"One final thing," she commented. "Your hair looks like you slept on it. Which you did in fact." She took out a comb and brush. "Let me see what I can do." She fussed with it until she was satisfied. "Okay, let me get an orderly with a wheelchair and off you go Cinderella. Prince Charming is waiting in his Mercedes to carry you off to the ball. Or his house." Maggie laughed.

The wheelchair arrived and Michele went to get in, as she had dozens of times before.

"Wait," said Maggie.

Michelle gave her a puzzled look.

"It's different when you sit down in a dress. You need to smooth the material, so it doesn't bunch up or wrinkle. Oh and keep your knees together or your legs or ankles crossed when you're sitting down." She winked at Michelle.

Michelle followed her instructions and sat down. The orderly pushed her to the elevator and they went down to the lobby area. Maggie followed along. Outside the entrance, Dr. Vinci was standing by a car. It wasn't a Mercedes. It was a red Corvette.

"Holy cow!" exclaimed Maggie. "Did I ever have this guy pegged wrong. Listen, when you get in, sit sideways, put your legs together and swivel around. That's how women do it when they're wearing a skirt. Otherwise, you don't leave much to the imagination, if you get my meaning."

Michelle nodded, remembering Mike's ogling girls in short skirts, hoping to catch a peek at their panties.

The orderly wheeled her chair out and Dr. Vinci greeted her. He opened the door and held her arm, as she stood up. Remembering what Maggie told her, she smoothed her skirt under her and gracefully seated herself, adjusting her dress. Dr. Vinci went around, got in and started the car. As they drove off, Michele waved to Maggie, who blew her a kiss back. Dr. Vinci rounded a corner and the hospital disappeared from sight. It was the first time Michele had been outside since her accident and she was very nervous about appearing in public as a women.

Dr. Vinci must have sensed that she was worried.

"Calm down, Michelle. Believe me. You are prettier than 99% of the women. I should know. I created you. Your secret is safe. I guarantee it or your money back."

It was the first time that Michelle ever heard the doctor not be serious.

"Please Dr. Vinci, don't misunderstand. I am more than grateful for your giving me a new life. I'm sure that with time, I will get used to being Michelle. But right now, everything is so different. I don't understand this. Nothing ever frightened me before."

As they drove along, Michelle looked out the window and saw they were in a very fancy neighborhood with large houses and beautifully kept lawns. A few minutes later, they pulled into the driveway of an impressive house. It was red brick with white columns in front and surrounded by all sorts of bushes and flowers. Michelle had only seen mansions like this on television. She never dreamed that one day that she would be living in one, even temporarily, and certainly not as a woman.

Dr. Vinci pressed a button on the visor and the garage door swung up. He drove in and parked. Michelle was about to get out and then remembered that women waited for the man. Sure enough, he came around, opened her door and held out his hand. She took it and he gently helped her up. He escorted her towards a door, which he opened with key and they went in.

They went through a small entry into an enormous kitchen. Michelle had never seen anything like it. It had dozens of cabinets with glass doors through which she could see all sorts of glasses and dishes. A huge stainless steel stove, a gigantic refrigerator, long black granite topped counters and a matching center island with a huge stainless steel sink in the middle. It would be a dream kitchen, if she had the faintest idea what to do in it. Mike either ate out or used the microwave.

"Oh, Dr. Vinci!" Michelle exclaimed. "You have such a beautiful home."

"I'm glad you like it," replied the doctor. "It is your home now. At least for the next week," he added, "although you are welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Oh now, doctor, you are too, too kind. I couldn't impose on your hospitality. You have your own life, I am sure, and as soon as I am better, I want to find a job and start out on my own."

"As you wish, but for now you are my guest. Let me show you the rest of our house."

Michelle paused at his calling it 'our house'. She guessed he meant that he and she would be sharing it for a while. She followed him out of the kitchen and down a hallway. He proceeded to show her the different rooms, each beautifully decorated. She was especially impressed with his study, which was paneled in dark wood, with a huge desk, high backed leather chair, leather couch and shelf after shelf of books. After the study, they went upstairs to what Michelle expected were the bedrooms.

The first room they entered was very feminine. It had pink carpet and white wallpaper with a design in pastel colors, coordinating curtains and a gigantic bed with a pink and white ruffled canopy and matching bedspread. Against one wall was a long dresser with a mirror and against the other wall was a small table with a mirror. The third wall had mirrored doors. Dr. Vinci went over and opened one. Inside were women's clothes. He opened another. Inside were racks of shoes. He opened a third. Inside were drawers with more clothes in them. He motioned for Michelle to come over to the dresser, which held drawer after drawer of lacy lingerie.

Michelle put her hand to her mouth. "Oh Doctor Vinci. I'm so sorry. Maggie said you weren't married. Please forgive me. I didn't mean to intrude." She began to cry with embarrassment.

Dr. Vinci came over and put his arm around her shoulder to comfort her.

"This was my wife's room, but she's gone. It is your room now and her things are for you to wear and use. I would like that very much."

Michelle shook her head and through her sobs got out, "Please Dr. Vinci. I couldn't. These were her special things. I really want to go. This isn't right."

"Come over here, please," Dr. Vinci said. He still had his arm around her and guided her over to the closet. He took down a hanger with a pale green dress. "Look," he pointed to a tag. "These are all brand new. My wife never wore them."

Michelle stopped crying and gave him a puzzled look.

"I'm afraid I was not much of a husband," he admitted. "It takes a lot to build a medical practice and I was at the hospital most of the day and night. Since I was on call and would often have to leave and come home at odd hours, we had separate bedrooms, so I wouldn't disturb her. My wife, well, she filled her days by shopping. It was easier to give her an unlimited allowance than to spend time with her. When she shopped, it was not just for things she needed. I indulged her. This," he pointed to the closets and then to the dresser, "is the result. One day I came home and she was gone. She cleaned out our bank account and ran off with some personal trainer she met at the gym. The things she wore, she packed up and took with her. The things she bought for fun she left. I divorced her. So, you see, there is nothing special about any of these things. I kept them, because they were expensive and didn't know what to do with them. Now I do. They are yours, Michelle."

Michelle began to cry.

"What is it Michelle? Have I said something to hurt your feelings? I'm sorry if I did," apologized the doctor.

"No, Dr. Vinci, actually, I'm very happy," Michelle told him tearfully. "This is like a dream. Not that I ever dreamed of being a woman and wearing dresses. But having a beautiful home and beautiful clothes and having someone to care for me the way you have. I've been struggling to get by on my own since I was a kid and this is all too wonderful. I guess women cry when they're happy, because I can't seem to help myself."

Dr. Vinci regained his professional demeanor.

"Now then, it is time for your bandages to come off. I have a surgical kit downstairs I keep for emergency calls. I will get what I need and be right back. While I'm gone, please remove your dress."

After Dr. Vinci left, Michelle started to get undressed. She reached around behind her with her left hand, trying to find the zipper. Then she reached over her shoulder with her right hand and caught it, but was only able to lower it a few inches. Then she tried with her left hand and managed to get it the rest of the way down. Dottie was right, she thought, zipping and unzipping a dress is a struggle. Michelle leaned forward and let the smooth material of the dress slide off her arms and then wiggled out of the bottom, letting it drop to the floor and stepping out of it. Dr. Vinci was her doctor and had not only seen her naked, but he had actually made her body, so she had no thought of modesty.

Dr. Vinci returned holding a pair of curved scissors with a blunt tip. He began to cut away the bandages around her chest. Michelle was standing facing the mirror over the dresser, but Dr. Vinci was in front of her, so her view was blocked. She felt the bandages come off and then felt Dr. Vinci examining her right breast. Since she never had a breast examination before, not having any breasts to examine, she had no idea what to expect. His hands moved gently over and around, prodding, squeezing, massaging and manipulating the nipple. Michelle tried hard not to respond, but it was a losing battle. She let out a soft moan.

Dr. Vinci looked up at her, still cupping her right breast.

"Am I hurting you Michelle?" he asked with concern. "The incision is healing well and I don't feel any abnormalities. You shouldn't be tender anymore."

Michelle was ashamed of her reaction and said very quietly, "No Dr. Vinci. You weren't hurting me. It felt, well, I'm sorry, I know this is wrong, but, well, it felt good."

"Actually," he explained, "it's not your fault, it's mine. I should have realized that you might have an erotic reaction to the stimulation. A woman's breasts are a very sensitive part of her body. I will try to be as brief as possible, but I do need to check your other breast to make sure the implant is properly placed and it is symmetrical. Don't be embarrassed if you find it pleasurable. To the contrary, it means that the nerves are working properly. Is it alright if I continue?"

Michelle regained some of her composure.

"Of course, Dr. Vinci. Please continue. I'll think of elephants or something to take my mind off of it."

Dr. Vinci moved his attention to her left breast and continued his examination. Michelle let out another moan.

"Sorry, not working," she admitted.

Finally, Dr. Vinci was done. He stepped back and then moved aside, so that Michelle could see herself in the mirror.

"I am quite pleased," he told her. "The stitches have almost complete dissolved and the incisions are barely visible. The shape is very natural and the nipples are quite impressive. Take a look."

Michelle gazed down at the two mounds of pink flesh project out from her chest. She looked in the mirror and saw large brown circles with protruding nipples. Mike would have given his left nut to get his hands on those breasts, she thought to herself. Then she realized he had and more.

"They're beautiful, Dr. Vinci. Thank you," Michelle said enthusiastically. "You were right, they do make me look and feel feminine. Nobody is going to mistake me for a man with this rack," she giggled. "I'm sorry, that's how Maggie described them. You know, the nurse."

Dr. Vinci nodded. "Don't apologize, Michelle. You're right. They are quite a rack. That is what I intended. I could have given you an average bust, but I didn't want you to be average. I wanted you to be special."

Michelle turned to see her profile. Her breasts were firm and rounded. She lifted them with her hands, feeling the sensation of their movement. They were so natural it was hard for her to believe that she wasn't born with them. She imagined herself in a low cut evening dress with men gawking at her cleavage, the way Mike had drooled over busty movie stars. Being a woman might not be so bad after all, she thought.

Michelle's day dream was interrupted by Dr. Vinci.

"I'm glad you are happy with what I have done, Michelle. Now that the bandages are off, you should bathe. If you will follow me, I'll show you to the bathroom."

He went to a door at the back of the room and held it open. Michelle went in. Like the bedroom, the bathroom was very feminine. Pink and white tile, a gigantic tub, a pink marble counter with an oval sink and gold faucets. The back wall behind the sink was mirrored, as were the other walls, except for around the tub, so that you could see yourself from all angles. Dr. Vinci opened another door and inside was a toilet and some other type of fixture. Michelle asked Dr. Vinci what it was and he told her it was a bidet, which women used for feminine hygiene. He showed her how the water squirted up to wash her crotch. He suggested that, even though Michelle's vagina was not fully functional, she should still keep herself clean. Michelle assured him she would use it.

"I have to go back to the hospital to do my rounds," Dr. Vinci told Michelle. "I will get your bath started while you get undressed. These aromatic bath salts," he pointed to a jar of purple crystals, "are soothing. I will add them to the bath water. When you are finished, there is a robe hanging on the hook behind the door. Please pick out whatever you want to wear. I will call you from the hospital to see how you are doing and let you know when I will be back. It should be about dinner time. I will stop on my way and pick something up. In the meantime, please make yourself at home."

Michelle stepped out of her heels, slid her thumbs into the waistband of her pantyhose and peeled them off, then did the same for her panties, letting them drop to the floor and stepping out of them. She stood naked, waiting for Dr. Vinci to finish preparing her bath. Finally, he turned around and came over to her.

Dr. Vinci studied her.

"Turn around, please."

Michelle did as the doctor asked.

Dr. Vinci moved closer and slid his hands over her hips and around to her buttocks, then back up to her hips.

"The hormones are working well," he told her. "Your figure is filling out nicely. Bend over, please, with your hands on your knees."

Michelle bent forward, her breasts swinging out.

"Spread your legs, please."

Michelle moved her legs apart.

"More, please."

Michelle widened her stance. She felt Dr. Vinci's hand move up the inside of her left thigh to her vagina, briefly brush over it and move down her right thigh. Then he put one hand on her back, holding her in position, while his other hand returned to her vagina, this time parting the lips and probing inside. Michelle tried to hold back, but couldn't control herself any longer. Her body quivered and she began breathe rapidly as his fingers moved around inside her.

"Oh, oh, Dr. Vinci, oh, I'm sorry. I can't help myself. I'm very sensitive down there."

Dr. Vinci withdrew his fingers.

"You may straighten up now, Michelle. You don't need to apologize for having a reaction to being stimulated. That was the purpose of my examination, to see how sensitive you are to penetration. One of the functions of a vagina is for sexual intercourse and with your beauty, I would expect you will have your choice of young men." He paused. "Now that you are all healed, perhaps I should prescribe a dildo you can use to help prepare you. A small one, of course, with which to get started."

Michelle shook her head.

"I understand that you are trying to help me to be a woman, Dr. Vinci, but I am not interested in sex. I've thought about it, but I can't picture myself having a romantic feeling towards another man."

"Of course not, when you put it like that. However, with time your body will take over and you will change your mind. The other day, when I examined your breasts, you found that pleasurable and just now, you had an erotic reaction, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, but that was because it felt right for you to be touching me. I can't imagine being pawed by some strange guy who's looking to get laid." Michelle shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dr. Vinci, but I've been on that side of the fence." She shuddered. "Ouch, I shouldn't use that expression, because it hadn't been for the fence, I wouldn't be on this side of it. I know how insincere and self-centered men are when they're lusting after some good looking woman. I screwed up my life as a man and now you've given me a second chance as a woman. I'm not going to waste it as a bimbo, even if I do have the equipment."

Dr. Vinci nodded and said appreciatively, "I am impressed with your attitude, but being respected and being loved are not necessarily mutually exclusive. It will come in time." He paused and gave Michelle a little smile, "And so will you."

Michelle couldn't decide if Dr. Vinci was speaking medically, as to how her body would function when she finally did make love to a man, or being suggestive. She gave him a curious look, but he ignored it.

"You had better get in while the water is still hot," he told her, holding out his hand to help her step in. "Hold on. You should put your hair up, so it doesn't get wet."

"Oh, yes," she agreed. "Is there an elastic around?"

Dr. Vinci opened one of the drawers and took out a black pony elastic.

"Here," he said, handing it to her.

Michelle put it over her wrist and pulled her hair back into a pony tail, like she used to do when she worked at the restaurant. She slid the elastic over her hand and bound her hair, doubling it over to make it tighter.

Dr. Vinci went back into the drawer and brought her a big clip with pointed teeth. He handed it to her. She gave him a blank look.

"Pile you hair up on your head and use the clip to hold it in place."

It took a few tries to coordinate getting all of the hair up and putting the clip in the right place, but she eventually worked it out. Dr. Vinci put his hand out again and Michelle stepped into the frothy, floral scented water. She sat down and stretched out, enjoying the relaxing warmth and soothing fragrance. Looking down, she noticed that her breasts were floating. She pushed them down. They bobbed up. She did it again and then again.

Dr. Vinci had been watching her.

"The implants are saline," he explained. "That is, they are filled with salt water. It is much safer than silicone and the same consistency as your own body. Well, since you seem to have found something to entertain yourself while you bathe, I will leave you."

Michelle hadn't realized she was playing with herself. She blushed.

"Here's a washcloth and if you want to shave your legs and underarms, here's a razor and shaving cream. There are towels in the linen closet." He pointed to a door. "I will be gone for a few hours. Please make yourself comfortable. Go wherever you please and please make use of my wife's, or ex-wife's I should say, wardrobe. "

Dr. Vinci turned and left, closing the door behind him. Michelle slid down, letting the hot water cover her body. She had never experienced such luxury. A girl could get used to being pampered, she said to herself and gave a little sigh of pleasure. Her thoughts drifted to what Dr. Vinci had said about her having sex. She closed her eyes and pictured different men she knew, but none of them had any appeal. The only man she could imagine was Dr. Vinci. He was so kind, so compassionate and so generous; but that was out of the question. Not only would it be unthinkable for her to come on to her doctor, even if she had romantic feelings for him, which she didn't she assured herself; but he knew what she really was. He was young, attractive from the little perspective she had of what women liked in a man, and rich. He could have any real woman he wanted, so he certainly would not want her. For some reason, a small tear trickled down her cheek. Stupid hormones she thought.

After a good long soak, she decided it was time to attend to business. She used the washcloth to give herself a good scrub, until her skin was pink, and then picked up the razor. Even though Mike had only grown peach fuzz, he still shaved, because that was what men did. Shaving their armpits and legs was what women did. Michelle lathered up and used the razor, carefully guiding it over her legs and under her arms, until they felt silky smooth. When she was finished, she rinsed herself off and stepped out of the tub. There was a white terry robe hanging on a hook on the back of the door, which she wrapped around herself and tied the belt. She opened the door and went into the bedroom.

Dr. Vinci would be home in a few hours and she wanted to make herself look good for him. It was the least she could do to show how much she appreciated his kindness. However, she had no clue as to how to do it. She noticed a large cabinet across from the bed and went over to see what was in it. Inside was a big screen TV with a built in VCR. She noticed a number of tapes on the shelf above the TV. She looked them over, hoping that there would be a home movie, so she could see what Dr. Vinci's wife looked like. The first one was an exercise tape, "Abs of Steel," as was the second one, "Buns of Steel." The third one was about macrobiotic foods and diet. Obviously, Mrs. Vinci liked to keep herself trim and in shape. Michelle thought that wasn't such a bad idea. The next tape just what she needed, "Quick and Easy Hair Styling Techniques," and so was the next, "Professional Beauty Secrets." She popped the hair styling tape in and turned on the TV.

The tape began by explaining about proper hair care, protein and hot oil treatments and other things that really weren't of interest to Michelle. She fast forwarded to the next section, which was about different hair styles. The French braid looked really nice, but was much too complicated. Michelle decided that once she made some money she would give Beverly a call for some lessons. She fast forwarded some more and got to a section on styling long hair like hers. She watched intently as the man, Vidal somebody or other, went over various types of brushes and combs and the use of a blow dryer. Michelle rewound the tape and went over to the table, where she found what she needed. Then she started the tape with the remote and tried to follow the instructions, stopping, rewinding and replaying each step, until she was satisfied with what she saw in the mirror. Not bad for a beginner, she complimented herself.

Michelle took out the hair tape and put in the beauty tape. She concentrated on the explanation of the various types of makeup and their application. She stopped the tape. Going back to the small table, she found everything that had been described. Various size and shapes of brushes, lipstick, lip gloss, powder and a puff, foundation, eye shadow, mascara, eye shadow, little eyelash and eyebrow brushes, eye lash curler, tweezers, lip and eye liners, eyebrow pencils and blush. She started the tape again on the explanation of proper eyebrow shape. Michelle looked in the mirror and saw that hers were a mess. Taking the tweezers, she began to shape them. Pulling out the hairs one by one really hurt, but she was determined and eventually found that quick, sharp yanks made it bearable. The increasingly feminine look as each hair was removed and a smooth, thin arch took shape rewarded her efforts.

Michelle continued with her beauty routine, following the video's step by step instructions. She decided to hold off on the eye shadow and lipstick, until she decided on her outfit, since the tape said that those colors should be coordinated. Turning off the video with the remote, she stood up and went over to one of the closets. She opened the first door. It was the one with dresses. Michelle looked through them, but decided to start with a skirt and blouse. She opened up the next closet and looked through the assortment. Not having any experience in picking out women's clothes, let alone wearing them, she decided to go for simplicity. She held a few different skirts up in front of her and finally decided on a pleated black one in a soft, flowing material. Looking for a blouse to go with it, she chose a white, silky one with a round color and long sleeves ending in ruffles.

She laid them on the bed and went to the dresser to find some underwear. The top drawer had sets of bras and panties. It really didn't matter, so she took the first ones she found, which were shiny white nylon with lace trim. Finally, she wanted to wear stockings, so she looked in the next drawer down and sure enough there were packages of pantyhose in every imaginable color. Poor Dr. Vinci, Michelle thought, he wife was merciless in her shopping. How could she spend his money on so many clothes she would never wear and makeup she would never use? She decided on a pair in 'suntan'.

The panties and bra still had the store tags on them. Michelle went to the small table and found a little pair of scissors. The tag she cut off the panties said 'Size 5'. Michelle went back into the bathroom and looked at the label in the panties she had worn. They were size 5. She wondered about the coincidence that she and Dr. Vinci's wife were the same size. She went back into the bedroom and picked up the bra. The tag said '36D'. Michelle remembered that Maggie said the letter was for the cup size and that D was really large. She guessed she must be a D. How much more of a coincidence could it be, she wondered, if they wore the same bra size too? There was only one way to find out. She put the cups over her breasts. They had something stiff underneath them. Running her hands around the band, she tried to fasten it in back, but couldn't get it to hook. She took the bra off and put her arms through the straps, hoping that would hold it in place while she worked on fastening it, but she still wasn't flexible enough or experienced enough to do it.

After puzzling about how to get it on, she decided to hook it in front first, then turn it around and tuck herself into it afterwards. There were four hooks and three sets of eyes. Not having anything to go by, she used the middle set, which left her with some room for adjustment. Once she had it around her, she slipped her arms through the straps and wrestled her breasts into the cups, moving them around until the nipples were centered. She noticed that it was a little saggy and found a slide on the straps that let her shorten them to give more support. To her surprise, when she was finally done, the bra fit perfectly, at least as far as she could tell in her very limited experience.

The rest of the outfit went on quickly, since she had worn pantyhose, and the skirt and blouse weren't much different from her dress. Michelle put on the skirt like she did the bra, zipping it up in front and turning the waist around. The blouse had buttons which were easy, except for the fact she wasn't used to doing them backwards, at least opposite from the way men's shirts buttoned. Finally, she was dressed and went to pick out a pair of shoes. There must have been a dozen pair in different styles and colors. Going through them, Michelle found that they were all the same high heel. Michelle wondered why. Was Mrs.Vinci really short? But then the length of her skirts and dresses seemed to be for someone Michelle's height. Maybe she took the other shoes with her, Michelle reasoned. That must be it. After all that, Michelle decided to wear the shoes she had gotten used to in the hospital. It really didn't matter, since she wasn't going anywhere. When she was finished she stood in front of the full length mirror on the closet door and admitted herself. Not bad for a beginner, she complimented herself.

Michelle decided to explore the house. She started with the room next to hers, which she guessed must be Dr. Vinci's bedroom. She wondered if she should intrude on his privacy, but she wanted to know more about him and his ex-wife. Maybe he kept a picture of her. Her curiosity overcame her inhibitions. The door was open and she walked in. The room was as masculine as his wife's was feminine. It struck Michelle that Dr. Vinci had never mentioned her name. She wondered what it was and hoped she might find something to tell her. She moved slowly about the room, being very careful not to disturb anything. She peeked in the closets, opened up a few drawers, but there was just what you would expect in a man's room. She should know. She noticed that the bed was not made. When she was younger, she had gotten in trouble for borrowing a neighbor's car and had spent a few months in a juvenile detention facility. They were required to make their own beds, so knew that much about housekeeping. She straightened up the sheets and blankets, tucked them in neatly, fluffed the pillows and pulled up the spread. Well, at least she wasn't totally decorative she told herself with a giggle.

Michelle continued to go though the different rooms, but found nothing of particular interest. It was obvious that somebody had very good taste. Each room was beautifully decorated. However, none of the rooms looked like they were used very often and there was nothing personal, except for some diplomas hanging in Dr. Vinci's study that showed he had an impressive medical education. Having satisfied her curiosity, there really wasn't much for Michelle to do, but wait for Dr. Vinci to get back. Considering that everything in the house was spotless, except for his unmade bed, she guessed that he must have a cleaning service come in and wondered if she'd run into them. What would they think and what would she say to them? "Hi, I'm a transsexual who Dr. Vinci is letting live with him until my tits heal?" Then again, why did she have to explain anything to anybody? Her thoughts were interrupted by the telephone. At first, she was reluctant to answer it, but then she remembered that Dr. Vinci said he would call to let her know when he would be home. She went over and picked it up.

"Hello," she said softly. "Dr. Vinci's residence."

"Hi Michelle," said the caller.

"Oh, it's you Dr. Vinci. I wasn't sure if I should be answering your phone. I didn't want to give people the wrong idea."

"Don't worry about it," he reassured her. "Patients never call me at home. I have an answering service and they page me, if it's an emergency. Anyone else who calls, well, you did just fine. They'll think I have a housekeeper. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that I'll be leaving the hospital in about half an hour. It's six o'clock now. I will call 'Tarantella', it's an Italian restaurant I go by on the way home, and order some dinner. You do like Italian food don't you? I mean I can get something else if you'd rather."

"To tell you the truth Dr. Vinci," Michelle admitted, "spaghetti and pizza are about the only Italian food I've ever had, but I would very much like to try it. Please order whatever you like and I'm sure it will be fine."

"Okay, Michelle. I'll surprise you. I should be home by seven thirty. Do you think you can set the table? Just look through the cabinets and drawers and you will find what you need."

"I'll give it a try, Dr. Vinci. Thank you."

Michelle hung up the phone. Dr. Vinci was so sweet. Maybe she should do something nice for him. At least she could get dressed up for dinner. That would make it a special occasion. After all, she kidded herself, it was their first date and a girl should make a good impression. She hurried upstairs. Looking through the dresses, she found a low cut black one. She got undressed and started to put the dress on. Then she realized that the bra she was wearing would show in back. Hopefully, in her passion for shopping, Mrs. Vinci had picked up the right kind of bra to go with her dress. Michelle started to search the dresser and found something that looked like it would work in the bottom drawer. There was a panty attached to a tight fighting middle part that ended in bra cups. It was strapless and the back was open almost to the waist. Michelle noticed that the crotch of the panty had little snaps to undo for going to the bathroom. How convenient she thought.

Michelle got undressed and stepped into the bottom. She continued to wiggle and jiggle as she pulled the bra part up over her hips and loaded her breasts into the cups. They were about half the size of the cups on the bra she had worn and a good portion of her flesh was exposed. Michelle looked in the mirror and wondered if it wasn't too provocative. Then again, it wasn't like Dr. Vinci hadn't seen it all before. Next, Michelle a found package of black pantyhose with little sparkles. They seemed right, because the dress had rhinestone buckles where the straps attached to the front and back. A pair of black satin shoes with crisscrossed straps joined with a rhinestone clasp finished the outfit.

Having put herself together so quickly, Michelle wondered why men always criticized women for taking so long to get dressed. Then it struck her. She hadn't finished her makeup. She hurried over to the small table, where she picked out a smoky gray eye shadow with little sparkles, fussed with her eyelashes and applied lip gloss. A touch up of blush and now she was ready. No wait. Something was missing. What was it? Of course, jewelry. Women always wore jewelry when they got dressed up. Mrs. Vinci couldn't have left any of that behind, could she? Michelle went over and started searching the dresser. Nothing. Then she saw a box on top. She opened it. Sure enough, it had a whole collection of necklaces, bracelets, rings and earrings. Just like everything else, they all had price tags on them. Most of the items weren't that expensive, anywhere from twenty five to about eighty dollars. Dr. Vinci's wife probably made off with the real family jewels. Michelle laughed to herself, because she also had made off with the family jewels, but in a much different way. She picked out a matching set of gold and rhinestone necklace, bracelet and dangling earrings. It took a bit of effort to get the clasps fastened and, but finally she was successful. A couple of rings finished her decoration.

Michelle glanced at the clock. Quarter past seven. Dr. Vinci would be home any minute. Okay, she told herself, don't panic, all she had to do was set the table. How hard could that be? Was she ready? No, something was still missing. She looked in the mirror and remembered that the tape on hair styling had mentioned glamorizing a hairdo with accessories. She went back to the jewelry box and found two rhinestone butterfly hair clips and carefully used them to pin back her hair, so that her earring were exposed. No, that wasn't it. Aha, perfume. Sure enough, there were some bottles on the dresser. She sniffed them. One in particular had a powdery floral scent she liked. The name on the bottle was 'White Shoulders'. Whatever. If Mrs. Vinci used it, her husband probably liked it. She sprayed some on her wrists and neck, as she had seen women do on TV.

She hurried downstairs and started to go through the kitchen drawers. On her fourth try, she found some placemats. She put them on the dining room table. Then she went back and found a drawer full of silverware. In addition to washing dishes, Michelle's job was to put together silverware sets before the restaurant opened, wrapping a knife, fork and two spoons in a napkin, so she had a basic idea of how to set a table. Finally she took out some dinner plates, butter plates and wine glasses, the same as she had seen the busboys put out. Anything else? Doh! Napkins. She found some that matched the placemats, folded them in triangles and put them on the plates. Good timing, because just as she finished, she heard the garage door open.

Dr. Vinci came into the kitchen carrying two big shopping bags. There was a wonderful aroma of tomatoes and garlic coming from them. When he saw Michelle, he just about dropped them.

"Michelle," he complimented her, "you look great. I love that dress on you and everything you chose goes well with it. If I didn't know better, I would think you had been wearing women's clothes all your life." He continued to admire her appearance. "Your hair and makeup look good too and," he sniffed, "I like your perfume."

Michelle smiled and struck a pose; her right hand behind her head and her left hand on her hip, the way she had seen movie stars do it for photos. The movement just about made her breasts pop out of their skimpy containment, which made Dr. Vinci's eyes open wide at their anticipated escape. Michelle quickly recovered and adjusted her decolletage into a more modest configuration.

"Beginner's luck," Michelle countered, "and a lot of help from the beauty instruction tapes your wife left in her room; but I did want to surprise you and I believe I succeeded."

Dr. Vinci nodded his agreement and went on, "I am impressed with your adjustment. You have taken to your new life even better than I had hoped."

"Well," Michelle, replied, "you know what they say. If rape is inevitable, then you might as well lay back and enjoy it." She paused and frowned. "You know, that is a really stupid expression. Now that I'm on the receiving end, I can see that being forced to have sex with someone who you having no feeling for could not possibly be enjoyable."

"Your changed attitude confirms your progress. You know," Dr. Vinci mused, "we are all a combination of male and female qualities. We simply make children repress those that don't correspond to our society's image of how they should behave. Perhaps part of the difficulty you had in your former life was the frustration of keeping that part of you hidden." He shrugged. "I don't pretend to know about the psychology of being transgendered, that's not my field; but I do now that it seems to have had a positive effect on you. Now then," he changed the subject, "I hope you're hungry, because I got a lot of different things for you to try. Why don't you take them out of the bags while I go wash up."

Dr. Vinci headed upstairs and Michelle began to take containers out of the bags. She wasn't sure whether she should open them up, but decided it would make it faster for them to sit down to dinner. As the lids came off, the aromas became stronger. She didn't recognize anything, except the tomato sauce, and when she unwrapped a tinfoil package, it was obviously garlic bread. There was also a box with four circular shells filled with something creamy. Once everything was out, she waited patiently for Dr. Vinci to return. Looking around, she noticed some candlesticks on the counter and decided to add them to the table's decor. She got another placemat to put under them, so they wouldn't drip wax on the table, and then searched for matches, which she found in one of the drawers. She brought the candlesticks into the diningroom and lit the candles.

"Very nice," Dr. Vinci said appreciatively.

Michelle had her back to the kitchen door and was startled.

"Oh, Dr. Vinci, I didn't know you were here. Are you ready to eat?"

"Yes," he replied. "Actually, I'm starving. I missed lunch when I brought you here."

"I'm so sorry," Michelle apologized. "I never thought about my interrupting your schedule."

"Don't worry about it, really," he said politely. "I can go without a meal for a few hours with no ill effects. Anyway, that gives me an excuse to indulge myself tonight." He looked at the table. "I see you put out wine glasses, would you like me to open a bottle? I have some very nice wine that I've been saving for a special occasion and I don't think that there will be much more special occasion than our first dinner together. Would you like that?"

"Oh, no, Dr. Vinci, I couldn't. You've already gone to too much expense with this dinner. I don't want to impose. Anyway, I honestly didn't think about what we would drink. That was the how they set the tables when I worked in the restaurant, so I just did it the same way. Water would be fine."

Dr. Vinci shrugged and replied, "If that is what you prefer, but I would like a glass of wine with my meal. It compliments Italian food. I am going to open a bottle anyway and you are welcome to join me."

"I suppose it would be rude to let you drink alone," Michelle conceded. "However, I never drank wine before. Or much of anything else," she added. "I snuck a few beers out of the fridge when I was living at home, but I'm not old enough to buy liquor or go to bars."

Dr. Vinci looked startled.

"Of course, Michelle, I should have remembered. It's just, well, you look so sophisticated, I forgot about your age. However, you are home now and free to do as you like."

Michelle smiled and said softly, "Then I would very much like to have a glass of wine with you Dr. Vinci."

"Excellent," Dr. Vinci said enthusiastically. "However, there is one condition."

"What is that?" Michelle asked curiously.

"You are no longer my patient. You are my guest. Please call me David."

Michelle was taken by surprise.

"Really? I mean sure, if you want me to," she agreed eagerly.

"Good, that's settled then. Now let's take our plates into the kitchen. It will be easier."

Michelle followed Dr. Vinci into the kitchen. He patiently explained each of the different dishes: chicken cacciatore, veal marsala, eggplant parmesan, shrimp scampi, angel hair pasta Alfredo, a Caesar salad, Italian green beans and, of course, the garlic bread. He put a little of each in Michelle's plate, took some for himself and they went back into the dining room. He put his plate on the table and then went over to a cabinet and took out a bottle of wine.

"This is Chianti," he said, holding out the bottle so she could see the label. "Most good wines come from France, but this one is Italian." He got a corkscrew and took out the cork. "When you open a bottle of wine, you always want to feel the cork to make sure it is damp. If it isn't, it means that air has gotten into the bottle and spoiled the wine." He handed her the cork. "Feel it. Smell it too. If it smells like vinegar, then the wine is bad." He poured some in his own glass first, took a taste and nodded. "Very good." He filled Michelle's glass and then his own.

Dr. Vinci raised his glass. "To my most beautiful patient."

Michelle picked up her glass and took a gulp. She made a face.

"You don't like the wine?" Dr. Vinci asked her. "I can get you something else to drink."

"No, it's fine. I told you, I never drank wine before. I just didn't know what to expect. I thought it would taste like grape juice. I mean it should, shouldn't it? It's made from grapes."

"Yes and no," the doctor explained. "The juice you buy in the grocery store is full of sugar. The process of making wine turns the sugar into alcohol. That is what you taste. You should try sipping the wine and letting it sit on your tongue for a bit, before you swallow. That lets you get the full flavor. Try it again."

Michelle followed the instructions and looked pleased with herself.

"Mmmm, yes, that's much nicer," she agreed, taking another sip and savoring it. "I think I could learn to like wine. Thank you, David."

They ate dinner slowly. Michelle wanted to be very careful not to stain her dress and so she took little bites and wiped her mouth with her napkin repeatedly. Halfway through the meal, her glass was empty.

"May I have some more wine please, David?"

"I don't know Michelle. I think you should take it easy."

"Please David, just a little more," she pleaded. "I'll be a good girl, I promise."

He filled her glass half full and they continued eating. Michelle wanted to know more about the doctor. Where had he grown up, what was he like when he was a little boy, did he have any brother's or sisters? He told her that he lost his parents when he was very young and grew up in a foster home. He was pretty much alone and had to struggle to put himself through school, but he always knew he wanted to be a doctor. Michelle expressed her sympathy and put her hand on his to comfort him. When they finished the meal, she told him to sit while she cleared the table. He protested, but she insisted.

"It's woman's work," she asserted, "and I'm the woman of the house, aren't I?"

The doctor couldn't argue with that logic.

"Yes, Michelle, you are most definitely the woman."

"Very well then, David. You go watch TV or whatever it is you usually do after a meal while I clean up."

"In that case, I am going into the den and listen to some music."

"Good. Take the wine with you and my glass. I want some more."

"Michelle," he cautioned her. "I don't think you should have any more. You're not used to it. I don't want you to get sick."

Michelle pouted.

"David, I am having the best day of my life. The wine is wonderful and, if I do get sick, I have my doctor right here to take care of me. You will take care of me won't you?"

"Of course, Michelle," he assured her. "But even my considerable medical ability can't cure a hangover. As your doctor, I prescribe a cup of coffee."

Michelle pouted some more.

"Well then, you're fired as my doctor. Do you know another one around here that might prescribe a glass of wine? I could make it worth his while," she teased him.

David shook his head.

"I give up. Have it your way," he conceded. "Come in the den when you're done and we'll finish the bottle together."

Michelle gave him a big smile and started to clear the table. She rinsed and put everything in the dishwasher. Finally, she thought to herself, woman's work that I know how to do. Then it struck her that she wasn't a woman when she did it. It was too much for her to think about after the wine. She shook her head her head to clear it.

When Michelle finally came into the den, David was sitting on the couch. The lights were dim and there was soft music playing. It was very relaxing. He had a glass of wine and when he saw her come in, he filled her glass. She sat next to him, kicked off her shoes and took a sip.

"I like your music," she said dreamily. "It's very pretty. I never listened to that kind of music. Just the loud, noisy stuff." She turned towards him. "David, you've given me so much. Not just a new body, but a whole new life. People are always talking about getting a second chance; but for me, this is a first chance. I don't know how I can ever repay you."

David turned to her, took her hands and said, "You can marry me."

Michelle shook her head.

"David, please don't say things you don't mean. If I were a woman, I would marry you in a minute; but you deserve a wife, not a, not a whatever I am." She began to cry.

David put his arm around her and she rested her head on his chest, the tears still flowing. After a while, he spoke.

"Michelle, I have not been honest with you. I've never been married. This was all for you."

Michelle shook her head again.

"Oh David, I wish that were true."

"It is true, Michelle," he insisted. "When they first brought you into the Emergency Room, you were just another accident victim. Your injury was so severe, it was a chance for me to show off my surgical ability. Even to write a paper about it. Then, as your metamorphosis continued," he paused. "I'm sorry, Michelle, 'metamorphosis' means to change from one form to another. Something unexpected happened," he continued. "I fell in love with my creation."

Michelle had calmed down.

"David, no," she protested. "This house, the beautiful bedroom, all of the clothes, you couldn't have possibly done all of that in so short a time."

David smiled.

"Love can move mountains. So can money and I happen to be a very successful doctor. I called up a realtor, told her the kind of house I wanted, brought in a decorator and gave her a free hand. I also hired a personal shopper. I must say, I was very creative. I told her that I had just returned from the Middle East and had married a Muslim woman who was arriving with only traditional Arab clothes. I knew your measurements and told her to buy a complete wardrobe, except that there were to be no pants and you loved high heels, the higher the better. Look around Michelle, everything is new, even what we used for dinner tonight."

When Michelle finally recovered from David's confession, she put her arms around him and looked up.

"Please kiss me, David."

He leaned down and gently pressed his lips against hers. After a minute, she pulled away.

"David, I can't. You should have a woman who knows how to be a woman. I would be an awful wife. I don't even know how to kiss you properly."

David took her hand and put it in his lap. It took a second for Michelle to recognize the bulge.

"I would say you're a pretty good kisser." He went on. "Don't you see Michelle, having grown up female, women have already developed their personalities. They are who they are. You have never been female, so you can be who I want you to be. Not a perfect woman, but the perfect woman for me. Does that make sense?"

"No, but it doesn't matter. Kiss me some more, I need the practice."

When they finally came up for air, Michelle slid her hand back into David's lap.

"Just checking to see if it was a coincidence. Nope," she observed, gently squeezing him.

David moaned.

"Perhaps you can write that paper after all," Michelle teased him. "You could call it 'The Ins and Outs of Artificial Vaginas' and, from the looks of things, I'd say you'd better get started on the research right away."

Not to be outdone, David retorted, "You do understand that a work like that requires years and years of study."

Michelle laughed and got in the last word. "Not a problem, just so long as I'm the only test subject."

Michelle stood up and took David's hand. They headed upstairs. When they reached his room, he stopped.

"Wait," he told her.

"It's okay if you can't go through with it David," Michelle said bravely. "I understand. I will sleep in my own room. Goodnight."

She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.

"What? No! I just thought that since we were starting our honeymoon early, I should carry the bride-to-be over the threshold."

He put has arms under her and swept her off her feet. Michelle snuggled against him and gently nuzzled his neck as her carried her towards the bed.

"David, darling," Michelle whispered passionately in his ear, "could I please be on top?"

Author's note. This story is based on the Greek myth of Pygmalion and admittedly takes some literary license with the medical profession. I understand and agree that severe male genital trauma is not a reason for SRS, although my recollection is that, in the past, there were cases where infants or very young boys had a traumatic amputation of their penis and were turned into girls. I believe they were never happy and eventually reverted to males. Also, I understand and agree that no ethical doctor would perform involuntary SRS and, even with the patient's permission, not without mandatory psychiatric approval. On the other hand, recently a doctor left a patient in the middle of surgery to go to the bank, to prevent his account from being overdrawn, so one cannot always depend on good judgment from the medical profession. In addition to trying my hand at a TG version of Pygmalion, I also wanted to show that to create the perfect woman, you have to start with a man. At least God thought so when he created Eve from Adam's rib. Now do you get the title? Missy.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.

Hansel and Gretel

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

EXPLICIT CONTENT

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Tricked / Outsmarted

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Synopsis:

An adult TG adaptation of the classic fairy tale offered for your Halloween amusement.

Story:

Hansel and Gretel
By Missy Crystal

Once upon a time, deep in the woods, there lived a poor woodcutter, Hans, and his bitch of a wife, Greta. Much to their dismay, being clueless as to certain key biological concepts of cause and effect, they had twin children, unimaginatively named for themselves, a boy, Hansel, or little Hans, and a girl, Gretel. You figure it out. Since there was no money for clothes, the children were dressed in left-over burlap sacks. They wore no underclothes and, as they got older and the sacks became relatively smaller, the rough material was increasingly irritating to their nubile development.

Hansel, in particular, developed a severe rash from the chafing of his member. Gretel, tired of hearing her brother's constant complaining, suggested covering it with a lubricating ointment. KY jelly being a few centuries away from formulation, Hansel figured that he could stick his dick in the cooking fat. Actually, the cool, slippery lard was soothing and so it was that, returning home unexpectedly one day, Greta discovered not so little anymore Hansel holding his sack up around his waist and humping the lard container. She let out a scream and chased the little pervert out of the house with a broom. Gretel, hearing the commotion, came running. Seeing her mother assaulting Hansel, she grabbed a handy piece of firewood and gave the woman a hefty blow to the head, dropping her like a felled ox. Realizing that her mother would eventually come to and beat the crap out of her, Gretel grabbed Hansel and hauled him into the house.

"Quickly," Gretel urgently directed him," let us get some food and run into the woods. Perhaps the stupid old cow will cool off in a few days and we can come back."

They ransacked the house and only could come up with half a loaf of stale bread, which Gretel, having no pockets in her sack, carried in her hand. Hearing groans from the front yard, they hurried out to see their mother staggering to her feet. The pair ran into the woods. After an hour or so, the path began to narrow and bushes with wicked thorns closed in, bringing them to a halt. Looking around for an easier route, Hansel spotted a clearing through the trees. They slowly worked their way towards it and upon arriving they rested on a grassy mound under the shade of a large oak. Catching her breath, Gretel questioned Hansel about the incident.

"You are indeed a giant cow turd to have gotten us into such trouble," Gretel told him, using one of her usual terms of endearment for her sibling, "not that I didn't enjoy clobbering Mom. Now tell me what it was all about," she demanded.

"Well," Hansel explained, "Mother caught me soothing myself."

"You mean jerking off like usual?" she asked.

"No, well, yes, ummm, sort of, I don't know," Hansel said noncommittally.

"You don't know if you were jerking off or you don't know if you were doing it like you usually do," Gretel challenged him.

"No, I wasn't jerking off, sort of. I mean, you use your hands for that. I was just doing what you told me, putting my dick into something slippery."

"I suggested you put something slippery on it, not the other way around. What exactly were you using?"

"Umm, the, umm, the jar of stuff Mom keeps next to the stove," he confessed.

"You were fucking the cooking lard?" Gretel asked incredulously.

"Umm, yeah," Hansel admitted sheepishly.

Gretel thought for a moment and then scowled.

"You didn't, you didn't actually come off in it, did you?"

Hansel shrugged.

"That's disgusting, Hansel," Gretel admonished him. "No wonder the fried mushrooms tasted so salty. How long has Mom been cooking with your cum?"

"I know what you do with the boys from the village when you sneak out at night, Gretel," Hansel replied defensively. "What's a little extra?"

Gretel stood up.

"Come on," she said, ignoring the insult, not that it wasn't true. "We should get going before Mom comes to her senses and decides to come after us."

They headed into the clearing, but no matter which way they turned, the dense trees and bushes blocked their way.

"I'm hungry," complained Hansel after a few minutes of walking around.

"You're always hungry," Gretel replied. "I suppose we could have some of the bread."

She tried to break off a piece, but it was too hard. Pausing, she heard what sounded like running water and, following the sound, she saw a small stream running along one side of the clearing. She walked over and Hansel followed her. Dipping the bread in the water, she pulled off a soggy piece and handed it to her brother, then took a piece for herself.

"Do you smell food?" Hansel asked his sister.

"Well, of course I smell food, you dumb shit, we're eating bread."

"No, not bread, Gretel. Something spicy. It seems to be coming from over there," Hansel said, pointing to the forest beyond the stream. "Let's try to go in that direction and see what we find."

"Well, I suppose following your nose is an improvement over playing with yourself," Gretel conceded. "Okay, go ahead."

Hansel began to work his way through the trees and bushes, with Gretel following behind him. After about ten minutes, she too began to smell a pleasant aroma. They continued on until they reached another clearing in which there was a small cottage. It was well kept, with brown stucco walls decorated with intricate white designs, a thatched roof and a white picket fence surrounding the yard. The curious duo opened the gate and knocked on the front door.

"Come in" a raspy voice invited them.

Being both hungry and none to bright, the pair opened the door. Looking around, they saw a large room, with a table and chairs in the center, a large cupboard to one side and a woman dressed all in black standing by the fireplace stirring a large black iron cauldron with a wooden spoon.

"Sit down and make yourself comfortable," the woman told them, pointing to the table and chairs. "The gingerbread will be ready shortly. In the meantime, you must be thirsty. Let me get you some nice refreshing milk."

Neither Hansel nor Gretel knew what gingerbread was, but it smelled delicious and the milk sounded good. They sat down at the table and waited patiently. The woman went to the cupboard and took out a small bottle. She poured some green liquid into a tin cup and then filled it with milk from a jug.

"Here you go, sweetie," she said to Hansel, handing him the cup. "Drink it all up like a good boy. I only have the one cup," she explained to Gretel, "so when he finishes, you can have a turn."

Hansel chugged down the milk. It had a funny bitter taste, but he wasn't fussy. He handed the cup back to the woman. Gretel waited for her turn, but instead the woman asked her if she wouldn't mind filling the water bowl in a large cage at the back of the room. Her cat had gone off after a mouse and will be thirsty when she gets back, she lied. Being clueless, Gretel obliged the woman, stepping into the cage to get the bowl. She heard a clang and turned to find the woman had shut her in.

"What are you doing?" Gretel protested. "Let me out this instant. Hansel, Hansel," she called, "come help me."

But Hansel just sat in the chair. Looking closely, Gretel could see that his eyes were glassy and his head was nodding.

"What have you done to my brother, you old witch," Gretel screamed at the woman, not realizing the accuracy of her insult. "If you don't let me out immediately, when I do I will kick you scrawny butt from here to the village and back again," she threatened.

"Heh, heh, heh," the woman cackled. "To answer your question, missy, your brother has been given a potion that will keep him stupefied for a few hours. As for you, calling me names will get you nowhere. I am a witch and by the time I get through with you, it's your little bubble butt that's going to be in hot water. Two tasty morsels indeed."

"Are you going to eat us?" Gretel asked.

"Eat you? Eat you? Oh for goodness sake, no. I am going to turn your brother into a fairy and sell him. As for you, I haven't decided yet.

"A fairy!" exclaimed Gretel. "I have heard of such magical creatures. Do people buy them?"

The witch shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"Not that kind of fairy. They're make-believe. The kind that likes to suck boys' cocks, that's what I'm talking about."

Gretel thought for a moment, taxing her intellectual ability.

"Then I must be a fairy too," she concluded.

"No, dearie, only boys who like to suck other boys' cocks are fairies," the witch corrected Gretel.

"Then what do you call a girl who likes to do that?" Gretel inquired.

"Popular comes to mind" the witch answered. "May I take it then that you have some experience giving blow jobs?"

"Well, a girl has to keep her tummy filled somehow," Gretel said pragmatically.

"And how much did you charge for your services?"

"Oh, do boys pay for that?" Gretel asked naively.

"Hmm, a slut and stupid," the witch mused. "Perhaps you do have potential after all. With those qualities, you could either be a world class whore or a politician, although, I could not create such a despicable creature."

"Than shall I be turned into a politician, whatever that is?" queried Gretel.

"No dearie, the whore is what I had in mind," the witch replied. "I'll make a deal with you," she offered. "If you give me a hand getting your brother ready for the Halloween Ball, I will introduce you to the madam of a very exclusive bordello in the village. She will provide you with a nice room, a soft bed and lots of men to pump you full of cum. How about it?"

"Well, it would be nice not to bruise my knees on the hard ground anymore and the boys were always complaining about getting their dicks and butts bitten by mosquitoes," Gretel thought out loud. "Then too, my brother is more trouble than he is worth, at least to me. I should be glad to be rid of him, especially after he got us kicked out of the house for humping the lard jar. Okay, I will help you," Gretel agreed.

"Humping the lard jar?" the witch asked incredulously. "That is one I hadn't heard before. Don't you two have anything better to do than have sex?"

"What else is there?" Gretel questioned the witch.

"Spoken like a true harlot. Indeed, you have a great future in prostitution," the witch complimented Gretel. "Now then, we must hurry if we want to have your brother ready."

The witch released Gretel from the cage and offered her some milk to seal their contract. Gretel looked at the cup skeptically, but the witch assured her that it was not drugged, as she wanted her cooperation. Gretel then asked if she could have some of the gingerbread, as she was quite hungry.

"There isn't any, dearie, sorry. I couldn't bake gingerbread on a bet," the witch admitted. That smell is just some spices I keep in the oven to lure runaway children to my house, like you and your brother. They'll be lots of food later. So the sooner we get your brother ready, the sooner you will get to fill you tummy and satisfy your other cravings."

The witch went over to the semi-conscious boy.

"We need to wash him off before we put on his dress. Give me a hand dragging him into the yard, will you."

Gretel paused.

"Shouldn't I be the one to look pretty?"

The witch shook her head.

"A boy who can pass as a girl is very desirable and brings a premium. Your brother's fortunate disregard for cleanliness has left him with long hair and fingernails which will add to the illusion that he is a young lady, once we clean him up. On the other hand, in your new career, clothes just get in the way. Why waste time having your customers fumbling with buttons and laces when you can get right down to business? Now, let's undress your brother and get him ready."

Gretel worked the sack off Hansel's limp body while the witch drew a bucket of water from a nearby well. Using the sack as a washcloth, the witch dipped it in the bucket and began to scrub him, starting at his head and working down to his toes, leaving his rancid prick for last. To her surprise, it got hard as she wiped it. Impressed with the growing pole, the witch continued stroking."

"Does he always get a hard-on this easily?" the witch asked Gretel.

"From the way his sack sticks out in front most of the time, I would say yes. That's why I suggested he put something slippery on it, although not in the way he was going at it."

"Well," said the witch admiringly, "he is quite well endowed and it would be a shame to waste a good stiff cock when it happens to be at hand, so to speak. Hang on for a bit," the witch told Gretel, pulling up her skirt and dropping her pantaloons. "Feel free to play with yourself, if watching me get laid turns you on."

With that, the witch positioned herself over the upright shaft and slowly sank down, then began to bob up and down.

"Mmmmm, that is nice. If I didn't need the money, I wouldn't mind keeping a boy who's this easily aroused and has such a big dick for myself. Mmmm, mmmm, mmmmmmmm," the witch moaned as she picked up the pace. "He, hee, he, heeeeeeee," the witch cried out as she came to a shuddering climax."

Climbing off, the witch saw that Hansel still was erect.

"Wow, the kid won't quit. Do you want a turn, sweetie. Maybe it's young pussy that gets his rocks off?"

"He's my brother. If I cared to fuck him, I wouldn't have had to spend all night in the woods."

"Interesting," the witch mused, "a whore with ethics. Perhaps I should go for the politician after all. Nah," she decided, shaking her head. Returning her attention to Hansel, the witch observed, "we can't very well get him into his undies with that rod poking out. Now is probably as good a time as any to get him broken in. I'll be right back."

The witch went into the cottage and came out with a stool, a small jar and the tin cup. She directed Gretel to sit down on the stool. The witch hauled the still dazed Hansel to his feet and helped him wobble over to Gretel, pushing him down while guiding his cock between her legs, leaving his ass sticking up in the air. Gretel gave the witch a disapproving look at having her brother's manhood so close to her womanhood. Undaunted, the witch placed the cup underneath him, got on her knees, took a big gob of the cream from the jar, spread it on his ass and began to work her finger in and out of his rosebud. Hansel let out a soft moan. As she moved to two fingers in what was obviously, from his increasingly loud moans, a most pleasurable expansion, she reached underneath him with her other hand and began to milk his cock. It did not take too much of her expert handling before he gasped and sent an eruption of cum into the cup, nearly filling it to the brim. By the time she squeezed out the last few drops, it had deflated.

"Now we're talking," the witch said, looking approvingly at the cup. "He is quite the cum cow. I am sure that whoever gets him will be quite pleased with his capacity in all regards."

While Hansel was still sprawled out in his sister's lap, the witch came around to his face. She dipped her fingers in the cup of cum, grabbed his nose and, when he opened his mouth for air, inserted them, coating his tongue. Hansel's mouth closed and she withdrew her fingers. Hansel swallowed and the witch repeated the process until the cup was empty while Gretel looked on with amusement.

"Weren't those the fingers you had up his butt?" she observed.

"Yes," the witch acknowledged with a shrug, "but I'm sure that whoever gets him will not bother to wash his dick after giving him a reaming either. Besides, from the look on his face, I'd say he was happy."

She lifted Hansel's head and turned it so that Gretel could see the silly grin with a mixture of spittle and sperm drooling out of his mouth and dribbling down his chin. The witch wiped it up with her finger and slipped it into his mouth to clean off.

"Okay, now that we have him ready, let's bring him into the cottage and get him dressed."

The witch and Gretel each took an arm. Inside, the witch went to a trunk and began to take out a variety of women's clothing. Lacy silk pantaloons with satin ribbons and a matching camisole, a stayed corset, which she and Gretel laced tightly to nip in his waist, white silk stockings held up with garters, half a dozen filly petticoats and a beautiful rose silk gown into the bodice of which was stuffed little sacks of dried rice. White leather boots with high heels completed the outfit. The witch then attended to his hair and makeup, using a curling iron to create soft waves and skillfully applying lip and cheek rouge. He winced as she used a needle to pierce his ears, inserting gold hoops. Standing back, the witch admired her handiwork.

"I would not recognize Hansel, even though I am his sister, if I had not seen him transformed." He does make a beautiful girl." Turning to the witch, Gretel inquired, "what shall I wear?"

"The sack is good enough," the witch said. "When you get to the whore house, I'm sure the madam will find something suitable to display your charms. Now, go into the vegetable garden and find me a big orange pumpkin, then check the traps around the house and bring me two mice."

"Oh," said a surprised Gretel, "I thought you could not turn things into something else by magic."

"I told you before, all that crap is make-believe," the witch told her. "The pumpkin is for decoration at the Halloween Ball and the mice are for the cat to eat while I'm away, because she sucks at catching them on her own. I've got a buggy and a horse in the barn. Now, unless you've got any more stupid questions, let's get this show on the road."

About an hour after they left the cottage, Hansel began to come to.

"Where am I," he asked groggily, "and why am I in a dress?"

"You are on your way to the Halloween Ball and you are in a dress, because this nice witch took us in and turned you into girl," Gretel explained to her befuddled brother.

"How did she do that?" he asked dumbly.

"Magic," Gretel lied.

"Why does my ass hurt and my mouth taste funny?" he wondered.

"You've been doing girly things with boys," Gretel lied some more.

"Does doing girly things with boys always make your butt sore and leave a funny taste in your mouth?" he asked her.

"You'll get used to it," she assured him from long experience.

Storyteller's note: On their way to the Halloween Ball, the witch stopped at Madam Fortuna's House of Ill Repute and dropped off Gretel, who took to her new career with such enthusiasm that her mattress was worn out three times in the first month, much to her delight and Madam Fortuna's profit. As to Hansel, renamed Hansella, things did not work out as planned. At the ball, the witch met Lady Ashcroft, who paid generously for him, as her husband was both lacking in sexual appetite and strict in supervising her social encounters. A pretty personal attendant with a cock was the perfect solution. As for Hansella, he loved wearing girl's clothes, especially silky smooth pantaloons that did not chafe. And so Hansel and Gretel lived hornily ever after.

The End.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.

Harriet Porter and the Chamber of Victoria's Secret

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Adult Oriented (r21/a)

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Body, Mind or Soul Exchange

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Harriet Porter and the Chamber of Victoria's Secret
By Missy Crystal

Harriet Porter was very concerned.

"Herman, do you think the old wizard is in some kind of trouble?" she asked. "He has been acting very oddly, disappearing for days at a time. Perhaps you should use your magic map to see where he is going."

"Really, Harriet, can't you mind your own business. I am sure he can take care of himself. Besides, the map only works inside the school."

"Yes, Herman, but once we know that he is going out, we can hide under your invisibility cloak and follow him. Please, Herman. Pretty, please Herman, with a cherry on top. I'll let you feel me up. What do you say?"

"Use my map and invisibility cloak to cop a feel, Harriet. Your tits aren't that great, even with your magic bra. Now Chu, she's got a rack worth grabbing."

"Okay, how about a hand job. I mean, it's for the good of the school, Herman."

"Well, if that's your best offer, then fine, but you don't get to snoop until after I cum," he bargained, lifting his cape and tugging his wiener out of his trousers.

Harriet conjured up some KY jelly, coated her hands and got to work. In about three minutes, Herman was moaning ecstatically.

"Mmmm, mmmm, oh yeah, faster, mmm, mmm, I'm cumming. Open your mouth, so we don't make a mess."

"In your dreams lover. You can shoot the future wizards on the floor."

Harriet gave a few more strokes and Herman erupted.

"There. Happy? Now lets take a look at your map."

Tucking himself back in, Herman produced the map and they began to study it.

"See, there he is and he's heading for the forbidden West Wing. He's going up the staircase, down the corridor. Wait, I don't remember a door there. He's in a secret room. I wonder what he's up to? Let's wait until he leaves and then check it out."

About an hour later, Herman and Harriet saw him leave. Once the map showed him back in his chambers, they began their investigation. Arriving at the spot where the room should be, all they found was a blank wall.

"Maybe it's hidden," suggested Harriet.

Herman pulled out his wand, pointed at the wall and incanted, "doorus appearus." There was a brief shower of sparks from the wand, the wall began to glow and a wooden door with iron fastenings appeared.

"Nice work, Herman," Harriet complimented him.

Herman tried the handle.

"It's locked."

"Stand back," Harriet cautioned him.

"Coitus interruptus," she incanted, tapping the handle with her wand. Nothing happened.

"Harriet, really! Is sex the only thing you think about?"

"No, there's other things, like, umm, well, umm, I'm sure there's something else. Oh, my grades, yes. Definitely. You know how hard I study, Herman."

"Harriet, the only studying you do is the ceiling. You screw every one of your professor in return for them giving you A's. Although you have Professor McGoogle for potions, how do you manage that?"

"Herman, dear boy, grow up. Not every woman is partial to cock, you know. Here, stand back and let me concentrate. "Lockus openuppus."

The door did not budge.

"Wait," said Herman. "See here on the door. There's some writing. It says, V-i-c-t-o-r-i-a, spelling out the letters. 'Victoria," he recited, putting the letters together. I wonder if that's a password. Try the spell again with the name."

"Openuppus Victoria," Harriet incanted, waiving her wand.

Herman tried the handle again and it opened into a dark chamber. The two stepped in and the door closed behind them.

"Lightus onnus," Harriet incanted. The room lights were reflected by mirrors on the walls and ceiling. Moving over to one of the walls, she pressed against it and it swung open, revealing an assortment of women's exotic underwear. She opened two more and found sexy dresses, high heeled shoes, makeup and wigs."

"I can't believe this, Harriet. the old geezer has a girlfriend."

"No, you dipshit," Harriet corrected him. "He's a transvestite. These are his and he has really good taste," she said, holding up a really sexy rhinestone studded bustier with garters.

"You mean he dresses up in this stuff?"

"Yes, lots of men like to make themselves girly. See how soft and silky these stocking feel. Can't you imagine them caressing your legs and can't you feel yourself hugged by a sexy garter belt to hold them up. Admit it Herman," she teased him, "this stuff turns you on. You want to wear it, don't you," she coaxed. "Go ahead, I won't tell."

"No," I don't.

"How, about if you were a girl, then you'd want to wear it, wouldn't you."

"I'm not a girl, Harriet."

"You could be, Herman. I just read up on a transference spell that would let us swap bodies. We both have to cast it at the same time. How about it, Herman. Want to see what it's like to be a sexy girl?"

"Are you serious? You'd really swap bodies with me?"

"Sure. We just face each other, say the magic words," she repeated them, "and tap each other on the forehead at exactly the same time. Ready?"

The two faced each other, said the magic words and tapped the other on the forehead with their wand.

"So, I don't feel any different," said Herman in Harriet's voice.

"Look in the mirror, Herman," she replied in his voice.

"Wow, I am a girl. Cool. Can I try on the stuff now?"

Over the next half hour, Harriet dressed Herman up in different outfits and put on his makeup. Finally she said, "Okay, time to go."

"What do you mean, time to go. We have to change back first."

"Why?"

"You mean you want to stay like this?"

"Sure, for a while. It will be fun."

"Okay," Herman agreed.

The two left and each went to the other's dorm. Herman couldn't wait to see Chu and the other girls naked.

A week later, the two returned to the secret room.

"Well, Herman, it was definitely an experience. According to that red-headed slut Ginny Stoat, you have the smallest dick of anyone on the broom hockey team. Oh, and her brother Don, I think he's in love with you. At least he didn't seem to mind when I buggered him in the shower."

"You fucked Don in the ass?"

"Crudely put, but yes. He bent over to pick up the soap and I couldn't resist such a tempting target, since I just happened to be packing a hard on. Naked guys do that to me. Well, they make my pussy drip, but I didn't happen to have one of those handy. I bet you can turn the little twerp into pretty good cocksucker for those boring nights alone in the dorm. Better than jerking yourself off. Honestly, I don't know what I ever saw in him."

"Speaking of drippy pussys, Harriet, I had to change my panties every couple of hours until I figured out how to use a tampon. I thought you had a disease, but it turns out to be accumulated cum. Oh, and your contraceptive amulet, its supposed to last a month or 100 lays, but it's expiration date is in 20 days and its worn out, which explains the dripping. Not to worry though, I made sure to replenish the supply. That Professor Snipe is a wildman. He must have contributed three quarts before he finished with me, but you are getting an A for the semester in Dark Arts. And the Chess Team, you made quite a hit with them. They're very appreciative for your clearing up their acne. Hard to believe there's so many students who play chess. They also voted you their mascot after discovering that they could fit an entire chess set in your twat. Speaking of which, the next time you see the gynecologist, you might have him check for the missing knight."

"Okay, Herman, we've both had our fun. Now I want my body back. Being a guy is okay, but I like fucking guys better than girls."

"No thanks, I like being a girl. You were right. The clothes are really fun. Once you've worn lace panties, you never want to wear briefs again, and stockings do feel better than sox too."

"Herman, that's not fair. Now stop kidding around and let's swap."

"No. I like things the way they are. I'm a hot babe who can get laid whenever she wants and you're a nerd who has a homicidal maniac after him. So now who's the greatest wizard in the world now, Mr. Porter."

How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Donald Trump

Author:

Missy

Caution:

CAUTION: Language

Audience Rating:

Adult Oriented (r21/a)

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

TG Themes:

Accidental

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE DONALD TRUMP
By Missy Crystal

[Scene 1 - an orbiting spacecraft]

Is the cloaking device activated Lieutenant?

Aye, aye, Captain. We are in an undetectable solar day geosynchronous orbit over the planet.

Excellent. We don't want the Earthlings to know of our intervention. Is the genetic modification program ready to be deployed?

On your command.

Excellent. The Galactic Council wants an attitude adjustment for this belligerent species before they destroy themselves and their planet. Based on their easily manipulated double-stranded DNA, we can get this done and still have time for R & R before returning to base. Okay. Three. Two. One. Boobs away.

[Scene 2 - the White House Master Bedroom]

Good morning, Melania. [POTUS sits up] What the fuck? I've got tits.

Donald, what? [FLOTUS sits up] Oh my god. My beautiful breasts are gone. [Looks at POTUS]. How did you do that. Is this some kind of secret program you've had the scientists working on instead of climate change? This isn't funny. I want them back. Now, Donald!

What are you talking about. I didn't do this. I like women with big tits. You know. I like to grope them and they let me, because I'm a celebrity.

Donald, do you have a pussy too? That would be ironic.

[POTUS puts right hand into pajamas]. No. I still have a dick. Hmmm.

Please let go of yourself and concentrate. How did this happen?

I don't know. That's why I have all those guys on the National Security Council. Maybe it's the Russians. Or the Chinese. Or that North Korean guy with the funny haircut. [POTUS unbuttons pajama tops and looks down admiringly] Actually, this is quite a rack. [POTUS puts hand under breasts and jiggles]. Nice and firm and check out the nipples.

Of course, Donald, it's all about you. What about me. I spent a lot of money on them and now they're gone. None of my designer dresses will fit right. [FLOTUS sighs]. I suppose I can get breast forms. If Angelina Jolie can have hers removed and still look good, I can too. In the meantime, I can stuff my bra with pantyhose. Donald?

Hmmm.

That's it. The leader of the free world wakes up with breasts and all you can do is masturbate?

I'm not masturbating.

Your left hand is playing with your nipple. What's your right hand doing?

Confirming my manhood is functional.

You're confirmation is about to make a mess. Donald, really! The world is in crisis and you're jerking off?

Okay. Okay. Geez. I can get dressed and check.

What are you planning to wear? I can loan you one of my bras.

Why do I need a bra?

Because the President of the United States cannot show his nipples.

Why not?

Be my guest, Madam President.

What?

Nothing. More irony.

Are we the same size?

I'd say so. DD, but you're much bigger around your chest. I suppose we could use one of your ties and knot it to the bra band to extend it until you can get your own. Slide your arms through the straps, lean forward and slip your breasts into the cups [FLOTUS starts giggling]. Sorry.

[FLOTUS's is interrupted by frantic knocking on bedroom door].

[POTUS] What? Who is it?

[Voice of VPOTUS] Mr. President, I have breasts. So do all the male staff members. The women lost theirs. Kelly Anne refuses to come out of the bathroom. What should we do?

Where's Bannon?

I believe he is drafting an Executive Order for transgendered equality.

Mike, do you have tits too?

Yes. You need to listen. We all do.

Are they as big as mine?

I don't know. Open the door.

Okay. [POTUS walks over and opens bedroom door] Holy crap, Mike! You're wearing a dress.

Yes, it's my wife's. [VPOTUS twirls around]. Do you like it? Do you think it makes my butt look big?

Very pretty. Melania. I need a dress.

Mine won't fit you. They're all tailored.

I'm the President and Commander and Chief. I can't go out like this. Get me a god damn dress. And stockings? Do I need stockings? And one of those sexy things with straps?

You need to shave your legs if you want to wear stockings and I wear pantyhose. Garter belts are for porno stars. Never mind. I forgot who I'm talking to.

Okay, whatever. Pence has a dress. I want a dress. The President has to look better than the VP.

I could probably find a skirt with an elastic waist and a lose top.

Is it a designer?

I thought you were more interested in taking women's clothes off than putting them on.

[VP's cell phone rings] Hello. Yes, right away. Mr. President, the National Security Council is waiting for you in the West Wing. We need to go.

I'm not dressed. Melania!

Here. [Hands POTUS a gray silk accordion-pleated skirt and white blouse].

Panties too?

Seriously, Donald? You can't wear your boxers? Who's going to see what you have underneath?

What if someone looks up my skirt?

Yes, I forgot your preference for Wall Street perverts. Panties it is. White or black? Silly question. Here. [FLOTUS hands POTUS black nylon hip huggers with lace inserts at the hips]. Now get dressed. I'm just going to get my cell phone. [FLOTUS in Slovenian]. This has to be the mother of all Kodak moments.

What?

Never mind.

[Scene 3 - West Wing NSC conference room]

Are we all here? General, you're out of uniform. [POTUS laughs at Mad Dog]. General Mattis returns a one fingered salute.

Okay guys, brief me.

[Derisive laughter as POTUS sits down and flashes panties]. Those are some briefs. For Christ sakes, Donald, cross you legs.

Is this happening all over the world? [POTUS fondles breasts].

[National Security Advisor Kelley] As far as we can determine, Mr. President. Oh my God, all that trouble to rig the election and I can't stop thinking that you look like Hillary. [Laughs uncontrollably. Rest of NSC joins in].

She wore pantsuits. Okay, I want an Executive Order banning pantsuits. Then everyone will know how much better my legs look.

Mr. President, we have a military crisis.

Wait. [Takes out cell phone] I'm going to Tweet: Donald J. Trump @ realDonaldTrump. My legs better than Hillary's. Look her up. Big thighs.

Mr. President, we have a military crisis.

Can I nuke them?

Who?

Whoever is causing the crisis?

No.

Why not?

Because we don't know who is causing it.

It has to be the Russians. Or the Chinese. They don't like us. Or the North Koreans. They hate us. Nuke them all.

The problem isn't them, it's us.

You just said it was them.

No, Sir, you said it was them. I said it was us.

You want me to nuke the US?

Not the letters U and S, as in United States; us, as in us men with tits. Because our soldiers don't have bras. They can't go into battle bouncing and jiggling. It's distracting. We have the Pentagon procurement office designing battle bras, but they say it will take two to five years for a prototype and they will cost $9,000 each.

What if we have them made offshore? I could call the factory in China that makes my ties.

The Chinese have declared bras a military resource. They won't export them.

You mean the Chinese soldiers have bras and ours don't? This is terrible. We need to close the bra gap. [Laughter from NSC].

What about getting rid of these tits. At least for the military. You know, join up, see the world, lose your tits. I'll bet recruitment would go way up. The AHCA doesn't cover breast removal. According to Bannon, it doesn't cover anything, which is why it will save us a ton of money. It would be a nice perk for enlistment. That reminds me, where is that guy?

He's hiding in the bathroom with Kelly Anne, I believe.

The same bathroom?

He had the Secretary of HHS declare that all public restrooms are now unisex.

What do the scientists say?

You fired them all.

What about the doctor guy?

What doctor guy?

The one who tells people they'll die if they smoke, him.

The Surgeon General?

Yes.

The tobacco lobby convinced you not to appoint one.

Obama had one, didn't he?

Yes.

What about him. Is he still around?

Maybe. We can check.

In the meantime, do we know if Putin has bigger tits than me?

What?

Bigger tits. Pay attention. As the world leader, I have to have bigger tits than Putin or the English woman or what's her name, the German. No, wait, they don't have tits any more, so mine are bigger than theirs. But what about Putin. I can't make great deals if I don't have bigger tits.

I thought you said you had to be a bigger dick. Sorry, have a bigger dick. We lost twelve agents trying to get a peek at his pecker to confirm your superior manhood. Now you want to know his bra size?

It's a matter of national security.

[Scene 4 - the Oval Office]

Well, Mike? Did you find him?

Yes, but he won't come.

[POTUS has tantrum] I'm the fucking President of the fucking United fucking States of fucking America. What the fuck do you mean he won't come.

He said something in a foreign language which I took to be directions for you to engage in self procreation.

What?

I believe the translation is to go fuck yourself.

What about someone else?

I spoke to about a dozen doctors. The AHCA hasn't made you very popular with the medical profession. They all offered you the same advice as the Surgeon General. The best I could do is Newt Gingrich's wife's gynecologist, Dr. Strangelove.

He's a pussy doctor?

Yes, a gynecologist.

Send him in.

[Man in white lab coat enters] Gudt evenink Herr Fuhrer, umm, Mr. President. [Tries to suppress raised arm salute by grabbing arm. Struggles briefly].

Dr. Strangelove, thank you for coming. I need some help understanding what is going on. Why do men have tits. [POTUS gropes breasts for emphasis]. Hmmm.

Mr. President?

Oh, right. Why do we have these babies and the women don't?

Yes, babies.

What about these babies. Nice, huh? Bigger than Putin's. Hillary's too, when she had them. World class.

Yes, Herr, Mr. President, but is not boobies, is babies, liddle ones, I am thinkink. Dat bin da reason fur breaschts on men. Evolution.

Doctor, I am a very smart man. I have a business degree from Wharton which daddy paid a lot of money to get me. He had to give them a friggin' building. Evolution is a hoax. The Chinese invented it to confuse us.

Nein, real evolution. Millions of years, but mit all da microwaves ve bin broadcast, I belief ve haf shpeedt it tup. Separatink havink da babies frum raisink da babies bin da logical necht shtep.

Raising babies?

Yes. Breaschts, fully functional. Can give milk. Ya, see, leaking.

What do you mean leaking? [POTUS looks at crotch]. I'm perfectly dry.

Not there. Here. [Doctor points to POTUS's chest]. See, breaschts are beink full mit milk unt da nipples, leaking. [Doctor walks over and squeezes POTUS's right breast].

Jesus Christ, who said you could feel me up.

An experimink. Like cow. Give milk. You nursing. See. [Dr. Strangelove points to large wet spot spreading over POTUS's chest]. You vill need to milk efrey few hours. If no, breaschts mach pain.

They are beginning to feel pretty heavy and tight. Can you show me how?

Nicht mit da titty shkweezin.

This is America. Speak English.

No. Squeeze your own tits.

What about removing them?

No gudt. Grow back, I tink.

Tits grow back?

Women's breaschts, nein. No. Men's ya. Yes, regenerate. Develop quickly.

[Telephone rings on POTUS's desk. VPOTUS answers]. Hello. Yes, he knows. No he doesn't know. I'll tell him. Donald, the troops are lactating.

Mike, small words. I have a business degree.

Another military crisis. Our armed forces need to milk themselves every few hours. They can't concentrate. We need breast pumps to speed things up.

So?

They're made in China too.

Okay, I've had it with the Chinese. Where's the football?

That's your solution to everything? Nuke 'em.

Yes. You tell those motherfuckers that either they hand over the bras and pumps or we blow them off the face of the earth.

[Scene 5 - deep space]

Captain, I just received a communication from the Galactic Counsel.

They want to give me a promotion for my brilliant handling of the Earth assignment? Admiral has a nice ring to it.

No. They said to tell you that their long range telemetry just confirmed the Earth blew up and, being the one responsible for the extinction of an entire species, if you know what's good for you and the crew, the ship will embark on a one way mission to explore new worlds in a galaxy far, far away.

How I Learned to Stop Worrying And Love Donald Trump CV-19

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Adult Oriented (r21/a)

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

TG Themes:

Accidental

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love Donald Trump
By Missy Crystal

[Scene 1 - an orbiting spacecraft]

Is the cloaking device activated Lieutenant?

Aye, aye, Captain. We are in an undetectable solar day geosynchronous orbit over the planet.

Excellent. We don't want the Earthlings to know of our intervention. Is the transmorphic virus ready to be deployed?

On your command.

Excellent. The Galactic Council wants an attitude adjustment for this belligerent species before they destroy themselves and their planet. Based on their easily manipulated biochemistry, we can get this done and still have time for R & R before returning to base. Okay. Three. Two. One. Boobs away.

[Scene 2 - the White House Master Bedroom]

Good morning, Melania. [POTUS sits up] What the fuck? I've got tits.

What are you talking about. I didn't do this. I like women with big tits. You know. I like to grope them and they let me, because I'm a celebrity.

Donald, do you have a pussy too? That would be ironic.

[POTUS puts right hand into pajamas]. No. I still have a dick. Hmmm.

Please let go of yourself and concentrate. How did this happen?

Hmmm.

That's it. The leader of the free world wakes up with breasts and all you can do is masturbate?

I'm not masturbating.

Your left hand is playing with your nipple. What's your right hand doing?

Confirming my manhood is functional.

You're confirmation is about to make a mess. Donald, really! The world is in crisis and you're jerking off?

Okay. Okay. Geez. I can get dressed and check.

What are you planning to wear? I can loan you one of my bras.

Why do I need a bra?

Because the President of the United States cannot show his nipples.

Why not?

Be my guest, Madam President.

What?

Nothing. More irony.

Are we the same size?

FLOTUS is interrupted by frantic knocking on bedroom door].

[POTUS] What? Who is it?

[Voice of VPOTUS] Mr. President, I have breasts. So do all the male staff members. The women lost theirs. Kelly Anne refuses to come out of the bathroom. What should we do?

Where's Bannon?

I believe he is drafting an Executive Order for transgendered equality.

Mike, do you have tits too?

Yes. You need to listen. We all do.

Are they as big as mine?

I don't know. Open the door.

Okay. [POTUS walks over and opens bedroom door] Holy crap, Mike! You're wearing a dress.

Yes, it's my wife's. [VP twirls around]. Do you like it? Do you think it makes my butt look big?

Very pretty. Melania. I need a dress.

Mine won't fit you. They're all tailored.

I'm the President and Commander and Chief. I can't go out like this. Get me a god damn dress. And stockings? Do I need stockings? And one of those sexy things with straps?

You need to shave your legs if you want to wear stockings and I wear pantyhose. Garter belts are for porno stars. Never mind. I forgot who I'm talking to.

Okay, whatever. Pence has a dress. I want a dress. The President has to look better than the VP.

I could probably find a skirt with an elastic waist and a lose top.

Is it a designer?

I thought you were more interested in taking women's clothes off than putting them on.

[VP's cell phone rings] Hello. Yes, right away. Mr. President, the National Security Council is waiting for you in the West Wing. We need to go.

I'm not dressed. Melania!

Here. [Hands POTUS a gray silk accordion-pleated skirt and white blouse].

Panties too?

Seriously, Donald? You can't wear your boxers? Who's going to see what you have underneath?

What if someone looks up my skirt?

What?

Never mind.

[Scene 3 - West Wing NSC conference room]

Are we all here? General, you're out of uniform. [POTUS laughs at Mad Dog]. General Mattis returns a one fingered salute.

Okay guys, brief me.

[Derisive laughter as POTUS sits down and flashes panties]. Those are some briefs. For Christ sakes, Donald, cross your legs.

Is this happening all over the world? [POTUS fondles breasts].

She wore pantsuits. Okay, I want an Executive Order banning pantsuits. Then everyone will know how much better my legs look.

Mr. President, we have a military crisis.

Wait. [Takes out cell phone] I'm going to Tweet: Donald J. Trump @ realDonaldTrump. My legs better than Hillary's. Look her up. Big thighs.

Mr. President, we have a military crisis.

Can I nuke them?

Who?

Whoever is causing the crisis?

No.

Why not?

Because we don't know who is causing it.

It has to be the Russians. Or the Chinese. They don't like us. Or the North Koreans. They hate us. Nuke them all.

The problem isn't them, it's us.

You just said it was them.

No, Sir, you said it was them. I said it was us.

You want me to nuke the US?

What if we have them made offshore? I could call the factory in China that makes my ties.

The Chinese have declared bras a military resource. They won't export them.

You mean the Chinese soldiers have bras and ours don't? This is terrible. We need to close the bra gap. [Laughter from NSC].

He's hiding in the bathroom with Kelly Anne, I believe.

The same bathroom?

He had the Secretary of HHS declare that all public restrooms are now unisex.

What do the scientists say?

You fired them all.

What about the doctor guy?

What doctor guy?

The one who tells people they'll die if they smoke, him.

The Surgeon General?

Yes.

The tobacco lobby convinced you not to appoint one.

Obama had one, didn't he?

Yes.

What about him. Is he still around?

Maybe. We can check.

In the meantime, do we know if Putin has bigger tits than me?

What?

It's a matter of national security.

[Scene 4 - the Oval Office]

Well, Mike? Did you find him?

Yes, but he won't come.

[POTUS has tantrum] I'm the fucking President of the fucking United fucking States of fucking America. What the fuck do you mean he won't come.

He said something in a foreign language which I took to be directions for you to engage in self procreation.

What?

I believe the translation is to go fuck yourself.

What about someone else?

He's a pussy doctor?

Yes, a gynecologist.

Send him in.

[Man in white lab coat enters] Gudt evenink Herr Fuhrer, umm, Mr. President. [Tries to suppress raised arm salute by grabbing arm. Struggles briefly].

Dr. Strangelove, thank you for coming. I need some help understanding what is going on. Why do men have tits. [POTUS gropes breasts for emphasis]. Hmmm.

Mr. President?

Oh, right. Why do we have these babies and the women don't?

Yes, babies.

What about these babies. Nice, huh? Bigger than Putin's. Hillary's too, when she had them. World class.

Yes, Herr, Mr. President, but is not boobies, is babies, liddle ones, I am thinkink. Dat bin da reason fur breaschts on men. Evolution.

Nein, real evolution. Millions of years, but mit all da microwaves ve bin broadcast, I belief ve haf shpeedt it tup. Separatink havink da babies frum raisink da babies bin da logical necht shtep.

Raising babies?

Yes. Breaschts, fully functional. Can give milk. Ya, see, leaking.

What do you mean leaking? [POTUS looks at crotch]. I'm perfectly dry.

Not there. Here. [Doctor points to POTUS's chest]. See, breaschts are beink full mit milk unt da nipples, leaking. [Doctor walks over and squeezes POTUS's right breast].

Jesus Christ, who said you could feel me up.

An experimink. Like cow. Give milk. You nursing. See. [Dr. Strangelove points to large wet spot spreading over POTUS's chest]. You vill need to milk efrey few hours. If no, breaschts mach pain.

They are beginning to feel pretty heavy and tight. Can you show me how?

Nicht mit da titty shkweezin.

This is America. Speak English.

No. Squeeze your own tits.

What about removing them?

No gudt. Grow back, I tink.

Tits grow back?

Women's breaschts, nein. No. Men's ya. Yes, regenerate. Develop quickly.

[Telephone rings on POTUS's desk. VP answers]. Hello. Yes, he knows. No he doesn't know. I'll tell him. Donald, the troops are lactating.

Mike, small words. I have a business degree.

Another military crisis. Our armed forces need to milk themselves every few hours. They can't concentrate. We need breast pumps to speed things up.

So?

They're made in China too.

Okay, I've had it with the Chinese. Where's the football?

That's your solution to everything? Nuke 'em.

Yes. You tell those motherfuckers that either they hand over the bras and pumps or we blow them off the face of the earth.

[Scene 5 - deep space]

Captain, I just received a communication from the Galactic Counsel.

They want to give me a promotion for my brilliant handling of the Earth assignment? Admiral has a nice ring to it.

Kinky Booties

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Adult Oriented (r21/a)

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

KINKY BOOTIES
By Missy Crystal

After five years of marriage and a son, I realized that a big dick by itself was not predictive of matrimonial bliss and divorced Carl. I met Bruce at a community theatre company. He was helping with the scenic design and I was doing the costumes. Bruce also was divorced. His wife left him and their then five-year-old daughter. I guessed she found out that the opposite was not true either. David did his duty in the bedroom when called on, but with his physical shortcomings, pun intended, I settled for companionship.

My college major was fashion design. I never cared for modern styles. They were basically a tube with as much material as possible creatively cut away or made transparent to leave little or nothing to the imagination. I preferred making period costumes. The well-dressed 19th century woman wore ribboned camisoles, multiple layers of lacy petticoats, boned corsets and intricately designed dresses. Learning to

sew them was an art. Unfortunately, by the time I graduated, most costumes were being made offshore, so I switched to making custom window treatments. I did very well, until the next generation of home buyers decided that drapes and valences were old-fashioned dust collectors. My workshop was struggling. If things didn’t improve, I would have to start laying people off. Bruce had the same outsourcing issue as a graphic artist and he was doing freelance book illustrations and website design from home.

When my son Jack – my name is Jill and my dumbass husband thought it was funny – and Bruce’s daughter Kate, who matured into Kiki, left for college last fall, we converted their playroom in the basement into a studio for Bruce. One afternoon, our next-door neighbor called with an emergency. Their water heater was leaking and they needed an additional hose to drain it. I went down to tell him. When he left, I noticed that his home page was open. I was curious to see what he was working on, so I clicked on the “Projects” icon. Dozens of files appeared. I opened one. On the large high quality graphics screen was a video titled “Nanny for Adult Baby Fucks His Ass with Big Pink Strapon Cock.” The title said it all.

As I was engrossed with the woman’s jackhammering of a diapered guy, I heard a gasp. “Jill,” hyperventilating, “no, oh God, no,” hyperventilating, “I’m not, it’s not …,” hyperventilating. I thought he was going to pass out. He stopped and got his breath. “I’m sorry, please, I’m not, it’s not,” he reiterated. Finally, having run out of breath and words to explain the obvious, he went upstairs. I exited the video. Bruce was in the kitchen with his head down. I did a quick survey to make sure that there were no sharp objects around. Satisfied that neither of us was in imminent danger, I approached him. He looked up at me sadly.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t divorce me.”

“Why would I do that?” He looked at me blankly. “You’re a good husband and a good father. I’m the one who should apologize.” He shook his head in disbelief. “We all have our private fantasies and I had no right to look at your computer without your permission,” I conceded.

“You’re not mad?” he asked timidly.

“No.” I gave him a reassuring hug.

Actually, it was quite the opposite. What I saw turned me on. Maybe it was the answer to our unsatisfying sex life. I wasn’t sure how to make the fantasy become a reality. I needed to do some more research. “Everything will be okay. Mommy is going to take care of her baby,” I tested him. He looked at me questioningly, trying to decide if I was serious or teasing him. “Now you just run along,” I said dismissively. I need to go to my shop for a little while.”

I used my office computer to google the words I remembered from the video, “adult baby.” The search brought up dozens of sites for clothes, diapers and accessories. I was amazed that many of them were carried on conventional websites. Expanding my search to stories and videos brought a graduate education. As I got into the genre, I was confused between ABDL’s and sissies. It seemed like the former’s fetish was for being forced to wear diapers by a dominant woman and the latter was having gay sex while being dressed up as effeminate little girls. My inquiry was interrupted by the need to finger myself to an orgasm or two. Okay, I didn’t keep count.

I had never seen Bruce show any signs of being gay, so I assumed that it was domination and not cock that he craved, although they didn’t seem to be mutually exclusive. The stories used hypnosis and drugs to take control, but neither was practical. Besides, Bruce was already

willing, he just needed encouragement. Based on the videos, age play was the way to go. Conveniently, costumes were the dominant, again pardon the pun, factor. All I needed was for Bruce to let me dress him in baby clothes. Going back online, there was a discrepancy between the frilly, lacy dresses puffed out by frou-frou petticoats in the stories and the simple onesies, rompers and diaper covers available online. It was a niche I could fill.

My interest in making clothes started with my mother. She loved to sew. I remembered that she would purchase patterns from the fabric store and I recalled from my fashion classes that petticoats were the style in the ‘50’s. I searched and found dozens of vintage patterns for sale. I looked through the catalogs and ordered adult sized pacifiers and bottles. The bondage items that prevented use of the hands or restricted movement weren’t necessary. I expected that once Bruce accepted my control, he would be compliant. Ironically, at least from my

perspective, diapers were a problem. Humiliation by having lost control of the most basic bodily functions was explicit in the stories, although not in the videos, much to the relief of the production crew, I would assume. Nor did that aspect appeal to me. However, the adult disposables were expensive, their discovery in our trash bins would raise embarrassing questions for both of us and the image of Bruce waddling around in a messy diaper turned me on, fortunately addressed by another pause in my “research.” It would have to be cloth diapers.

Bruce was in the kitchen when I returned home. The table was set and I could smell pizza. “Here,” he offered me a piece of paper. “It’s the password for my computer.” He looked at me sadly and sighed. “I deleted the files. I don’t want to have any more secrets from you.” It was clear that his contrition was sincere.

I was about to hand him the paper back and assure him that it was okay. Then I realized that he was offering me control over his computer and his browsing. Baby steps on the way to domination. I put the note in my pocket. “Okay,” I said sternly. “When you watched those videos, did you masturbate?” His eyes went wide. “You said no more secrets,” I challenged him. He hung his head sheepishly. “And did you pretend it was you?” He nodded. I had him! “Do you have a little girl’s name?” He took a deep breath. “Alice,” he admitted. “Well, Alice, no more wanking without my permission.” He submissively agreed.

The sewing patterns and ABDL accessories arrived a few days later. Little girls are flat chested, so I used one of Bruce’s t-shirts as a measure for the bodice and a pair of extra-large briefs for the diaper covers. By the end of the week, I had all the supplies I needed. On Monday, I explained to my four Vietnamese workers that business was slow, so we would be making theatrical costumes. I assigned them dresses, petticoats, bibs, bonnets, ankle socks and booties. The adult diapers would have been too hard to explain, so I made them myself. By the end of the week, everything was ready.

On Saturday morning I told Bruce to shave and then come back to the bedroom, I had a surprise for him. His anticipation of sex was enough to encourage his compliance. “I want your face to feel soft and smooth like a baby’s bottom,” I teased him provocatively. I laid out the baby clothes on the bed while he was gone and conspicuously put a wooden hairbrush next to them. When he returned, his eyes went wide. “Get undressed,” I ordered him. “Mommy wants to meet baby Alice.”

“Jill,” he hesitated. I could see he realized that, unlike his namesake, once he went down the rabbit hole there was no coming back.

“Little baby girls don’t use words and they obey their mommies or they have a session with Mr. Hairbrush,” I warned him. He looked at the bed, at me, back at the bed, took a deep breath and began to undress. I laid out the diaper and fastened it. I inserted a finger in the leg

opening to make sure that they were tight. A pink nylon rumba panty with rows of lacy white ruffles on the back, a full white nylon petticoat with layers of flounces, a pink dress with white ruffled cap sleeves and a short skirt exposing the panty, white ankle socks and white booties completed the adult baby wardrobe.

I picked up the hairbrush, smiled to reassure Alice that I was pleased with her obedience, styled her hair into bangs and tied on the bonnet. I studied her face. “Don’t move.” I applied a hint of blush, bubble gum pink lip gloss and used a curler and mascara to give her long fluttery lashes. I stepped back. Alice looked like a baby doll, literally. “I need to have your ears pierced,” I mused. She started to speak. “Shhhsh,” I put a finger to her lips. “Babies do not use words without their mommy’s permission,” I reminded her.

Let’s go have breakfast. I took her hand and led her to the kitchen. I pointed to a low stool. When she was seated, I tied on a bib embroidered with “Baby Alice” and pink bunnies, picked up a bottle I prepared and put it up to her mouth. She gave me a questioning look. From the stories, I knew that bottles were used both to reward and punish. “It’s just Enfamil, baby formula.” She took the nipple and began to nurse. “And diuretics and a laxative.” She stopped. I held the bottle firmly in her mouth. It was voodoo, but believing it would have the same effect. “You’re the one that fantasized about being diapered,” I admonished her.

I undid her bib and used it to wipe up the dribbles around her mouth. “Mommy needs to go to her store and baby Alice needs to come too.” She looked shocked. “Oh, did my little baby girl think that she would just play dress-up at home?” Do you remember the old saying, be careful what you wish for? Well, you got it and mommy is gong to keep you that way.” I couldn’t tell if she was terrified or excited by her future. Probably both, but it didn’t matter “You don’t have to go out in the neighborhood, “I paused, “at least not yet,” holding out the prospect of future humiliation, another common theme in the stories. You can get in the car in the garage and lie down in the back seat.

I took her hand, picked up my purse and started for the door. “Wait! Does baby Alice need her didee changed?” I pulled down her diaper cover and checked. “No? Well, maybe later, when all those nice drugs mommy put in her bottle do their job,” I reinforced the inevitability. She reluctantly allowed me to put her in the car. Maybe I should rethink the baby reins. They were much more authoritarian.

I parked in front of the store. “Mmmm, mmmm,” Alice babbled urgently as she looked around. “Does Alice want mummy to go in back and use the delivery door?” I interpreted. She made a pleading whimper. “Oh, too bad,” I commiserated mockingly, “that door is locked from the inside.” I took her hand. Alice cowered while I pretended to search for my keys. “If you don’t want to draw attention to yourself, then stop making a fuss.” I finally relented and she scrambled inside.

Alice froze when she saw the women. I kept hold of her hand and dragged her in. They stopped working and looked at us. “I am starting a new business,” I explained, “and Alice,” I introduced the adult baby I had in tow, “is going to model them for us.” Being publicly exposed was the ultimate humiliation imposed in the stories. The women covered their mouths in astonishment. Alice shrunk back. “Really Alice, these

nice ladies made your pretty dress and petticoats. Today they’re working on your sleepers. Don’t you want to thank them,” I taunted her. After a futile struggle, she realized that there was no place to hide. “This is Anh, this is Linh and these are her sisters Minh and Pham.” To Alice’s surprise, their interest was professional, not prurient. They chattered in Vietnamese as they checked her dress, adjusting and arranging her skirt and lifting her petticoats.

“Can we see underneath?” Minh asked, pointing to the diaper cover. I walked over. Alice looked at me pleadingly. “Behave,” I said sternly. I pulled the diaper cover down to her knees. The women crowded around inspecting her diaper.

“You made these?” Pham asked. I nodded. “Your baby needs to be changed,” she exclaimed with a laugh.

Apparently, Alice had been trying to hold her bladder in hope of a reprieve and lost control when she was startled. No wonder she was reluctant to have the women look her over. “Okay, you can change her,” I offered. “I have some clean diapers in my office.” I wasn’t sure that the women were expecting to provide childcare, but they seemed to be amused and it would be even more humiliating for Alice. I got a large

sample of blackout curtain material with a polyester backing to use as an adult-sized changing pad and a pink flowered diaper. Alice had finally accepted her situation and was waiting docilly when I returned. I spread the changing pad on the floor. “Lie down,” I ordered, pulling on her arm and guiding her to lie flat with her legs raised. I handed the diaper to Minh. I stood so that Alice couldn’t see that I had my phone out and was videoing.

Minh unfastened the diaper and peeled it back. I could see from the yellow color that Alice had let go a full bladder and the diaper design worked to absorb it. Three was a burst of giggles when the women saw what was underneath. I sighed and shrugged. I handed Pham a pack of wipes from my purse. She gave me a questioning look. I nodded my approval. She passed them out and the four of them started to clean Alice up, leading to more amusement as the effect of four Asian women playing with her pecker after a week of chastity had the inevitable effect. The women looked at me for guidance. Again, I nodded my approval. It only took a few more minutes before Alice began to moan and then deposited a sizeable puddle of cum on her stomach.

Minh offered me the package of wipes. Instead, I bent down and took out Alice’s pacifier. She started to speak. I silenced her with a frown. To the amazement of the audience, I scooped up a glob of cum. Alice looked wide-eyed as she anticipated what was about to happen. I brought it to her mouth. “Open,” I ordered. “There are worse things that mommy can feed her little baby girl,” I warned her. She reluctantly complied. From the excited chatter behind me, I expected the women had come, sorry, not sorry, to realize that this was not about theatrical costumes. To reinforce my dominance and her submission, I continued to feed Alice her cum. When it was gone, I diapered her and pulled up her rumba panties.

Helping Alice to her feet, I dismissed the women and took Alice to my office. I removed the pacifier. “Just listen,” I cautioned her. "What I found on your computer got me started doing some research. It turns out there are a lot of websites that offer adult baby products. The clothes are disappointing. I believe there’s a market for real baby clothes for adults and they bring good money. I want you to build me an online store with a catalog. You will be the model. You have permission to speak.”

Alice had been sucking on her pacifier since the morning and she still had the taste of cum. It took a minute for her to be able to speak. “I can do the website, but I don’t want to model for it. You said you weren’t going to take me out in public. What if someone recognizes me,” she complained worriedly.”

“The only people using the website are adult babies too. At best you would have an equally discreet playmate. Otherwise, they too would be concerned about being discovered.

“What if they posted my picture anonymously or worse blackmailed me?” he argued.

“If this was one of your stories, I could blackmail you with the video I took of you in a pissy diaper getting a handjob and eating your own cum.,” I threatened.

“What? No,” he pleaded, “you didn’t, did you?”

I showed her my phone. “But no,” I conceded, “for the same reasons I accepted you as an adult baby, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t hurt you. Whether you want to go back to working in the basement while I struggle to keep my business going or you model for me, that’s your decision.”

And that is how Bootie Boutique became the premier adult baby porn site. But that’s another story.

Lost and Found Trilogy

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Taxonomy upgrade extras:

Lost and Found

by Missy Crystal

Lost and Found

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Romantic

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Lost and Found
By Missy Crystal

David Benton's parents couldn't understand his wanting to be a girl and sent him to a psychologist for behavior modification. They thought it was working, but, when David turned eighteen, he left home and they haven't heard from him for five years. Now Mrs. Benton has terminal cancer and desperately wants to be reunited with her son. Private Investigator Jack Blaine has been hired to locate him. What will he find?

It started out like any other day. I was in my office finishing up a report for an attorney who had hired me to shadow his client's husband. The photos I took of him going into a motel with his secretary and a photocopy of the registration and credit card slip, which the desk clerk was happy to give me for twenty bucks, would get the wife a nice big settlement when she divorced him. The phone rang.

"Hello, Jack Blaine Investigations. This is Jack Blaine."

"Mr. Blaine, this is Dr. Charles Benton," the caller introduced himself. "I'd like to hire you to find my son David. He left home about five years ago and I need to get in touch with him."

"My rate is $500 a day plus expenses, Dr. Benton."

Damn, I thought to myself, the guy's a doctor, not a cheap-ass lawyer. He's probably loaded. I should have said $1,000 a day. He'd probably have paid it. Well, too late now.

"I am pretty busy, but I could work you in," I promoted myself. "Why don't you come down to my office this afternoon and we can talk about it. Do you have the address?"

He read the address from the phone book.

"Yes, right. How about one o'clock?"

He agreed.

"Bring any information you have. You know, physical description, height, weight, eye and hair color, distinguishing marks or scars, and photos, as many recent photos as you can find. Any personal information he left behind too, passport, driver's license, credit cards, address book, letters, diary, and, oh, if he left a computer or cell phone, those are really helpful."

He would bring what he had.

"Good, I'll see you this afternoon."

I hung up, finished writing the report, made up a bill, put them in a manila envelope, added postage and stuck it on top of my coat, so I wouldn't forget to mail it. It was only eleven o'clock, so I had time to go out and get a cup of coffee and a sandwich. I ate a leisurely lunch at the café across the street, flirted with the cute blonde waitress, not that it ever did any good, she had a boyfriend, and got back to my office about twelve thirty. I neatened up my desk and waited for Dr. Benton.

At precisely one o'clock the office door opened. A well dressed man entered carrying an expensive looking leather briefcase. Damn, I should have told him $1,000.00 a day. He would have paid it. You’re an idiot. I stood up and came around the desk. He crossed the room and stopped in front of me.

"Mr. Blaine, I am Dr. Benton," he formally introduced himself, shifting the briefcase to his left hand and extended his right hand.

I took the hand he offered, shook it, directed him to a chair and returned to sit behind my desk. He put the briefcase on the floor next to him.

"I understand you want me to find your son, is that correct, Dr. Benton."

"Yes, Mr. Blaine. Should it be Detective Blaine? I have no experience in dealing with people like you."

"Mister works. Technically, I'm not a detective. They're police officers who investigate crimes. I'm a licensed private investigator."

"I suppose you want to know about David," he got right to the point.

"The more information you give me, the more likely it is that I will be able to locate him. First off, have you filed a missing person report with the police? They're the ones who handle this type of case initially."

"At my wife's insistence, I tried to report David missing a few years ago, when it became clear that he wasn't coming home. The police said that if he was an adult and left voluntarily, they could not do anything, unless I suspected that he was the victim of a crime, such as being abducted or murdered."

"Okay, so I gather that your son was an adult and that he left home voluntarily, correct?"

"Correct. David graduated from high school five years ago. We thought that his nonsense about wanting to be a girl was over, that the therapy had worked and that he would be going to college; we woke up one morning and he was gone. Just like that. My wife cried for days. She blames me. She thinks that it was my fault for being so hard on him. It was for his own good," Dr. Benton insisted defensively. "He was a bright boy. He did well in school. He had a future. I wasn't going to let him throw it away."

"Hold on, Dr. Benton. You said you son was missing," emphasizing 'son'. "What's this about a girl?"

"The term the psychologist used was 'transgendered,' Mr. Blaine. My wife caught him dressing up in her clothes when he was younger. I put an end to that. At least I thought I did."

"Is that why he left home, Dr. Benton.?" I conjectured.

"I don't know."

"Did he leave a note?"

"No."

"Was there a friend or relative he might have been close to and he went to live with them?"

"I have a brother. I haven't seen him in years. We don't get along. David wouldn't have gone there. Phyllis, my wife, has two sisters, but David hasn't contacted them. My parents are both deceased. Phyllis's parents are retired and live in Florida. They haven't heard from David either."

"Does David have any brothers or sisters or a close friend? Maybe he confided in one of them."

"David is an only child. I should have seen this coming and sent him to military school," Dr. Benton digressed. "They would have made a man out of him. I had the catalogs, but my wife was against it. You know women." He shook his head. Returning to my question, Dr. Benton went on, "after David left we spoke to his teachers and his classmates, but he kept to himself."

"You mentioned that David was seeing a psychologist for his problem with dressing up in women's clothes. What did he, was it a man, have to tell you?"

"Yes, a male psychologist, Dr. George Miller. Unfortunately, David waited to leave until he turned eighteen, so Doctor Miller could not disclose any information without David's permission, not that I believe he would have anyway. I paid him tens of thousands of dollars, because our health insurance wouldn't cover his controversial therapy. He assured us that it works and I doubt he would say anything to contradict the success of his program," Dr. Benton accused him.

Reaching down, Dr. Benton picked up the briefcase and opened it, removing some papers and a videotape.

"I wrote down his physical description, here are some pictures of David which Phyllis took about a month before he left, at his graduation, and here's a videotape of the ceremony."

"Do you mind if I look at the video while you're here. It would be helpful, if I have any questions about what I see."

Dr. Benton looked at his watch.

"Go ahead. It's not that long," Dr. Benton conceded, mistaking my question to be about his schedule.

I had a set-up I used for reviewing surveillance videos. I put in the cassette and hit the play button. The video started. You could hear voices in the background and see an empty stage. The scene panned to a long shot of a group of kids standing around in black caps and grounds. The music started, they marched towards the stage and filed into seats. There was a long boring address, which I fast forwarded through, and then they went up to get their diplomas. There were congratulatory shouts and applause for most of them. From the way the camera quickly zoomed in, I assumed the boy with the long brown hair pulled back in a ponytail was David. There was no sound from his parents or the audience as he took his diploma and walked off. The camera followed him off stage. The video resumed with David standing next to an overdressed, compared to the casual attire of the parents around her, brunette decked out in a lot of diamond jewelry, who I assumed was his mother. Strangely, at least it would have been strange if I didn't know what was going on, he showed no excitement. He just stood there. His mother hugged him and gave him a kiss on his cheek. David continued to stand without showing any emotion. He was shorter than average with fine features. I couldn't tell much about his body with the gown covering him up. When the video ended, I hit stop and rewind. I'd seen what I needed to and gave the cassette back to Dr. Benton. Looking over the photos, I picked out two. One of them was a full body shot and the other a close up showing him from the waist up.

"Did David have a driver's license, Dr. Benton? Did he have a job? Did he have any hobbies or activities he liked?"

"He never got his driver's license," Dr. Benton answered. "David never worked. He didn't have any hobbies or outside activities either. When he was younger, I tried to get him interested in playing sports. I signed him up for a soccer team. He just sat on the bench. He preferred to stay in his room and use his computer."

"Did you check his computer? Often kids get into chat rooms and meet people who talk them into leaving home to meet them. It's very dangerous. Were you able to retrieve any information?"

"David was good with computers. I thought that I would find something, but everything was erased. I took it to a computer specialist. He said that David had reformatted the hard disc and that he couldn't recover the files."

Obviously, David was a smart kid and didn't want to leave any way for his parents to find him. This was going to be hard."

"Did David have a cell phone? Often you can check the call logs or at least look at the phone bill to see who he was calling or who is calling him. It could be a lead."

"David left his cell phone in his room. I checked it out. The only numbers he called or which called him belong to our home phone and my wife's cell phone. I went through the bills too. They did not show any anything."

"Dr. Benton, you've given me no information to work with. I can't run a skip trace with just his name and social security number. The ID has to key into a data base, the police, FBI, Interpol, court records, job inquiries, hospitals. The photos aren't going to be any help either, if you son is dressing up as a girl. With a wig and makeup, he could be sitting right next to me and I wouldn't recognize him. I'm really sorry. I'd like to help you," if he only knew how much, "but I can't take your money." I was really going to hate myself for turning down the case.

Dr. Benton opened up his briefcase again and took out a checkbook.

"Mr. Blaine, I don't know how long my wife has left. The hope of finding David is of some comfort to her and I'm willing to pay for it. Do whatever you can. How much of a retainer do you want?"

Well, I tried to do the right thing I assured myself.

"Tell you what, Dr. Benton. I know someone in the records section of the Police Department who does me a favor from time to time. I can ask her to run a check on David. It's a long shot, but a kid on the street is likely to get himself in trouble, so maybe he's got a record we can find. Today's Wednesday, just give me fifteen hundred for three days work. I'll get back to you on Friday. Give me a number where you can be reached."

Dr. Benton filled out the check.

"My office telephone number is on the check and the answering service knows how to reach me," he said as he handed it to me over the desk.

I looked at the check and did a double take.

"Dr. Benton, you must have misunderstood. I said fifteen hundred. This is for five thousand. I can't accept this."

I handed it back to him.

"Mr. Blaine, take the check and do whatever you can to earn the fee."

I wasn't going to argue with him.

"I'll try, Dr. Benton, but I don't charge for a result I can't produce. I won't take the case otherwise. Do we have an understanding?

"Yes, Mr. Blaine. We have an understanding. I'll look forward to hearing from you."

Dr. Benton got up, picked up his briefcase and started towards the door.

"One more question, Dr. Benton."

He stopped and turned around.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude, but is your son gay. It makes a difference how I go about looking for him."

"I don't know, Mr. Blaine. He never had a girlfriend and he had no boyfriend either. Dr. Miller claimed that he wasn't. We never talked about it, but from his affect, the long hair, the way he behaved, I'd have to say that he was."

After Dr. Benton left, I stashed the check in my desk drawer. I decided not to deposit it until Friday, because having the money in my account would be too much of a temptation to spend it on something foolish, like paying my bills, and I would probably be giving most of it back. Way to go Jack. I picked up the phone, looked through my Rolodex and found Doris's number. I called her.

"Hello, Records Department," Doris answered.

"Hi, Doris, it's Jack, Jack Blaine. How are you?"

"I'm busy Jack. What do you want?"

"Listen Doris, this isn't my usual BS case. I have a client who's looking for his son. He left home about five years ago and they haven't heard from him since. His name is David Benton. All I have is his date of birth, his social and a description. I gave her the information. Could you run a check and see if there's any record for him, please. It's worth a dinner at the best restaurant in town," I enticed her.

"Forget it Jack. I'm not having dinner with you. I want two tickets for the next rock concert at the Arena, deal?"

It was Dr. Benton's money.

"No problem, Doris. Deal. Front row center. Just find the kid for me."

"Okay, Jack. I'll give you a call later today, but you better not welch on me, if you know what's good for you. The meter maid in your area is a good friend. Your car will end up booted and towed to Oshkosh. Understand."

"Doris, how could you?"

"I could, because I know you Jack. Talk to you later."

Doris hung up. I had nothing else going on, so I decided to do some old fashioned leg work. If David was gay, maybe I could find someone who knew him at one of the bars on Tenth Street. I got in my car and drove over. It took me about twenty minutes to find a parking space. The first place I came to was called "The Rawhide Room," whatever. The windows were blacked out, so I opened the door and looked in. It seemed like any other bar, tables, a small stage, dance floor and a long bar, except that it was upholstered in black leather. Not much in the way of décor, in fact, nothing in the way of décor, but then I supposed ambiance wasn't what the customers were looking for. I entered and walked to the bar. The bartender was a young man with dark close cropped hair and a mustache. He was wearing a black t-shirt with a leather vest and had studded cuffs on his wrist. As I got closer and could look over the bar, I saw that he had leather pants with a thick silver chain for a belt. Very tough looking, so I scowled, to let him know I was no pansy, and did my best Bogie impression.

"Hey, bud. I'm looking for a guy."

"Yeah, well, so what. This ain't no dating service. Come back when we're busy and find somebody," he challenged me.

That didn't go well.

"No, I'm a P.I. and I'm looking for a guy, name's David Benton. Ever heard of him?"

I took out the pictures and put them on the bar. He ignored me. I took out a twenty and put it on the bar next to the pictures. That got his attention. He came over, looked briefly, took the twenty and walked away."

"Nope, never saw him."

"He might be dressing as a girl."

The bartender rolled his eyes and gestured around him.

"Buddy, this is a leather bar. We don't get any drag queens in here. Try Ginger's Club about two blocks down."

"Okay, thanks."

He walked off like I wasn't there. I left and walked over to Ginger's. It looked a lot nicer than the other bar from the outside. It was also closed. The sign on the door said that it opened at five. I looked at my watch and it was a little before three. I decided to go back to my office and wait for Doris to call. If I was lucky, I wouldn't need to deal with drag queens. I drove back and parked. It was about three thirty, so I went over to the café and got a piece of apple pie and a cup of coffee. Betty the waitress still ignored my efforts to be social. It was her loss. I picked up a newspaper on my way to my office. I was struggling with the crossword puzzle when the phone rang.

"Hello, Jack Blaine Investigations. This is Jack Blaine."

"No luck," Doris put it succinctly."

"That's okay, Doris. I was hoping that maybe the kid got picked up for something."

"Even if he was in custody, Jack, without any ID on him, he could give a phony name and we couldn't check it out. You're still going to make good on the tickets, aren't you," Doris asked suspiciously.

"Yes, they're yours. Thanks."

"Welcome."

She hung up. Okay, Jack, you get to check out Ginger's after all. It was a little after four. I killed another half hour and then headed back to Tenth Street. I got there just after five. I opened the door and looked in. There was a circular bar in the middle of the room surrounded by tables and booths against the wall. I couldn't see anyone. As I was approaching the bar a woman came around from the other side and smiled when she saw me. I walked over to her and she greeted me enthusiastically.

"Hey lover, I haven't seen you in here before. Are you new in town?"

"No, I'm from around here. I'm looking for someone."

"Aren't we all, sweetie. I'm Lola and you're early, if you're an admirer. The girls don't start showing up until after dark. I get off work at one though. Stick around."

She gave me a smile and winked.

"What's an admirer?"

"You're kidding. An admirer is a guy who likes to date T-girls. You, know, the best of both worlds."

"What's a T-girl?"

She shook her head.

"A transsexual, of course. Are you sure you're in the right bar?"

"I'm not looking for a date. I'm a private investigator and I'm trying to find a boy who may be dressing up as a girl."

I took out my ID card and showed it to her.

"Jack Blaine," she read off my name. "It's nice to meet you, Jack."

She held out her hand and I took it. She didn't shake, just held my hand gently and let it go.

"I still get off at one. Kill two birds with one stone," she offered suggestively.

I took the two photographs out of my pocket and put them on the bar.

"His name is David Benton. Have you seen him?"

She looked at the photos, covered his forehead in the headshot, studied it and then told me no. I took a twenty out of my wallet and put it on the bar next to the photos.

"Would this help your memory?"

She picked up the twenty.

"No, but it will buy you a drink while you wait. Penny is the girl you want to talk to. She works at an outreach program and knows all the T-girls. She usually comes in about eight. What's you pleasure, beer, booze or me? Actually, you can choose two of the three."

I still wasn't sure whether Lola was a man or a woman. She had a husky voice, but her mannerisms were feminine. She flirted with me the way I did with Betty. I didn't want to be rude and study her closely, not that it mattered.

"You say Penny will be in around eight?"

"Usually, but I'm not her social secretary. So, what'll it be?"

"Scotch, please, on the rocks with a twist of lemon."

"Jack, right"

"Yes."

"Well, Jack, I'll even give you the private label stuff."

She reached under the bar, took out a bottle, poured a jigger of scotch into a glass with ice cubes, took a piece of lemon rind from the garnish box, twisted it, dropped it into my glass and stirred it with a swizzle stick. She put down a cocktail napkin and pointed to a booth towards the back of the room. I took the drink and sat at the table. She gave me a smile and went back to work. Every now and then she'd look my way and smile. I tried to be as impassive as possible, so as not to encourage her. I wasn't exactly a ladies many, but maybe she wasn't lady.

I nursed my drink and watched the door. Two guys walked in. They were obviously a couple and from their identical short hair and the fact that they were holding hands, it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out they were gay. I thought this was a place for men who liked to dress as women, but I guess it also attracted men who weren't into dating cowboys. The couple, I guess you'd call them that, gave me a quick once over, ordered drinks and settled into a booth on the opposite side of the bar

About twenty minutes later, a tall black woman came in. She was heavily made up with glittery purple eye shadow, purple lipstick and wearing a tight fitting red mini dress that showed off a set of huge boobs. On her feet were what had to be at least four inch red leather spike heels. What really caught my eye though was that she was a blonde. I assumed she must be a T-girl. She strode over to the bar and got a drink. I could see Lola talking to her and then they both looked over to where I was sitting. The black woman, T-girl, whatever she was, started to come over. Geez Louise, was this Penny? Well, maybe it was just as well. I could get it over with and get going.

"Hey daddy, I'm Jezebel," she introduced herself. "Mind if I join you?"

She slid in next to me. Her big dangly earrings swung back and forth as she moved. Apparently, Jezebel wasn't going to take no for an answer. I suppose the good news was that she wasn't Penny, so I could blow her off. Whoa, careful Jack, better watch what you say around here, I warned myself.

"Lola says you're looking for a T-girl in particular," Jezebel inquired as she pressed up against me.

"Yes, his name is David Benton."

I took out the photos to show her.

"I thought she was TS?"

"TS?"

"TS, a transsexual."

"Oh, well, he dresses up like a girl. Does that make him a transsexual?" I naively asked her.

"You're kidding?"

"No?"

She shook her head and her earrings swung dangerously.

"A guy who just wears women's clothes is a cross-dresser. If that's who you're looking for, you won't find him here. They have their own private clubs where they go to get dressed and hang out. They sashay around for a while and then go back to their wives or girlfriends."

"They're not gay?"

"Most of them aren't. It's a fetish more than a lifestyle. Once they start dressing full time, then they're TV's, transvestites."

"I'm confused."

"Join the club," she said with a deep laugh.

"What's the difference between a TV, a TS and T-girl?"

"It depends on who you talk to. For my money, CD's are straight guys, TV's are gay guys and TS's are females, T-girls."

"What are you, Jezebel, if you don't mind my asking?"

"That's for me to know and you to find out," she answered provocatively. "Want to dance and we can talk about whatever pops up?"

I hadn't noticed, but there was music playing in the background. There must be a sound system that was turned on when it started to get busier.

"No thanks, I'm waiting for Penny."

"What's she got that I haven't got," she questioned me, putting her hands under her breasts and bouncing them in my direction.

"Information, I hope," I replied, avoiding her invitation for closer inspection.

"Oh well, your loss. I'll be around if you change your mind."

Jezebel got up and went over to the bar to talk to Lola. I guessed they were commiserating over my not being an admirer. I looked anxiously at my watch. I really wanted to go before more of these T-girls started hitting on me. As I waited, additional women came in, some flamboyant like Jezebel and others less, and a few men. I concentrated on my drink, trying to make it last and glancing at the door each time it opened. It began to get crowded. A few T-girls started dancing with each other, confirming my impression that admirers were in short supply.

I continued to wait. The ice cubes in my glass melted. Watered down scotch, even good scotch, is not enjoyable. I didn't want to get up, because I'd lose my table, which meant I'd have to mingle. I checked my watch again. It was past eight. When I looked up, there was a woman standing in front of my table.

"Hi, I'm Penny."

I was taken by surprise. Her voice was soft and pleasant and she was stunning from the quick look I got, a gray dress of some soft material which accented her figure, the neckline revealing a modest amount of cleavage, red lipstick and a pretty smile showing white teeth.

"May I sit down?" she asked politely.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. It's just, well, you're different, umm, good different, umm, this is very awkward, I'm sorry," I stammered, finally apologizing.

She gave a little laugh.

"May I take that as an invitation to join you?"

"Yes, of course. Please. I'm Jack, Jack Blaine. You're Penny?"

"Yes. Lola said that you’re a private investigator and you're looking for someone who might be transgendered?"

"I think so. I'm not familiar with the terms. I've been embarrassing myself all night, but that was what his father said about what the psychologist called him."

"The psychologist?"

"They, his parents, sent him to one for therapy when they found out he was dressing up in his mother's clothes. They thought he was cured, but then he ran way when he turned eighteen and they haven't heard from him since."

Penny shook her head and sighed.

"I'm not surprised, Jack," she said with dismay. "There are some very misguided people who want to treat alternative gender and sexual preference as diseases. There is no cure. I know. I work in a gay, lesbian and transgendered outreach program. I deal with the messed up lives that their so called therapy causes."

"I'm sorry, Penny. I'm just doing my job. If it's any consolation, the boy's parents have forgiven him. His mother's very sick and they want him to come home. Any help you could give me in finding him would be appreciated. I have some pictures."

I took the pictures out and put them on the table.

Instead of looking at them, Penny frowned and said angrily, "forgive him, Jack? Forgive him," she raised her voice, "for what, Jack, for being transgendered? They rejected him at the time he was most vulnerable and their insistence on conformity took away his family and his home."

"As his parents, I'm sure they believed that they were doing what was best for him," I offered defensively.

"Yes, well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, Jack."

"Penny, I don't want to argue with you. Can you help me find him?"

She calmed down.

"I'm sorry, Jack. I shouldn't shoot the messenger. You said his name is David. Does he have a drag name?"

"What's that, Penny?"

When you dress as a woman, you give yourself a female name. It's a part of your feminine persona. The convention used to be to combine the name of your first pet with your mother's maiden name. If you had a St. Bernard called 'Brandy' and your mother's maiden name was 'Smith,' you'd be Brandy Smith. It's more common and convenient to use the female version of your name, yours would be Jacqueline, but sometimes it's an unpleasant reminder or you just want something more exotic. Celebrity names or even cartoon characters are popular."

"I wasn't told anything about him using a woman's name. I'll check with his father. Would you mind looking at the photos? Maybe you will recognize him."

She studied the photos on the table, tilting her head slightly and paging her hair behind her ear to keep if off of her face. After a few minutes she shook her head.

"Sorry, he doesn't look familiar."

"Those photos were taken five years ago. He probably doesn't look like that now."

She shrugged.

"I can ask around. Can I take the photos? A name to go with them would help. Why don't you call me at work," she suggested.

She opened up her pocket book and handed me a business card from a red leather case. I read, 'Penny Johnson, MSW, LICSW, Director, Tri-City GLBT Outreach Services,' with an address, telephone and fax number and email address."

"Yes, take the photos," I agreed, putting her card in my wallet.

Then it dawned on me that she had offered to help me and I had not offered her anything in return.

"Penny, would you, umm, can I buy you a drink?"

"A glass of wine would be nice, Jack, thank you. Lola knows what I like."

"Excuse me."

I got up and made my way to the bar. Lola came over. I ordered the wine for Penny and another scotch for me, paying with a twenty and telling her to keep the change, which got me a big smile, although she deserved it for recommending I speak to Penny. I took the drinks and returned to the table. Penny was sitting demurely with her legs crossed. I put her wine on the table and sat down."

"Thank you, Jack."

"You're welcome."

"Tell me," I asked, making social conversation, "how did you get involved with these T-girls?"

"I was lucky, Jack. My family was very accepting and supportive. I got my graduate degree in social work and wanted to help others less fortunate, so I started the outreach program."

"You mean accepting and supportive of your wanting to work with transgendered men?"

"No, accepting and supportive of my being transgendered," she said matter-of-factly.

I couldn't help myself.

"No way," I said in astonishment.

"Way," she contradicted me pleasantly. "I'm a pre-op transsexual, Jack."

"Penny, I don't understand. You look so, I mean you are so, you're a woman."

"Yes, Jack, I'm a woman. Unfortunately, I have some extraneous anatomy that I need to reconfigure before my body matches up. Hormones and implants can only do so much."

"Your name, it's what you called a drag name?"

"It was once. Now it's my own name. It's on my diplomas, my certificates and my driver's license. Although it is confusing when I use the license for an ID, since the name and photo are female and it says my sex is male. I simply offer to drop my panties and show that the gender designation is correct. So far I haven't had anyone take me up it," she said with a pretend pout, "but I always wear pretty undies, just in case."

I didn't know what to say. I would have bet anything she was a woman.

"Was Penny your pet?" I tried to recover our conversation.

"No, not a pet, she was a character from a TV show."

"Which show?"

"It was before your time. My dad has a private pilot's license. He got interested in flying from watching a TV show called 'Sky King' when he was a kid. The main character's actual name was 'Skyler,' so, when I was born, that's what dad wanted to name me. Mom wasn't enthusiastic, but she gave in." She laughed. "Dad's concession was that Mom could pick the name if they had a girl." She laughed again. "I have two sisters, Chrissy and Janet."

She looked at me waiting for a response, but I didn't get it.

"They're the two roommates from "Three's Company." It's another old TV show. Remind me not to take you as a partner for trivia night, Jack."

"How did you get Penny from Skyler? Wouldn't your drag name have been Skye? I've heard that used as a girl's name."

"I never liked Skyler and Sky was an awful nickname for a boy. The kids would tease me, so I started calling myself Kyle. You know, ess-Kyle -err."

"That still doesn't explain Penny."

"Hold on, I'm not done. My dad had the complete collection of Sky King episodes on videotape and I would watch them with him. A lot. Sky King had a niece named Penny. She was always getting caught by some crooks or spies and outwitting them to call for Uncle Sky to rescue her. So I thought, if Dad couldn't have Sky King, he could at least have Penny and I liked her character. She was very self-reliant and resourceful. So here I am."

She turned to face me, put the backs of her hands under her chin, gave a little smile and batted her eyes like an innocent young girl. I couldn't help laugh. I was at a complete loss. Either Penny put the women I knew to shame or I had really poor taste in women, probably both. She finished her wine and looked at her watch.

"Oh, my, it's getting late and I have an early appointment tomorrow, Jack. Thank you for the drink and your company. Give me a call if you get any more information. In the meantime, I'll circulate the photos. If you like, we can meet here tomorrow night. I will return them and let you know what I found out."

"Yes, please, Penny, that would be fine and thank you for your company and for your help. I'm sorry I was, I don't know, dumb I guess."

"No, Jack, not dumb, uninformed. Hopefully we can correct that. Goodnight."

I wasn't exactly sure what she meant, but whatever it was, I was all for it. She stood up and I got up.

"Goodnight, Penny. Thanks again."

"You're welcome."

She went over to the bar and spoke to Lola. Lola looked over to me and nodded. Penny turned and left. I got up and headed for the door.

"Night Jack," Lola called after me.

"Night," I called back and quickly left before Jezebel decided to reassert her amorous intentions in Penny's absence.

I walked back to my car and drove home. I turned on the news, but I couldn't get Penny out of my mind. I was sure she was a woman when I met her. How could I have been fooled? I knew a babe when I saw one. At least I used to think so. Should I start questioning my masculinity? I gave up and went to bed. It took me a long time to fall asleep. I think I had a dream about flying.

The next morning I showered, shaved and put on my best slacks and my good shirt that just came back from the cleaners. I have no idea why I was getting dressed up. Not that I needed a reason. Penny looked professional when I met her, so I should too. Definitely, I should start looking more professional. I stopped at the convenience store on the corner near my office and picked up a cup of coffee and a couple of blueberry jelly donuts. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, after all. With some cream and sugar in my coffee, I pretty much had one of each of the essential food groups, round, sweet, black and white, together with the fruit vitamins. I got to my office, unlocked the door, picked up the mail that had been pushed through the door slot, all bills, sat at my desk, finished the donuts, washed them down with the coffee, wiped the remnants of the donuts off my face with a paper napkin and, having prepared myself for work, I looked up Dr. Benton's number. I called him.

"Hello," Dr. Benton's office a woman answered.

"Dr. Benton, please."

"He's with a patient, may I take a message?"

"Ask him to call Jack Blaine, please."

"Are you a patient, Mr. Blaine?"

"No, I'm doing a job for him and he asked me to call him if I needed anything."

"I will give him the message, Mr. Blaine."

"Thank you."

I hung up the phone.

"About forty minutes later Dr. Benton returned my call.

"Have you found him?" he asked abruptly.

"No, not yet Doctor. The records search didn't turn up anything. I didn't think it would, but it was worth a shot. I do have someone checking, umm, around. She wanted to know if you ever heard your son refer to himself with a girl's name. He might still be using it."

"Not that I know of, Mr. Blaine, but David knew that I disapproved of his behavior, so he wouldn't refer to himself as a girl around me. I told you everything I know about David when I was in your office."

"I understand, Dr. Benton. Penny, the woman who's helping me," no need to explain about her, "she suggested that he might be using the name of a pet or a character he identified with. Did you have a family pet when David was growing up?"

"No, no pets."

"What about a favorite character?"

"I have no idea what he liked, except to wear his mother's clothes. If that's all, Mr. Blaine, I have to get back to my practice," Dr. Benton dismissed me curtly.

I wasn't sure if this was a difficult subject for him to deal with or it was his personality. If I had to guess, not that I was doing very well figuring people out recently, I would say it was the latter.

"No, that's all for now, Dr. Benton. I'll be in touch."

I hung up. Even though I didn't have anything to tell her, I decided to call Penny. I got her business card out of my wallet and dialed her office number.

"Good morning, Tri-City Outreach, this is Carla."

"Good morning Carla," I greeted her politely. I tried to tell if she was a man from her voice, but I couldn't hear anything distinctive. Then again, just because Penny was a transsexual didn't mean that everyone who worked there was one too.

Hello, my I help you?" the woman repeated, reminding me that I had not responded.

"Hello, may I speak to," I had to pause to look at the card to get her get her last name, "Ms. Johnson," trying to be deferential by addressing her as Ms.

"May I have your name, please?"

"Jack, Jack Blaine."

"Are you a client, Mr. Blaine?"

"Umm, no, I'm, umm, a friend."

"One moment please."

I was put on hold and elevator music played over the phone.

"Jack, hi. How are you?" Penny greeted me.

"I'm fine, Penny. How are you?"

"Fine, Jack. Did you find out anything about what name David might be using?"

"No, I'm sorry. His father had never heard him use a girl's name. Has anyone been able to identify his picture?"

"Honestly, I've been busy and haven't had time to show the photos around. It should slow down around lunch time. Will you still meet me at Ginger's tonight and I'll tell you what I found?"

"Uh huh."

Brilliant conversational skills Jack, I congratulated myself. Penny didn't seem to mind.

"Good, I'll see you then. Bye."

"Bye."

The rest of the day was a waste. I puttered around the office, took the five thousand dollar check out of my drawer, looked at it and put it back, since I wasn't going to earn the full fee, unless Penny came up with something. I kept checking my watch. Around noon, I thought about going across the street, but I wasn't in the mood to flirt with Betty. I popped over to the convenience store and got a hot dog to complete my nutritional requirements with something from the foot long tubular food group and the piccalilli healthy vegetable family, washed down with a waist slimming large diet cola. It was a nice day, so I decided to walk off my meal. That killed another half hour. On my way back to the office I picked up a paper. Reading the news, sports and comics and playing with the crossword got me to four thirty. I got in my car and drove to Tenth Street. This was really dumb. You can't hang out in Ginger's waiting for Penny. I got back in my car and drove to my apartment. I sat around watching television until seven and headed back to Ginger's. By the time I went in, it was almost eight and fairly crowded. I noticed Lola behind the bar and Jezebel, obviously a regular, was sitting with a group of T-girls in one of the booths. I was hoping that there would be an open table, but they were all taken, so I sat at the bar. Lola came over and gave me a big smile.

"Jack, welcome back. What's your pleasure, booze or me?"

"What happened to two out of three?" I repeated her come-on from last night.

"I didn't think you liked beer."

"I don't."

"I wish you were serious, Jack."

She made up a scotch on the rocks and put it down in front of me. I reached for my wallet and she put her hand gently on my arm.

"It's on the house, lover. In case you change your mind, I still get off work at one."

"Thanks, Lola."

She walked off to serve the other customers and I sipped my scotch, keeping an eye on the door. About half way through my drink I saw Penny come in. I turned to catch her eye. She saw me and came over.

"Hi, Jack. I hope I didn't keep you waiting."

"No, not at all, I just got here.

She looked around to find a table, but none had opened up. She caught Lola's eye and she came over.

"Hi Penny," Lola greeted her enthusiastically.

"Hi Lola. Is there someplace I can talk to Jack privately?"

Lola gave her a silly smirk.

"Evil mind, Lola." Penny playfully admonished her. "It's business."

"In that case, you can use the office. It's in back past the rest rooms. I'll get you the key."

Lola walked to the cash register, opened the drawer, came back and handed a key to Penny.

"You’re a doll, Lola," Penny said appreciatively.

"Seconds on your boyfriend?"

"Evil mind, Lola," Penny repeated. "He's not my boyfriend," she disclaimed. "Like I said, it's business. When I'm done with him, he's all yours," which got a raised eyebrow and a chuckle from Lola.

Penny started towards the back of the bar. It was crowded when she came in and the whole exchange with Lola took place so quickly I didn't have a chance to get a good look at her. Following along, I could see she had on a dark blue straight skirt that came a couple of inches above her knee and fit her nicely rounded butt, bad Jack, which wiggled as she walked, bad, bad Jack, and a white blouse, nylon or silk, some shiny material, I didn't have much experience with women's clothes, which put me in the minority at Ginger's, and heels. I completed my assessment of her wardrobe as we reached the door to the office. She unlocked it, opened the door, went in and turned on the light. There was a plain wood desk, a standard desk chair and a brown leather couch that had seen better days. I could imagine the reason for its condition. Penny went over and sat down on the couch, waiting for me. I joined her.

"Any luck," I asked skeptically.

"Yes," she replied to my surprise.

I was going to keep the five grand after all, I congratulated myself. Then she qualified her answer.

"Before I talk to you about what I found, I need something from you."

"Dr. Benton was very generous with his payment for my services, Penny. I'd be glad to share it with you in exchange for your information." I offered.

She frowned.

"I don't want a reward, Jack."

"What do you want?"

"I want you to kiss me."

"What?" I blurted out.

"You know, a kiss. You put your lips against my lips and smooch. It doesn't have to be deep or passionate, no tongue, just a common garden variety kiss."

"Penny, I can't."

"Can't, as in physically unable? Your lips aren't functional?"

"No, of course not. It's just that, well, …"

"That I'm a transsexual? You've seen gangster movies, Jack. Those tough guys are always kissing each other on the mouth." She paused. "Hmm, actually, I think that's the kiss of death. Is that it, Jack? You're worried that I have AIDS? I don't and it’s a well established scientific fact you can't get it from saliva. Not that I drool when I kiss. Those select few who have had the privilege haven't complained about my slobbering all over them."

"No, it's not that, really. It's just that, well, you took me by surprise, Penny. I umm, I wasn't, umm, prepared to be, umm, romantic."

"Oh, I see. You need soft music, candlelight and me in a something sexy to get you in the mood, is that it?"

"No," I protested.

"Jack, before I confide in you, I need to know that you accept and trust me. Kiss me and prove it. Otherwise, it's been nice knowing you. I'm going to close my eyes and count to ten. When I open them either you better be smooching or gone. One," she turned towards me and tilted her head, lips slightly parted.

I couldn't afford to lose the fee and I wouldn't get paid, if I didn't find the boy. Penny was really sweet and, certain anatomical issues out of sight, out of mind, she was better looking than most, make that all, of the women I had dated. I leaned forward.

"Five," she counted out loud.

I pressed my lips against hers. She passively accepted the pressure. I pulled back.

"Jack, you have kissed a girl before, haven't you?"

"Yes, of course."

"May I assume that you don't get many second dates with that technique? I want a real kiss, Jack. I will give you another chance. One."

I leaned towards her and this time gave her a peck.

"Better, but the smooch part is still missing. Third time's a charm. One."

I gave her a real kiss.

"Mmm, much better. No permanent physical or psychological damage?" she teased me.

"No, I'm fine, Penny," I conceded, "but you've had your kiss, now how do I find David?"

"What makes you think that she wants to be found, Jack?"

"Penny, that's not fair," I complained. "You said you would tell me where he is."

"No, I was very careful with my words, Jack. I said I would talk to you about what I found and I will, but it's not that simple. Please be patient."

I waited.

"Look at me, Jack. Tell me what you see."

I wasn't anticipating that our conversation would be about Penny. I didn't know if her question was another test or what answer to give, if it was. After some thought, I decided to be truthful, hoping that at least I'd get some points for sincerity, if I was wrong.

"I see an attractive woman."

"Thank you, Jack."

I breathed a sign of relief.

"I'm not sure about the attractive part, but I am a woman. At work, here at Ginger's, shopping for clothes, getting my hair done, I'm Penny."

Her voice quavered. She paused, taking some tissues out of her pocketbook and dabbing at her eyes.

"Sorry, Jack, my hormone replacement therapy makes me overly emotional sometimes," she explained.

Composing herself, she continued.

"I love my parents. They've always tried to be supportive, but when I go home, Jack, to them I'll always be their son. They call me Penny and Mom treats me like she does my sisters, but there's a photo on the bookcase in our family room of Chrissy and Janet on the beach in their cute bikini's and me in my bathing trunks and we have shoe boxes full of photos of our birthdays with them in pretty party dresses and me in pants and a shirt. I wouldn't deprive my parents of those memories, Jack, but that's not me in those photos. My sisters too, Jack. They try very hard to accept me as a woman, but, shopping with Mom for their first bra, commiserating over their periods, doing makeovers, giggling about their crushes on boys, all of those things girls do growing up and that I didn't do with them, I'll always be their brother. Do you understand? These are people who I love dearly and who love me and yet going home is a struggle for me."

I looked at Penny sympathetically, but I couldn't see what it had to do with my finding the Benton's son.

"Now let me tell you about the woman you're trying to find. Her name is Dawn. At least it's the name she took after she completed her drug rehabilitation. Her name on the street when she was working as a prostitute was Tiffany."

Penny picked up on my expression of disbelief.

"Does that surprise you, Jack? A teenage runaway is easy prey. No money, no work experience, what do you think is going to happen to him? Some pimp befriends him, gives him a place to crash, hooks him on drugs and sends him out to turn tricks. There are men who pay premium for sex with a pretty young tranny. A couple of years on the street and you wouldn't recognize her as the boy in the photographs. I didn't. She did. I showed the photos around and Dawn became hysterical when she saw them. Do you have any comprehension of how awful I feel about doing that to her?"

Penny took out the tissues and dabbed at her eyes again. She took a deep breath, paused, took another deep breath, and went on.

"Dawn has worked so hard to create a new life for herself. That was why she chose the name, to symbolize her new beginning. I met her when she was in the hospital. She had OD'd on drugs. When they realized she was transgendered, they called our program. I got her into rehab and have been working with her for the last two years. She has been a tremendous resource, because she knows the street scene and she is passionate about preventing kids from ending up like her."

I didn't know what to say. I just sat there in stunned silence.

"Jack, do you understand now why I told you about my family? Dawn can't go home. It would destroy her and it would destroy her parents. Picture the reunion with their recovering drug addict, ex-prostitute, former adult film actress, did I mention she was forced to perform in some porno movies, HIV positive, unfortunately an occupational hazard, transsexual son?"

"I can't, Penny, but shouldn't that be Dawn's decision?"

"Yes, Jack, and she told me to tell you that she has nothing to say to them and wants nothing from them or to do with them. Her mother may be dying, but so is Dawn, perhaps not as soon, but inevitably. She could go home and punish them with the truth, Jack. She's beyond that, an incredibly strong woman," Penny sniffled and dabbed at her eyes, "she wants both her mother and her to die with no remorse. So, Jack, what will you tell her parents?"

I didn't hesitate.

"I will tell them the truth, Penny."

"What truth is that Jack?"

"That they've lost their son. David has disappeared."

Penny looked at me, tears welled up in her eyes and she broke down. I moved over and took her in my arms to comfort her. She rested her head on my shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably. I held her and gently stroked her hair.

"Penny, I said softly into her ear, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you sad. Please believe me, please."

"Jack, I'm not sad. I'm incredibly happy. Can't you tell the difference?"

"Umm, no, actually, I guess I'm not very good at this kind of thing. If my dates cry, well, this isn't a date, I know that, but anyway, it's usually because I've said or done something to embarrass them, I, umm, I don't exactly have impeccable social skills," I conceded.

"Stupid hormones. I, I can't help it and anyway, it's a woman's prerogative to cry when she's happy and I'm going to take full advantage of my gender. Now if you will stop interrupting me, she sobbed into my shoulder, I can get on with it."

I continued to hold Penny until she began to calm down and the sobs turned into whimpers and finally she relaxed and I reluctantly released her, noticing that the shoulder of my shirt was very wet. Good thing it was permanent press I complimented myself on my wardrobe choice of this morning. She sat up.

"Than you, Jack, for being so understanding," she said in a soft voice, retrieving the tissues and gently blowing her nose."

"Jack, I'm emotionally drained. Would you take me home please?"

"Of course, Penny," I gallantly agreed.

Opening her pocketbook, she took out a compact and opened it, letting out a squeal of dismay when she saw herself in the mirror.

"Oh my God, Jack. I can't be seen in public like this. I look like a raccoon. I should invest in waterproof mascara, but it is such a pain to take off."

She found the tissues, licked one and started to repair her appearance. She produced an impressive collection of cosmetics from her pocketbook and proceeded to apply powders and paints with little brushes and applicators, concentrating on her mirror and oblivious to my admiration for her proficiency, until she finally ran a brush through her hair and pronounced herself presentable. Actually, I was kind of fond of raccoons, but I thought that was probably another of my socially inept comments I would be better off keeping to myself. I stood up and gave her my hand. She took it and stood up, adjusting her blouse and skirt. We went to the door and left, locking it behind us. On our way out, Penny stopped at the bar to return the key to Lola. She must have sensed something, could she have women's intuition, and refrained from her usual provocative patter. I escorted Penny to my car and she gave me directions to her apartment, which was on the other side of town. We drove in silence. I wasn't very good at making small talk with women anyway and understandably she wasn't feeling chatty.

I pulled up in front of her building, got out, went around, opened the door for Penny and she got out.

"Thank you, Jack. I, I appreciate your sensitivity in this matter."

She extended her hand and I took it. She looked at me for a few seconds, gave me a smile, withdrew her hand and started to walk away. I watched her for a minute and then realized that I wasn't going to see her again.

"Penny," I called to her.

She stopped and turned, walking back to me.

"Yes, Jack?" she asked curiously.

"Umm, would you go out with me?"

"Out with you, Jack?"

"Umm, yes, on a date."

"You mean dinner, holding hands, a movie, making out, that kind of date?"

"Yes," I replied without hesitation, "that kind of date."

Penny looked at me and I could see tears starting to form in her eyes again.

"Jack, you are really sweet, but it wouldn't work and I don't want my heart broken."

"Why wouldn't it work, Penny?"

"Think about it, Jack. I'm not the kind of girl you bring home to meet your parents. What would you tell them about me?"

"I'd tell them the truth."

"What truth is that, Jack?"

"That I've found the perfect woman."

Penny broke down again. I assume she was happy and I cuddled her against my chest. I was happy anyway. I've got no complaint about the hormones. Penny was right too. She doesn't give wet kisses, which I found out when she stopped crying.

THE END

Found and Lost

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Sequel or Series Episode

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Found and Lost
By Missy Crystal

This is the sequel to "Lost and Found." I recommend you read that story first. For those who have, "Found and Lost" explores Jack's relationship with Penny. Can they find happiness together?

I don't know why I asked Penny for a date. She's transgendered and I'm not gay. At least I don't think so. After we went out, I started looking at guys, ones I passed on the street, cautiously, so they wouldn't get the wrong idea, the movie and TV stars that women go nuts over, male models in magazine ads, but I didn't find any of them attractive. Penny was different. Not different that way. Well, okay, yes, different that way too, but I mean different from the usual women I asked out. She was pretty, she was smart, she had a great personality and, most importantly, she said yes, all of the qualities that I looked for in a date. To my surprise, she wasn't kidding when she wanted to know whether by the word 'date' I meant the movies, dinner, holding hands and making out. She really was an old fashioned girl. Kissing was okay and she did let me get to second base, as we used to say as kids, but that was only because the hormones she was on gave her small boobs and the rest of her chest was artificial, so I was free to fondle the enhancers, as she called them. They felt nice, although I would have preferred that she kept the secret to herself and let me indulge my schoolboy fantasy.

After a frustrating few weeks and lots of cold showers, Penny was persuaded that I was serious about having a relationship and she invited me to stay over. We stopped off at Ginger's, the t-girl bar where we first met when I was looking for a transgendered boy who ran away from home, and I had a couple of scotches. Penny had her usual glass of wine and then I drove her home. I had been in her apartment before. It was a really nice one bedroom. She had curtains, a matching living room set, a bed with a spread and lots of decorative pillows and little heart shaped scented soaps in the bathroom. Really high class compared to the dump I lived in. She poured me another glass of scotch, a glass of wine for herself and then went into the bedroom. When she came out, she was dressed in jeans and a pull-over jersey. Something seemed different and then I realized that she was almost flat chested. She must have taken off her bra. I had never seen her in pants before either. Whenever we went out, either she was coming from work and dressed professionally or she wore skirts. I took it as a compliment that she felt comfortable enough to let me see her this way.

Penny sat next to me on the couch and snuggled up, resting her head on my chest. I put my arm around her and she looked up. I leaned down and kissed her. She reached up and put her arm around me neck. We stayed locked in the embrace, kissing passionately, our tongues flickering in and out. I slid my hand over her chest. She didn't protest, so I moved it down and under her top, sliding it back up over her smooth skin until it rested on a soft mound. She moaned. I found a little nipple and gently touched it. She shuddered. I was surprised that it would be so sensitive. Our lips parted and she lay back. I discreetly removed my hand. She gave me a smile, stood up, put out her hand, I took it and she led me into the bedroom.

"Jack, why don't you use the bathroom first?" she suggested. "There's a spare toothbrush and toothpaste in the medicine cabinet."

I gave her the privacy I figured she wanted, closing the door. Actually, I needed to use the facilities and being a considerate lover, brushing my teeth before bed probably was a good idea. I made sure I gave her enough time to do whatever it was she wanted to do and than knocked on the door.

"Okay, if I come out now?" I inquired cautiously.

"Uh, huh," she agreed.

When I came out, she had on a very feminine robe, pink silk or satin or nylon or something shiny, with lacy white trim. She traded places with me in the bathroom. I took off my shirt and pants, pulled back the covers and got in still wearing my undershirt and boxers for modesty. I pulled the covers over me and waited expectantly. About ten minutes later - women take a lot of time in the bathroom - Penny came out. She turned off the light and I noticed that there was a candle glowing on the bureau and giving off a faint lilac scent, very romantic. Penny thought of everything. She dropped her robe. In the dim light, I only caught a nondescript glimpse of flesh and pink panties as she slipped under the covers.

Penny slid over next to me. I hesitated, but she didn't, stroking my chest and nuzzling at my neck. So far, so good. Better than good, actually. I reciprocated and was treated to her soft little mounds with hard nipples, repeating the caresses that got her excited before, with the same effect. She coaxed up my undershirt and I pulled it over my head. As she headed South, I had this awful thought. What if hers was bigger than mine? The passage of her hand below the waistband of my shorts drove that thought out of my head. Making love to someone who you care about and want to please solves the anatomical puzzle of what goes where. As a gentleman, I can't reveal the details. Suffice it to say that vaginas are overrated.

We continued to date. I was surprised by how hard Penny worked. She went to her office early, she often stayed late and she was always going to conferences and seminars. It would have been great if we could live together, but it was easier, at least for her, if she didn't have to deal with fussing over me in the morning, which she insisted on doing and I had no complaints, while trying to get herself ready. We made up for it on the weekends. Everything was going great until one Friday night when the phone rang. Well, it was two o'clock, so that would make it Saturday morning. I didn't give out Penny's home number, but she did give it to her clients and the phone was on her side of the bed anyway. She rolled over, sat up and picked up the receiver.

"Hello? Yes, this is Penny Johnson. Yes, Tri-City. I can't say for sure. The description sounds like Lavender. Can't you ask her? Unconscious, oh. Is it serious? Oh. No, I'm sorry, I don't know her last name. The street girls don't use them or they make them up, like Foxx with two or three x's. I don't know where she lives either. No, we don't keep records. Respecting the girls' privacy is what encourages them to work with us. Now? If you think it will help. Detective O'Brien. Okay. Probably about an hour, maybe less. Yes. Okay. Bye."

I was sitting up. Penny hung up the phone and turned to me.

"I have to go out," she explained. "That was a police officer at City Hospital. They brought in a transsexual, one of the street girls, it sounds like Lavender, I wouldn't be surprised, who was beaten up. She's unconscious and they'd like me to indentify her and see if I can help with their investigation. Honestly, I don't know what I can do besides check with some of the other street girls. Maybe by then Lavender will be awake and I can talk to her. I'm sorry, Honey. Go back to sleep."

She rolled towards me and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

"I'll drive you. I don't want you out at this time of night."

"Really, Jack, Honey, I'll be fine. I'm a big girl and can take care of myself. I don't need a chaperone," she insisted. "Go back to sleep."

"Who's the man of the house," I challenged her.

"Well, last night it might have been debatable," she teased me.

"Penny!"

"Okay, okay, you Tarzan, me Jane, Dear," she conceded.

"It's settled then. I'm driving you."

I got up and started to pull on my pants to emphasize my determination. Penny gave up arguing and started getting dressed, which, as a woman, was a more complicated process. She grabbed her pocketbook and said she would do her makeup in the car. I grabbed her car keys, we usually took hers because it was more likely to get us wherever we were going than my clunker, and we hurried downstairs to the parking lot. We got in and I headed for the hospital. There was no traffic at this time of the morning and we made good time. I parked and we went in the main entrance. Penny must have done this before, because we bypassed the information desk and headed for the elevators. She pressed the button for the CCU on the fifth floor. When we got out, she went to the nurses' station. She spoke to the woman behind the counter and she directed us down the hallway to our left. About six doorways down, I saw a uniformed police officer talking to a man in civilian clothes. I assumed he must be the detective. Penny walked up to him, introduced herself and handed him a business card. They spoke for a minute and he looked over at me. She motioned for me to come over.

"This is Jack Blaine, a private investigator. He works with us," she exaggerated.

I went up and showed him my ID card. The detective looked at me skeptically, probably wondering exactly how Penny managed to get hold of me at 2 AM on such short notice and, with his deductive skills, suspecting that there was probably more to the story. It didn't matter and he turned around, spoke to the uniformed officer, who stepped aside. The detective opened the door and took Penny inside. I followed behind them. There was a hospital bed with IV's set up. At first I thought the woman laying there was black, but as I got closer I could see that it was discolorations from huge bruises covering almost every inch of her face. He eyes and jaw were bandaged. I'd see some pretty brutal beatings, but none like this one. I looked over to Penny and she had turned away in shocked disbelief with her hand over her mouth. The detective escorted her out of the room and helped her to a chair in the hallway.

"I'm sorry, Miss Johnson," the detective apologized, bringing her a paper cup of water, which she took, "but we need to know who she is. Do you recognize her?"

Penny took a few deep breaths, a sip of the water and composed herself.

"Yes, I recognize her. It's Lavender. At least that's her street name. She's one of the t-girls who work the strip. She's been in for counseling in conjunction with her methadone program, which she goes on when she runs out of money for drugs, but she's never really tried to rehabilitate herself."

"Do you have any idea who might have done this too her?"

Penny shook her head.

"The girls mix in with the GG's …"

The detective gave penny a puzzled look.

"GG, genetic girls, women," Penny explained. "The men who solicit them don't always recognize that they're TS, transsexual," she clarified. "The girls want the money and pretend to be having their period or try to talk them into oral, but sometimes the men figure it out and react violently to being tricked. She liked kinky stuff too, bondage, S&M, that kind of thing. I warned her Detective O'Brien. I told her she was asking for trouble, but it didn't do any good," Penny said sadly.

"We found her unconscious in an alley off of the strip," the detective recounted. "Whoever she was with worked her over good, a fractured skull, multiple facial fractures, a fractured jaw, fractured ribs, a ruptured spleen, the retina of her right eye is detached, she will be blind in that eye, and severe head trauma. Her brain's swollen and they put a tube in to relieve the pressure, but the doctor said he doubted she will live. If she does, she'll have severe brain damage," the detective repeated the pessimistic prognosis.

"Do you have any suspects?" Penny asked.

"No, we have no leads. There wasn't any physical evidence at the scene, except for blood on the ground, probably hers. No prints, no semen and no skin or hair under her fingernails, she didn't struggle, so no DNA for us to work with. If she had a pocketbook, it's gone. No money, no keys, nothing on her. Do you know where she lived?"

"No, the street girls like Lavender move around," Penny answered his question. "They stay with a pimp or a friend or flop in a shelter. Usually whatever they make goes up their nose or in their arm. I'll check around," Penny offered. "Maybe one of the other girls saw or heard something. I'm sorry, but that's all I can do to help. You have my card. Call me if you need anything else or if there are any developments, please."

"I will, Miss Johnson. Thank you for coming down at this hour. I'm sorry to get you involved."

"No problem, Detective O'Brien, you're only doing your job," Penny acknowledged, "and I'm doing mine. Goodnight to you and the officer."

The officer and Detective O'Brien reciprocated and we left. On the drive home, Penny was quiet. In her apartment, we got back in bed and I gently held her. There was nothing more to say and we finally drifted off to sleep. When I woke about nine o'clock, Penny wasn't in bed. I got up and went to the kitchen. She was there, already dressed and making breakfast.

"I couldn't sleep. I kept thinking of poor Lavender," she explained. "Jack, nobody deserves to have that done to them." "I'm going to start checking, but I wanted to make you breakfast before I left. You were really sweet to go with me last night," she said with a little smile which quickly faded. "I don't want whoever did this to Lavender to get away with it."

I took a sip of coffee.

"Look, Penny. The girls you need to talk to work nights and sleep days. You won't find any of them. Why don't we just spend the day together and then tonight we can go to Ginger's and then later check out the strip," I suggested.

"I guess you're right, but I don't want to stay home." Penny thought for a minute. "I'm going down to the hospital and see how Lavender's doing," she decided.

"From what I saw last night, Lavender's not going to be conscious. If you want to know her condition, you can call."

"Yes, but I've read where people who are in comas sometimes come out of them when they hear a familiar voice. It couldn't hurt, Jack," she challenged me.

"No, you're right. It couldn't hurt," I conceded. Let me get dressed and I'll go with you," I offered.

"No, Honey. It's daytime and I'll be fine. Save your energy for tonight. You're the investigator, so I could use your help. Okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, "but call me if there's anything you need, please."

"I will."

She picked up her pocketbook, took the car keys and left. I went back into the bedroom and got dressed. There really wasn't much for me to do on a Saturday morning. I went down in the elevator and swiped someone's newspaper from the lobby. I returned to the apartment and went through it, looking for any news about Lavender. There was a short article in the Metro section about a homeless woman who had been beaten and that police were investigating. I suppose that was accurate as to her living situation, if not as to her occupation. Then again, the police don't usually release detailed information. I turned on the TV and watched sports, waiting for Penny to return. About three o'clock she called. There was nothing new. She wasn't going to have time to make dinner, so would I order out. I talked her into pizza, because they delivered. I had nothing else to do, so I demonstrated my domestic skills by setting the table, although I was darned if I could remember whether the knife went to the left or the right of the fork and spoon. Then again, why did we need a spoon to eat pizza?

After dinner, we went to Ginger's. The word was out about Lavender. Everyone was sympathetic, but nobody had any information. About eleven o'clock we went to the strip. Cars would pull up as we were talking to a girl and she would interrupt the conversation to do business. Nobody heard or saw anything and none of them recalled anyone who got rough with them. We got back to Penny's apartment about one o'clock and went to sleep. Having wasted the night, neither of us was in the mood for romance. Sunday was a repeat of Saturday. Penny was up early, she went to the hospital and I hung around the apartment. At least the Sunday paper I swiped from the lobby had a decent crossword puzzle. There was no mention of Lavender. That night we tried talking to the girls on the strip again, but without any luck. I dropped Penny off at her apartment and went back to my place.

Monday went as usual, until I got a call from Penny about three o'clock.

"Hi, Honey."

"Hi, Penny, how are you?"

"I'm okay."

"Any word on Lavender?"

"No, she's still unconscious and the police still don't have any suspects. That's why I'm calling."

"Oh, I thought it was because of my irresistible charm and good looks," I said with mock disappointment.

"That too, Dear, but you do surveillance work and we, that is I and some of the girls, well, we thought it would be a good idea if we hired you to keep an eye on them for a few nights, in case whoever beat up Lavender comes back."

"Hired me?" I asked skeptically.

"Yes, I have a small discretionary budget that I could draw against and the girls offered to put in some money. It wouldn't be much. How much do you charge?"

"For that kind of work, I get five hundred a night minimum, plus the cost of the film and developing, but I'm easy. We could take it out in sexual favors."

"And exactly who are 'we,' Jack Dear?" Penny asked coyly.

"Umm, you and the girls?" I answered tentatively.

"Yes, well, I suppose it could be arranged, although I'm not sure how much you will enjoy it after your INSGR.

"What's that?" I asked naively, never being able to remember what the different initials stood for.

"Involuntary non-surgical gender reassignment."

"Oh, well, in that case, I suppose we could continue with our current arrangement."

"Are you sure, Jack?"

"Yes, I'm very sure, Penny," retention of my manhood being a high priority, "but there is a problem."

"You want fringe benefits too?"

"No, well yes, but, seriously, that's not the problem. When I do surveillance for a client, it's usually just sitting outside a building watching for a particular man or woman. That's a lot different than trying to keep an eye on a whole street where there's lots going on. It's dark, the men don't get out of the cars, the girls bend over to talk to them and there's not much that you can record except the license tags. I'm not saying I won't do it or I can't do it. I'm just telling you that it is not going to be very effective for one person to be the guardian angel for the whole strip. There's also a practical problem," I continued. "The girls come out when it gets dark and they work until the early morning hours. It's one thing if you're in a hotel room with a video camera pointed out the window and watching on a TV monitor. It's another when you're in a car taking pictures. I can't sit out there all night. I would guess that between nine and one would be the most traffic, that's four hours, which is about as long as I can handle, but it still leaves a big window of opportunity for someone to repeat what they did to Lavender."

"Are you saying it's not worth it?"

"No, it's worth a shot, but you and the girls need to know that it's a long shot."

"Thank you, Jack. I, we, really appreciate it."

"No problem. I'll be around this weekend to collect."

"And I'll be sure the payroll department is expecting for you."

"Bye, Honey," she laughed and hung up.

I got my high-tech surveillance equipment together. An old fashioned Nikon camera with a 300mm telephoto lens, they do the best job at night, with ultra high speed black and white film you can shoot a firefly's bellybutton at a hundred yards, an old sleeping bag with a broken zipper to keep me warm and a two gallon jug for coffee. I opened the top and found a mess of black gunk, confirming my lack of domestic skills. I took the jug into the restroom and washed it out a dozen or so times, until it no longer smelled like the inside of an old gym sneaker. I went back to my office and made a call to Detective O'Brien. He wasn't in, so I left him a voice mail that I had been hired to do a surveillance job on the strip and gave him a description of my car and plate number, so I wouldn't get hassled by the police patrol.

I finished up my work, put everything in my car and went back to my apartment to put on warm clothes. I took some paper towels and window cleaner to make sure I got a clear shot through the windshield. On my way to the strip, I stopped at a donut shop and got the jug filled with high octane java. I also picked up a half dozen assorted jelly donuts. Penny was into healthy food and my system needed something from the round, sugar covered, jelly filled food group so I wouldn't get rickets or something. That might not have been medically accurate, but it was a good excuse and what she didn't know about my diet wouldn't require me to repent with tofu and bean sprouts for the rest of the week.

I drove to the strip and parked where I had a good view of the girls. They lounged against the buildings or stood in doorways, moving to the curb when a car pulled up, sometimes getting in and sometimes walking away, which I assumed meant they couldn't come to terms. I took a shot of the plates, but I couldn't coordinate the girl and the tag in the same photo. At best, if something happened, I would have a record of who was looking for a good time over the course of a few hours that night. It would be a start and it would embarrass a lot of men, who I was sure would not want anyone, especially their wives, to know about their extra-curricular activities, but it wouldn't prove who was responsible. Well, it was for a good cause, whether or not it accomplished anything. By one thirty I had gone through almost three rolls of film. I was surprised by how much traffic there was for a weekday night. I guess there's no schedule for being horny. I started the car and drove back to my apartment.

The next night was a waste of time and film too. Since nothing happened, I saved some money by not developing the rolls. I just marked the cartridges with the date and put them away. I decided to take a break and come back on the weekend. That was when Lavender got beaten up and it was more likely whoever did it would follow the same pattern. I told Penny and she agreed. Since I was going to be working Friday and Saturday nights, I wouldn't be able to see her. Penny kept going to the hospital every evening, but Lavender never regained consciousness. According to the doctors, she was in what they called a permanent vegetative state. Lavender was as good as dead and whoever did it was going to get away with it. Probably they were boozed up or high on drugs and outraged at being tricked into having sex with a guy, like Penny said happens. All in all, it sucked.

Things returned to normal, at least as normal as it ever got, until about a month later. I got a call from Penny telling me that Dawn had seen her mother's obituary in the newspaper. She wanted Penny to go with her to the service on Friday and to the cemetery. She was just giving me advance notice that she wouldn't be around Friday night. She wanted to stay with Dawn. I offered to go too. Penny wasn't sure it was a good idea.

"You told Dr. Benton that you couldn't find his son. Won't it seem strange if you suddenly show up with her at the funeral?" she wondered.

"No," I reasoned. "I told him that I knew a woman who worked in the transgendered community. Dawn contacted her about the funeral, she recognized that Dawn was who I was looking for, she called me and I brought her to him. That was what he paid me to do. It will be easier if I make the introduction than if Dawn just walks up to him and announces, 'Daddy, I'm home,' don't you think?"

"I suppose, if you put it that way, yes. Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure. What time should I pick you up?"

We worked out the details. Dawn was going to take a cab to the church and we were going to meet her. Then we would drive to the cemetery together. On Friday, I got out a pair of dark pants and a dark blue sports jacket, which was as close to a suit as I could get. I drove over to Penny's and we changed to her car. She had on a dark blue skirt and jacket. It took us about twenty-five minutes to get to the church. Dawn was waiting outside in a long sleeved black dress. I hadn't seen Dawn for a long time. She looked terrible. Her eyes were yellow and her skin was too. I looked at Penny and she shook her head. We went in. I saw Dr. Benton at the front of the church. Dawn wanted to be inconspicuous, so we sat in the back row.

After the service, we left quickly. We didn't join in the motorcade to the cemetery, so we got there after the graveside service had started and waited until it was over. When most of the mourners had paid their respects and left, I went up to Dr. Benton. He recognized me.

"Mr. Blaine, this is unexpected. Thank you for coming."

"You're welcome Dr. Benton, my condolences. Actually, I'm here because I found your son."

Dr. Benton's face dropped.

"David, how, when?" he stammered.

"The name she has been using is Dawn, Dr. Benton. She saw your wife's death notice in the paper and contacted Penny, the woman I had spoken to when I was looking for her. She got in touch with me and I brought her here."

I stood back. Penny and Dawn walked up to Dr. Benton.

"Hello, father," Dawn greeted him.

Dr. Benton scowled at Dawn.

"I don't know you," he claimed.

Dawn's face dropped and tears welled up. Dr. Benton stepped back.

"I, I'm, sorry father," Dawn apologized, "I know I've disappointed you. I'm not well and I was hoping, I was hoping that when I died I could be buried with mother," she entreated him.

"There is no place for you here," he said coldly and walked away.

I clenched my fists, about to follow him and beat the crap out of the bastard. Penny must have sensed my anger and firmly held my arm. I looked at her and she shook her head.

"There's been enough heartbreak here today. Let him grieve the loss of his wife and his son, Jack. He wouldn't understand and it would only add to Dawn's guilt."

Of course, she was right. I calmed down.

"Let's go home."

She took Dawn's arm and we walked silently to the car. Dawn got in the back seat and I drove. After about ten minutes, Dawn spoke in a soft voice.

"Penny."

"Yes, Dawn."

"Penny, when I die, will you make the arrangements please?"

"Dawn, don't talk like that."

"Will, you Penny, please? I need to know."

"Yes, Dawn," Penny agreed with a sigh, unable to deny her request.

"Thank you. I want to be cremated. This body is wrong for me. I've always hated it and now it's filled with poison."

"Dawn, no more, please," Penny pleaded with her.

"And my ashes, Penny, will you scatter them on my mother's grave please," she continued. "I want to be with her. Promise me, Penny."

I had a knot in my stomach.

"Yes, Dawn, I promise," Penny committed.

"Thank you."

We drove the rest of the way in silence. When we arrived at Dawn's rooming house, I got out and opened the door for her. Penny got out and started to follow. Dawn stopped her.

"Please Penny, I appreciate your concern, but I really need to be alone. I'm tired, very tired," she emphasized. "I want to make myself a cup of tea and go to bed."

Penny gave in to Dawn's request for solitude and returned to the car.

"Please make sure to call me on Monday," Penny called out to her.

Dawn nodded and went in. We drove back to Penny's apartment. Neither of us was in the mood for conversation or romance. The rest of the weekend was somber. I offered to take Penny to a movie, but she said she had work to do and went to the office. I moped around the apartment. Monday, I was at my office when the phone rang.

"Jack Blaine investigations. Jack Blaine speaking. How may I help you," I answered professionally.

"Jack, it's Sally."

Sally was Penny's assistant.

"Can you come down to the office, please? She needs you."

"Is she okay? What's wrong? Is it serious? Did something happen with one of her clients?"

"She's okay and yes, something happened. You really need to come down."

"I'm on my way."

I ran at least half a dozen red lights. It's a miracle I wasn't stopped and arrested. I got to Penny's office in record time and rushed in. Penny was at her desk, her head down, sobbing. I went over and tried to be supportive.

"What's wrong, Honey? Please, tell me. Is it Lavender? Let me help."

She sat up, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"No, it's Dawn. She's dead. I didn't hear from her this morning, so I sent one of the girls around to check. There was no answer. She got the landlady and they opened her room. Oh, Jack, they found her in the bathtub with her wrists slit. She let all the poison out."

Penny started sobbing again. I put my arm around her and held her against my chest. About five minutes passed and she began to recover.

"I have to make arrangements, Jack. I promised her," Penny insisted.

She took some tissues, dried her eyes and blew her nose. Then she got her purse, took out her mirror and fussed with her face. When she finally considered herself presentable, she called Sally in and gave her instructions.

"I'm okay now, Jack. Thank you for coming."

"Is there anything I can do, Penny?"

"No, Honey, I'll talk to you later," she dismissed me and picked up the phone.

I started to leave and then turned round.

"Penny, I kept fifteen hundred dollars of the fee Dr. Benton paid me to find Dawn. I have about nine hundred dollars left. I don't want it. Please use it for her funeral."

"Jack, no, you earned it. It belongs to you. Lola is taking up a collection."

"I wish I had it all, Penny, but what's left is blood money." I winced at the reference, remembering how Dawn died. "Use it," I threatened, "or I will donate it to an AIDS charity."

Penny gave me a loving look and nodded her head.

"I'll write a check to you when I get back to my office," I told her as I was leaving.

Penny found a minister who worked with her program to hold a memorial service and took care of all of the other details necessary for Dawn's funeral. To my surprise, the church was filled. Penny gave a moving eulogy. After the service, a number of us drove out to the cemetery where Dawn's mother was buried.

Everyone gathered at the gravesite and Penny had a small cardboard box with 'Dawn Benton' printed in marker on the side. She unsealed it, held it over the grave and turned it over. A gentle rain of ashes fell out and most were wafted away, a few falling on the grass, together with some small white chips of bone. They dropped down and I thought about how the remains would be washed into the soil and make the grass green. Dawn would have liked that. I discreetly used my sleeve to wipe my nose and dab at my eyes. An entire life in a small cardboard box; I wondered what you did with it after it was empty. Of course, Penny was prepared. She took a lighter out of her pocketbook, held the box out and set it on fire, waiting until most of it was consumed and then letting it fall, the smoke curling up as the remnants blackened and crumbled. Everyone brought a bouquet, which they placed on the ground. We all said our final goodbyes to Dawn and went back to our cars. As we were leaving, I wondered what Dr. Benton would think about the mound of flowers and the tiny patch of burnt grass if he came to visit his wife's grave.

We drove in silence. About half way back, I couldn't control my feelings any longer.

"Penny, I can't go on like this. Please, we need to go away. Somewhere, anywhere, I don't care, just away from all this."

"You mean take a vacation, Jack?"

"No, I don't mean a vacation, Penny."

I paused, gathering my courage.

"I love you. I want us to go somewhere and start a life together, a normal life."

"Are you proposing to me, Jack?"

"Yes," I said without hesitation.

"I love you too, Jack, with all my heart, but I can't marry you."

"You mean you're not physically able?" I mimicked what she asked me when I said I couldn't kiss her.

"Yes, same sex marriages aren't legal in this state, but it's not that. There have been other men. I never talked about them, because they're not important. I didn't love them and they didn't love me. I don't know why they were attracted. I suspect that they were gay or bi and I was a comfortable way for them to avoid the reality. Jack, you gave me a gift more precious than a diamond and more enduring than a gold band. You made me a complete woman by loving me for who I am, not what I am."

"You're talking in riddles, Penny."

"I never thought I would have the kind of true love between a man and a woman that makes them want to have a child together, Jack."

"Is that it? For crying out loud, Penny!" I exclaimed with relief. "It doesn't matter to me. I'd be the world's worst father anyway."

Then I realized that maybe she wanted to have children.

"We can always adopt. I suppose I could learn to be a parent," I equivocated.

"No, it's not about having children. I was talking about commitment."

She gave a little laugh.

"Penny, please don't make fun of me. I'm serious."

"I know, Jack. I was trying to explain my reason and I had a random thought about Spiderman. You know who he is?"

"Of course, but what does a comic book character have to do with this?"

"When he first discovers his abilities, he realizes that with his powers comes the responsibility to use them to help others. It's really an adaptation of an admonition from the Bible that to whomever much is given, a blessing of any kind, from them much is expected. I've been given a gift, Jack. I'm transgendered and by my education and ability, I can help others like me. I can't make a commitment to our happiness at their expense."

"If Dawn and Lavender are examples, you're gift isn't working," I confronted her.

"That's not fair, Jack."

"All's fair in love and war, Penny, and I'm fighting for your love."

Penny was surprised by my unexpected eloquence. So was I.

"You have my love, Jack, forever and always, but you're wrong. Lavenderwas self-destructive and drugs or her lifestyle was going to kill her. It was inevitable. Dawn was a success. I touched her life and she touched the lives of many others. You saw the turnout for her funeral. She was very sick, her liver was failing and every day was a struggle. The only thing that kept her going was the hope that her father might change his mind before her mother died. When she did, there was nothing more to sustain her. I gave her comfort and peace, Jack."

By the time Penny finished, we had reached her apartment building and I pulled into the parking lot.

"Penny, please, can't we at least try? There have to be other ways for you to use your gift."

She shook her head.

"It wouldn't work and eventually you would say the words that would shatter my heart into a million pieces and no amount of remorse or contrition would mend it."

"What words, Penny. I don't understand."

"That you regret loving someone like me, Jack."

"No, I …"

She placed her fingers over my mouth and shook her head. Sliding over, she opened the car door and got out. I watched her walk away. Think Jack, damn it. You do crossword puzzles. Find the words, but there weren't any. Maybe she was right after all, I consoled myself. Her hormones were starting to get to me. Men don't cry.

THE END

Lost and Found Again

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Lost and Found Again
By Missy Crystal

This is the final part of the Lost and Found Series. Although it can be read on its own, I recommend reading the first two parts ("Lost and Found" and "Found and Lost") for context. For those who have followed the story, but forgotten it, for which delay in completion I apologize, Jack Blaine is an investigator hired to find a transgendered boy who left home. While searching the transgendered community, he meets Penny Johnson, the transgendered director of a GLBT outreach program. Jack falls in love with Penny, but their relationship ends when he asks her to marry him and give up her work. She turns down his proposal and they break up. Now Jack realizes he made a mistake and sets out to win her back. Can they find hapiness togther? The conclusion of a romantic novel.

I went back to my apartment and tried to get some sleep. I couldn’t stop thinking about Penny. I loved her and she loved me. When two people love each other they get married. When you love someone, Jack, I reprimanded myself, you don’t ask them to give up something that’s important to them. Penny was right. The concession did not help my insomnia.

I moped around for the next few days. Each time the phone rang, I grabbed it hoping it would be Penny. Why should she call you Jack? What would she say to you? “Hi, honey, of course I’ll give up my career and everything I’ve worked for to be your wife.” You’re the one who needs to apologize. Okay, but what will you say to her? “Sorry, just kidding?” You weren’t kidding. You know it and she does too.

Insincerity will not win a girl’s heart, Jack. Candy, flowers and expensive presents might work for most women, but not Penny. No, I didn’t mean it like it sounded. It’s not that she’s not a woman. Well, okay, she’s not a woman, sort of, but even if she was, well, she is, sort of, she wouldn’t care about those things. She’s a different kind of woman. No, not different that way. Well, okay, different that way too, but I meant her values. She cares about other people. You think only about yourself. You need to show her that you care about people too, if you want her back.

How do you do that? You could go down to the Red Cross and give blood. That’s a good cause. Yes, spending fifteen minutes on a cot bleeding into a bottle would certainly impress her. Just as well anyway, Jack. You hate needles. What about volunteering at a shelter? Too easy. You need something that requires real commitment. You’re not doing this for her. You’re doing it for you. If you can’t, then she’s right. You don’t have a future together.

I kept myself busy with my work. Each night I was tempted to drop in at Ginger’s. I mean, it’s a free country right? A guy can stop off for a drink at a t-girl bar on his way home, can’t he? If someone in particular happened to be there too, well, small world. “Oh, hi, Penny. Fancy meeting you here?” Right, Jack, like she wouldn’t see right through you. You’d have to deal with Lola and the other t-girls too. Did they know that you and Penny broke up? I doubted it. Penny wouldn’t discuss her personal life with them. Even so, they must be wondering why she hasn’t been coming in with you lately. Was she going by herself? Probably. They’re her friends. It wouldn’t take much for them to put two and two together, or one minus one. If so, then I was fair game. That was another complication in my life I didn’t need.

The funny thing, or at least the frustrating thing, was that I had lost my interest in other women. I’d see an attractive woman on the street and all I could do was compare her to Penny. I checked out guys too, just to see if perhaps my tastes had changed, but they hadn’t. I had to find some way to demonstrate my change of heart and it had to be soon or I was going to go nuts having these conversations with myself.

Each night I would go back to my apartment and nuke some dinner while remembering how insistent Penny was about eating healthy. Well, Jack, maybe if you kill yourself with cholesterol she will be sorry. Unfortunately, her remorse over your self-inflicted coronary will do you no good. After dinner, I’d pour myself a large scotch to drown my sorrows and watch TV until I went to bed. Then one night I saw a commercial about abused animals. I liked animals, but they only wanted money. Spare time I had; spare money I didn’t.

Just as I was about to hit the power button on the remote and spend one more sleepless night, there was a commercial about being a big brother or big sister. I could do that. Of course, the commercial was over before I could write down the number. They had to be in the phone book. I had no idea what I did with the phone book. I rummaged around, but couldn’t find it. I had one in my office. Tomorrow I would call and soon Penny would be back in my arms or, better yet, my bed or, even better yet, her kitchen. My arteries and other vital parts of me were overjoyed. I turned out the lights and dreamed of Penny in a white bridal apron. I can’t help my imagination when I’m asleep.

As soon as I got to my office, I got the phone book. It took a little of my superb investigative skills to find the right organization. It was called Big Brothers Big Sisters. I punched in the numbers. A pleasant female voice answered.

“Hello, Big Brothers Big Sisters, how may I help you?”

“Umm, well, umm, I was thinking, umm, I would like to join or whatever. You know be a big brother.”

“Wonderful,” she responded reassuringly. “You will find it a very rewarding experience. May I have your name, please.”

“Jack.”

“You last name, please, Jack.”

“Oh, Blaine, Jack Blaine.”

“Thank you, Mr. Blaine. May I have your address, please.”

“My home or office?

“Wherever you’d like us to send the application form.”

“I have to apply?”

“Yes, Mr. Blaine, Jack, we’re a social service agency and we have to screen our volunteers before we match them with a child. I’m sure you can understand the need for us to be careful when putting adults together with children.”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

I wondered if my having a transgendered girlfriend would disqualify me. It didn’t seem like the time to ask. I gave her my office address.

“Thank you. You should be receiving an application form in the mail in the next few days. Please fill it out and return it. One of our social workers will be in touch with you for an interview. Being a big, that’s what we call the men and women who volunteer, is going to be a very rewarding experience.”

She laughed. “I already said that, but it’s true. You’ll see. Thank you Mr. Blaine, Jack. Please call back if you have any questions about completing the application. Goodbye.”

“Bye,” I replied and hung up.

Perfect. In a few days I would be a big, as the woman called it, take a kid out for a burger and ice cream and everything would be back to normal. Okay, things were never normal, but back to the way they were. The kid wins, I win, we all get what we want. Does he, Jack? Do you? This isn’t a game. It’s a child’s life. You can’t just use him. Penny would never respect you for that. Even with your low standards you wouldn’t respect yourself. Maybe you shouldn’t do this. Well, you probably won’t qualify anyway and that will solve the problem. There’s no harm in applying I assured myself.

The application arrived and I immediately began to fill it out. In addition to the basic information, it wanted three people who had known me for at least two years as references for my character and reputation. I supposed that “known” was a relative term, so long as they were comfortable vouching for me. I put down the name of an attorney who used me as his investigator and a police detective who I helped out occasionally with tips from my contacts.

I gave it a lot of thought and for the third reference I put down Penny. She didn’t qualify as to how long she had known me, but I was sure that her being a social worker would make the difference. I also expected that they would contact my references and I wanted her to know that I was applying . Two birds with one stone, so to speak. Three birds, if you count the disclosure of my relationship with her. Would she reveal that she was transgendered? I suppose she would, if she thought it was relevant. Was it? I guess she’d know better than anyone.

I kept waiting for the call back. After a week passed without hearing from them, I assumed that they had decided I wasn’t suitable and didn’t want to waste their time talking to me. You’d think that at least they’d have the courtesy to write me a rejection letter, I complained to myself. When the phone did ring, I answered it as a regular business call.

“Jack Blaine investigative services,” I announced. “How may we help you?”

“Jack Blaine, please.”

“Speaking.”

“Mr. Blaine, this is Betsy Sidman at Big Brothers Big Sisters. I would like to make an appointment for an intake interview. When would it be convenient?”

“I, umm, well, actually, my schedule is flexible, Ms., ah, umm, Ms. Sidman. I work for myself and I can come in pretty much any time.”

“Would tomorrow at two o’clock be too soon?”

“No, tomorrow at two would be fine.”

“Do you know where we are located?”

“Where I mailed the application, is that right?”

“Yes. Two o’clock tomorrow. I’m looking forward to meeting you.”

“Me too. Do I need to bring anything?”

“No. Oh, you’ll need a driver’s license or photo ID to get through the security desk in the lobby and we also need it to verify your identity.”

“No problem. See you tomorrow. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.”

Okay, Jack, you’re on a roll, I congratulated myself. Then I realized that was how my clothes looked, like I had been rolled. I finished up the report I was working on and hurried back to my apartment. Did I have a clean shirt? Damn, no. They were all in a pile on the floor. Maybe I could steam the wrinkles out in the shower. I picked out the one that had the best chance of rehabilitation. A sniff told me that it needed more than moisture to be wearable.

For crying out loud. Where is Penny when I need her. She is the one who made sure I had clean clothes. How am I supposed to get her back if I need her to help me to get her back? Pull yourself together Jack, I ordered myself. Take a deep breath and think. Why in the world did you say okay to tomorrow and leave yourself no time to get ready? Call what’s her name, Betsy, and tell her something came up and you need to postpone the interview. Brilliant, except you want to go tomorrow. The cleaners. Of course. They can have it ready by tomorrow afternoon. You might as well take your slacks and sport jacket to be pressed too. There, Jack, you see. If you think calmly, you can solve any problem.

All that was left was to find a tie that didn’t have an obvious stain and to shine my shoes. Since I only wore a tie when I had to go to court for a client, they were in pretty good shape. I didn’t have any shoe polish, but there was a shoemaker on the way to the cleaners. I got everything together and dropped off the clothes. I stopped at the shoemaker’s on the way home. Back at my apartment, I celebrated by ordering Chinese takeout. In deference to Penny, I told them to hold the MSG. I poured myself a glass of scotch to celebrate the solution to my wardrobe problem and await the delivery of my dinner.

I set my alarm for six a.m. to be sure that I had enough time to shower, shave and stop at the cleaners. Everything went perfectly and at one thirty an impressive me was heading for the address of Big Brothers Big Sisters. I showed my license at the security desk. The security officer checked my name against the visitor’s list and handed me a temporary pass card. He directed me to the elevators and told me to get off at the ninth floor. I got to the office about ten minutes early, but I thought that it would show both reliability and enthusiasm. The security officer had called up, so the receptionist was expecting me. She buzzed the door open.

“Mr. Blaine,” good afternoon she greeted me.

“Hi. I have an appointment with Ms. Sidman.”

“Yes. I notified her that you’re here. She should be out shortly. Please have a seat.”

I sat down. The receptionist went back to typing and answering calls. It seemed like a very busy place. I could hear only bits of her conversation with callers. Mostly, just names or an occasional message to have someone call back. I waited anxiously. I glanced at my watch. It was five of two. A few minutes later, a door opened and a young woman came out. I sized her up as in her late twenties, average height, short reddish brown hair and dark eyes, attractive by my standards, and casually dressed in slacks and a sweater.

She extended her right hand. “Good afternoon, Mr. Blaine. I’m Betsy Sidman. Please follow me.”

She turned and went to the door, using a key card to open it and holding it for me to go in. We went down a corridor and into a small office. She directed me to one of the chairs in front of the desk, went around and sat down. She opened a manilla folder. I could see that my name was on the tab.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Blaine. May I call you Jack?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Jack. I must say your references spoke highly of you. I was pleasantly surprised to have the opportunity to speak with Ms. Johnson. As you might imagine, it’s a small community of social workers and I have listened to her speak. How is it that you know her?”

Using my deductive skills, since she was asking the question, I assumed that Penny had not volunteered any details of our relationship or ex-relationship. I didn’t think that now was the time to get into it.

‘We, umm, I, umm, met her when I was working on a case and we became friends,” I summarized.

That must have satisfied her, because she moved on without any comment.

“I have some standard questions we ask all of our prospective volunteers. May I start?”

“Yes, go ahead.”

She went through a list, noting my answers. Most of the information she wanted was innocuous. How long had I lived at my address? What kind of work did I do? Where did I go to school? What was my religious affiliation, if any? Everything was going great until she asked the one question I feared.

“Jack, would you tell me your sexual orientation, please?”

Uh oh. Think fast, Jack. “I though you couldn’t ask that,” I challenged her.

“An employer can’t in most cases, but we don’t have any such restriction in screening volunteers. We don’t discriminate, but it’s up to us whether you are a suitable match. Once we accept you into the program, it is up to the child’s parent, usually the mother. She has a right to know about the person who she is trusting with her son.” She gave me a reassuring smile. “It’s up to you, Jack,. You don’t have to answer the question, but, if you don’t, it will be difficult to place you.”

“I understand, Ms Sidman.”

“Betsy, please,” she interrupted me.

“Betsy, it’s not that I don’t want to answer the question. It’s that I don’t know how to answer the question.”

“The answer to the question is to say that I am straight or I am gay.” She paused. “Oh, do you mean that you’re bisexual?”

“No, not bisexual. Just sexual, but it’s complicated. You mentioned that you spoke with Penny Johnson.”

“Yes,” she replied curiously.

“Do you know that she’s transgendered?”

“Yes.” Her eyes went wide. “You, you’re not?”

“Transgendered,” I finished her question. “No. I am what I was born, a male.”

“Oh, then I don’t see what that has to do with your difficulty in answering the question.”

“You asked me how I knew her.”

“Yes.”

“I told you that we met when I was working on a case. That was true, but it became more than that. I’m in love with her. I asked her to marry me. Now do you see the problem? Am I gay, because the person I love was born male, or am I straight, because she considers herself a woman and so do I?”

Betsy smiled again.

“I can’t help you with the philosophical answer, but I can with the clerical one. I write down whatever you tell me. Pick one and we can go on to complete your interview.”

“I consider myself straight.”

She made a note and looked up.

“I hope you won’t think that I’m being too nosey, but are congratulations in order?”

“You mean on being accepted as a volunteer?”

She shook her head.

“No, on getting married.”

“Oh, no, it, it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry, Jack.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m sure you will be relieved to know that we’re done with the interview. I need you to sign some release forms that will let us check your criminal record. I told you, we need to be thorough in screening our volunteers.”

“No problem. As a licensed private investigator I have to have a clean record. You’re welcome to check.”

She handed me the forms. I signed them and gave them back.

“The last item is the agreement which says you’ll follow our policies and procedures. They’re simple. So many visits per month, common courtesy with regard to notifying us and the family about any problem and keeping us advised as to how things are going. Sign here please.”

I took the pen she offered and signed the form.

“That’s it, Jack. It can take a week or two before we get the background check completed. I will call you as soon as we hear back. Thank you, Jack. It’s been a pleasure.”

She came around the desk and extended her hand. I stood up and shook it.

“Likewise.”

She went to the door and opened it to escort me to the elevator.

As I was leaving, she asked me, “Jack, does your volunteering have anything to do with Ms. Johnson? You don’t have to tell me. It’s not part of the interview, but it is important in making a match. I don’t want to put you together with a boy who is emotionally fragile if you’re doing this just to impress her and not going to follow through.”

She must have seen from my startled expression that she was right. The woman was obviously good at her job. The was no point in trying to be evasive.

“Yes, that is the reason.”

“Thank you for being honest, Jack. Please understand that a volunteer’s motive is not important. Even doing something good for the wrong reason can have its benefits.”

“It’s not like that, Betsy. I do want to impress Penny, Ms. Johnson, but not by volunteering. Our relationship ended because I asked her to give up her work and lead what I foolishly thought could be a normal life for us. Penny knew better. Now I need to prove to myself I can be a different person. One who understands and accepts the kind of commitment she has to the people she helps. That is what will impress her. At least I hope it will.”

“I hope so too, Jack. If it does, can I come to the wedding?” she lightened the conversation.

“If it works, you can be maid of honor.”

She held up her left hand and wiggled her finger to show me her wedding ring.

“Matron of honor, maybe, but that’s up to the bride. Will you put in a good word?”

“Better than that. If you help me make this work, you can be the best man. That position is still vacant and under the circumstances I don’t think being a GG disqualifies you. You know what that is?”

She laughed.

“Ms. Johnson put on a training seminar for us. Yes.”

Betsy escorted me to the reception area, we said goodbye again and I left. Now that it was over, I was really excited about becoming a big brother or Big. I had to start using the jargon. It was still working hours, so I went back to my office to check my messages. There was nothing urgent. All I had to do was wait for a call. I wondered who I would get for a little. I hoped he wouldn’t be too young. I wasn’t very good with little kids. I’d just have to wait and see.

Two weeks went by and I was getting impatient. And horny. The idea of going down to Ginger’s was becoming more appealing. Then again, I remembered Penny’s warning about my undergoing INSGR, involuntary non-surgical gender reassignment, if she caught me with one of the other t-girls. Patience, Jack. All good things come to he who waits and Penny was worth waiting for.

Wednesday of the third week I got the call. I had been approved and Betsy had a match for me. The boy’s name was Dimitri. He was nine years old and his mother emigrated from Russia three years ago. His father stayed behind to care for his elderly parents. The boy’s mother felt that it was important for him to spend time with a man. Would I like her to arrange a meeting?

I asked her if she had any more information. Did he like sports? I was concerned that I’d get a boy who belonged to the chess club and took violin lessons. Don’t get me wrong. I’m as much in favor of culture as the next guy, but I thought that it would be difficult to find activities we both enjoyed. Betsy said that she had done her best to match my profile from her interview. Did I want to meet him she repeated. Yes, I told her, please set up a meeting. Okay, she’d call me back. Was my schedule still flexible. Yes, it was.

The next afternoon I got a call from Betsy. Since the boy was in school, the meeting had to be on a weekend. Was I free on Saturday morning. I was. She said that she preferred the first meeting to be outside the home, a neutral environment, usually a restaurant that was kid friendly. I suggested the coffee shop across the street from my office. It had an inexpensive breakfast menu and was relatively quiet. I gave her the address. She said she would set up the meeting. I should be there at 10 o’clock, unless she called with a change of plans. I asked if there was anything I should bring with me. A present for the boy maybe or something for the mother. No, I shouldn’t do anything that might influence their decision.

At least this time I could make myself presentable before the meeting. That evening I checked my wardrobe, a rather generous term for three pairs of pants and a half dozen shirts. Maybe if you included a dark brown sports coat, three ties that almost went with it and a pair of black semi-dressy loafers. Well, they had a tassel, so you could call them that. The good news was that I just got my underwear back from the laundry, so my personal hygiene would not be criticized. I decided to dress casually. Khaki pants, an open sport shirt and comfortable boat shoes that I knocked around in would do. Betsy said that I shouldn’t try to influence them and this was the real me. Now all I needed to do was wait a few days and get there a little before they did, so I could greet them.

The rest of the week dragged on. I wanted to call Penny and tell her about my becoming a big brother, but it was premature, since the match wouldn’t be made until after the meeting. There was nothing to do but wait. Friday night I set my alarm for 7 a.m. and went to bed early. I tossed and turned all night, at least it seemed all night, but the alarm woke me when it went off, so I must have gotten some sleep. I got up, showered and shaved, made sure I used a generous amount of deodorant, better safe than sorry, and got dressed. It only took twenty minutes from my apartment to my office and there wouldn’t be any traffic on Saturday. I got to the restaurant early, as I had planned, to make sure I got one of the large booths. Ann, the waitress I usually flirted with, didn’t work on the weekends, which was just as well.

I seated myself and a waitress came over. It wasn’t very crowded, but she still gave me a questioning look. I told her that I was expecting three other people. She nodded and put down four menus. Did I want to order? No, I would wait until they got there. Coffee? She had two pots with her. Yes. Regular or decaf? Regular. She filled the mug from the pot in her right hand and walked away. I doctored up the coffee and sipped on it while I waited.

About fifteen minutes after I arrived, I saw Betsy come in with another woman and a boy. I slid out of the booth and stood up to get their attention. Betsy looked around and saw me. She took the woman’s arm and brought her over. I tried to get a look at the boy as they approached me, but he was behind his mother. Betsy let go of the woman’s arm when they got to the table. The boy stayed behind his mother.

“Hi,” Betsy greeted me.

“Hi,” I replied making eye contact with her and then the woman.

“Jack, this is Tanya Ilianskya.”

“Hello, it is pleasure to meet you,” the woman took the initiative. She spoke with a noticeable Russian accent.

“Hello, Tanya, I am pleased to meet you.” I put out my hand and she gave me a firm handshake.

“And this is Dimitri.” The boy shyly stayed behind his mother. She turned and guided him forward.

“Offer hand, Dimitri,” she coached him. He put out his right hand. I shook it.

“Hello, Dimitri. I hope that we will become good friends,” I said, trying to put him at ease. I noticed that Tanya smiled and nodded her approval. So far so good.

“Please,” I gestured at the table, “sit down. Tanya and Dimitri slid into one side of the booth. Betsy seated herself beside me. I handed them the menus.

“The food is good. Dimitri, what do you like to eat? They have bacon and eggs and pancakes.” Then I realized that they may have had breakfast already. “Oh, if you’re not hungry, it’s okay. They can make milkshakes or you could have a soda or juice.” Damn Jack, stop trying so hard. Let the boy make his own choice.

The waitress noticed that the other people had arrived and came over with her two pots of coffee. Betsy had decaf and Tanya asked for tea. The waitress filled Betsy’s cup. She left and came back with a mug of hot water and a tea bag. She took out her order pad and waited with her pencil poised. Tanya and Betsy both wanted just their beverages.

“I,” I gave a sheepish shrug, “didn’t have breakfast. Would you mind if I ordered something?” I also wanted to give Dimitri a chance. Kids always had an appetite. Otherwise, it would be awkward if they all watched me eat. “Dimitri, are you hungry?” He nodded. “Good. What would you like.”

“Pancakes please?” He looked at his mother. “Dah,” she told him. I knew enough Russian that it meant she approved. The waitress tapped her pencil impatiently on her order pad. I made a mental note to skimp on her tip. “The buttermilk stack for Dimitri and the number two special for me, over easy with bacon,” I ordered, “and a glass of milk.” I looked him and then at his mother. She smiled at me, so I assumed I had made the right choice. The waitress left.

There was an awkward silence. Betsy was obviously experienced with these type of meetings. “Jack, why don’t you tell Tanya and Dimitri a little about yourself.”

“Okay, well, umm, I, umm,” great start Jack. “I’m a private investigator. I work on my own, for lawyers mostly, helping them prepare their cases. My office is across the street. That’s why I suggested this restaurant. I come here a lot for lunch. I, I’m single. I live in an apartment. I have a car.” I realized I was babbling and also I didn’t know how much Tanya understood. I stopped talking.

“Tanya,” Betsy continued as master of ceremonies, “tell Jack something about yourself and about Dimitri.”

“We come from town outside Moscow. I am engineer. I do big projects in Russia. I do little projects around house here. No license.” She looked at me. I couldn’t tell if she was being humorous or serious. Her accent and unemotional delivery made it hard to tell. “Dimitri, he good boy. He get good marks in school. His father, he is engineer too. We meet at work. Maybe Dimitri be engineer. He good with math. You like math, Jack?”

So much for this match. “No, I am terrible at math.” Then I had a thought as to how I could turn it around. “Maybe Dimtri could tutor me.” That suggestion got a big smile from Tanya and even a little smile from Dimitri. Well done, Jack.

“Dimitri,” tell Jack something about yourself, please,” Betsy seized the moment.

“I like football.”

“Terrific, Dimitri, I like football too. Maybe we could go to a game.” Oops, Betsy warned me about trying to influence them. I looked at her, but apparently it was not a hard and fast rule, because she gave me a little nod of approval. With that encouragement I added, “I have a friend who has really good seats.” I could see Dimitri become more comfortable.

Our conversation was interrupted by the waitress delivering our food. Dimitri put syrup on his pancakes and went after them with a fork. I cut up my egg and took a bite. I maintained proper etiquette by wiping the egg yolk dribble off of my lips with my napkin. Since Dimitri and I were absorbed with our meals, Betsy maintained the conversation. I was really impressed with her. She reminded me of Penny.

Tanya talked about her life in Russia and the difficulty she had adjusting to America. Too many choices, she complained. “In Russia, only one brand toilet paper and never in state shop. Buy on black market. Here I spend twenty minutes in supermarket to pick out.” I could tell that she did have a sense of humor. Dimitri looked unhappy about his mother’s choice for illustrating the difference between East and West.

When Dimitri and I had finished our breakfast, Betsy suggested that she and Tanya take a walk and let us get acquainted. They got up and went out. Of course, the waitress took that as a cue that we were finished. She came over, started to clear the dishes and put down the check. I gave her a disapproving look. She scowled back at me and walked off. Obviously, no refill for you, Jack, not that you wanted one.

“So, Dimitri, what grade are you in?” I remembered that Betsy had said he was nine.

“Fourth.” That would make him almost ten, I guessed.

“When is your birthday?”

“April.”

“Dimitri, when you said you liked football, you meant American football, right. Not European football. We call that soccer.”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you play football?”

“American football?”

“Yes.”

“No. I play soccer at home.”

“You mean at home in Russia?”

“Yes.”

I continued to talk to Dimitri about sports. He liked sports, but he wasn’t on any teams. His mother made him come home after school and work on his math with her. I expected that he was way above his grade in that subject, but probably struggling with the others, because of his difficulty with English. I asked Dimitri whether it was a problem. He said that he could speak English, but had trouble reading it. I remembered that the Russian language used a different alphabet. I was impressed with how much progress he had made, but also I was concerned by how strict his mother seemed to be with him. He wasn’t allowed to watch TV either.

Kids should have fun, although I couldn’t claim any experience with parenting. I suppose things are different in the society Dimitri comes from and Tanya is simply doing what a good Russian mother does. Dimitri definitely needed an American adult to help him adjust. You couldn’t get more apple pie and baseball than me. He was in luck and so I was I. I really liked the boy and maybe I could do some good. You have to be careful, though, Jack, I reminded myself. You can’t contradict his mother’s decision to focus on his education.

Betsy and Tanya returned. The restaurant wasn’t crowded, so there was no reason for us to hurry and leave. They sat down. I told them that I would enjoy being Dimitri’s big brother, if Tanya wanted me. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to be so direct. I looked at Betsy to see if she disapproved. To my relief, she looked at Tanya for her decision. Tanya looked at Dimitri and said something to him in Russian. He answered in the same language. Although I didn’t understand what they were saying, it was obvious from how long they spoke that it was more than a yes or no discussion. Finally Tanya nodded.

‘Dimitri say he like Jack.” She looked at me and smiled. “Dimitri want to know if you have gun and you let him ride in your police car, make siren.”

“No, I’m a private investigator,” I explained. “Sometimes I work with the police, but mostly I am on my own. I don’t have a gun and I just have a regular car. I know some people on the force and they might let Dimitri sit in a police car, but they aren’t allowed to give civilians, umm, people who don’t work for the police, rides. Sorry.” I looked at Dimitri. “Does that change your mind?” He said something to his mother in Russian. “He still say okay.”

“Wonderful,” Betsy said enthusiastically. “Jack, I will do the paperwork to make the match official. Tanya, I will give Jack your telephone number and home address. Jack, please give Tanya a call at the beginning of next week and arrange to pick up Dimitri. It’s up to you two to work out the details of day, time and when he needs to be back. Okay, unless there are any questions, we’re done.”

None of us had anything more. I took out my wallet to pay for the breakfast. Tanya opened her pocketbook to pay her share of the bill.

“No, please, Tanya. This is a special day. Let me.” She closed her pocketbook.

“Thank you, Jack.” She looked at Dimitri. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” he repeated.

“You are both very welcome.”

Everyone shook each other’s hand and I waited as they filed out. On the street, we waived goodbye. Betsy made the telephone sign with her thumb and little finger against her cheek. I nodded. On my way back to my apartment, I complimented myself on successfully getting a Little, as they called them. I wondered what we should do on our first date. Was that what you called it, a date? It didn’t sound right. Funny, I thought. You are really into this for a guy who told Penny he would make a terrible father. Maybe there is hope for you yet.

I wanted to call Penny and tell her right away, but I was afraid she’d think I was doing it just as an excuse to talk her into getting back together. Besides, Jack, you haven’t even spent time with Dimitri. What if your first date, whatever, turns out to be bad. Then you’d look even worse. I decided to wait.

In fact, things went well. I took Dimitri to a movie for my first visit. That’s the term they use. I cleared it with Tanya. They lived in an apartment across town. The drive to the theater gave us some time to get to know each other and watching the movie meant we didn’t have to strain to keep up the conversation the whole time. I bought a huge tub of popcorn, sodas and an industrial sized box of Sno-Caps, my favorite. Dimitri acquired a taste for them too. I worried that Tanya would be angry with me for spoiling his appetite. She turned out to be very understanding and appreciative.

I was an only child, so having a little brother, even one who wasn’t related, was fun. In fact, I got so involved with planning my visits with Dimitri that it was two weeks before I thought about calling Penny. I picked up the phone and started to dial her office number. Then I thought maybe it would be better if I spoke to her at home. I hung up and puttered around the office for the rest of the day. I picked up a pizza and a six-pack on my way home. After finishing my gourmet dinner, well, I did splurge for Italian sausage and peppers That’s gourmet, more or less. Okay, a lot less than more. I downed a third beer for courage and made the call. My luck, I got her answering machine. Where was she? At Gingers? Without me? Of course without you, Jack. You’re here. Maybe I should go down there. Beep, the tone sounded.

“Umm, ahh, hi Penny, it’s Jack.” Yeah, Jack, like she wouldn’t recognize your voice. “I, umm, well, umm, I wanted to, I just wanted to see how your were doing and to tell you, umm, something, ahh, umm, I have a little brother. I mean not a real little brother, you know, like big brothers and sisters. You gave me a reference. That kind of little brother. His name is Dimitri. I, I don’t know, I, I just wanted to talk to you. Will you call me. I’m home.”

Brilliant, Jack. I was hoping that her machine had one of those options to erase and re-record the message, but it didn’t. What I said was what she got. Then again, Penny knew me well enough that she wouldn’t expect Shakespeare. I hung up. I stayed up until midnight, hoping she’d call back. Either she got in late or she didn’t want to talk to me. Oh my God, what if she had someone with her and that’s why she didn’t call me? You’re losing it, Jack. Go to bed.

I dragged out my morning routine, hoping that Penny would pick up my message and call me before she went to work. I gave up at nine o’clock and headed to my office. The phone rang a number of times, but they were all business calls. By the end of the day, I had resigned myself to the fact that Penny didn’t want to renew our relationship. I couldn’t blame her. Just as I was about to leave, the phone rang. I answered it as usual.

“Jack, Hi.” It was Penny!

“Hi Penny. I, umm, I ah, I thought you were mad at me.”

“Mad at you? Why would you think that, Jack?”

‘I, umm, well, I, you know, you didn’t call me back, so, I, umm, thought that... “

”Oh, Jack, I’m so sorry,” she interrupted me. “No, no, I was speaking at a seminar today, so I worked late last night updating my presentation. By the time I got home it was too late to call you and this morning I had to leave early. This is the first chance that I’ve had.”

“Oh, I, umm, I’m glad, Penny. I,” I sighed, “I really care about you.”

“I really care about you too, Jack.”

“Then why aren’t we together, Penny?” I challenged her.

“Fire and ice, Jack. Each is fine by itself, but together they destroy each other.”

“Penny, I’m sorry, really. I was wrong. That’s why I volunteered to be a big brother. I told you that in my message. It has helped me to appreciate commitment. You’re patient with others, Penny, please be patient with me. I have to see you,” I pleaded.

“I don’t know, Jack. What would we talk about?”

“About us, Penny.”

“We’ve already had that conversation, Jack.”

“No, Penny, you spoke to a different Jack. This one wants you back and he won’t take no for an answer. He will sit on your doorstep until either you open the door or he dies from starvation. Your neighbors will be very upset if there is a corpse cluttering up the hallway.”

After a brief silence, she relented. “Okay, come on over and I’ll make us some dinner. I believe there’s something in my lease about not leaving dead bodies in the common areas and I don’t want to get evicted.” Penny always was able to top me. “Give me about an hour to get ready.” It was five o’clock.

“Okay, I’ll be there about six, bye Penny.”

“Goodbye, Jack.”

After hanging up the phone, I raised my left arm and took a sniff. Luckily, my deodorant had not failed. I kept a bottle of mouthwash in my desk drawer in case I had to speak with someone after having a burger with onions for lunch. I took a swig, swished it around and held it while I locked up. I stopped into the men’s room and spit it in the sink, relieved myself for good measure, washed up and walked to my car. It took about twenty minutes to drive over to Penny’s apartment, so I had time to pick up a bottle of wine on my way. I stopped at a liquor store and asked the clerk for something special. She recommended a twenty four dollar bottle of California chablis. Penny usually ordered white wine when we went out. Now was not the time to economize. I bought it.

I got to Penny’s apartment and parked. It was just like old times, sort of. Well, parking and going up to her apartment was the same. Convincing her to take me back was something new. I rang her on the intercom and she buzzed me in. I took the elevator and got off on her floor. I knocked and waited nervously for her to open the door. I felt like a schoolboy on his first date. I heard her turning the lock and there she was. Okay, Jack, sweep her off her feet. I stood there unable to think of anything to say to her.

“Why Jack Blaine. How nice to see you. Do come in,” she teased me.

“I, um, I, um, ah.” For crying out loud, Jack, give her the damn bottle. “Here.” I handed her the wine. “I hope you like it, it’s, um, it’s real wine.” What? No, you brought her pretend wine. It’s grape juice. “I mean, um, it’s really good wine. Um, the ah, woman at the liquor store said it was. I, um, ah.”

“Thank you, Jack,” Penny mercifully interrupted my babbling. She leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. She took the bottle, put her hand on my arm to move me out of the doorway and closed the door. She kept her hand on my arm as she led me to the living room.

“Sit down. I’ll open the wine. Dinner’s almost ready. I know you prefer beer. I have some in the ‘fridge.”

“Please, Penny, I’d like wine too.”

“You’ve changed your drinking habits?”

“No, but, well, I want to share the wine with you. It’s a special occasion.”

“Really? Christmas, Halloween, someone’s birthday?” she continued to tease me.

“Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Jack. You’re serious and I’m being silly.” She paused and considered her admission. “No, not silly, cruel. I made you believe it was your fault when it was really my own.” She shook her head.

“How can you blame yourself? I’m the one who asked you to give up your career to marry me.”

She shook her head again. “No, it is my fault. If it was just about our life together, we could have worked it out. There’s always a compromise. At least that’s what I counsel. I’m a hypocrite, Jack. I can help others deal with their gender confusion, but not myself. I was born male, but I’m not a man. I live my life as a woman, but I’m not female. I am terrified of being rejected by someone I care about, so I rejected you first. You deserve better.” She lowered her eyes sadly.

“Better, Penny? You’re pretty. Heads turn when you walk in a room. You’re smart. You have all of those letters after your name. You’re sympathetic, sensitive, loving and caring. You watched over Lavender when she was in the hospital and Dawn died at peace because of your support.” I put my hand under her chin and lifted her face to look at me. “I don’t care if you have a penis or a vagina or a pouch like a kangaroo. I love you for who you are, not what you aren’t.”

She gave a little whimper, her lower lip quivered and she couldn’t hold back the tears.

“I’m sorry, Penny,” I apologized. “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I’m, I’m not very good with words,” I admitted.

“Shut up, Jack,” she managed to get out through the sobs.

“Penny, I’m really...”

She struggled to control herself. “Please. I’m not sad. I’m happy.”

“But? Oh, the hormones.”

“No, Jack, it’s not the hormones. It’s your words. They were perfect.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Now shut up and let me enjoy them.”

Quit while you’re ahead, Jack. I held out my arms and she cuddled up, her liquid happiness soaking my shoulder. Finally, her crying subsided. She moved back, looked at me lovingly and this time her kiss found my lips. Tongues make excellent aiming devices.

“Jack?” Penny asked once we came up for air. “Exactly how many marsupials have you made love to since we stopped seeing each other?”

“How many whats?”

“Marsupials, animals with pouches.”

“Oh, those. Umm, none actually.”

“Well, then,” she continued playfully, “how do you know you wouldn’t prefer one to me?”

“I’m just guessing. I suppose I could stop off at the zoo and see if there are any female mar-whatevers looking for dates.”

“No, I don’t think that will be necessary.”

“Oh, okay.” Actually, I was relieved that I would not have to romance Australian wildlife to prove my love.

The rest of the evening was, well, the meal was better than any I had for a long time. I regretted that oysters weren’t on the menu, lots of them, although I did manage to hold my own. Well, actually, umm, no I didn’t. She, we, umm, never mind. Who held what isn’t important. Well, no, it is important, more or less. Okay, more than less. Anyway, the next morning Penny was up early making breakfast. It might be the most important meal of the day, but that doesn’t excuse tofu bacon. She gave me a long kiss goodbye as consolation. I went back to my own apartment, showered, shaved, changed my clothes and went to work.

Things were back to normal between Penny and me. At least as normal as they ever got. I still wanted to get married., but I didn’t want to renew my proposal until I was sure she was ready. Exactly when that would be or how I would know was a mystery, but, I reminded myself of that wise advice: don't mess with success. Also, I doubted that my rejection of kangaroos as a mate would work a second time.

THE END

Finders Keepers

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Restricted Audience (r)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

This is the fourth part of the "Lost and Found" triology (which makes it a tetralogy, sorry) for those who wanted to know the outcome of Jack and Penny's romance. It can be read independently, but it is better in context. For those who don't remember or haven't read the other parts, Jack falls in love with Penny, who is transgendered ("Lost and Found"), they break up ("Found and Lost") and they get back together ("Lost and Found Again"). It is more complicated and hopefully more enticing than the synopsis, but judge for yourself. In this part, Jack and Penny deal with the problems of preparing for their "mixed marriage." What does Jack tell people about his future wife and what happens when Penny brings Jack home to meet her parents?

Finders Keepers

By Missy Crystal

After we got back together, well, okay, I apologized and Penny took me back, so it was kind of one sided, but she admitted she was scared so, umm, where was I? Anyway, the important thing was that I had a second chance. Penny wanted me to move in with her, an offer that I couldn't refuse, since it would save my stomach from the ravages of take out while insuring I had clean clothes, not to mention the other benefits of cohabiting. She made room for my things in her dresser and closet, which wasn't much of a concession considering that my plea for comfort over style did not prevent most of my wardrobe from being dropped off at Goodwill. We started going back to Ginger's. I really missed the girls. If they knew that we broke up, they were very discreet about it. Except for Lola. She still insisted on challenging my choice.

"What does Penny have that I don't have?" she asked provocatively. Actually, they both had the same thing, so it was kind of a hard question to answer. Maybe difficult would be a better choice of words. Penny answered for me by noting that Lola was considerably larger in the chest, although those weren't her exact words, and offered to even things up by removing her implants with a butter knife. Ginger's didn't serve food, so I was pretty sure she was kidding.

I still hadn't learned to appreciate egg white omelets filled with tofu, but watching Penny puttering around the kitchen in her nightgown made up for food that tasted like sawdust. One morning, I mentioned that I would be out with Dimitri on Saturday. "Why don't you come too?" I suggested.

"No, it's your special time with him," she declined.

"I have lots of special time with him. I want you to meet him," I persisted.

"I don't think it's a good idea, Jack."

"Why not?"

"Children are very sensitive to changes in relationships. You're a substitute father figure," she lectured me. "He may worry that you have someone else in your life who will replace him. I wouldn't want that to happen."

"Baloney, Penny" I challenged her. "I don't have a degree, but I can tell when someone's making an excuse, no matter how authoritative they may sound."

"What will you tell him about me, Jack?" she conceded.

"The truth. That you are my..." I wanted to say fiancee, but that was a word that I had avoided, "friend," I completed the sentence.

"Is that what I am?"

"No, of course not. You're more than that. I love you. You know that, Penny," I argued, "but this isn't about us. You can't get out of this conversation by changing the subject. Why isn't it a good idea for Dimitri to meet you?" I repeated.

"Truth or dare?"

"If the dare ends up in the bedroom, yes."

"You have a one track mind, Jack."

"I do not. My mind has lots of tracks. They just happen to all end up in the bedroom when your involved. Now answer my question."

"Then take the dare, Jack and let it go."

"No."

"You won't like the answer," she warned me.

"I'll take my chances."

"It's the same reason I wouldn't marry you."

"I thought you were over that."

"I am, when it comes to us," she agreed, "but not when it involves other people. Jack, I told you, I have my own world where I'm accepted. I don't have to make excuses or explain myself to anyone. Dimitri is going to tell his mother that he met me. She's going to be curious. I am open about who I am and I don't want you to hide it either. I don't know how Dimitri's mother will feel about you, if she knew about me. It's not worth taking the chance."

"Shouldn't I be the judge of that? I don't want us to live in different worlds, Penny. You have your life, I have mine and we meet in the bedroom." The bedroom again, Jack? "Maybe if we combined our worlds my tracks would end someplace else." Nice recovery. "Please, Penny, let's do this together. Whatever happens, we'll work it out. That's what you said before," I reminded her.

"If it means that much to you, Jack, then I will, on one condition."

"What condition?"

"The other part of what I said is that there is always a compromise. Speak to the social worker first. Betsy?" I nodded. "I think you are making a mistake, but this is her area of expertise. I'll go along with whatever she recommends."

"Fair enough. I'll call her when I get to the office. In the meantime, can we follow one of the tracks?"

Penny laughed. "I got up an hour earlier to do my makeup and hair. Not a chance, but I can ring up Lola. I'm sure she would love to get her caboose on your track."

"Umm, no, I, umm, actually, I forgot I have an appointment. I stood up. Gotta run. I gave her a kiss on the cheek and headed for the door."

"Jack."

"Yes?"

"Unless you're meeting Lola, you should put on some pants."

When I arrived at my office, fully attired I should add, I called Betsy. She was on another call. I left my name and number. About twenty minutes later the phone rang. I answered it. "Jack Blaine Investigations. Jack Blaine speaking."

"Hi, it's Betsy. How are you?"

"I'm fine, Betsy. You?"

"Good. I hear from Tanya that you and Dimitri are getting on well together. She's very happy with you as his big. Not that I doubted she would be," she added.

"That's great to hear. I really like Dimitri. He's a good kid. Actually, that's why I called."

"Oh? I was hoping you were calling to tell me that you and Ms. Johnson were getting married. You're not reneging on your offer to let me be best man are you? I already made a deal with my husband to borrow his tux. I offered to let him have a dress in exchange, but he turned it down. Too bad, he's got nice legs."

"Well, we are back together, but that's not why I called. Well, no, it is, sort of, its, umm, its, like, umm, sorry, this is difficult to explain." Betsy patiently waited to hear what I had to say. "I want Penny to meet Dimitri."

"Why is that a problem, Jack? 'Penny, this is Dimitri. Dimitri, say hi to Ms. Johnson.'"

"I didn't think it was a problem either, but Penny does. She's concerned about it interfering with our relationship, Dimitri and me, if he thinks I have an, umm, a girl, umm, a girlfriend. You know, maybe he would think that there was someone else that I would rather be with and I wouldn't have time for him."

"That's it?"

"Well, umm, no, not exactly."

"Go on, Jack."

"Penny expects that Dimitri will tell Tanya and Tanya will be curious. Penny insists that I tell Tanya the truth about her, if she aks. You know, that she's transgendered."

There was a pause. I waited patiently for Betsy to collect her thoughts.

"Ms. Johnson is right, Jack. A child who has lost a parent, either literally, by their passing away, or figuratively, by their walking out, becomes fearful that the other people they care about will go away too. It can be very traumatic for them emotionally if it happens or even if they only think it will happen."

"Oh, so she shouldn't meet Dimitri, then?"

"I didn't finish. Dimitri knows that his father will be coming back. You're just filling in for him. As far as I can see, Dimitri is a well adjusted boy and under the circumstances I doubt that he would worry about meeting Ms. Johnson."

"So you think it's okay?"

"You gave me two reasons. I can't address the second. Tanya is the only one that can tell you how she feels about it."

"So there's no problem as far as your concerned, right?"

"Officially, there's no problem. Unofficially, a word of warning, Jack, be careful." She paused. "That's two words. Anyway, it's up to Tanya to decide whether to keep you as Dimitri's big. From what I know of her, she is very traditional. That's why she felt that Dimitri should have a man in his life until his father could get here. Good reason, bad reason or no reason, if she decides you're not the right man for Dimitri, there's nothing I can do about it."

"Thanks, Betsy. I understand."

"Hold on, I'm not done. We have lots of littles and not enough volunteers. I would have no problem finding you another match. Dimitri's loss would be some other boy's gain. In the words of that famous philosopher Jiminy Cricket, 'let your conscience be your guide.'"

"Thanks again, Betsy, and, yes, you're still the best man." She laughed.

After I hung up, I thought about Betsy's warning. Dimitri and Penny were both important to me. I had every right to have them meet. If Tanya thought less of me because of Penny, it was her problem, not mine. My conscience would be clear. So much for Jiminy Cricket.

I wanted to call Penny and tell her, but I knew she had a busy schedule. I decided to wait until she got home. I spent the rest of the day doing routine paperwork. I finished up a report, put it in an envelope to mail and decided to leave work early, the benefit of being your own boss. On my way home, there was a guy peddling roses at a stop light. I bought a dozen for ten bucks. Then I figured, what the heck, so I stopped off at the liquor store and got a bottle of wine. It was nice to have a little spending money, now that Penny and I were sharing the expenses, and there wasn't anyone I would rather spend it on than her. When I got home, I put the roses in a vase and put the bottle of wine on the table with two glasses. Penny didn't trust me in the kitchen. I think she suspected I would slip butter into one of the recipes, not that we had any, but I had my secret sources. Okay, it wasn't a secret, there was a convenience store around the corner, so she probably had good reason for her suspicion.

I was sitting on the couch watching the six o'clock news when I heard Penny come in. I turned off the tv and went to greet her. As I puckered, she held our her arm. " Let me put down my briefcase and take off my jacket." After she finished, she turned to me. "Okay, now what did you do that deserves my affection?"

"I love you."

"Good enough." She threw her arms around me and we kissed for about an hour. No, I wasn't looking at my watch, since the hand to which it was attached was otherwise occupied. It was a very long kiss. When we let go, she went off to change. About fifteen minutes later she was back in a warmup outfit and her hair in a ponytail. She saw the roses and the wine.

"Oh, Jack, how thoughtful. Is it a special occasion?"

"In a way. I talked to Betsy."

"I take it from the celebration she approved?"

"Not exactly. She agreed with you in principle, but felt that Dimitri was different. His father is around, just not here right now. She didn't think that he would be worried about my having someone else in my life."

"Okay, I was wrong."

"No, not wrong Penny, just half right. Betsy couldn't predict how Tanya would react. She made it clear that it was a risk I would have to take. I thought about it, I don't see a problem. You're as much a woman as she is."

"Except that I have the wrong plumbing in my panties."

"Really? The last time I checked there was nothing wrong with it. I could check again."

"Jack, be serious, please. You know what I mean. You're special. There aren't many men like you. There aren't many people like you. I should know. It's what I deal with every day, humiliation, rejection, hatred."

In my mind I pictured Dawn's father turning her away and poor Lavender in the hospital.

"Penny, this is my decision and I am willing to take the consequences," I insisted.

"In that case, I have another condition."

"You said that you would do it on one condition. Now its two conditions."

"It's a woman's prerogative to change her mind," she countered.

"What about the problem with the plumbing in your panties?"

"Why is it that you only remember what I say when I contradict myself?"

"Because, you're ten times smarter than me and I could never come up with it on my own." It's impossible to argue with a compliment. "Okay, two conditions," I conceded. "What's the second?"

"I want you to speak to Tanya first. If she says no, then at least Dimitri won't be in the middle of it. It's not right to let him think that it was his fault if something goes wrong after he meets me."

"Fair enough, Penny. I'll give her a call tomorrow."

When I got to the office the next morning, I picked up the phone, but then I figured Tanya was busy. Dimitri would be off to school by now, but she probably had housework or laundry or whatever to do after he left. I decided to wait until after ten. I went back to reviewing a video of a cheating husband I caught having some afternoon delight with a woman at a motel. You'd think that he would try to be less conspicuous, but these executive types were always arrogant. Not that I cared. I made my living off guys like him. I kept glancing up at the clock. At ten thirty I decided it was a good time to call.

The phone rang a few times. I thought that Tanya might have gone out. I was about to hang up and call later when I heard her accented voice.

"Allyo."

It took me a few seconds to put the phone back to my mouth.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Tanya, it's, Jack. Did I call at a bad time?"

"No, was doing dishes. Wet hands not good for holding phone. How you?"

"I'm fine, thanks. I have something I need to talk to you about."

"Dimitri is problem, yes?"

"No, there's no problem." I paused, trying to think of how to say it?"

"Jack?"

"Yes, Tanya. It's, well, it's, umm, hard to talk to you about it on the phone. You know, umm, with the difference in languages. I mean you speak English fine," I didn't want her to think I was criticizing her, " but what I have to say, well, it's kind of complicated. It would be better if we could get together. Could I come over?"

"You want come now?"

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"Okay, is good now."

"Great Tanya. I'll see you in about twenty minutes. Okay?"

"Dah. Yes."

I hung up, locked up the office and drove to Tanya's house. I knocked on the door. She opened it and invited me in. I notice she was dressed casually, comfortable shoes, slacks and a shirt, blouse I guess you would call it, because it was loose fitting and had some type of decoration, embroidery. It looked European. I followed her into the family room. She sat on the couch. I sat in an armchair facing her.

"You want tea, Jack? Cake? Good cake, from Russian bakery."

"No, thank you. I'd rather just talk."

She waited to hear what I had to say.

"I, umm, I have a friend, Tanya, a, umm, a girl, a girlfriend," I started out awkwardly. "I want her to meet Dimitri, if that's okay."

She gave me a puzzled look, shrugged her shoulders and replied, "Okay. You want tea and cake now."

I took a deep breath and went on. "There's more Tanya. My girlfriend, her name is Penny, Penny Johnson, she's, well she's more than just a girlfriend. I love her. I want to marry her. She's transgendered."

"Trans-a-gen?," Tanya tried to pronounce the word.

"Trans-gen-dered," I pronounced slowly.

"Spell please."

I recited the letters.

Tanya shook her hread. "Don't know word, how you say it?" I pronounced it for her again. "Wait." She walked over to a small desk and got a paperback book. I guessed it was a Russian-English dictionary. She started to thumb through the pages. She stopped and studied a page, running her finger down and then doing it again. "Not word in Russian," she concluded.

"It means that she's a woman, but she used to be a man." Geez Jack, not used to be. " I mean, well she's still a man, but she considers herself a woman and so do I," I corrected myself.

I could see that between the language barrier and the topic of the conversation, Tanya was having a hard time following what I was trying to tell her. I waited while she tried to sort it out. Finally, I could see her eyes widen.

"You have boyfriend, Jack?"

"Penny is the director of a social service agency." I decided it wouldn't help to describe the nature of her clients. "She is smart, she has two degrees, she is respected in her profession," I defended her, although it didn't answer Tanya's question.

"Yes, but he is man, this person? Penskyah, that ending for woman in Russian."

"Not Pen," I paused, "skyah, Tanya, just Penny. It's the same word as the copper coin that's worth one cent, we call it a penny too." That really confused her, a woman who was a man named after a coin. Penny was the one with the communication skills. She could explain it much better. Then the lightbulb went off.

"Tanya, I'm not good at this. It's important that you understand. Could I bring Penny to meet you? Then you could decide for yourself."

"You want to bring him here?"

"I want to bring her," I emphasized the 'her,' "yes, to meet you."

"Okay," she agreed skeptically, "you bring boyfriend,. When he come?"

I obviously had not done a good job of convincing Tanya that Penny was a woman or maybe it was just the way the Russian language uses masculine pronouns. I suppose it didn't matter. Penny would be able to make her understand. Would she, Jack? She told you, she doesn't have to excuse or explain herself to anyone. Why would she make an exception?

"Like I said, Tanya, she is has an important job. I will speak to her and see when she has time. When would be good for you?"

"Dimitri go to school in morning, come home three o'clock. He have math tutor on Thursday after school, come home five o'clock. You call, let me know." She thought for a few seconds. "Not say anything to Dimitri, Jack."

"No, of course not Tanya. That was why I spoke to you first."

"Okay, you call me."

"I will."

She got up and escorted me to the door. I could see that she was still concerned about our conversation. We didn't exchange the usual pleasantries. She just opened the door and I left. What were you expecting, Jack, I questioned myself as I drove back to my office, and why have you dragged Penny into this when she told you she didn't want to be involved. Congratulations on messing things up with everyone you care about. The road to hell, Jack, you're doing a great job paving it.

I moped around the office the rest of the day. I though about calling Penny, but this wasn't something that could be discussed on the phone during the workday. It would have to wait until we were together and I gave her the opportunity to say 'I told you so' a couple of dozen times. At four o'clock I had enough and decided to go home and wait for her. Wine and roses wouldn't work this time. I hadn't slept on the couch yet, but there was a first time for everything, as I found out after I started dating Penny, which had nothing to do with the problem I created, but was a comforting recollection. Well, you've gone through a lot of cliches getting yourself into this. Maybe 'love conquers all' would be the one that gets you out of it.

I brought our newspaper up from the lobby and started on the crossword puzzle while I waited for Penny. I couldn't concentrate. Instead, I kept rehearsing what I would say to Penny to convince her to help me. How about simply, Penny, Tanya wants to meet you? No, that's not true. It was your idea. Okay, I debated with myself, how about, Penny, Tanya doesn't understand what it means to be transgendred. That was true, but it didn't ask Penny to help me. What about, Penny, I tried to explain about you to Tanya, but couldn't, so would you? Better, although not exactly a compelling plea for help. I gave up trying to rehearse what I would say. I paced, angry with myself for being so cocksure. I winced at my unintentional pun. Finally, I heard Penny open the door. A minute later, she came into the room.

"Hi, Jack, how was your day?"

"Frustrating," I complained.

"Oh, Jack, I'm sorry," she said sympathetically, coming over and putting her arms around my waist."

"Is there anything I can do to make it better?" she asked suggestively.

"Being with you makes it better," I replied, pulling her against me. We held each other for a minute. She stood back and looked at me.

"What's the problem?"

"I met with Tanya today."

"You went to see her?" she asked with surprise.

"Yes. I thought it would be better if I told her about you face to face."

"And?"

"And, and I couldn't make her understand. Between the language difficulty and my being an idiot, all she got out of it was that I had a boyfriend," I told her dejectedly.

"You happen to be the idiot I love. What can I do?"

"I, I, I'm sorry, Penny, I, well, I asked her to meet you. I know I should have asked you first, but, I, I don't know, nobody could meet you and not understand.

"Not understand what?"

"That you're not a man."

"Oh, so if I show up in a party dress and heels, she'll change her mind about me?"

"No, its not how you look, Penny, its who you are. You, you can't help being what you were born, but that doesn't mean you have to live your life that way."

Penny looked at me curiously.

"What?"

"That is the best I have ever heard it said, Jack!", she exclaimed. "I'm serious. I am going to write it down and use it as our slogan."

"Out of the mouths of idiots, I guess."

"Okay, you have redeemed yourself. Along with the other rewards I intend to bestow on you, I will meet with Tanya. When?"

That went a lot better than I thought it would.

"I, umm, she, umm, doesn't want Dimitri home. He is out from four until five o'clock on Thursday, so I told her I would check with you. I, I, said you were very busy, so we could do it another time," I offered apologetically.

"Jack, I would move heaven and earth for you. Moving a few appointments is easier."

"Are you sure?"

"Am I sure I love you?"

"Are you sure you don't mind changing your appointments."

"Are you sure you're an idiot?"

"Very sure."

"I'm sure that I don't mind."

"That I'm an idiot?"

"No, changing my appointments for you."

I couldn't help myself. I took her and hugged her and our lips found each other.

"Mmmm, Jack, slow down. I'm hungry. You don't want to make love on an empty stomach, do you?"

A silly choice to give me. "I am very flexible when it comes to the kind of stomachs I make love on."

Penny laughed. "Well, hold the thought while I put some water on to boil. Is linguine, tossed with oil and black pepper, okay?" She took out a big pot, filled it with water and put it on the stove. " It will take about twenty minutes for the water to come to a boil. I'm pretty sure I can get you to come to a boil in that time too."

"That sounds great."

"The pasta?"

"What pasta?"

The next day I called Tanya. I was worried that she had thought about it and changed her mind. "Hi, Tanya, it's Jack. Umm, ah, is Thursday around four o'clock still good for you? You know, for me to stop by with my umm, ah, my girl, my, umm, friend, ah, Penny?" I asked trying to make it sound like it was no big deal. I waited nervously for her answer.

"Okay."

I wasn't prepared for such a simple response. It took me a moment to recover my composure. "Oh, yes, well, umm, thanks. See you Thursday. Bye." I hung up the phone and breathed a sign of relief. So far so good, Jack, I reassured myself. I called Penny's office.

"Hi, its Jack, Jack Blaine. Is Penny, Ms. Johnson, is she in?"

"Yes, I know which Jack is calling for Penny Johnson," the receptionist curtly answered. "Please hold." I got a minute's worth of unidentifiable music. "Okay," she picked up the call. "She's in a meeting. What's the message? Please hold." Another minute of easy listening. I reminded myself to lure Janice, that was her name, into a closet at the next office event and remove her tongue, making a mental note to buy a very big pair of scissors. "Okay," she picked up the call again. "Go ahead."

"Janice, please, don't put me on hold again. Just tell Penny that Thursday is good. Do you have that?"

The phone went dead. Dull scissors, I corrected my shopping list.

The rest of the week went by quickly. Wednesday night we hung out at Ginger's. Thursday morning, I noticed that Penny was wearing a dress instead of he usual suit. I looked at her appreciatively. She smiled back. There was no need for words and we had a strict no smooching in the morning policy so that she wouldn't have to redo her makeup. It wasn't my favorite house rule, but my restraint had its delayed compensations. I told her I would pick her up around three thirty. She nodded and left. I got myself dressed. Finding pants and a shirt to go with them was easy. I was messy. Penny was neat. I would drop clothes on the floor. Penny would remind me to hang them up. If I didn't, she would do it without complaint. Her patience with me was why I loved her. No, I would have loved her anyway.

I got to the office and tried to get some work done, but I was too anxious. I don't know why. The worst that could happen was that I would get another little. I was sure we'd hit it off. If not, Betsy told me they had a long waiting list for bigs. No, Jack, that's not the worst that can happen. Tanya could embarrass Penny. Could she? Penny was pretty confident about herself. Why would she care what Tanya thought of her? She has feelings, Jack. Okay, but if she was afraid of getting her feelings hurt, she would have said no. She did. You wouldn't take no for an answer. She's doing it for you. She always puts you ahead of herself. Wouldn't it be nice if you thought of her first? Damn, I hate it when I'm right about me being wrong. I should cancel the meeting.

I picked up the phone to call Tanya. As I was dialing, I thought about how I would explain the sudden change to Penny. I hung up. You arranged the meeting without consulting her. Now you're going to cancel it without consulting her. You just don't learn from your mistakes, Jack. If you're equal partners in a relationship, then you make decisions together. What if I told her it was Tanya who canceled the meeting, I thought. Yes, Jack, that's it. Lie to the person you love. Okay, Jiminy Cricket, you're right, it's a bad idea.

I was too worried to work, so I closed up and went for a walk. There was a small park a few blocks from my office. I sat on a bench and watched a squirrel. The nice thing about them is that you can't tell the boy squirrel from the girl squirrel. At least I couldn't. I guess the squirrels can or there wouldn't be baby squirrels. Except for that, it really didn't matter whether they were boys or girls. All they needed to do was stash enough acorns for the winter. Squirrels had it easy. I looked at my watch. It was only twelve thirty. I still had three hours to kill before I picked up Penny. I thought about lunch. A loaded chili dog would distract me. I remembered an old tv commercial, something about a drugstore product and trading a headache for an upset stomach. It my case, it probably would have been a good thing, although I doubted Penny would consider dragon breath a social advantage.

If I couldn't have lunch, at least the squirrel could. I went across the street to a convenience store and bought a jar of peanuts. I considerately got the unsalted ones, so that he or she wouldn't have to go out for water in the middle of the winter. Back at the bench, I cracked open the jar and tossed a few peanuts on the ground. It took the squirrel a bit of scurrying around before he discovered them. I decided it was a him and that his wife was home taking care of the kids. Then again, maybe he was a bachelor squirrel and would entice some girl squirrel with his wealth of peanuts. That was me, a mating service for squirrels, even if I couldn't do it for myself. Did squirrels have mates or just dates? I thought about my children's books, but I could only remember bunnies. I continued to throw nuts on the ground. The squirrel would pack them away in his cheeks and scamper off. We repeated the scenario a couple of dozen times. I decided I better stop before he had a heart attack from running back and forth. I didn't want another victim of my good intentions.

I still had a couple of hours left, so I went back to my office. I shuffled papers and made a few phone calls. Around three o'clock I decided to head over to Penny's office. It was only a ten minute drive, so I waited in the parking lot. At three thirty I went in. Penny was just coming out, so I didn't have deal with Janice. Penny saw me and came over.

"Hi." The no smooching rule was still in effect. "Ready?"

"Yes, lets go."

I took her arm, turning to give Janice a smile to lure her into a false sense of security. We walked to the car. I went around and opened the door for her. Penny slid in. I started the car and headed for Tanya's. Neither of us spoke. As we drove, Penny took a compact out of her pocketbook and began to fuss with her makeup. She put a couple of different applications on her lips and used a tissue to correct some microscopic imperfection. I knew better than to comment. We got to Tanya's house about ten of four.

"It's too early, Penny. I don't want to run into Dimitri." Penny nodded her agreement. I pulled over about a block away and turned off the motor. We watched the house. About four o'clock a car pulled into the driveway. I assumed it was Tanya coming back from dropping off Dimitri. I recognized her as she walked to the back door and went in. "Let's give her a couple of minutes to get settled." We waited five minutes. I drove up, parked in front of the house and we walked to the front door. I rang the bell. Penny was standing behind me, so when Tanya opened the door she would see me first. We stood at the door for a couple of minutes. I rang the bell again. The locked clicked and the door opened.

"Hello, Jack," Tanya greeted me. She looked around. Penny moved from behind me. Tanya still looked past her to the car and then back to me.

"Where boyfriend?"

Penny came forward. Tanya looked at her, then at me and then back to her. She was obviously confused. Penny took control of the situation.

"Hello, I'm Penny Johnson." She extended her hand.

"This is Penny," I confirmed.

Tanya was polite enough to take Penny's hand. I noticed her look down. For some reason, women are preoccupied with each other's manicures. Her nail polish only added to the confusion. "May we come in?" I asked as a reminder to Tanya that her guests were still on the front step.

"Oh, yes, please come." She directed us to the living room.

Penny slid her hands underneath her, smoothing her dress, and sat down in an armchair. She put her pocketbook in her lap, adjusted her dress to cover her knees and crossed her ankles. I sat across from her on the couch. From the expression on Tanya's face, I guessed that she was trying to figure out whether this was some kind of a joke or she misunderstood me."

"You want tea?" she addressed Penny, ignoring me.

"No thank you. Not right now. I'd rather just talk. Perhaps later." Tanya sat down on the other end of the couch opposite Penny. "What you see, Tanya, the clothes, my figure, I take hormones, and these, she put her hands under her breasts, are gel forms. Even though I wasn't born a woman, I've have always felt like one. All of this," she moved her hand over her hair, her face and her body," is just so others will feel the same way about me."

Tanya thought for a while and then challenged her. "Why you want be woman? In Russia, men, women, same job. Man get promotion. Man go out, woman stay home. Man is better."

Penny reached down and picked up her purse. She reached in and took out a small silver container. "These pill are my hormones, but do you know what magic is Tanya?"

"Magic? Is when things go away. Poof," she pretended to wave a wand.

"Yes, it can be making things disappear or one thing can be magically changed into something else. A wand into a bouquet of flowers. Can you pretend, Tanya, that these are magic pills. If you take one, you will become a man. Not just look like a man. You will be a man." She held the box out. "Do you want to be a man Tanya, if you could?"

Tanya was having difficulty following Penny's reasoning. She thought about it and then shook her head.

"Why not? Isn't being a man better than being a woman?"

"I woman. Woman can't be man."

"Neither can I."

Tanya thought some more. Then she smiled. Finally, she turned towards me.

"I like your boyfriend, Jack. He can meet Dimitri."

I wasn't sure if Tanya hadn't understood or she didn't care or if there was some Russian language issue with gender specific words. It really didn't matter. Penny and I looked at each other and shrugged. The purpose of our visit had been accomplished.

"We have tea. Cake too," Tanya insisted. She motioned to Penny. "Come," inviting her into the woman's domain of the kitchen to help with the refreshments. That implicit recognition as an equal brought a big smile to Penny's face. As I waited, I heard the sound of china being set out, the whistle of a tea kettle and talking, although I couldn't make out what they were saying. About five minutes later they returned with Penny carrying a tray on which were arranged three cups of steaming tea and a plate with slices of cake, small plates, napkins and forks. She set it on the coffee table. Tanya offered me a cup, which I politely accepted, being a coffee addict, and then she served the cake. While we sipped our tea, Penny asked Tanya to tell me what she had said about Russia.

Tanya turned to me. "In Russia, always hate. People live in city hate people live in country, Russians hate Chechans. People one religion hate other religion. Not good. We come here. Very hard. My husband stay for parents. I not want Dimitri to hate. He grow up to be good man like you, Jack."

Her compliment took me off guard. I looked at Penny, she nodded her agreement.

"Thank you, Tanya. I'm not sure I deserve it, but it is very kind think of you to say so." I self-consciously looked down, noticing that my watch showed it was quarter of five. "Umm, it's getting late. We should be going before Dimitri gets home. Don't you have to pick him up?"

Tanya shook her head. "I drive, other mother pick up. Dimitri, you meet him," she offered Penny. We looked at each other. If the idea was not to reveal that Penny was transgendered, Tanya's referring to her as the opposite of what she appeared would certainly give her away.

"Thank you, Tanya," Penny interceded, "but I really think it would be better if we met more casually."

"Okay. Jack, you visit Dimitri. Penny come visit me."

"That's up to Penny, Tanya."

I'd like that very much," Penny agreed, "but I don't think it's a good idea for me to come with Jack. They should have their special time together. We can have ours. I can call and meet you when Jack is with Dimitri."

Tanya nodded her agreement.

"Goodbye, Tanya."

Penny moved forward and put her arms out. Tanya moved forward and the women hugged. Penny gave her a kiss on the cheek. Tanya kissed her on both cheeks. They separated. I took Penny's arm and we walked to the car. She turned and waved. Tanya waved back. I got in, started the car and we drove off. After a few minutes, Penny released her seatbelt, an unusual act of civil disobedience, at least for her, and slid over.

"I'm sorry, Jack."

"I'm sorry you're sorry, but things turned out well, so why are you sorry?"

"I'm not sorry about meeting Tanya, Jack."

"Well then, I'm sorry for whatever I did to make you sorry."

"You didn't do anything to make me sorry. You make me very happy."

"How can you be happy and sorry at the same time?"

"Not sorry for myself, Jack. I was apologizing to you."

"Me?"

"Yes. I almost lost you. That can't ever happen. I want us to be together forever. It's what you said and what Tanya proved that made me realize I was foolish to turn down your proposal."

"What?" I turned to her and the car swerved.

"Jack, watch the road. I don't want to get married in the ICU.

"Married?"

"Are you taking back your offer to marry me?"

"Penny, for crying out loud, I've just been waiting for the right moment. I, I," I stammered, "I didn't think you were ready."

"I wasn't, but I am now. All this time, Jack, I thought I had to be rid of Skyler to become Penny. I was wrong. You said it Jack. I can't help being who I was born, but that doesn't mean I can't live my life as who I am. Tanya referred to me as male, but she accepted me as a woman. Skyler and Penny, they're not two different people. They're both me. Without one, there wouldn't be the other."

"Remember," she went on excitedly, "I told you how hard it was for me to go home, because of all the reminders of Skyler? Well," she went on, the question apparently being rhetorical, " it's not a problem any longer. Of course my parents remember me as their son and my sisters as their brother. That's who I am and who I will always be to them, but they accept me as Penny. I want you to meet them, Jack."

"Me, meet your parents? I, ah, umm, I, ah, don't think I'm ready for that."

"Every woman brings her prospective husband home to meet her parents. They'll love you, Jack, just like I do."

"You said we can't get married in this state," I equivocated.

"Technicalities will not get you out of it. One of us has to be a man about this," she said with a laugh. "I nominate you."

"Seconded, if we can start practicing for our honeymoon when we get home."

"Deal."

I took my hand off the wheel and put my arm around her. "Penny, I love you."

"And I love you, Jack," she responded with a contented sigh.

"Penny."

"Yes, Jack."

"Forever isn't long enough."

"Well," she replied snuggling against me, "let's begin with forever and go on from there."

"Deal."

The next week was the best ever. Penny was happy, excited and affectionate, although not always in that order. She made arrangements for the same minister to officiate at the commitment ceremony who held the memorial service for Dawn. One end and one beginning seemed right to me. I tried to encourage Penny to wear a bridal gown. I pictured her in white satin and lace with a wreath of flowers in her hair and a veil. She said no, it wasn't appropriate. "Doesn't every little girl dream of being a bride and walking down the aisle in a beautiful wedding dress?" I argued.

"Not having been a little girl, I can't answer that question," Penny retorted. Her concession was a bridal nightgown, "just for you Jack." I had no complaints with the consolation prize.

On Thursday, she announced that we were having dinner with her parents and sisters on Sunday.

"What, so soon!" I exclaimed. "I'm not ready. I umm, I, ah, umm," I tried to come up with an excuse. "I don't have anything to wear," was the best I could do.

"You have lots of clothes, Jack," Penny contradicted me.

"Ah, umm, not really nice clothes to meet your family."

"What happened to your preference for comfort over style?"

"Really, Penny, how many times do I have to prove I'm an idiot, before you stop listening to me?"

She motioned for me to bend down and whispered in my ear, "one million, two hundred and sixty-two thousand, seven hundred and eleven. You're not even close, but don't give up." Then she kissed my ear and made it ring. Before I could recover and protest, she concluded with, "I will take you shopping on Saturday, if that's what it takes to get you to meet my family."

Ah hah, for once you are going to win this cat and mouse game, I assured myself, coming up with the perfect excuse. "Oh, I have a visit with Dimitri planned for Saturday," I reminded her so, "so we can't go shopping." One for the mouse.

"The stores at the mall are open until ten on Saturday, Jack. There will be plenty of time for us to shop after your visit," she purred.

Cat wins by letting mouse think he escaped and then pouncing. Mouse should learn to say, "yes, dear," to cat.

Saturday came and Penny was waiting when I got home. "What about dinner?" I inquired, hoping to stall long enough that it would be too late.

"There's a food court at the mall," Penny countered. "You can grab a bite there."

"A food court, great. I've been dying for a double cheeseburger with fries and a chocolate shake, mmm," I threatened, playing on Penny's nutritional prejudices.

"Sounds great, Jack. You deserve a reward."

So much for reverse psychology. Cat two, mouse zero.

Penny drove to the mall and parked. She took my arm and we went in. Keeping hold of me, she navigated through the maze of stores. Most of them were for women. The one with the sexy underwear in the window caught my eye and I stopped.

"Jack, really," Penny said sternly, "we are shopping for you." She looked at the window and then at me. "I don't think they have your size. Would you like to go in and I can ask?" She teased me. We moved on.

Once in the department store, Penny checked the directory. Seeing that she didn't know where we were going, I wondered about the last time that she shopped for men's clothes or maybe it was boy's clothes. It struck me that I didn't know when she began dressing as a woman. She had sisters. They were younger, so probably their clothes would have been too small. Did she ask her mother to buy clothes for her or did she wait until she was old enough to shop for herself. Not that it made any difference. I was quite happy with the result.

My thoughts were interrupted by Penny tugging on my arm.

"Come on, Jack. The men's department is on the third floor. Let's go."

"A penny for your thoughts," I punned to myself.

We took the escalator. When we arrived at our destination, Penny released me. She went over to a table and began to browse. I started looking at suits. I picked out a dark blue pinstripe. Penny noticed my selection and came over.

"Jack?"

"What?"

"Why are you looking at suits?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" I answered defensively.

"I'm sure you will look very handsome, but everyone else will be dressed casually."

Penny frowned. I thought it was because of her disapproval of my selection. I gave her a sheepish look. Her face softened and she shook her head.

"I'm not the wardrobe warden," she conceded apologetically, "wear whatever you like."

"Then we have a problem, because my wardrobe needs supervision." I hung the suit back on the rack.

Penny hugged my arm and directed me over to the table with sweaters. She picked up one with shades of tan and grey in diamond patterns."

"This argyle would like nice with charcoal slacks," she recommended. "Do you like it?"

"Yes."

She looked around and spotted a salesman lounging against a counter. I assumed it had been a long day and he was thinking about getting home, popping a cold one and putting his feet up on the coffee table while he watched the sports recap. Penny had no such consideration.

"Excuse me," she roused him, "we need some help."

He came over. Penny told him that we, it was kind of her to include me, wanted some slacks to go with the sweater, charcoal she thought.

"Wool or cotton, Mam?"

"Cotton. What do you think, Jack?"

"Umm, cotton, yes, that would be good."

"What size?"

"Jack?"

"34 waist, 33 or 34 leg, usually."

He went over to a table, looked through one of the stacks and returned with a pair. He held them out for her approval.

"We don't have time to have them hemmed, um, cuffed," she corrected herself, "so we better make sure they are right. Are those the shoes you are going to wear with them, Jack?"

"Oh, umm, yeah, I guess so."

"Why don't you try them on."

I hated trying on clothes, but I wanted to look good for Penny's family, so I made the concession. The salesman handed me the pants and directed me to the dressing rooms. I put them on. They looked okay to me, but I wanted to consult Penny. I walked out. She was waiting. The salesman had gone back to his counter.

"The length seems good. You're the one who has to wear them, what do you think?

"I think they're okay."

"Go change and I will pay."

"Penny, no," I asserted my manly pride. "You don't need to buy clothes for me."

"I don't need to, but I want to. Please, Jack, it would make me happy."

No Penny, I don't want to make you happy. Mouse surrenders to cat. "Yes, dear."

"What?"

"I said good idea. I'll go change."

She gave me a big smile and went off to complete the transaction. When I came out, she was waiting. I handed her the pants. She took them over to the sales counter, the salesman removed the security button, put them in a bag and handed it to Penny. We started to leave.

"You know, I should probably get a shirt too."

"You have shirts and with the sweater on all you'll see is the collar."

"They're kind of worn, Penny. What would you parents think?"

"Dressed in your new outfit and with me on your arm, I'm sure they will think that you have exceptionally good taste in clothes and women, but it's up to you. Maybe something in one of the colors of the sweater," she suggested.

"Okay, but I'm paying for it."

We went back and looked through the shirts. She picked out one in light beige and compared it to the sweater."

"This goes."

I brought it up to the sales counter and paid for it. As we were heading through the mall, my stomach grumbled, reminding me I had skipped dinner.

"What about getting something to eat? I'm really hungry. You said we could stop at the food court," I reminded her.

"Yes, we can do that."

I could tell from her voice that she wasn't happy about it. "What's wrong with the food court?" as if I didn't know.

"Forever isn't on the menu."

"Let's go home."

"Oh, Jack," Penny said appreciatively, "you'd give up a cheeseburger, fries and a shake for me?

"I give up anything in the world for you."

"I don't deserve you."

"Nobody deserves me, but I'm yours anyway."

"Yes, well, finders keepers."

And loser weepers, I reminded myself.

We continued through the mall to the parking lot, found the car and headed back to the apartment.

"Jack, would you like a pizza?"

"Are you serious," I asked skeptically.

"Uh huh. I know a great place on the way home. They make their own stone ground whole wheat crust with organic tomato sauce and soy cheese. We can top it off with roasted veggies."

"Okay, sounds good," I agreed as enthusiastically as possible, given my expectation that the box would taste better than its contents. Real mice don't eat soy cheese.

The next morning we slept late. Well, actually, we were both anxious so we slept in the biblical sense, like in Joseph slept with Sarah and begat Abraham, although I never could keep the genealogy straight, and she, Penny that is, couldn't get begotten, which is good, unless you're trying to beget, which we weren't. Afterwards, Penny got up and started breakfast. I put on my robe and headed down to the lobby to get the Sunday paper.

"Jack, where are you going?"

"To get the paper?" I answered cautiously.

"In your bathrobe? What if one of one of the neighbors sees you?"

"I'm sure they've seen a man in a bathrobe. If they haven't, then they're in for a treat."

"Jack, seriously, please put on some clothes."

"How about if I just carry some boxing gloves and tell them I'm a contender off to defend my title. I have my boxers on." I opened my robe and flashed my underwear.

"Jack, we don't have any boxing gloves and I doubt anyone would take you seriously with big red hearts on your trunks."

"Well, you bought them for me," I reminded her.

"Yes, but I didn't intend to share them." Penny put her hands on her hips and playfully scolded me. "Really, Jack, in the time it took you to think up this elaborate excuse, you could have changed and gotten the paper."

"I know, but it wouldn't be as much fun." I went back to the bedroom and put on a warm-up suit. On my way back to the door, Penny stopped me.

"Jack!"

"What?"

"You're barefoot."

"You didn't say anything about my feet."

Penny shook her head in exasperation.

Having retrieved the Sunday paper without further incident, I sorted it into the relevant sections, sports, comics, tv and the crossword for me and the rest of for her. Penny finished cleaning up from breakfast. We didn't have to be at her parents until five o'clock. It was about a forty-five minute drive, since there wouldn't be any rush hour traffic on a Sunday. I started on the crossword.

"Jack, why don't you shower and shave?"

"Why? We have lots of time."

"I know, but I can't do my hair and makeup if the bathroom's all steamy."

There was only the one small bathroom, which we shared. Usually, there was no problem, because Penny got up earlier and left for work before I did. It required more coordination on weekends. I put down the crossword and my pencil.

"Not a problem."

My shaving cream and razor took up a corner of the vanity. The rest of counter and the top of the toilet tank were covered with an assortment of implements to shape, curl and brush, together with a containers in various shapes and sizes. As far as I was concerned, Penny was perfect, but that didn't stop her from trying to improve on perfection. Having spent the fifteen minutes necessary for my own personal grooming, I swapped places with her and got dressed, which required another ten minutes without the complications of a knotting a tie so the ends came out even.

I returned to the living room . By the time I finished the crossword, Penny was ready. She came out and modeled, walking slowly, swinging her hips and holding her arms out to the side. She always wore skirts or dresses and heels to work. I assume it made her feel more feminine, not that she needed it. Today she had on dark blue tailored pants, a purplish sweater with a scooped neck and low heels. I whistled appreciatively, provoking a smile.

"Do I look okay, Jack," she posed the question Eve asked Adam after consuming the forbidden fruit and to which no man has yet come up with the correct answer.

"Umm, I, well, no."

"No? Oh, I can change. Maybe a blouse instead of the sweater? Would that look better?"

"It's not what you have on. You look great, but there's something missing."

"Missing?"

She put her hands to her ears to check her earrings then down to her neck."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Jack, you are so observant. I forgot to put on my necklace. I'll be right back." She turned and started back towards the bedroom.

"Wait, Penny, it's not your necklace."

She stopped and turned back with a puzzled look on her face.

"Jack, what is it. Please, tell me so I can finish getting dressed. I don't want to be late."

"We have plenty of time."

She rolled her eyes. "Jack Blaine," she never used my full name unless she was mad at me, "if you are playing games, today of all days, so help me," she threatened.

"It's your finger, Penny."

"My finger?"

She held out her hands and checked her nails.

"What about my fingers?"

"Not fingers, plural, finger, singular." I reached into my pocket and took at a small blue velvet box. I handed it to her. She looked at the box, she looked at me, she looked at the box, her lip began to quiver and her hand shook.

"Jack, you couldn't, you shouldn't, you didn't, you, you..."

"Open it, Penny," I interrupted her.

She opened the box and gasped.

"Oh, Oh, Jack, Oh, Jack."

I can't remember Penny ever being at a loss of words before. I congratulated myself on pulling off the surprise.

"Put it on, Penny."

"I, I, can't, Jack, my hands are shaking."

She handed me the box.

"You do it, please."

I took out the ring. She held out her left hand. I slipped it on her ring finger. She held her hand out with her fingers spread to admire it.

"I wasn't sure about the size. The jewelry store gave me one of those ring measuring sticks to check one of your rings, but I had to guess which one you wore on that finger."

"It's perfect, Jack. I love it and I love you. This is the best day of my life and now you've messed up my makeup," she accused me with tears in her eyes. "Oh, what the heck," she rushed forward and gave me a hundred passionate kisses, give or take a few dozen. I wasn't keeping count. Finally, she got control of her emotions and headed off to the bathroom to repair the damage. After her amorous appreciation, I needed to rearrange myself as well. Eventually, we were both presentable enough to go out in public.

"You should drive," I recommended, "since you know how to go."

We got in her car and headed for the highway. Penny had both hands on the wheel and I could see her glancing at her left hand every few minutes. I sat with a contented smile on my face.

"It's beautiful, Jack," she complimented me.

"It's a real diamond, Penny. I wanted you to have the best. You deserve it."

"Jack, don't you dare make me cry again."

She was quiet for a few minutes and then I could see her get a funny look on her face.

"Jack?"

"Yes, Penny?"

"Why wasn't your car in its parking space?"

"My car?"

"Yes, your car. The one you drive to work everyday."

"Oh, that car."

"Yes, Jack, that car. Where is it?"

"I, umm, I, you know, it was a piece of junk. It was in the shop more than it was on the road. What with the cost of repairs and gas, I figured I'd be better off using public transportation. I can catch a bus right outside the building and it stops a couple of blocks from my office. I need to get more exercise," I justified my decision.

"And what about when you need to do surveillance? You can't do that on a bus."

"Ahh, I can rent a car and charge it to my client," quick thinking, Jack.

"Jack, you aren't fooling me. Your clients aren't going to pay you extra. Seriously, Jack, what in the world were you thinking?"

"I was thinking that I love you more than anything and that I would have sold a kidney to buy you a ring, but you would have killed me for having an internal organ removed without consulting you, so the car was a better choice."

Penny started to cry. She pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. Releasing her seatbelt, she put her arms around me. Maybe you're not as big an idiot as you think you are, Jack. Finally, she composed herself. Taking out a compact, she turned her head from side to side observing herself.

"Well, Jack, are you satisfied. I'm a mess again," she sniffled.

"Yes, very satisfied, thank you, and you still look beautiful to me."

"If you make me cry again, Jack, you're going to get it."

"Really? You mean we can go home and make love?"

That got a big smile.

"You don't know the half of it, but first things first."

I wondered which half of it was the one I didn't know and looked forward to finding out.

"Let's switch places," Penny suggested. "You drive while I restore my appearance. Just keep going until the exit for Beaverbrook, turn left at the bottom of the ramp onto Route 28 and keep going for about five miles. There's a convenience store on the right. You can pull in. I'll be done by then and we can switch back."

I drove while Penny rehabilitated her makeup. She had finished by the time I pulled into the parking lot. Giving herself a final review in the rear-view mirror, she gave a nod of approval. I turned off the motor, got out and walked around to the passenger's side. Penny slid over behind the wheel. I got in and she pulled out.

After about five minutes of silence, I began, "Penny, you never..."

"Please, Jack, please don't say anything that will make me cry again," she cautioned me.

"Uh, no, I was going to say that you never told me about your family." I was pretty sure that was a safe topic.

"Oh, yes, I can do that," she agreed. " Helen, my mother, is an elementary special ed teacher. Art, my father, it's Arthur, but he likes to be called Art, teaches high school science. Chrissy, that's her name, people always think that its short for Christine, teaches first grade and Janet is the human resource director for a technology company. That's my family. You know, Jack," Penny turned the conversation to me, " you've never told me anything about your family."

"Yes, I know. There' nothing much to tell, which is why I never told you."

"You're not getting off that easy. Please, I want to know about my future in-laws."

"Hardly. Agnes, my mother, she hated her name. She though it sounded too old fashioned and changed it to Angela, not legally, but she always called herself that. If I wanted to make her mad, I'd use her real name. That was usually good for a couple of whacks with whatever she could get her hands on, if she could catch me. She worked as a waitress until she got married. My father was Jack. He was a salesman. He died in an automobile accident when I was little. Just one car." I shrugged. "The police officer who came to the apartment said he fell asleep and went off the road. I was Jack, junior, but since he died I'm not junior anymore."

"I'm sorry about your father, Jack," Penny interjected. "It must have been hard growing up without one. I bet that's one reason you enjoy being a big brother."

"I never really thought of it that way. I suppose so. Anyway, Mom went back to waitressing to support us. She remarried when I was in high school. I didn't like Chuck, her new husband. I used to call him Chuckles. Agnes and Chuckles. They, well he, threw me out when I turned eighteen. I've been on my own ever since."

"Do you see your mother?"

"No. They moved to Florida and good riddance."

"Jack, how can you say that about your own mother."

"You would too, if you knew her. She did what she had to while my father was alive. After he died, it was all about her."

"I'm sorry that you had such a sad childhood, Jack."

"Don't be. I wouldn't change anything in my life. It brought us together."

"Jack," Penny sniffled, " you promised you wouldn't make me cry again."

"You are the one who wanted to know about me."

"True," Penny sighed. Then she brightened up. "Look Jack, we're almost there."

We turned onto a tree lined side street. On either side were beautiful houses. Some were two stories and others were one, but they all had well kept lawns with bushes and flowers. Penny kept going until the road ended in a cul-de-sac.

"This is it, Jack," she announced, as we pulled into the driveway of a light grey house with black shutters and a matching front door.

I got out and Penny joined me. She hooked her arm in mine. We walked to the front door. There was a doorbell, but she used the brass lion's head knocker, rapping three times. I guessed it was a family thing. When there was no answer, she rapped three times again. Almost immediately the bolt clicked and the door opened.

"Penny, dear," an attractive woman greeted her with open arms. She looked to be in her fifties, shorter than Penny, brunette hair held up by some type of clip and well dressed in grey pants, a cream colored collared shirt with a black sweater over it and a pearl necklace. They hugged. Penny let go and turned towards me, taking my arm and guiding me forward.

"Mommy, this is Jack," she introduced me.

"Hello, Jack, welcome. It's nice to meet you" she said warmly.

I put out my hand. She ignored it, putting her arms around me and kissing me on the cheek.

"Uh, hi, Mrs. Johnson," I managed to get out after she stood back.

"Helen, please."

"Uh, Helen."

Excellent start, Jack. Very suave. It's a pleasure to meet you. Thank you for inviting me to your beautiful home. 'Hi' was the best you could do to impress her? I glanced at Penny, but she didn't seem particularly concerned by my lack of social skills.

"Come in." She stood back and held the door.

Penny kept me in tow as we entered a foyer. There was a doorway on either side, a set of stairs straight ahead and a hallway to the left. The wood floor was covered with an oriental rug and another long oriental rug went down the hallway. Against one wall there was a small dark wood table with a mirror above it and beside it was a large vase with an oriental design holding an umbrella.

"Penny, dear, Daddy's in the living room. Why don't you take Jack in and introduce him, then help me in the kitchen?"

I doubted that Mrs. Johnson was incapable of preparing dinner without Penny and assumed that it was a considerate way to give Mr. Johnson and me time to get acquainted.

Penny hesitated, looking at me for confirmation that I didn't mind being alone with her father. I gave her a small nod. She smiled and took my arm, escorting me through the doorway on the right. It was a large room with a fireplace in the center of the outside wall. I noticed the pictures on the mantle, particularly the family group with two young girls and a boy. At the far end of the room, Mr. Johnson was sitting in an upholstered arm chair. He stood up when he saw us come in. Penny brought me over to him.

"Daddy, this is Jack."

She released my arm and I put out my hand. Not having to deal with unanticipated affection, I was better prepared.

"Hello, Mr. Johnson. I'm pleased to meet you."

He shook my hand. Not a bone crushing he man challenge, but firm enough so that it was obviously a test. I returned the manly grip.

He released my hand with a small nod of acknowledgment. I complimented myself and hoped that Penny noticed. I didn't want to lose eye contact, so I couldn't look at her to see.

"Daddy, mommy wants me to help her in the kitchen."

Penny turned and left. Mr. Johnson motioned for me to sit on the couch and waited for me to get settled. We sat smiling politely at each other.

"Uh, Mr. Johnson, uh, Penny, she," I began to make conversation, "she told me that you named her after a tv show. I mean, uh, not after the show. After one of the people, the characters, in the show and, well, you know," doh, Jack, of course he knows, come on, "she took a different name from the show," and the point is what, Jack? "Well, uh, I was wondering, I'd really like to know more about it. She said you had the videotapes. Do you think I could borrow them?"

Mr. Johnson looked surprised.

"You know, Jack, I haven't thought about the 'Sky King' show for years. So Penny remembered."

"Yes, sir."

"She and I spent a lot of time together watching them," he reminisced.

I noted that he referred to Penny as 'she', even though she was a he at the time.

"I'm not sure what I did with the videos, but I'm sure I can find them for you. Remind me before you leave and I'll look for them."

"I will, sir."

Our conversation was interrupted by the door knocker. Mr. Johnson got up.

"That must be Chrissy and Janet. Excuse me Jack."

I started to get up. He put out his hand to stop me.

"Stay there. I'll be right back."

I listened to pleasant greetings and then Mr. Johnson returned with a woman on each arm. I couldn't tell who was who, so I politely stood up and waited for an introduction. They let go of their father's arm.

"Jack, this is Chrissy." He looked towards the blonde on his right.

"Hello.

Turning to the brunette on his left, "and this is Janet."

"Hello."

They were both very pretty. Chrissy was the more dramatic of the two, with shoulder length hair and bangs framing her face. I doubted that it did much for her first graders, but their fathers probably got poked in the ribs by their wives for being too attentive at the parent-teacher conferences. Janet looked more professional. Her hair was shorter and she wore less jewelry and makeup. Even so, she must have had her share of attentive male executives.

"Where's Penny?" Janet asked.

"In the kitchen with your mother helping her with dinner," Mr. Johnson answered.

Chrissy and Janet looked at each other in silent twin speak. I assumed they were agreeing that whatever was going on, it wasn't culinary. They both gave a small shrug and turned to me.

"Well, Jack," Chrissy purred, moving forward and cuddling my arm, "Penny certainly has good taste in men. Mmmm," she sighed.

I assumed this was also a test of my gender preference. Either that or Chrissy just liked to be provocative. Since I'd never considered myself much of a ladies man, although that may not be the appropriate turn of phrase under the circumstances, I suspected it was the former. I looked at Janet for a clue.

"Really, Chrissy, do get off the poor man."

I couldn't tell if they were in cahoots and doing the good sister, bad sister act, or Janet was sticking up for Penny's interest. It didn't matter. I played along.

"It's okay, Janet, I'm used to beautiful women throwing themselves at me."

Chrissy looked at Janet and neither could keep a straight face.

"See, I told you he wouldn't fall for it, Chrissy."

At this point, Mr. Johnson interceded.

"Really, girls, enough. Jack is a guest and I expect you to treat him accordingly." Obviously, Mr. Johnson still had authority. Chrissy and Janet were contrite.

"We're sorry, Jack," Janet apologized for both of them. "Let's begin again." She held out her hand. "Hello, I'm Janet."

"Hello, Janet, I'm Jack." I waited for Chrissy to take her turn.

"Hello, Jack, I'm Chrissy."

"How do you do, Chrissy. I am pleased to make your acquaintance," I replied formally, in contrast to her intimacy earlier. Both women broke into big smiles. Their enjoyment of our meeting was interrupted by the arrival of Penny and her mother. Additional greetings and hugs were exchanged. Then Chrissy spied Penny's engagement ring.

"Look, she's got a ring!" she exclaimed excitedly.

Janet took Penny's hand and admired the ring. "It's beautiful. Congratulations, Sis."

"Congratulations to you both," Chrissy added.

"I take it you have met my sisters, Jack?"

"Your father introduced them."

Chrissy and Janet couldn't keep a straight face. Penny gave me a strange look.

"What have you two been up to?" she challenged them.

"Up to? Us, Penny, why whatever do you mean?" Janet replied, trying to sound innocent.

"Have you two been giving, Jack a hard time?"

"I tried, but I don't think so," Chrissy confessed with a pretend pout.

She and Janet broke into laughs again. Penny shook her head at her sister's foolishness.

"All right, everyone, lets go into the dining room. Dinner's ready," Mrs. Johnson refocused the conversation.

Mrs. Johnson led the way. Penny took my arm and we followed her from the living room, across the entry hall and through the opposite doorway. There was a long dining table with a white linen tablecloth set with china, crystal and silverware. There were real cloth napkins at each place setting. In the center were two candlesticks, a glass pitcher of ice water and a dish with carrot and celery sticks. Mr. Johnson took the seat at the end of the table in front of the windows. Penny led me to far side of the table. Chrissy and Janet sat opposite us, leaving the chair at the end near the door, which I assumed was most convenient to the kitchen, for Mrs. Johnson. Once everyone was seated, Mrs. Johnson left and returned with a big tureen. She came over to serve me first.

"Jack, this is split pea soup with barley. It's one of Penny's favorites and I know she won't eat the main course. Would you like some?" She held the ladle waiting for my answer.

"Yes, please, Mrs. Johnson, it smells delicious."

She made a small frown, which I assumed was because of my not being more familiar.

"Thank you, Helen," I redeemed myself, after she finished.

"Your welcome, Jack. Penny?"

"Yes, of course," she confirmed enthusiastically.

The main course was a roast, a rare treat, a little joke to myself, since meat of any persuasion was not allowed in Penny's kitchen. Baked potatoes and steamed broccoli, which I assumed were additional concessions to Penny's diet, and hot rolls completed the menu. I noticed a dish of butter and wondered if I should risk it. Not the cholesterol. Penny stabbing me in the hand with her fork as I reached for it. Hmm, then again, Mr. Johnson wouldn't be at risk if I asked him to pass it to me. While I was scheming, Mr. Johnson opened a bottle of wine and asked me if I'd like some. I accepted and he filled a glass, passing it to Penny who handed it to me and returned my empty glass. Everyone politely waited while the process was repeated until we all had wine. Looking to Mrs. Johnson, who nodded, he raised his glass.

"A toast to Penny and Jack. May they have a long and happy relationship."

I noticed that he did not use the words 'marriage' or 'engagement'. Considering that they must have reservations about me, it was understandable. I considered whether I should respond and decided I should. I stood up.

"Mr. Johnson, Mrs., uh, Helen, Chrissy and Janet, thank you for welcoming me to your home. I, uh, I, uh, I know you are wondering about me. Honestly, I don't know what I am. Until I met Penny, I thought I liked women. I still do." I looked at Penny. "I'm, sorry, but I need to say this." She gave me a curious look, not being able to anticipate what it was that required an apology in advance. "Until recently, Penny was, well, it was difficult for her to come home, because of how you remembered her." I glanced at Penny. She looked at me skeptically as to why I would reveal her confidence. " Penny came to understand that it isn't necessary for you to forget who she was. What matters is that you love her and accept her as she is. So do I."

I looked at Penny lovingly, hoping that she wouldn't be hurt by my disclosure. I could see that she was trying to control her emotions, but it was a losing battle. She made a little whimper, then a small sob and then burst into tears. Damn, Jack, well done. You've embarrassed her in front of her whole family. Penny stood up holding her napkin to her eyes. Ms. Johnson got up to comfort her. She put her arm around her shoulder and guided her around the table towards the hallway, disappearing up the upstairs. Chrissy and Janet followed after them, leaving me at the table with Mr. Johnson.

I was still standing after the women had left. Mr. Johnson got to his feet. Oh, oh, Jack, he's going to throw you out. It's a long walk home, assuming you still have a home, which is doubtful, but you deserve it. There's nothing you can do. Take it like a man. Strange, but that's how this all started I thought to myself, you being a man. Mr. Johnson raised his right hand. It took me a moment to realize that he was offering to shake. Could it be that he wasn't mad? Whatever the reason, I accepted his approval.

"Welcome to the family, Jack."

"Uh, thanks, thank you, Mr. Johnson."

He motioned for me to sit. "Call me Art. We might as well get started while it's hot. Who knows when the women will be back." He gave a shrug to express his lack of understanding. I hesitated. "No, really, here," he served me from the platter. "Potato and vegetable?"

"Yes, please." He added them to my plate and handed it to me. He gave himself an equally generous serving. Taking advantage of Penny's absence, I scored a role and buttered it, adding a big pat to my potato. Well done, Jack, another small joke to myself, you've ingratiated yourself with Penny's father and your digestive system.

"Go ahead, start," he repeated, lifting his wine glass and holding it out. I picked up my glass and returned the toast. He started to eat and I joined him, both to be polite and because I wasn't really sure if Penny would approve of the feast. Better to be contrite on a full stomach.

We were almost through the first helping when we heard the women coming down the stairs. I looked through the doorway and Penny was beside her mother with Chrissy and Janet behind them. They returned to their seats. I gave a look approximating a puppy who had piddled on the rug and was hoping to avoid being swatted with a newspaper, serving the dual purpose of apologizing for making her cry again and for my gluttony. She smiled back, which I took to mean either it wasn't necessary or I was forgiven, which of the two didn't matter, because it was followed by a kiss on my cheek. That got Chrissy and then Janet to ring their wine glasses with their knives. Penny looked at me, I looked at her and we complied with an impressive smooch. I wondered whether Mr. and Mrs. Johnson would approve and was delighted to hear them join in the applause. Of course, that encouraged the sisters to repeat their request, but Penny shook her head. They pretended to look disappointed.

"Please Chrissy and Janet, I need to let my emotions calm down. I don't want to redo my makeup a fourth time."

"Fourth?" questioned Chrissy.

"Really?" added Janet.

"Yes, four, really," Penny confirmed. "The first was when Jack gave me the ring. That was before we left to come here. The second was on our way, when I found out that Jack had sold his car to buy the ring and a third... ," she was interrupted by Janet.

"Jack sold his car? No way."

"Yes, he did Janet, for me, because I'm more important than ...," she broke off. "Oh for goodness sake." She dabbed at her eyes. "Please, can't we just eat our dinner?"

"Girls," Mrs. Johnson scolded them like naughty children, "enough. I do not want you upsetting your sister." There was no hesitation in her reference. "Now behave or else," she issued the traditional parental threat.

"Yes mother," Chrissy and Janet acknowledge in unison and then broke into laughs, obviously understanding that it was unlikely that they would be sent to their rooms without dessert if they disobeyed.

Mr. Johnson served the meal. I got a second helping. Penny took just the vegetables. The conversation during dinner was mostly about work. Everybody was fascinated by me being a PI until I disillusioned them with my boring exploits. Dessert was something I had never tasted. Mrs. Johnson called it Indian pudding. It was brown and about the consistency of oatmeal. I looked at Penny, wondering if it was something she liked. Except for the meat, the meal seemed to be planned for her. She explained that it was basically cornmeal and molasses, both natural ingredients, so it was a healthy dessert. Contrary to both its recipe and its appearance, it was delicious.

After dinner, Mr. Johnson invited me into the family room while the women cleaned up. Along one wall were cabinets above which were shelves full of books. Mr. Johnson went over to one of the cabinets, opened it and began to rummage around. He pulled out a number of albums and put them on the floor. Eventually, he found what he was looking for and took out a large box. "Aha," I knew they were here." He brought it over to show me. "These are all of the 'Sky King' episodes. They're collectors items." He handed me the box. "Here. You do have a VCR that can play these?"

"Yes. I use videos in my surveillance work, so I have a good one at my office. I'm going to bring it home so Penny and I can watch them. Thank you, Mr., um, Art, I'll be very careful with them."

"You're welcome, Jack."

"Mr., um, Art, could I, could I ask you... ?" I hesitated. He looked at me curiously.

"Go ahead, Jack, ask me what?"

"Well, I was wondering if I could look at some of the family albums while we were waiting?"

"You want to see Penny when she was... ," he broke off his sentence.

"When she was a boy," I finished it. "Yes, we, um, ah, we, well, you know, we sleep together. There are no secrets between us." Not exactly the most delicate way to reassure Penny's father, Jack, but he didn't seem to be bothered by our consorting.

"Oh, oh, ah yes, I, ah sure, if you want to." He waved his hand towards the albums meaning for me to make a selection. I picked up the one on top. I opened it and found pictures of Penny when I guessed she must have been about ten. She could have been older or younger, but she didn't look like a teenager and she didn't look like a little kid either. There they all were, the girls in party dresses and Penny, or then Skyler, dressed as a typical young boy. I thumbed through the album and then exchanged it for another and another. Mr. Johnson watched without comment. Younger or older, there was only Skyler.

I was still going though the albums when Penny came in. I could see Mrs. Johnson and the girls giving each other concerned looks. Penny turned and happily asked them to join me. With her approval, we spent over an hour reminiscing. I particularly liked the photo at the beach when they were little. Chrissy and Janet were in pink polka dot two piece bathing suits with a ruffled skirt covering the bottom and matching ruffled top. Penny was bare chested and wearing a pair of baggy brown trunks. Things had certainly changed since then. Around eight thirty Mrs. Johnson went to the kitchen and returned carrying a try with mugs, a carafe of coffee, a tea pot and the usual condiments. We chatted until about nine and then it was time to go, since we all had to work the next day.

Mr. and Mrs. Johnson walked us to the door. I said goodbye to Penny's parents and turned to Chrissy and Janet. The next thing I knew, Chrissy had me in a lip lock. I made the requisite initial struggle and then returned the kiss. "He definitely likes women," she announced. She stepped back and Janet took her place. "I concur, sister, although there is a more reliable measure."

"Sorry ladies," Penny interceded, "but there's only one person who is going to be measuring reliable around here." That got everyone laughing. We all left and walked to our cars. Penny wanted me to drive. I opened the door for her and she slid in. As I was walking around, Chrissy and Janet were waiting.

"Jack, you're a good sport to put up with us, but know this. Whatever Penny may think, as far as we're concerned she's our sister and anyone who says otherwise is going to have to come through us." They both raised their fists. They had to be the two nicest women I had ever met. This time we just gave warm hugs to each other.

Getting in the car, Penny asked me what we were talking about. "They said I was a lucky man, which I already knew." She wanted to know why they made fists. "Your little sisters are very protective," I covered up to avoid another emotional outbreak.

I needed to concentrate on following Penny's directions, so there was no further conversation until we got on the highway. "I really like your family. Thank you for bringing me to meet them."

"Why on earth wouldn't I want you to meet them. I love you and they love you too. You are very loveable. Besides, you're the son they wanted and thought they had," she said with a laugh."

"If you say so, but, I was wondering. Could we get married? I would really like to be a member of your family. I know we can't do it here, but someplace else? Then it would be official."

"A piece of paper isn't going to change how they feel, but, if it's important to you, I have lots of vacation time. We can get married legally, but as I recall you're out of automobiles to pay for it, so how about if we work on one wedding at a time?"

"I still have two kidneys," I joked.

"You still have two of a lot of body parts that are removable," she teased me back.

"Okay, I, well, I just felt so comfortable with them. Penny?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"Can I ask you a personal question?"

"You can ask me anything andI will give you an honest answer, but be careful. The truth doesn't always set you free. Sometimes it just makes you unhappy."

"Its not that kind of a question. When did you become transgendered?"

I was suprised by her quick response. "I can't answer that question"

"Oh, that's okay, you don't have to if you don't want to. I understand."

"No, not won't, I can't. There is no answer."

"Then I don't understand."

Penny went into her lecture mode. "There are three theories, biological, psychological and a combination of the two. Some people contend that through some prenatal influence we are born with a female brain in a male body. That is how many transgendered men and women describe themselves. It would be comforting to find out that being transgendered is the result of a developmental process over which we have no control. The problem with that theory is that animals, even primates, don't have gender preferences, at least as far as we know. Since we can't experiment on humans, there is no way to prove it. Others believe that it is behavioral. At some point in our early development we become imprinted with the opposite gender. The problem with that theory is that it would mean that we can be reoriented, which has not proven to work. Most likely, being transgendered is a combination. Many lower organisms are both male and female. It is only in higher animals that there are biologically separate sexes, but not necessarily psychologically. Perhaps for one reason or another some of us are not as good at suppressing our opposite gender as others. Does that answer you question?"

"No, not really."

"Now I don't understand."

"That wasn't my question."

"It wasn't? Then why did you let me go on."

"It was interesting. It just wasn't what I wanted to know."

"Okay, then what was it you did want to know?"

"Well, when I was looking through the photos in the albums I was curious to see if there were any with you as Penny. Sometimes for Halloween boys dress as girls. There weren't any, so I was wondering when you became Penny."

She laughed. "That's an easy question to answer. I was always envious of my sisters. No, envious isn't the right word," she corrected herself, "more like disappointed. They did the same things I did, but for some reason I couldn't do the things they did. I couldn't understand it, but there wasn't anything I could do about it. At least not then. In high school, I had friends who were girls, but I never had a girlfriend. There were pictures of me going to my proms, but my dates were for mutual convenience, A kiss on the cheek goodnite. Things changed when I got to college. There was a very active GLBT organization on campus."

"Those are the same initials as in your agency, right?"

"Yes, gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgedered," she confirmed. "I'm not sure what got me involved with them initially, but it was like a light went on when I found out that there were others who felt like I did. They were supportive and I began to allow myself to become more openly feminine. I let my hair grow, started using skin preparations, not makeup, just to make me look softer, had manicures, although no colored nail polish, cleaned up my eyebrows and I started closet cross-dressing. I was still worried about coming out, but it was getting to be increasingly difficult for me to deny my feelings. When I went home for spring break, it was obvious that I had changed. I explained it to my family as best I could. It was very difficult. My parents were upset. I don't think it was as much their having to deal with it as their worrying about my having to deal with it. After that, well, Chrissy and Janet took to the idea of having a big sister." Penny laughed.

"I don't see what's so funny?"

"They insisted on taking me shopping for my first bra. It's the rite of passage into womanhood and they wanted to do it with me." The image of the two giggling teenagers taking their older brother shopping for a bra tickled me too. "Yes, it is classic, but at least I was spared the introduction to feminine protection products." That got both of us laughing. "When I went back to school, I began living as Penny. The GBLT helped me to make the necessary changes in my housing and class enrollment. Satisfied now?"

"I have always been satisfied, but now I'm no longer curious."

It was late when we got home, so my finding out the half of it that I didn't know had to be postponed. It turned out that I was familiar with that half after all, not that it wasn't fun to confirm it. The next week Penny was busy making the final arrangements. Her father generously offered to pay for the reception, considering the unanticipated expense of a third daughter. Penny said no. Although she celebrated diversity, it was not necessary for everyone to celebrate it together. Instead, he could pay for the rings we would exchange. The service was going to be on Saturday afternoon. Her office took up a collection and paid for a honeymoon that night in a very nice hotel, the bridal suite of course. Ginger's insisted on closing Sunday to hold a private party for us, even tough it was likely to be the same regulars who would be there if it was open. It was the thought that counted.

Saturday morning, Penny was up bright and early. As an expression of my devotion, I removed my meager male grooming equipment to the kitchen. On any other occasion, she would have been upset with my unsterile intrusion. I finished and got dressed. We had returned to the department store and I bought a suit. It was dark blue. I got a white shirt, a blue striped tie, black socks and new shoes too. The service was to begin at ten o'clock. Penny wanted to be at the church an hour early and it took about twenty minutes to get there. At a little after eight thirty, she emerged from the bedroom.

"Jack, how do I look?" she inquired, turning around so I could inspect her. She had on a cream colored dress with lace at the neck and cuffs, matching shoes and her hair and makeup were done to perfection. It wasn't a question that needed asking, but that didn't stop her. I knew she was going go ask me and I was ready. Yes, I had figured out the perfect answer and rehearsed it.

"You look like an angel."

"Really?"

This is where the rehearsal payed off. "If you looked any better, I couldn't control myself and you would have to start all over again."

"Jack, stop. You're just saying that."

Well, yes, but don't quit now. "Do you want me to prove it." I advanced towards her.

"Eek," she let out a little squeal and backed away, not sure if I was serious. "You wouldn't dare."

"Truth or dare?"

"Jack, I don't want to play games," she interposed. "Let's go or we'll be late. Oh, now you've got me all flustered. I forgot my purse. It's in the bedroom on the dresser. Be a dear and get it for me, please."

I dutifully fetched it and we walked to the door. "Penny, isn't it bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding?"

"Yes, but its worse luck if they only have one car and the groom misses the ceremony because she took it so he wouldn't see her and he had to walk to the church," she countered.

"I guess there are extenuating circumstances that require flexibility," I conceded as we waited for the elevator. "How about if I drive with my eyes shut?"

"I told you, I don't want to get married in the ICU," referring to the time I almost lost control of the car when she unexpectedly accepted my proposal.

"Actually, you'd look cute in one of those short hospital gowns with the opening up the back. Very convenient for the honeymoon."

"Then you don't want to see me in the nightgown I bought to wear tonight?"

"On second thought, I will be the most cautious of chauffeurs."

We pulled up to the front of the church. I got out, opened the door for Penny and she went in to meet with the minister. I drove around to the parking lot in back. Walking back, I waited on the steps for Penny's family to arrive. About ten minute later, a car pulled up and Mrs. Johnson, Crissy and Janet all got out. The sisters were both wearing matching fitted pink dresses with jackets. Mrs. Johnson had on a matching pink dress. The sister's previous display of affection was replaced by hand holding and light kisses on the cheek. We waited for Mr. Johnson to park and come in. I greeted him. The women went in to find Penny. Mr. Johnson and I stayed on the steps. A few minutes later another car pulled up. Betsy got out and opened the back door. She opened the back door. I was pleasantly surprised to see Tanya get out.

The women greeted me. I introduced them to Mr. Johnson. "Betsy is the social worker at the Big Brother Big Sisters agency that matched me with Dimitri, my little. My little brother," I added to clarify. "Tanya, is Dimitri's mother." They exchanged hellos. "Betsy is also going to be the best man." I turned to her. "Speaking of which, I thought you were going to wear your husband's tux."

"Considering the nature of the guests, I thought it would be disrespectful for me to pretend to be what some of them are and I'm not." I nodded my understanding and agreement.

"If you're going to stand up for Jack, then you should have this." Mr. Johnson reached into his pocket and took out a maroon velvet box. He handed it to her. She put it in her pocketbook. We all went in. Tanya found a seat. Betsy, Mr. Johnson and I went up to the altar. Penny wanted a more modern service, so she had a woman guitarist. As we took our places, she was singing the verse, "Oh, a man shall leave his mother, and a woman leave her home. They will travel on to where the two will be as one." I had this silly thought that there should be a transgendered version, because actually Penny didn't leave home as a woman, although she returned as one. When she had finished the song, the minster came out, followed by Penny, Mrs. Johnson and her sisters. It turns out that my answer to her earlier question about how she looked was true. She was an angel. The minister began. He used the words, "this couple," "take her to be your partner," and "commit," instead of the traditional service, but it didn't matter. I was proclaiming my love for her. He concluded with, "till death do you part." We both did. Betsy handed me the ring and I placed it on Penny's finger. The minister then pronounced us "life partners." There was a loud applause from the guests and of course I kissed my life partner like there would be no tomorrow, although there would be a lots of them.

We walked down the aisle to the well wishes and congratulations of our friends, punctuated with occasional blinding camera flashes recording the moment. Penny's family followed us. To my astonishment there was a long, white limousine waiting for us with the driver standing by the open rear door. I looked at Penny's family and her sisters nodded. We got in and drove off. There was a bucket with a bottle of champagne and two crystal glasses. We opened the bottle and raised a toast.

"Jack, look and see what my ring says inside." She wiggled it off of her finger and handed it to me. I carefully held it. The windows were tinted, so it was too dark for me to read the engraving. I found a button to turn on the side light. "JB to PJ" and the date. "Now, see what yours says." I handed her back her ring, which she slipped on her finger, then worked mine off. Holding it up I read, "PJ to JB Finders Keepers."

The End

Sister, Sister, Sister

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Taxonomy upgrade extras:

Sister, Sister, Sister

by Missy Crystal

Sister, Sister, Sister - 1

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 1
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell from my story "All Dolled Up". It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

My sister Beth is fourteen and my sister Susie is seven. I'm twelve. Our dad walked out when Susie was born. He told our mom that he didn't want the responsibility of having a family anymore. We haven't seen him since. Mom is a nurse. She works an extra shift on Saturday. We used to stay with one of our neighbors, but when Beth turned 12, Mom said that she was old enough to watch us while she was at work.

One rainy Saturday, I was in my room playing video games. I got bored and turned on the T.V. but there was nothing I wanted to watch. Beth and Susie shared a room. As I was walking by, I heard them talking and went in to see what was going on. They were both sitting on the floor playing with Barbie dolls.

Susie looked up and said, "Hi, Johnny. Barbie is having a wedding. Isn't she pretty?"

She held up a Barbie in a white dress and then pointed to a Ken doll that was wearing a gray jacket and pants.

"Cool!" I said. "Can I play too?"

Susie looked surprised. "You're silly," she said. "Boys don't play with Barbies!"

"Well, Ken's a boy," I replied logically. "I could be Ken."

"No!" Susie countered. "Ken doesn't do anything. We're getting Barbie and her bridesmaids all dressed up in pretty outfits."

Well, the best way to make me want to do something is to tell me I can't do it.

"That's not fair," I said, looking at Beth. "Mom wants us to play together and you're not letting me! If you don't let me play, I'll tell on you."

Susie immediately pleaded with Beth.

"No, Beth. No. Don't let him. He's a boy. He'll spoil the game."

Beth didn't say anything. She was very proud of being left in charge and I was sure she wouldn't want me to give Mom a bad report.

Susie kept on, "tell him Beth. Tell him to go away. He can't play with us."

Beth just sat there thinking for a while. Then she got a smile on her face. She looked at me and said, "Okay, Johnny, but you have to be a girl to play Barbies with us."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well, Susie is right. Having a boy play Barbies with us would spoil the mood. You have to let us dress you up as a girl. Then it will be like having a third sister and we can all play together."

"Oh, no, I know what you're up to. You don't really mean it. You're just trying to get me to give up and go away," I said. "Well, it won't work. I'm telling Mom."

"Go ahead," she said. "Susie and I will tell her that we did offer to let you play with us and you didn't want to. I'm sure she'll believe us."

"Maybe, I said, "but not when I tell her that you wanted to dress me up as a girl."

"Maybe," she agreed, "but I think Mom will understand. She's was a girl too you know and I'll bet you she wouldn't have wanted to play Barbies with a boy either. So what's it going to be, Jenny?"

She and Susie both giggled.

"Jenny? Who's Jenny?" I asked.

"You are silly," said Beth, "if you want to play with us."

"No way," I said. "You're bluffing. You don't really want me to tell Mom, do you?"

"Suit yourself," Beth replied. Then she turned to Susie. "Now where were we? Oh, I think we were getting Skipper dressed up to be the flower girl. We used to have a little basket with flowers in it. Where is it? Here it is. Which shoes should she wear? It's summer so the white sandals would be good. Are there any stockings for her? She's young, so maybe she should just wear white ankle sox? I think there are some pretty ones with lace around the top. What do you think?"

I didn't want Beth to win. Anyway, I was bored and it looked like they were having fun, even if it was playing with Barbies. What the heck, I thought. Girl's clothes can't be that bad.

"Okay," I said.

"Okay, what?" Beth asked.

"Okay, you can dress me up."

"You're serious? You'll let us dress you up as a girl?"

"You're the one who said I had to be 'Jenny' to play."

Beth looked at Susie. Susie looked at Beth. They both started to laugh.

"Susie, you come with me to find something for Jenny to wear. Johnny, I mean Jenny, don't you look until we're ready."

They got up and went over to Beth's bureau. I heard drawers opening and closing and the girls whispering to each other and giggling. Finally they came back.

"Here," Beth said. "Go in the bathroom, take off your clothes and put these on. Then come back and we'll finish getting you dressed. Hurry, if you want to have time to play before Mom gets home."

She handed me something pink and shiny. I look at them. It was a pair of her underpants and an undershirt. The nylon felt smooth and silky. I held them up and saw there was white lace around the waist and legs of the underpants and around the straps of the undershirt with a bow at the front of the waistband and the neck.

"Hold on! I'm not wearing these," I protested.

"Girls wear panties and camisoles under their dresses," Beth said matter of factly. You agreed to let us dress you up and that is what you have to wear. Now, are you going to put them on or not?"

"Whatever," I said.

I was sure she figured that I would refuse to wear panties and a camisole and I was determined not to let her win. I took them and headed for the bathroom. Beth and Susie were giggling as I left. When I got in the bathroom, I took off my t-shirt and jeans. I held up the pink nylon panties. I had seen Beth's panties before. Once in a while I would find a pair in my underwear drawer by mistake. Usually they were plain white cotton like mine, but these were silky and very feminine. I took off my briefs and stepped into the panties. As I pulled them up I could feel the silky nylon against my legs and then sliding up over my hips and butt. To my surprise, it felt really good. Then I slipped the camisole over my head. I turned around to look in the mirror. Wow, I thought. Girl's really have great underwear. As I turned around to admire myself, I heard Beth's voice.

"Are you coming out? We haven't got all day. We want to get back to playing Barbies."

"Yeah," added Susie. "Come on out. I want to see my sister Jenny."

Then she and Beth started giggling.

"Okay," I said. "I'm coming out. But no laughing. That's not fair. This is your idea and you can't make fun of me."

The giggling stopped.

"You're right," Beth said. "Just come on out so we can finish dressing you up."

I opened the bathroom door. Beth and Susie were in the hallway. As I stepped out wearing the panties and camisole, they both had a surprised look on their faces.

"I didn't think you would go through with it," Beth said, "and I thought you would look silly if you did," she added, "but you look really nice. Come on, let's get the rest of your outfit."

"Thank you, I think. Okay, what's next?"

We went back into Beth and Susie's room.

"Sit down on the edge of the bed, so we can put on your tights, Jenny."

Calling me Jenny sounded funny, but then I guess I didn't look much like Johnny in pink panties and a camisole. Actually, I liked wearing them and wanted to put on the tights, but I thought I should protest, so they wouldn't know that I enjoyed being dressed up.

"Aw, come on Sis," I said. "Do I have to wear tights? We're just going to play Barbies. You and Susie aren't all dressed up to play."

"Well, first you agreed to let us dress you up and it's up to us to decide what you wear. Second, Susie and I are girls, so we don't have to wear girl's clothes, but you're not a girl, so you do. Now any more complaints and you can go change into your own clothes."

The first argument made sense. I wasn't so sure about the second, but it didn't matter. I really wanted to get dressed up anyway. I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.

"Good," Beth said, taking a pair of pink nylon tights and rolling up one leg. "Hold up your left leg and point your foot towards me."

She took the rolled up foot of the tights and stretched it over my foot. Then she unrolled the leg over my calf. She did the same with the other leg.

"Okay, now stand up and turn around."

She carefully worked the tights up over my calves until the crotch of the panty was just below my crotch. Then she took the waistband and slid it up over the panties. She reached back down and began to smooth the legs upwards until they felt tight. I guess that's why the call them 'tights.' Then she tugged on the waistband a few times to get the panty snug against my crotch and butt. When she was satisfied that they were properly fitted, she stepped back.

Beth looked at Susie.

"Very nice. I think they were made for him, I mean her."

She and Susie started giggling again.

I was going to say something, but then the tights felt so wonderful clinging to my legs and hugging my hips and butt, that I decided not to complain. Beth and Susie turned around and went into the closet. When they weren't looking, I ran my hands over my hips and down my legs. I couldn't believe how smooth and silky the tights felt. I never imagined that girl's clothes could be so wonderful.

They disappeared into the closet for a few minutes and I could hear them whispering, but couldn't make out what they were talking about. Every once in a while there would be a little giggle. Then they came out carrying a pink and white dress. I recognized it as Beth's old party dress. It was white lace layered over a pink taffeta dress with a ruffled neck, three quarter sleeves with matching ruffles on the cuffs, a wide pink sash that tied in the back and a full skirt with built in petticoats. I remember Beth complaining that it made her look like a little girl and finally Mom bought her a more grown-up dress.

"Alright now, Jenny," Beth said. "Put your arms up."

There wasn't anything I wanted more than to put on that dress, but I was afraid if I didn't make a fuss they would know that I really enjoyed being dressed up in girl's clothes.

"Beth, you're kidding. I mean, that's a party dress. We're not having a party. Panties, a camisole and tights are one thing, but that dress is too much."

"I told you before, It's up to Susie and I to decide what you wear." Then she added with a little laugh, "After all, you do want to look nice for Barbie's wedding don't you?"

I decided that I had resisted enough. I just shrugged my shoulders and put my arms up. Beth reached up and slipped the dress over my head. Then she told me to reach forward and she slipped the arms on me. The dress had little pearl buttons in the back which she did up. Then she adjusted the skirt and fluffed out the petticoats.

If the panties, camisole and tights felt good, the dress was heavenly. That is the only way I can describe the feeling. It swished and swirled and the lacy petticoats rubbed against my smooth tights as I walked. I was in heaven.

"Turn around. Let me see. Oh my God," exclaimed Beth. "I can't believe it. The dress looks better on Jenny than it did on me! Walk to the closet for me. Wait, you need shoes. Where are the party shoes I wore with it? Here they are. Give me your right foot."

Beth took a pair of pink patent leather shoes off the shelf in the closet. They had a round toe and an ankle strap with a gold buckle.

"Now walk for me. Stop. Spin around. Wow. I can't get over it. You're gorgeous, Jenny."

I started to blush.

"Stop it Beth. You're embarrassing me. I'm not Jenny, I'm Johnny and I'm a boy, remember."

"Well you sure could have fooled me in that outfit. But we're not quite finished. We still need to do your hair and makeup."

My heart began to race. Hair and makeup too! I never even thought about wearing girl's clothes and now my sisters were dressing me up and transforming me into Jenny.

I thought I still need to be careful about letting on that I liked being dressed up, so I complained, "C'mon Beth. Enough's enough. You said I had to let you dress me up as a girl to play Barbies with you and Susie and I'm dressed up as a girl. Let's go play."

"Yes, I know. But please let me finish getting you dressed. I really want to do your hair and makeup. Please. It will really be fun and then we can play. I promise."

"Okay," I pretended to give in. "You can do it, but if I do, you owe me. More than playing Barbies with you and Susie."

"Fair enough. I'll make it up to you. Now come over and sit at my makeup table. No, Johnny, oops, Jenny, wait," yelled Beth, as I was about to sit down.

"What's the matter," I asked?"

"You can't just sit down when you're wearing a dress. You have to put your hands behind you and smooth the skirt so it doesn't get wrinkled. And when you sit down you have to cross your legs or your ankles, so that people can't see your panties."

"Oh," I said. "I don't have much experience wearing dresses."

Beth and Susie laughed. Then Beth began to brush my hair. I wore it long and shaggy. She tried brushing it different ways. I was sitting with my back to the mirror and she was standing behind me. I felt her put her hand over my forehead and then I felt something cold. I though it was a comb and then I heard a snip.

"Beth, what are you doing? I said you could dress me up. Not cut my hair."

"Oh, don't be such a baby," she teased me. "I just evened up your bangs. Now you look cute."

"What? I don't want to look cute. I want to look like me."

"Okay, that's the best I can do anyway. Let's put on some makeup. I'll start with lipstick. It's a pretty pink that goes with that dress. Keep you mouth shut now or you'll have lipstick on you teeth."

I heard Susie giggling as Beth carefully began to fill in my lips. I could feel the tube moving slowly over my upper lip, following the curves and leaving a coating of smooth, creamy lipstick. Finally, she finished my lower lip.

"Squeeze your lips together to get the lipstick even. Then put this tissue between your lips and put them together."

I did as she directed and when I took the tissue away, I saw a pink outline of my lips. Then I felt a soft brush on my cheeks.

"I'm putting on little blush to give you color and make your cheekbones look higher. Good, now hold still while I brush on some mascara. It will make your eyelashes look longer and darker. I need to do the lower lashes too. There, all done. Oops, no. Wait a second."

I heard her open one of the drawers of the make-up table and she was holding a gold chain necklace with a heart locket that she fasted around my neck. Next she fastened a gold chain bracelet with a matching small heart charm on my right wrist.

"There, Jenny. You're all done. Turn around and take a look."

I stood up and looked in the mirror. I couldn't believe my eyes. There was a really pretty girl staring back at me. The bangs accented her face and the light make-up made her look feminine, but still girlish. I stood back and admired the pretty lace bodice of the dress accented with the heart locket necklace.

"Amazing, Beth," I complimented her. "If I wasn't seeing it myself, I would never have believed it. I thought you were just going put a dress on me and have me pretend to be a girl. Not really turn me into a one."

"Well," she smiled. "I didn't think it you would make such a pretty girl either, Jenny."

Then Susie spoke up.

"Come on you two. We're wasting time. Let's finish Barbie's wedding."

"Oh my," said Beth. "I got so involved in dressing Jenny up I forgot completely why we were doing it. Yes, of course Susie. You've been very patient. I've had my fun. Now it's your turn."

This time all three of us giggled. Susie and Beth sat back down with the Barbies, but I couldn't manage the dress with the big petticoat.

Beth saw me struggling and said, "Oh, I forgot Jenny. You need a lesson in how to manage that dress. I took me a while. Smooth the front under you knees and kneel on it and then smooth the back under your behind and sit back on our heels. Otherwise the skirt will flip up in back and show your panties."

We played Barbies for a while and finally she and Ken went on their honeymoon. Beth directed us to clean up, because Mom got mad if we left toys out. I helped them put the Barbies back on the book shelf and the clothes in plastic baggies.

"Now what?" asked Susie. "Do you want to read me a story Jenny?"

It took me a second to realize that Susie was talking to me like I was really her sister.

Then Beth said, "I have an idea. Let's do makeovers."

"Oh yes! Let's do makeovers," Susie repeated, clapping her hands.

"Umm, what are makeovers?" I asked.

"We do our hair and our nails and our makeup, its lots of fun. We try different hair dos and looks," Beth explained.

"I already had my hair and makeup done, thank you. I don't think I need any more."

The girls laughed.

"No, you don't, replied Beth. "But it's not fair that you got to have a makeover and we didn't. It will be fun, Jenny. You'll see. Besides, your nails are a mess. You could use a good manicure and we're just the girls to do it."

"That's not fair," Susie complained. "Jenny's already had her turn. It's my turn now."

"Okay, then Susie. Sit down on the makeup table bench and we'll get started. Jenny, you take one of the emery boards and shape Susie's nails on her left hand so that they are nice and round and even. I'll do her right hand."

I had watched Mom filing her nails while she talked on the telephone or watched T.V. and now I was getting to try it. I held Susie's hand with my left hand a used the fine side of the emery board on her nails. When we finished Beth applied a coat of pink nail polish on each nail. Then she handed me the bottle. I very carefully used the brush the way Beth did and after a couple of messy attempts that were cleaned up with nail polish remover, I was able to apply a smooth thick coat.

"Wow!" said Beth. "You're a natural. Are you sure you haven't been secretly using my nail polish?" She added, "I did my nails yesterday, so it's Jenny's turn."

I sat down on the bench while Susie and Jenny filed my nails and applied a coat of the pink polish. I followed Susie's example and wiggled my fingers in the air, blowing on them to dry the polish.

"Will you do my hair now Beth?" asked Susie.

"Sure, honey. How about twin ponytails with bows?"

"Oh yes, please. That will be so pretty."

Beth collected a handful of Susie's hair and used a brush to smooth it into a pony tail. My rapt attention to her skillful hairstyling was interrupted by Mom's voice. We had lost track of the time and she was home.

"Hello, girls," she said. "Beth, honey, who's your friend and why is she wearing your party dress?"

I was trapped. Beth usually had an answer for everything, but this time she was speechless. Susie was the only one that saw the humor of her mother finding her big brother wearing her big sister's party dress. She started giggling.

"Well," Mom said. "Aren't you going to introduce me?"

I had my back to the doorway and could see Mom's puzzled expression in the mirror.

"Beth, what's going on?" she said in a sterner voice.

I figured, what the heck. Mom's going to find out sooner or later. I slowly turned around to face her. At first she didn't recognize me.

"Hello," she said. "I'm Beth's and Susie's mother. My name is Carol. What's yours?"

"Hi Mom," I said.

Mom gave me a closer look.

"Johnny, is that you?"

I was surprised that her voice didn't sound angry. Maybe she would think it was funny too, like Susie. Then Beth spoke up.

"I'm really sorry Mom. It's all my fault. Jenny, I mean Johnny wanted to play Barbies with us and we didn't want a boy to mess up the game. It was Barbie's wedding and we had everything all set up and, well, anyway, I thought if I told Jenny, I mean Johnny, that he had to wear girl's clothes, if he wanted to play a girl's game, he would go away, but you know how stubborn he is. So then I gave him my pink nylon panties and cammie. I didn't think he would put them on, but he did. Then I got my frilliest party dress with the matching tights and shoes. I was sure he wouldn't put them on, but he did. Then, after I got him all dressed up, he really did look like a girl and I had a pretty little sister, instead of an annoying little brother. I guess I just got carried away doing her, I mean his, hair and makeup, but then we had fun playing Barbies."

"I see," said Mom quietly. "You do look pretty in your party dress, Jenny. Please come over here."

I wasn't sure I heard Mom right. I thought she had said, 'your party dress' and called me 'Jenny.' She said, 'please' too, so I guessed she wasn't mad at me.

"Jenny, I don't want to speak you name more than once. Come over here now!"

I slowly walked over to the doorway. My petticoats made a swishing sound and the skirt of my dress bounced as I walked. I stopped about a foot away from her.

"Stand still, Jenny" she said, and began to walk around me. "Hmm, very nice. You did a good job with her hair and makeup Beth. I'm very impressed. Did you have fun?"

Mom had said, 'her' and she was complimenting Beth on turning me into Jenny."

"Thank you Mommy," Beth said. "Yes, it was lots of fun," she admitted.

"Jenny, what do you think about all of this?"

It took me a moment to realize she was speaking to me, that I was Jenny.

"I guess it was okay. I had fun too. But I promise I won't do it again. Really, it was just, well, it was just that I was bored and I didn't want Beth to think she outsmarted me."

"Didn't she? You're the one in the dress," Mom said with a laugh.

Beth and Susie started laughing too. Then I started to laugh with them.

"I guess you're right. Can I go get undressed now?"

"Whatever for?" said Mom. "You look very pretty the way you are. Don't you like your party dress?"

"Mom!" I said. "Its not mine, its Beth's. She just dressed me up in it. And I don't wear dresses. I'm a boy!"

"Oh, I see. Well you certainly don't look like a boy. You look like a very pretty girl. And from what I could see when I walked in, you enjoyed being a girl when you were playing with your sisters."

"Yes, that's true. I did enjoy myself. They're always doing girl stuff together and I have nobody to play with. To tell you the truth, it's been difficult being the only boy in the house."

"I know honey," said Mom reassuringly and gave me a hug. "It's been difficult for me too raising a boy by myself." She paused and then added, "You should have seen me trying to teach you to pee standing up."

Beth and Susie started laughing.

"Mom! Please!"

Then Mom got serious.

"You know, it really would be nice having three girls. Would you like to keep on being Jenny?"

"Are you serious? You want me to be Jenny?"

"It's up to you honey. I don't want to make you do anything you don't want to do, but, yes, I'd like Jenny to stay. Would you girls like to have Jenny keep being your sister?"

"Yes," said Beth.

"Yes," said Susie.

"So, what will it be?" asked Mom. "You can take off your dress and put on your boy's clothes and nobody will say anything more. Do you want to do that?"

I thought for a moment. Jenny was special. Beth and Susie liked her and I had fun spending time with them. Mom seemed to like her too. If I went back to being a boy, things would not be the same.

"No, Mom. I really like being Beth's and Susie's sister."

"Wonderful. Then let's celebrate Jenny's birthday by going to the mall."

"Mom," I said, "are you nuts? I can't go out as Jenny. What if somebody recognizes me? It would be too embarrassing."

"Well, first of all young lady, I'm your mother and I almost didn't recognize you. Second, nobody's going to be looking at you that closely. Third, if people do see a family resemblance, we will just say that you are my sister Nancy's daughter who is visiting us for a while. Now, let's not waste any more time. I had a hard day at work and I want to relax at the mall with my daughters. I'm going to change out of my uniform. Beth and Susie, you need to find something less conspicuous for Jenny. Now hurry, its six o'clock and the mall closes at nine."

Mom left and Susie turned to Beth.

"What's 'conspickulous' mean?"

"Not 'conspickulous,' silly," said Beth, 'conspicuous'." It means something that makes people notice you, like wearing a party dress at the mall. Now let's find an outfit for Jenny. How about a pair of jeans and a cute top? That's what most girls wear to go shopping at the mall."

"Well, I'm not 'most girls'. I think I would be better off with something that didn't look like boy's clothes. Remember when you were dressing me up and I asked you why I had to wear a dress to play Barbies when you and Susie didn't? You said that you didn't have to dress as girls, because you were girls, but I wasn't a girl so I did. It didn't make sense then, but it does now. If I want people to believe I'm a girl, I have to dress like a girl."

"My goodness," said Beth mockingly. "Our new sister Jenny has become a fashion expert." She started to laugh. "But she's right. So let's see what I can find. How about a miniskirt and sweater? With a little makeup, I can make you look hot!"

"Beth, the only way I'd look hot is if I stuffed my bra like you."

"I beg your pardon, missy," Beth replied in mock anger. "If you weren't my sister I'd scratch your eyes out for that remark." Then she laughed. "How did you know?"

"Well, even a boy knows that girls don't grow boobies overnight."

"Hmm," she said. "And girls don't call them 'boobies', they're breasts. Its not just clothes, hair, nails and makeup, you know. You have to walk and talk and act like a girl too. I can see that Susie and I have a lot of training to do."

"Okay, you can give me acting lessons later, but right now I need an outfit. Mom told us to hurry or the mall will close."

"I thought you didn't want to go to the mall? Now you're in a rush to get there? If I didn't know better, I'd think you were born a girl the way you change your mind. But, let's see. Oh, I know, my new jean jumper. It's perfect. I was going to wear it to school on Monday, but it should fit you. Turn around so I can unbutton your dress. Susie, go to my bureau and find a pair of red tights."

Beth quickly undid the little buttons at the back of the dress and I let it slip off my arms and then drop to the floor. I stepped out of it and was standing in my pink nylon tights and pink nylon camisole.

"What do you think you're doing, Jenny? Maybe boys don't care about their clothes, but girls do. That dress is very delicate and has to be dry cleaned if you get it wrinkled. Please pick it up and put it on one of the padded hangers."

As I was hanging up the dress, Beth had taken the jean jumper out of the closet and was looking for a top. The jumper was black denim with red stitching on the seams and the shoulder straps. It had a belt that was attached at the sides and tied in back, defining the waist. Susie came back with the red tights and Beth brought a red cotton top with a crew neck and short sleeves.

"Here," Beth said, handing me the top. "Put this on first."

"Wait," said Beth. "Not like that. First put your hands inside and spread open the neck so you can pull it over your head without mussing your hair and getting makeup on it. Then put your arms in the sleeves. Honestly, Jenny!" and she laughed.

I followed Beth's directions and did not let the material touch my face or lips as I pulled it over my head. I forgot I was wearing lipstick and I could see where a girl had to be careful not to get her makeup all over her clothes when she was getting dressed.

I asked Beth, "Why don't girls do their hair and put on makeup after they get dressed? Then they wouldn't have to worry."

"If you brush your hair when you're dressed, the hair gets on your clothes. And putting on makeup is messy too. Some women do use a plastic cape to keep their clothes clean, but it is uncomfortable spending an hour all dressed up with a cape on while you put yourself together.

"Gosh, Beth, how do you know so much? Did Mom teach you all this?"

"Some, but remember Jenny, I've grown up wearing dresses and making myself pretty. Sometimes I watch Mom and sometimes I see things in magazines or on T.V. shows. A girl's looks are very important and we're always trying to learn fashion tips and beauty secrets. Now enough of this girl talk! Let's finish getting you dressed."

Susie handed me the red tights.

"Remember how I did it when I dressed you up? Bunch up one leg and then point your toe and slip your foot in. Unroll the leg until it's below your knee. Then do the same with the other leg. Once both legs are in, stand up, hook your thumbs in the waistband and pull the panty up over your waist. Then go back and smooth the legs up and tug on the waistband until the crotch of the panty is snug. Go ahead, try it. The tights are pretty heavy material. They won't run, but when you wear sheer pantyhose, you have to be really careful."

I followed Beth's directions and to my surprise my first attempt at putting on tights went perfectly.

Beth checked them out and said approvingly, "Are you sure you haven't worn tights before? Have you been secretly trying on my clothes?"

I knew she was kidding, but wondered to myself why I hadn't thought of it.

"Here, step into the jumper and pull the straps over your shoulders. I'll adjust the buckles on the front and tie your belt. There. That looks great. All we need are some shoes."

Beth handed me a pair of what at first looked like boy's loafers, but the resemblance ended with the thick soles and chunky one and a half inch heel. I slipped them on and stood up. They felt funny at first, but after I walked a few steps I got used to having my foot arched.

"Let's see, have we forgotten anything?"

Beth took her brush and fluffed up my hair. Then she combed my bangs.

"Better freshen up your lipstick too. Oh, of course. What was I thinking? A girl can't go out without her purse. You have to carry all you girly stuff, especially when you start having your period."

"What are you talking about? I'm not going to have a period."

"Sorry, I forgot. I really am starting to think of you as my sister Jenny. Anyway, here's a little red leather purse. It's very important to coordinate your outfit with just the right accessories. We can put in your lipstick and some tissues and a comb. No girl would go out without a comb or brush to fix up her hair. And a mirror too. Now you're ready. Oops, no. Not quite."

She went over to the makeup table and got a small spray bottle. She spritzed some lilac scented perfume on me.

"Now you smell like a girl too. That's also important. Every girl has to have her own scent. It drives the boys wild."

"Beth! I don't want to drive boys wild!"

Just then Mom called up. "What's keeping you girls? Come on or the mall will close. Beth, Jenny, Susie, lets get going."

Beth and Susie hurried outside, but I hesitated. What if one of the neighbours saw me dressed up in girl's clothes? I poked my head out the door, looked up and down the street, and hurried down the walk as fast as I could in my jumper and heels.

"My goodness, Jenny," exclaimed Mom. "What on earth are you doing?"

"C'mon Mom. Lets get going!"

Beth and Susie had climbed in back, leaving the front seat for me.

"Could I switch places with Beth, please," I said softly.

"No. You are being a silly girl," Mom responded. "The best way to bring attention to yourself is behaving like you have something to hide. Just act like a girl and people will believe you're a girl."

"Well, that's easy for you to say, Mom. But how do I act like a like a girl when I don't know how a girl acts?"

"I know it's going to take time, Jenny, but you'll catch on. For starters, skirts and dresses are not made for running. You need to walk slowly and take small steps. Girls spend a lot of time on their appearance and they want to be seen when they go out. Now let's not waste any more time."

The car door was open and I started to climb in.

"Stop!" said Mom. "What do you think you're doing young lady?"

"Getting in the car like you said."

"I don't think so. Not like that. The proper way when you're wearing a skirt or dress is to turn with your back to the seat, sit down, then put your knees together and swivel around, so you don't flash your panties to the whole world. Now try it again, please."

I stepped back out, turned around and started to sit.

"Stop!" said Mom.

"Geez, what now?" I complained.

"Well, first of all, young ladies don't say, 'Geez.' Second, of all, you need to put your hands behind you and smooth your skirt, so it doesn't bunch up and get wrinkled when you sit. Now try it again."

I did as Mom directed and managed to get myself seated.

"Very good," said Mom.

She started the car and drove off. The mall was about twenty minutes from our house, so there was time for us to talk.

"Mom," said Beth. "If Jenny is going to be sharing my panties, then I will need some more."

"You're right, Beth, Jenny needs panties," replied Mom, "but considering Jenny's, umm, well, umm, 'difference', I think it would be better if you and she had your own."

"Well then, since I wear them every day, I should give Jenny some of my old panties and get new ones."

"I agree," said Mom. "It's Jenny's birthday, so she may pick out something pretty as a present from all of us. You can also pick out something pretty to replace the panties Jenny is wearing. Then I will buy you a packages of less expensive every day panties and you can give Jenny some of your old ones. How does that sound girls?"

"Great Mom," Beth said.

"Whatever you and Beth want to do is okay with me," I said.

"I'm glad that's settled, because we're here," announced Mom as she pulled into a parking space near the mall entrance. "Let's get going girls, we don't have much time to shop, the mall closes in about two hours."

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 2

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 2
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

I opened the car door and caught Mom watching me. I figured that she was waiting to see if I had learned my lesson. I guessed that the proper way for a girl to get out was the reverse of how I got in, so I put my knees together, swung my legs out and then stood up.

"Very good, Jenny. Just one more thing"

What's that Mom?" I asked.

"Girl's are always fussing with their clothes. After you stand up, you should straighten your jumper. Oh, another thing. Girls are always primping. You know what I mean, brushing their hair or putting on lipstick. We can't resist checking our appearance when we see a mirror or our reflection in a window."

"Thanks for the advice, Mom. I'll try to remember."

We reached the revolving glass door. Mom took Susie's hand and went through. Then I started to go through and Beth squeezed in with me. We kept bumping into each other as the door rotated and finally came stumbling out the other side. Beth thought it was really funny.

"Sis, please don't do anything to embarrass me or draw attention to us. This is hard enough for me as it is. I'd die if anyone knew it was me."

"I'm sorry," Beth replied. "I wasn't thinking. My girlfriends and I goof around like that all the time."

She took my hand and started walking towards Mom and Susie, who had stopped to wait for us. I hesitated.

"Now what's the matter?" she asked.

"You're holding my hand. People will stare."

"Jenny, really!" exclaimed Beth. "Girls hold hands or go arm-in-arm all the time. It's perfectly natural."

Mom and Susie had started walking again and we caught up with them at the entrance to the big department store. I had no idea where we were going, but Beth and Susie headed straight for a sign that said 'Girls and Juniors'. Since Beth was still holding my hand, I followed along.

"Alright girls," Mom said, looking at Beth and me. "You two go pick out your panties while I take Susie over to look at shoes. Have fun."

"C'mon Jenny. Let's start over there," said Beth, pointing to a rack of panties.

We walked over and she took down a pair. They were black nylon with beige lace covering the front. Beth showed me the tag.

"See, Jenny, they're designer. Aren't they beautiful? I'll bet there's a matching top around here someplace. Yup, here it is. See, the same beige lace on the front and the thin straps. They're called 'spaghetti straps'. Oh my gawd! Look at the price! Mom would have a stroke if we asked her to buy these."

She put the panties and top back and walked over to another rack.

"What about these?" she asked, pointing to a pink satiny looking pair. She took them off the rack and held them up to her waist. "What do you think? They're not designer, but they're pretty."

"I don't know, Beth," I said. "There are hundreds of different pairs. You could spend a whole day here looking at them. How do you know what to buy?"

"Well," she explained, "when you're a little girl, your mommy picks them out for you. Mostly cotton ones in pastel colors with cute little designs and some nylon ones for when you get dressed up. Then, as you grow up, you try different styles and decide what you like. See these here. They're regular briefs. The legs come down below your hips and the waist is above your hips. They're comfortable, but kind of old fashioned and most girls don't wear them unless they're having their period and need to wear a pad."

"Beth, will you stop with the period stuff. I'm not going to have a period and I don't need to know about it, okay?"

"I'm sorry, Jenny, I didn't mean to gross you out. But it's something we girls talk about."

"I'm flattered, I guess," I said apologetically.

"See these panties here," Beth went on, pointing to an aqua pair with lace trim around the legs and waistband similar to the ones I was wearing. "The leg openings come up to below your hips and they're called 'high cut.' Then there are these," she said, picking up a powder blue pair that looked smaller. "They sit on your hips, so they're called 'hip huggers'. And these," she said, picking up an even smaller pair, "are bikinis. They just about cover your, well, you know what, but they're very sexy," she said with a giggle.

Then Beth gave me a little push towards another rack. She held up a pair of lacy white panties.

"See," she said, as she pulled on the material. "They stretch, so they fit any figure. Even yours," she giggled. "And there's a matching crop top. I really want a set. If you get them too, we can be twins. What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me, but we'd better decide quickly. I see Mom and Susie heading this way. What color should we get? I like the black."

"The black is pretty," agreed Beth. "But it's not very practical. You can't wear black panties under light colored clothes, they show through. How about the beige, they're pretty too."

"Fine with me."

Beth took down two pairs of the lacy panties and two of the tops and walked over to meet Mom. I followed her. Mom took the panties and tops from Beth and looked them over.

"You and Jenny are getting matching sets. I can't wait to see you in them. They're really cute."

"Mom, that's not fair," Susie complained. "They're getting presents and I'm not."

Mom stopped to think and then she said, "I still have to pick up some packaged panties for Beth and pay for everything. Why don't you girls go across the way to the accessory store and pick out a pair of earrings for Susie as her present. I'll meet you there in a few minutes."

Susie grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the exit.

"C'mon Jenny, lets hurry," she said excitedly. "You spent lots of time shopping with Beth, now it's my turn."

I couldn't believe it. My little sister wanted me to shop with her. Beth tagged along behind us. I looked around nervously to see if anyone was looking at me. Beth patted me on the back reassuringly.

"Relax, Sis," she said. "Mom is right. Nobody will recognize my pretty cousin Jenny as my nerdy brother Johnny."

"Thank you for saying I'm pretty; but remind me to tell Johnny that you called him a nerd when I see him."

Susie was too intent on getting to the accessory store to listen to our conversation, but Beth laughed.

"I am not so sure that under the circumstances Johnny wants to make his big sister mad at him," she said.

"Beth, you wouldn't. You promised. I trusted you."

She quickly apologized.

"I'm sorry, Jenny. It was a mean thing to say. I love my sisters and I would never, ever do anything to hurt them. Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."

By then we had reached the store. It was called 'Earrings and Things'. We went inside. There was a whole wall of earrings, dozens of racks with dangling necklaces and bracelets, display cases full of rings and jewelry and another whole wall of hair stuff. Just like the department store, Beth and Susie knew exactly where to go.

"Over here, Jenny," Susie called to me.

We were so into looking at earrings that we didn't notice Mom come in. It was only when I heard her call my name that I turned around and saw her talking to a woman at the back of the store. Mom motioned for me to come. When I got to her, Mom pointed to a stool,

"Please sit down so Amy can measure you."

I had not idea what she was talking about, but I was in no position to argue. I looked over and saw Mom was watching me. I remembered what she said about how girls sit, so I reached behind me with both hands and smoothed my skirt. Then I slowly sat down and crossed my ankles, the way I remembered seeing Beth do it. Mom smiled and nodded at me.

"Look straight ahead and don't move," Amy told me.

I heard her tear open a package and then felt something wet and cold rubbing my earlobe. Then I felt something make a dot. Amy moved around behind me and did the same to my other ear. She went back and forth twice more.

"Okay, Michelle," she called to someone out of my sight. "We're ready."

I could see a young woman coming over to us.

"Here you go," she said to Amy, handing her one of the things she was carrying.

I could feel Amy and Michelle pressing something against my earlobes, but still had no idea what was going on.

"Ready?" Amy asked.

"Yes ," replied Michelle.

"One, two, three," called out Amy.

I heard clicks and felt a sting in my ear lobes. Mom had moved in front of me and had her hands on my shoulders. I jumped, but she held me down.

"Ouch," I said. "That hurt. What are you doing to me?"

"It's all over, sweetie," Amy said. "Your ears are pierced and your pretty new studs are in. We just need to put on the backs so they won't fall out. Just hold still for a minute. This won't hurt at all."

Mom was still standing in front of me. She had let go of my shoulders and was smiling.

"Now all my daughters have pretty pierced ears. Beth, Susie, come over her and see your sister's pierced ears.

I heard Beth squeal, "Jenny has pierced ears?"

She and Susie ran over and looked.

"Now you're just like us, Jenny," Susie said. "Do you want to wear my new earrings?"

"That's very sweet of you, Susie, to want to share with your sister, but not yet," said Mom. "She has to keep the studs in until the holes heal up."

"See, Jenny," Amy said, handing me a mirror. "Men don't appreciate how much pain we girls have to go through to look beautiful."

"I do," I said.

Mom and Beth started to laugh.

Amy had a puzzled look on her face. Luckily, she didn't get the joke. Then she said, "Our special piercing package comes with two pairs of earrings off the sale rack, so why don't you girls go help Jenny pick them out."

"That's a good idea," said Mom. "I'll pay and then we have one more stop. Hurry, I want to get there before the mall closes in a half hour. Susie, did you find some earrings for your present?"

"Yes, Mommy," said Susie. She handed her a pair of little hoops with a dangling heart.

We picked out a pair of small hoops, which Beth assured me would go with 'everything' and a pair of pearl studs for when I got 'dressed up.' Mom paid the salesgirl, we all said thank you, and walked outside. When we were a little ways from the store, I turned to Mom.

"Mom, it's not that I don't appreciate your getting my ears pierced, but what were you thinking? I have to go to school on Monday and when the guys get a look at my earrings, they will call me a sissy and probably beat the crap out of me!"

"Young ladies don't say 'crap,' Jenny."

Beth giggled, because of course she did.

"And don't worry," Mom reassured me. "You can take the studs out in the morning before you leave for school. The holes won't close up if you leave them out for a few hours. Your hair covers your ears and I can even put on a dab of make-up to cover the holes. Nobody will know."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Mom had Susie's hand and Beth took my arm. We kept walking until we reached a store called, 'Mr. Kenneth's Mall Salon'. Mom stopped and opened the door. We trooped in behind her.

She walked up to the woman at the desk and said politely, "I know it's late, but is it possible to get a trim for my daughter?"

I assumed she meant Susie or Beth.

The woman told Mom that she thought that all of the hairdressers had already closed up their stations, but to wait and she would see. After a few minutes, she returned with a man. I'm not much good at guessing the ages of adults, but he looked about Mom's age. He was dressed in a black long sleeved shirt, buttoned at the cuffs and neck, and black pants. His blonde hair was very short. He had a tiny mustache and a large diamond earring in one ear.

"Good evening, ladies. I am Mr. Kenneth. He looked at Mom. I understand that you want a trim for one of your daughters? I'm sorry, but we're getting ready to close. If you would like to make an appointment … ." Then he stopped and walked over to me. "Is this your daughter that needs a trim?" he asked.

"Yes," said Mom. "I'm afraid Jenny has gotten rather shaggy since her last haircut. I was hoping you could even it up a little."

Mr. Kenneth continued to study me. He put his hand on my chin and tilted my head up and down and from side to side. Then he walked around behind me. I was getting very nervous. Finally, he said to Mom, "Come with me."

We followed Mr. Kenneth into a room and he closed the door.

"This is our spa room. Everyone is gone except for Ellen, the receptionist, but I think that it is best if we keep this private," he said. "Jenny is a very lucky boy to have such an understanding mother and sisters," he remarked.

Mom was startled. "How did you know?" she asked him.

"Really Madam," Mr. Kenneth replied indignantly. "You can fool most people about a person's gender, but not a hairdresser. I spend all day looking at heads and I can tell a boy when I see one, no matter how pretty he looks." Then he sighed. "I wish my mother had let me dress up when I was young, but no matter. Jenny is obviously special and I will take very good care of," he paused dramatically, "her. Jenny, please sit in the chair."

He walked over to a cabinet and took out a white towel which he wrapped around my neck and put a plastic cape over me and fastened it in back. Then he picked up a bottle and began to spray water on my hair until it was dripping wet.

"Mom," I said nervously. "I'm not so sure this is such a good idea. I mean, you said I could take out the earrings and nobody would know; but if I go back to school with a girl's haircut, they really will call me a sissy and beat me up."

Mr. Kenneth spoke up.

"Don't worry. I have many mothers who bring their sons and daughters in for unisex cuts. They are very stylish, which the boys like, and easy to care for, which the girls and their mothers like. When you are en femme ... ." He paused when he saw my blank expression. "I'm sorry. I should have realized that you are new to this. En femme is French. It means when you are dressed as a girl. Anyway, you can add a headband, a barrette or a hair clip and make it look very feminine. Then when you are en drab, that means dressed in your boy's clothes, although its pretend French, you can brush it back off your face and look masculine."

"Thank you for making me feel better, Mr. Kenneth," I replied. "Whatever you think is best is fine with me," I said with a little smile.

Mr. Kenneth smiled back at me. He picked up a comb and started to fuss with my hair. Then he took a pair of scissors and began to snip here and there, measuring with the comb, lifting up little sections, holding them between his fingers and trimming them. Finally, he stepped back and turned to my mother.

"You see, Madam, I have shaped and trimmed her hair and layered it on the sides. It is more than I usually do for a unisex cut, but whoever cut her hair before should have been a butcher and not a barber. When her hair grows out, I can do more, but for now, to create a soft, feminine look, you should blow it out and use a styling brush. You do have a styling brush?"

He looked at Mom's hair and then over at Beth and Susie.

"Obviously not!"

I could see Mom frown and begin to say something, but he cut her off.

"You must come back in two weeks and Mr. Kenneth will make you all gorgeous."

He gave Mom a big smile.

Mom's expression changed to a smile and Beth and Susie were clapping their hands in delight at the thought of having a real salon styling. Mr. Kenneth picked up a hair dryer and turned to me.

"Watch what I do, so you can do it yourself."

As he moved the dryer over my head, he gently wrapped the hair around the brush, drew it out and let it slide off. He handed me the brush.

"You try it."

The most I had ever done with my hair was run a comb through it when Mom made me get dressed up. I took the brush and looked in the mirror as I tried to copy what Mr. Kenneth had done. He held the dryer for me and after a few attempts he nodded with approval.

"Yes, yes, very good. Keep it up. A girl's hair is her most important feature. Even the best cut will not look good if you do not take the time to style it. Here, try holding the dryer."

Mr. Kenneth kept observing me as I used the dryer and brush and finally he said, "There, that is enough for now."

I started to put the brush on the counter. He stopped me.

"Please, keep it as a present from me."

Mom looked at her watch.

"Oh, Mr. Kenneth, I am so sorry that we kept you after closing time."

She took out her wallet and handed him a credit card.

"What is this, Madam? There is no charge. It is my pleasure and it will be my pleasure to do her beautiful sisters too." Then he gave Mom a big grin. "Their mother is hopeless, I think, but we shall see if Mr. Kenneth can do the impossible."

It had been a long time since I saw Mom become emotional, but she threw her arms around Mr. Kenneth and gave him a big hug. Beth and Susie ran over and joined in. So did I. The man was obviously caught by surprise. When we untangled, he led us to the back door, which went directly to the parking lot. We waved goodbye and headed for our car. It was almost ten o'clock and we were all tired.

As we drove home, Mom said, "I have not had so much fun in years. Tomorrow is Sunday. What would you girls like to do?"

It had been an exciting first day for me as Jenny. After having my ears pierced and my hair styled at the mall, my concern about being recognized as a boy dressed up in his sister's clothes was gone. I followed Mom, Beth and Susie into the house. Let the neighbors get a good look!

"It's late girls. Please get ready for bed," Mom called to us.

I went up to my room, closed the door and started to get undressed. I slipped the jumper's straps off of my shoulders, but the skirt stayed up. I reached around and untied the belt. The jumper fell down around my feet and I stepped out of it. I remembered the fuss Beth made about my leaving clothes on the floor when I took off her party dress, so I went to my closet and got a hanger. I took off the top, being careful not to get makeup on it, and was pulling down my tights when I heard a knock on my door.

"Jenny, are you decent?" asked Beth.

"Well, if you consider being in my panties decent, yes," I replied.

The door opened and Beth came in. She had on yellow cotton panties with white trim and a matching top.

"Is my little sister getting modest?" she asked. "My seeing you in your panties didn't seem to bother you this morning when I was dressing you up."

"It doesn't bother me," I said. "I wasn't sure about you."

"Why?" she questioned me. "We're sisters, aren't we? We don't have anything to hide."

"Well, maybe one thing," I replied.

"Yes, that's true. Perhaps we should keep our panties on," she said with a grin. "I wanted to show you how to wash your tights and I have a present for you too."

"A present Beth, really? I already got a present at the mall. You don't have to give me anything."

"I know I don't have to," she said, "but I want to." She held out a box.

I took the box and opened it. Inside I saw something white and shiny with frilly lace. I picked it up. It was a gorgeous nightgown. The material was satiny smooth. It was sleeveless and had a v-neck and low back with a lace ruffle in front and a matching lace ruffle around the bottom. Underneath it was a matching long sleeved robe with three ribbon ties on the front and a lace ruffle at the cuffs. The robe was shorter than the nightgown and open in the front, so the ruffles on the nightgown peeked out.

"Beth, I love it!"

I was so happy that my sister would give me such a beautiful present that my voice quivered. She had never paid any attention to me when I was her brother.

"But it's much too special."

Beth had a big smile when she saw how excited I was.

"Aunt Nancy gave it to me for a special occasion and I can't think of any occasion more special than having a new sister. If you don't take it, you'll hurt my feelings."

She put her hands in front of her face and pretended to cry.

"Okay, okay." It didn't take much to convince me. "But if I can share your clothes, then you can share my nightgown. Deal?" I asked her.

"Deal," she agreed.

She was about to hug me and then we both realized that we were in our underwear and maybe that wasn't such a good idea, even if we were 'sisters'.

"Can I try it on now?" I said excitedly.

"Not yet, Sis. We need to get washed up. Come on, grab your tights."

She turned around and headed for the bathroom. I followed her. For some reason, it didn't seem strange for us to be in the bathroom together.

"You need to wash your tights and stockings after you wear them," Beth directed me. "First, fill the sink with warm water. Then add a little hand soap. Swish the tights around a few times. See here?"

She had turned the top of the tights inside out and was showing me something white inside.

"This is a cotton sanitary panel. You need to scrub it."

"Beth, really, enough with the period stuff."

"Jenny, this has nothing to do with periods," Beth scolded me. "Girls get infections if they don't keep themselves clean, well, you known, down there. If we are going to share my tights and panty hose, then you need to do this after you wear them."

"I'm sorry, Beth." I apologized. Then I added jokingly, "And I promise to keep myself clean, 'down there'."

"After you wash them, beth went on, "let the soapy water out and run warm water. Hold them under the faucet and gently squeeze until all the soap is out. Then hang them over the towel bar in the bathtub."

"Got it," I told her. "Now can I put on my nightgown?"

"Not yet, Jenny. A girl's hair may be her most important feature, but her skin is second. All the makeup in the world won't cover a facefull of zits. Fill the sink up with the hottest water you can stand. The heat opens up your pores. Use the cleansing soap and wash you face. Rinse it really good to get off all the soap. Then blot it dry with a towel."

I started to follow her directions, filling the sink and checking the temperature of the water with my fingers under the faucet.

"Wait a second." She reached into a drawer. "Here," she said, and handed me a headband.

"This will keep your hair back. Put it over your head and around your neck under your hair. Here, I'll show you. Okay, there. See. Now, pull the bottom of the band against the back of your head and slide the top of the band forward over your forehead to catch your bangs and pull them off your face."

I never realized that washing my face could be so complicated. After completing the routine and being admonished for rubbing and not blotting, as well as receiving a lecture about the various makeup removers, cleansers, moisturizers, and toners I would need to use when I got older, Beth finally gave me permission to return to my bedroom and put on my nightgown.

As I was heading down the hallway, I heard Beth call to me, "Jenny, don't forget to brush your hair before you go to bed. Some of the fashion magazines say 100 strokes, but I just do it for a few minutes. Goodnight, Sis. Sleep tight."

"Goodnight, Beth." Then, surprising myself with words that I had never used before, I added, "I love you."

I went into my room and closed the door. I picked up the beautiful nightgown from my bed, running my hand over the silky smooth nylon and brushing the lacy ruffle with my fingers. I found the bottom, slid my arms inside, lifted it over my head and let it drop down. I was amazed that anything could feel so wonderful. I wished that I had a full-length mirror in my room, like Beth and Susie had, so I could admire myself. I modeled the nightgown, walking, turning and posing. It was late and I was tired from a long exciting day, so I decided to wait until the morning to try on the robe. I pulled back the covers and got into bed. As I slid down, the sensation of my nylon panties gliding over my nightgown was ecstasy. I closed my eyes and dreamed pretty dreams.

"Beth, Susie, Jenny! Girls, wake up. Rise and shine. Breakfast is ready." I heard Mom calling from the bottom of the stairs.

I sat up. Was it a dream? Mom had called, 'Jenny.' I look down and saw the nightgown. No, it wasn't a dream. I threw back the covers and slid out of bed. I lifted up the bottom of the nightgown and saw I still had on the pink nylon panties Beth had dressed me in the day before.

"Jenny, what's keeping you? Hurry up. Your breakfast is getting cold."

I picked up the robe, slid my arms in and tied the three ribbons at the front.

"Coming, Mom."

I hurried downstairs and into the kitchen. Beth and Susie were already sitting at the table. Beth had on a big white cotton t-shirt with a picture of a megaphone on the front. Susie was wearing pastel pink cotton pajamas with light blue bunnies and lavender carrots with mint green tops. I had a silly thought whether light blue bunnies really ate lavender carrots.

Mom stopped what she was doing when she saw me come in.

"Jenny, that is a beautiful nightgown and robe. You look very pretty. Beth, is that the set that Aunt Nancy gave you for your birthday?"

"Yes, Mommy. I hope its okay. I though that Jenny should have something special to sleep in."

"It was very sweet of you to think of your sister, Beth. I can't believe how much I enjoy having three daughters." Mom paused and then asked, "And what would my three beautiful girls like to do today? We could go to a movie or to the park. Its up to… ."

"Oh, the park, please, the park," interrupted Susie. "I want the park. Jenny can push me on the swings and we can feed the swans in the pond."

"How about it, Beth and Jenny?" Mom asked.

"Fine with me," said Beth.

"Fine with me," I said.

"The park it is. Let's finish breakfast, clean up the kitchen and then you can get dressed. Beth and Susie, you'll have to help Jenny pick out her clothes. It will be a while before she can do it on her own. I'll make us a picnic lunch."

"Mom," said Beth. "You gave us a very nice day yesterday. Today is your day. We'll clean up the kitchen. You go get yourself ready. And no sweat suit either!"

"Well, I never," replied Mom, pretending to be shocked. "Aren't we little miss bossy this morning."

Mom smiled, took the last sip of her coffee and headed upstairs.

"Alright, sisters, lets get going," ordered Beth. "Susie, you clear the table and bring the dishes to the sink. I'll wash. Jenny, you wipe and put them away."

With the three of us working together, the kitchen was done in no time. The amazing thing was that as a boy I would have left the table as soon as I finished eating and gone to watch TV or play a video game, but as Jenny, I enjoyed helping my sisters with the housework.

"Come on, Susie and Jenny. Let's get dressed," Beth directed.

We went upstairs to her and Susie's room.

"What shall you wear today, Jenny?" Beth said, looking me over. "Susie and I will wear our jeans. Should I find a pair for you too?"

"No, thank you," I said. "I've been wearing pants all my life. I want girl's clothes. Besides, you're the one who said I needed practice being a girl."

Beth went into her closet and started looking through her clothes. "No, too dressy. No, no, no. You wore the jumper yesterday and a girl can't wear the same outfit twice in a row. No, no. Yes! My kilt. And here's the blouse I wear with it. Perfect."

"Susie, please get a pair of panties, a cammie and a pair of blue knee socks from my dresser."

She came back with a pair of plain white cotton panties and a short white cotton top with thin straps. Beth took them from her and handed them to me.

"Jenny, go in the bathroom and change into these. Then come back and we'll finish dressing you."

I went into the bathroom and closed the door. I untied the ribbons on my robe, slipped it off and then pulled my nightgown up over my head. I neatly folded them on top of the counter. Then I slipped off my pink nylon panties and stepped into the white cotton ones. They were not as nice as the nylon panties, but with their high cut legs and low waist they still made me feel like a girl. I pulled on the top. It was more like a bra, fitting snug over my chest and coming to the bottom of my ribs. I looked in the mirror and saw a pretty girl staring back, except for the bulge in her panties, which I fixed by tucking my wiener under. Then I realized I had to pee. I lifted up the seat and pulled down my panties. I stopped. Jenny should go like a girl. I put the seat back down, turned around and sat. When I finished, I took some toilet paper and wiped myself, so I wouldn't get any dribbles in my panties.

"Jenny, we're ready," Beth shouted.

"Okay, okay, I'm coming. Give a girl a break," I kidded her.

The bedroom door was open. When I stepped in I saw Beth and Susie both in jeans and sneakers with short white socks. Susie's socks had little pompoms at the back, I guessed to stop them from sliding down into her sneaker. Beth's jeans had a fancy stitched design in white on the back pockets and she was wearing a light blue short sleeve shirt with the top buttons undone to show a white tank top underneath. Susie had on a flower print pullover jersey.

"Here, Jenny, put on your socks."

I drew them up. It seemed strange to have socks that came up so high, but they felt nice.

"Now the blouse."

She handed me a plain white cotton short sleeve blouse with a round collar. I put my arms in and buttoned it up. I was getting better at doing buttons backwards, although it occurred to me that girls probably think that boy's clothes button backwards. I left the top button open. The kilt was blue plaid with a pleated skirt that had two buckles at the side. Beth took it off of the hanger, undid the buckles and opened the skirt up so it was one long piece of material. She handed it to me.

I held it, but had no idea how to put it on and just stood there. Beth realized from my puzzled expression that I was clueless and took it back.

"Sorry, Jenny, I keep forgetting you're new to this. Here, the skirt wraps around you."

She reached behind me and then took one end in each hand, pulling it against my waist in back. She wrapped the left side around and fastened it to a button on the inside of the waistband near my right hip. Then she brought the right side around in front, hooked it to the waistband near my left hip and buckled the two buckles that held the slit in the skirt closed. She stood back and admired her work.

"There, that's good," said Beth approvingly. "You can wear these penny loafers. They have a lower heel than the ones you wore yesterday, but they're better for walking in the park."

We took turns sitting in front of the makeup table's mirror doing our makeup and hair. Susie didn't wear makeup yet and her hair was long and straight, so she didn't require much attention. Beth did her lips and eyes and then started fussing with her hair, running her hand through it half a dozen times to collect it, twirling it around and putting it up in a high ponytail with an elastic, then taking it down and doing it again with a black scrunchy. When she was finally satisfied, I tried putting on my makeup. I picked up the pink lipstick I wore yesterday. Beth stopped me and suggested I use red, because there was red in the plaid of the skirt. That was the first I knew that a girl's makeup had to coordinate with her outfit. It took me a few tries and a lot of tissues before my efforts met with Beth's approval. Then I used the styling brush and blow dryer to fluff up my hair and frame my face, the way Mr. Kenneth had shown me, and combed out my bangs. When I finished, I asked Beth if I could wear her heart locket.

"Of course, sister dear. You can wear my gold bangle bracelet too. I'm happy to share the family jewels."

Then she realized that 'family jewels' meant something different for boys and started giggling. Susie looked at her with a puzzled expression and Beth got serious again.

"Let's get going. No, wait a second. Jenny, you need a pocket book".

She went into her closet and came out with a blue fabric one with a shoulder strap.

"Here, take the lipstick and your brush. I think there's a mirror in it already." She looked inside. "Yes, there is."

We started for the door and Beth stopped us again. She went back to her makeup table and got a bottle of perfume. She put a dab on each of my wrists, two more dabs behind each of my ears and one at the front of my throat. Susie wanted some too, so she put a little dab on her wrists.

"Rub your wrists together to work in the perfume. The heat will release the scent."

The perfume had a flowery, powdery smell. Very pretty. I noticed that Beth was not putting any on herself.

"Don't you want to drive the boy's crazy?" I kidded her, referring to what she told me yesterday about wearing perfume.

"Nope. They're all yours today," and she laughed.

I made a face at her.

Susie was already going downstairs and we followed her. Mom was in the kitchen putting things in a canvas tote bag. She was wearing white pants, a black knit top with a scoop neck and three-quarter sleeves and black sandals. She had on makeup and a black hair ribbon.

"Wow, Mom!" Beth exclaimed. "You look great."

"I'll say," I agreed.

"Yes, great," said Susie, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.

"Thank you girls. I'm glad you approve. I wouldn't want to embarrass my daughters in public," she kidded us. "Now, let's scoot."

Mom picked up the tote with our picnic lunch and we headed for the car. As usual, Beth and Susie got in back and I got in front. By now, managing my skirt was easy. The park was only a about a five minute drive. Mom parked the car and we all walked up to the picnic area. Mom picked out a table in the shade of a big tree. Of course, Susie couldn't wait and started running towards the swings. Mom had made it clear that girls did not run in skirts and dresses, so I walked slowly and Beth kept me company. As we got near the swings, I could see Susie talking to another little girl. When we got a little closer, I could see it was Julie Johnson, the daughter of the woman who Susie stayed with after school until Mom got home from work. If Julie was here, then her mother wouldn't be very far away. Mrs. Johnson had come to the house a few times to drop Susie off when Mom was running late and I wasn't enthusiastic about testing how convincing I was as Jenny with somebody who knew me as a boy. Before I could leave, Susie saw me and started calling to me.

"Jenny, Jenny, come push me. Please come push me."

"In a minute, Susie." I turned to Beth. "If Julie is here, so is Mrs. Johnson and I really don't want her to see me. You push Susie. I'm going to head back. I turned and started to leave.

"Jenny, Jenny," called out Susie. "Where are you going? You said you would push me. You said so!"

I looked around and didn't see any adults. I didn't want to disappoint Susie and decided to take a chance.

"Okay, Susie. Calm down. Here I come."

I walked around behind her and started to push here. She pumped her legs and went higher.

"Push me harder, Jenny. Harder. I want to go way high."

I was concentrating on Susie and didn't notice Mrs. Johnson arrive.

"Hi, Beth. Hi, Susie," she greeted them. "How are you? Is your Mom here too?"

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson," Beth replied. "We're all fine and yes, Mom is at the picnic area. We're going back to have lunch when Susie finishes."

Mrs. Johnson turned to look at me.

"And who's this?" she asked.

Beth said nonchalantly, "Oh, that's my cousin Jenny. She's visiting us for a few days."

"Oh, how nice. Hi Jenny, I'm Claire Johnson," she said as she walked over and held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you. Are you Nancy's daughter?"

I was trying to hide behind Susie, but it wasn't working. Mrs. Johnson was now next to me. There was nothing I could do. I held out my hand and said in a soft voice, "It's nice to meet you too. Yes, she's my mother."

"I didn't know Nancy had a daughter."

She stopped and looked at me closely. I smiled at her and brushed my hair back with my left hand to show off my pierced ear.

"I can see the family resemblance." She paused and turned to Beth. "Where's your brother?"

"Oh, he didn't want to spend the day with three girls, so he stayed home to do whatever boys do."

She shook her head as if to say 'boys are weird' and gave a little laugh.

Mrs. Johnson walked back around to where Beth was standing.

"Julie, it's time for us to go. Say goodbye to everyone. Susie, we'll see you tomorrow. Bye Beth. It was nice meeting you Jenny."

She took Julie's hand and they walked off towards the parking lot.

"Holy cow, Beth! I was sure she would recognize me. I just about peed in my panties. I can't believe I pulled it off. She did believe I was Jenny, didn't she. She wasn't just putting me on or anything. You think?"

"No, I don't think she recognized you," Beth said reassuringly. "From her expression and the way she spoke to you, I am sure she thought you were a girl. Why wouldn't she? You're dressed like a girl, you smell like a girl, you act like a girl and Susie and I treat you like a girl. Even Mom didn't recognize you at first and that was before you got your hair done and your ears pierced."

"I guess you're right. But what if you're not? What will I do?"

"I don't know, Jenny. It's something that could happen if you go out. You'll just have to ask Mom."

Susie wanted me to push her some more. I wasn't in the mood. I was too worried about Mrs. Johnson, but she had been patient and I didn't want to disappoint her. I went back behind the swings and gave her a push. After five minutes or so, Beth took over. Finally, Susie had enough and we headed back to the picnic area.

When we arrived, I went up to Mom. I had a worried look, which she immediately caught.

"Jenny, what's the matter?" she asked in a concerned tone. "What's bothering you?"

"Well, when we got to the swings Julie was there," Beth interrupted, "and then Mrs. Johnson came over and met Jenny and, well, Jenny is worried that Mrs. Johnson recognized her."

"Oh, did she?"

"She didn't seem to," Beth answered. "I introduced Jenny to her as my cousin and she asked whether she was Aunt Nancy's daughter. She did say she didn't know that Aunt Nancy had a daughter though and asked where Johnny was, so maybe she caught on."

Mom was silent for a minute.

"Claire did meet my sister when she came up to help me after your father left. I don't think they spent much time together. Nancy and I were very busy, what with a new baby, and Claire was just a neighbor then. That was seven years ago, so I doubt she remembers much and I really don't think she knows whether Nancy has a daughter or not. Anyway, Jenny, I wouldn't worry about it. Even if she did know who you are, and I doubt she does, she is a very nice person. I am sure she would just assume that it was a family matter and none of her business. And if she ever did say anything to me, I would tell her that you had been teasing your sisters and it was my idea to dress you up as a girl to teach you a lesson. Okay?"

"Thanks, Mom." I gave a sigh of relief. "That does make me feel better."

"I'm glad, Jenny. I really enjoy your being a girl and you seem to like it too. I wouldn't want anything to spoil it. Now girls, let's eat. You can have anything you like for lunch, as long as it is peanut butter and jelly sandwiches on white bread. There's a jar of peanut butter and grape jelly and a loaf of bread. What bread you don't eat you can feed to the swans after lunch. So what will it be?"

Mom laughed. It was the first time I can remember her enjoying herself. Jenny was definitely an improvement to our family. I decided that no matter what happened, she was going to stay. We all had made our sandwiches and were sitting down to eat when Beth popped up and started waving.

"Chrissy, Dee, Mary," she called out. "Hi. Over here."

I turned to Beth and said anxiously, "What in the world are you doing. Please, Sis, almost having one heart attack today is enough."

"Don't be silly, Jenny. These are my friends from school. If you're going to hang out with me, then you're going to have to meet the people I hang out with. You have to make up your mind. Yes or no. I'll send them away if you want me to, but then you can't expect me to spend all of my time with you. I have a life, you know."

I turned to Mom for support.

"Please, I've only been a girl for a day. Give me some time to get used to being Jenny. I'll meet Beth's friends, but not now. Please, Mom. I need more time to practice."

"I think you're doing just fine, Jenny. Mrs. Johnson knows you and if she didn't recognize you, then Beth's friends certainly won't. Just relax. Everything will be fine. Besides, it's too late. They're here."

I look up and saw the three girls approaching us. Beth walked around the picnic table to greet them.

"Hi, girls," she said enthusiastically.

"Hi," they each replied.

"Chrissy, Dee, Mary, you've met my Mother and Susie.

The three girls all said hi.

"And this is my sister Jenny."

I saw Mom raise an eyebrow and Beth's smile drop for an instant when she realized her mistake. She immediately corrected herself.

"Well, Jenny is actually my cousin, but we're just like sisters. We share everything. She's wearing my kilt and blouse and I borrowed her designer jeans.

Beth spun around to show off her jeans.

"Jenny, this is Chrissy," Beth said, introducing a tall thin blonde with shoulder length hair. "We're in homeroom together. This is Dee, Denise actually, but we have another Denise in our class, so she's Dee. She's in my homeroom too," she said, putting her arm around a short girl with dark hair in a ponytail. And this is Mary." She put her other arm around an Asian girl with short dark hair and bangs. Beth paused, then turned to Chrissy and asked her, "What's up?"

"Oh, nothing much," Chrissy replied. "We're going over to Cindy's house to hang out. Do you want to come?"

Beth was very social and didn't want to be left out.

"Can I, Mom? Please? Cindy lives just the other side of the park. Please!"

"Well, Beth, it's not very polite to run off and leave your cousin. You can go but you have to take Jenny with you."

"Really, Mom? It's okay for Jenny to come with us?"

"Mom!" I exclaimed. "I mean Aunt Carol. I don't think that it's a good idea. I have some unpacking to do when I get home. Beth can go with her friends, I don't mind."

"Jenny's around our house so much, Beth and Susie are like her sisters and I'm like her second mother," Mom said to cover for me. "Jenny, you need to get out more. You will be staying with us for a while and need to meet people. Now scoot along with Beth and her friends and have fun."

"Yeah, really Jenny," added Chrissy, "it'll be fun. We're just going to hang out, maybe listen to some music and talk about boys." The girls giggled. "My Mom is picking me up in a couple of hours. Beth's house is on the way and she can drop you and her off. It's no biggie. C'mon."

"Yeah, like, really," said Mary.

"Totally cool," said Dee. "You can tell us all about the boys at your school."

"Yes," said Beth trying to keep a straight face without much success. "I want to hear all about the boys!"

I gave Beth a dirty look. Then I looked at Mom with a pleading expression. She gave me a big smile back. Before I could say anything more, Beth grabbed my hand and started to pull me along as the girls left.

"Wait," called Mom.

I breathed a sigh of relief. She was just kidding and now I was saved.

"Jenny, here," she said handing me my pocket book. "You almost forgot this."

"Oh, dear, how absent-minded of me," I said, giving Mom the eye. "I can't imagine what I would do without it. Thank you so much," I paused, "Aunty Carol."

The girls had stopped when they heard Mom call and now they started off again.

"I'll get you for this," I muttered to Beth as we hurried to catch up with them.

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 3

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 3
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

As I tagged along with Beth and her friends, I was glad that Beth ignored her brother when her friends came over, so they never saw me as a boy. That was an improvement over running into Mrs. Johnson earlier. Cindy's house was about five minutes from the park. As we walked along, the girls chatted about school and clothes and dates. I knew Beth didn't have a boy friend and I don't think she ever went out on a real date. The way Chrissy and Dee talked, they seemed to have more experience. Then the conversation turned to me.

"Jenny, do you have a boyfriend?" Chrissy inquired.

I was sure Beth was fascinated to hear the answer to that question.

"No, boys are really nasty," I said, repeating what Susie once said about some boys who were teasing her at recess. "I don't like them." That should put an end to the conversation, I thought.

"Well, Jenny, I think that will change very soon," Chrissy said very seriously. Once your hormones start working, you'll see. Won't she Beth?"

Beth looked at me.

"Definitely, Chrissy. It's just a matter of time before she starts to like boys."

I rolled my eyes and gave her another dirty look. Then I began to think about what she said. I know she was kidding me, but as Jenny, would I like boys?

Beth must have noticed that I became quiet. She moved close to me and whispered, "I'm sorry, Jenny. I was afraid if I didn't go along with the girls they would suspect something was wrong. Don't take it seriously. They're just pretending anyway. I know their moms don't let them date. Talking about boys is just a natural part of what girls do when they get together."

"Thanks, Beth," I said, taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, "but that's something I never really thought about before. If Jenny's a girl, shouldn't she like boys?"

"I don't know, Jenny," Beth said with a smile, "but if you start dating boys before I do, I'll really be pissed," and she deliberately gave me a bump with her hip.

The conversation ended with our arrival at Cindy's house. Chrissy rang the bell and a girl with blonde hair done into up in a French braid answered the door. She was wearing a pretty pink and white dress. The long skirt was flared and the top had a round neck and sort sleeves. There was lace trim on the top and a white sash around the waist. She was facing me so I couldn't see the back, but I guessed the sash was tied in a bow. Under her dress, she had on white lace tights and on her feet, pink patent leather shoes with a strap around her ankle and low heels. It was a really pretty outfit.

"Hey," Cindy greeted the girls.

"Hey," the girls greeted Cindy.

"This is my cousin Jenny," Beth said as she pushed me forward.

"Hi, Jenny," said Cindy, "it's nice to meet you."

"Hi Cindy," I said quietly. "It's nice to meet you too. I really like your dress."

"Thank you, Jenny," she said politely and turned to the other girls.

"Good timing. We just got back from my fitting for my cousin's wedding. This is my bridesmaid's dress," Cindy twirled around. "Isn't it delicious?" She picked up the skirt with her hands and swung it as she danced with a pretend partner: "There is this boy. His name is David. He is so, so handsome. He asks me to dance!"

She continued to hold onto her skirt and move to imaginary music. Finally, Cindy came back to earth.

"Lets go upstairs. Mommy," she called out, "my friends are here. We're going up to my room. Okay?"

I heard her mother reply from somewhere in the back of the house, "Okay, honey. Have fun girls. There's milk and cookies in the kitchen if you get hungry."

Cindy turned and we followed her upstairs. She picked up the skirt with her hands to raise it as she started up. I made a mental note about how to manage a long skirt when going up stairs. We got to the top and followed her to the end of the hallway. She opened a door and we all went in. I couldn't believe me eyes. Beth and Susie shared a room and it was crowded with two beds and two dressers. Cindy had a room to herself. There was plush aqua carpet on the floor and wallpaper with an aqua, pink and lavender flower design. The windows had drapes with matching material and the bed had a matching comforter and coordinating pillows. There was a double dresser with a big mirror, another full length mirror on a door, which I assumed was the closet, a desk and a large bookcase. All of the furniture was shiny white wood and the bed had a pink ruffled canopy. On the bed was a zoo of about a dozen stuffed animals and there was a doll collection lined up on the top shelf of the bookcase. Beth was standing next to me. I nudged her.

"Yeah," she whispered. "Wouldn't you kill for a room like this?"

"I'd kill for a room like yours," I kidded her, referring to my boy's room.

Our conversation was interrupted by music. I looked over to where it was coming from and saw Cindy and Mary next to a fancy stereo. Chrissy, and Dee were sitting on the bed. Beth went over to join them and I found a chair far enough away from the other girls that I did not have to get in their conversation.

"Jenny, be a dear and unzip me."

I looked up and saw Cindy standing in front of me. She turned around and I reached up, took the zipper and slowly pulled it down the back of her dress. I got about half way down and stopped.

"All the way, please, Jenny."

I continued to unzip the dress until the zipper stopped at the waist. I noticed that the top was still fastened around Cindy's shoulders. The only experience I had with a party dress was yesterday, when Beth dressed me up in hers to play Barbies, but that dress had buttons up the back. As I stood there, Cindy reached behind her neck and unhooked it. The top separated and she leaned forward as the dress slid off her shoulders and down her arms. She wiggled out of the waist and the dress dropped to the floor with a rustle of petticoats. Cindy was standing right in front of me and I couldn't help but see that she was wearing a white lace bra and white lace tights.

I glanced over at Beth and could she that she was trying not to laugh, because none of the other girls would understand what was so funny about me getting an eyeful as Cindy changed. In fact, the other girls weren't paying any attention to Cindy. They were having a conversation, as if they got dressed and undressed in front of each other all the time, which I guessed they probably did. The funny thing was that seeing Cindy undressed wasn't as interesting to me as seeing what she was wearing under her dress. I sat back down as Cindy peeled off her lace tights and stood in front of me in a pair of white nylon panties. I glanced over to the bed and saw Beth looking at me with a silly grin on her face. Cindy went over to the door with the mirror and opened it. I was right, it was a closet. She reached in and took out a pair of jeans, like the other girls had on. She held the jeans out, stepped into them and pulled them on. They were tight fitting and she had to struggle to get them up over her hips. Then she walked back towards me and stopped in front of her bureau. She opened up the second drawer and took out a pair of black cotton socks. She was facing me as she leaned forward to put on her socks and I had a close up look at her bra. It had thin straps and lace that covered the rounded white nylon cups. I couldn't tell if they were padded. Before I realized what was happening, Cindy reached behind her back and unhooked the bra, which slid down her arms answering my question. They were definitely her own. I immediately looked away and caught Beth covering her mouth with her hands to stop herself from giggling. Cindy opened the top drawer of the bureau and took out a stretchy top, which she pulled over her head. She used her hands to adjust each breast. Finally, she went back to the closet and took out a black short sleeve top, which she pulled over her head and tucked into her jeans.

"Jenny," Cindy said to me, "would you be a dear and hang up the dress for me, please? There's a hanger in the closet with a plastic bag on it."

'Be a dear' seemed to be one of her favorite expressions I thought to myself, but it didn't matter, because I was happy to get a close look at her dress. I walked over and picked it up. The stiff petticoats held the skirt out as I lifted it and I ran my hand over the lace on the top. From that point, I was at a loss. Luckily, Beth saw that I was in trouble and came over to help. She pretended to examine the dress and whispered to me, "There's a tiny hook which attaches to an eye at the neck. Then zip it up and tie the sash in a bow. There are loops inside the shoulders. They go over the hooks on the hanger, so that the dress won't slide off. Put the hanger through the arms and slide the bag over the dress." She went back and sat down on the bed. I followed her directions and handed the dress to Cindy.

"Oh, thank you Jenny, that's great," she complimented me.

I looked at Beth and winked. She winked back. We listened to music and the girls gossiped for about half an hour. I had never seen Beth with her girlfriends before. I was surprised how much they touched each other without seeming to give it any thought; doing each other's hair, sharing makeup, putting their hand on an arm or shoulder as they chatted. I thought to myself that Jenny needed to be friendlier, so I got up and went over to join the conversation. Dee had her pocket book open and was showing Beth something. I sat down on the bed beside Beth. She looked at me and then back to Dee.

"See," said Dee, showing Beth a small pearl colored container. "My mother got it for me. It holds three." She slid the top off and handed one of the little white ovals inside to Beth.

"That's really cool," Beth replied while examining the object. "I'll have to get my mother to get one for me. Here, Jenny."

I took it from Beth. She gave me a funny look. I had no idea what it was.

"Do you use tampons?" Dee asked me.

Holy cow, I thought. We're back to the period thing. Is Beth going to clue me in, so I don't give myself away?

Luckily, Cindy's mom called up the stairs.

"Girls, Chrissy's mother is here to give you a ride home. Hurry up down."

Beth took the tampon from me and handed it back to Dee. The ride home only took a few minutes. I said goodbye to Beth's friends and got out of the car. Beth followed me. We walked around to the kitchen door and went in. Mom was in the kitchen getting supper started.

"Hi, girls," she greeted us. "Did you have fun?"

"Well," said Beth, "Jenny got quite an education," and she stared to laugh.

Mom looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

"What on earth does that mean?" she inquired.

"Oh, just that Cindy put on quite a show for Jenny changing out of her dress."

Mom looked at me.

"You're the one that told me to go," I reminded her.

"Yes," Mom told me, "and I still think it was a good idea. Jenny, you're going to have to get used to being around girls as a girl. Was there a problem?"

"No, Mom, it was fine. I just wasn't expecting to become one of the girls so quickly."

"Good," said Mom, "I'm very proud of my daughters." She came over and gave us both a hug. "Now, scoot along and get washed up. Dinner's almost ready."

After dinner, we cleaned up the kitchen. When we finished, Mom announced, "I'm going to take Susie upstairs and give her a bath."

"Can Jenny give me a bath?" Susie asked Mom.

"No, Susie, I'm afraid not," Mom replied. "Jenny may be your sister, but she's still a boy and boys don't give girl's baths."

"But if I had to go to the bathroom at the mall, Jenny would go with me to the girl's room, wouldn't she?" Susie argued.

"Well, luckily that wasn't something that we needed to deal with last night; but yes, Jenny would use the ladies' room. However, you're old enough to go to the bathroom by yourself. She doesn't see you with your panties down."

"What if I wore my bathing suit?" Susie persisted.

"Hmmm," Mom thought for a minute. "Okay, I'll tell you what. You keep on your panties and undershirt. Jenny can wash you up and do your hair. Then I'll finish. Now, off with you. I'll start your bath. Jenny, come with me."

I followed Mom into the bathroom. She closed the drain, turned on the faucets and started to fill the tub. A few minutes later, Susie came in. She had on cute little white cotton panties with tiny red hearts and a white cotton tank top undershirt. She got right into the tub.

"Can Jenny and I play a little bit before she washes me up, Mom? Please."

"Okay," Mom said. "But just five minutes, because it's past your bedtime."

Susie had a Little Mermaid doll with a glittery green fish tail that pulled up over her legs and a pair of seashells for a bra.

"This is Ariel. Ariel, this is my sister Jenny," Susie said, formally introducing us.

"Hi Ariel," I said. "What pretty red hair you have."

Susie had some other bath toys and we made up a game with Ariel escaping from Ursula, the evil sea witch, and marrying the handsome Prince Eric. The fact that we didn't have any of the other characters didn't seem to bother Susie.

"Okay, you two," Mom called to us, time to put the toys away and get washed up."

"Please, just a few more minutes. Jenny and I are having fun," Susie pleaded.

"No, Susie. Mom wants you to get washed up. Let's get started."

Was that me talking, the boy who always whined for a few more minutes? I had only been Jenny for two days and already she was having a good influence on me. I found a washcloth and began to scrub Susie's arms and legs. When I got to her feet, she started to giggle and splash around.

"Please be careful, Susie, you'll get my blouse wet."

My blouse? I was even starting to talk like a girl! Just then, Mom came in.

"Oh, thank you Jenny. That's great. Make sure you get her neck and behind her ears. I'll hold her hair back for you."

Susie had shoulder length blond hair that she wore straight with bangs. I wished my hair looked like that. Mom pulled it back into a ponytail, twisted it around a couple of times and held it on top of her head. Maybe, someday I would be able to have a ponytail too.

"Watch closely, Jenny. Run the water until its warm, then have Susie lean back under the faucet. Soak her hair good and use a small amount of the shampoo. Not too much, just enough to work up a good lather. It's a special shampoo that won't sting her eyes. After you've worked in the soap, have her lean back under the faucet." Mom supported the back of Susie's head with her head as she leaned her back. Rinse all of the soap out of her hair and sit her up." Mom put her other hand on Susie's head to prevent her from banging it on the faucet as she sat up. "Here," she said, handing me a spray bottle. This is a conditioner and detangler. It prevents snarls and makes her hair easier to comb out." Mom handed me a fine tooth comb. "Use it to work the conditioner and detangler though her hair. Yes, that's good. Make sure you get all of her hair."

"Wow," Mom, I commented, "it sure takes a lot of work to wash a girl's hair."

"Yes," Jenny, "it does, but you'll get used to it. Men think that women are born pretty. They don't realize how much time and trouble it takes us to create that illusion and we don't spoil it by letting them in on the secret." Mom paused and looked at me lovingly. "Except for a few special ones." She reached out and I snuggled up to her. She gave me a big hug and released me. "Time to do your homework," she reminded me. You have school tomorrow."

I was heading out the bathroom door and stopped suddenly.

"What's wrong?" Mom asked.

"School," I replied. "I forgot all about it. Everything happened so fast over the last couple of days. Please, Mom, can I go to school as Jenny? Please!"

"Jenny, lets go outside."

We stepped out of the bathroom and Mom closed the door.

"Weren't you the one who was afraid of having pierced ears and a girl's hairdo, because the boys would call you a sissy and beat you up? What makes you think that it will be different if you go to school dressed in girl's clothes?"

"Well," I reasoned, "everyone who saw me today treated me like a girl, so, well, so I thought that maybe the kids at school would too."

"Jenny, dear," mother said softly, "your sisters and I treated you like a girl, because we're your family. Everyone else treated you like a girl, because they didn't know you were a boy. The kids at school will know. So will your teachers and the principal. I'm sorry," she said apologetically, "but, even if your wishful thinking was true, it's not possible. The school would never allow it. You would be sent home and I would get in trouble for letting things go as far as I have. I should have thought of this before. It was selfish of me to encourage you to be Jenny and it would be best if you went back to being a boy."

"No, Mom! No! No! No! It wasn't selfish. I like being Jenny. Beth and Susie like me as Jenny. You like me as Jenny too. I know you do. Why can't I be Jenny all the time?"

"Because, honey, you're too young to make that decision and I don't have the right to make it for you. Jenny will just have to wait until you are older."

I calmed down a little.

"Look, Mom. I can go to school as Johnny. If that's what I have to do, I'll do it. It's only six hours. Then when I come home, I have the rest of the day and all night to be Jenny. And weekends, holidays and vacations too. That's a lot better than going back to the way things were. I may have to go to school as a boy, but a girl lives here. Sister, sister, sister. That's just how it is. Okay, Mom?"

I looked up at her. She had tears in her eyes. Through her sniffling I heard her say, "Yes. If you're really sure you want to do this, its okay. You know I love you. I love you as a boy. I love you as a girl. I just want you to be happy and if being Jenny makes you happy, then it makes me happy too."

"I love you too, Mom. And I'm very happy to be your daughter," I added.

Mom's serious face turned into a big smile. "Now run along. I have to finish Susie's bath. Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed. "I forgot all about her. She must be waterlogged by now."

She turned and went quickly into the bathroom. I started off down the hallway and stopped outside Beth and Susie's room. The door was closed. I knocked.

"Come in," Beth answered my knock. She looked up and saw my sad face. "What's wrong, Jenny?" she asked.

"School," I told her."

"What's wrong with school? I like school. Don't you like school?"

"Not as Johnny I don't," I told her.

"Oh, I forgot about that. What are you going to do?"

"Nothing," I told her. "Mom says there's nothing I can do until I'm older. In the meantime, you'll have to put up with Johnny."

I was kidding, but Beth took me seriously.

"Maybe Jenny will be a good influence on him. Who knows? Maybe he'll even grow up to be like her." She winked at me. "We'll just have to wait and see. Anyway, tonight you're Jenny. So go put on your pretty nightie and grab you books. Mom will be coming to get Susie ready for bed. We can go down to the kitchen and study together."

I headed back to my room and started to get undressed. I unbuttoned my blouse and slipped out of it. Then I unbuckled the two straps on my kilt, undid the fastener and button and the skirt turned back into one long piece of material. My tights came off next, and then my top. I left my panties on and pulled my nightgown over my head. My arms went into my robe, which I tied in front with the two ribbons. I was now ready for bed, except for the nightly face washing and hair brushing that Beth had me do. I picked up my backpack and went downstairs to the kitchen. Beth was already sitting at the kitchen table. She had one leg tucked under her. It looked really uncomfortable, but if that's how girls sit, then that's how I'll sit, I thought to myself. I stood next to the chair and bent my left leg under me as I sat.

Beth looked up.

"Copy cat," she said with a smile.

"Yes," I agreed. "I want to be just like my big sister," and I smiled back at her. "However, I think this will take some getting used to." I took my leg out from under me and sat down again.

Beth got serious.

"What do you have for homework?" she questioned me.

"I'm not sure. I'll have to check my assignment book."

Up to now, I had never paid much attention to doing my homework and my grades showed it. Usually, I'd copy off one of the kids in my class during homeroom or knock off something in study hall.

"Well, miss," Beth said impatiently as I rummaged though the books and papers.

"Keep you pantyhose on, will you. I'm looking," I told her.

"Jenny!" Beth exclaimed. "Watch what you say, please."

I stopped.

"Oh, Beth. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean it. Really. It's just, well, it's just that some of Johnny's habits are hard to break. Please forgive me."

"Of course, Jenny. I just wanted you to realize that was not very ladylike. Girls don't talk to each other like that."

"Thank you, Beth, for being so nice. I know I have a lot to learn. I really do want Jenny to be a lady."

"No problem, Sis. Now, have you found your assignment book?"

I kept looking.

"Yes, here it is." I pulled it out from the bottom of the backpack.

I turned to last Friday: Math — worksheet. Science — worksheet. English — write a poem. Social Studies — map review.

"Wow. That's a lot of homework. I'll never get it done," I complained.

"Of course you will, Jenny. You just need to be organized and concentrate. If you put as much time into doing your homework as Johnny did watching TV and playing video games, you'll do fine. Now, let's start with the math. Where's the worksheet?"

I went back through my backpack and pulled out a crumpled piece of paper. Beth gave me an exasperated look.

"The first thing you need to learn is that boys are slobs and girls are neat. You have to take care of your things and that means your school work too."

"Okay, Beth. I'll be more careful. It's not too bad, anyway." I ran my hands over it a couple of times. "There."

She gave me another look.

"C'mon, Beth. I'm trying. You've had twelve years to learn how to be a girl and I've had two days. Actually, I think I'm doing pretty good."

"Actually, I think you're doing pretty good too and I'm really happy you chose to be my sister."

She reached over and patted my arm. Touching is definitely a girl thing I thought.

"Why don't you try a couple of the problems? I'll check them when you're done. She went back to her reading."

I looked at the math sheet. Now I wished I paid attention in class. I had no idea how to do the problems. I pretended to work on the first one, writing down the problem and then making up numbers, erasing them and putting down different ones. Beth looked over at me and frowned.

"You don't know how to do it, do you?"

I looked down.

"No. I'm sorry. Usually I just copy somebody's paper when I get to school. Mr. Merrill doesn't care."

"You have Mr. Merrill for math? I had him too. He's a good teacher. I'm sure he would care if he thought you did. Okay, let me show you how to do the first problem. Pay attention Jenny."

Beth was a good teacher. She was patient and she showed me how to do the problem step by step. Then she had me do it again while she watched. It took me a while, but I finally got the right answer.

"Good girl, Jenny. I knew you could to it. Now try the next problem."

Beth went back to her own work while I tried to follow her instruction. After about five minutes I actually had an answer.

"Is this right?" I showed her my work.

She studied it.

"Yes, Jenny. That's excellent. Now do the next one."

It took a while, but I finished the worksheet. Beth checked it over. There were one or two mistakes. She wouldn't tell me the right answers. She just made me do them over. Maybe it was spending time with Beth or maybe it was my understanding the problems, probably both; but for the first time that I could remember I actually enjoyed doing homework. After math, Beth helped me with the rest of my assignments. We were still at the kitchen table when Mom came in. She looked at Beth and then at me. I could see she was really happy.

"Susie's in bed. She wanted you to read her a story, Jenny, but I told her you were busy. She's quite taken with you and I can see why. The change is amazing. I only hope that you've made the right decision."

"I'm quite taken with my little sister, too," I told her. "And my big sister," I added, taking the opportunity to pat Beth's arm.

She smiled at me.

"And I'm quite taken with being Jenny. Whatever happens, Mom, it was definitely the right decision."

"I hope so," Mom said with a serious look. "Having three daughters makes it much easier. We'll just have to wait and see how things work out. I really hope they do, Jenny, for all our sakes." Then her smile was back. "It's getting late girls."

She turned and headed for the stairs.

"You better finish up or you won't be able to get up for school tomorrow."

"Yes, Mom," Beth said. "Goodnight, I love you."

"Yes, Mom," I said. "Goodnight, I love you," I repeated.

It was late when we finished our homework. We went upstairs and shared the bathroom. Even though it had been a long day and I was tired, Beth insisted that I do my complete skin care and hair routine. Finally, everything was done to her satisfaction. I said goodnight to her and slipped into bed. There was hardly any time to enjoy my silky nightgown before my eyes closed and I was fast asleep.

I was having a wonderful dream. We were at the mall and Mr. Kenneth was putting my long, blonde hair into a French braid. I heard him calling my name.

"Jenny! Jenny! Hurry up. You need to leave or you and Susie will miss the bus."

I sat up. I wasn't at the mall. I was in my bedroom and it wasn't Mr. Kenneth's voice, it was Mom's. I looked over at my alarm clock: 7:30. Oh no, that couldn't be right. Then I realized that I was so involved with getting Jenny ready for bed that I forgot to set my alarm.

"Okay, Mom. One minute. I'm coming."

I jumped out of bed, pulled my nightgown over my head and tossed it on the bed. Girls may be neat, but Johnny was in a hurry. I went over to my bureau and took out a pair of underpants and a t-shirt. I changed out of my girl's underwear. My briefs and t-shirt felt funny after wearing panties and cammies all weekend. So did not tucking my wiener under. I pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, ran my fingers through my hair and stepped into a pair of sneakers. Quite a difference from what it takes Jenny to make herself presentable I thought as I headed for the stairs. Girls in dresses and heels may not run, but boys who are late for the school bus sure do. When I reached the kitchen, Mom and Susie were waiting. They both looked surprised when they saw me en drab, as Mr. Kenneth called it. There wasn't any time for conversation.

"Lets, go, Sis," I said to Susie as I grabbed my backpack and slung it over my shoulder. "See you later Mom," I said as I took Susie's hand and rushed out the door.

We walked quickly to the corner. As we arrived, I saw the bus about a block away. Susie pulled on my hand.

"What happened to Jenny," she asked me with a sad face. "I want her to take me to school."

"Shhhh, Susie," I whispered to her. "Jenny can't go to school. She's a very special girl who lives in our house and loves her little sister very much, but you can't talk about her to anyone or you'll spoil everything. I would get thrown out of school and Mom would get in trouble. Okay? Can you do that for me?"

"Yes, Jenny. I mean Johnny. I won't say anything. But Jenny will still be my sister won't she?"

"Yes Susie," I assured her. "No matter what happens, Jenny will always be your sister." I put my arm down and gave her a little hug.

The bus pulled up and we got on. Susie went to the back to sit with her friends and I slid into an open seat next to Kevin, one of the kids in my class who I hung out with.

"Hey, Johnny. What's up?" he greeted me.

"Not much," I answered him, "went away for the weekend."

That was true, sort of.

"You?"

"Usual," he said with a shrug.

Then he turned to me.

"Wow! You've got an earring. Cool."

"What?" I put my hands up and felt my ears.

Uh oh. I was in such a rush this morning I forgot to take out my earrings.

"Umm, yeah. All the big athletes and movie stars have them. My cousin got his ear pierced," well that was true too, sort of, "so Mom said I could get mine done. I have to wear this stud for a while, then I'm going to get a skull or something."

I reminded myself not to turn my head so he could see I had both ears pierced.

"The earring is cool," Kevin went on, "but I would lose the nail polish."

"What?"

I looked down at the back of my hand. I couldn't believe it. I forgot to take off the pink nail polish Beth and Susie put on me when we did makeovers.

"I'm going to kill that little sister of mine," I said pretending to be angry. "She talked me into playing beauty parlor and gave me a manicure. I'm going to go see the nurse as soon as we get to school. Maybe she's got something to get this off."

Luckily, the bus arrived at school a minute later, so there wasn't any more time for conversation with Kevin.

"Gotta run," I told him, jumping up from my seat and pushing my way through the line of kids waiting to get off before he could get a good look at me.

As soon as I got off, I quickly took out my earrings and put them in my pocket. Then I rushed up the stairs and headed down the corridor to the nurse's office. I opened the door, looked around to see if there was anyone else waiting, and then closed the door and took a seat. Mrs. McGowan came out in her white uniform. She knew Mom.

"Hi, Johnny. What's the matter? Don't you feel well?"

"Umm, no Mrs. McGowan. I feel okay. I just have a small problem."

"Oh," she said curiously. "What kind of problem? Not something about sex education I hope. I can't help you with that. You have to speak with Mr. Nyles, the boy's phys. ed. teacher."

"No, Mrs. McGowan," I assured her, "it doesn't have anything to do with sex education. It has to do with letting my little sister play beauty parlor and give me a manicure."

I held out my hands and showed her my fingernails.

"Do you have anything to take this stuff off? It's really embarrassing."

"Well, I don't get much call for nail polish remover," she teased me, "but maybe alcohol will take it off."

She took a little package out of a cabinet, tore off the top and took out a square.

"Give me your left hand," she directed me.

I held it out. She took the square and pressed it on top of the nail of my little finger. She held it for a few seconds. Then she rubbed it back and forth and took it off.

"Hmm," she said, holding up the square and then looking at my nail. "That acrylic polish is made to stay on. Maybe Mrs. Green has something stronger in the science lab. Do you want me to give her a call?"

I hesitated. This wasn't something I wanted the whole school to know about. Mrs. McGowan must have sensed my concern.

"You don't have to worry, Johnny. I'll explain the situation to her. I'm sure she'll keep it confidential."

"Whatever," I replied with a shrug of my shoulders. "I don't have much choice."

Mrs. McGowan picked up the phone and dialed.

"Hello, Paula, this is Sally. Yes, fine thanks. How about you? Good. Listen, I have a student here with a little problem and I was hoping you could help. No, no. It's not a medical problem. She lowered her voice. He's wearing nail polish." There was a pause. "Yes, I said 'he.' Pink. Really. It's not a joke. He let his little sister give him a manicure and forgot to take it off. Do you have anything to remove it? Yes? Okay, I'll send him right down."

"Johnny, do you know where Mrs. Green's room is?"

"Yes."

"Alright then, she's expecting you. You'd better hurry. It's almost time for the first bell."

I picked up my backpack and headed down the stairs. Mrs. Green's room was in the basement at the other end of the building. I went as fast as I could without drawing attention to myself. I got to her room and opened the door. As the science teacher she did not have a homeroom.

"Ah," she exclaimed, "the young man with the problem. Come in."

I walked over to her. She was young, pretty and seemed very friendly.

"Come into the supply room," she directed.

I followed her through a door behind her desk. She pointed to a chair and I sat down.

"This should work. It's acetone, the same ingredient that's in nail polish remover."

She unscrewed the top of a dark brown bottle, wet a little ball of cotton and held it on the nail of my little finger, just like Mrs. McGowan had done. After a few seconds she rubbed it around and then removed it. There was pink on the cotton and I could see that most of the polish was off my nail.

"Whew," I said with relief.

She turned the cotton ball and rubbed the nail some more, then turned it and rubbed it again until no more pink came off. Then she dropped the cotton ball into a glass jar and did the next nail with another cotton ball. She did one more nail and then handed me a clean cotton ball.

"You got yourself into this. You get yourself out of it." She smiled. "You better hurry though, my first period class will be here soon. Please put the used cotton balls in the jar and cover it and make sure you wash you hands when you're done." She pointed to a small sink. "Oh, and next time, tell your little sister to use clear polish."

She laughed and left, closing the door.

I worked as quickly as I could. Once I got all of my nails clean, I checked them closely and saw that there was still some color near the bottom, so I had to go back over them. I heard the bell ring. Finally, no more pink came off on the cotton ball. I made sure that the top was on the jar, screwed the cap back on the bottle and washed my hands with lots of soap and water to get rid of the smell. I dried my hands on the paper towels that were above the sink and then slowly opened the door to the classroom. I could see that the kids were coming in and taking their seats. Luckily, I didn't see anybody I knew. I slipped out of the door and Mrs. Green turned around.

"Everything okay?" she asked me.

"Yes. Thank you very much Mrs. Green. You're a lifesaver."

"Glad to help."

She looked towards her class and then back to me.

"Maybe if I give up teaching I can open a nail salon," she whispered.

I rolled my eyes.

"Maybe," I said, "but don't count on me as a repeat customer."

She laughed.

"I wrote a note for your first period class. I said that you were working on a 'special assignment' for me."

She handed me the note.

I left and hurried to my math class. When I got there, the class had already started. I tried to slip quietly into my seat, but Mr. Merrill saw me. He came over.

"Do you have a note?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes, Mr. Merrill," and I handed him the note.

Johnny didn't exactly have a good reputation. Since he didn't catch me the first time, he gave me a second chance to get myself in trouble.

"Do you have your homework?"

"Yes, Mr. Merrill."

To his obvious surprise, I opened up my backpack and took out the homework sheet I had done with Beth last night.

"Here it is," and I handed it to him.

He took it from me and looked it over. Three's a charm he must have thought, sure to catch me this time.

"Did you do this all by yourself?"

"Yes, I did all of the problems by myself, but my sister Beth went over them with me and checked my work," I told him honestly.

Mr. Merrill's attitude changed.

"Beth's your sister? My, my. She was one of my best students. Please tell her that I said hello." He started to walk away and then turned back towards me. "And keep up the good work," he added.

Being prepared made a big difference. Usually, math class put me to sleep, but actually I was able to follow Mr. Merrill's lesson and before I realized it, the bell rang for second period. It was the same for each of my other classes. The teachers were surprised that I had my homework to hand in and even more surprised when they saw it was right. The lessons made sense and I even raised my hand a few times and answered some questions. The other kids must have thought I was possessed or something, because up to now I was practically invisible when it came time for class participation. Before I knew it, the last period bell was ringing and it was time to go home. I gathered up my books, carefully placed the worksheet that was just handed out in my binder pocket to avoid another lecture from Beth about neatness and headed for the bus. When I got outside, I ran into Kevin.

"Hey, Johnny, some of the gang is going over to the park. You coming?"

"No, Kevin, sorry," I replied. "I'd really like to, but my Mom has been on my case about my grades and I'm grounded. I have to go right home or else."

"Bummer." Then he looked at me closely. "What happened to your earring?" he asked. "Did it fall out?"

"No," I told him. "I took it out. Too many kids were cracking jokes. I didn't need the hassle. It's not a big deal, probably a bad idea to start with. Well, gotta run. If I miss the bus, I'm dead meat."

I got on the bus and found an empty seat. Ten minutes later, I was in the house. As usual, Mom was at work, Beth was still at cheerleading practice and Susie was at Mrs. Johnson's. I dropped my backpack in the kitchen and got myself a glass of milk and a cookie. As I sipped the milk and nibbled on the cookie, I thought about how just a couple of days ago I would have grabbed a handful and taken a slug out of the carton instead. When I finished, I rinsed the glass, dried it and put it back in the cabinet. Then I headed upstairs to transform myself into Jenny on my own for the first time.

I went into my room and took off the jeans and sweatshirt I had thrown on this morning when I was rushing to get ready for school. I had to pee, so I went into the bathroom and sat down. Might as well get into the mood, I thought. I took off my t-shirt and underpants and went to my bureau. There were a few pairs of Beth's old underpants that she had given to me: two pairs of plain white cotton, a pair of yellow cotton with white edging and the pair of pink nylon panties that Beth had put on me when she put me in her party dress. I really wanted to wear the silky nylon panties again, but Beth had said those were for when I got dressed up. Then I remembered that Beth and I had each bought a pair of stretchy white lace panties and a matching top at the mall. I looked around in the drawer until I found them. I put on the panties and tucked my wiener under where it belonged. They were hip huggers with high cut legs. I loved the way they felt, clinging to my hips and butt. The top was also clingy and would have showed off my figure, if I had one. With my underwear on, I went to explore Beth's wardrobe.

The first thing I saw when I walked in was my reflection in the full length mirror on the closet door. I moved closer and turned sideways, then around so that my back was to the mirror, trying to see my butt. When I finished admiring myself, I went to Beth's dresser. It had four drawers. I opened the top one. It was filled with a rainbow of panties and bras. Beth knew that we were sharing clothes, except for panties, so I didn't think that she would mind my looking through her things, but I wanted to make sure I left everything neat. I opened the next drawer and it had all sorts of socks, stockings and tights. The next drawer had tops. The bottom drawer had bathing suits and shorts. I really wanted to try one of the bikinis on, just for fun, but there was no hurry and I was anxious to pick out an outfit.

I walked over to the closet and opened the door. One side had Susie's clothes. They were too little girlish and too small for me. I started to look through Beth's clothes. There were lots of jeans and pants. That was what she usually wore to school and around the house. Next were skirts, then blouses, then sweaters and finally dresses. Her shoes were arranged in a line on the floor by heel height and then boots. I couldn't believe that her closet was organized like a department store. Girls certainly are neat I remarked to myself. This was my first time dressing myself as Jenny and I wanted something simple, so I decided on a skirt and blouse. There were lots of different styles, lengths and materials to choose from. I tried on a few just for fun. Boy's clothes don't button and zip in back, so I struggled for a while until I figured out that I could fasten them in front and then turn them around.

The last skirt I took out was blue denim. It had a little flare and came a couple of inches above my knees when I held it up to my waist in the mirror. I took it off the hanger clips and found that it opened up like the kilt I wore yesterday, except there weren't any buckles and there was only one button and a string on each side. I wrapped it around me, but when I buttoned it, one of the strings was covered. I took the skirt off and examined it. I saw that there was a small buttonhole at the waist to put the string through. I put it on again, wrapped the right side over the left and poked the string through the buttonhole. Now I could tie the skirt in front. I remembered that yesterday Beth had worn a blue cotton blouse with her jeans and left the neck open, so you could see her top underneath. I found the blouse, slipped it on and left the top buttons undone so my lace cammie showed. I still needed something for my legs. I went back to Beth's bureau and looked through her stocking drawer. I liked feeling my lace panties against my skirt and picked out a pair of knee socks instead of tights. I started to sit down on the bed to pull them on and then remembered I needed to smooth my skirt first, so I stood up and ran my hands over my butt and behind my legs. Once I had the socks on, I went to the closet and found the loafers with the heel that Beth picked out for me when I wore her jumper. I slipped into them, completing my outfit. I stood in front of the mirror, turning and making dramatic gestures the way I had seen models do on TV.

As I studied my reflection, it seemed like something was missing. Then I realized I was not wearing my earrings. I went back to my room and found them in the pocket of my jeans. I returned to Beth's room and sat at her makeup table. This was the first time that I had taken my earrings out and I struggled to line the posts up with the holes and then to get the backs over them. Finally, they were in. Putting on my lipstick was next. There were a few tubes to choose from. Yesterday Beth had suggested red lipstick to coordinate with my kilt. I wore pink with the jean jumper and thought that would probably go with a jean skirt too. It only took me a couple of tries to get a nice even pink color on my lips and I was very proud of my progress. I spent the next fifteen minutes brushing out my hair. I remembered what Mr. Kenneth had said about making the style more feminine with accessories, so I looked through the drawer and found a couple of gold barrettes that I clipped on. A little bit of perfume and Beth's gold heart locket and gold bangle bracelet completed my outfit.

I went back and studied myself in the mirror. During lunch at school I had been eyeing the girls. One of them caught me and must have thought I was interested in her, because she winked back at me. I wondered what she would think if she knew I was checking out what she was wearing and not her. I definitely looked as good as any of those girls. Maybe even better, I kidded myself. Nobody would recognize me as a boy. My admiration of myself was interrupted by the telephone. I hurried to Mom's bedroom and picked it up.

"Hello."

The voice on the other end of the line said, "Hello."

It was Mom.

"Hi Mom," I answered her.

"Jenny, is that you?" she asked.

"Yes, it's me," I replied. "Who were you expecting? Johnny doesn't live here any more," I told her half seriously.

"Listen, honey," Mom went on. I have a chance to work an extra shift. I used to come right home, because I was worried about you, I mean Johnny, getting into trouble if I left him alone, but I don't need to keep an eye on Jenny."

"Thanks, Mom, for trusting me. I'm sorry I made things difficult for you," I apologized.

"Oh, it's not your fault, sweetie," Mom continued. "Boys just get into mischief, especially when they don't have a father around. That's one of the reasons I'm so happy that you decided to be Jenny. Anyway, the reason why I'm calling is to ask if you and Beth can pick up Susie at Mrs. Johnson's. I probably won't be home until after midnight, so you and Beth will have to make dinner. It would probably be too much for Beth to do by herself, but with your help I'm sure it will be okay."

"Mom, are you sure about me going to Mrs. Johnson's? Remember, I ran into her at the park and I'm not sure whether she recognized me. Maybe Beth should go by herself."

"It's up to you, Jenny, but I had a nice chat with Mrs. Johnson when I dropped Susie off this morning on my way to work. I was curious to hear what she would say about you. She mentioned meeting you and asked how long you would be staying with us. I told her I wasn't sure; that my sister was relocating and we decided it would be easier if you came here until they were settled. She complimented you on how pretty you looked and said that she hoped to see you again. It seems to me that she is convinced you're a girl. Either way, tell Beth I called and asked her to pick up Susie when she gets home because I'll be late and that you and she need to feed yourselves and Susie. There's a frozen pizza in the freezer. She knows how to heat it in the oven. Okay?"

"Okay, Mom. I'll tell Beth and I'll give visiting Mrs. Johnson some thought. Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you too, Jenny. Goodnight."

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 4

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 4
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

After I hung up from Mom, I started thinking. She was convinced that Mrs. Johnson didn't know that Jenny was a boy, but I wasn't so sure. There wasn't a lot of time for her to check me out when she saw me in the park. Did she really want to meet Jenny again, like she said, or did she want another look at me to be sure it was Johnny in girl's clothes? I didn't see any reason to take a chance. On the other hand, I liked going out as Jenny. I decided to wait and talk to Beth when she got home. She was really good at figuring things out. I wasn't sure when she'd get home from cheerleading practice, so I went down to the kitchen and started doing my homework. I tried folding my left leg under me and sitting the way Beth did. I managed it for a few minutes, but it was uncomfortable. There are some things that girls do that I guess I will never be able to do I thought. I had just finished my math and was reading my English book when I heard the door open and Beth came in.

"Hi Sis," Beth said and then did a double take. "Wow! Stand up and turn around." She paused as I modeled for her. "You look really cute."

"Thanks," I replied, "I had a very good teacher."

I smiled at her and tried to curtsey. I put my hands on the side of my skirt and started to bend down. It was more like a bow and Beth giggled.

"Well, there are still a few things I can show you."

She flared out her short cheerleader's skirt and slid her right leg back while bending her left knee.

"See, you dip down and keep you upper body straight. Girls don't bend over in skirts. Want to try it again?"

I followed Beth's example, although I was a little unsteady.

"Much better," she said approvingly. "A little more practice and you'll be a perfect lady."

"Thank you your highness," I kidded her as I tried again. As I straightened up, I told her, "seriously though, I have something I need to talk to you about."

"Okay, little sister, what's up?" she asked curiously.

"Well, Mom called. She said she was going to work another shift. Actually, she made me feel really good, because she said that she would have come home to make sure Johnny didn't get into any trouble, but she trusted Jenny and ..."

"Well, Mom's right about that," Beth interrupted. "Seeing you dressed up by yourself when I came in was surprising, but seeing you doing your homework by yourself was shocking."

"Thanks for agreeing with Mom," I said with mock anger, because I realized now that I really was a pain as a boy, "but, getting back to what I was saying, Mom will be working late, so she wanted me and you to go get Susie at Mrs. Johnson's and to make dinner. She said there's pizza in the freezer. That's the problem.

"Making frozen pizza?"

"No, the problem is my going to Mrs. Johnson's with you. Mom talked to her and she thinks that she doesn't know who I really am, but I don't think it's worth taking the chance."

"I need to change out of my cheerleader outfit. Come upstairs with me and we can talk about it."

I followed Beth upstairs to her room. I had never really looked at her cheerleader outfit before. She had on a maroon sleeveless jumper with a short pleated skirt with white between the pleats, a white long sleeved turtleneck, tan tights with white sneaker socks over them and sneakers. I was behind her on the stairs, so I could see maroon panties under her short skirt.

As soon as we got in her room, Beth stopped and said, "Unzip me please."

I hesitated.

"Are you sure?" I asked her.

"Well, let's see. I dress you up, right?"

"Right," I replied.

"And we wear our panties and bras when we get washed up, right?"

"Right," I repeated.

"And we're sisters, aren't we?"

"Yes," I agreed.

"Then what's the problem?"

"No problem. It's just that, well, it seemed like helping you to get undressed is, well, just different than your dressing me or my seeing you undressed. I don't know. It's just, well, I love being your sister and I wouldn't want to do anything to mess it up."

Beth turned around and put her arms around me.

"Nothing is going to mess things up between me and my sister Jenny. Ever!" She emphasized her assurance by hugging me. "If I ask you to do something, it's because I want you to do it. And right now I want you to unzip me. You didn't seem to mind when you did if for Cindy," she reminded me playfully, letting go of me and turning around.

I reached up and pulled the zipper down. Beth bent forward and wiggled her shoulders. The jumper slid down her arms and dropped to the floor. She stepped out of it. Next off were her sneakers and socks. After that, she crossed her arms, took hold of the bottom of her turtleneck and pulled it over her head. Then she hooked her thumbs in the waistband of her panties and started to take them off.

"Beth!" I exclaimed.

She stopped.

"What?" she said startled. Then she realized. "Oh," and she giggled. "These are cheerleader's panties. They're like bloomers."

She saw I had a puzzled look.

"Bloomers were baggy underpants girls wore in the olden days for modesty. I have on tights and my regular panties underneath." She continued to take them off, then her tights. When she finished, she was in a white sports bra and white cotton panties.

"Now then, let's talk about you," she said as she opened the closet door and took out a pair of jeans. "If you're worried about Mrs. Johnson recognizing you, why not just stay home?"

"That's what I thought too, but I like going out as Jenny. Mom said that Mrs. Johnson was really nice and even if she did know I was a boy she wouldn't say anything. If she did, Mom would just tell her I was being punished. Then again, she might have believed that story when she saw me the first time, but she'd have to wonder why I was still dressed up as a girl today. What would Mom say to that? Johnny liked wearing his sister's clothes so much that he just wanted to keep being a girl?"

Beth stepped into her jeans, pulled them up, buttoned the waist and zipped up the fly. She opened her bureau, took out a short sleeved top, slipped it over her head and tucked it in. She put her hands up and fluffed her hair. Then she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. She went back to her bureau and got out a pair of white sox. She turned to me.

"Yes, if you want my opinion, that's just what Mom should say. I think that you have to be who you are. If you're Jenny, then you're a girl and people will have to deal with you as a girl. If they have a problem, it's their problem, not yours."

I thought about what Beth had said for a while. I am Jenny. Why should I worry about Mrs. Johnson? Beth was balancing on one foot putting on her sock. I ran over and threw my arms around her. She lost her balance and we toppled over onto the bed.

"I love you, Sis," I said emotionally. "I can't imagine having a more wonderful sister. I hope Jenny grows up just like you."

Beth was rarely at a loss for words, but my show of affection took her by surprise. Either that, or I knocked the wind out of her. Either way, after we got untangled, she bent over and kissed me on the cheek.

"I love you too, Sis," she said, "but I don't want you to grow up like me. You're a very special girl. You should grow up like you. Now, if you will be a little less appreciative," she said with a grin, "I will finish getting dressed and we can go get Susie."

Beth went over to her make-up table and looked in the mirror. She touched up her lipstick.

"Come here, Sis," she said, waiving her hand holding the lipstick.

She looked me over from side to side and then she applied lipstick to my lips.

"Pucker and blot," she instructed me.

I put my lips together to spread the lipstick evenly and then used a tissue. Beth looked approvingly. She took a brush and began to fuss with my hair. When she was satisfied, she walked over to the closet and took out a pocket book.

"Here," she said, handing the pocket book to me, "let's get going."

I took the pocket book and followed her downstairs to the front door. Beth opened it and we stepped out. Beth took my arm. It was still light out as we headed down the sidewalk. Mrs. Johnson lived two blocks away. We walked slowly. If Beth had any concerns about being seen with me, she didn't show them. I was very happy and gave her arm a little tug. She looked at me and gave me a tug back. We just kept walking arm in arm, two sisters out for a stroll.

About half way to Mrs. Johnson's, a car went by and slowed down. Then it pulled over and stopped. Two boys got out.

"Hey Beth," one of them said.

"Hi Billy, hi Carl," she said back.

"Where you going?" the other boy asked, "and who's your friend?" he asked, giving me a long look.

"Not that it's any of your business," she said coldly, "but we're on our way to get my little sister Susie. And this is my cousin Jenny. She's staying with my family for a while."

"Hi Jenny," both boys said together.

"Hi," I replied shyly.

The woman driving the car honked to get the boy's attention.

"Gotta go," one of the boys said. Then he turned to Beth. "Are you going to the school dance Friday night?" he asked.

"I'm not sure yet," Beth told him. "It depends. We might be doing a family thing with my cousin. I have to check with my mother."

"Well," the boy said, "bring her along. We'll show her a real good time."

He winked at us and then got back in the car and closed the door. The other boy got in and the car drove off.

"I'm sorry, Jenny," Beth apologized, "those boys are really fresh."

"No problem, Sis. In fact, it was fun. They certainly thought I was a girl."

"True," Beth agreed, "a really cute one from the way Billy was eyeing you."

"Sis, please, you're making me blush."

Beth took my arm.

"Actually," she said as we started walking again, "would you like to go to the dance with me on Friday?"

"I don't think so," I told her. "Hanging out with your girlfriends was one thing, but I'm not ready for a crowd and especially not boys, if those two were any example."

"Unfortunately, they are," Beth said with a sigh. "You're probably right. I keep forgetting that you're my little," she emphasized 'little', "sister."

We reached Mrs. Johnson's house. Beth looked at me.

"Ready?" she asked.

I adjusted my skirt and fluffed my hair.

"Do I look okay?" I asked Beth.

"You look fine, Jenny."

"Then I'm as ready as I'll ever be," I told her.

Beth reached over and rang the bell. After about a minute, Mrs. Johnson opened the door.

"Beth," she paused, studying me, "and Jenny. How nice, come in."

She stepped back to let us in, closed the door behind us and then turned to look at me.

"Jenny, I'm very happy to see you again."

She took my arm.

"Beth, why don't you go upstairs and get Susie ready. I want to talk with Jenny a bit."

Beth looked at me. I nodded for her to go ahead. She went up the stairs leaving me alone with Mrs. Johnson. She continued to hold my arm. I wasn't sure if she was just being friendly or she wanted to make sure I didn't get away.

"Let's sit in the living room, Jenny."

She gently led me by the hand to a chair. I reached behind me, smoothed my skirt and sat down. I crossed my legs at the ankle and put my purse in my lap with my hands on it. Mrs. Johnson sat in a chair a few feet across from me.

"Well," she said after we got settled, "how are things going so far?"

I couldn't tell from her question whether she was just making conversation or she was asking me whether I liked being a girl. I decided to be honest.

"I'm very happy."

"Yes, I can see that," she replied pleasantly. "Everything seems to be working out well for you and you're family. You're happy, your sisters seem happy and from talking with your mother, she's happy too.

My face went blank. My family, my sisters, my mother! She knew! Mrs. Johnson read my expression.

"Its okay, Jenny. Really. I've known since we met in the park. I'm a psychologist. My job is to observe people. Even though you were wearing girl's clothes, I could tell from the way you acted that you weren't born a girl. You could probably fool most people, but not me. And seeing you with Beth and Susie, it wasn't hard to figure out who you were."

She gave me a reassuring look.

"At first, I decided it was none of my business, but yesterday I noticed a change in your mother when she stopped by to pick up Susie. She used to complain to me about what a problem you were, Johnny I mean."

She paused and smiled at me, then went on.

"But that changed. She was happy and relaxed. I can't say that I understand it. I don't work with transgendered people."

She saw that I didn't understand.

"I'm sorry, I should have realized you didn't know all the words yet. "'Transgendered,' she explained, "means someone who is born one gender, but identifies with the opposite gender, although most don't come out as young as you."

"What do you mean, 'come out'?" I asked her.

"'Come out' means two things. It means to tell people how you feel about yourself and it also means to go out in public dressed as a girl, at least if you're a boy. It's the opposite of keeping how you feel a secret or dressing up when nobody's around." She paused. "Did you ever do that? Get dressed up in your sister's clothes. Is that how this got started?"

"No, it all started when I was pestering my sisters to let me play Barbies with them last weekend," I explained. "Beth wanted to get rid of me, so she told me that only girls played Barbies and if I wanted to play I had to wear a dress. I'm sure she didn't think I would do it and I don't know why I did. Maybe it was because I was stubborn or maybe I felt deep down that I was a girl, but I let her dress me up and, well, it just felt right."

"I see." She paused. "People's minds are very complicated or I wouldn't have a job." She smiled. "Usually we do things for more than one reason, so it was probably a little of both."

Just then we heard Susie, Beth and Julie coming down the stairs.

Mrs. Johnson stood up and looked at me and said in a serious voice, "Listen Jenny, I want to be your friend. If there's anything that you don't want to talk to you mother about or that your mother can't help you with, please come talk to me. Will you do that?"

I walked over and put my arms around her. She put her arms around me and we hugged each other.

"I'll take that as a yes," she said softly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Beth looking at us with a worried expression. I nodded my head slightly to let her know everything was okay. I saw her face relax into a smile.

"All right, you kids, time to get going. Jenny, I am very glad you came to visit and hope to see more of you."

She turned to Beth who was holding Susie's hand.

"It was nice to see you too and Susie, I'll see you tomorrow."

She walked us to the front door and opened it. When we reached the end of the walk Beth stopped.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," she said excitedly, "what happened?"

"I was right," I told her. "Mrs. Johnson did recognize me at the park."

"Oh!" Beth exclaimed.

"But Mom was right too," I continued. "She said Mrs. Johnson was nice. In fact she knows all about being transgendered. That means a boy who is really a girl, like me" I said, very pleased with myself to finally know something that Beth didn't, "and she wants to help me."

"That's wonderful," Beth said.

"And you were right too, Sis. You said I should be me and not worry what people think. It worked out fine."

Beth stopped walking and turned to me with a serious look on her face.

"Jenny, I'm happy that Mom was right about Mrs. Johnson, but I also know how the kids at my school talk about queers. And when you went to the mall as Jenny, you told Mom that if the boys at your school recognized you, they would beat you up. Maybe my advice wasn't that good after all. I'm not sure that the world is ready for Jenny or Jenny is ready for the world. Please be careful. I don't want to see you get hurt."

"I agree, Sis. Not everyone is like Mrs. Johnson. I remember how worried I was when I went to school yesterday with my earrings in and nail polish on.

Beth gave me a puzzled look.

"It's a long story. I'll tell you later, but I promise to be careful."

Just then Susie tugged on my arm.

"Jenny, what are you and Beth talking about? Come on, let's go home."

I knelt down and told her, "Susie, Mrs. Johnson knows that I'm a boy."

She became defensive.

"I didn't tell her, Jenny, really. You told me that I couldn't say anything and I didn't. I really, really, didn't."

I put my hand on her arm reassuringly.

"Calm down, Sis. I know you didn't. Mrs. Johnson recognized me when she saw me at the park. I'm very proud of you."

She looked relieved. We started walking again.

"And, I have a surprise for you." I paused dramatically.

"What, Jenny, what? Please tell me. What's the surprise?"

"Well, Mom is working late tonight, so it will just be us three sisters."

"Oh, that's great!" she said enthusiastically. "We can have cookies and ice cream and play games."

"Hold on, Susie," I cautioned her, "this isn't a party. Mom trusts us to be grown up and take care of ourselves while she works."

"Yes. You wouldn't want her to be disappointed when she gets home, would you?" Beth added. "Besides, we all have school tomorrow."

"Okay," Susie conceded.

We reached our house and went in. Beth, always Miss Efficiency, started giving us directions.

"I'll bake the pizza and make a salad. Jenny and Susie, you set the table."

She went to the freezer and took out the pizza.

"Jenny, come here for a second," Beth said as I was putting out the placemats. "Susie can finish that. Do you know how to use the oven?"

"No," I admitted.

"Well, you need to learn your way around a kitchen if you want to be a good wife."

She thought that was hilarious and started giggling. I didn't think it was very funny and gave her a dirty look.

"I'm sorry, Jenny. I was just joking," she said apologetically.

"Seriously, though. This is the oven. She pointed to a door in the front of the stove."

"Well, duh, Sis. I know what an oven is."

"Oh really? Then turn it on and set it for 375 degrees," she challenged me.

I looked at her.

"Listen, if I knew that I was a girl, I would have hung out with Mom in the kitchen like you did and make cookies and stuff, but this came as a surprise to all of us. Now show me how it works."

Beth went into her teaching tone of voice.

"You turn this knob here," she pointed, "until the little red dot on the stove is over the 375. That's it. Then you just wait until little red light next to the knob goes out, which means it's ready.

"Wow, I'll have to practice to get it down," I kidded her.

Beth got the dinner ready and after we ate we cleaned up the kitchen. As I was putting the dishes away, I thought to myself how much I enjoyed being close to my sisters and how much I would have missed as their brother. I shrugged my shoulders.

Beth saw me and asked, "What was that for?"

"Nothing," I told her. "I was just thinking how different things might have been and how happy I am to be Susie's and your sister."

Beth put down her dishtowel. She put her arms around me and gave me a hug.

"Me too," she said affectionately.

Susie had been listening and came over to make it a group hug.

"Me three."

We all started giggling.

After dinner, Susie asked me if I would give her a bath and play with her. I had a lot of homework to do, so I told her I would get the bath ready, but that she would have to play and wash up by herself. She pouted, but went off to get undressed. I went upstairs and started the bath the way Mom had shown me. I turned on the water let the tub fill up. As I was bending over to check the water temperature, I heard the door open. I turned around and Susie was standing there without any clothes on.

"Susie!" I said hurriedly, "please wrap a towel around you."

Susie looked at me innocently.

"Why Jenny, what's the matter? Aren't you my sister?"

I turned my head away, so I wasn't looking at her.

"Yes, Susie, but don't you remember? Mom said that even though I'm your sister, I'm still a boy and boys don't see girls without their clothes on."

Susie replied with perfect seven year old's logic.

"That's silly. You're not a boy. You're a girl. If you were a boy you couldn't be my sister could you?"

"I don't know the answer to that question, Susie. All I know is that Mom said I shouldn't do it and I don't want to do anything that would make her mad at me. Do you?"

"No," she agreed, "I don't want to get you in trouble."

"Okay then. Your bath's ready."

I turned off the faucet and checked the temperature of the water again.

"Hop in. You can play for a bit and then you need to wash up. I'll send Beth up to get you out."

I went back downstairs. Beth was at the kitchen table doing her homework.

"Susie's in the tub," I told her. "Will you go up and get her out in about fifteen minutes, please?"

"No problem, Jenny," Beth said.

The rest of the night went very quickly. While Beth got Susie to bed, I finished my homework and stated to get ready for bed. I went in my room and stripped down to my panties and top. On the way to the bathroom, I passed Beth coming from putting Susie to sleep.

"Night, Sis," I said affectionately.

"Night, Jenny," she said and blew me a kiss.

After doing my nightly beauty routine, I went back to my room and slipped into my nightgown. I set my alarm clock for 7:00, to be sure that I had plenty of time to take out my earrings and make sure all of my makeup was off. Then I turned out the light, got into bed and snuggled down, enjoying the silky smooth feeling of my nylon nightgown sliding against the sheets. I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.

My alarm rang. As a boy, I could jump out of bed and get ready for school in five minutes, but I couldn't bring myself to change into my plain white cotton briefs and t-shirt. If I couldn't go to school as a girl, then at least I could I feel as feminine as possible. I pulled my nightgown over my head and stood there in my panties and cammie. After all, who would know? I stepped into a pair of jeans and slipped on a flannel shirt. The cammie had a low scoop neck, so it didn't show. A pair of white athletic socks and sneakers completed my outfit. Johnny on the outside, Jenny on the inside I thought and couldn't help a girlish giggle as I headed downstairs.

I ran into Susie in the hallway.

"What's so funny, Jenny?" she asked.

"Oh, nothing, really," I said with a big smile.

Then I realized she had called me 'Jenny' and gave her a stern look.

"Susie, I know it's hard, but please, please, please little sister, please be careful about calling me 'Jenny' when I'm dressed as a boy."

"I'm sorry, Johnny" she said with a sad look. "I'll really try."

"I know you will, Sis, and I love you very much."

I bent down and gave her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"Eww, gross!" she exclaimed, wiping the kiss off with the back of her hand. "I don't like boys kissing me."

She paused and then gave me a silly look. We both laughed. Mom was waiting for us in the kitchen.

"Beth told me all about you going to Mrs. Johnson's with her. I didn't think she recognized you in the park, but I am glad that everything worked out alright."

"Me too, Mom," I agreed. "We had a really nice conversation. She knows about boys who are 'transgendered', that means who feel like girls," I added to show off my new vocabulary. "I wonder if she could do something so that I could go to school as Jenny?"

"Well, honey," Mom said thoughtfully. "I'm sure she could help you with your feelings, but I think you're too young to make that decision. I will talk to Claire and see what she has to say. Okay?"

"Okay, Mom," I replied.

Mom was watching me as I cut my pancakes into small pieces and used my napkin to wipe my mouth after each bite.

"Johnny better eat like a boy and get going," she said with a wink, "or he's going to be late."

I loaded the last three pieces on my fork with the syrup dripping, shoved them in my mouth, turned to Mom and said, "mmpff." She laughed. Then I wiped my sticky lips, got up, grabbed my backpack and headed out the door with Susie following me. We walked to the corner and waited for the bus. As I stood there, I looked at the girls and thought to myself how we all had on our pretty undies. I wondered which ones were wearing bras and imagined what it would be like to have real breasts and need to wear one. My daydream ended when the bus pulled up. I waited to make sure that Susie got on and then followed her.

The ride to school was boring. I sat with some of the guys I used to hang out with, before I made up the excuse that my mother had grounded me for bad grades, so I could go right home and be Jenny. I got to my homeroom and started to look through my homework. Then it hit me. I had gym first period! What was I thinking this morning? I couldn't get undressed in the locker room. Everyone would see that I was wearing girl's underwear. I would have to drop out of school. The bell was about to ring and I needed an excuse to get out of gym. I had a sick feeling in my stomach and that gave me an idea. I headed up the stairs to the school nurse's office. Mrs. McGowan was always nice to me. I would tell her I had a stomachache and couldn't go to gym. I opened the door to her office. She was sitting at her desk and looked up.

"Johnny, hello," she said with a smile. "What brings you back so soon? Not another problem with your nails I hope?"

"No, Mrs. McGowan. I have a bad stomachache," I said with a pained look on my face. "I would have tried to see if it went away by itself, but I have gym first period and didn't think it was a good idea for me to be exercising. It really hurts," I added, holding my stomach for dramatic effect.

"Oh, dear," she said sympathetically, "let's go in back and check you out."

We walked into the examining room, where there were cabinets with medical supplies and an examining table.

"Hop up," she directed.

She took a thermometer out of a glass jar and wiped it with a piece of gauze, then put it in my mouth. Then she took my wrist and held it while looking at her watch. After a couple of minutes she let go of my wrist and took out the thermometer.

"Hmm," she said, holding the thermometer up to the light. "No temp and your pulse is normal."

She put her hand on my forehead and pulled up my eyelid with her thumb.

"Eyes are okay. Pull up your shirt and lay down."

"Huh," I said, taken by surprise. "You want me to get undressed?"

"Don't be silly," she said sternly. "You don't need to get undressed. Just lift up your shirt so I can check your stomach. Come on now, I haven't got all day."

I had no choice. I held my shirt with both hands and pulled it half way up my chest. I hoped that the cammie was short enough not to show as I lay back.

Mrs. McGowan began to press on my stomach with her hands. She started up under my ribs and moved down, going from side to side.

"Does this hurt," she would ask each time.

I said, "No," until she was right over my stomach and then, "Yes, that hurts a lot."

She continued until she was just above my waist.

"Please unfasten the top of your pants," she said.

I hesitated, hoping she would change her mind.

"Johnny, please unfasten your pants," she repeated.

I had no choice. I reached down and undid the top button of my jeans.

"Good. Now, just relax," she told me. "I'm almost done."

She slid the top of her hand under the waist of my jeans and continued to press. I was watching her face, to see if there was a reaction, but I couldn't see any. She appeared to be concentrating on the examination.

"Does this hurt?" she asked me.

"Just a little bit," I lied.

She finished her examination and said, "Okay, Johnny. I am going to go into the office and call you mother while you get dressed."

She left the examining room and closed the door.

I quickly tucked my shirt in and buttoned my pants. Then I opened the door and went into the office. Mrs. McGowan was on the telephone.

"I will give him an excuse for gym this time," I heard her say. She stopped when she saw me come in. "He's here now. I'll talk to you later, Carol. Bye."

Mrs. McGowan took a note pad and wrote on it.

"Take this to the office and give it to the secretary so you won't get detention for skipping gym. I think you will be able to go to the rest of your classes without any problem." She gave me a funny look, "don't you?"

I wasn't sure whether she knew or even suspected what was really going on, but my experience had been that it was better to be honest, so I said politely, "yes, Mrs. McGowan. I'm feeling better already."

I dropped the note off at the office and went to my next class. The rest of the day went by quickly, now that I was into doing my homework and enjoying school. At lunch I watched the girls and fantasized about what it would be like to be able to go to school as Jenny. Most of the girls wore fitted jeans and cute little tops. A few had on short skirts with blouses or sweaters. I thought to myself, if Jenny ever comes to school, she definitely will be a girly girl. Maybe Mrs. Johnson could help me get my wish. I hoped that Mom spoke with her.

As usual when I got home from school, Mom was at work, Beth was at cheerleading practice and Susie was at Mrs. Johnson's, so I had the house to myself. I was hungry, but couldn't wait to change into Jenny. I left my backpack in the kitchen and went upstairs to Beth's room to pick out an outfit.

I had worn a skirt and blouse yesterday and decided to try something dressier. I started looking through her closet and found a really pretty dress. It was pastel blue — Beth always liked blue — with a straight knee length skirt, a jewel neckline and three-quarter sleeves with white lace trim around the collar, cuffs and hem. I held it up and looked in the mirror. Definitely me, I thought with a smile. I took the dress off the hanger and laid it on Beth's bed. I went to her bureau and looked through her stocking drawer. Up to now I had worn tights or knee socks and I wanted to try pantyhose. I found a pair of sheer white ones that I thought would look good with the dress. Finally, I needed shoes. I looked through Beth's collection and found a pair of white high-heel pumps. I had never worn heels before and thought it would be fun to try. I quickly stripped down to the panties and cammie that had made such a problem for me this morning.

I picked up the pantyhose and started to roll up one of the legs, the way Beth had shown me with the tights. They stockings were smooth and silky and I couldn't wait to see how they felt on me. Then I felt a snag and saw a thread had caught and was sticking up. Beth had warned me that pantyhose were more delicate than tights and I had to be careful not to run them. Darn! Stupid rough boy's hands I thought to myself. I put the pantyhose down and went over to Beth's dressing table. She had all sorts of lotions that she was always rubbing on herself to make her skin soft and smooth. I found a bottle that said 'extra moisturizing lotion' and squirted some into my hand. I rubbed it in and then remembered watching Beth do her feet and legs, so I squirted some more and did them too. It felt really nice and creamy.

As I was looking at my feet, I noticed that the nails were long. Beth and Susie gave me a manicure as part of the makeover they did when they first dressed me up as Jenny and I had kept my fingernails shaped, so I could polish them. I rummaged through the table until I found Beth's nail clippers and an emery board and gave myself a pedicure. I had watched Beth twist her leg around so her foot was in her lap pointing up, but for the life of me I couldn't duplicate that exercise; just one more annoying reminder to me that I was not a girl. I ended up bending over and working on my toes, trimming the nails and smoothing them. When I was finished, I looked longingly at the nail polish. It would make me feel really girlish to have polished toenails, but I remembered I had another period of gym this week.

When I was satisfied that my hands, feet and legs were ready, I went back and started to put on the pantyhose. This time it went smoothly and, when I had one leg bunched up, I pointed my foot and pulled the sheer material over my toes and up over my knee. Then I did the same with the other leg. I stood up and continued to gently pull and smooth the stockings until the panty was at my crotch and then tugged on the waistband until it was above my waist. I went back and smoothed the legs and panty. The stockings felt light and cool on my skin. It was such a wonderful sensation; I wondered why girls didn't wear stockings all the time. I guessed that it was because they were easy to run and a nuisance to pull up and down when you had to go to the bathroom. As far as I was concerned, it would be worth it to feel so pretty and feminine.

I spent a lot of time admiring myself in the wall mirror. I turned and posed, ran my hands over my legs and enjoyed my first experience wearing pantyhose. Finally, I turned to the bed and picked up the dress. It zipped up the back. I pulled the zipper down to the waist and stepped into it. Then I pulled up the top, put my arms in and slipped it over my shoulders. The dress was a silky material and I could feel it sliding over my pantyhose as I moved. When I had it on, I reached around and found the zipper. I started to pull it up and got to the middle of my back, but my arms wouldn't reach any higher. I struggled to grab the zipper by reaching back over my shoulder and figured out that if I bunched up the material with my fingers, it would move the zipper higher and I could grab it. I finally managed to get the zipper all the way up. It took me a few minutes more of struggling to fasten the hook at the neck, but at last I was in my dress.

I wanted to model it, but I thought that it would be more fun if I did my hair and makeup first, so I could see my full transformation into Jenny. Then I remembered Beth telling me that girls usually did their hair and makeup before they put on their dress, so they wouldn't anything on it. Rats! Well, it was too late now. I went to the linen closet and got a big white towel to drape over my shoulders and sat down at Beth's dressing table. I used the blow dryer and styling brush to make my hair full and fluffy. When I was satisfied, I found a pale blue hair ribbon and slipped it on. I remembered watching Beth tweeze her eyebrows, so they were smooth. I found her tweezers and moved closer to the mirror to see if there were any stray hairs that I could remove. I found one and grabbed it with the tweezers. Ouch! That really hurt. I found a few more and pulled them out too. Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Being beautiful really was painful. I didn't want to do too much or someone would notice. Finally, some red lipstick. I was getting really good at putting on lipstick. I puckered my lips to get a smooth, even coating and admired myself in the mirror. I noticed a tiny jar of lip-gloss and decided to put that on too. Wow! I really liked the way I looked.

Beth always said that accessories make the outfit. She would spend hours at the mall looking for just the right belt for a new skirt or earrings to go with a blouse, even though she had lots already. I thought she was nuts until now. When you put a lot of time and effort into your appearance you want everything to be perfect. I found a silver chain with a pearl on it in her jewelry box and fastened it around my neck. The pearl hung against my skin just above the neckline of my dress. I remembered that Beth had me buy a pair of pearl earrings when we were shopping at the mall and found them. I still wasn't good at getting the posts through the holes, but eventually managed to put them through and get the backs on. I started to walk back to get my shoes and then decided on some perfume as the finishing touch. I picked a powdery lilac scent that I always liked when Beth wore it.

Last, but definitely not least, I thought, high heels. I smoothed my dress under me and sat on the edge of the bed. I slipped on one of the pumps. It slid easily over the nylon stockings. I crossed my leg and the stockings felt wonderful as they glided over each other. I slipped on the other pump. I stood up and had trouble balancing on the spike heels. I took a couple of small steps, using the dresser for support. The shoes I had worn with my other outfits had heels, but they were not this high or this narrow. I practiced walking, keeping my back straight and looking ahead. I turned to see myself in the mirror and almost fell over, but what I saw made it all worth it. Looking back at me was a pretty girl. I smiled and the pretty girl smiled back. The high heels raised the hem of my dress higher and I loved the way the arch of my foot made my legs look longer. Whatever it took to learn to walk in heels, it was worth it.

I looked at the clock. I had spent more than an hour getting dressed. Whoever said time flies when you're having fun was right. Mom and Susie would be home soon and I decided I better get downstairs and start on my homework. I got to the top of the stairs and considered whether I should take off my shoes before I tried to go down. A girl has to learn sometime, I though to myself, and cautiously inched my way down, holding onto the railing. It took a while, but I made it to the bottom and tottered into the kitchen. I was sitting at the table, working on my math when I heard the back door open and Susie rushed in.

"Jenny!" she squealed when she saw me. "Wow! You look beautiful."

I stood up and turned around for her, forgetting that I had on the high heels and had to grab the back of the chair for support, making Susie giggle.

"Well," I said with a big smile, "we'll just have see how you do wearing heels for the first time, won't we little Miss Giggles."

"Oh, yes, yes!" Susie replied gleefully, "I can't wait. Can I try your heels on now? Can I Jenny? Please?"

Before I could answer, Mom came in. She looked at me and did a double take.

"Jenny, my goodness! I love your dress and you've done such a nice job with your hair and makeup. I wish we had someplace to go, so I could show off my glamorous daughter. Turn around, Honey, let me see."

This time I remembered I had on heels and was much more careful how I moved. I slowly walked in a circle holding my arms away from my body with my hands out and fingers spread, the way I had seen models walk on TV.

"Mom, she has on high heels," Susie pointed out. "I want to wear high heels too. Can I Mom? Can I?"

"Of course you can, Susie," Mom agreed, "but not right now. The next time you have a party I'll see if I can find some heels for you, but they really don't make heels this high in your size. You'll need to grow a little more."

Susie pouted.

"You can try mine on if you want, Sis," I offered to cheer her up.

"No, Jenny. It's okay. You wear them. They're too big for me anyway. I guess I can wait a little bit."

Suddenly she was her happy self again and turned to Mom.

"Can Jenny play with me Mom?"

"Well, its almost dinner time," Mom told her, "and I have something I need to talk to Jenny about, so why don't you go upstairs and wash up."

After Susie left the kitchen, Mom turned to me.

"I had a nice chat with Mrs. McGowan today," she said matter-of-factly."

"Yes, I know. I was there when she called you about my stomachache."

"No, after that," Mom said.

"Oh," I said, as if I was clueless, about what?"

"She wanted to know why you came to school wearing your sister's underwear?"

My heart sank. I looked up at Mom. She didn't look mad or upset.

"Oh," I said nervously. "What did you tell her?"

"I told her that it wasn't your sister's underwear, it was yours."

"Oh," I said again, afraid of what was going to come next. "What did she say?"

"She said that it explained why you had pierced ears and came to school wearing nail polish."

I forgot all about my ears. She must have seen them when I lay down and my hair fell back.

"Is that all," I asked hopefully.

"No."

My heart sank again.

"Am I in trouble? Am I going to get thrown out of school? Did I get you in trouble?"

"No, no and no," Mom said reassuringly.

"Really?" I couldn't believe it.

"Really!" Mom emphasized.

"Then what did Mrs. McGowan have to say?"

Mom paused and then she said with a smile, "Mrs. McGowan said that in the future you should be more careful about what you wear to school on gym days, because she can't give you medical excuses for non-medical reasons."

I was so relieved I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so instead I just hugged Mom and put my head against her chest. She put her arms around me and hugged me back. We stayed together for a long time, a mother comforting her daughter. Then she relaxed and let go of me.

"It's okay, Jenny. I'm not mad and luckily Sally McGowan is a good friend and an understanding person. She is willing to let me deal with this. But why on earth did you take a chance and go to school in your girl's underwear?"

"I know it was dumb, Mom," I answered. "But, well, it's just that I didn't want to give up being Jenny completely and I thought that nobody would know if I kept my panties and cammie on under my boy's clothes. I forgot that I had to get undressed for gym until I got to school. Then it was too late. I thought that if I pretended to have a stomachache, Mrs. McGowan would excuse me from gym. I never imagined that she would give me an examination and when she did, I tried my best not to let her see anything. Actually, I thought I got away with it." I looked down. "I guess not. I won't do it again," I added. "Promise."

"This is exactly what I was afraid of, Jenny. I love having a third daughter and Beth and Susie love having you as their sister, but I think it was a mistake for me to encourage you. It's just too complicated for someone your age."

I thought for a bit and then tried my best to explain my feelings.

"Mom, it is difficult, but it's not a mistake. I don't know how it happened that I was born a boy, but I should have been a girl. I know that now. I can pretend to be Johnny, but Jenny is who I am. I can't change how I feel about myself and nothing you can do can change things back to the way they were. I may have problems being Jenny, but I definitely will be miserable not being Jenny."

Mom didn't say anything. She just opened her arms and I moved back in for another mother and daughter hug. I thought I heard her sniffle, and then she was back to normal.

"Jenny, dear, please set the table. I am going upstairs to change out of my uniform and then we will have dinner. Beth called me at the hospital and said she would be staying at Cindy's house after practice to work on a cheerleader fund raising project and that she will eat there."

Mom stared to go upstairs and then she stopped and turned around.

"Oh, my!" she exclaimed. "With all the goings on I completely forgot. I have a surprise."

"A Surprise, Mom? What is it?" I asked excitedly.

"Well, you'll just have to wait until Beth gets home so I can tell you all at the same time. She would be upset if she wasn't here when I told you."

As soon as we finished dinner, Mom sent Susie off to her room to get ready for bed. I helped Mom clean up the kitchen and then she went upstairs to check on Susie and left me to finish my homework. I was working on an English essay when Beth came in.

She took one look at me and ordered, "Jenny, stand up. Turn around and let me look at you."

Why did everyone want me to do ballet routines in high heels I wondered, as a tried my best to keep my balance.

"I hate you," Beth said angrily.

I was startled.

"Beth, I'm sorry. I, I, I thought it was okay for me to borrow your clothes. I, I, I didn't mean to make you mad. I will take your dress off immediately."

I turned around and stumbled towards the stairs.

"Stop, Jenny," Beth called after me. "Come back here. Please. I'm not mad at you. I was teasing."

I stopped and looked back at her. She was smiling at me. I walked back slowly.

"I don't hate you because you're wearing my dress. We're sisters and whatever I have is yours. I hate you because you look better in it than I do. The stockings, the shoes and the jewelry you picked out, even your makeup and hair, they're all perfect. I was born a girl and you're better at it than me." She pretended to pout. "That's why I hate you. I'm jealous of my beautiful little sister."

"Stop it Beth. You're making me blush. There isn't anything I would rather have than a compliment from you, but I know it isn't true. I wish that I had a figure like yours, then I really would be beautiful; but I never will." I sighed.

Beth got serious. "Listen, Jenny. I may look sexy when I fill out, but you have a natural beauty. You'll see. It won't be long before the phone starts ringing with boys asking you for a date. You're going to be a real heartbreaker. I can tell."

I stared at her in surprise.

"Beth, what in the world are you talking about? I'm not dating boys. Are you nuts?"

"Maybe, maybe not," she replied. "You say that now, but a girl doesn't get dressed up for herself. She gets dressed up to look better than the other girls so the boys will notice her."

"Even if that were so Beth, I'm around boys all the time. I don't find any of them attractive. I see the girls all whispering and giggling when some good looking guy goes by, at least they must think he's good looking, but I wouldn't want him to ask me out."

Beth paused, then said with her usual logic, "Of course not. Johnny is a boy and he's not gay, so why would he be romantically interested in another boy. But Jenny is a girl and it's only natural for her to want to have a boyfriend."

As usual, Beth did have a point. I wasn't sure how it worked, but I definitely did feel differently about things as Jenny.

"Well," I joked, "maybe I will break hearts one day. But if you don't give me a lesson in how to walk in high heels, I will more likely break my neck."

The change of subject must have caught Beth off guard. There was a few seconds of silence and then she started laughing so hard I thought she'd wet herself. When she finally stopped, she walked over and took my hand.

"Of course, little sister, that's what big sisters are for. Here let me put on the pumps and I'll show you. It's easy once you know the secret."

I sat down on the chair and took off my shoes. Beth sat down on the other chair and pulled off her sneakers and sox. Then she slipped on the heels. She stood up and walked confidently to the stairs, did a graceful turn and walked back. I watched as her hips and behind swayed and made a note to try to copy her walk.

"The trick is to keep your weight forward on the front of your foot, where the shoe is widest." She walked back to the stairs and slowly went up a step." She turned around and started down. "Coming down, you put the front of your foot down first and then your heel. It takes a little practice to be able to walk in heels, but you'll get used to it and before long you won't even think about it. You'll just do it automatically."

I looked at Beth appreciatively.

"Thanks, Sis. Then I remembered that Mom had a surprise for us. "Oh, silly, me, I completely forgot. Mom said she has a surprise for us and wanted to wait for you to get home before she told us."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Beth asked impatiently. "Let's get Susie and go see Mom."

I padded up the stairs in my bare feet while Beth went up like an Olympic athlete in her heels. We got to the top and went to Susie's room. Mom was sitting on her bed reading her a story. Beth and I hurried in and plopped down on the bed next to her.

"Okay, we're here. Tell us. What is the big surprise?"

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 5

Author:

New Author

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 5
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

"Well," Mom said with a dramatic pause, keeping us in suspense. "Jenny's real birthday is next week. Remember Mr. Kenneth said for us to come back and he would do our hair?"

"Yes, Mom, yes, we remember!" Beth volunteered on our behalf.

All of us were bouncing up and down with anticipation. Even Mom sounded excited.

"I spoke to Mr. Kenneth. For Jenny's birthday, you are getting your hair done this Saturday!"

"All of us," Susie asked, "me too?"

"Yes, Sweetie, all three of you," Mom told her.

"You too?" Beth asked.

"Hmmm," Mom said thoughtfully, "if I remember correctly, he said I was hopeless."

We all laughed.

"Now then, Susie needs to get to bed and you girls have homework to do. So scoot."

Beth went to her closet to change. I walked over and asked her to unzip my dress, rather than struggle the way I had putting it on. She unfastened the hook at the neck and then zipped it down to my waist. I slipped it off and stood there in my pantyhose and bra. Beth had taken off her top and skirt and she was in her panties and bra. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world for her to be helping me get undressed and for me to be standing in front of my mother and sisters in girl's underwear. I walked over to the closet and hung up the dress. Then I went back to my room. I sat on the edge of my bed and carefully peeled off my pantyhose. I slipped my nightgown on and went down to the kitchen to do my homework. Beth was already at the table. She looked up and smiled. I smiled back at her.

"Need any help, Sis?" she asked.

"No thanks, Beth," I replied. "Now that I am paying attention in class and keeping up with the assignments, it's really easy."

"My sister the brain," Beth joked.

"No," I kidded back, "it's just that girls are smarter than boys."

We both started giggling so loud that Mom called down to find out what the racket was about.

"Nothing Mom," Beth and I called up to her.

"Just a girl thing," Beth added.

And we both broke up again.

The next morning I made doubly sure that Johnny went to school and Jenny stayed home. I hated putting on my boy's plain white cotton briefs and t-shirt, but I was determined not to make any more mistakes that could get Mom or me in trouble. Even worse, that might force me to stop being Jenny. I looked at my nails to make sure that there was no trace of polish, studied my face in the mirror to be sure that all of my makeup was off, and pulled back my hair to double check that my earrings were out.

As usual, Mom was in the kitchen getting breakfast ready. She looked up when she heard me pull the chair out.

"My goodness," she exclaimed. "You're the early bird this morning. Susie's not down yet. Is something wrong, Jenny?"

"No, Mom," I assured her. "I learned my lesson yesterday when Mrs. McGowan found me out. If I have to go to school as Johnny, so I can be Jenny the rest of the time, that's just what I'll do. No more mess ups."

Mom beamed at me.

"That's my girl!"

I just about melted. The touching mother-daughter moment was interrupted by Susie bounding in.

"Hi, Mommy, hi," she paused, "Johnny," she said very pleased with herself, because she remembered that I was her brother when I was dressed as a boy.

"Hi my little sister who I adore no matter what," I told her.

She gave me a big smile and walked over.

"I don't usually kiss boys," she said with a serious face. "In fact, I don't ever kiss boys. No matter what," she mimicked. Then she came over and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

I was overcome by her simple expression of acceptance of me as a girl. I reached out and gave her a hug. She snuggled up to me for a second, then in typical little girl fashion her mood changed and she squirmed out of my arms.

We finished our breakfast and headed for the bus. The trip to school was the same as always. The boys I used to hang out with after school had given up on me, so I found an empty seat and kept to myself. I thought about what happened yesterday, when I forgot I had gym and wore my girl's underwear, and decided that I should thank Mrs. McGowan for helping me. As soon as the bus stopped, I headed upstairs to her office. When I got to the door, I paused. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. I turned to leave. No, I thought, being honest about my feelings had worked so far. I turned around and opened the door. Mrs. McGown was sitting at her desk. Usually she gave me a big hello, since she and Mom were both nurses and knew each other, but today she just looked at me without showing any emotion.

"Hi, Mrs. McGowan," I said politely.

"Johnny, I am surprised to see you here. Didn't your mother tell you I spoke to her about you?"

"Yes, she did Mrs. McGowan," I said quietly, looking down. Then I got my courage up and looked at her. "I just wanted to say thank you and tell you that you don't have to worry about me. There won't be any more problems."

She stood up.

"Johnny, part of my job as the school nurse is to report abuse; not just physical abuse, emotional problems too."

She must have seen my face drop.

"Oh no, Mrs. McGowan, please," I blurted out. "Please, don't do anything. I learned my lesson. It won't happen again, really. I promise."

I was close to tears.

"Calm down, Johnny," she said as she came around her desk to stand next to me. "Here."

She handed me a box of tissues. I took one out and wiped my eyes. She must have realized how upset I was, because her voice became much gentler.

"My job isn't to judge you or your mother. Only to make sure that whatever is going on isn't harmful to you. I wanted to check with your teachers to see how it was affecting your schoolwork."

She must have seen my eyes widen.

"No, Johnny," she said reassuringly, "this is a confidential matter that I would not disclose until I was sure it was necessary. I just told them that you had a stomachache the other day and I wanted to be sure you weren't under any unusual stress from your classes. I expected that there would be some negative effect of your confusion about your gender, but to my surprise it was just the opposite. Every one of your teachers had nothing but good things to say about you. You were more attentive, better behaved, doing your homework and getting good grades. In fact, a couple of your teachers said that they wished that whatever happened to you happened to the rest of the boys in their class."

For the first time in our conversation, I saw the beginning of a smile. Then she got serious again.

"I am not sure I am doing the right thing, but I respect your mother. If she feels that this is best for you, I will not interfere. However, you need to understand that if there is even the slightest indication that this is causing a problem for you or for any other student, it will have to be reported to the juvenile authorities. Are you perfectly clear about what I said, Johnny?"

I looked straight at her.

"Yes, Mrs. McGowan, perfectly clear. I honestly wish things weren't they way they are. I wish that I had been born a girl instead of a boy. I was never happy as a boy. I am very happy as Jenny. That's my girl's name. I was a bratty boy and caused trouble for me and for my family. Now things are great. I love my sisters and they love Jenny."

For the first time, I saw a look of sympathy on Mrs. McGowan's face.

"Johnny," she emphasized that she was talking to me as a boy, "I have known your mother since nursing school and over the years she has confided in me how hard it was raising the three of you after your father left. That is another reason why I don't want to create any more problems for her than she already has, if I can help it. I would expect that your sisters like you better as a girl and that playing dress up with you is fun, but there's more to being a girl than makeup and pretty clothes. The longer you pretend to be something you're not and can never be, the harder it will be for you and your family when you reach puberty. You know what puberty is?"

"Yes, Mrs. McGowan. I know. You mean when I'm old enough to be interested in boys or at least when girls start dating."

"Yes, Johnny, that's part of it, but there's more to becoming a woman than dating. Even real girls have difficulty dealing with the physical and emotional changes that take place."

"I'm not interested in boys right now," I told her honestly. "I don't know about the rest of it, but I do know that I am not pretending to be a girl. I am a girl. I just have the wrong body."

Mrs. McGowan looked me in the eye. "You are an exceptional young" she paused, choosing her word carefully, person. I honestly hope that for your sake and your family's sake this works out. My heart wants to believe it will, but my head tells me it won't. Either way, Johnny, be very, very careful. My professional responsibilities outweigh my feelings or my friendship."

"I understand and I will Mrs. McGowan, I will, and thank you," I said as I turned and went out.

The rest of the school day was uneventful. I went to class and spent my lunch period as usual, secretly watching the girls, imagining what it would be like to come to school as Jenny. When school got out I rushed home to change. I dropped my backpack in the kitchen and went upstairs to Beth and Susie's room. I opened the closet and looked through Beth's wardrobe. She had lots of pants and jeans that were definitely made for girls, but I still liked to look and feel feminine in skirts and dresses. I chose the black denim jumper that Beth put on me the first time she got me dressed to go out, a red cotton short-sleeved pullover with a crew neck, red nylon tights and black penny loafers with chunky two-inch heels. I put my outfit on Beth's bed and went into my room to get my undies. I couldn't wait to get out of my plain boy's clothes and into my lace trimmed pink panties and a matching cammie. I paraded back into Beth's room and posed in front of the mirror.

"Hi, Jenny," I greeted my image. She smiled back at me.

After I got dressed, I went over to Beth's makeup table and started to do my face. By now I was good at putting on my lipstick. I really didn't need it, since I wasn't going anywhere, but I wanted to practice. Once I was satisfied with my look, I picked out a thin silver chain with a silver cheerleader megaphone charm. It was Beth's favorite, but I knew she wouldn't mind me wearing it at home. Nobody would mistake me for a cheerleader around here. Finally, I blew out my hair to make it full and pulled it forward to frame my face. A red headband made the unisex cut look more girlish. I checked myself out in the mirror, did a final primp and was ready, ready to start my homework. I let out a sigh. Someday, I thought, cheering myself up, someday, Jenny will do all the things that real girls do.

I went downstairs and started got out my assignment book. I was concentrating on a math problem when I heard the door open and looked up.

"Hi, Jenny," Mom said. She looked approvingly at me, "pretty as always."

"Hi, Mom," I replied with a smile, thank you." Then I noticed that she was alone. "Where's Susie?" I asked her.

"Oh, Mrs. Johnson invited her to go out for a burger with Kelly. Beth is cheering at a game and then she's going out with some of the girls, so she wont' be home until late either." She gave me a loving look. "It's just you and me Jenny. Actually, I'm very happy to be able to have time alone with you. So much has happened and we really haven't had a chance to talk."

"That sound's great, Mom," I agreed.

"If you don't mind, sweetie, it's been a really long day. I am dying to get in a hot tub and soak. Then we can have dinner and spend the rest of the evening together."

"No problem, Mom. Go ahead and relax." I went over and gave her a hug and she hugged me back.

"I love, you Jenny," she said affectionately.

"I love you, too, Mom," I replied with equal emotion.

That was the best part about being a girl. You didn't have to hide your feelings.

Mom went upstairs and I could hear the bath water running. I finished up the math problem I was working on and decided to surprise Mom by making dinner. I wasn't exactly a wiz in the kitchen, but I had been watching Beth and had a basic idea of how to cook without setting me or the house on fire. I decided to make macaroni and cheese. It came in a package with all the ingredients and it didn't seem too difficult. I found the box and read the directions. Boil water in a saucepan. I could do that. Put in the macaroni. I could do that. Stir for six minutes, drain, put it back, add the packet of cheese and stir. Easy. While the water was boiling, I set the table. Mom liked a glass of wine with dinner, so I found a wine glass. I poured a glass of milk for myself. Then I decided that we couldn't have just the mac and cheese. We needed a salad. I had watched Beth chop up lettuce and some other vegetables. I got everything I needed out of the fridge and carefully prepared two bowls. I took out a bottle of salad dressing and but it on the table.

"Jenny," Mom called, "I'm almost ready. Finish up what you're doing and I'll be down to start supper in a few minutes."

"Okay, Mom, don't rush."

I went back to the stove and checked the macaroni. It was coated with the melted cheese. I stirred it a few times and spooned it onto the plates as I heard Mom coming downstairs.

She had on her big white terry robe and white terry scuffs. A towel was wrapped around her head. She had a powdery flower smell from the bath beads she used. When she saw the table she stopped short.

"Jenny," she said with astonishment. "This is so sweet. How did you ever learn to be so domestic?"

"I don't know, Mom," I answered. "From watching Beth, I guess. I mean, I really didn't do anything special. Just set the table and made something from a mix."

"Well, someday you will make some lucky man a great wife." Then she turned red and put her hand up to her mouth. "Oh, Jenny, I'm so sorry, sweetie. I didn't mean to, I, I, I'm so sorry, I," she stammered.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Really, Mom, its okay. Don't worry about it. I've heard you say that to Beth a hundred times. I like it when you talk to me the way you do to her. It makes me feel like a real girl."

Mom calmed down. "Come here, honey." She held out her arms. I went up to her and we snuggled. "Jenny, as far as I'm concerned," she said caringly, "you are a real girl and anyone who says you're not is going to have to deal with me!"

"Wow, Mom, that's really cool," I kidded her. "So on Monday I can go to school as Jenny and you'll tell them they're wrong about my being a boy?"

Mom got her sense of humor back.

"You bet, it's girl's gym and Home Ec for you young lady.

"We don't have Home Ec in middle school, Mom," I reminded her, "but gym sounds like fun, although the shower situation might make it a little difficult to convince people I'm a girl."

We both laughed as we released each other.

After dinner we did the dishes. Then Mom asked me if I'd like to take a nice bubble bath. Susie liked to play in the tub, but Beth always took showers, because it was easier for her to wash her hair, and I always did what she did.

"Sure, Mom," a bubble bath sounds like fun.

"Okay, Sweetie. I'll run the water and get it ready. You go get undressed. Beth has a bathrobe hanging on the back of her closet door. Put it on and come into my bathroom.

I followed Mom upstairs and went into Beth's room. I stripped down to my panties and bra and stopped. I wasn't sure whether I should get completely undressed and decided to put the robe on over them. Beth had a pair of silly bunny slippers that someone gave her as a birthday present and I put them on just for fun. Then I headed down the hall to Mom's room. When I went in, I could hear the water running and could see her in the bathroom, bending over the tub. As I got closer, I could see a mound of frothy bubbles and there was that wonderful powdery flower smell. She must have heard me scuffle in and turned around.

"It's all ready for you, Honey." She looked down at my bunny feet. "Hop in," she laughed.

I untied the bathrobe and slipped it off. I stopped, not sure whether to take off my underwear or not. Mom must have realized why I was hesitating and smiled at me.

"It's up to you, Jenny," she said. "I'm a nurse and I'm you're mother. You won't embarrass me."

I took my bra and panties off and climbed into the tub. The water was hot and the fragrance surrounded me as I slipped under the bubbles. Mom brought over a huge sponge.

"This is a loofah. It is really good for you skin. Makes it nice a pink. Do you want me to do your back?

"Yes, please. I would like that, Mom."

I sat up and Mom dipped the loofah into the water and then began to rub it over my back. It was delicious.

"Lift up your arm," she directed.

I picked up one arm and she ran the loofah over it, down one side and up the other. Then she did my other arm. She stopped.

"Here," she said, handing me the loofah. "I think it would be best if you did the rest of you."

She gave me a smile and walked out, closing the door behind her. I continued scrubbing myself, until my skin was really soft and smooth. Then I just lay back and enjoyed the hot, steamy bath. I felt so pretty and feminine. I imagined getting ready for a big party, putting on a gorgeous lacey pink dress with a full skirt and swishing petticoats, like Cinderella going to the ball. The dress would show off my beautiful bare shoulders, arms and back. My hair would be long and done up. Everyone would stare at the beautiful girl as I gracefully walked down the stairs in my high heels. My daydream was interrupted by Mom's voice.

"Jenny, it's been almost a half hour. You should get out before you wrinkle up like a prune."

I looked down at my fingers and she was right. Too much of a good thing, I guess. I stood up and stepped out onto the bath mat. I took a big fluffy towel and began to blot myself dry.

"Honey, can I come in?" Mom called from the bedroom.

"Sure, Mom."

I wrapped the towel around me as the door opened.

"Now," she said, "before you dry off, you should put on baby oil. It seals the moisture into your skin."

She went to the shelf and took down a bottle of baby oil. The towel was around my waist and I was holding it.

"Here, Sweetie. Let me show you how girls wrap towels around them so they stay on."

She wrapped the towel around my chest, above my breasts, at least what would have been my breasts, if I was going to have them, twisted the ends at the top and rolled it over. The towel stayed on like a skirt. Then she picked up the baby oil again and began to rub it on. She finished my upper body and handed the bottle to me.

"Here, you do you legs."

It was such a wonderful experience. Feeling soft and smelling pretty, sharing beauty secrets with my mom. I couldn't imagine it being any other way. I finished and then went back to my room to put on my panties and a nightgown.

"Would you like some hot cocoa to finish off the evening?" Mom asked.

"Mmm, sure," I said dreamily.

"Your sisters should be home soon. How about if I get everything started and we wait for them?"

"Good idea, Mom. We can have a little party and plan our day at the salon with Mr. Kenneth."

"Oh, my, Jenny. I completely forgot about tomorrow. You're right."

"Do you want me to do your nails while we're waiting?" Mom asked. "After all the birthday girl has to look good for her big day."

"Yes, please, Mom," I replied.

"Give me a minute to get the cocoa started, then I'll be up. Why don't you see if Beth has a color you like and bring it into my room."

After my near disaster going to school with nail polish, I had been very careful about not using it during the week. I looked longingly at Beth's collection of colors each afternoon when I turned into Jenny, but I learned my lesson. Someday, I thought. Someday, I will be the one who sits on her bed with cotton between her toes polishing her toenails. I knew exactly which color I wanted. It was a dark pink and she had matching lipstick. I took the bottle and shook it as I walked to Mom's room. I sat down on her bed and waited for her to come up.

"Okay, let's get started," Mom said as she sat on the bed next to me. "Give me your hand."

I held my hand out and she took it in her left hand, holding it gently while she smoothed and shaped the nails with an emery board. Then she took a bottle and started to paint my thumbnail.

"Mom? What are you doing? I thought I was going to wear Beth's polish. Why are you putting on clear?"

"Be patient, daughter!" Mom pretended to scold me. "If you put a coat of clear on first, it makes it easier to get the color off later."

Mom finished one hand and stared on the other while I wiggled my fingers in the air. I was surprised how good a manicure Mom gave me, considering that being a nurse and not going out much, she rarely wore nail polish herself. Mom had just finished and was about to start on my toes when I heard the kitchen door open. I guessed it was Beth, because Mrs. Johnson would have come to the front door to drop of Susie. A short time later, I heard Beth calling.

"Mom, Jenny, Susie. Where is everybody?"

"Up here, Beth dear," Mom responded. "Susie's still at Mrs. Johnson's. She took her and Kelly to a movie and out for dinner. It's just Jenny and me. I'm doing her nails. We're in my room, she added. C'mon up."

I heard Beth on the stairs and then walking down the hallway.

"Well, now!" she exclaimed, standing in the doorway with her hands on her hips, pretending to be miffed. "I don't recall anyone inviting Beth to the family beauty parlor."

She came over and sat next to me.

"Watch it," I warned her playfully, "You'll smudge my polish."

I held my hands out to show her my nails.

"You better watch it, Sis, or you'll give yourself away," she replied.

"Beth, whatever are you talking about? How would showing you my nail polish give me away?"

"Jenny, my dear sister, girls show their nails by holding their hands out, palms down with their fingers spread. Like this," she demonstrated, putting her hands out with a limp wrist and wiggling her fingers. "Boys do this." She curled her fingers into a loose fist.

"Wow, Beth, thanks. I never knew that. I'll try to be more careful."

"I don't know why that is," she added with a puzzled expression, looking over at Mom. Girls just don't make fists for some reason. If you ever see a cat fight, we pull each other's hair, slap and scratch, but never punch."

Just then the doorbell rang.

"It must be Mrs. Johnson bringing Susie home. Will you go down, since your dressed Beth?"

"Of course, Mom."

She went downstairs and I heard the door open.

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson. Thanks for taking Susie."

"Oh, it was no prob," Mrs. Johnson started to say, before Susie interrupted her.

"Is Jenny here, Beth?" Susie asked excitedly. "Is she upstairs? Bye, Mrs. Johnson, thanks," she called out as I heard her running up the stairs.

"My goodness, Beth. Susie certainly is taken with Jenny. How is he," she paused, "she," she corrected herself, "doing?"

"She," Beth emphasized, "is doing really great, Mrs. Johnson. Thank you for asking. Goodnight and thanks again."

The door closed.

"Jenny, where are you?" Susie called, as she reached the top of the stairs.

"In Mom's room, Susie," I replied.

She burst through the door and jumped into my lap. Beth came in a minute later.

"Well, girls. Are you ready for your big day?" Mom asked.

"Definitely, Mom," Beth said confidently. "I borrowed a bunch of hair styling magazines from Cindy. We can go through them and find some styles we like. Let's go ladies," she said as she herded us out the door.

We were all giggles as we headed off to fantasize about glamorous hairdos. Beth went to her school bag and pulled out a pile of magazines. Cindy's mother is a hairdresser. I told her about our going to the salon and she brought these to school for me."

"Beth," I asked nervously, "I hope that we didn't mean me?"

"Of course it did, silly. My friends all know that my cousin Jenny is staying with us. We made up that story that time when you went with me to hang out with my girlfriends. Remember? Don't be such a worry wart. Here you two, start looking through these and see if you can find a style you like."

She handed a magazine to me and another to Susie.

Susie began to turn the pages, but I put mine down.

"Jenny, why the long face?" Beth asked. "Tomorrow is going to be so fun. Our first real visit to a beauty salon instead of the hair cuts are us place we usually go to. Aren't you excited?"

"No, not really," I told her. You and Susie have beautiful long hair. Look at this." I put my hands up and tousled my hair. "I have to be able to look like a boy all week, so no fancy do's for me."

"Oh dear, Jenny," Beth said sympathetically, "you're right. It's your birthday present and we're the ones getting our hair styled. That's not right at all. I'm going to tell Mom that we've decided not to go. We can have a party here or something instead. Is that okay, Susie?"

Susie had been studying her magazine and gave Beth a puzzled look.

"Beth, can't we go, please. I really want to go, please. Please. Pretty please?"

"Yes Beth," I agreed. "You have to go. I have the two most wonderful sisters in the world and I wouldn't want anything to spoil your day. Seeing you two look beautiful is all the present I need."

Beth looked at me with tears in her eyes.

"Oh my God, Jenny. That is the nicest, kindest, sweetest thing anyone could ever say." She came over and threw her arms around me. "I love you. I don't know how we will work this out, but we will and you will be my sister forever and always dear Jenny."

Not to be left out, Susie came over and put her arms around me.

"I love you too, Jenny. Sooooo much."

The touching sister, sister, sister moment was interrupted by Mom's voice.

"It's time for Susie to get to bed girls."

"Please Mom, just a few more minutes," Beth called back to her.

"Okay," but it's going to be your fault if she falls asleep in Mr. Kenneth's chair and gets her ear cut off," Mom joked.

We all giggled.

Not to be outdone, Beth called back, "Anyway, you're a nurse. You can just sew it back on." Mom laughed. Then going back to the magazines Beth told us, "okay girls, let's pick out some styles. Jenny you can help find one for me."

I secretly envied Beth and Susie as they played with their long hair. Twisting and twirling it, trying to duplicate the different looks in the magazine. After a while Susie began to get sleepy, so Beth tucked her in bed and I found a story to read to her. She fell asleep before I had finished the first page. We went downstairs quietly.

"Do you want to watch some TV, Jenny?" Beth asked me.

"Sure, maybe we can watch one of those fashion shows you like."

All of a sudden Beth exclaimed, "Oh my God, Jenny! I just remembered. Our outfits. What are we going to wear?"

I looked at her and naively asked, "Aren't we going to wear what we usually wear to the mall?"

"Jenny, really! We're not just going to the mall. We are going to Mr. Kenneth's salon. We have to look our best. Oh my God, I don't have anything to wear."

"C'mon, Beth," I reassured her. You have some really nice clothes. I'm sure you can find something. Calm down."

Beth took a deep breath. "Thanks, Sis. I don't agree, but I guess I don't have a choice either. Susie's fast asleep, so I think we can look through my wardrobe if we're quiet. Let's go see."

We went back to Beth's room and turned on the closet light. As far as I could see, Beth had enough clothes to start her own boutique. I guess I still had a few things to learn about being a girl.

"Okay, Jenny. First thing, skirt or pants? Let's see." She started to go through what was on the hangers. "No, no, no, definitely no, maybe." She pulled out a red leather skirt and handed it to me. "No, no, no and no, maybe." She pulled out a pair of designer jeans and handed them to me. "Eww, how did that get in here? It went out of style last year. No, no, no, no and no." She sighed, "That's it."

I looked at the skirt and the jeans.

"We'll, I'm no fashion expert for sure, but you have a great figure and these jeans really fit you. I remember when Mom bought them for you at that fancy store when it opened at the mall. She nearly had a heart attack when she saw the price."

Beth took them and held them up. She looked in the mirror. "Yes, Jenny, I think you're right. Definitely the jeans. Now I need a top."

She started through the selection process again, pulling out a red and a black jersey and a blue sweater. She held them up to her chest and looked in the mirror.

"The black one," I told her. "It looks very sophisticated."

"Where on earth would you learn about looking 'sophisticated'?" she questioned me?

"I don't know. Probably from your fashion magazines that you leave in the bathroom for reading material."

"Okay, that's it," Beth teased me. "You look better in my clothes than I do and you know more about fashion than I do. I am resigning as the resident beauty queen in this family and turning the title over to you." She paused, "Annoying, but you're right. Now I need shoes and underwear."

She picked out a pair of black shoe boots with a square toe and two inch heels.

"These should dress the outfit up."

She went over to her dresser and took out a black bra and black nylon stretch lace panties.

"See, Jenny. When you wear tight pants you want a smooth pair of panties so you won't have a vpl. Now then, we need to find you an outfit."

"What's a vpl Beth?"

"Oh, a visible panty line. You don't won't boys to see the outline of your panties through your pants or a tight skirt."

"Since I don't have a nice round butt like yours, I doubt I will have to worry about that. But thanks for the fashion tip."

Beth blushed. "I'll thank you not to be staring at my butt, missy."

"Well, with you parading around in your skimpy panties it's kind of hard to miss," I observed.

"Touché," Beth conceded, "or maybe I should say tushy."

We both had to put our hands over our mouths so our laughing wouldn't wake Susie. We calmed down.

"Seriously, Sis, let's find you an outfit." Beth paused to think. "How about that red leather mini skirt. With a white silk blouse and black stockings you'd be a knockout."

"Thank you very much, but the last thing I want to be is a knockout. With the luck I've been having, half my class will be at the mall. 'Hey, wait a minute, who's that hot little number. She looks familiar. Isn't that? No, it can't be. Yes, look, it is. Hi, Johnny.'"

"We've been though this, Sis. You even fooled Mom. Nobody is going to recognize you, but you're right. Pretty yes, a knockout no. So let's see what else we can find. Hey, how about this. I used to love this skirt. Frankly, it's a little young for me now, bit it would look great on you."

Beth handed me a pink and charcoal gray plaid pleated wool skirt. I held it up to my waist. It came about two inches above my knees.

"Oh, Beth. I love it."

"Good, now, let me see. I used to have a pink angora sweater I wore with it. Hmmm. Yes, here it is."

The sweater was long sleeved with a round neckline. It felt incredibly soft and feminine.

"And charcoal gray wool tights. They should be in my dresser. Ahhh. Mom never gets rid of anything." She handed me the tights. "And my chunky heeled black loafers. There. Ooops, and some pretty undies."

"I can wear my own undies, Beth. But thanks for the offer."

"Jenny, this is your special day and I want you to have some special lingerie to wear. Please take them."

She went to her dresser and took out a pair of pink nylon panties with a white lace waistband and white lace trim around the leg openings and a matching stretch nylon pull over top with lace trim on the cups and thin straps.

I politely accepted them.

"They're beautiful, Beth. Thank you."

I said goodnight to Beth and gave her a hug. She hugged me back. I went to the bathroom to do my nightly beauty routine. I smiled to my image in the mirror and she smiled back. Even if I couldn't get a real hairstyle, it was still going to be a wonderful day for Jenny. I went back to my room and felt the smooth nylon of my nightgown slide against my panties as I snuggled down under my covers. Goodnight Jenny, sleep tight and have pretty dreams I said to myself.

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 6

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Crossdressing

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 6
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

Saturday morning everyone was up bright and early. Our appointment wasn't until 11 o'clock, but three girls and one bathroom took some coordinating. Finally, Beth, Susie and I were ready. We went downstairs to wait for Mom.

"Hurry up, Mom," Beth called to her impatiently, "we don't want to be late."

"Calm down," Mom yelled back. "It only takes fifteen minutes to get to the mall and we have an hour. We won't be late."

The ten minutes it took before we heard her coming down the stairs seemed like an hour. When she came into the kitchen, I saw Beth's startled expression. Mom had on a pair of black slacks and a powder blue three quarter sleeve sweater with a cowl neck. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a black scrunchy.

Mom looked at Beth, then at me and Susie.

"What?" she asked her. "It's your day. I'm just the chauffeur. You're all in such a hurry. Let's get going."

Beth shrugged her shoulders. She knew better than to argue with Mom. We went outside and got into the car. Mom drove to the mall and found a parking space. We got out and went in the main entrance. Mr. Kenneth's salon was in the middle of the mall. I looked nervously about. Luckily, I didn't recognize anyone and we got to the salon unnoticed as far as I could tell. Mom opened the door and we went into the waiting area. Mom went up and told the receptionist that we had an appointment with Mr. Kenneth. She looked at us and smiled.

"Which one is the birthday girl?" she asked curiously.

I hesitated and Beth spoke up.

"My sister Jenny is."

She put her arm around my shoulder.

"It's Jenny's birthday," Susie chimed in, "but we're all getting our hair done. Isn't that right, Mommy?"

"Yes, Susie, dear," Mom confirmed.

"Please follow me girls," the receptionist said.

Beth, Susie and I trooped along behind her down the corridor, past lots of chairs with stylists working on customers and into Mr. Kenneth's private spa, where he had done my hair the first time we came. Mr. Kenneth was dressed in his usual black long sleeved shirt, buttoned at the cuffs and neck, and black pants. I was too shy to notice much about him before, but now I saw he was not much taller than Beth and very thin. He wore small diamond studs in both his ears. He caught me looking at him and smiled. I smiled back.

"Where is your mother?" he inquired.

We all looked behind us to find that Mom was not there.

Mr. Kenneth went to the phone.

"Yes, please bring her to me. No, no, tell her Mr. Kenneth requires her to be here."

A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and in came Mom looking very sheepish.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kenneth. I mean, I didn't know you wanted me. I thought it was just the girls."

"Really, Madam," Mr. Kenneth scolded her. "Is this not a family birthday for Jenny and are you not a part of this family?" Before Mom could answer, he went on, "then what is Madam doing outside when her family is inside? Sit, sit, sit, all of you sit," he said authoritatively.

We all found chairs.

"Now then, who's first?

Beth spoke up.

"It's Jenny's birthday, so she should be first."

"Ahh, the beautiful Beth."

Beth beamed at the compliment and the fact he remembered her name.

"Mr. Kenneth thinks not, however. Today we shall save Jenny for last. I think that it is you who Mr. Kenneth shall do first. Stand up."

Mr. Kenneth may have been small, but he had a commanding presence. Beth just about jumped out of her seat.

"Come over to the chair."

Mr. Kenneth placed a plastic cloak over her and then tilted the chair back so that her head was in the sink. He ran the water, testing it with his hand until he was satisfied with the temperature. He squeezed some shampoo from a bottle and the scent of apricots filled the room. He spent about five minutes lathering her hair and then another five minutes rinsing it clean. When he was satisfied, he helped her to sit up and adjusted the back of the chair. He kept the chair facing away from the mirror on the wall behind the sink.

"Umm, Mr. Kenneth," Beth murmured, "umm, I was looking in some hairstyling magazines a friend gave me and I thought, well, umm, I thought that maybe you... ."

"A magazine!" Mr. Kenneth interrupted her. "A magazine! Mr. Kenneth is to use a hairstyle from a magazine? Mr. Kenneth makes hairstyles for magazines. Perhaps Beth will take her magazine to the barbershop. I am sure that whoever cuts her hair will find it quite instructive."

"Oh, oh, oh, no, Mr. Kenneth, I'm sorry, I didn't, I never, I, I, I want you to do my hair. I just thought, I mean, I didn't think, I mean... ."

I had never seen Beth so flustered. Apparently Mr. Kenneth was not as insulted as he seemed. Having firmly established who was in charge, his demeanor softened.

"Miss Beth is sure she wishes to place herself in Mr. Kenneth's hands?"

Beth was a fast study.

"Oh, yes, yes, please, Mr. Kenneth. Please do my hair. Whatever you like. I will love it, I am sure."

"Very well then."

Mr. Kenneth began to circle around Beth. He took his hand and tilted her head forward, then backward, then side to side. He put his hand on her chin and angled her face. With his comb, he measured the sides and back. He stood back. He moved forward. It must have been at least five minutes before he took out his scissors and made the first snip. I saw Beth wince. Mr. Kenneth was so intent that he just went on cutting. Since he was between us and Beth towards the end, it was hard to see exactly what he was doing. Finally, he was satisfied and took out the blower and a styling brush. When he was finished, he turned Beth to face the mirror.

There was no doubt in my mind that Mr. Kenneth was a genius. It wasn't that he just did a good job cutting her hair. Somehow he knew her. Beth was simple and athletic. The style he used was perfect. The front was long and the sides were layered and angled up, tapering towards the back. It was stylish and manageable. It took a few seconds for Beth to take it all in. Then she let out a stream of 'Oh my Gods' that I am surprised didn't result in the receptionist calling 911.

"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my God. Mom. Oh my God."

Beth went on with about a dozen more 'Oh My Gods', with a few 'moms' thrown in. Finally, she got some of her composure back.

"I love it. Mr. Kenneth. I love it."

Then she slipped back into another string of 'Oh my God's' as she studied herself in the mirror.

"I take it that Miss Beth is not disappointed," Mr. Kenneth said with false modesty.

Beth's response was to throw her arms around Mr. Kenneth. Since they were about the same size and Beth was a pretty solid girl, it took all of Mr. Kenneth's effort to keep from collapsing in a pile on the floor. After a minute of putting up with her expression of gratitude, he gently pried himself loose. By now Beth had calmed down and she walked over to Mom to let her see her new hairstyle close up. Mom nodded approvingly at Mr. Kenneth, who, of course, accepted it routinely.

"Next I believe it is sweet Miss Susie."

I think she liked being called miss, but not the sweet part. Then again, she did look sweet. She had picked out her favorite pink corduroy jumper, a white cotton blouse with a round collar, white tights and pink and white saddle shoes. Mr. Kenneth put a booster seat in the chair and helped Susie up. He then went through the same wash and rinse routine, except that as he was toweling her hair, he stopped, made some tisk, tisk, tisk sounds and turned to Mom.

"Madam, please refrain from using a bowl to cut your daughter's hair."

Mom pretended to study the top of her shoes.

Mr. Kenneth turned back to Susie and began to snip. Like Beth, it was hard to see what he was doing until he had blown her hair out. Like before, Mr. Kenneth was a genius in picking a style that suited Susie. This time he had rounded her bangs so that they framed her face and continued rounding the sides and back. It was girlish, but not babyish.

Susie was less emotional than Beth, but it was obvious that she was thrilled with her hairstyle. She ran over to Mom to show it to her, and then paraded over to Beth and me with her hand on her hip, like she was a model. I looked over and caught Mr. Kenneth with the beginning of a smile, before he returned to his professional look.

"And now," Mr. Kenneth announced, "it is my delightful Jenny's turn."

I stood up and went over to the chair. Mr. Kenneth removed the booster seat, put the plastic cape over me and I sat down. The water was hot and I was surprised at how strong Mr. Kenneth's hands were as he massaged my head to work up a lather. After he finished the routine, he sat me up and studied me.

"It's okay, Mr. Kenneth," I assured him. "I understand that there is not much you can do with a unisex cut. I have to go back to school as a boy. But thank you for trying."

Mr. Kenneth stood back and looked down his nose at me.

"Mr. Kenneth can do nothing? You think so? Wait and see my dear Jenny what Mr. Kenneth can do."

Mr. Kenneth proceeded to trim my hair. It had gotten a little longer since my last cut. When he was finished he turned me to the mirror. The sides were layered, the front, when my hair was pulled forward, had a suggestion of bangs and the back was evened up. Altogether, a little more feminine, but still not a girl's style. Mr. Kenneth must have read my face.

"Was my delightful Jenny right? Could Mr. Kenneth do nothing? Then again, perhaps he can do something after all."

He walked over to a cabinet, opened the door and took out a round box with a red ribbon on top. He brought it back and put it in my lap.

"Happy birthday, my pretty Jenny."

"Oh, Mr. Kenneth. Really, you shouldn't have. You don't need to give me a present. You have already done more than enough for me and my family."

"Of course Mr. Kenneth does not need to give you a present. Mr. Kenneth wants to give you a present. Would you insult him by refusing his gift? He would be heartbroken."

Mr. Kenneth pretended to be sad, dabbing his eyes with a piece of tissue.

It did not take much encouragement for me to change my mind. I untied the ribbon and took the top off the box. Inside I saw hair. I stuck my hand in to take whatever it was out.

"No, no, Jenny, gently. Let me."

Mr. Kenneth reached in and carefully pulled out the most beautiful wig I had ever seen. Well actually it was the only wig I had ever seen. It was shoulder length, honey blonde with soft waves and ringlets on the sides. I heard Mom and my sisters gasp as Mr. Kenneth held it up.

"Let me show you how to wear it. First, you must pull your own hair back. Like this."

He took a brush, stroked my hair into his hand and used an elastic to gather it behind my head. Then he picked up the wig, adjusted a draw string inside it and placed it on my head. The feeling of having long hair falling over my shoulders was ecstasy. Mr. Kenneth fussed with a comb and brush until every curl was in place. Finally, he took some bobby pins and used them to attach the wig to my own hair. I looked in the mirror. A beautiful young girl looked back at me. I stood up and slowly walked over to my family. I could feel the hair flowing around my face as I walked, swinging my hips slightly and feeling the pleated skirt swish against my legs. I could not have felt prettier or more feminine. Beth and Susie rushed over to see the wig close up. They couldn't stop gushing about how beautiful I looked.

Mom walked over to Mr. Kenneth. I have never seen her become emotional, but her eyes were moist. She bent forward and kissed him on the cheek.

"Mr. Kenneth," she said softly. "I love my daughters very much and I love you for being so kind to them. I am very grateful and can never repay your generosity."

She sniffled and wiped her nose with a tissue.

"Madam is most gracious. But we are not finished. What is a birthday without a party? If the lovely young ladies would go to the ice cream parlor and ask for Bruce, I have arranged for a small celebration. Now hurry along. I have much to do with your mother."

We all looked at him in shock.

"With me?" Mom questioned Mr. Kenneth. "No, you have done too much already. I couldn't."

"Madam, Mr. Kenneth does what Mr. Kenneth does and right now Mr. Kenneth is doing you. It is a challenge I have looked forward to for quite some time. Go ahead and don't rush back girls. The impossible takes Mr. Kenneth longer."

As we went through the waiting area, the receptionist gave us a confused look. I just smiled and scooted out the door. The ice cream parlor was at the end of the mall. Beth took my arm and I held Susie's hand. The wig gave me new confidence and Beth noticed the change.

"My goodness, Jenny, chin up, big smile, aren't we the sassy one today." She giggled and tugged at my arm, pulling me next to her and whispering in my ear. "Better be careful or all the boys will want a date with the new blonde in town."

She playfully bumped into me with her hip and I bumped her back. We both broke out in giggles. Susie wanted to know what was so funny and I told her that Beth was boy crazy.

"Ewww," was Susie's reply.

I nodded my agreement and she giggled. That got us all giggling so much that we had to stop. By coincidence, we were standing in front of a fancy lingerie shop. The pretty panties and bras in the window caught Beth's eye.

"Oh, Jenny. Aren't those really sexy," she bubbled, pointing to a skimpy pair of red panties with black lace trim and a matching bra. "C'mon."

Before I could say no, she was through the open doorway. Since we were still arm in arm, I stumbled in with her. Since I was holding Susie's hand, she was dragged in after me.

"Beth," I said under my breath, "can't you do this when I'm not with you? What if someone starts asking me questions, like what size I am? What do I tell them? 'Doh, I don't know. I just wear my big sister's hand me downs?' Please, let's go."

"Calm down, Jenny. That's not the way it works. They expect you to try on different sizes, because different styles fit you differently. You pick out what you want and take it into the dressing room. See."

She pointed to a woman going towards the back of the store with a collection of bras.

"You always try on bras before you buy them to make sure they fit and are comfortable, unless it's a style you've worn before. Of course, you have to try panties on over your own panties for hygiene."

I made a face.

"Thank you very much for the lingerie lesson, but I think I'll leave the panty and bra buying to you and Mom. I've got too little on top and too much elsewhere to be trying them on in the store."

For some reason, Beth thought that was hysterical. She started laughing.

"Too little, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, too much, ha, ha, ha, ha, oh, Jenny, ha, ha, you're too, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, funny, I can't stop, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.

I tugged on her arm.

"Beth, please, control yourself. Everyone in the store is staring out us. Beth, really! Please, stop. You're making a scene."

Beth quieted down, but it was too late. A salesgirl came over to us.

"Hello, girls. Having fun?" She was young and very pretty. "Is there something special I can help you with? This is the women's section, you know. We have some really nice juniors lingerie over there." She pointed to another area of the store. "Come along."

I was afraid I would draw even more attention to myself if I hesitated, so I meekly followed. Beth gave me a funny look, shrugged her shoulders and came too.

"Jenny, I thought you said you weren't interested in buying bras and panties," she whispered to me.

"Shhh," I whispered back. "I'm not. But I don't want her to know that. You're the one that got me into this. Now let's just tell her we have to meet our mother and leave. I'm about to wet my panties I'm so nervous and then I really will need to buy new ones."

Beth started laughing again. I gave her a dirty look.

"Stop it, I'm not kidding," I warned her, although there was no possibility of making good on my threat.

When we arrived at the display racks, the saleswoman picked out a white bra and showed it to me.

"This is one of our most popular styles. See. It has removable pads in the cups. It gives you a cute figure and then, when your own develop, you can take them out or keep them in to increase your cup size. Would you like to try it on? The dressing rooms are over there. It also comes in beige, pink and black. Here," she handed it too me.

Wow, I thought to myself. She thinks I'm a girl and that I'm going to have real breasts! Then I looked over at Beth. She was obviously enjoying herself. I gave her another dirty look and she finally came to my rescue.

"Thank, you miss, but our mother is waiting for us and we really need to get going. My sister and I will come back another time. Won't we Jenny?"

"Yes, definitely" I said with pretend enthusiasm. Then tugging on her arm I added emphatically, "But right now we really must meet mother. She will be very upset if we keep her waiting."

We started to leave and the salesgirl called after us, "My name is Debbie. I work on the weekends. Please ask for me."

We continued on to the ice cream parlor. Of course, hanging around outside was a group of boys from Beth's school.

"Hey, Beth," one of them said.

What's up," said another.

"Who's your friend?" asked a third.

"Hi, Billy. Hi, Ed. Hi, Doug," Beth casually replied, "Oh, this is my cousin. She's staying with us for a while."

"Cool," the first boy said.

"Yeah, cool," the other two echoed.

The first boy looked at me and asked, "What's your name?"

I smiled and said, "Jenny. What's yours?"

He smiled back. "I'm Billy," and then he boldly added, "do you want to go out sometime?"

I looked over at Beth. From her expression, it was obvious she was waiting to see what I would say to being asked on my first date.

I said shyly, "Oh, thank you so much, but my mother doesn't let me date when I am visiting." I fluttered my eyelashes and fussed with my hair, the way I had seen Beth do when she was talking to boys. I turned to Beth. "Let's go, please."

"See you in school guys," Beth called to them as we headed into the shop.

"Bye Beth. Bye Jenny," they called after us.

"Wow," Beth remarked, "that was a great." Then she kidded me, "are you sure you aren't a girl and you've just been pretending to be my brother all these years?"

"I can show you the proof," I kidded her back.

Not to be outdone, she challenged me, "okay, Miss smarty panties, go ahead."

Not to be outdone either, I reached down and started to flip up my skirt.

"Eeek!" Beth exclaimed. "Jenny, where is your modesty. Flashing your panties in public. Really!" She laughed. "Okay, I give up. You win, Sis." She put her arm around me and gave me a hug." She paused. "You weren't really serious were you?"

"I guess you'll never know," I teased her.

Susie finally lost her patience. "Beth, Jenny," she demanded, "stop fooling around and let's get to our party."

Beth went up to the cashier.

"May we see Bruce, please," she said politely.

The casher turned to one of the waitresses and asked her to get Bruce. She went into the kitchen and a few minutes later a man in a white jacket came out.

The cashier told him, "these girls asked for you."

I'm awful with ages. I would guess Bruce was in his twenties. He was tall and thin, with short silver blonde hair.

"Hi," he greeted us, which one of you is Jenny?"

I moved forward.

"Me."

"And this must be Beth," he said.

She smiled and nodded.

"And this young lady must be Susie."

She just stood shyly behind Beth.

"Everything is ready. Please follow me."

He started towards the back of the shop.

The ice cream parlor at the mall was a popular place for kids' birthdays and we had all been in the party room before. It had a long table with benches and a fancy throne chair for the birthday boy or girl at the end. We didn't expect much of a party with only the three of us, so we were very surprised when we walked in. It was all decorated with balloons and streamers. Bruce saw our expressions.

"Mr. Kenneth goes all out," he confirmed. "Jenny, you get the seat of honor. Susie, you sit there and Beth, here. I'll be right back to get the party started, but for now why don't you get in the mood and put on your party hats."

I looked down and there was a gold plastic tiara. I picked it up and put it gently on my head. It had little combs on the bottom that held it in place. Beth and Susie had silver ones. They both put theirs on. There were also party pipes. Susie picked hers up and blew it out with a razzing noise.

"Come on you two," Susie challenged us.

We humored her and blew ours. Then we got silly and started having a party pipe duel with a chorus of razzes as the paper curls extended. The thin paper didn't last long, which didn't matter, because by then Bruce was back. Two waitresses followed him. The lights dimmed and he moved a menu that had been hiding the cake. They started singing happy birthday. Beth and Susie joined in.

"Happy birthday, dear Jenny," they sang, "happy birthday, to youuuuuu." Everyone clapped.

"Now," Bruce encouraged me, "make a wish and blow out the candles."

I closed my eyes and silently recited the lines from Pinocchio: "Star light, star bright, I wish I may, wish I might, have the wish I wish tonight. I wish to be a real girl."

Candles probably weren't as powerful as stars for granting wishes, but it worked for him and he was a made of wood, so I had a head start I figured. Then I opened my eyes and blew out all the candles.

Beth looked at me.

"I know your wish, Jenny," she said sympathetically.

"Shhh," I held my finger to my lips, "if you say it, then it won't come true."

She blew me a kiss.

"For luck, my dear sister."

Susie didn't understand, but she decided it was a nice thing to do and blew me a kiss too.

Bruce cut the cake. He went out and came back a few minutes later with three hot fudge sundaes. I realized that it had been a long time since breakfast and started to dig in. Then I looked over and saw Beth daintily spooning small portions. I unloaded my spoon and did the same. Of course Susie had not learned the refinements of being a lady yet and was happily eating her ice cream and cake without concern for her appearance.

After about fifteen minutes, Bruce returned. He was holding three small blue boxes with gold ribbons. I guessed they were some sort of party favor the shop gave out. He looked at the tags on the boxes and handed them out. We each undid the ribbon. Beth was the first to open hers.

"Oh my God," Beth exclaimed.

You could always tell how excited or surprised she was by the number of them in a row. It was six. Not quite a record, compared to her earlier outburst in Mr. Kenneth's salon, but there was obviously something very wonderful in the box. I opened mine.

"Holy cow!" I exclaimed.

Inside mine was a gold necklace with a heart shaped gold charm with 'Jenny' engraved in script. I wasn't much of an authority on jewelry, but I guessed that if it came from Mr. Kenneth it was real gold. Beth held hers up. It was a gold bracelet with a heart shaped gold charm engraved with 'Beth'. Susie opened hers and it was the same as Beth's, except for the name.

"Eeek!" she squealed with delight. "Look, Jenny. My very own bracelet, with my name on it. Please put it on me."

She handed it to me. I undid the clasp and put it around her wrist. Mr. Kenneth must have been a very good judge of girls' sizes, because it fit her perfectly. Beth also had put hers on and was holding her wrist up to admire it.

"Jenny, let me put your necklace on you," she offered.

I handed it to her and bent down. When I straightened up, the charm was hanging just below my collar.

"Here, Jenny."

Beth had taken her compact out of her pocket book and was holding the mirror so I could see. It was gorgeous. My first very own piece of jewelry. Maybe my wish was coming true and I imagined I was slowly changing into a real girl. My daydream was interrupted by Beth.

"Oh, Bruce, thank you so much for the wonderful party. It was the nicest birthday ever, really."

She went over to him, stood on her tip toes and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"Yes," I agreed. "Thank you so much for everything."

I went over, stood on my tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek too. It would have felt funny for Johnny to kiss a man, but it felt right for Jenny. Beth gave me a nod of approval.

"We really should get back to the salon and thank Mr. Kenneth," Beth told us. "Susie, Jenny, let's go. Thanks again, Bruce."

We waved goodbye as we headed towards the door. Luckily, the boys had left by then. We hurried through the mall and rushed into the waiting area, past the receptionist and up to Mr. Kenneth's private room. We opened the door and went in. Mr. Kenneth was facing us. He was holding a small brush and working on the makeup of the woman in the chair. She had her back to us and Mr. Kenneth was between her and the mirror, so all I could see was her shoulders and the back of her head. She had on a white tank top and beautiful auburn hair in a soft wave which covered the top of her neck. Beth stopped short.

"Oh, my. I'm sorry Mr. Kenneth. I just thought, I mean, we expected, I mean, you know, that Mom would still be here? We were having such a nice time at the party we weren't watching the time. Did she leave?"

Mr. Kenneth's answer was puzzling.

"Mr. Kenneth is a magician, of course, better than those on stage."

We had no idea what he was talking about. He waved his hands in the air.

"Mr. Kenneth changes a mouse into a movie star."

He slowly turned the chair around. It took me a minute to realize that the woman was Mom. She must have been wearing the tank top under her sweater.

For as long as I can remember, Mom had not paid attention to her looks. She rarely wore makeup, except for lipstick, and she usually had her hair in a pony tail or clipped up for work. I couldn't even remember what color it was. Brownish, I guessed. When she did get it cut, it was at the same place that trimmed ours. Mr. Kenneth was right. Mr. Kenneth was a magician. Mom was beautiful. I looked at Beth. Her jaw had dropped and she was speechless.

Susie broke the silence.

"Mommy, is that really you?"

"Yes, sweetheart, it's really me." It was definitely Mom's voice. "Kenneth has managed to turn the ugly duckling into a swan."

"Ah, no. Carol is too kind. Even a great artist can do no better than the materials he has to work with."

Mom blushed.

Carol? Kenneth? And a compliment from the man who was never modest about himself. This was all too weird. Beth must have been thinking the same thing. We shrugged our shoulders at each other. Then Susie ran over to show Mom her bracelet.

"See, its gold and it has my name on it. Isn't it pretty. Beth got one too. And Jenny got a necklace."

Mom walked over to us and admired our new jewelry.

"Oh, Kenneth, really, you will spoil the girls. You have been too kind. I don't know what to say."

"Carol will say that she will return in two weeks, so that she and her daughters do not look like ragamuffins. Carol will also say that I will take her shopping for new clothes at my friends' boutiques. The mother of three beautiful girls must herself dress fashionably."

Of course, we beamed at being called beautiful. Mom looked embarrassed that Mr. Kenneth did not like her clothes.

"If Carol will be so kind as to leave her address and telephone number, I will call for her tomorrow morning at 10."

He handed Mom a piece of paper and a pen. Mom was obviously flustered. I am sure she had not expected a date with Mr. Kenneth.

"Kenneth, really, I couldn't. You have done too much for us already. Perhaps I can go with the girls and buy a few things. I'm sure you must have better things to do, than take me shopping."

"Ah, well then, Carol knows my schedule," Mr. Kenneth said with mock sarcasm. "How convenient. In fact, I have already planned to spend tomorrow with you. Now," he said with an obviously pretend sadness, "will you be so cruel as to take away the pleasure of completing my work of art. Would Galatea break Pygmalion's heart?"

I hadn't a clue as to what Mr. Kenneth was talking about, although I was pretty sure that whatever it was, he would get over it if Mom said no. I looked at Beth. She was clueless too.

To my astonishment, Mom actually flirted with him.

"Oh, Kenneth, you do go on so. But, it would be my pleasure to accompany you, if it would make your heart smile, the way you have made ours smile today."

Okay, this was really, really too weird. Mom carrying on with our hairdresser? Then again, I thought to myself, Mr. Kenneth is a treasure. We could do worse. Mom went over to one of the chairs and picked up her sweater. She started to put it on, but stopped when Mr. Kenneth gave her a disapproving look.

"Swans do not wear duck's feathers," he told her.

Mom put the sweater over her shoulders. Mr. Kenneth nodded.

"Let's go girls," she directed us.

"Bye, Mr. Kenneth," Susie said.

"Bye, Mr. Kenneth," Beth said. "And thank you," she added sincerely.

"Bye, Mr. Kenneth," I said. "This was the best birthday ever. Thank you so, so much."

"Jenny, wait!" Mr. Kenneth called as I was just going out the door. "You forgot your wig case." He walked over and handed me the round box. "There's a stand and special brush in there, so that you can do your hair." Then he bent down and said softly, so only I could hear, "I am looking forward to the day that I can style your own hair."

I whispered back to him, that was my birthday wish, but I'm not supposed to tell anyone or it won't come true."

Then I kissed him on the cheek. I don't know what it was, but Jenny was really getting into the kissing thing.

I caught up with my family and we went to Mom's car. Susie was sitting dreamily and Beth and I talked girl talk about what kinds of clothes Mom should buy for her new wardrobe. Of course, Beth wanted her in miniskirts and stretchy tops. I couldn't picture Mom looking sexy. We were dying to ask Mom what went on with her and Mr. Kenneth, but we agreed that it was none of our business. When we got home, Mom asked us what we wanted to do. Beth was excited about seeing her friends and showing off her new hairstyle. She was sure they would all die with envy. Susie asked Mom if she could go over to Mrs. Johnson's and show off her new bracelet. That left just me. I offered to walk Susie over to Mrs. Johnson's. Actually, she was one of the few people who I could show off my wig to and I also wanted to talk to her.

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 7

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 7
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for

After we got home, Beth made a couple of phone calls and asked Mom if she would drive her to Cindy's house. Mom offered to drop Susie and me off at Mrs. Johnson's, but I knew Beth was anxious to get going and her friend's house was in the opposite direction. It was only a few blocks and I told Mom that we would walk. Susie and I left and, when we reached the sidewalk, she took my hand. It made me feel really special. It wasn't until we arrived at Mrs. Johnson's front door that it struck me she might not be home on a Saturday afternoon. I rang the doorbell and waited. A few minutes later she opened the door. It took her a moment to recognize who it was with the long blond hair.

"Jenny, you look lovely." Then she noticed Susie. "And Susie, so do you. I love your new hairstyles. Please come in."

As soon as we were in, Susie gushed, "Oh, Mrs. Johnson, we had the best day ever. Mommy took us to Mr. Kenneth's salon to have our hair done and we had a party and we got beautiful presents. See."

She held up her wrist to show off her bracelet.

"It's real gold and it has my name on it. And Jenny got a pretty wig and a real gold necklace with her name on it too."

Mrs. Johnson was impressed.

"My, my Susie, this certainly was an exciting day. And that is quite a beautiful bracelet." She called upstairs, "Julie, Susie's here and she has something for you to see."

A minute later Julie came bounding down the stairs. She stopped short when she saw us.

"Wow!" she exclaimed. "Your cousin looks great. Susie, you look really cute."

I don't think Susie was happy with 'really cute.' She was probably hoping for her friend to die with jealousy. Julie wasn't about to give her the satisfaction, although her next question gave her away.

"Mom, can I get my hair styled?"

Mrs. Johnson gave her the usual mother's response, "we'll see dear."

Susie held up her wrist. If her new hairstyle didn't work, the bracelet was bound to do the job.

"I got a new bracelet too. It's real gold and it's got my name on it. See, 'Susie'. Mr. Kenneth our hairdresser gave it to me when he did my hair at his salon.”

"Nice," Julie, replied. "Can I wear it?"

Susie’s face lit up with satisfaction.

"Well, I don’t know, it is very special and it does have my name on it," she said coyly.

"I have a gold locket with my initials on it," Julie bargained. "It has a gold chain too. I’ll let you wear it, if I can wear your bracelet. Please?"

The please did it.

"Okay, but just for a little while," Susie agreed conditionally.

Julie and Susie went upstairs to swap jewelry, leaving me with Mrs. Johnson. She came closer and looked at my wig.

"That is a beautiful hairpiece, Jenny, very natural."

"Thank you," Mrs. Johnson, I said politely. "I love wearing it and I’m going to hate myself when I have to go back to being Johnny."

To my surprise, Mrs. Johnson frowned.

"Jenny, you’ve said something that is troublesome. I’d like to talk to you about it."

"I didn’t mean to make you upset," I said apologetically.

Mrs. Johnson's smile returned.

"For someone whose profession is talking to people, I'm afraid I didn’t express myself very well. It’s not what you said that's troublesome. It's how it can make things difficult for you later on. Please come sit with me and we can discuss it. Okay?"

"Sure, Mrs. Johnson," I agreed.

We went into the living room. She pointed to the sofa and I sat down. She sat in an arm chair across from me with a coffee table separating us. She adjusted her skirt and crossed her legs, placing her hands in her lap.

"Do you remember what you just said, Jenny?"

"I think so,” I answered her. “I said I love my wig."

She shook her head.

"You did say that, but there was more. Do you remember?"

I thought back. Mrs. Johnson had complimented me about my wig. I thanked her and said what I just said. Was there more? Nothing came to me. I shook my head.

"I’m sorry, but I just can't remember anything else. Susie was right. Today was the best day of my life and that's all I can think about," I explained.

"I understand," Mrs. Johnson said reassuringly. "We can start from there. I'm going to ask you some questions. Please relax, Jenny. There’s no right or wrong answer, just say whatever comes into your mind. Okay?"

"Sure. No problem."

"Why was this the best day of your life?"

That's easy," I answered quickly. "It's because I got to spend it as Jenny and to feel like a real girl. I didn’t tell you this part, but, on our way to the party, Beth dragged me into one of the fancy women's stores and the salesgirl actually showed me a bra and asked if I wanted to try it on." I laughed. "She even thought I was going to have," I hesitated, "well, breasts."

"That's okay, Jenny. You don't have to be embarrassed talking to me. It is very important for you to be honest and you have my promise that everything we say is confidential."

"I trust you, Mrs. Johnson," I assured her. "I know you are trying to help me and I know that I need to tell you the truth."

Mrs. Johnson nodded.

“"Good. Now then," she continued, "tell me, who's Johnny?”

I gave her a puzzled look.

"You know who he is, Mrs. Johnson. He’s me when I’m a boy," I answered.

"I see. Is Johnny here now?"

I shook my head.

"No, I'm a girl, so Jenny's here."

"If Jenny is here, then where is Johnny? Is he in your room at home?"

Now I was really confused.

"Johnny's not anywhere," I tried to explain. "He’s just who I am when I go to school as a boy."

"What happens to him the rest of the time?"

"He becomes Jenny."

"How does he become Jenny?"

"He changes, I mean I change clothes."

"How does changing your clothes make you a different person?"

I tried to answer the question, but I couldn’t.

"I don’t know," I said with tears in my eyes. "I don't know Mrs. Johnson. I just want Johnny to go away. I don’t like him. I don't want to be him. Please, Mrs. Johnson, please. You have to help me. That's why I came over today. I wanted to ask you to do something, so that I can be Jenny all the time," I sobbed.

Mrs. Johnson came over and sat beside me. She put her arms around me gently and I rested my head on her shoulder as my tears continued to flow. When I finally calmed down, she got up and brought me some tissues. Then she sat down in her chair.

"Jenny, I want to help you. That is what I am trying to do now and you have made progress. The fact that you can talk to me about your feelings is an excellent beginning. You need to understand something and we are almost there. It is always better if a person finds their own solution with my guidance. Do you feel up to trying?"

I wiped my eyes and blew my nose.

"Okay."

"Would you like some more tissues?"

"No, thank you. Well," I reconsidered, "maybe, just in case."

Mrs. Johnson got up and brought over a box of tissues. She put it on the coffee table. Then she went back to her chair.

"Let's try it a little differently. The clothes you are wearing, are those yours?"

"No, they're Beth's. She shares her clothes with me, except for our panties. Mom thought we should have our own, so Beth gave me some of her old ones," I explained.

Mrs. Johnson nodded.

"What if Beth wanted to borrow some of your clothes? Would you let her?"

I gave Mrs. Johnson another puzzled look.

"Sure, if she wanted to, but why would she? Her clothes are much nicer than mine."

"Well, one reason might be that boy's clothes are usually looser fitting and more comfortable than girl's clothes," she suggested. "Beth doesn't get dressed up when she's at home, does she?"

"No, you're right. She usually wears jeans and a pullover top. But they're still girl's clothes," I insisted.

Mrs. Johnson smiled.

"For the sake of our discussion, let's pretend that she did borrow your clothes. If she wore them, would that make her a boy?"

"Of course not!" I responded emphatically.

"Why not?" Mrs. Johnson asked me.

"Why not what? I don't understand the question."

"If you are a girl when you wear Beth's clothes, then why isn't she a boy when she wears your clothes?"

"Because," I tried to explain, "because she was born a girl. That's who she is. I, well, I should have been born a girl too, Mrs. Johnson, it's not fair. I am a girl and when I wear girl's clothes that makes me feel like one." I started to cry again.

Mrs. Johnson got up and handed me the box of tissues. She sat down next to me and held me again.

"We're almost there, Jenny," she comforted me.

After a while, I got myself together. Mrs. Johnson went back to her chair.

"This is what I do as a psychologist. I try to talk my clients through their problems. Usually it takes months, sometimes even years. We don't have that kind of time, Jenny, so I am going to explain what this was all about. Are you ready?"

I nodded.

"You said that Beth would still be a girl if she wore boy's clothes, because that is who she is, right?"

"Yes," I answered with a sniffle.

"And you also said that you are a girl when you wear girl's clothes, because that is who you are, right?

"Right."

"If Beth is a girl, even when she wears boy's clothes, because that is who she is, then why aren't you a girl, even when you wear boy's clothes, because that is who you are?"

I looked blankly at Mrs. Johnson. I didn't have an answer.

She smiled.

"Jenny, you are the same person in boy's clothes as you are in girl's clothes. Remember when I asked you where Johnny was if Jenny was here. Do you know the answer to that question now?"

"I think so. He's here too," I said hesitatingly.

"Yes, Jenny, he's here too. You are not two different people who come and go by the way you are dressed. You are one whole person. It is very important for you to always remember that. Our names, our clothes and how we act are all clues we give to other people to help them recognize our gender, but they don't make us who we are."

Mrs. Johnson sat next to me and took my hands.

"Do you remember now what it was you said that I found troublesome?"

I thought about our conversation, but nothing came to mind.

"No, I'm really sorry," I apologized.

"That's okay, Jenny. I will tell you. What you said was that you were going to hate yourself when you had to go back to being Johnny. Do you see why that concerned me?"

"You mean about my not wanting to go back to being Johnny?"

"That's part of what you said, but think some more about how you said it, please."

I went over the words in my mind. Then it struck me.

"I said that I was going to hate being Johnny!"

Mrs. Johnson nodded.

"Yes. Now do you see?"

"I think so. It's because, if I hate being Johnny, I hate myself. Is that right?"

"Yes, Jenny. That's right. The worst thing a person can do is to hate himself. Or herself," she added. "You don't really hate yourself, do you?"

I shook my head.

"No, I like myself. I am very happy with who I am. I just wish everyone else felt the same way."

Mrs. Johnson squeezed my hands.

"Good. Now, one thing I like to do is have someone I've worked with tell me in their own words what we've accomplished. It gives me confidence that they really do understand. Would you try, please, Jenny?"

"Well," I hesitated, trying to say it just right, "even though I'm a girl, I don't have to not be a boy."

It took Mrs. Johnson a minute to sort out the sentence. Then she nodded her approval.

"Yes. A girl isn't any less of a girl because she does things boys do." She looked at me sympathetically. "Jenny, I do believe you will get your wish; but it's not magic. It doesn't happen overnight like in the storybooks. You have to be patient."

I laughed and Mrs. Johnson gave me a curious look.

"What's so funny?" she asked me.

"Well, when we were at my birthday party at the mall, they brought in a cake and I made a wish when I blew out the candles. I guess I can tell you, without spoiling it." I laughed again. "I made the opposite wish from Pinocchio. He wanted to be a real boy and I wanted the Blue Fairy to turn me into a real girl."

"Sorry, Jenny," Mrs. Johnson said with a grin, "the Blue Fairy doesn't deal with transgendered people, but I do know someone who could help your wish come true."

"Really, Mrs. Johnson, who?" I asked excitedly.

"Her name is Freda Goldfarb. She's a psychiatrist I met at a conference. She specializes in Gender Identity Disorder. That's a fancy medical term for people who are transgendered. You'd be surprised, Jenny. There are more people like you than you would think. I spoke with her and she would like to see you. I will call your mother and give her the information.

"Wow, Mrs. Johnson, thank you," I said.

I reached up and gave her a hug. She hugged me back. Boy's sure don't know what their missing by not being able to show their feelings, I confirmed to myself. After we finished our tender moment, Mrs. Johnson looked at her watch.

"Oh my, it's getting late and I wanted to get to the grocery store. Jenny, would you do me a big favor and keep an eye on the girls while I run out. I won't be gone more than an hour."

Mrs. Johnson's request took me by surprise.

"Are you sure, Mrs. Johnson? I don't know the first thing about being a babysitter."

"Just let your maternal instinct guide you," Mrs. Johnson said with a grin.

"What's that?" I asked her?

"Oh," she explained, "that's what helps mother animals to care for their young."

"Well," I kidded her back, "if you're right, it's going to be a while before I have one of those."

That pretty much cracked her up.

"Seriously, Jenny. Susie and Julie can take care of themselves, but children shouldn't be left alone in the house, in case there's an emergency. I'll pay you five dollars. That's the going rate for babysitters."

"What's your going rate for counseling?" I asked.

"Eighty-five dollars an hour, why?"

"Because I have to work off what I owe you. Besides, I'd love to spend some time with the girls. You do your shopping. We'll be fine until you get back," I assured her.

"Jenny, that's very sweet, but you don't owe me anything. I don't charge my friends for helping them."

"Neither do I," I replied.

"I better give you a quick tour before I go. Follow me."

I had only been in the hall and the living room. She showed me the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and some cabinets and told me to help myself to milk and cookies, if I got hungry. There was a family room off of the kitchen, with a TV. It had the same setup as the one at our house. Then we went upstairs to Julie's room. The door was open. It was done in pastel colors, with aqua carpet and white furniture. Along one wall was a low bookcase with dolls and games. Susie and Julie were in the middle of the room, doing something with string.

"Julie, Susie, I'm going to go shopping for a bit," Mrs. Johnson announced to the girls. "Jenny is going to stay with you. I won't be gone long."

She tuned and left. Susie immediately got up and came over to me. She took my hand and led me back to where she and Julie were playing.

"We're doing cat's cradle," Julie explained, "but were having trouble with this one. She pointed to a book on the floor next to her with a diagram. Can you help us?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I've never done this before, but let me take a look. Three heads are better than two.

The girls laughed.

I went over and sat down next to Julie, crossing my legs and adjusting my skirt. I picked up the book and compared what it showed to what Julie was holding.

"That looks right, so far. I think that Susie has to take these two strings here," I pointed to one upper and one lower, "and bring them over these two."

Susie reached in, put the strings on her fingers and held them while Julie withdrew her fingers, then she moved her hands apart to tighten them up.

"Neat. Thanks Jenny. Let's see, next I think we do the same thing again."

She reached in and moved the strings under and around. A few more exchanges and finished the design.

"There." Julie ended up with the string and showed it off to me. "Thanks so much, Jenny."

"No problem, Julie. You girls are really whizzes at this. Do you think you could teach me?"

"You don't know how to play cat's cradle, Jenny?" Julie asked skeptically.

"Nope," I said, shaking my head. "I only have a brother, so I didn't get to play girl's games."

I made a silly face at Susie and she broke into giggles. Julie turned to see what was so funny, then turned back to me and shrugged.

"It's really easy, Jenny. We can do the basic one first. Here."

Julie took the long loop of string they had been using and put it over my middle three fingers of each hand.

"Spread your fingers and then make an inside loop with these fingers," she instructed me.

It took a bit of practice, but after a while I could get thorough the first six stages. I was really pleased with my accomplishment and I was even happier with the chance to spend time with these two sweet girls. In fact, the time went by so quickly that we were still playing when I looked up and saw Mrs. Johnson standing in the doorway.

"I see you managed quite nicely, Jenny," she said approvingly.

"Actually, Mrs. Johnson, it was Julie and Susie who took care of me," I told her. "They taught me how to play cat's cradle. I probably had more fun then they did."

"Uh, Uh," Julie defended me. "Jenny helped us do a hard one. I like her Mommy, can she be my babysitter for real?"

"That's up to her, Julie. I like her too and next time I'm going out, I will see if she is available. Is that okay, Jenny?"

Mrs. Johnson looked at me and smiled.

"More than okay, Mrs. Johnson," I replied. "I'm always available when I'm not in school," which of course she knew was true and why.

Just then the telephone rang. Mrs. Johnson answered it.

"Hello. Oh, hi Carol. Yes, the girls are still here. I had to run out and Jenny babysat for a bit. No, not at all. In fact, Julie is quite taken with her. She wants her to be her babysitter from now on. Oh, before I forget, I need to give you some information. I don't have it here. I'll give you a call later. Uh, huh, right. Jenny and Susie should be leaving soon. Okay. Talk to you later. Bye."

"Jenny, I'm glad we had a chance to chat. Susie, I'll see you next week after school."

Mrs. Johnson walked us to the door. We left and Susie took my hand. I looked down and saw that she wasn't wearing her bracelet. We went back, rang the bell and got it. Then we headed home. Susie looked up at me and squeezed my hand, her way of saying thank you for watching out for her. I squeezed back to let her know that was what big sisters were for. When Susie and I got home, Mom was in the kitchen putting away groceries.

“Hi girls,” she greeted us. “I stopped at the market on the way home.” Putting down a box of cereal, she turned to us. “Beth is going to get a burger and see a movie with her friends. That sounds like fun. We’re all dressed up and we have a free night. Would you like to do that too? I think there’s a new Disney movie out.”

A Disney movie wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I knew Susie would like it and, besides, anything I could do to spend time as Jenny, especially going out as Jenny, was fine with me.

“Sounds great,” I answered.

“Yes, me too,” Susie quickly agreed.

“Good,” Mom told us. “Let me finish putting away the groceries and then I’ll check the paper for the time. We can stop to eat on the way.”

“C’mon, Jenny, let’s play for a bit,” Susie said.

“No, Sis, we need to help Mom, chores, first then play.”

Was that me, the boy who never did anything around the house, saying that? Wow. Jenny certainly was a good influence on me. No, that wasn’t it. Mrs. Johnson had said I wasn’t two different people and she was right. I couldn’t be an influence on myself. I must have known what I should do, but just ignored it. I was better able to be me as a girl. No, that wasn’t right either. I’m still the same me. I guess I just learned more about myself.

“Earth to Jenny,” Mom called. “I appreciate your offer to help, but if you want to get done, then you have to get started,” she chided me.

“Sorry, Mom. I was thinking about something. "Susie, if you put away the milk and stuff that needs to go in the refrigerator," I suggested, "I'll hand Mom the stuff to put in the cabinets. We should be done in no time. Okay?"

"Sure, Jenny," Susie agreed as she began to take things out of the grocery bags.

"Mrs. Johnson said you stayed with Susie and Julie while she went out," Mom said, taking a can of soup from me and placing it on the shelf. "How was it?"

"Fine. Susie and Julie are great kids." I turned to look at Susie and smiled. She smiled back at me. "I wish I had discovered how much fun it was to play with girls before," I said wistfully.

"Better late then never," Mom comforted me, putting down a box of raisins and holding out her arms.

We hugged gently for a few seconds.

"Okay," Susie interrupted. "I'm done. Can we play now?"

"Go ahead, Jenny. I can finish up," Mom said, "we have plenty of time."

Susie headed upstairs. I followed after her. We went into her room. There was a toy box next to her bed. She opened it and began taking out her Barbies. I thought back to how all this got started, me being a girl, because Susie didn't want to play Barbies with a boy. Mom was right. Better late than never. I tuned my attention to the game. Susie decided that Barbie and her best friend Stacy were going to go to a dance and needed to get dressed up. Except for one of Beth's dresses, everything I had worn up to now was casual, so picking out Barbie's formal wardrobe was educational, as well as fun. Susie decided on a silky red strapless gown with a long full skirt. I wondered if I would ever be able to wear something like that, without having anything on top to hold it up. Of course, Barbie needed fancy sparkly pantyhose and gold high heeled shoes to finish off the outfit. Susie fussed with the doll's hair, until she was satisfied with the look, then she handed her to me while she got Stacy dressed. Since Barbie was going to be the queen of the dance, Stacy couldn't look as good as her. Apparently, even little girls understood the importance of being better dressed than the competition. At least that wasn't something I would have to worry about, I thought to myself. Stacy ended up in a straight black knee length dress with a white band around the top and thin black straps. It was cut low in back. White pantyhose and black high heels completed her outfit. Susie had a good sense of fashion. I complimented her on how pretty Barbie and Stacy looked. She nodded her acceptance. Once everything was ready, Susie turned on the radio and Barbie and Stacy moved to the music. The fact that there weren't any boys attending the dance didn't make any difference. We continued to play until Mom called. I helped Susie put the Barbies away, then we checked ourselves in the mirror, made a few adjustments to our hair, I put on some lipstick and we headed downstairs.

Mom was waiting in the kitchen. We started out the door. She stopped.

"Jenny, where's you pocket book?"

I went back and picked it up from the kitchen table where I had put it down to help Mom with the groceries. We went out to the car and I opened the back door. Susie scooted in. I started to close the door.

"Sit with me, Jenny. Please," she asked.

"Go ahead," Mom told me, "I don't mind being the chauffeur."

I slid in next to Susie. By now I was very comfortable managing my skirt. We buckled up and Mom headed out of the driveway. It took about fifteen minutes to get to the restaurant. Mom parked the car and we went in. It was Saturday night, so it was crowded and we had to wait for a table. Mom looked at her watch. We sat on the bench in the waiting area. I crossed my legs, adjusted my skirt and put my pocket book in my lap with my hands on it. I glanced around. There were a number of other families waiting for tables. They were involved with their own conversations and nobody was paying any attention to me. After a while, Susie came over and wanted to sit in my lap. She was really too big for that, but how could I refuse, even if it would draw some attention to us. I looked at Mom. She smiled and nodded. I moved my pocket book and Susie slid on. I put my arms around her waist and she leaned back against me. I glanced around again. An older woman with gray hair sitting across from us smiled at the display of sisterly affection as my eyes caught hers. After a few more minutes, the hostess called our name. Susie hopped off and took my hand as we walked up to be seated.

The waitress handed Mom and me a menu. She gave Susie a placemat with a kid's menu on it. We came here a lot and Susie always got the junior burger basket. It came with fries and a soda. Mom ordered her favorite, a Cobb salad and iced tea. I couldn't decide. We had cake and ice cream sundaes earlier, so I wasn't too hungry. I asked the waitress if it would be okay if I ordered a kid's burger basket too.

"Sure sweetie," she said with a smile. "Us girls gotta watch our figures."

She laughed and headed off to another table.

Mom looked over at me and winked. I winked back. A few minutes later the waitress came back with our drinks, which we sipped while waiting for our meals. Fifteen minutes went by and Mom looked at her watch again. Five minutes later, the food arrived. By then, I had finished my soda and the waitress brought me a refill. We ate quickly, Mom paid and we headed out to the car. The theater was only five minutes away and we made it with about ten minutes to spare.

Mom bought the tickets while I waited with Susie in the lobby. She came back and we headed in. The movie had been out for a while, so it wasn't crowded. Mom found three seats and just as we were about to sit down, I turned to her.

"I have a problem," I whispered.

Mom looked at me.

"What's the matter, Honey?"

"I guess I shouldn't have had two glasses of soda. I have to go to the bathroom," I said with embarrassment.

"Oh," Mom said. "I should have thought of that. We all should have stopped in the ladies' room. There's still time."

I put my hand on Mom's arm.

"Are you sure it's okay for me to use the ladies room?"

"Well, you'd make quite a commotion in the men's room, I'm sure. I suppose I could get you a cup, like we do in the hospital," she said jokingly. "Seriously, I don't have a lot of experience with the men's roombut from what I know the ladies' room is different. It's much more social. We go together to fix our hair, freshen up our makeup and talk girl talk. If we do need to go to the bathroom, we have to get undressed and, well, sometimes we have to do, you know, other personal things, so we respect each other's privacy when we're using the toilets. Really, Jenny, you won't see anything embarrassing and nobody is going to embarrass you. Susie, Jenny and I are going to make a quick stop in the ladies' room. You come too."

Mom was in the end seat, so she got out and we followed her. We went out of the theater, down the corridor and past the familiar sign with a man to the one with a woman. Mom pushed the door open and we went in. She was right. There was nothing to be concerned about. A few women were standing in front of the mirrors above the sinks, combing and brushing their hair, putting on makeup and checking their appearance. There was a pleasant scent of perfume. Mom went over to the stalls and found an open one.

"Susie, you go first," she directed. "Jenny, you'll have to wait a minute, honey."

Susie went in and closed the door. A minute later the door on the stall next to hers opened and a teenage girl came out. I started to go in. Mom came over and whispered in my ear.

"Make sure you put the seat down when you're finished," she pretended to warn me.

I shook my head and gave her a silly look. She laughed.

I went in and closed the door. I had been sitting down to go since I started wearing girl's clothes, so I was used to pulling down my tights and panties and holding up my skirt. I peed and used some toilet paper to dry myself off, to keep my panties clean. When I came out, Susie was waiting. I guessed Mom had gone in after Susie.

"Let's wash up," I said to her, going over to the sink.

"I already did. Really, Jenny, I'm not a baby you know."

"I'm sorry Sis," I apologized. "I know. It's just that all this is new to me. Please be patient. Okay?"

"Okay," she agreed.

By the time I finished washing and drying my hands, Mom came out. She used the sink, checked herself out in the mirror, put on lipstick and headed out. We followed her back to the theater. Our seats were still empty and the previews had started. We sat down and waited for the show. Mom reached over and took my hand. I reached over and took Susie's hand. After a while, the main attraction started. To my surprise, it was really entertaining.

When the show was over, we went back to the car and drove home. It had been a long day and, with all of the excitement, Susie was beginning to get sleepy. When we got in the house, Mom took her up to get ready for bed. I went to my room to change into my nightgown. I slipped my fingers under the front of the headband and eased the wig off of my head. Holding the wig gently, I opened the box with the wig stand, placed the wig on it and put the cover back on. I used my brush and comb to fluff up my hair and style it as feminine as possible. When I was satisfied with the look, I stripped down to my panties and cammie, leaving the sweater and skirt on the bed to hang up in Beth's closet later. I picked up my tights and headed for the bathroom. Susie was just leaving. She smiled at me and I smiled back. I washed up first, brushed my teeth and then ran some warm water in the sink to rinse out the tights. When they were done, I hung them on the towel bar in the bathtub to dry.

Back in my room, I took out my nightgown. I held the smooth, silky fabric in my hand and started to slip it over my head. I decided to try an experiment. I put the nightgown on my bed and went over to my bureau. I opened the bottom drawer and took out a pair of my pajamas. They were dark blue cotton. The pants had an elastic waist with a fly and the pullover top had a v-neck and long sleeves. There was light blue piping around the neck opening and cuffs. I put them on. I didn't have a full length mirror in my room, so I stood on the bed to see myself on the small mirror over the bureau. I had to scrunch down to see the top half of me, which looked girlish with my hair and my cammie peeking out from the neck opening. When I stood up, it could be anybody in pants. I ran my hand over the material. Mrs. Johnson was right. What I wore didn't change how I felt about myself. I was a girl in boy's pajamas. I smiled at my face in the mirror and Jenny smiled back.

I picked up the skirt and sweater and headed for Beth's room. I thought that Susie would be asleep, but she sat up when I walked into the room."

"Jenny?" she asked.

I went over to her.

"Yes Susie, go to sleep."

She looked at my pajamas.

"Aren't you Johnny when you're dressed like a boy?"

"Not when I'm at home. I had a long talk with Julie's Mom while you two were playing and she helped me to understand that Jenny is who I am, no matter what I wear. I put on my boy's pajamas just to see if I felt different, but I don't. I'll always be Jenny. It's just that sometimes I have to pretend not to be. So, when I'm outside and dressed like a boy, I'm Johnny. Got it?"

"Uh, huh," Susie said sleepily. "Jenny inside, Johnny outside. Read me a story, please, Jenny."

"It's too late, Susie, but I'll stay here with you, until you fall asleep. Okay?"

"'Kay. Night Jenny."

It only took a few minutes before Susie was back in dreamland. I got up, went to the closet, hung up the skirt and sweater and left quietly. I saw that Mom's light was on. It was past ten o'clock and Beth's curfew was 11:00, so I guessed Mom was waiting up for her. I walked down the hall and I went in.

Mom was reading. She looked up from her book when I came in.

"Hi, Jenny." She gave me curious look. "Nice pajamas. I think Johnny has a pair just like them," she kidded me.

"He still does, Mom. Mrs. Johnson and I had a nice talk. Johnny and Jenny are the same person. It's not what I wear, it's how I feel about myself. I wanted to see if that was true, if I would still be a girl when I'm dressed like a boy."

"And are you?" Mom asked.

"Yes," I said with relief. "I don't feel any different about myself in boy's pajamas, although, to tell you the truth, I like my nightgown better."

"You know, Mrs. Johnson called right after the first time you told her about Jenny."

"No, Mom, she never mentioned it. What did she say?"

"She wanted to know how I felt about you being a girl."

"What did you tell her?"

"I told her that it was you decision, that you seemed to be dealing with it, that your sisters and I loved you and that we would support you, if that was what you wanted."

"Wow. What did Mrs. Johnson say?"

"She wondered if you were serious. She said that as the only boy in the family, it wouldn't surprise her if you felt left out and were just looking for attention. If that was the case, she believed that encouraging you could do much more harm than good."

"Oh. Is that what you think too, Mom?" I asked with concern.

To my relief, Mom shook her head.

"No, not now" she reassured me, "but I did when I first saw you in Beth's party dress. That was why I took you to the mall as Jenny, got your ears pierced and had your hair done. I thought that having you believe I was going to turn you into a girl would have the opposite effect. The holes in your ears would close up, if you didn't keep the studs in, and your haircut was just a trim, so you could go back to being a boy. To my surprise, you didn't change your mind. You were happier, better behaved and your willingness to be a boy part of the time, so that you could be a girl the rest of the time, convinced me that you were sincere. I told that to Mrs. Johnson."

"What did she say to that?"

"She was very sympathetic. She said that, as your mother, I was in a better position than she was to know what was best for you, but you had made a very difficult choice and would need counseling, if you wanted to go through with it. I asked her if she would help. She said that she wasn't comfortable working with you professionally, because this wasn't her area of practice and also her relationship with our family would make it difficult for her to be objective, but she would do what she could as a friend."

Mom got out of bed and walked over to her bureau.

"Come here, sweetie. I want to show you something."

I went over to her. She opened the top drawer. I could see that it had bras and panties, just like Beth's top drawer.

"I like being feminine. See here." She held up a lacey white bra. "And these." She put down the bra and picked up a pair of white nylon panties with matching lace. "I wear a plain white nurse's uniform when I work. So do all the other nurses. We look pretty much the same, but underneath we all, well, most of us, I suppose there must be a few who don't, wear pretty lingerie. What I'm trying to say, Jenny, is that dressing like a girl doesn’t make you one, but it makes you feel good about being one. I'm not a psychologist, but I do know you don't have to prove anything to yourself or anyone else about who you are. Now, go take those pajamas off and put on your nightgown, young lady. Scoot!"

Mom's encouragement was all I need. I scooted. Back in my room, I took off my pajamas, folded them and put them away, then slipped on my nightgown. It was much nicer being feminine.

I went back to Mom's room. She had turned on the television.

"Beth should be home soon. Do you want to watch TV with me?"

I nodded and climbed up on the bed. Mom moved over to make room for me. I wasn't really interested in the news program she was watching, but it was a nice mother-daughter moment to share. It was so comfortable that I must have dozed off, because all of a sudden I heard Beth's voice. I opened my eyes and she was standing in the doorway.

"Hi, Mom, hi, Jenny, did you have a nice night? What did you do?"

"The same as you," Mom told her. "We went out to a restaurant and saw a movie."

"Cool." Changing the subject, Beth asked Mom, "Are you ready for your big date?"

"Beth," Mom protested, "I am not going on a date. Kenneth is taking me shopping to buy some new clothes. He probably feels sorry for you girls to be seen in public with me."

"Well, let me see. I believe he said 'movie star,' 'swan' and something about a couple of people I didn't get, but it sounded romantic. You said something about making his heart smile." Beth raised her eyebrows. "Not that I'm an authority, but it sounds like a date to me."

Mom shook her head. "You've been reading too many teen magazines. Okay, so I flirted with him a little. He did something very nice for our family and I was being appreciative. What he said, that's just his way of talking. He doesn't mean anything by it. Besides," Mom said softly, "I doubt he's interested in women."

Beth shrugged.

"Maybe, but appearances can be deceiving."

She looked over to me. Mom followed her gaze and cracked up.

"Anyway," Beth continued, "it can't do any harm for you to look good when you go out with him. Have you thought about what you're going to wear?"

"No, not really," Mom replied. "I guess what I had on today, my black pants and a top, maybe a blouse, because he didn't like my sweater."

Beth rolled her eyes.

"Really, Mother, you can't wear the same outfit. Don't you have a cute skirt and a sexy top?"

"No and no. If I did, then I wouldn't need to go shopping in the first place. I'm sure Kenneth will get over his disappointment."

"Jenny, come with me," Beth directed. "We need to survey Mom's closet. Where's that stupid fairy godmother with the magic wand when you need her. I mean, Cinderella is going to the ball in her old clothes," Beth joked.

"How about if I scare up some mice? They did a good job of putting together a dress for Cinderella in the movie," I continued with the theme.

Not to be outdone, Beth went on, "Yes, my dear sister. Having once been a boy, you can be in charge of rodent collection."

Mom was laughing so hard she had tears in her eyes.

Beth opened Mom's closet and began to do an inventory. When she finished, she turned to Mom and asked if she had bought anything new in the last five years.

Mom gave Beth a stern look.

"I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm afraid that being a single mother and providing for my family has seriously interfered with my wardrobe."

Beth knew she had gone too far.

"I'm sorry, Mom," she quickly apologized. "I just wanted you to look nice. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

Mom smiled.

"I know you meant well, Honey. When I was your age, clothes were important to me too." She shrugged. "Unfortunately, when you get older, you realize that there are more important things in life than being fashionable." Mom's face brightened, "but perhaps Kenneth can fix that."

Beth's smile returned.

"If anybody can, he can," she said confidently. "You know, you're right about wearing the pants. They'll do fine. Do you have a neutral blouse, something a little dressy?"

Mom went through her closet and found an ivory colored silk blouse with a pointed collar and long sleeves.

"How about this?"

Beth and I both nodded our approval.

"Well, then it's settled. I assume you will trust me to pick out my own underwear," Mom kidded us. "I don't believe Kenneth will accompany me into the dressing room." She paused and stared at Beth. "At least not on our first date."

It was Beth's turn to crack up.

When she finally got control of herself, we each gave Mom a hug and said goodnight. Beth went back to her room to get ready for bed. I did my nightly routine, well, most of it, because it was late. I got into my bed and snuggled down, feeling the smooth nylon nightgown slid against the sheets. It was good to be me.

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 8

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 8
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

I woke up to Mom's voice.

"Beth, Susie, Jenny, girls, wake up sleepy heads. It's nine o'clock."

I sat up, pulled back the covers, swung my legs around and stood up. It was warm enough that I didn't need to put on the matching robe to my nightgown. I headed to the bathroom and ran into Beth and Susie with the same idea.

"Morning," I said sleepily.

"Hi, Sis," Beth replied with a yawn.

"Hi, Jenny," Susie said rubbing her eyes.

"Listen, you two can share the bathroom. I'll go downstairs. It's nothing urgent."

"Thanks," Sis," Beth said appreciatively.

I headed back down the hall, down the stairs and into the bathroom at the end of the hallway. I reached under my nightgown and pulled down my panties, then lifted up the hem of the nightgown to my waist and sat down. When I finished, I washed up and headed for the kitchen. Mom was putting out bowls of cereal.

"Good morning, Mom," I greeted her.

"Good morning, Jenny," she replied.

I noticed that she was still in her nightgown.

"How come you're not dressed?" I asked her. "Won't Mr. Kenneth be here at ten?"

"Yes, but I wanted to make sure you girls have a good breakfast. Besides," Mom said, lowering her voice and turning to watch for Beth coming downstairs, "Kenneth is so much better at doing hair and makeup. I doubt he would be impressed, no matter how long I spent on it. Just like you told me last night about your talk with Clair Johnson, he'll have to accept me for who I am, not what I look like."

She shrugged.

"In that case," I said sincerely, "he is getting the best there is."

"Jenny, that is such a sweet thing to say. Thank you, dear."

Mom held out her arms and I moved in for a hug.

"Well, is this a private snuggle or can anyone get in on it?" Beth interrupted playfully.

"You're in luck. We just have room for two more," Mom told her, holding out an arm.

Beth and Susie moved in and we had a group hug.

Once we released, Beth looked at Mom. After the reprimand she got last night when she criticized Mom's clothes, she was very cautious about what she said.

"Umm, Mom," Beth asked half seriously, "don't you think being in your nightgown might give Mr. Kenneth the wrong impression when he comes to pick you up?"

"No, quite the opposite," Mom teased her. "I do believe nightgowns are all the rage for entertaining."

She twirled around, dancing with an imaginary partner.

Mom was usually serious, so it was nice to see her being silly for a change. Beth laughed and threw up her hands in pretend exasperation. Mom finished putting out the rest of our breakfast and we sat down to eat.

"Don't worry," Mom reassured Beth, "I'm going up to get dressed."

She headed towards the stairs, stopped and turned around.

"I almost forgot. I spoke to Mrs. Johnson this morning. She is going to take Julie to the park and you girls are invited to go with them. She will pick you up at eleven o'clock. She said she would bring lunch for everyone." Mom looked towards me. "And, Jenny, she gave me the information. I'll call tomorrow from work."

After Mom had left, Beth asked me what Mom meant. We had no secrets. I explained about Mrs. Johnson recommending that I see a doctor who specialized in girls like me.

"You mean a real doctor? Like there's something wrong with you?" Beth asked with concern.

"Mrs. Johnson said that Dr. Goldfarb is a psychiatrist. I guess that's a real doctor, but it's not because there's anything wrong with me. I'm hoping that she can help me go to school as Jenny. Mrs. Johnson says I need to work with her before that can happen, so the sooner I get started the sooner I can stop going to school as a boy."

"Wow, that would be great," Beth agreed. "I sure hope she can help you." She paused. "Then again, if you start going to school as Jenny, I'm going to run out of clothes. We will have to do some serious shopping!" Beth exclaimed. Her face lit up. "Maybe we can get Mr. Kenneth to take us."

I shook my head.

"C'mon Beth, Mom deserves to have him to herself."

Beth nodded.

"You're right Sis, I got carried away."

Beth looked at me and shook her head.

"What?"

"I always hate it when you're better at being a girl then me."

"Shouldn't we be getting ready?" Susie asked innocently.

"Oh, my God!" Beth exclaimed. "I made fun of Mom for being in her nightgown and here we're not dressed. Hurry, we can't greet Mr. Kenneth like this. Oh, my God! We don't have much time. Let's get going."

Beth jumped up from the table and rushed upstairs with Susie and me close behind her. We all went into her bedroom.

"We're going to the park and it's a nice day. I'll wear my jeans and a cute top. Susie, you're wearing jeans too, aren't you, and Jenny, how about my denim wrap skirt?"

"Yes, I want to wear jeans," Susie agreed.

"I want to wear jeans too," I told Beth.

"Really, Jenny, I thought you only wanted to wear skirts and dresses?"

"I did, but that was because you told me I needed to wear them to be a girl. Well, it turns out you were wrong. I can wear whatever I want."

Beth thought for a minute.

"I wasn't wrong," she claimed.

"Were too," I argued.

"Was, not," she insisted. "Remember, you complained that Susie and I weren't dressed up and I told you that we didn't have to, since we were girls?"

"Yes, I remember."

"Well, that's the point. For a boy to be a girl, he has to dress like one, but, you're a girl, so you can wear whatever you want."

"I should know better than to argue with you, Beth. You're right, as usual," I conceded.

"Well, whatever you decided, you better do it quickly. We don't have much time to get ready."

Beth opened her closet and began to look through her wardrobe.

"How about these?" she asked, handing me a pair of pink pants. The material was soft and stretchy. "They're not jeans exactly, but they're pretty. I let Mom talk me into them. They're a little too girly for me, but they'd look cute on you with a white top."

I held them up to my waist and looked in the mirror. They were low cut and had a narrow leg. I noticed that they also zipped in back, so they were different than boy's pants.

"Yes, I like them," I told Beth.

"I thought you would. Now we need a top. We have a few choices here. We can go with a white blouse. This one would work."

Beth held up a white cotton sleeveless blouse with a round collar.

"Then again, you could wear a pullover top. Wait a sec."

She went into the closet and came back with a white polyester pullover jersey. It had a round scooped neck and short sleeves. Finally, she went to her dresser.

"Last choice, a layered look."

She took out a white cotton tee shirt and then a cropped cotton eyelet top with wide straps and lace trim.

"Jenny, please decide quick. I need to get myself dressed too."

Beth pointed to the clock on her nightstand. I looked over. It was 9:38.

"Umm, umm, I like the layered look. Okay?"

"Yes, Sis, good choice," Beth agreed. "That's what I would have picked. Grab them and go get dressed. Then come back and I'll help you with your hair and makeup. Hurry."

Beth turned and began to strip, crossing her arms and lifting up the bottom of the long t-shirt she wore as a nightgown, exposing her panties.

"Eeek," I squealed in pretend shock.

As I hurried out of the room, I heard Beth and Susie giggling at my reaction. I headed down the hall and into my room. I quickly slipped out of my nightgown and took off my panties and cammie. I picked out a pair of pink cotton panties from my bureau and started to put them on. Then I remembered what Beth had said about a VPL, showing a panty line under tight fitting clothes. I stepped out of the panties and exchanged them for the stretchy lace ones that Mom bought the first day she took me to the mall as Jenny. They fit smoothly, once I tucked my wiener under. It wasn't the most comfortable arrangement, but by now I was used to it. Then I squirmed into the pants, pulling them up to my hips and then reaching around to zip them up. Next was the t-shirt, which I slipped over my head and the tank top finished off the outfit. Looking down, I wished that I had a figure to fill out the top and make me look more feminine. I remembered the teen bra with the padded cups that the salesgirl showed me yesterday and made a mental note to ask Mom if I could get one, the next time we went to the mall. As I started back to Beth and Susie's room, I realized I didn't have anything on my feet.

Beth saw me coming in and gave me a nod of approval. I shook my head and pointed down. She followed my finger and headed for her closet. She rummaged around and came out with a pair of white sneakers.

"Here, Sis, these should work. Get a pair of the low socks out of my second drawer. Then start on your hair and makeup. We only have about five more minutes before we need to go downstairs to answer the door."

I followed Beth's orders. I had gotten pretty good at doing my hair and the little makeup I used, so I finished quickly. Beth rushed over and started on her own appearance. She glanced at the clock.

"Two minutes. I won't make it. Jenny and Susie, you go ahead. Look out the window and call up when Mr. Kenneth gets here. But don't let him see you looking. We don't want him to think we're too anxious or anything. Okay? I'll come down as soon as you call. Don't open the door until I get there."

"Okay, General Beth," I kidded her, using my boy's experience of playing soldier, "the troops are headed for the front. We will hold our position until the reinforcements arrive."

Susie had no clue what I was talking about and gave me a strange look.

"Never mind," Sis, I was just being silly. "Let's go."

Then it struck me that Mom should be the one who opens the door when Mr. Kenneth gets here. I stopped and turned around.

"Beth, what about Mom? Mr. Kenneth is coming to see her, so shouldn't she answer the door?"

"Jenny," Beth said looking at me in the mirror while putting her hair in a pony tail and sliding a black scrunchy over it, "a girl always makes her date wait for her, then she slowly comes downstairs to show herself off. Don't you know anything?" she said with a laugh.

"Actually, I'm kind of new at this, if you hadn't noticed," I kidded her back.

She chuckled.

"Okay, point made," she acknowledged with a grin, "now get going. Please!"

I hurried downstairs. Susie was waiting near the door, peeking through the curtains. I joined her. After a couple of minutes I saw a silver Mercedes pull up. I looked at the clock. It was 9:58. Leave it to Mr. Kenneth to be precisely on time.

"Beth, Mom," I called upstairs, "Mr. Kenneth is here. He's just getting out of his car."

"Wait for him to ring the bell, then count to ten, Jenny," Beth directed me. "You don't want him to think we're too anxious."

I shrugged to myself. It was going to take a while for me to get the hang of the games girls played with their dates, not that I expected to try it anytime soon. I waited. The door bell rang. I looked at Susie and held up one finger, then two, counting to ten. At nine, Beth came rushing down the stairs and skidded to stop, making a final primp.

"Ten," I announced, opening the door.

"Hi, Mr. Kenneth," I greeted him warmly. "It's very nice to see you again. Please come in."

"It is nice to see you too, Jenny," he returned my greeting, then politely turned to address Beth and Susie. "Hello Beth. Hello Susie. It is quite nice to see you also."

"Hello, Mr. Kenneth, welcome to our home," Beth replied.

Susie was shy and stood behind me.

"Mom, will be right down," I assured him.

"Ah, yes. Well, good things are worth waiting for," he said diplomatically.

I noticed that Mr. Kenneth was not wearing his black outfit. Instead, he had on tan pants with a pleated front, dark green shoes that looked like alligator, a matching belt and a dark green shirt, probably silk, pen at the neck to show a gold chain. Mr. Kenneth caught me looking him over and smiled. I quickly looked away, embarrassed at being caught, although I'm sure he really didn't mind. If there was on thing Mr. Kenneth was not, it was modest.

It was awkward just standing there and Beth, who usually you couldn't shut up, was not helping any. Mr. Kenneth broke the silence.

"Mr. Kenneth has brought something for you."

He was holding a small bag, which I hadn't noticed. Reaching in, he took out a little gold box tied with gold string. He handed it to Susie. I saw the excitement in her face as she took it, probably thinking that she was getting more jewelry, although I doubted Mr. Kenneth would be that generous for a house present.

"A little sweet for you."

I recognized the box as one from the expensive handmade candy store at the mall. Mr. Kenneth reached into the bag and took out another small box and handed it to me, then did the same for Beth.

"Thank you, Mr. Kenneth," I said.

"Thank you, Mr. Kenneth," Beth repeated.

"Thanks, Mr. Kenneth," Susie joined in.

Before Mr. Kenneth could respond, we heard Mom coming down stairs and turned to her. She was wearing the black pants and ivory silk blouse we had decided on last night. Black sandals with a low heel completed her outfit. Her hair was loose and she had put on lipstick and done her eyes. Maybe not up to Mr. Kenneth's standards, but she looked really pretty to me.

"Ahh, Carol, you look charming," Mr. Kenneth complimented her.

Mr. Kenneth was a master at saying the right thing. If had called her beautiful or gorgeous, Mom would have known he didn't mean it. Instead, she beamed.

"Really, Kenneth," she said flirtatiously" you do go on so. I'm afraid you'll have to make do with the duckling."

Mr. Kenneth frowned.

"Carol is quite wrong. Fine feathers do not necessarily make fine birds. It is not the outer beauty that is important, it is the inner character that shines through."

He turned to us.

"I create beautiful women, because that is what they want and pay for, but beauty for beauty's sake is boring. You need only read the magazines to see how men and women tire of their glamorous partners. You mother has a wonderful quality, she cares about others, as a nurse and as a parent, and I can see that it has been passed on to you by the love and support you give to Jenny. Mr. Kenneth knows true beauty when he sees it."

If it had been just flattery, Mom would have dismissed it with some clever remark, but his sincerity had her at a loss for words. She just stood there for a moment, her face flushed. Then she regained her composure and quickly redirected the conversation.

Noticing the little gold boxes, she remarked, "Why Kenneth, more gifts for the girls? Really, you'll spoil them."

Mr. Kenneth rose to the challenge.

"Of course the girls will be spoiled. Lovely young ladies must be spoiled. Otherwise, when their many admires shower them with gifts they will not be properly unimpressed with material things."

Mom knew better than to verbally duel with Mr. Kenneth.

"Kenneth, you are terrible," she said in jest.

Again, rising to the challenge, Mr. Kenneth answered with his usual lack of modesty.

"No, quite the contrary, I am exceptional."

That brought a unanimous nod from his three biggest fans.

Mom realized it was time to quit and said so.

"I give up. Thank you for your generosity and kindness to me and my daughters. You are indeed an exceptional man."

That brought another unanimous nod from the three sisters.

Mr. Kenneth took the compliment in stride.

"If you are ready, Carol, then I am at your disposal."

"Just let me get my pocketbook, it's in the kitchen. It will only take a moment."

Mom turned and left.

While we were waiting for her to return, I asked Mr. Kenneth about my wig.

"Excuse me, Mr. Kenneth, I was wondering. Is there a way to make my wig more casual? I'd love to be able to wear it today. I'd feel much better about not being recognized when I go out. I mean, I know I look like a girl, but I still look like a boy too, if that makes any sense.

"It makes perfect sense, Jenny," Mr. Kenneth agreed. "Unfortunately, a wig has a mind of its own. It must be disciplined by washing and setting in order to make it obedient. However, if it is a different look you want, then that magic Mr. Kenneth can perform."

Mom came back with her pocketbook before I could finish the conversation.

"Carol, with your permission, Jenny would like me to help her with her hair. It should not take long."

"Of course, Kenneth, Jenny comes first," Mom said supportively. "Whatever shopping we can get in will be fine."

"Ah, but no, Carol. This is your day. There is no compromise. No, no, I will not allow it," he insisted gallantly, "only a small delay. We shall do it all!" He turned and opened the door. "I will retrieve my bag of tricks. In the meantime, Miss Beth, would you be kind enough to bring a straight chair and Miss Susie, please find a large towel, so I can get started as soon as I return."

I watched as Mr. Kenneth went out to his car and opened the trunk. His 'bag of tricks' turned out to be a silver metal suitcase large enough for our entire family to pack for a week vacation. By the time he returned, Beth and Susie had completed their tasks.

Mr. Kenneth walked into the living room, which was directly off of the hall, and surveyed it.

"This will do. May I?" he asked Mom politely.

"Please, Kenneth," Mom replied, "you are welcome to our home and to use whatever we have. There is no need to ask."

"Carol is most kind," Mr. Kenneth said appreciatively.

He immediately got down to business.

"Miss Beth, if you would place the chair over there," he directed, pointing towards the window. Now, turn it slightly so the light will come over Jenny's shoulder. A little more to the left, perfect."

Mr. Kenneth looked over to me and pointed to the chair.

I walked over and sat down.

"Miss Susie, the towel please."

Susie handed him a large bath towel, which he draped over my chest and shoulders. He went to his bag and undid the clasps. Instead of opening like a regular suitcase, only the top half separated and three trays on each side popped up. He took out a large binder clip and used it to hold the towel together. He then took out a comb with a long, thin pointed handle and a mirror, which he handed to me.

"Miss Beth and Miss Susie, please assist me."

Both girls came over. He took some hair clips out of the case and gave them to Beth to hold. Susie got a handful of hair elastics. Mr. Kenneth stood behind me. I watched in the mirror as he used the handle of the comb to separate my hair into three sections, one high on the back of my head and two lower on each side, taking clips from Beth to hold them in place. Once they were done, he used the hair elastics Susie handed him to turn each into a small ponytail. Going back to his case, he produced a long spool with various colors of ribbon wound on it. At this point, I wouldn't have been surprised if he had a rabbit in there too. He handed the spool to Beth. In the mirror, I could see Susie pouting, because she had nothing to do. He took out a pair of scissors, measured off about a foot of pink and white ribbons and cut them. He handed Susie the scissors to hold, which made her happy, both because she was included and because he trusted her with the dangerous instrument. Mr. Kenneth deftly tied the ribbon around the center ponytail and then fashioned a bow. He took the scissors back from Susie, cut more ribbon and did the same for each of the other ponytails. Returning the ribbon and scissors to his case, he took each of the ends of the ribbon from the bows and made them into curly cues between the tail of the comb and his thumb, just the way I had seen Mom do with the ribbon on fancy gift wrapping. Finally, he found two clips, pink of course - I was sure I could see a rabbit moving around in the bottom of the case and that he would pull it out as the finale to his magic show - and used them to pull back the hair on each side of my face. He took out another mirror and held it behind me, so I could see what he had done in my mirror.

"Jenny is satisfied with Mr. Kenneth's impromptu hairstyling?" he asked, knowing full well that he had worked a miracle on short notice.

I stared at myself in my mirror, moving it from side to side. Mr. Kenneth had changed the look to be completely feminine.

"It's incredible, Mr. Kenneth," I said excitedly. I cannot thank you enough."

I handed him the mirror and started to get up.

"And where is Jenny going? Mr. Kenneth is not done. Sit."

I gave him a puzzled look and sat back down.

"Jenny must learn that she does not leave the stylist's chair until the cape is removed," he said with a smile.

I looked over to Beth. She shrugged, not having any more experience with being in a real hair salon then I did. Mr. Kenneth returned to his case and took out a box. He opened it and emptied out a bunch of pencils.

"Beth, Susie, please come over here," Mr. Kenneth requested, motioning for them to stand next to him. "Carol, please, you too. Now then, I am going to give to you Mr. Kenneth's beauty secrets. Listen well, there will be a test later," he teased.

Then again, I had never known Mr. Kenneth to have a sense of humor.

"When one does makeup professionally, he is a 'makeup artist,' no?"

We all said 'yes'.

"No," he disagreed, shaking his head for emphasis. "Art is for museums and hanging on the wall. Applying makeup is a science. Too little, too much or the wrong kind is worse than none at all. For the day, it should not look as though you are wearing makeup. Only for the most formal occasions should you create a dramatic effect with bold colors and glitter. Most important, young women," he looked from Beth, to Susie to me, "have natural beauty. They should not hide it under a coat of paint. I know that it is exciting to experiment and that the magazines encourage it, but they sell cosmetics, not beauty. Now, watch closely, please."

He took out about six of the pencils and studied my face, finally picking out a medium brown one.

"Jenny's eyebrows are uneven. For a boy, that is natural. For a girl, that is unattractive. For now, she has no choice, so we will fool nature."

I could feel the pencil moving in an arc as Mr. Kenneth lightly drew from the inside to the outside of my eyebrows. He went over each eyebrow three times. I could see Beth, Susie and Mom smiling, but, without the mirror, I had no idea what he had done. He put the pencil down, went back into the case and took out a small box. When he opened the lid, I could see some makeup and a tiny brush with the bristles on one side. I hope he didn't disturb the rabbit, I kidded myself.

"A woman's eyes are her most expressive feature and draw the most attention," he told his three fascinated listeners, "but Jenny wants to look more feminine without drawing attention. The way to do that is to use a natural shade of mascara and apply it lightly. This is sable, a dark brown."

He went over the surface of the makeup with the little brush and applied it to my eyelashes.

"The cosmetic companies want to sell you liquid mascara with a built in applicator. They want you to think it is better, but it is only more convenient and making it easy to use means they can sell more. The old fashioned brush and caked tint are much better for even color and separation."

Mr. Kenneth put the brush back in the box, closed the lid and put it down next to the pencil he had used on my eyebrows. Going back to his case, he took out a large bushy brush and round box.

"You see," Mr. Kenneth lectured his audience, using the tip of the handle as a pointer, "Jenny's cheekbones are low. A very small amount of blush applied to them and brought back towards her eyes will give them more prominence." He looked over to Susie and Beth. "You have you mother's high cheekbones," he complimented them. Continuing with his instruction, he told us, "I like the loose blush better. It is easier to control and apply."

He took the lid off the box, dipped the tip of the brush in the powder, held the brush up and gently blew on it, until he was satisfied with how much was on it. I felt the brush gently going over my face.

"Now then," he announced, "the final touch, Jenny's lips."

He put the brush and the blush with the other makeup he had used and took out another pencil. This one was a dark pinkish-red. I had never seen anyone use a pencil to put on lipstick before, but I was sure Mr. Kenneth knew what he was going. Hopefully, the rabbit knew what Mr. Kenneth was doing too and would be a good sport. It was a silly thought, but I just couldn't get the idea of Mr. Kenneth the magician with his pet rabbit out of my head. I regained my concentration to hear Mr. Kenneth explaining what the pencil was for.

"There is no such thing as a perfect mouth," he explained. "The proper shape depends on your face. Jenny's lips are too thin and so we draw them fuller and rounder and fill it in with color."

I could feel Mr. Kenneth lightly tracing around my lips with the pencil.

"This is most important," he emphasized. "Lipstick is a stick which smears color over your lips. It is impossible to control and there is no way to apply it evenly. What you buy in the drugstore or even in the department store is no bargain. It goes on too thick and it comes off too quickly."

He held up a little black pot.

"This is professional lip color. It goes on with a brush. It is much more expensive, but you use much less, it lasts much longer and it makes you look much better. Again, the color is a natural shade, to highlight without being obvious. Reds and exotic colors are for movie stars and circus clowns," he warned us.

Mr. Kenneth removed the cover from the pot, took a small flat brush out of a clear plastic sleeve and began to paint my lips. When he finished, he held my chin with his left hand and turned it for Beth and Susie to see. He replaced the cover, put the brush back in the sleeve, picked up the other makeup he had put aside picked it up.

"This is for you and your sisters to practice with."

I could see Mom frowning out of the corner of my eye.

"Kenneth, please, no," Mom insisted. "You cannot give the girls expensive makeup. I'm sorry, but I am putting my foot down."

"Ah, but, Carol," he said patiently, "before one puts one's foot down, one should know what one is putting one's foot down on."

From the puzzled look on Mom's face, she had no idea what he was talking about.

"I send all of my clients to Charles for their makeup and brushes. He has the best quality and fair prices. I receive nothing in return. It would not be honest. Instead, Charles provides me with complimentary products. They are a small part of what the sales representatives give him to promote their company's cosmetics and accessories. What I have given the girls are samples and cannot be sold."

Mom shook her head and smiled in quiet acceptance. To the delight of all three sisters, Mr. Kenneth handed me the assortment of makeup and brushes. He then took the mirror and held it up for me to see his magic. I couldn't believe me eyes. It was a girl's face. No one could mistake me for a boy! I looked over to Beth and then to Mom. They were smiling at the amazing transformation.

"I am sorry that I cannot do the rest of the family," Mr. Kenneth said apologetically, looking at his watch, "but your mother and I must leave now, if we are to get everything done. The next time you come to my salon, I will do your makeup," he told Beth and Susie.

Beth told Mr. Kenneth that she understood. Susie knew she couldn't' really wear makeup anyway, so she was quite happy knowing that she would get a chance to put it on when we went for our next appointment. Mr. Kenneth closed up his case. I was sure the rabbit was relieved.

"Miss Beth, if you would be kind enough to return the chair to its proper place and Miss Susie, if you would please put the towel in the laundry," Mr. Kenneth directed, "then your mother and I shall be off."

By the time Beth and Susie returned, Mr. Kenneth was standing at the door.

"Goodbye, girls," Mom said happily, taking Mr. Kenneth's offered arm. "Have fun. I'll see you later."

Mr. Kenneth opened the door and they walked to the car. He put down his case and opened the door for Mom. He was a real gentleman. Then he returned the case to the trunk, got behind the wheel and drove off. Mom waved to us from the window and the three of us waved back. Beth looked at her watch.

"We have fifteen minutes before Mrs. Johnson comes to pick us up. How about if we walk over and save her the trip?"

Susie and I both said yes.

"Jenny, do you want a pocketbook?" Beth asked me. "I've got this collapsible brush that fits in my pocket," she took it out and showed me how the handle folded up and the bristles popped out when you pushed in the back, "and just my lipstick."

"Well, my hairs done up with ribbons, Mr. Kenneth said this lipstick is supposed to last and I couldn't paint it on without some practice anyway, so I guess I don't need a pocketbook either."

"Okay, then ladies, lets get going."

Beth offered me her arm, just the way Mr. Kenneth had done with Mom. I put my arm through and Susie took my other hand. We headed down the street.

"At least one of us is a gentleman," Beth kidded me.

It didn't take long for us to get to Mrs. Johnson's house. When we arrived, we saw that she had the trunk of her car open and she was putting in the food. Julie was helping her.

"Hello, Mrs. Johnson," Beth greeted her.

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson," I echoed.

Susie hurried over to Kelley and whispered in her ear. Then they both looked at me and giggled. Mrs. Johnson had her back to us and turned around to see what the girls found so amusing. She caught on immediately.

"My goodness, Jenny, aren't we glamorous today," she complimented me. "I love the way you did your hair and your makeup is lovely, dear."

"Thank you, Mrs. Johnson," I replied politely. "I wish I could take credit for it, but it's all Mr. Kenneth's work. Actually," I explained, "I only asked him if he could do something with my wig, so I could wear it today. This is the result."

I put my hand on my hip and slowly turned around, then struck a pose with my other hand behind my head, the way I had seen models do on TV. Mrs. Johnson joined the girls in their amusement.

"My sister, the fashion model," Beth chimed in.

Mrs. Johnson turned to her.

"You look very nice too, Beth, and you too Susie," she said diplomatically. "Obviously, glamour runs in your family."

"Momny," Julie complained, "Jenny's wearing makeup and Susie says that she's going to get to wear makeup too. I want to wear makeup, Mommy. Please," she pleaded.

Mrs. Johnson turned to Beth and me and gave us a questioning look.

"Oh," Beth explained, "Mr. Kenneth only had time to do Jenny before he had to leave with Mom, so he told us that the next time we came to his salon, he would do us. He left us some samples to try. Just for fun," she emphasized. Beth turned to Julie. "Susie's not going to wear makeup for real. Not 'till she's older."

Beth looked at Susie and raised an eyebrow. Susie got the message.

"No, not for real," Susie agreed.

Julie wasn't convinced or at least she wasn't going to give up the opportunity to wear makeup so easily.

"Please, Mommy, Jenny's wearing lipstick and eye stuff," she argued.

I looked at Mrs. Johnson and shrugged. I'm sure she understood the reason why I had on makeup, but, as far as Julie knew, I was a girl and Mrs. Johnson wouldn't betray my trust. She shrugged back.

"Julie, Mr. Kenneth explained to us that at our age girls don't need makeup to look pretty. In fact, he was trying to show my sisters and me how to look natural. Beth and I don't usually wear makeup, except maybe lipstick," I assured her.

Beth nodded her agreement.

"Okay, no makeup," Julie conceded, "but I can wear lipstick."

She was definitely going to be a lawyer when she grew up. Mrs. Johnson sighed and made a motherly compromise.

"I'll tell you what Julie, when we come back from the park, we can go to the drugstore and get you some lip balm. It will make you lips look moist and shiny, okay?"

Realizing that a small victory was better than no victory, Julie gave in.

Mrs. Johnson returned to packing the car and then directed us to get in. Beth got in front and Susie, Julie and I got in back. Mrs. Johnson backed out of the driveway and headed for the park, which was only a short ride. When we arrived, we helped her carry the lunch over to the picnic tables. Once everything was set up, Julie and Susie headed for the playground. Mrs. Johnson took out a book and found a comfortable place to sit. There really wasn't much for Beth and me to do, other than to enjoy the beautiful day and keep an eye on the girls. As we walked towards where they were playing, Beth wondered what Mom and Mr. Kenneth were doing right now.

"You're the one who went through Mom's closet the other day to find something for her to wear on her date," we looked at each other and giggled, because Mom had insisted it wasn't a date, "and you're the shopper in the family, so your guess is better than mine."

"Well," she thought out loud, "if it was me, I would go to a fancy boutique and buy some really stylish outfits. Then to a designer shoe store and get some heels to go with them. I think it's too early for Mom to be taking Mr. Kenneth to buy jewelry," she laughed.

"Beth, you're terrible. You know that's not the way it is with them. Mr. Kenneth is just a nice guy. I don't think it is a date."

"Maybe, Jenny, but you have a lot to learn about men."

She paused when she realized who she was talking too. Then we both started laughing.

"I have a lot to learn about women too," I half joked. "For one thing, I don't understand the games you play. I mean, not like Barbies, but how you act. A boy would just say whatever is on his mind. Like, when you got me mad, I would just yell back at you. Whenever I made you mad, sorry about that Sis, you would pout and I had to figure it out for myself. Why is that?"

Beth stopped and turned to me.

"Jenny, I'm no expert. Mrs. Johnson probably is the one to ask about how girls think, but, as a girl, I know that I am very sensitive about my feelings. If someone does something to make me mad, I want them to realize what they did and to apologize. As far as I can see, boys are always getting themselves into trouble and saying, 'I'm sorry,' to get out of it, but they don't really mean it. This would probably seem very silly to a boy, but when one of my girlfriends and I have a fight, we hug each other and even cry when we make up. That's how girls are."

I reached out and gave Beth a hug.

"That's how I am too," I said with a pretend sniffle.

Beth pulled back and gave me a playful swat on the behind.

"We're not all sugar and spice, you know," she laughed.

Then she ran off towards the playground with me chasing after her. When we got there, Susie and Kellie were fooling around on the climbing structure. Beth and I sat on a bench. After a couple of minutes of silence, she turned to me.

"Jenny," she asked in a serious voice, "are you really sure about being a girl? I mean, I love having you as my sister and all, but you're going to see that doctor and at some point you want to be Jenny full time. That's a big decision. I was born a girl and I'm happy I am one, but boys have it a lot easier."

"Maybe they do, Beth, but, well, I don't know. It's hard to explain. It's not that I don't want to be a boy. I'm not a boy. I mean remember that movie we saw about the sisters who found a magic coin and they swapped places? The older feminine sister became the younger tomboy and the younger sister had to start being all girly girl."

Beth laughed.

"Yeah. The younger sister in the older sister's body had to drive them to school and then she started flirting with guys. She even kissed her sister's boyfriend. It was really funny." She paused and gave me a puzzled look. "I don't get it, what does that movie have to do with you?"

"Not me, you. In the movie, the sisters swapped places girl to girl, but what if you found the coin and ended up in my body. You said that boys have it a lot easier than girls. Would you want stay a boy?"

Beth didn't hesitate.

"Of course not. I'm not a boy. I'm a girl. Why would I want to be something I'm not?"

Her face dropped when she realized what she said.

"Oh, Jenny, I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

"That's okay, Beth, really. You made my point."

"Huh?" was all she could manage.

"I don't want to be something I'm not either. I'm a girl in a boy's body, just they way you would be if you used the magic coin. Except that there's no way for me to swap back to my girl's body. I just have to do the best I can with what I've got. So, you see, there's no choice for me to make. I'm afraid you're stuck with a sister."

Beth started laughing.

"Beth, I'm serious."

"Oh no," she managed to get out. "It's not that. Remember about the little sister in the big sister's body trying to drive a car and swerving all over the road? Well, I had this thought of me in a boy's body." She lost control and couldn't stop laughing. After a while she calmed down. "I, well, I pictured myself," she blushed, "trying to use, you know, boy's equipment to pee for the first time and, like," she broke into laughter again, "getting it all over the place."

I rolled my eyes.

"Only you could think of something like that."

By the time Beth got herself together, the girls had moved over to the swings. As we followed them, I remembered the last time we were at the park and ran into some of Beth's friends. Beth wanted to go with them and, as part of Mom's attempt at embarrassing me out of being a girl, she sent me along. Actually, it worked out okay, but trying to fit in with real girls wasn't something with which I was comfortable, even after Mr. Kenneth's makeover. I looked and luckily there was nobody around.

After a while, the girls had enough. It was about lunchtime anyway, so we headed back. Mrs. Johnson must have seen us coming, because she had everything laid out. There were half a dozen tuna sandwiches with the crusts cut off, pink lemonade and home baked chocolate chip cookies for desert, soft and chewy, my favorite. I was hungry and thought about Beth's observation, that boys had it easier. At least when it came to eating, that was true. A boy could stuff a sandwich in his mouth and gulp down a drink, but I controlled myself and took dainty little bites, sipping the lemonade and carefully using my napkin. Mr. Kenneth had said the lipstick would last, but there was no sense in putting it to the test. When we finished, Mrs. Johnson handed us a baggie with the crusts in it to feed to the ducks. After helping her to clean up, we headed over to the pond.

Beth gave Susie and Julie each a handful of the bread. They started throwing it into the water and the ducks greedily gobbled it up. I saw that there was one duckling that wasn't having much luck. Whenever she, I really didn't know if it was a girl, but I imagined it was, tried to get to a floating piece of bread, a bigger duck would paddle over and scare her away. I took a small piece of the bread, rolled it into a ball and pitched it as close to the duckling as I could. This time she got to it first.

I was so intent on feeding the duckling, that I didn't see a group of boys coming towards us. I looked up and it was the gang I used to hang out with. I moved over to Beth and whispered to her that I knew them. She took a quick look.

"Maybe you should head back to Mrs. Johnson. I'm fine here with the girls. There's no sense asking for trouble," she cautioned me.

"No," I told her. "I'm not asking for trouble, but I'm not hiding from it either. I can't run away ever time I see someone who might recognize me."

The boys were almost here.

"Are you sure, Jenny?"

"No, but it's too late anyway. I'm sure they've seen us. I'd rather know now than spend the rest of the day worrying and be surprised when I get to school."

Beth nodded her agreement.

One of the boys in the group, Kevin, was the one who I used to sit with on the bus. The day after we played Barbies and Beth dressed me up, he noticed that I was wearing nail polish and had an earring, so he was the one most likely to spot me, if anyone did. I noticed Beth moving so that she was between them and me. The boys stopped a short distance away.

"Hi girls," the leader of the group, remarked with a silly grin. "I'm George, this is Bob, he's Danny and that's Kevin. What's up?"

Why was it boys always acted dopey around girls, I wondered. Well, at least that was a good sign.

"Hi," Beth said coldly. "Nothings up. My We're feeding the ducks. What's it look like we're doing?" she challenged them. She turned to Susie and Julie, "come on, it's time to go."

The girls got the message and started off. Beth and I quickly followed them. I glanced back, to see the boy's reaction, but they had already started walking. Knowing them, they wouldn't have missed an opportunity to make fun of me, if they had caught on, so probably I was safe. There was no way to tell for sure until I got to school. Even then, I thought to myself, they wouldn't have any proof. I'd be back in boy mode and it would be my word against theirs. I breathed a sigh of relief.

When we got back to the picnic area, Mrs. Johnson had everything ready to go. Julie couldn't wait to report our little adventure to her mother.

"Mom, there were some boys at the pond and they talked to Jenny and Beth," she exclaimed excitedly.

Mrs. Johnson gave me a questioning look and turned to Beth.

"Friends of yours?" she asked, careful not to give Julie any idea that I might be familiar with kids from around here.

"Not me," Beth replied. "They looked like they might have been around my brother's age," she added, keeping up the pretense.

"Oh, did they mention that they know him?" she asked, giving me a concerned look.

"No, Mrs. Johnson," I told her. "They just came over, tried to talk to us and we left. I'm pretty sure they didn't have any idea who we were. At least they didn't act like they did."

Mrs. Johnson nodded and let the subject drop. We helped her carry everything back to the car and headed home. It was still early. Mom probably wouldn't be home until late afternoon. Mrs. Johnson must have been thinking the same thing.

"Do you girls want to come over for a while?" She asked us.

I looked at Beth. She shook her head. I had a lot of studying to do to make up for all the time I wasted during most of the school year. Then I had an idea.

"Thanks, Mrs. Johnson, but we'd just as soon get home. Beth and I both have things to do. How about if Julie comes to our house instead? She and Susie can play. We can keep and eye on them and that way you can have some free time for yourself."

"Why thank you, Jenny," Mrs. Johnson said gratefully, "that's very thoughtful of you. Unless Julie wants to go home, I'll take you up on your offer. Julie?"

"Fine with me, Mommy," Julie agreed. "Maybe Jenny will have some time to play with us. Will you Jenny?"

"I'll try, Julie," I offered, "But I have a lot of studying I need to do. You and Susie will have to find something to do for most of the time. You might have to settle for Beth."

Beth turned around and stuck her tongue out at me. I gave her a big smile back.

"Okay," Julie conceded.

By the time we finished the conversation, Mrs. Johnson was pulling into our driveway. We got out. Mrs. Johnson waved and drove off.

"Susie and Julie," Beth said, taking charge as usual, "why don't you girls go in the den and watch some TV or a video while Jenny and I get organized. One of us will be there in a little while to spend some time with you. Okay?"

"Okay," both girls said.

Susie took Julie's hand and led her out. Beth turned to me.

"I'll hang out with the girls, if you like, but it's obvious which one of us is their favorite," she said with a laugh.

"Having me as her sister is new to Susie and Julie likes me, because I was really into her game when I babysat the other day, since I'd never played girl's games growing up," I said defensively.

"That's okay, Sis," Beth assured me. "My feelings aren't hurt at all. I had a lot of time to be with Susie. I mean, we've shared a room since she was in a crib. I'm happy to see how she's taken to you."

"Thanks, Beth. She's a sweetheart. I just wish I had realized it sooner." I shook my head. "I wasted so much time not paying any attention to her, because she was a girl. I could kick myself."

Beth put her arm around me.

"Don't feel bad, Jenny. To be honest, I took having a little sister for granted too, before you came along. It's you who's made me realize how really special both my sisters are. That was worth waiting for."

I put my arm around her and we held each other.

"With Mom out," said Beth, releasing me, "I can call my friends without her nagging me about tying up the phone. Why don't you get your homework? I'll check on the girls. I'm sure they'll be fine for an hour. I should be done by then and I'll do something with them. Julie wanted to try wearing makeup, so we can do makeovers with the samples Mr. Kenneth gave us. That should kill another hour or so. Will that be enough time for you to get some studying done?"

"Perfect plan," I complimented her. I had done as little as possible to get by BJ, 'before Jenny'. Now I was paying the price. "We only have a few weeks before our end of the year exams. If I don't catch up on all the work I missed, I can forget about getting into the advanced courses next year. A couple of hours should give me a good start. Thanks, Sis."

"My pleasure," Beth said, as she went off.

I went upstairs, got my backpack and brought it down to the kitchen. I took out a notebook and pencil. Math was the subject that needed the most effort. Mr. Merrill, my math teacher, had given me the back assignments and I was working my way through them from the beginning of the year, but it was slow going teaching myself. I opened the math book and copied down a problem. In the background, I could hear Beth talking to one of her friends with an occasional giggle. Gossiping was another girl skill I was going to have to work on.

My concentration was interrupted by Susie. I looked over at the clock on the stove and it had been almost an hour. Through the doorway, I could see Beth and Julie waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs.

"Jenny, we're going to do makeovers. Don't you want to do it with us?" she asked me.

"I do, Sis, but," I caught myself.

As far as Julie knew, I was Susie's cousin. I glanced over to see if Julie showed any reaction, but she did not seem to have noticed. Then again, I've heard girls sometimes refer to each other as 'sisters,' even though they're not related.

"I wish I could," Susie," I quickly corrected myself, "but I have a lot of homework to do, being in a new school and all." I made a slight motion of my head towards Julie, so she would understand, and winked at her. "Another time, okay?"

"Okay, Jenny," Susie agreed and winked back.

The girls continued upstairs to Beth and Susie's room to play with the makeup and I got back to work. I swapped my math book for my science book and started outlining the chapters I had skipped over. Taking notes as I read was a trick that Beth had taught me. It helped to organize the information and made it much easier to review. I was going over the chapter questions when the phone rang. It was probably one of Beth's friends calling her back. I waited for her to pick it up. After a couple more rings, I figured that either she didn't hear it or she was in the middle of something, so I answered it.

"Hello," I said, expecting to hear a girl's voice on the other end.

"Oh, hi Jenny."

It was Mom.

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 9

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 9
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

"Hi, Mom," I said cheerily, "how are you and Mr. Kenneth doing?"

"Great," Mom replied. "We didn't stop for lunch and, well, I was wondering if it would be okay if I didn't get home until later. Kenneth wants to go out for dinner. I know it's a school night, but do you think you could manage?"

That was a switch, mom asking me for permission to stay out.

"Of course," I assured her. "Beth and I are doing fine on our own. We had a nice time at the park and Julie is here now. Please Mom, you never get to go out, so have fun. Don't worry about us," I told her confidently.

"I don't know," Mom hesitated.

"Mom, I know Beth and Susie would be very upset if they thought you came home just to take care of us. Really, we're big girls. Umm, well, most of us are," I said with a laugh.

Mom got the joke as to whether I meant that Susie wasn't big yet or I wasn't a girl yet and laughed back.

"Okay, Jenny," she conceded, "I really would like to have dinner with Kenneth. He wants to go to an Italian restaurant. He knows the chef. In fact, as far as I can tell, he knows everybody. He is really amazing," Mom glowed. "Tell Beth and Susie that I love them. Oh dear. I don't know what you'll do about supper," Mom added, changing over to a more practical train of thought. "Maybe you can order pizza. Oh, no," she went on, talking to herself, "I didn't leave you any money. I'm being silly. I should come home."

It was time for me to put my foot down.

"No, Mom. We will be okay. In fact, it will be fun for the three of us to be on our own. We're not going to starve to death. I promise. Worst comes to worst, we'll have cereal and toast or something. Don't worry about it. Just enjoy yourself."

It didn't take a lot of persuading to convince Mom not to come home.

"Okay, Jenny dear. That's very sweet. Thank you." Then going back to mother mode she asked, "are you sure you'll be alright?"

"Yes, Mom, we'll be perfectly fine. The number for the police, fire department, ambulance and poison control center are on the refrigerator. We're prepared for any emergency. Even Beth's cooking," I kidded her. "Seriously, Beth babysits and Mrs. Johnson trusted me to stay with Julie while she went out, so don't worry. We're very responsible."

"I know, Jenny. Being a mother is very stressful. You'll see." Then she caught herself. There was a pause.

"We'll be fine," I repeated, ignoring her slip. "You're wasting your time on the phone. Go do what Mr. Kenneth has planned. Goodbye!"

"Bye and thanks. See you tonight." She hung up the phone.

I figured it was time for me to give Beth a break and I had to tell her about Mom not coming home until late, so I put my books away and headed upstairs. I peeked into her room and saw that Susie and Julie were sitting at the makeup table with Beth working on their eyes. She had one of her fashion magazines open. I guessed that they were trying to copy the look of one of the models. She looked up when she saw me come in.

"Hi, Jenny, we're almost done. What do you think?"

Susie and Julie turned around. What I thought was that Mr. Kenneth had wasted his time explaining how girls should look natural. Beth gave me a stern look, which I took to mean, 'if you laugh, I will kill you.'

Not wanting to see if she would make good on her threat, I said with a straight face, "who are these movie stars and what have you done with Susie and Julie?"

The girls giggled and Beth smiled and shook her head.

"It's us, Jenny," Susie revealed.

"Oh my goodness, I never would have recognized you."

That was true, sort of.

"Alright, girls," Beth broke in. "I have some things I need to do. Jenny will take over. Jenny, would you put all the makeup and brushes away, please."

"Sure, Beth, but I have something I need to tell you. Mom, umm, your Mom called." I looked at Julie, but she was admiring herself in the mirror and didn't seem to be paying attention to our conversation. "She said," I continued with relief, "that she didn't have time for lunch, so Mr. Kenneth asked her out to dinner. Italian. She is going to be late, so we're on our own."

"Not a date, hmm," Beth said suspiciously. "Maybe Mom didn't think so, but I bet Mr. Kenneth had it all planned. Men are really sneaky when they're romancing a woman."

"And you are an authority on men, because why?" I said defensively on Mr. Kenneth's behalf. "It must be all those boys lined up outside our front door wanting to ask you out."

Beth glared at me.

"I have plenty of boys who want to date me, thank you very much. I just happen to have high standards. Seriously, Jenny, I want a boy to respect me, not just take me out because I'm arm candy."

"Arm candy, Sis?" I winced at the slip and checked out Julie. She was still absorbed with her appearance. "I don't understand."

"Arm candy means a pretty girl who guys show off to their friends. I'm not interested in being decoration."

"I suppose it's a compliment that a guy thinks you're pretty enough to be arm candy," I reasoned.

"Not, really, Jenny, at least not as far as I'm concerned. I like being pretty, but there's more to me than that. How would you feel about someone who didn't care anything about you, except for your looks? You, more than anyone, should know that it's not your appearance that counts."

I nodded.

"Getting back to the subject, Sis …"

Beth put her finger to her lips and turned to see if Julie was listening. I looked too. She wasn't. Beth nodded for me to go on.

"It doesn't mean that Mr. Kenneth had this planned. I was the one who made them late by asking him to help with my hair and it's a good thing he did, considering who we ran into in the park. I suppose there's no way to know for sure, but I think he deserves the benefit of the doubt. Besides, it really doesn't matter, so long as Mom …" Beth gave me a look. Darn, I really stunk at talking in front of people who weren't family, "… is having a good time and, from the sound of her voice on the telephone, she is."

"Agreed," Beth said with a nod of her head.

Jenny and Julie had been patiently waiting for Beth and me to finish our conversation. I turned to them.

"Lets get the makeup put away and then we can play. What would you like to do?"

"Jenny," Beth said, as she was leaving, "come down to the kitchen after you finish with the girls and we can plan dinner."

"Yes, mam," I replied.

I turned to the girls.

"What would you like to do now?"

"We could play dress-up," Julie suggested. "Maybe find some glamorous outfits to wear with our makeup. That would be fun."

I wasn't in the mood to supervise the girls rummaging through Beth's closet and I was sure Miss Organization wouldn't be happy about them messing up her clothes. Then there was the problem of Julie having to get undressed. Mrs. Johnson had been very sympathetic, but I wasn't sure how she'd feel about me seeing Julie in her underwear. I could find some excuse to go out when she was changing, but that was a nuisance.

"That does sound like fun, Julie," I agreed, "but you might get makeup on Beth's good clothes. I don't think she would like that," which was an understatement, considering the lecture on neatness I got from her when I left one of her dresses on the floor.

"I suppose," Julie conceded. "What do you want to do, Jenny?"

I thought for a minute.

"I really like playing Barbies, Julie. Susie has lots of great outfits for her and we always have fun when she and I play. It would be ever better with you," I said encouragingly. "Right, Susie?"

"Super," she agreed enthusiastically. "We can have like a really big party with Barbie and Stacy. Who do you want to be, Jenny?"

"Why don't you and Julie pick out your dolls and I'll be Ken," I suggested diplomatically.

Julie was the guest, so Susie let her have Barbie. I really didn't mind playing Ken. Just spending time with the girls was fun.

As usual, the girls made up an elaborate fantasy. Barbie and Stacy both had a date with me, that is, Ken, and they were each trying to look better than the other to win his heart, obviously preparation for real life. The two girls fussed over their outfits until they were satisfied. Susie dressed Stacy in a floor length glittery blue halter dress with black stockings and black high heels. Julie put Barbie into a white strapless knee length sheath with silver stockings and gold shoes. Not to my taste, but then Ken was a two timer, so maybe he was into trashy, I chuckled to myself. Finally we were ready, except for Ken. He was still in his beach outfit from the last fantasy. The girls found a pair of tan slacks, a shirt and shoes for him, but no sox. I suggested that he could go without them, but the girls insisted that their escort be properly dressed. Finally, they offered me a pair of Barbie's black stockings. The fact that their dream date was wearing girl's clothes didn't seem to bother them a bit, but then this was just pretend, I reasoned. That got me to wondering how Julie would react if she knew the truth about me. I shrugged mentally. It was not a question to which I was anxious to find out the answer.

My thoughts were interrupted by Susie.

"Jenny, Jenny, we're ready."

"Oh, sorry girls, I was daydreaming, sort of."

Julie began by having Barbie invite Ken to the movies, taking advantage of her Barbie car, a pink two-seater convertible which no boy could resist. Susie took the alternative route to a boy's heart, asking him to come over for a barbeque on her pink Barbie grill. We even had a selection of doll-sized fake food with all of the accessories for serving. I decided to play hard to get.

"What movie are we going to see, Barbie?"

Julie was not prepared for so practical a response.

"Huh," she stalled, "its, umm, its, umm, it's a movie. I don't know. We're just going to go on a date to the movies. It will be fun. We can have soda and popcorn and candy."

"Will it be one of those movies with kissing and stuff?" I asked her. "I don't like movies with kissing and stuff."

Julie pouted.

"No, it will be a nice movie. You'll like it. We'll have lots of fun," she insisted.

"Oh, well maybe, Stacy asked me over for a barbeque. I have to talk to her and then I'll let you know."

Turning to Susie, I said, "hi, Stacy, what are you making?"

"Hamburgers and hotdogs," she said, pretending to be cooking. We have soda too and ice cream for desert."

I didn't remember seeing any pretend ice cream, but I supposed that a little exaggeration didn't hurt when you were competing for a date.

"I like pizza better," I teased her, "but ice cream sounds good. What flavor. I like chocolate. Can we have chocolate sundaes? I really like chocolate sundaes."

Susie glared at me and Julie joined in.

"Jenny, really, you just don't know anything about how to be a boy," Julie scolded me. "Boys have to be nice to girls, because they want us to be their girlfriends."

Susie giggled and I gave her a look. Julie glanced at her, to see what was so funny. Susie just shrugged and fussed with Stacy's dress.

"I'm sorry, Julie," I apologized. "I was goofing around. Let's keep playing and I'll be a good boy."

That got a giggle from both of them, although for different reasons.

"Let's see," I said, going back to being Ken, "I want to go to the movies in your cool car, Barbie, but I'm hungry, so I'm going to stop by Stacy's and get a burger first. She's got ice cream too, chocolate, my favorite. How about if you pick me up when I'm done?"

The fantasy continued with Barbie and Stacy both inviting Ken to dance, although the girls' idea of dancing was for each of them to put on a performance, part ballet and part gymnastics, while he watched appreciatively. I was so involved that I lost track of time, until I heard the doorbell ring. I looked over to the clock on Beth's night stand and it was almost five. Mom wouldn't have had dinner yet and she had a key, so it must be Mrs. Johnson calling for Julie, I reasoned.

"Girls, that's probably Julie's Mom, here to get her. Please clean up the Barbie stuff and come down when you're done. I'll go down and say hello."

"Okay, Jenny," Julie said.

"Uh huh," Susie agreed.

By the time I got downstairs, Beth had already answered the door and Mrs. Johnson was standing in the hall.

"Hello, Jenny," she greeted me.

"Hi, Mrs. Johnson," I responded.

"How were the girls?" she asked.

"They were fine. We were playing Barbies and they will be down as soon as they finish putting them away."

Mrs. Johnson smiled.

"Barbies does seem to be your game," she observed with a wink.

The three of us laughed at her reference to how I discovered Jenny.

"You mother isn't home yet?" she inquired.

"No, Mrs. Johnson," Beth told her.

"I'm afraid that I made them late by asking Mr. Kenneth to help me with me hair, so they didn't stop for lunch," I added. "Mom called a while ago and said that he was going to take her out for dinner."

Mrs. Johnson smiled.

"I'm glad your mother is enjoying herself. I can't remember the last time that she went out on a date."

Beth and I looked at each other.

"According to Mom," we said in unison, "it's not a date."

Then we looked at each other and laughed at the coincidence.

"Mmm, well, whatever. Do you girls want to come home with me? I'm not sure what I can throw together for dinner, but I'm sure we can find something. We could order Chinese. Julie loves spareribs and egg rolls. How about you girls?"

"Honestly, Mrs. Johnson" Beth said politely, "we don't get to spend much time by ourselves. I think it would be fun if we puttered around the kitchen together."

Just then we heard the girls coming downstairs. Mrs. Johnson looked up and did a double take when she saw Julie. I had forgotten the exotic makeup job Beth had done on her and Susie. Beth caught Mrs. Johnson's expression and took responsibility.

"I hope you don't mind Mrs. Johnson. We decided to try some of the samples Mr. Kenneth left and, well, we got a little carried away," she said apologetically.

Mrs. Johnson smiled. She walked over to Julie, took her chin in her right hand and examined her face, turning it from side to side and tilting it up and down.

"Very professional. I wish I could learn to put on makeup like that. Maybe when Julie gets a little older she'll give her mother a lesson," she teased.

"Mom," Julie whined in embarrassment at the attention.

"I was going to take you to the drugstore to get some lip balm, but it seems that would be like carrying coals to Newcastle."

We all looked puzzled.

"Oh, that's just an old expression," Mrs. Johnson explained. "Way back when, before electricity, people used coal for cooking and heating. Newcastle was a town in England that had lots of coal mines, so bringing coal there would be adding to what there was already too much of. Get it?"

Beth and I smiled. Susie and Julie just shrugged.

"The point I was making," Mrs. Johnson continued, "is that we seem to be well beyond glossy lips. On the other hand," she took hold of Julie's chin again, "if this makeup is from Mr. Kenneth, it's probably professional grade and I'll need industrial strength cleansers and a blowtorch to get it off."

"Julie gave her mother a worried look."

"Just kidding, about the blowtorch, Honey, but we still need a trip to the drugstore. I don't have anything strong enough to remove what you're wearing." She turned to us. "How about Susie and Jenny, do you have makeup remover? I can pick some up and drop it off on my way back."

"No, thank you," Beth answered. "I'm pretty sure we have some around somewhere. If not, I'll give you a call and send my sisters," she paused, no better than me at being clever, "my sister and Jenny," she corrected herself, "over, if that's okay."

"Yes, of course," Mrs. Johnson said agreeably.

"Alright, Julie, we're off to the drugstore. Say goodbye."

"Bye Susie, bye Jenny, bye Beth. Thanks. It was fun," she said with a wave. "Mom, can we still get lipstick," she asked.

I could see Mrs. Johnson shaking her head, probably more out of disbelief at her daughter's persistence than a refusal, as she took Julie by the hand to the car, opened the passenger's door, buckled her in, then went around to the driver's side, got in and drove off.

"Lets go, ladies," Beth announced. Susie and I followed her to the kitchen.

"How about pizza?" Susie asked optimistically.

Beth checked the freezer.

"Nope, sorry Sis, the cupboard's bare," she joked.

"How about mac and cheese?" I suggested. "I made it once before. It's easy. All you have to do is boil water."

"Really, Jenny?"

"Geez, Beth, give me a break," I complained. "I may not know how to cook like you, but I can boil water."

"Okay, Sis, that sounds good," Beth agreed. "Do your thing while I make a salad. Susie, I'll get down the dishes and you can set the table."

I got a box of mac and cheese mix out of the cabinet and read the label, just to be sure. If I did it wrong after bragging about knowing how to do it, Beth would never let me live it down. I found a pot with a lid, turned on the burner, then filled the pot half way with water and put it on the stove.

I looked over to Beth and saw that she was watching me with a disapproving look. I didn't see how I could have messed up before I even started cooking.

"What?"

"Jenny," she said in her serious, your about to get a lecture voice, "that is not the safe way to boil water. If there were little children around, they could be seriously hurt."

"Beth," I said with exasperation, "what in the world are you talking about? What danger and what little children? I mean, its just water and there aren't any little children here."

"No," she agreed, "there aren't now, but that doesn't mean that you shouldn't practice for when there will be. I'm sorry, Sis, but I am telling you this for your own good. When I started high school, they had a babysitting course for girls, well I guess a boy could have taken it, but it was all girls, anyway, it was to certify us. After we passed the course, the guidance office put our names on an approved list that they gave out to parents. Most of the course dealt with safety. For one thing, Jenny, you turned on the burner and left it while you filled the pot. A young child is very curious about fire. They could reach up and try to touch the flame or the hot burner or, even worse, they could get too close and set their hair or their clothes on fire. You should always put the pot on the stove to cover the burner before you turn it on. Also, you left the handle of the pot sticking out. A child could grab the handle and pull a pot full of scalding water or soup or whatever down on them. Jenny, they showed us pictures of children who had been burned. They were awful. I had nightmares for a week, but it also made me realize how terribly hurt a child could be in just seconds, if you're careless. They told us that one little girl in the pictures had over twenty surgeries to treat her scars. Jenny, I would die if that ever happened because of me."

I looked appreciatively at Beth.

"Wow, thank you, Sis, really. I never would have thought about it, but you are right. I suppose the good news is that the way things are going, Jenny is not likely to be a menace to little children anytime soon."

"Maybe," Beth said with a laugh, "but it doesn't have to be other people's children. One of these days you will have your own."

"Beth, you may be an expert on babysitting, but you need a refresher course in biology. I am not going to have children," I corrected her.

"Really?" she said with her usually smug, that's what you think attitude. "Do you know my friend Ginny, the Asian girl?"

"Yes."

"Well, she's adopted. Her parents couldn't have children. So is her little sister Kim. Just because you can't have a baby, doesn't mean that you can't have children."

My eyes went wide. I had never thought of the possibility. Being a girl was one thing, but being a mother?

"Even if you don't have children," Beth continued, "I certainly will. When they visit their Aunt Jenny, I would appreciate your returning them to me in the same condition in which you got them."

Their Aunt Jenny! Beth's simple expression of love, support and confidence brought tears to me eyes.

"Jenny, really," Beth broke the mood, "there are easier ways to put salt in the water."

She moved to the stove, turned the handle so it was not sticking out and then came over and gave me a hug.

Having dinner with my sisters was fun. Beth told us about her cheerleading and Susie said that she wanted to be a cheerleader too. Beth offered to teach her some cheers. I kidded Beth by insisting that I wanted to be included in the lesson, but only if I could wear her cute outfit. Beth agreed, provided I let her take pictures of my debut. I told her that I didn't think Jenny was ready for a modeling career. We all laughed. After dinner, the team of sisters made a quick job of cleaning up the kitchen.

"Susie," said 'Miss I'm-in-charge', although I now realized that she deserved the job, "we need to get that makeup off, it's not good for your delicate skin, and you need to take a bath after playing in the park. Let's go up to Mom's bathroom and see if I can find some makeup remover. Jenny, you should come too and I'll show you how to do it."

We all trooped upstairs and Beth rummaged around in Mom's medicine cabinet and vanity.

"Aha!" she exclaimed, "cold cream." Holding up the blue jar, she said to me, "I have no idea why they call it 'cold cream.' It is a cream," she unscrewed the top and showed me something white and smooth inside. "I guess you put it on right from the jar, so it feels cold. Whatever," she shrugged.

Beth took some of the cream on her fingers and began to rub it over Susie's face, until she had a white mask.

"You don't use it on your eyes," she explained. "There is a special eye makeup remover." She showed me a small bottle of clear oil. "Jenny, get me the bag of cotton balls under the vanity, please, and give me one."

I followed her directions and found a plastic bag full of big, puffy cotton balls. I took one out and handed it to her. She unscrewed the top of the eye makeup bottle and moistened the cotton ball, then held it against Susie's right eye. After a minute, she began to rub and I could see the color coming off on the cotton ball. She took another cotton ball and repeated the process on Susie's other eye. When the eye makeup was off, she took some tissues and began to wipe off the cream using circular motions. Finally, she brought Susie over to the sink and had her rinse off her face with hot water. Beth gave Susie a final inspection and nodded her approval.

"I have a neat idea, Susie," Beth said enthusiastically. "I need to shower and wash my hair too. How about if we both hop in Mom's shower?"

"Sure," agreed Susie, adding, "can we all take a shower together?"

Beth and I looked at each other and smiled.

"No, Susie," I explained patiently. "When it comes to showers in this family, you two are company and three's a crowd when it's me. Besides, I still need to take my makeup off and one of us should listen for the phone, in case Mom needs to reach us. You two go ahead. I'll take the makeup remover into our bathroom and grab a shower after you're done. Leave me some hot water, please."

I picked up what I needed and left, closing the door behind me. When I got to our bathroom, I followed the routine Beth had shown me, starting with the cream mask, then my eyes and finishing by washing my face. I did it twice, just to make doubly sure that there was no trace of the makeup left when I went to school tomorrow. I listened for the phone, but it didn't ring. By the time I was finished, I heard Beth and Susie coming down the hall.

"Okay, you two. I'm hopping in the shower. Nothing from Mom so far," I told them.

"Okay, Jenny," replied Beth. I'm going to get Susie into her PJ's and then start on my homework. I'll see you downstairs."

"Will you play with me after your shower, Jenny? Please. Pretty please. We can do whatever you want," Susie bargained.

"Sorry, Sis," but I still have a lot of homework to do and, besides, I played with you all afternoon."

"Uh, uh. You played with me and Julie. That's not the same as playing just with me," she argued.

"Nice try, but, tell you what. When it's time for bed, I'll read you a story. Deal?"

"I guess," Susie conceded.

About a half hour later, a clean and much less feminine Jenny headed for the kitchen. I didn't even bother with a nightgown, just my old pajamas. When I entered, Beth looked surprised.

"What?" I kidded her. "Haven't you ever seen a girl in pajamas before?"

As usual, Beth got in the last word. "Yes, but as I recall her pajamas buttoned the opposite way and didn't have a fly. Have you been raiding your brother's wardrobe again? Shame on you. What will Mom say when she finds out her daughter wants to dress like a boy?"

"Oh, no, Beth," I went along with the joke, "please don't tell Mom on me. I'll be a good girl, I promise. From now on I'll only wear your clothes."

That got her.

"Hmm, on second thought, you do look pretty cute in boy's clothes. Maybe I was too hasty."

We both laughed as I sat down next to her and took out my homework. I lost track of time until Beth interrupted by telling me she was going upstairs to get Susie ready for bed.

"Let me know when you're done and I'll come up and make good on my promise to read her a bedtime story."

About ten minutes later, Beth came down and I went up. After I finished reading to Susie and got her tucked in, I went back down to the kitchen. At about 9:00, we heard a car pull up. I started to get up, but Beth grabbed my arm."

"Hold on, Sis. Let Mom have some privacy."

I rolled my eyes and made a face.

"C'mon Beth, Mom and Mr. Kenneth are not smooching on the porch."

Beth smiled.

"Maybe not, but how would you like it if you came home from a date and Mom was standing at the door waiting for you?"

"You're asking the wrong girl that question," I answered her.

She broke out laughing. A few minuets later, the front door opened and Mom came in carrying an armload of bags. She put them down as Beth and I rushed over to hug her.

"Well, don't keep us in suspense. Tell us every little detail. Where did you go? What did you do? What did you buy?" Beth said excitedly.

Mom smiled.

"Patience girls. I'm used to being on my feet all day, but this was exhausting. Kenneth is tireless. He took me to about half a dozen boutiques and the owners and staff fell all over themselves to help us. Honestly, I felt more like royalty than a mother on a shopping spree. Then he took me to this Italian restaurant. I mean a real Italian restaurant and he spoke to the chef and waiter in Italian. We had the most delicious meal and a bottle of wine. Mom sighed."

Beth and I looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Anyway," Mom went on, "I have to get up early for work. I don't know what possessed me to stay out so late on a Sunday night. Oh, my, I have been babbling about my day and haven't asked you about yours."

Beth started to tell her, but Mom interrupted her.

"Actually, if curiosity won't kill the kittens, I really need to take a bath. Beth, would you be a dear and run one for me with some bath salts. They're in the bottle next to the tub. I want to relax and then we can chat. And Jenny, would you help me take the bags up to my room please. Can you girls wait?"

"Sure, Mom," Beth assured her, "that's fine. We had a nice day too and we'll tell you all about it when you're ready."

We all headed upstairs. I put the packages on the bed, along with the ones Mom brought up, while Beth went into the bathroom to fill the tub. I could hear the water running and, after a couple of minutes, the flowery aroma of the bath salts drifted into the room. Beth came out and we left Mom to get undressed.

Since we had nothing better to do while we waited, we went back to the kitchen and continued doing our homework. About a half hour later, Mom appeared in the doorway in her bathrobe, with her hair up.

"How about a nice cup of cocoa?" she asked.

"Sure," we both replied.

Mom put some milk into a sauce pan and put it on the stove. I noticed that she did just as Beth had instructed, turning the burner on after the pan covered it and turning the pot's handle sideways, so it was over the stove.

"Well done," I complimented Mom.

She gave me a puzzled look.

"We made mac and cheese for dinner and Beth gave me a lesson in kitchen safety," I explained.

"Oh, how nice, I'm glad you girls are so helpful to each other. It really is a comfort to know that I can leave you on your own. Thank you for giving me such a lovely day."

By then, the milk was heated and she added it to two cups into which she had spooned cocoa from a container. She brought the steaming drinks over to the kitchen table and sat down. As we sipped, Mom picked up where she left off.

"Now, I want to hear everything that you girls did today."

I nodded at Beth to begin. She went over our going to the park with Mrs. Johnson and Julie, including our running into my old gang, Julie spending the afternoon with us, the makeovers and our dinner.

Mom focused on the park incident.

"You don't think there will be a problem with those boys, do you Jenny?"

"I doubt it. They didn't seem to catch on." I shrugged. "Why should they. They never met Susie and Beth before, so they didn't know that they're my sisters, and, with Mr. Kenneth's help, I don't think I looked much like the guy they used to hang out with. Anyway, they can't prove it. Even if they did try to make trouble, it's their word against mine. You'd back me up, Mom, wouldn't you? You'd say I was home all day, right?"

Mom paused.

"No, I wouldn't. It's wrong to lie. You know that and, whatever the consequences, you can't start your life as Jenny based on dishonesty. We always knew that there was a chance you'd be recognized. It was bound to happen sooner or later. We will just have to deal with it. Do you understand?" Mom asked hopefully.

"Yes, Mom, I do. You're right. I shouldn't hide behind you. Whatever happens, I will deal with it."

Mom shook her head.

"No, honey, we will deal with it," she corrected me, emphasizing the 'we'.

"Yes," insisted Beth, "we will deal with it," emphasizing the 'we'.

"Now then," Mom said, changing the subject before things got too emotional, "would you like to hear about my day?"

Beth and I nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, we started out going to this cute little uptown boutique. They had the most beautiful clothes. I must have spent an hour trying on things. If I wasn't on a budget, I would have bought out the store. As it was, we picked out a lovely skirt and blouse. Then we went to more boutiques. By the time we were finished, I had two more skirts, two tops and a dress. Then we shopped for shoes and, Kenneth insisted on a new pocket book. Everything coordinates, so I can mix and match to make a wardrobe. I never paid much attention to putting outfits together. I just saw something I liked and bought it. Kenneth has such a good eye for colors and styles. I would never have been able to do it without him, especially because all of his friends insisted on giving us big discounts, so I just about doubled my budget."

"Beth and I listened in fascination to Mom's account of her day."

"Go on, Mom," encouraged Beth, "what about the night?"

"Well," Mom continued, "like I told Jenny on the phone, we didn't stop for lunch, so when we finished shopping, Kenneth asked me if I would like to have dinner with him. We went to this charming Italian restaurant and had the most delicious meal. I really didn't want to drink, but the owner sent over a complimentary bottle of wine. It would have been rude to refuse and I couldn't let Kenneth drink alone, so I joined him," Mom said with a giggle, which is something I had never heard her do before. "Then after dinner, he brought me home. He was a perfect gentleman," she assured us. "End of story."

"Can we see what you bought, Mom, please?" asked Beth.

"Sure, honey, lets go upstairs and take the items out of the bags. I should hang them up anyway, before they get wrinkled."

We went through all the clothes. We complimented Mom on her selection and Beth wanted Mom to model, but she was too tired. We helped her hang the new clothes in her closet. It was late and we all had to get up early, so we said goodnight. As we were leaving, Beth remembered that Mom said she bought a dress, but we hadn't seen it.

"Oh, the dress. It needed some tailoring, so the boutique is having it done. Kenneth said he would pick it up for next weekend."

Mom put her hand to her mouth.

"Oh my, I almost forgot, Kenneth invited me to the ballet next Saturday night. He has season tickets. The man never ceases to surprise me."

Beth and I looked at each other. He never ceased to surprise us either.

"Mom," Beth complained. "Really. You forgot to tell us that you have another date with Mr. Kenneth?"

"Yes, dear, sorry," Mom said with a smile, but this time not denying that it was a date. "I forgot that I had to tell my children all about my social life. I will try not to be so thoughtless in the future. I assume that you will share the details of your's with me as well," Mom teased.

"Every detail," I quickly agreed, before Beth could answer.

That got a laugh from both of them.

"I'm sorry, Mom," Beth apologized. Then, demonstrating her obsession with clothes, she added, "do you have an LBD?"

"LBD?" I questioned her. "Is that like a VPL?"

Mom and Beth both laughed.

"No, LBD is girl talk for a little black dress. It's a basic item for any woman's wardrobe. You can dress it up with accessories and jewelry for fancy affairs or keep it simple for less formal occasions," Beth, the fashion expert, explained.

"That's what's being tailored," Mom disclosed with a smile, "and, so that you don't lose any sleep worrying about it, there are black silk pumps to match," she added, looking at Beth. "The high heels they had killed my feet and they didn't have my size in a mid heel, so they're on order. The owner said he will give them to Kenneth for me."

Beth and I went over and kissed Mom goodnight. She kissed us back and we left. Beth and I said goodnight to each other and went to our rooms. I snuggled down under my covers, thinking of the wonderful day filled with makeup lessons, playing girls' games and spending time with my sisters, hoping to dream of dressing up in my own LBD, as I drifted off to sleep.

The alarm clock woke me up at the usual time. I got up, took off my pajamas, folded them and put them away in the bottom drawer of my dresser, then replaced my panties with white cotton briefs. A dark blue cotton t-shirt, white athletic socks, a pair of jeans and sneakers completed my transformation. I took out my earrings, went to the bathroom to wash up and brush my teeth, carefully studying my face in the mirror. Satisfied that no trace of Jenny remained, I went back to my room, grabbed my backpack and headed downstairs. Mom was in the kitchen. There were bowls of cereal on the table with glasses of orange juice. I could smell cinnamon bread toasting.

"Morning Mom," I greeted her cheerily. "Did you sleep well?"

"Between the shopping and the wine, I slept like a baby, thank you for asking," she answered, "how about you?"

"Fine thanks," I replied.

"Go ahead and get started, honey," she told me, "Susie will be down soon, I'm sure."

In fact, no sooner had Mom spoken her name, then Susie bounced in and plopped herself down in her chair.

"Good morning Mommy, hi Jen, oops, Johnny," she corrected herself.

Mom and I both said good morning back. Keeping an eye on the clock, I finished my breakfast and brought my dishes over to the sink. Susie had finished too, so I went back and got hers. We got our backpacks and I held her hand as walked to the bus stop. When we got there, Susie let go and went off to join Julie. I stood around, trying to check out how the older girls were dressed without being noticed. A quick survey showed that there was nothing of interest, jeans and tops, except for a girl in red skort with a white pullover collared shirt. The skirt and shorts combination was cute and practical. I wondered if Beth had anything like that. I didn't remember seeing one.

The bus pulled up and I waited to make sure Susie got on. I climbed in and looked around. Kevin was sitting towards the back. There was an open seat next to him. The last thing I wanted was to give him another chance to get a good look at me, so I found a seat up front. The bus stopped at Susie's school first. I watched her out of the window, to make sure she got in, and then took out my history book and reviewed the chapter. As we were pulling up to my school, I put the book away and quickly got off to avoid Kevin. On my way into the building, I looked around nervously, to see if anyone was staring at me. So far so good. I got to my homeroom and sat down at my desk. The bell rang and Miss Kaufman began to take attendance. During the daily announcements, she was interrupted by the intercom buzzer. She went over and picked up the phone. She hung up and went back to the announcements. The bell rang and we headed out to our first period class. As I was passing her desk, she stopped me.

"Johnny, that was the Office. Principal Tanner wants to see you."

She gave me a disapproving look, probably thinking that I must have gone back to my old ways and was in trouble. The principal didn't pull you out of class, unless it was something pretty serious.

I started for the Office, which was at the other end of the school. As I walked, I had a sick feeling in my stomach. It had to be those boys. Maybe it took them a while to figure out why I looked so familiar. They probably started a rumor after they got to school and it got back to Mrs. McGowan. She warned me that she would have to report me, if there was a problem. As I continued walking, I tried to come up with an explanation that would keep me out of trouble. I told Mom I wouldn't lie, so I couldn't deny that they had seen me dressed as a girl. I couldn't even pretend that it was a prank, because Mrs. McGowan knew the truth. Honesty had worked in the past, but that was with people who were sympathetic. I doubted Mr. Tanner would understand, no matter what I told him. He would send me home. Worse, he would call my mother. Oh no! Had he already called her? Was she on her way here? How could I be so stupid? Why didn't I listen to Beth when she told me to leave, before the boys got there? This wasn't about just me. Now Mom was involved. Who knows what they will do to her over this. Even worse, what will happen to my sisters when word gets out about me? Beth is popular, so she can just tell people her brother is a nut case, although, knowing her, she will stick up for me and take the consequences. Susie will be the one who gets the worst of it. Kids her age can be really cruel. They will tease her. I'll bet even Julie won't be her friend, once she finds out that the girl she liked so much is her best friend's brother. By the time I got to the Office, I was almost hysterical. Instead of Jenny making everything better, she had ruined our lives.

I paused with my hand on the door. I should run away and save my family the embarrassment. I turned and started to leave. I got about half way down the corridor and stopped. Think Jenny, Johnny, whoever, I said to myself. Where are you going? What are you going to do? All you have is lunch money. How far are you going to get with that and what about Mom? You can't leave her to face this all by herself. It's your problem and you have to deal with it. I turned around and went back. The secretary looked up when she heard the door open. I tried to read her expression. If she knew about me, she wasn't letting on. This wasn't the first time I had been to the Principal's office and I knew the routine. I took one of the seats and waited. I was so nervous, I couldn't sit still.

"Mr. Tanner is on a conference call with the Superintendent and the Chairman of the School Board, so he will probably be a few more minutes," the secretary said. Do you need to use the restroom?" she asked, misinterpreting the reason for my fidgeting.

"No, thank you," I told her, trying to hold back the tears at the thought of what I was sure was a discussion about what to do with me.

I was so intent on watching for Mom to walk in, that I didn't notice Mr. Tanner come out of his office.

"Johnny, please come in," I heard him say.

I jumped up and headed for his office, looking over my shoulder to see if Mom would arrive at the last minute. Mr. Tanner stood holding the door and closed it behind me. I looked at him and he pointed to one of the two chairs in front of his desk. I sat down and took a deep breath. He slowly walked around the desk and sat down facing me.

"I'm sorry to have kept you waiting," he apologized. "There are many difficult issues an administrator has to deal with and many different people who need to be consulted, before we can make a decision. Let me get right to the point, Johnny."

I couldn't stand it any longer.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tanner," I blurted out. "I didn't mean for it to happen this way. Honestly. Mrs. McGowan doesn't understand. Please, don't make me leave school," I pleaded, "please don't."

"Go on," he directed me.

I paused. He didn't sound upset or angry. How much does he know, I wondered?

"Didn't Mrs. McGowan talk to you about me?"

"What was she supposed to tell me?" he asked.

Oh, Oh. What if she didn't talk to him? What if he heard it from someone else? Maybe one of the boys' parents called or maybe one of the teachers reported the rumor. I had to think quickly.

"Umm, umm, I, well, I had a stomach ache the other day and needed to be excused from gym. She said she was worried about me being under too much stress. I think I was late and ate my breakfast too fast. I haven't had any more," I covered up.

Mr. Tanner shook his head.

"No Johnny, this isn't about your having a stomach ache, although I could understand why you would be under stress."

I sighed. He does know.

"Mr. Tanner, I've tried. I've really, really tried. I know I'm different and I'm sorry if I've caused you and the school a problem. I didn't want it that way. It just happened," I confessed.

To my surprise, Mr. Tanner looked at me sympathetically.

"I have to say, Johnny, in all the years I've been a school administrator, this type of situation has never come up. I wish my decision could be different, but I can't make exceptions. It wouldn't be fair to the other students."

"I understand, Mr. Tanner," I agreed. "You have to do what is right. Is my Mom coming?"

"No, I don't think she needs to be involved. I shouldn't even be telling you this, but I thought that you deserved to know."

"Thank you, Mr. Tanner," I said dejectedly, "I appreciate your being so considerate."

"Your welcome, Johnny, but it's not the end of the world, you know."

"It isn't?"

I perked up.

"No, of course not," he reassured me. "You'll have plenty of opportunity next year."

"Next year?" I questioned him.

Mr. Tanner looked puzzled.

"Johnny, maybe I should explain my decision, so that you will understand the consequences."

I sat quietly, waiting to hear the bad news.

"One of your teachers asked me if he could give you an 'A' for the year, based on the remarkable improvement you have shown in the last quarter."

My eyes went wide. This was about my grades, not about Jenny, and I almost gave myself away.

"I guess I'm not much of a secret keeper, since you only have one male teacher," Mr. Tanner went on. "He said that he was sure you would do well on the final and that you deserved a better grade than your average for the year would allow. I spoke with your other teachers and they were equally enthusiastic. Honestly, I must say that, thinking back on some of the discipline problems you've had in the past, I too am very pleased with the change in your behavior. However, after careful consideration, giving a student a final grade based on his doing well in only the last quarter's work would give the wrong message. I hope you understand."

Understand! I was so grateful that, if Jenny was here, she would have hugged him. I was resigned to being kicked out of school and my family being laughed out of town. Instead, he was apologizing for not being able to give me a grade I didn't deserve after goofing off for most of the year.

"I do understand, Mr. Tanner," I said with relief.

Mr. Tanner got up and came around his desk. I stood up. He put his hand on my shoulder.

"Johnny, there are very few times in an educator's career when he or she can feel that they have made a difference. For myself and all of your teachers, I want to thank you for giving us that opportunity. Please keep up the good work. You have a promising future ahead of you."

"Thank you, Mr. Tanner. I will try my best. I hope I won't let you down," I said cautiously.

"I'm sure you won't," he encouraged me.

He walked to the door and held it open for me to leave.

As I was passing by the secretary's desk, she called my name. I stopped. What now, I wondered?

"Here," she said, holding out two small pieces of paper. "It's between classes, so you'll need a hall pass and a late slip."

I took them and left quickly. Walking down the empty corridor to my second period English class, I thought about how differently things had gone than what I expected and how I almost blew it. What would Mr. Tanner have thought if his star student admitted he dressed as a girl? Even worse, what had I almost done to my family? I would have never forgiven myself. My concerns ended when I entered the classroom. Miss Gray was going over the essay questions on our final exam. I put the late slip on her desk, sat down and took out my notebook. After what I went through in the morning, the rest of the day was no fun and I was relieved when it was over.

On the bus ride home, I came to a decision. There was no way I could go through another day like this one. Even if I could manage to deal with it somehow, the likelihood of hurting my mother and sisters was too great. Now that I thought of it, just fooling Julie was risky. One too many mistakes and she would know who I was really. It would put an end to her friendship with Susie and leave my little sister with no place to go after school, which would make it hard for Mom to work. For my family's sake, I had to give up being Jenny.

TO BE CONTINUED

Sister, Sister, Sister - 10

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Sister, Sister, Sister - Part 10
By Missy Crystal

Twelve year old Johnny wants to play Barbies with his sisters, but Barbies are for girls. How can Johnny join the game? A sweet, sentimental story about a young boy's discovery of the girl he should have been with the help of his sisters and mother. This is a story I wrote a couple of years ago and I am posting it here for those who would like to know more about Dr. Jenny Mitchell. It is complete, for those who anguish over being left hanging, but too long for a single post.

I was the first one home, as usual. Mom would get Susie at Mrs. Johnson's on her way home and Beth was probably at a friend's house, since cheerleading practice was over. I started to go upstairs to change, but then stopped. Why bother, I thought. I was too upset to eat at school, so decided to have a snack. I found a package of chocolate chip cookies, put two on a plate, poured myself a glass of milk, took a napkin and sat down at the kitchen table. I opened my backpack and started on my homework. I was pretty sure I had covered myself with Mr. Tanner, but, now that I knew he had his eye on me, I didn't want to let my grades slip and give him a reason to talk to Mrs. McGowan. I picked up a cookie and took a nibble, a small sip of milk and wiped my mouth with the napkin. Then I realized I was eating like a girl. No way. Jenny was gone. I shoved the rest of the cookie into my mouth, took a swig of milk to wash it down and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand. I couldn't get myself to enjoy eating that way, so I put the other cookie back in the bag and poured out the rest of milk. I was concentrating on my homework when I heard Mom=s car pull into the driveway. A minute later, Susie came in.

"Hi, Jenny," she stopped short. "Oh, Johnny," she corrected herself. "What happened to Jenny?"

I didn't feel like explaining, so I made up an excuse.

"Hi, Susie."

I looked down, pretending to be surprised at still wearing my boy's clothes.

"Oh, I guess I got so involved in doing my homework that I completely forgot to change. Silly me," I said, shaking my head."

"You are silly, Jenny," Susie agreed, using my girl=s name.

Just then, Mom walked in. She stopped when she saw me.

"Jenny, is something the matter?" she asked, using her mother's intuition.

"Susie, dear, please go upstairs. I need to talk to Jenny for a few minutes."

Susie left and Mom walked over to me.

"Now then, Honey, what's this all about?" She got a worried look and put her hand to her mouth. "It's not those boys at the park, is it? They didn't, you aren't, oh my!" she exclaimed, fearing the worst.

"No, Mom," I reassured her, shaking my head for emphasis. "Nothing bad happened. Well no, something bad almost happened. Mom, I don't want to be Jenny anymore," I blurted out, tears beginning to trickle down my face. "It's not fair to you or my sisters."

Mom came over and put her arm around me.

"There, there, Jenny, if nothing bad happened, then why the tears? Please talk to me. I=m sure we can find a solution."

"There is no solution, Mom," I told her, as the tears continued to flow. "I can't, I won't get you and my sisters in trouble, because of me. I love you all too much. There's no more Jenny. She's gone."

I put my head against her shoulder and cried. Mom just held me, letting me get it out of my system. Finally, I pulled myself together.

"Now then, young lady, you know that your sisters and I love you very much too. I want to know what happened that was so terrible that you have to give up Jenny because of us."

I had calmed down a little bit and began to tell Mom the story. My being called to the office, almost giving myself away and then finding out that it wasn't what I was worried about at all.

"Mom, I was really afraid that they had called you and when it got out, you would be in trouble and Beth and Susie would be teased. Even Julie, Mom. I'm sure she'd hate me for fooling her and hate Susie too. How would you work, if Susie and Julie weren't friends anymore? Then again, if I got kicked out of school, I could watch her after school. We could have a lifetime of Barbies. That would be the perfect end to Jenny," I said miserably, "stuck in Barbie land forever."

"Jenny," Mom said calmly, "we've always known that there was a risk. Thinking back, we were lucky that Sally McGowan was willing to give you," she paused, "and me," she added, "the benefit of the doubt. I think you're over reacting," she went on, "to what happened at school. I can take care of myself and so can your sisters, even little Susie. We are strong, Jenny, and having you as their sister and as my daughter makes us even stronger. This is what being a family is all about, Honey, and you should not make decisions that affect our family without giving us the chance to be involved."

I shook my head.

"You don't understand, Mom. It's not about you or Beth or Susie. It's about me. I couldn't live with myself, if every time I looked in the mirror I saw a girl who was so thoughtless that she let her family suffer because of her. I do know that Beth is strong, too strong. If someone made fun of her brother who wears dresses, she'd deck them without even thinking about it. She'd be suspended from school and thrown off the cheerleading squad. I know Susie is strong too. She would stick up for me. Maybe Julie is like her Mom and would understand, but the other kids wouldn't. Being strong doesn't stop them from teasing her. I won't take that chance. I wish it could be different, but it can't. Jenny has to go," I said sadly, "and nothing you or my sisters can say will change my mind."

Mom thought for a moment.

"Maybe nothing we say can change your mind, but what about Dr. Goldfarb?"

"What? I don't understand. What does Dr. Goldfarb have to do with this?"

"Well," Mom explained, "you wanted me to make an appointment with her, so I called her office this morning and in all the excitement I didn't have a chance to tell you about it. We have an appointment for eight o'clock Friday morning. Claire Johnson had spoken to her and she was interested in seeing you. So much so, that she arranged for us to come in before her regular patients. I wanted to surprise you with the good news, but you beat me to it with your news."

"Thanks, Mom. I really appreciate your making the appointment, but it's a waste of time. Please cancel it."

"Jenny," Mom said sternly, "the doctor has made a special effort to see you and I have already made arrangements to change my shift, so I can take you. It would seem to me that, before you make any decision that is going to change your life and ours, you at least take advantage of the opportunity to speak with someone who can give you good advice. You owe it to yourself and to us." Her tone softened. "Please dear, don't do anything hastily that you might regret later on. Nothing is going to change between now and Friday. Let's at least hear what the doctor has to say. Then you can decide and I will respect your decision, because it was made logically, not emotionally."

"Okay, Mom," I conceded. "I guess you=re right. I'll keep the appointment."

"Good," Mom said with a sigh of relief. "Now then, since Jenny hasn't moved out yet, will you please do us all a favor and get into your proper clothes."

I didn't need much encouragement. I gave Mom a hug and headed upstairs to change. I went into my room and traded my white boy's briefs for a pair of pink cotton panties and my t-shirt for a matching pink cammie. I slipped on my robe and went into Beth's and Susie's room to find something pretty. I might as well make the most of my last few days as Jenny, I told myself. Susie was sitting propped up on her pillow, reading a book. She looked up when I came in and smiled at me. I smiled back at her.

"Hi, Jenny," she exclaimed happily. "Will you read to me now?"

"Sure, Sis, just let me get dressed."

I went over to the closet and started to look through Beth's wardrobe. Nothing caught my eye. Then I remembered the girl at the bus stop who was wearing a skort. If I only had a few more days to wear girl's clothes, it would be nice to try something new.

"Susie, do you know what a skort is?" I asked her.

Of course, Jenny," she laughed, "every girl knows that. Why?"

"Well, I saw a girl wearing one today and it looked like fun. I was wondering if Beth had one."

"Yes, we both do, but you won't find it. There's not enough room for all of our clothes in the closet, so Mom keeps our summer things packed away. I'm not sure where, they're probably in her closet. You'd have to ask her. Do you want me to run down, 'cause I'm dressed."

"Thanks, Sis, but I can do it."

I started to head for the door and then turned around.

"Do you remember what Beth wears with her skort, I mean the shoes and top? Are those packed away too?"

"I'm not sure. I usually wear a tank top. I guess she'd wear the same thing with hers or maybe a cute t-shirt. They look nice with a skort too. I mean it's just a fancy pair of shorts, so anything that goes with shorts would be okay, I guess."

"Thanks for the fashion lesson," I said appreciatively. "I'll be right back and after I get dressed I'll read to you, okay?"

"Okay, Jenny. Hurry back. It's almost dinner time."

I went to the kitchen. Mom saw me come in and nodded her approval.

"That's my girl," she encouraged me.

I shrugged.

"Mom, I saw a girl wearing a skort today. Susie says Beth has one packed away with her summer things. Could you find it for me without too much trouble? I mean, it's not that important. There are lots of other things. It=s just, well, I don't know, I … ."

"Not a problem at all, Honey," Mom interrupted me. Beth's and Susie's summer clothes are in a storage box in my closet. Their closet needs to be changed over, now that it's getting warmer, so this is as good a time as any. Come on. We can go do it together. Supper can wait a bit."

I followed Mom upstairs to her room. She opened the closet and pulled out a large cardboard box. She took off the lid and began to unpack the clothes, putting them on the bed. The top layer was Susie's clothes. Her t-shirts, tank tops, shorts, little skirts, short-sleeved blouses, sun dresses and bathing suits came out. Next came a similar assortment of Beth's clothes. Going through the skirts, Mom picked one up and handed it to me.

"I think this is what you were looking for."

It was a really pretty pastel pink, aqua and pale yellow plaid. She lifted up the skirt flap, so I could see the shorts underneath.

"I'm not sure about a top."

She looked through the pile of clothes and found a pink sleeveless cotton top with a scoop neck.

"How about this?" she asked, holding it next to the skort."

"Perfect," I agreed.

I started to leave.

"Hang on Honey, give me a hand taking the clothes into your sisters' room, please," Mom asked me, gathering up a pile and putting it into my arms.

She picked up the rest and we headed out. When we got to the girls' room, she deposited her load on Beth's bed and I put mine down next to it.

"Oh, cool, our summer stuff," Susie said, looking up from her book when we came in. "Did you find a skort and top, Jenny?"

I nodded.

I took the outfit back to my room, slipped out of my robe and pulled on the top. You could see the cammie peeking out of the low neck opening, so I got undressed, took the cammie off and put the top back on. The top was light material and, without anything underneath it, I could see tiny little bumps over my nipples. I sighed. That was about as good as it was ever going to get. Then again, it didn't matter any more. I stepped into it, zipped it up and fastened it around my waist. Looking down, I realized that I didn't have anything on my feet. I headed back to Susie's room. Mom was taking the winter clothes out of the closet, folding them and putting the summer clothes in their place.

"Mom, what should I wear on my feet?" I wondered.

She thought for a minute.

"Either sandals or ankle socks with flats, the shoes are still in my closet. I forgot about them. Be a dear and bring in the box."

I went back to Mom's room and found another cardboard box in her closet. I picked it up and carried it into Beth=s and Susie's room. Mom pointed to a place on the floor at the foot of Beth's bed, near the closet. I put the box down and started to take out the shoes. When I got to a pair of pink sandals, Mom stopped me.

"That's one pair you can wear. See if you can find the flats, they're white."

I rummaged through what was left in the box and found what looked like a pair of white slippers. I took them out and showed them to Mom.

"Yes, Jenny, those are the ones."

She picked up the sandals in one hand and the flats in the other.

"Take your pick," she offered.

I thought for a moment. The sandals would be nice and cool for going out in the summertime, but the shoes and socks were better for the house. I pointed to the shoes and Mom handed them to me.A

"Take a pair of the pink cotton ankle socks from Beth's dresser," she recommended, "they will look cute with the outfit."

I went over, opened the drawer and looked though Beth's collection, until I found a pair. I took them out, sat down on Beth=s bed, pulled them on and then slipped on the shoes. I stood up and looked in the mirror on the closet door. I hadn't done anything with my hair or makeup, so I looked like a tomboy. I thanked Mom, told Susie I would be right back and went to my room. Restyling my hair, putting in my little gold hoop earrings, a heart locket Beth let me borrow and a pink headband made the difference. When I went back into my sisters' room, Susie looked at me and smiled. Mom turned from reorganizing the closet and nodded her approval. I went over and snuggled up with Susie. She handed me the book she was reading. Mom looked over and smiled. I gave her a weak smile back, but my mind was made up.

Mom finished putting the clothes in the closet and went back downstairs. About twenty minutes later, I heard Beth come in. She came upstairs and into the room.

"Hi Susie, hi Jenny," she greeted us.

Then she saw what I was wearing.

"Oh, wow, Mom finally got out our summer stuff, about time. Gee, Jenny, you look really cute in my skort," she complimented me.

My legs were stretched out on the bed and the skort was shorts length.

"Wow, Jenny, you have really nice legs," Beth observed.

"Thanks," I said politely, "but when did you start staring at girls' legs? I though I was the one who was confused about being a boy," I teased her.

Beth gave me one of her patronizing looks.

"Sis, you still have a lot to learn. Girls may do it more subtly than boys, but we are always checking out the competition. I mean, if you're an athlete and you want to win the race, you have to know what you're up against," she said with a grin.

The lesson in being girly was interrupted by Mom calling us for dinner.

"You guys go ahead," Beth told us, "I'm going to change and be right down."

Susie and I got up and I put the book on the night stand. Beth started to get undressed and was in her panties and bra by the time I was at the door.

"Pretty hot," she called to me, striking a pose.

I nodded and she giggled. It was going to be hard giving up being Jenny, I thought to myself.

The rest of the night went as usual. Mom put Susie to bed while Beth and I did our homework. Then we went upstairs and got ready for bed. I debated whether to wear my boy's pajamas or my nightgown. Why tease myself I thought. Then I changed my mind. I had a lifetime of pajamas to look forward to. Why rush things? I went though my nightly beauty routine. Another waste of time, I thought, but that too would be over soon enough. Finally, I slipped under the covers and, after tossing and turning for a while, the exhaustion from the day's events came over me and I fell asleep.

On Thursday night, Mom reminded me that we were going to see Dr. Goldfarb in the morning, as if I could have forgotten what was going to be the worst day of my life.

"Yes, Mom," I confirmed, "I remember."

"What are you going to wear?" she asked.

I guessed what she really meant was whether I was going dressed as a girl or a boy. I hadn't really thought about it. I might as well go as a boy. Then again, I reasoned, Mom seemed optimistic that Dr. Goldfarb would be able to change my mind. I doubted it, but maybe, just maybe, somehow I was wrong. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way I could continue to be Jenny. If there was any possibility, then shouldn't Dr. Goldfarb see me as a girl? How would she take me seriously, if I showed up as a boy? I couldn't make up my mind.

"I don't know Mom, what do you think?" I asked her.

"It's up to you," Mom replied, "but you might want to think about whether you're going to school after the appointment. We have to be at the hospital at eight, which means we need to leave by six-thirty, to be on the safe side, in case there's traffic. To be honest, honey, I was so happy to get the appointment, knowing how busy doctors usually are, that I completely forgot to ask about the details. I'm sure that the session isn't more than an hour. We should be home by about ten o=clock. I can drop you off at school or you can come home and change or you can take the day off, whichever you want."

"Well, that settles it. I don't want to miss my classes when we're reviewing, so staying home is not an option. Luckily, I have gym first period on Friday and a study hall right after, so I can still make it to my English class, if I don=t stop at home to change. That means I go as Johnny. Besides, if we have to be out of here by six thirty, it will take him a lot less time to get ready than Jenny," I said, half seriously.

Mom nodded and then added, "speaking of leaving early, Susie is going to do a sleepover at Julie's. That will help."

That night I tossed and turned, waiting for the alarm clock to ring. When it went off, I got up, dressed quickly, washed up and hurried down to breakfast. Mom was already dressed and in the kitchen, having a cup of coffee. She had put out breakfast for me. I tried to eat, but I was too nervous and left most of it. Mom must have understood, because she didn't say anything as she cleared the table.

The ride to the doctor's office was very quiet. Neither of us had anything to say that would make a difference. Mom turned on the radio and we listened to music. She picked a station which she knew I liked, although it wasn't her favorite, I=m sure. There wasn't much traffic and we pulled into the parking lot of the hospital with about forty-five minutes to kill. Mom parked and we went in. The coffee shop was open and Mom asked if I wanted anything. I shook my head. She went over to the information desk and asked for directions. The woman pointed towards the elevators at the other side of the lobby and made some hand motions to show her which way to turn when we got off. I looked at the clock on the lobby wall and it was seven thirty. Mom suggested that we go up. I followed her over to the elevators. We got in and she pushed the button for the fifth floor. The elevator stopped and when the doors opened a nurse came in pushing a patient in a wheelchair. They got off on the next floor. Finally, the fifth floor light came on and the doors opened. We got off. Mom paused, then turned right, went to the end of the corridor, turned left, through a set of doors down a corridor and through another set of doors with a sign 'Department of Psychiatry and Psychopharmacology.' I wasn't sure what the second word meant, but I knew it had to do with drugs. Maybe this was not such a good idea after all, I worried. Mom must have sensed my nervousness and took my hand.

"Mom," I said fearfully, as we continued down the corridor "Dr. Goldfarb isn't going to do anything to me, is she? I mean, we're just going to talk about my being a girl, right? She won=t put me in the hospital or make me take any medicine or anything, will she?"

Mom shook her head.

"Absolutely not, don't worry, Honey." She turned to look at the sign. "Oh, that. It's just the way they organize the hospital departments. Don't forget," she explained, "psychiatry deals with many different types of problems. Some people need medication to help them with anxiety or depression. That's why they=re usually together. Dr. Goldfarb specializes in people like you, Jenny. That is not something which is treated with drugs. Everything will be fine or I wouldn't have brought you here."

I was surprised that Mom used my girl's name, even though I was dressed as a boy.

"Mom, do you think you should call me Jenny when I'm dressed like a boy? What if someone hears you?"

"First of all, Honey, nobody knows us here and, besides, there is nobody around. Don't be such a worry wart."

We stopped in front of a wood door with the name 'Freda Goldfarb, M.D., Ph.D.'

"Impressive," Mom commented. "She is a doctor doctor," she joked.

Mom tried the handle, but the door was locked. We stood outside waiting.

"What time is it?" I asked.

"About a quarter to eight," Mom said, looking at her watch.

About five minutes went by and I heard the sound of the doors opening. Looking down the corridor, I could see a person, but I couldn't make out whether it was a man or a woman. Whoever it was wasn't wearing white, so I guessed it wasn't a doctor or nurse. As the person got closer, I could see it was an older woman. She had dark hair mixed with grey, done up in a bun and held in place with a clip. Her face was round and pleasant. She was dressed in a navy blue straight skirt that came to below her knees, a white blouse with a round collar, buttoned at the neck and a matching navy blue jacket. Navy blue shoes with a low heel and a navy blue pocket book with a shoulder strap completed her outfit. I guessed that it must be the doctor=s secretary coming to open the office.

When the woman reached us, she extended her hand and said, "Hello, I'm Freda Goldfarb. You must be Johnny and his mother. Please come in."

She reached into her bag, took out a set of keys and opened the office door. When she turned on the lights, I could see a secretary's desk and file cabinets to the left and four chairs against the wall with a coffee table in front of them to the right. Dr. Goldfarb went to the file cabinet, opened the top drawer and took out a clipboard. She attached some papers and handed them to my mother.

"You know the routine," she said with a smile, handing Mom a pen. "While you're filling out the forms, I'll get ready."

Dr. Goldfarb used her keys to open another door at the far side of the reception area and went in. She closed the door behind her. Mom sat down in one of the chairs and began writing. I sat next to her. I thought maybe there would be a fashion magazine, but there were only news magazines. I picked one up and flipped the pages, but didn't pay attention. After a while, Dr. Goldfarb came out and asked Mom if she was finished. Mom said yes and handed her the clipboard. Dr. Goldfarb looked at it quickly, nodded and invited us into her office. I was expecting to see a couch, like in the movies, but it looked just like a regular office. There was a dark wood desk with a black leather chair behind it. In front of the desk there were two wooden side chairs. Four upholstered armchairs chairs were arranged around a round coffee table off to one side. There was a bookcase filled to overflowing against the other wall. Over the bookcase were lots of diplomas and on the wall behind the four chairs was a large picture of a garden with flowers and a fountain. Behind Dr. Goldfarb's desk was a big window with a nice city view looking towards the river. Dr. Goldfarb motioned for us to be seated in the upholstered chairs. She sat down in the one facing me, with mom to her right and began to look over the forms.

Turning to Mom, Dr. Goldfarb asked her, "how old was Johnny when your husband left?"

"Six," Mom replied.

Dr. Goldfarb made a note.

"Did he abuse you or the children?"

Mom hesitated.

Dr. Goldfarb waited for a minute and then said patiently, "I understand that this interview may be uncomfortable for you, especially in front of Johnny, but, as a nurse, you know that a complete and accurate history is necessary in order for me to make a diagnosis. When you deal with injuries and diseases, it is what has happened to the patient physically. When you deal with mental health, it is what has happened to him psychologically. As to Johnny, you also know how important it is for a patient to trust his doctor. That purpose is not served by excluding him from our interview."

That doctor had a very sincere manner and I could see Mom relax.

She shook her head and explained, "No, Dr. Goldfarb. In a way, I wish he was. I could have dealt with that. He was indifferent."

Dr. Goldfarb made another note.

"Did he spend any time with Johnny?"

"No," she told her, "he didn't want the responsibility of a family and finally he walked out on us. I filed for divorce and haven't seen him or spoken to him since. Not a letter, a telephone call or a card on his children's birthday, nothing. He was supposed to pay child support, which he did for a couple of years. Then that stopped," Mom said angrily. "It's been a struggle, but we are fine on our own. We don't need him or his money."

I was watching Dr. Goldfarb's face. If she thought anything of Mom's emotional response, she didn't show it. She made some more notes on her pad. When she finished writing she looked up at Mom.

"Thank, you," she said sympathetically.

Dr. Goldfarb continued to interview Mom about our family. She asked about her how my sisters got along with each other and how I got along with them. Mom told her about the change in my behavior that had taken place, after I began being a girl. She wanted to know about school. Mom bragged that I was doing well, now that I had settled down. She gave Beth credit for helping me. Finally, Dr. Goldfarb asked Mom how she felt about me. Mom looked over at me, smiled, and said that she wanted whatever was best for me and my being a girl seemed to make me happy or she wouldn't have encouraged it. To my surprise, I saw Dr. Goldfarb raise an eyebrow.

"You encouraged your son's cross-dressing?" she challenged Mom.

Mom didn't hesitate.

"No, Dr. Goldfarb, I encouraged my son to be himself, whether it was as a boy or a girl. He made the choice."

"So, if he wanted to eat a gallon of ice cream, you would let him make that choice too?"

"No," Mom said defensively, "I would not allow him to do something I knew was not good for him."

"How do you know being a girl is good for him?"

"I don't know if it is good for him or not," Mom conceded. "I do know that he is happy."

"Eating a gallon of ice cream would probably make him happy too, but it would not be good for him," Dr. Goldfarb argued.

I could see that Mom was getting upset at the thought that she might have been wrong. I had to speak up.

"No, Dr. Goldfarb," I interrupted. "I am old enough to know not to eat a gallon of ice cream and I am old enough to make my own decision about being a girl. Mom may have gone along with it, because she loves me, but I am the one responsible."

Dr. Goldfarb looked at her watch.

"It's eight thirty. This is a good time for me to talk to Johnny alone."

Dr. Goldfarb turned to Mom.

"My secretary Brenda should be in by now. Would you go out and do the insurance paperwork, please. It will only be about fifteen minutes. I schedule one hour appointments, but I only have forty five minute sessions, so that one patient leaves before the next arrives, to protect their privacy."

Mom got up and started to the door. She stopped and turned.

"Thank you for seeing us," she said to Dr. Goldfarb.

"You're quite welcome. I will see you in the reception area, when we're done."

Dr. Goldfarb waited until the door closed, then got up and moved to the chair Mom had been sitting in, closer to me. We each turned slightly, so that we were looking at each other.

"What is it that you would like me to do for you?" she asked.

"There's nothing you can do for me," I answered honestly.

"If there's nothing I can do for you, then why are you here?"

"I'm not going to be Jenny anymore. That's the girl's name I use," I explained. "Mom had already made the appointment and she wanted me to meet with you before I stopped."

"Your mother spoke with me on Monday morning, which means that whatever it was that has changed your mind must have happened after that. Would you like to tell me about it?"

I explained about going to the park as Jenny, running into my old gang, thinking that they might have recognized me, being nervous and upset when the principal called me to his office and nearly giving myself away. Dr. Goldfarb added some notes to her pad. I told her how guilty I felt, when I thought that I had gotten my family into trouble. I couldn't live with myself, if that happened, I told her.

She looked at my sympathetically.

"Johnny, I can't tell you what to do, that's up to you, with the guidance of your mother. I can give you some information that might help you to make your decision. My male patients fall into two groups. Those who want to live as women and those who don't."

She saw that I was puzzled.

"Those who do, work with me to prepare themselves for transitioning, starting on hormones to create a more feminine appearance and eventually having reconstructive surgery to give them female anatomy."

Dr. Goldfarb saw the startled expression on my face.

"There's more to being transgendered than just your name and looking pretty, Johnny. Of course, not everyone goes though the complete process. Some stop with just hormones, some don't even go that far. However, no responsible doctor will prescribe hormones and no respectable surgeon will perform a sex change, until a psychiatrist has certified that their patient is a proper candidate. That's why these patients are seeing me and it takes many years of counseling, before they are ready. It's not a decision you have to think about for a very long time," she said reassuringly. "The ones who don't," Dr. Goldfarb continued, "can't, because of social or economic pressure. Family, friends and employers, most of the world, in fact, disapprove of being transgendered. These patients come to me to help them deal with the woman inside them that they can't express. The point I am making, Johnny, is that, if you are transgendered, then you can hide it from others, but not from yourself.

"Do they ever get to be women, Dr. Goldfarb?"

"Yes, most of them do eventually, but it can take many years before they're ready to risk coming out. Fortunately for you, you weren't outed, that means found out, but you can't count on being lucky forever and you are right about the consequences. It is very hard for an adult, even when they are prepared for ridicule and rejection, and, at your age, it would have been even harder on you and those you love."

Dr. Goldfarb looked at her watch.

"Time's up, I'm afraid."

She looked at me.

"If you are coming back, what name would you like me to call you?"

"Jenny, please."

"Well, Jenny, it was nice to meet you."

Dr. Goldfarb got up. I got up. I couldn't help myself. I walked over, put my arms around her and gave her a hug. To my surprise, she held me. After a minute, we released each other. She walked to the door and opened it. Mom got up when she saw me come out.

"We are running late," Dr. Goldfarb told her. "You need to go along. Please call Brenda next week and make another appointment for Jenny."

I saw Mom grin when she heard Dr. Goldfarb call me Jenny and ask her to schedule another appointment.

"Yes, Dr. Goldfarb, thank you so much."

Dr. Goldfarb turned and went back into her office. We hurried out. There was no conversation as we walked to the elevator and through the lobby to the car. Mom found the ticket, paid the attendant and we drove out of the parking lot.

"Well, don't keep me in suspense," Mom said to me in the privacy of our car.

"The problem wasn't with my being Jenny," I explained. "It was with my not being able to deal with being found out. The solution is to wait until I am ready. I don't have to stop being a girl. From what Dr. Goldfarb explained, I couldn't if I wanted to. I just have to stop going out as one for now."

"Well, I'll certainly enjoy having Jenny around the house," Mom said cheerfully, "and so will your sisters." She thought for a moment, "and maybe there is a way for you to enjoy going out."

I shook my head.

"Sorry, been there, done that, too risky, no thank you."

Mom laughed.

"How about," Mom continued, "if we went someplace where nobody knows us? School will be out in a few weeks. We could take a trip. Maybe visit your Aunt Nancy, just a mother and her three beautiful daughters on vacation. We've never gone away as a family before. It would be fun."

"Mom, please don't take this personally, but are you nuts? I can see it now. Hi Aunt Nancy, hi Uncle Carl, hi Greg, hi Patty, maybe hold out the hem of my dress and do a little curtsey. Of all the places to go where I would be recognized as a boy, Aunt Nancy's would be on the top of the list."

"She already knows Dear," Mom said matter-of-factly.

"What! Mom, you couldn't, you didn't, how could you, why would you. Oh my God, I can't believe that you told her. Mom, what were you thinking? I'll never be able to see them now and they're the only relatives that we have."

"Calm down, honey. Do you have any secrets from your sisters?" Mom asked me.

"No," I answered.

"Well neither do I. Aunt Nancy loves you and, if I support you, then so does she."

"What about Uncle Carl, Greg and Patty. Do they know?"

"No. It was between us and I am sure Nancy wouldn't say anything to them without asking me first."

I let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay, I guess, but that still doesn't mean that the rest of her family will accept me as Jenny when they find out."

"There's more to the story. Family secrets get shared both ways," Mom said with a smile. "Greg is gay. He came out about a year ago."

"No way! Greg is gay? Impossible. He played sports. He was like a man's man."

"Apparently so," Mom joked.

We both laughed.

"When he graduated, he went to culinary school. He met Gary there. They fell in love and they're living together in the city and trying to get together enough money to open their own restaurant."

"I can see Uncle Carl now, first Greg, now me. He will think our side of the family is really demented."

"Except that Greg is his son from his first marriage. He isn't related to our side of the family. I would say you even things up," Mom kidded me.

"What about Cousin Patty? First her brother and now me, she doesn't have any secrets, does she?"

"Not that I know of, but she's a sweetheart. She has accepted Greg and Gary and I am sure she will accept you too. So, what do you say?"

"Sounds good, but I think I should run it by Dr. Goldfarb, when I see her next time."

"Agreed," said Mom.

We were silent for a few minutes and then I turned to Mom.

"You know, I'd really like to fill out my clothes a little better. When we were at the mall, Beth dragged me into a lingerie shop and, before I could get her out of there, a salesgirl come over and showed us some teen bras that gave you a figure. I wonder Mom, do you think I could get one?"

"Sure, Honey," Mom said with a sniffle.

"Mom, what's wrong now?"

"Oh, it's just that buying your daughter her first bra is a special day for a mother. It means your little girl is becoming a woman."

I shook my head.

"Mom, even with a bra, it will be a while before Jenny becomes a woman."

THE BEGINNING

Spider Man

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

F2M sex change

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Spider Man
By Missy Crystal

Some people are born men and others have being a man thrust upon them. Petula Barker was an ordinary research assistant until she accidentally injected herself with spider venom. Three days later, she woke up as Peter Barker. After he is caught dressed in her clothes and carrying her purse, he is arrested and has to convince the police that he is really she or vice versa. A female to male transformation story for the often neglected side of our transgendered community.

I wasn't happy about being a research assistant. As a little girl, I dreamed of being a model. I would put on my pink and white taffeta party dress with the built in nylon net crinoline that puffed out the skirt and the big bow in back, well, actually it was my cousin Molly's hand me down dress which was two sizes too big for me, and my, well hers too, black patent leather mary janes, that didn't fit either, and sashay back and forth in my room. I asked my mom for modeling lessons, but she just looked at me and said it would be a waste of money. Thanks mom. And so it went all though high school. Boys aren't attracted to tall, skinny girls with little boobies. When I was using the bathroom, I would hear the other girls joking about giving their boyfriends birthday blowjobs. I would have done that for my boyfriend, if I had one. I would have done it for their boyfriends, but no luck. Mini skirts, stuffing Kleenex in my bra, fancy makeup, perfume guaranteed to win a man's heart, nothing helped. I was the ugly duckling that grew up to be a turkey.

College was no better. I was a biochemistry major. Not too many hot guys were in my classes. Actually, none. Only nerds. I probably could have seduced one. If animals can do it, I suppose eventually they would have figured out what goes where too, but I had my sights set higher. My aim was great, but I was lacking the ammunition. Then I went for my Masters. There'd be lots of hot guys there, right? Wrong. My classes were mostly women and the jury was out on the rest. At least they never responded to my provocative looks and seductive outfits. After I graduated, still a virgin through no fault of my own, I was recruited by a big pharmaceutical company to work in their drug research laboratory. The pay was good and there had to be some hot guys in a big company, right? Wrong. Most of the men I worked with were old enough to be my father and those few who were around my age were all weird with a capital "W". What's a girl to do?

Every day I would get up, wash, get dressed in whatever I felt like throwing on, it didn't matter, since I wore a white lab coat over it, sometimes I thought it would be funny if I just wore my bra and panties, and catch the 8:25 bus to the lab. Actually, from a scientific standpoint, my work was pretty interesting. Our group was analyzing the venom from a newly discovered South American spider. According to our protocol briefing, this particular spider was the only one that was known to be social, more like bees than its eight-legged relatives. The spiders spun huge communal webs, each one with a queen nested in the center. It was her venom that was of interest, because, if she was unique among spiders, maybe her venom was unique too and could cure cancer or genital warts or whatever.

After I got my station set up, I went to the Research Director's office to get a venom sample. The spiders were found in a remote area of the rain forest and, since there was just one queen to a web, only a few could be taken for their venom without affecting the spider's ecology. That meant there was very little to work with and the small amount we had was closely monitored. I signed the necessary requisition forms and received a syringe into which a small amount of the venom had been drawn from a vial. The Director handed the syringe to me and I carefully carried it to my lab bench. I removed the protective plastic cap from the needle and was about to place a drop on a glass slide for testing, when I felt like I was going to sneeze. I was afraid that I would drop the syringe, so I quickly put it down on the bench. I did sneeze, blew my nose on some tissues, which I threw in the wastebasket under my bench, and then reached for the syringe. It must have rolled, because I had put it down with the needle facing away from me, but I felt a prick in my finger and, when I looked, I saw a little spot of blood. Damn, I thought, just my luck.

Good lab procedure is to report any accidents, but I was worried that I would be reprimanded, maybe even fired, because of my carelessness in handling the venom. There probably wasn't any remaining in the needle anyway, I reassured myself, at least not enough to hurt me. After all, it's a little tiny spider that preys on other little tiny insects, so it shouldn’t hurt a great big human, I rationalized. Since I had plenty of the venom sample left to work with, I decided to keep my mouth shut about the accident and go on with my work. All day long I was very sensitive to how I felt, but I didn't notice anything. I cleaned up my station and caught the 5:15 bus back to my apartment. As far as I could tell, I still had no symptoms. However, I was a little tired and I decided to rest for a few minutes, before I opened up a can of ravioli for my dinner. I went over to my bed, it was a studio apartment, stripped down to my panties and put on my nightgown.

I woke up a few hours later and looked at the alarm clock. It was eleven o'clock, but something was strange. I looked closer and saw that the pm light was out, which meant that it was morning. I turned my head to look at the window and, holy cow, it was daylight. I had overslept. I started to sit up and then felt really funny, bulkier, for some reason. My nightgown had ridden up while I slept and my panties were showing. There was a funny bulge in them. I put my hand down and felt it press against something. I quickly hooked my thumbs in the waistband to pull them down. I gasped when I saw what looked like a sausage, long, round and meaty. What had that spider bite done to me? Were these growths all over my body I worried, not grasping the nature of what I was looking at.

I jumped out of bed, stumbling because my panties were down around my thighs, stepped out of them, pulled my nightgown over my head and went to the door mirror. Instead of me, there was a guy looking back at me. A handsome face, killer body, with well developed pecs, muscular arms and legs and a six pack stomach. I spun around and so did he, showing off a really nice tight set of buns. He was everything I every dreamt about in a man, except that the man was me. What the hell was happening? Then it hit me. The spider venom must be some kind of hallucinogen. Maybe that's how it worked. The prey became delusional and the spider could then capture it and keep it fresh until it needed to feed. But why would the Queen have that kind of venom? From what they told us about these spiders, she stayed in the web and the other spiders brought her food. I shrugged. Maybe it has a different effect on the spiders. Maybe it turns the male spiders into studs when she needs them to service her, but, whatever it did for the spiders, I might as well enjoy my hallucination before the effect wore off.

As a science major, I had taken enough biology courses to know the fundamentals of penises. Reaching down to examine it, mmmm, that felt nice, it was quite a respectable specimen, about five inches long and two inches thick I estimated, with a flap of skin over the tip. Reaching underneath I felt a pouch with two big balls dangling between my legs. Rubbing them felt nice too. I had heard about jerking off. What the heck, I thought. I gentle circled the shaft with my right hand while continuing to fondle my balls with my left. Stroking up and down, I discovered that gentle pressure from a ring formed by my thumb and first finger gave me the most stimulation, going all the way to the top, pulling back the skin and rubbing my thumb over the exposed tip. After about a minute, I noticed some clear liquid begin to leak out of the opening, which added lubrication. By now, my cock - hah, my cock - was sticking out, hard as a rock, and, after about two more minutes of attention, I felt a spasm and big gobs of white goo spurted out onto the mirror. Holy cow, that was sperm, the stuff that makes babies. I watched as it slowly dribbled down the glass. I had played with my clit off an on, well, more on than off, and had an assortment of toys in my nightstand drawer, for when I got really horny, but I never got off like that. Damn, guys have all the fun. It was really going to be disappointing when I finally woke up and went back to having a pussy with a bloody mess every month.

Okay, Pet, I said to myself. That's my nickname. My full name is Petula. I know. As a little girl, my mother was infatuated with some Brit pop singer. She had a collection of her records and by the time I was four, I knew the words to "Downtown" and "I Know a Place" the same way normal kids could recite nursery rhymes. Way to go mom. Anyway, Pet, I said to myself, this is too good to waste sitting in your apartment. You’re a chick magnet. Why not go out and show the girls a good time, in your dreams at least. Huh? Did I want to have sex with women? Then again, if you got it, might as well use it. I hoped that my imagination had provided me with a wardrobe as well.

I checked my bureau, but there were only panties, very sexy, but too skimpy to contain my manhood. Then I remembered I had a pair of men's boxers that I bought to wear as a beach cover-up. I rummaged around in my bathing suit drawer and found them. I stepped in and pulled them up to my waist. They seemed to fit, but I couldn't figure out how you supported yourself. Did guys wear jockstraps with these things? As far as I knew, they were only for sports. Besides they were not a basic item in my feminine wardrobe, so it didn't matter. Finally, I just let everything dangle. Kind of breezy, but a lot more comfortable than pantyhose. God forbid you showed a panty line. And no bra either. Not that I needed one, except for enhancement, but it was still a royal pain to have something strapped around your chest all day, just so you could have a couple of size bigger boobs. Guys don't appreciate how good they have it. I was hoping that my delusion had at least put some designer men's clothes in my closet, but no. It was full of my women's clothes and shoes. I tried on a pair of jeans, but they were much too tailored for my new physique. So were my blouses and stretchy tops. I finally found a baggy warm-up suit that I could get on, except it was in pastel pink and the pant legs and jacket sleeves were way short. Not only did I dream myself a killer body, but I made myself taller too. At least I concentrated my hallucination on things that mattered. My feet were too big for my shoes, not that my macho image would have been enhanced by mincing around in pumps, but I managed to cram them into a pair of open backed sneakers.

Before heading out, I decided to check myself out in the mirror. The first thing I noticed was my hair. Since I had given up on dating, I cut my hair in a short pageboy for easy care. I may have dreamed up a great body, but I left my own hair. Looking back at me was Prince Valiant with a stubbly beard. It looked kind of cool, but I wondered what it would be like to shave my face. From the time I was a teenager, I had spent hours bleaching my mustache, because I had been warned that shaving would make it grow back darker. Now I didn't have to worry. Guys don't know how good they have it. I got my pink Princess razor and gel, lathered my face and began to shave. As I rinsed off the razor, I could see the whiskers in the sink. Neat. When I was done, I washed off my face, toweled it dry and admired my smooth skin. Too bad I don't have some of that aftershave stuff they advertise, Aqua something. You really suck at imagining how to be a man, I reprimanded myself. Next time you hallucinate, you have to pay more attention to the details, although you did an impressive job with the dick, thinking back to the fun I had jerking off.

Now that I was ready, I picked up my purse and headed out the door. Since I had no place in particular to go, I decided to find a men's store and get myself some proper clothes. Walking down the street, people stopped to stare. On the one hand, a stud with a pageboy haircut, pink warm-up suit and carrying a purse is not something you see every day. On the other hand, they were all figments of my imagination, so what did I care. There was a department store a few blocks away. I went to the Men's Department. I had never really paid much attention to it before, having no need to shop there. My father divorced my mother when I was very young, so I never had to buy him ties, belts and handkerchiefs as gifts. I was surprised by how small it was, compared to the women's section of the store. Clothes, shoes, underwear, everything was in one place. How convenient not to have to go from the lingerie department to the women's department to the cosmetic department to the shoe department. Men really did have it easy.

A sales associate came up to me and gave me a suspicious look, obviously thinking I was some kind of weirdo. Careful, I thought, or I will imagine you into a toad, although that would not have been very practical, since I need his assistance to pick out clothes.

"May I help you, sir?" he asked me.

"Yes, please. I umm, I'm visiting my, umm, my sister. Our mother's in the hospital," I lied, not that I had to explain anything to someone I dreamed up, but I decided to pretend the fantasy was real. "I'm from out of state, yes, out of state, and the airline lost my suitcase. I spilled coffee all over my only clothes this morning, yes, right, coffee all over me, quite a mess, so I, umm, had to borrow these from her. I need to get some new clothes to wear until my suitcase gets here."

"Yes, well, what in particular are you looking for?" the sales associate asked skeptically.

"Everything really," I replied, "some pants, shirts, underwear and shoes."

"What sizes?" he wanted to know.

"Size five," I told him.

"Size five what?" he asked.

I realized that I had given him my women's size.

"Umm, actually, I'm not sure," I told him, which was true. "I've been dieting and working out, so maybe you should measure me, just to be on the safe side."

"Very well," he conceded.

He went to the sales desk and got a tape measure.

"Waist 33, inseam, 32, chest, 38, arm, 34, neck 15. Does that sound correct?"

"Yes, right on," I agreed.

"Do you have a preference in style or color?"

"No, please just select whatever you think would coordinate."

"How many of each?"

"Oh, I think just one for now. Hopefully, my suitcases will arrive soon."

The sales associate looked though the racks and picked out a pair of charcoal grey slacks in a wool and polyester blend and a light grey long sleeved cotton sport shirt with tan and black vertical stripes. He draped the slacks over his arm and held the shirt against them.

"Is this satisfactory?" he asked.

"Yes, that will do nicely. I need underwear too."

"Briefs or boxers?"

"Umm, briefs please."

He went over to a display rack."

"White or colored?"

"White, please."

He took a package from one of the shelves, then went to another display rack and took a package of black socks.

"Would you like to try them on?"

"Yes, please."

He directed me to the dressing rooms and handed me the clothes. I was hoping he would give me the underwear too, but he put them on the sales counter. The dressing room was very different than in the ladies department. Much smaller and there wasn't an attendant counting what you brought in and returned, to make sure you didn't hide anything under your clothes. I stripped and put on the slacks. They fit perfectly. So did the shirt. I picked up the clothes I had taken off and went out. The sales associate was waiting for me at the sales desk. He nodded approvingly.

"Are you going to wear those out?" he inquired.

"Yes."

"Will that be check or charge?"

"Charge, please."

I opened my purse and took out my wallet. I handed him my credit card. He looked at it and shook his head.

"This isn't your card," he challenged me.

"No," I agreed. "It's my, umm, sister's. I told you the airline lost my suitcase."

"How did you get on the plane without your wallet for identification," he asked skeptically.

"Umm, I had my license separate."

"May I see it?"

"I, umm, I left it in my shirt pocket when I changed clothes."

"I see," the sales associate said, giving me a very dirty look.

"How about me going to the ATM and getting cash? I'll be right back."

I started to leave and heard the sales associate call out, "sir!" It took me a few seconds to realize he was referring to me. "Sir," he said again more emphatically. I stopped.

"Really, you cannot leave the store without paying for the clothes."

I returned to the dressing room and changed back into my jogging suit."

"How much do I owe?" I asked him when I came out.

"All together, $235.00, plus $12.75 tax. The total is $247.75."

"I'll be right back," I told him.

Luckily, there was a bank branch with an ATM nearby. I went to the machine, put in my cash card, entered my pin and withdrew $300.00, just to be on the safe side. I put the money in my purse and returned to the department store. When I got back, the sales associate was waiting with two security officers.

"I'm sorry, sir," one of the guards addressed me, "but there is some question about your using someone else's credit card. May I see some identification, please?

"I already told the sales associate, I left my driver's license at my sister's apartment."

"Whose pocket book is that, sir?" the second security guard demanded."

"It's my sister's."

"What is your name, sir?"

This hallucination was getting out of hand. I needed to put a stop to it, before it turned into a nightmare. I concentrated, trying to wake myself up, but nothing happened. I tried again. Nothing. Maybe if I tried to imagine a different scene, these people would go away. I closed my eyes and thought of myself on the beach, in a bikini, sipping a marguerite. I opened my eyes, but nothing had changed. Damn. Whatever was in that spider venom was really potent.

"Sir, I must have your name" the security officer insisted, looking at me menacingly.

"It's, umm, it's Pet, umm, Petu …, umm, Peter.

"Last name?"

"Barker. Peter Barker."

"Your sister, what's her name?" the other security guard asked.

"Petula, really, Petula Barker. See it's on her credit card."

"Yes, I see," he agreed. "How is it that you have her pocket book with her wallet and credit cards?"

"She gave it to me," I told him.

"Doesn't she need it?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"I'm afraid I will have to ask you to accompany us to the security office, Mr. Barker. We can call you sister and sort this out. Let's go."

Each of the security officers took one of my arms and began to escort me out of the men's department towards the escalator. Funny, well, ironic, that I was fantasizing about using my new body to screw someone and it was I who was screwed. Damn. Maybe being a man wasn't such a good thing after all.

The security office was on the third floor. One of officers used his free hand to enter a code on the keypad on the wall beside the door, there was a click and the door opened. Inside was a small room with no windows and no pictures or decorations, just a grey metal desk, a filing cabinet and some chairs. There was nothing on the desk, except a telephone. Once we were inside, the guards released my arms. One of them went over to the desk and the other remained standing in front of the door, obviously to prevent me from escaping.

"Sit down," the security guard at the desk directed me.

I sat down and looked around for something to read while I waited, but there were no magazines or a table to put them on. The chairs had one piece metal frames with plastic seats and they were attached together, so you couldn't pick them up. This was not a room for social chats.

"What is your sister's telephone number?" the officer at the desk asked.

Not thinking that obviously I wouldn't be home, if I was here, I gave it to him. He dialed the number and waited.

"There's no answer," he told me, hanging up the phone.

"Where does you sister work?" he questioned me.

"I gave him the name of the pharmaceutical company."

"Is she at work now?"

"Yes," I lied, hoping that would satisfy the officer as to why she wasn't home.

"What is her telephone number at work?"

Crap. Caught again.

"Umm, I don't know, I never call her when she's at work," I lied some more.

"Never mind," the guard said, "I can call information."

He dialed, gave the company's name and wrote down the number.

"Hello, this is Sergeant Webb of store security. Could you connect me with Ms. Petula Barker, please."

A minute went by.

"Yes, this is Sergeant Jack Webb of store security. I'm trying to reach Ms. Petula Barker. I see. Three days. No. I don't. No, I can't say. Thank you."

He hung up the phone.

"According to Ms. Barker's supervisor, she hasn't shown up at work for three days and he assumed she quit. Mr. Barker, if that is your real name, you are in serious trouble. Is there anything you want to tell us?"

"No."

"Very well Mr. Barker or whoever you are. I am going to turn this over to the police."

He picked up the phone and dialed. The other officer stared at me, anticipating that I would do something violent, but I just sat there. I figured once the police arrived, I could explain the situation. Then I thought, what the hell do I care anyway? This is all imaginary. At some point I'm going to wake up. In the meantime, I had to pee really, really bad.

"I need to go to the bathroom," I said.

"I'm not falling for that old gag," the officer at the door said gruffly.

"If you don't let me go to the bathroom, I'm going to pee all over your chair," I threatened." Did men say pee? "It'll be your fault and you can clean up the mess."

The two officers looked at each other.

"Okay," said the one at the desk, who appeared to be more senior, since he got to sit down. "Stand up, but no funny business or you'll be sorry."

I stood up and he came around to one side of me, taking hold of my arm. The other officer opened the door and took my other arm. They guided me down the corridor to a pair of doors, one marked "Women" and the other marked "Men."

I expected them to let go of me, but they kept their grip on my arms.

"Are you coming into the ladies room with me?"

"Don't get smart with us," the officer on my right said.

The other officer opened the door to the men's room. I hesitated.

"Do you want to go or not?"

"Oh, right, sorry," I apologized. "With all that's happened, I got confused," which was an understatement.

"Go ahead."

Inside the men's room, I turned to use one of the stalls, but the officers held me back.

"You said you had to take a leak." Ah, I would have to remember that was how men said it. "Use the urinal where we can keep an eye on you."

I looked over to the opposite wall and there were three white porcelain bowls with handles on top. I walked over and stood in front of the one in the center. Apparently the guards were going to watch me, because one of them kept hold of my arm while the other blocked the door. I mean, women go to the ladies room together to put on makeup and gossip, but we allow each other privacy when relieving ourselves. My first lesson in male bathroom etiquette was that it is a spectator sport. Since I was wearing a woman's warm-up suit, it didn't have a zipper.

"I need both my hands," I told the officer, "unless one of you wants to pull down my pants for me."

The officer let go. Apparently pulling down another man's pants was not part of male bathroom etiquette. I hooked my thumbs in the waistband and pulled them down low enough to expose my underpants. Luckily, I had on the boxers or I really would have gotten strange looks. Now all I had to do was to figure out how to use the equipment. I assumed it worked the same way for both sexes, men just had a better aiming system. I put my hand down the front of my shorts, like I would if I was putting in a pad, and got hold of myself, but couldn't figure out how to get it through the fly."

"C'mon, will ya," the officer on my left said with annoyance. "Stop screwing around."

It was obvious I was going about it in the wrong way. I pulled my hand free and reached in through the fly, successfully retrieving my organ. Extending it towards the bowl, I relaxed my bladder muscles and let go a very impressive stream. A minute latter I was drained and looked around for some toilet paper to wipe myself. Not seeing any, I assumed that men did not indulge in that particular form of personal hygiene and, after checking to make sure there were no drips, tucked it back in and pulled up my pants. The officer immediately took hold of my arm and started taking me towards the door.

"Hold it, I need to wash my hands."

That was my third lesson in male bathroom etiquette. Men don't wash their hands after handling themselves. Definitely a guy thing and I made a note not to eat those little mints at the reception desk of restaurants that guys stick their hands in.

The officer who had been holding my arm moved to the door with his partner. When I had finished, they both came over and took my arms, guiding me out of the bathroom and down the corridor, back to the security office. Once inside, they brought me back to the chairs and took up their positions, one at the desk and one at the door. I don't know how long I sat there. There was no clock. The officer at the desk unlocked the top drawer, took out a pad of paper and started writing with a pen from his pocket. I assumed it was a report about me. He was still writing when there was a knock on the door.

"Police," a gruff voiced announced.

The officer at the door opened it and I could see a man in tan raincoat, although I don't recall it raining. Behind him there was a uniformed police officer. They entered the room and spoke to the officer at the desk.

"I'm Detective Tracy," he introduced himself, flashing a badge. "Is this him?"

"Yes," the officer replied. "The credit card he was trying to use is in there," he said, pointing to my pocketbook on the desk.

The Detective turned to me.

"What's you name?" he asked.

"Pet, umm, Peter Barker," I answered.

"Do you have an ID, Mr. Barker?"

"No."

"He said he left his license at his sister's apartment," the officer at the desk volunteered. "The name on the credit card he was trying to use is Petula Barker."

"Okay," said the Detective. "We'll take it from here. Good job, guys."

He turned to me with a scowl.

"You are under arrest for suspicion of credit card fraud."

He took out a card and began to read me my rights. "You have the right to remain silent and anything you say may be taken down and used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney and, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you." He put the card away. "Stand up and walk over to the desk, put your hands on the top, step back and spread your legs."

I did as he directed.

He walked over and used his foot to push my feet back, so I had my weight on my hands. He frisked me, roughly running his hands from my shoulders, around my sides, over my back and chest an all the way down to my ankles. After he finished, he moved me forward and order me to put my hands behind my head. He took my left hand, pulled it behind my back and I could feel metal and then a click as he locked the handcuff. He did the same with my other hand. He picked up my pocket book, nodded to the uniformed officer, who put his hand under my left arm and escorted me out of the room. We went down a back elevator and I was put into the back seat of a police car.

It was about a ten minute ride to the police station. Everything seemed so real, I kept wondering to myself how I knew all this stuff about being arrested. Too many cop shows on TV, I thought. You need to get a life, Pet, I told myself. I was taken to a desk where they booked me and then was taken to an interrogation room. It was bare, except for a metal table and two chairs. They seated me in the one on the opposite side of the table from the door. I sat there by myself for a long time. Finally, the door opened and Detective Tracy came in.

"We've gone to Ms. Barker's apartment. There are no men's clothes there and there's no license with your name on it. None of the neighbors remember seeing the woman who lives there in the last few days, but one of them did see a man leaving her apartment around noon today. Do you want to tell me why you are dressed in a ladies warm-up suit that doesn't fit you and carrying Ms. Barker's purse?"

I laughed to myself. I don't think my neighbors even knew what I looked like, but a man, him they remember. Figures. I thought about asking for a lawyer, but then this was all a hallucination, so why not play it out. Eventually I would have to wake up. At least I hoped I would wake up and everything would be back to normal. Then I thought of that movie, "The Matrix," where the people were all dreaming and didn't know it, but their dream was better than the reality. Just like them, my real life sucked, so either way it didn't matter.

"Well, what's it going to be?" the Detective asked impatiently. "If you've got nothing to hide, then help us find the girl and you can go," he offered.

"Detective, the truth is that I'm Petula Barker. I was working on this research project and accidentally injected myself with some spider venom. When I woke up this morning, I had turned into a man. Now can I go?"

The Detective glared at me.

"If you're trying to set up an insanity defense, it won't work. Just because you’re cross-dressed and carrying a pocketbook doesn't mean you can get away with murder; but, if you cooperate and help us find the woman's body, you may be able to cop a plea."

I shook my head.

"Look, Detective, I told you where her body is. It's here. I'm Petula Barker. That's why I'm wearing her clothes and carrying her pocketbook, I mean my clothes and my pocketbook. Why don't you call Novalox Pharmaceuticals and talk to Dr. Jameson. He's the Director of the research lab. He'll confirm my story."

The Detective sighed.

"Have it your way."

He knocked on the door. It opened and he left. When he came back, he looked very angry.

"Okay, you've screwed around enough," he shouted. "I spoke to Dr. Jameson. There's no spiders in his lab. He said that Ms. Barker was working on a hemorrhoid ointment and that she hasn't been there for three days. Now, do you want to tell me what really happened to her?"

I should have known Jameson wouldn't disclose anything about the spider research. Well, it didn't matter anyway. I closed my eyes and again tried to put an end to the hallucination, but when I opened them, I was still in the interrogation room."

"I told you the truth, Detective Tracy," I insisted. "I can't help it if Dr. Jameson is covering up to protect his research. You can search for Petula Barker until the cows come home, but you won't find her, because she's here." I pointed to myself. Then the solution to my imaginary situation hit me. "I'm no lawyer, but I recall something about not being able to convict someone of murder if you don't have any evidence that they're dead. Isn't that right?"

The Detective scowled.

"Maybe, maybe not, but we still have you on breaking and entering, you were seen leaving Ms. Barker's apartment, on larceny, you were caught with her pocket book, and for credit card fraud, you tried to use her card to buy clothes. That's enough to put you away for a very long time and, in the meantime, her body will turn up. They always do."

"Not in this case," I assured him.

He turned, knocked on the door and it opened. He said something to the uniformed officer stationed outside. The officer came in, told me to get up, handcuffed me and escorted me to another room where another officer was waiting.

"Strip," the officer in the room ordered me.

I stepped out of my sneakers and took off my warm-up suit.

"The shorts too."

I drop my shorts and stepped out of them. I started to bend over to pick them up, but he stopped me.

"Leave them where they are."

The officer pulled two rubber gloves out of a box and put them on. He picked up a small flashlight, a tongue depressor and walked over to me.

"Open."

He searched my mouth.

"Arms up."

He searched my armpits.

"Bend over and spread your legs."

I hesitated.

"You might as well get used to it," he advised me. "When you're in prison and somebody's bitch, this will be routine, except it will be something bigger than my finger. Now bend over."

The other officer tapped his nightstick against his hand menacingly.

Great, I thought to myself. Way to hallucinate Pet. Well, at least I'll finally get to be somebody's girlfriend. I guess that's a step up from dating myself and I'll save a bundle on batteries too. With the officer scowling at me, I complied and got the male equivalent of a gynecological exam. Then again I thought, as I felt him probing, having one opening to inspect is better than having two.

"He's clean," the examining officer announced and they both snickered. Obviously, a standard joke for this type of activity.

The officer went over to a cabinet, rummaged around and came back with a pile of clothes. He handed me a pair of white cotton briefs that were on top.

"Put these on."

Then he gave me a bright orange jump suit that zipped up the front, from the crotch to the neck and a pair of canvas slip-ons. The jump suit was baggy and the slip on were too big. Apparently, one-size fits all. Next they put a chain around my waist with two wrist cuffs attached, which they put on me, and a pair of cuffs with a foot long chain went on my ankles.

"Okay, let's go."

Each officer took an arm and I shuffled out the door to a waiting van. I was put in back and the officer got in after me. There were no windows, so I couldn't tell where we were going. Finally, the van stopped and the officer opened the door. We were parked in front of a metal door. The officer buzzed, the door unlocked and we went in, down a long corridor with cinderblock walls, to another door. We were buzzed through that door, I noticed a security camera on the wall, and came to a desk. There was another officer who took some paperwork from the first officer. He got up from the desk and took me into a small room.

It wasn't like any jail cell I'd seen on TV or in the movies. It had a regular door with a window which must have been one-way glass, because it was dark on the inside, and the walls were covered with some type of rubber material, like the stuff they make exercise mats out of. There were no windows. Against one wall was a stainless steel box with an opening and a button set in the wall next to it, like the toilets on airplanes, except it didn't have a seat, and attached to the opposite wall was a metal bench covered with the same rubber material. The officer closed the door behind us. I noticed that there was no handle on the inside. He unlocked the restraints and pointed to the bed. I walked over and when I was seated, he went and stood by the door. There must have been a second officer watching through the glass, because the door unlocked and he left. Then I looked up and saw a back bubble in the ceiling. So much for privacy.

I decided to lie down and try to concentrate on controlling my thoughts. I had the right concept, being a guy was great, just the wrong context. I thought of myself in a fancy bar, like one of those Las Vegas hotel night clubs, surrounded by exotic show girls with big boobs, long legs and sexy figures, the kind of woman I dreamt about being, when I was a woman. I had on a cream colored white silk shirt, open at the neck, with lots of gold chains, tight tan slacks with pleats and dark green alligator Italian loafers, sort of a combination of Sylvester Stallone and John Travolta. The girls just couldn't keep their eyes or their hands off of me. I picked out the hottest number, she must have been a double D at least, most of it hanging out of her dress, and was going to take her for a spin on the dance floor, when I heard a voice.

"Sit up and stay on the bed."

Damn. It didn't work. I was stuck in my hallucination. I did as the voice directed me, looking around until I saw a grill in the wall next to the door, like an intercom speaker, except there was no button. As soon as I was sitting up, the door opened and two men came in. They wore white coats, pants and shoes, instead of police uniforms.

"Where am I and what's going on?" I asked.

"This is the Marvelle City Hospital. You're here for a psychiatric evaluation and we're taking you to see Dr. Stanley," one of the men told me.

"This is a locked ward and you can't escape, so don't try anything," the other man warned me. "All that will happen is that you'll get yourself an armful of lala juice. It's your choice. Now let's go, Dr. Stanley is waiting."

I was taken down a corridor, through two more sets of doors which opened with a keypad and into an elevator, which also required the use of a keypad, before the floor buttons worked. We went up to the fourth floor and out into a corridor, through two more sets of doors with keypads, obviously a secure floor, and stopped in front of a shatterproof glass door, the kind that has wire mesh in it. Inside I could see a man sitting at a wood desk with two armless chairs in front of it. There were diplomas on the walls, a set of bookshelves behind the desk and filing cabinets against the right wall. The left wall had two large windows that looked out over the city. It was the first time that I had seen daylight since I was arrested and it appeared to by late afternoon. When the man behind the desk saw us through the door, he buzzed it open and we went in. He stood up and pointed to one of the chairs. I sat down.

"Thank you, you can leave us. Mr., umm, Barker, yes, Barker, is not going to cause any trouble, are you Mr., umm Barker?"

"No," I agreed.

"Very well then."

He nodded to the men and they returned to the door. I saw Dr. Stanley push a button on the desk and the door unlocked. The door closed behind them and they took seats across from the door, so that they could observe what was happening in the office.

"Good afternoon, I am Dr. Stanley," he introduced himself formally. "We are simply going to have a chat. It appears that the District Attorney's Office has some concerns about your mental health before they prosecute you. Something about you claiming to be a woman?" he said in a questioning tone. "Let me just look at your commitment papers. "Ah, yes," he began to read, " no identification, delusional, claims to be a missing woman who was turned into a man by a spider, hmmm, works in a drug research lab, no spiders, hmmm. Mr., umm, Barker, I must warn you, whatever we discuss will be reported. You don't have to talk, but keeping silent may result in your remaining here indefinitely, if I conclude you are a danger to yourself or society. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Doctor, quite clear. I want to cooperate. It's just that nobody will believe me when I tell the truth."

The doctor gave me a patronizing look.

"Mr. Barker, please go over to the window."

I got up and walked over.

"What do you see?"

"The city?"

"No, look at your reflection. What do you see?"

It was getting dark and I could see myself in the glass.

"Well?"

"I don't understand."

"Do you see a man or a woman?"

"A man."

"May I assume that you have the appropriate genitals to compliment your appearance?"

"Yes, as far as I can tell. I haven't had a chance to fully test them."

"Are you telling me you're a virgin?

"Yes, regardless of gender," I quipped.

"Let's stick with your being a man. That's what you claim you are, right?"

"No. I'm a woman. Somehow the spider venom turned me into a man."

"So you are a woman trapped in a man's body, is that it?"

"Well, not trapped exactly, but yes."

"In other words, you're transgendered."

"I don't know what that means, Dr. Stanley."

"It means that you want to be the opposite of your birth sex. In your case, you are a man who feels like he should have been born a woman."

"No, the opposite. I'm a woman who has become a man. Is there a term for that?"

"Are you saying that you’re a transsexual?"

"I don't know what that means either."

"It means that you've had a sex change operation.

"Not an operation, Doctor Stanley," I said excitedly, "a spider bite. Now, you understand how it happened, don't you."

"Mr. Barker, what you are claiming is a medical impossibility. A sex change may create the superficial appearance of being male, but it doesn't make your female reproductive system disappear. A woman may have her breasts removed and an artificial penis and a sac with what appear to be testicles constructed, but they are not functional. The penis cannot have a natural erection and the faux testes, if you will, cannot produce sperm. Can yours?"

"Yes," I conceded, at least as far as I could tell this morning."

Dr. Stanley gave me a curious look.

"I, umm, experimented with my new toys."

"You masturbated?"

"Yes."

"You got an erection?"

"Yes."

"And you ejaculated?"

"Yes."

"Well then, Mr. Barker," Dr. Stanley rationalized, "if you have a fully functional male reproductive system, then you cannot be a woman, can you?"

"Yes, Doctor Stanley, I mean no, Doctor Stanely, I mean, I don't know what I mean. I'm not a woman now. I used to be a woman. Well, no, I mean I am still a woman, I mean I'm still Petula Barker, I just have a man's body. I didn't want to become a man, it just happened."

"Now I'm the one who's confused, Mr. Barker. Are you claiming that you have Petula Barker's personality in someone else's body? Whose body would that be, Mr. Barker. Where did it come from, if it isn't yours?"

I sighed.

"Look, Dr. Stanley. I am Petula Barker and this is my body. A few days ago, I accidentally injected myself with some spider venom. I didn't notice any immediate effect, but when I got home, I felt tired. I changed into my nightgown and lay down to rest. I thought I had just dozed off, but, when I woke up, it was three days later and, instead of being a woman, I was a man. I don't understand how it happened, except that it has something to do with the spider venom."

"Assuming, for the sake of our discussion, what you told me is true, do you want to go back to being a woman?"

"Honestly, I don't know, Dr. Stanley. I wasn't very good at being female. Being male seems to have a lot of advantages. Besides, I don't know if the process is reversible, if there is an antidote. Why would you ask me such a question, anyway? What does that have to do with who I am?"

"Just curious."

Then it struck me that I was having an argument over changing my gender with myself. This was only a hallucination. Did I really have some repressed desire to be a man? Was that my problem or was it just society's emphasis on female perfection that frustrated me? Was I transgendered? Had I heard that term before? I didn't think so, but maybe subliminally I had picked it up from somewhere. I had no idea why my imagination was running wild, but I had an idea how to put a stop to it.

"Look, Dr. Stanley, I can prove that I am Petula Barker. Call my mother. She lives here in town. She can confirm that I know things only her daughter would know. That should convince you I'm telling the truth."

"Perhaps, Mr. Barker, but it is a well known psychological fact that people who are obsessive can learn a tremendous amount of information about the personality they adopt. There are institutionalized Napoleons that know more about his life from their historical research than Napoleon himself probably remembered."

"Perhaps, Doctor Stanley, but there are no biographies about Petula Barker and she's only been absent from work for two days," I argued. "Today is the third day and I was arrested this morning, so I would not have had time to memorize the details of her childhood, even if I had thought that I might be questioned about it, which would be a pretty far fetched thing to do while I was doing whatever it is I am supposed to have done to her, don't you think? How about it, will you please call her?"

"Mr. Barker, when it comes to the capacity of the human mind nothing would surprise me, but I will make a deal with you. I will call this woman you say is your mother; but, if you cannot convince her that you are her daughter, then you will give up this pretense that you are a woman. Do you promise?"

"Yes. Her name is Kate Barker."

Dr. Stanley dialed her number as I gave it to him.

"Hello, is this Mrs. Kathrine Barker?"

I winced, because mom never went by Katherine.

"Kate Barker, yes, sorry. Do you have a daughter named Petula?"

"No, this is not a sales call Mrs. Barker."

There was a pause.

"No, I'm sorry. Really. Ms. Barker. This is Doctor Stanley at Marvelle City Hospital. Something has happened to your daughter and we would like you to come down to the hospital and identify her," he explained cryptically.

"No, Mrs., sorry," he apologized, "yes, I understand, your divorced and its Ms. Barker. No, I can't tell you the details over the telephone. I really need you to come to the hospital as soon as possible."

Another pause.

"No, Ms. Barker, she's not dead. Well, we're not sure, actually."

Another pause.

"No, I don't know if she had a life insurance policy. You’re her only living relative and she has no brother's or sisters," he repeated. "Yes, I understand, but this isn't about that. I just need you to come down here right away."

A long pause.

"Yes, I appreciate today is your mahjong day. Ms. Barker, really, this is much more important than a game. What? For money? Even so, this is more important. Can't you give it up for today, please? You always win? No, I can't pay you for your time. Please, just come down here and help us identify your daughter. You do want to help her, don't you? Ms. Barker? Don't you want to help your daughter? No, it can't wait until the weekend. You need to come down right now."

I should have known. Even when I hallucinate my mother is a pain in the ass.

"Look, Ms. Barker, Kate, I am going to send a police car to pick you up and bring you here. They should arrive in about ten or fifteen minutes. Please be ready. No, I don't know what you should wear. It doesn't matter. Well, yes, I know it matters to you, but nobody is going to see you. This isn't a social affair. You are coming directly to my office."

Another long pause.

"No, Mrs. Barker, I can't order them to use the siren. It's not an emergency. Well, you can ask them. Maybe they'll let you ride in front. It's up to them. Just be ready when they get there, okay? Thank you."

He looked relieved when he hung up the telephone.

"Well, I believe that she will be here shortly. In the meantime, I'm going to return you to your room, so that I can start on your report. I'll send for you when she arrives."

Dr. Stanley motioned for the two attendants to come in and pushed the button on his desk. They took me back to my room. Since there was nothing else for me to do, I decided to lie down and try to redirect my thoughts one more time.

I closed my eyes and imagined myself back in the nightclub with my busty companion. We were on the dance floor and her breasts we squashed against my chest. I felt jealous. I should be the one who was turning me on. No, Pet, you're supposed to be the man, the one that the woman dresses herself up in uncomfortable clothes and shoes, spends hours doing her hair and makeup and pumps herself full of silicone, collagen and botox to please. Why do we do that? Focus! That's what men want. You're a man and that's what you want, a pretty plastic plaything. Isn't it? But when you wake up, you will be a woman. If this was for real, and Dr. Jameson offered to let you be a test subject, would you volunteer to be turned into a man permanently? If there really was a safe and painless way for a woman to become a man, why wouldn't you want to do it? After all, it is a man's world. Why wouldn't any woman want to do it? Is that what Dr. Stanley was getting at when he asked if you wanted to go back to being a woman? So, your answer to his question should have been no. Does that make you transgendered? Why are you even having these thoughts? Shouldn't you be concentrating on controlling your imagination?

My unresolved debate with myself ended with the speaker directing me to sit up. I was brought to Dr. Stanley's office. He was alone.

"I am informed that Mrs, umm, Ms. Barker will be here shortly. I wanted you here when she arrived, so that you would not suspect that somehow I had influenced her questioning; because, if she does not recognize you as her daughter, then you agreed to abandon you claim that you are a woman and tell me what really happened. That is our deal and I've kept my end of it. I expect you to keep yours."

I nodded my agreement, expecting that there would be no problem with my convincing my mother that I was her daughter, since that was who I was, or at least used to be, no still was, even though I didn't look like me.

I sat quietly while Dr. Stanley continued writing on a piece of white lined paper in a manilla folder. I turned my head when he looked up and saw my mother being escorted by a uniformed police officer. When the door unlocked, he brought her in. Dr. Stanley thanked the officer and told him he could go back to his duties. As the officer was leaving, he pointed to the other chair and politely asked my mother to be seated. She sat down, crossed her legs, adjusted her dress and put her giant pocketbook on the floor next to her. When she was done, she looked at the Doctor and smiled and then turned her head and smiled at the good looking guy sitting next to her, not realizing that it was me.

"Thank you for coming, Ms. Barker," Dr. Stanley greeted her, remembering the designation she preferred. "This gentleman," he pointed to me, "claims to be your daughter and would like you to confirm his identity."

My mother gave me a cursory look.

"He's not my daughter. Can I go now? I can probably get back in time for those delicious cucumber and tomato sandwiches Mrs. Goldstein makes, if the cop will step on it. You know she uses fresh white bread and cuts off the crusts, with just a tiny bit of herb mayonnaise."

"Ms. Barker, please cooperate. This is an official investigation and there are penalties for obstructing justice," Dr. Stanley cautioned her.

"Mom, please," I interrupted. "This is important. I am you daughter. I just look different. Don't you remember when I was a little girl, I had a pink security blanket that I called my boppy and a favorite teddy bear named 'roy. His actual name was Corduroy, from a storybook, but I couldn't pronounce his full name, so I just called him 'roy. Isn't that right Mom?" I asked hopefully.

My mother looked at Dr. Stanley.

"I don't know what this man is talking about," she told him. "Can you get the police officer to drop me off at Mrs. Goldstein's?"

"Mom, you can't have forgotten!" I exclaimed. "You must still have my baby stuff stored somewhere. You do have it don't you? Mom! You didn't throw my boppy and 'roy out did you?"

She looked at me blankly.

"For crying out loud, Mom, you didn't throw them out did you? You did, didn't you!"

In my excitement, I started to get up.

"Sit down and behave," Dr. Stanely warned me with his finger poised over the door button.

I sank back down.

"Just to prove that I am giving you every opportunity, I am going to have Mrs. Barker ask you a question about your childhood. Go ahead, Mrs. Barker. Ask this gentleman something that you think only Petula would know."

Mom thought for a minute.

"What was the name of Petula's first boyfriend?" she challenged me.

"Mom, what are you talking about? Its me, Mom. I never had a social life and I never had a boyfriend."

"See, he doesn't know. Can I go now? It's probably too late. Maybe if the cop uses the siren, there'll be some sandwiches left."

She started to get up.

"Sit down, Mrs. Barker. I'll tell you when you can go," Dr. Stanley admonished her.

He looked at me.

"Well, answer her question, if you can."

"Okay, hold on, let me try to figure out what her nutso mind is thinking."

"Please, no insults. Can you or can't you answer the question?"

"Is it that snot nosed kid in the first grade that kept offering me his chocolate pudding at lunch? Was that him?"

"No," Mom replied.

"Then was it that kid, I can't remember his name, Billy, Bobby, Barry, Barney, something with a b and a y, the one with the world's worst case of acne, that wanted to take me to the junior prom?"

"No."

"I give up, Dr. Stanley. She's impossible. Just out of curiosity, I'd like to know who it is she thinks I dated."

"Well," Mrs. Barker?" Dr. Stanley inquired.

"Craig," she answered.

"Craig? I never dated a boy named Craig . I never even knew a boy named Craig."

"My daughter is very popular, like her mother. Craig was a very handsome doctor who was in love with her, but she preferred his roommate, Hugh. Personally, I think she made a big mistake."

"Oh for crying out loud, Mom, that's not me! That's some episode of one of your soap operas."

"Well, it's obvious this woman cannot identify you," Dr. Stanley concluded. "I've kept my part of the bargain, now it's up to you. Tell me what happened to Petula."

"You want to know what happened to Petula. I'll tell you," I said spitefully, glaring at my mother, who let me down, just as she always had when I was growing up. No wonder I was an emotional mess. "I tied her up with a pair of Donna Karan nude ultra-sheer sandal foot pantyhose and then strangled her with the petal pink gel cup Wonderbra she was wearing. She died very fashionably. Then I cut her up into little pieces and mailed them to all of your relatives, Mom. Bernie and Phyl in Houston, Thelma and Donni, the lesbians lovers, in San Franciso, and Uncle Frank in the penitentiary in Kansas. How about that!"

"Thelma and Donni are not lesbians. They're just very good friends who happen to live together and my brother is not in jail," Mom protested, ignoring the more serious issue of her daughter having been murdered and diced. "He's in Hawaii surfing," she claimed.

I looked at Dr. Stanley and he was staring at us in shocked disbelief.

"Hah, Mom. Uncle Frank is fifty-three, he hates the beach and he wouldn't know a surf board from an emery board. He's been a criminal all of his life and I see the letters you get from him postmarked Leavenworth, Kansas. You don't have to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out he's in prison."

"Is that true, Ms. Barker. Is your brother in prison?

"No."

"Ms. Barker, I am warning you one last time. I can check with the federal authorities."

"He was framed."

"Mrs. Barker, it is a yes or no question and I'm not going to ask it again."

"Yes," Mom conceded, "but he wouldn't be if he had a decent lawyer."

"Thank you, Ms. Barker," Dr. Stanley said with relief, "You are free to go."

He motioned towards the door.

"Isn't the officer going to take me home?"

"No, I'm afraid he has police work to do. There's a bus stop in front of the hospital."

Obviously, Dr. Stanley was not pleased with Mom's cooperation and saw no reason to accommodate her.

"At least can I have bus fare?" she bargained.

"No! Good day Ms. Barker," Dr. Stanley dismissed her.

After she left, I smiled at him, forgetting that it was not a manly thing to do. Old habits die hard.

"You see, Dr. Stanley. I was telling you the truth. I am Petula Barker. Now will you release me?"

Dr. Stanley shook his head.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Barker. I assume that is the appropriate designation under the circumstances. You are only here for psychiatric evaluation. I have no say in whether you are released or prosecuted. That decision is up to the District Attorney's Office. At best, I can report that you are not mentally ill." Dr. Stanley shook his head and added, "but without confirmation that you were even working with spiders, let alone that their venom causes gender reversal, I cannot verify your identity."

I contemplated my situation. Twice I had tried to end the hallucination unsuccessfully. However, I did have some control over it. My suggestion that Dr. Stanley interview my mother, as frustrating as it was for both of us, convinced him that I was sane. If I could offer him a way to get the scientific proof to support my story, I might be able to enjoy my imaginary manhood. Then, I thought, what if? What if this wasn't a hallucination? Dreams usually have some bizarre element, at least my dreams usually did, like going to school naked, I hated when I had that one, or doing impossible things, like flying, or having DD boobs, I loved that one. This hallucination seemed rational in comparison. The people, places and actions all corresponded to my real life, assuming you accepted the basic premise that a spider's bite could turn a woman into a man. Since I didn't care for alcohol and I had never tried drugs, I had no frame of reference as to whether chemically induced hallucinations were different from regular dreams; but, if this was really happening, then there was even more reason to prove I was Petula Barker."

"Mr. Barker?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dr. Stanley, I was trying to come up with a way to get Dr. Jameson to tell the truth," which really would have been my next issue for consideration, if he hadn't interrupted me. "The problem, well his problem, which is my problem too," I thought out loud, "is that any publicity would compromise his research project. A naturally occurring drug, such as the venom, is not patentable, so the only way to profit from it is to isolate the biologically active component before the other drug companies learn about it and figure out how to create their own version. Whoever is first to complete the FDA protocols and get to market hits the jackpot. In fact, Dr. Jameson has a double whammy, because if word gets out, all of the other drug companies will want their own supply of the venom. The spiders have a very fragile ecology. There are not many of the webs to begin with, there is only one Queen to a web and the colony cannot survive without her. High demand would probably lead to the spiders extinction and that would mean an end to the supply of venom before the research could be completed."

Then it hit me. Dr. Jameson's aversion to publicity and that problem it would cause, if word got out, could work to my advantage.

"Dr. Stanley, I do have a plan."

Once I had gone over the details, Dr. Jameson agreed to help.

"I will contact Dr. Jameson. From what you have told me, I can persuade him to meet with me. However, once he's here, you're on your own."

"I understand, Dr. Stanley, and thank you for believing my story."

"I don't believe you or disbelieve you, Mr. Barker" Dr. Stanley cautioned me. "The first rule of counseling is to allow the patient to work through the issues on his or her own. The therapist is simply a referee in their emotional conflict. Whatever the outcome in your case, it will be of your doing, not mine, and the consequences will be yours as well."

I nodded my acceptance of his neutrality.

"Since I have concluded that you are not dangerous to yourself or others, there is no need to keep you in seclusion. I will order your transfer to a regular hospital room. Even so, this is a locked ward. You want me to cooperate with you, but cooperation is reciprocal. Do you understand?"

"Yes," I assured him.

"Good. I will notify you when Dr. Jameson arrives tomorrow," he paused, "if he comes."

He pushed the button to open the door and the attendants entered.

"Wait," he directed them as he wrote a note.

"Mr. Barker may remain on the floor. See that he is assigned a room. Here is an order for his transfer."

"Oh, Dr. Stanley, I'm sorry, but would it be possible for me to have some dinner? I just realized I haven't eaten anything all day, what with waking up a man, getting arrested and being brought here."

Dr. Stanley added something to the order and handed it to one of the attendants, who put it in his pocket. They escorted me out of Dr. Stanley's office and through two sets of locked doors, which they opened by entering a code on the keypad next to them. We arrived at a counter with a sliding glass window. It was the same shatterproof glass as the door to Dr. Stanley's office. One of the attendants rapped on the glass to get the attention of the white coated people inside. A man came over, undid a lock and slid the window up an inch. The attendant slid him Dr. Stanley's order. The person inside went to a clipboard, looked something up and then returned."

"Fourteen West," he told the attendant through a grill set in the glass, then slid the window closed and locked it again.

We set off down the corridor, took a right and then a left, and ended up in front of a door with a glass observation window, similar to the one on the room I had been kept in, and opened with a keypad, like the others. The attendants waited for me to enter and then the door closed and I heard it lock. Looking around, I was relieved to see that it looked like a standard hospital room. There was an adjustable bed with a pillow, sheets and a white cotton blanket, a night stand next to it and, best of all, a TV mounted on the wall. There was also a doorway, which I hoped lead to a bathroom, because it had been a long time since I peed, or took a leak, as us guys say, and my bladder was about to explode. Hurrying in, I found a sink, toilet and tub with a shower.

I unzipped my jumpsuit, shrugged out of the top and bunched it below my knees, pulled down my panties, oops, guys don't call them panties, underpants, lifted the lid, turned around and sat down, assuming that the seat in a hospital must be sanitary. I noticed that my dick dangled, which was convenient for making sure that I did not miss the bowl and pee on my pants, and began to relieve myself. Than it dawned on me that sitting down was not how men went to the bathroom. I stopped myself in mid stream, stood up, waddled around with my pants around my ankles, flipped up the seat, took hold of myself for accuracy and let fly. I wondered if dads taught their sons to stand up and go, the same as moms taught their daughters to squat over the seat when using public restrooms. What did single moms do with their sons? Did they all become gay, because the women didn't know any better, so they were taught to pee like girls? Probably they figured it out for themselves eventually, just the way I figured out sex, since my mother was useless in that department. Anyway, having mastered the basics of urinating as a man, I washed up and went back into the room.

While I was in the bathroom getting the hang, so to speak, of my new equipment, someone had come into the room and left my meal on the bed table. There was a Styrofoam compartmented tray which held some brownish meat with creamy gravy, mashed potatoes, a couple of gold foil wrapped squares of butter, a slice of white bread, a pile of peas and a cellophane package with plastic utensils, a napkin and little packets of salt and pepper in it. There was also a Saran wrap covered Styrofoam cup with milk and a plastic container of red Jello for desert. Not exactly gourmet dining, but then beggars, or in this case prisoners, can't be choosers.

I rolled the bed table over to the armchair, adjusted the height and sat down. I cut up the meat and took small bites, wiping my lips with the napkin. About half way through the meal, I remembered sitting in the company cafeteria watching the men, loosely speaking, shoveling in their food. I decided to give it a try. I speared three pieces of meat, taxing the capacity of the little plastic fork, slopped it around in the gravy and slobbered it into my mouth, the gravy coating my lips and dribbling down my chin. Yuch. I couldn't see why being male meant being a slob. Was neatness so unmanly that it had to be avoided at the expense of constantly washing food stains out of your clothing? When I was a woman, would it have made any difference to me if my date, if I ever had one, didn't have the tble manners of a gorilla? I shrugged mentally. Maybe it's a guy thing and I will just have to deal with it as a girl thing until I get used to having a guy thing instead of a girl thing.

After eating everything on the tray but the Styrofoam, apparently sex changes make you really hungry, I decided to take a shower. If my imaginary transformation took three days, then I was pretty imaginary dirty. Whatever my imagination had in store for me tomorrow, there's no reason not to be clean. I pushed the table away, stood up and went over to the bed. There were two white with blue polka dots hospital gowns on it. Blue johnnys for boys, I thought. How thoughtful of them to notice, I joked to myself. From my visits to the gynecologist, I understood that one of the gowns went on with the opening in the back and the other was worn in reverse, like a robe, to cover your southern exposure. I picked them up and took them into the bathroom. After turning on the shower, I slipped out of my shoes, jumpsuit and briefs, stepped into the tub and drew the curtain. The imaginary hot water felt really good on my imaginary male body.

The morning I woke up and discovered that I was a man, my curiosity was directed to those private parts which, as a woman, despite my most provocative outfits and come-ons, I was unable to get my hands on. Dildo's, regardless of their size and how realistically they looked, were a poor substitute. Now I had a chance to inspect my new body as I soaped up. Starting with my neck, it was thick, with broad shoulders to which were attached muscular arms. I flexed my biceps, which, when I was a woman would have done nothing, and produced an impressive bulge. Not as pronounced as the body building contestants on the TV who I had drooled over, but by no means a wimp. What's more, instead of the almost invisible peach fuzz on my female arm, there was real dark, curly hair. Moving down to washing my legs, which previously I had shaved every Friday night since I entered puberty, in preparation for the dates I never went on, they were hairy too. Similarly, my armpits and pubes, also neatly groomed each week, sprouted an impressive crop. I wasn't sure that I liked being this fuzzy, but that's what you got when you replaced estrogen with testosterone, my biochemistry training told me, and apparently my imaginary male hormonal system had been pumping it out like a stallion while I was unconscious.

Finishing both my shower and my anatomical tour, including inadvertently giving myself a hard-on when I washed my dick and balls, was there a way guys did this without turning themselves on I wondered, I shut off the water and stepped out of the tub. I found a towel hanging on a bar and began to pat myself dry. After a few minutes, it became clear that being hairy required a more vigorous use of the towel. After I was dry, I wanted to brush my teeth, but I couldn't find a toothbrush in the bathroom. I recalled that there was an intercom next to the bed, went over and pushed the button.

"Yeah," a gruff voice answered.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if I could get a toothbrush and a little toothpaste?" I replied meekly.

"This is a hospital, not a hotel," the voice observed.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I just thought, well, maybe, oh, never mind, thanks anyway," I apologized.

"Look in the drawer," the voice conceded.

"What drawer?" I asked.

"Damn! Are you stupid? How many drawers are there? The nightstand drawer," came the exasperated answer.

"Thank you," I said politely.

Sure enough, in the drawer of the nightstand there was a white half-moon shaped plastic bowl with one of those travel toothbrushes that have built in toothpaste in a cellophane wrapper. I took it out and brought it into the bathroom. After scrubbing my teeth, I returned to my room. Suddenly, I felt really tired, so I pulled down the covers, took off the second gown and got into the bed. The sheets felt cool and crisp and the loose johnny was like a nightgown, except I wasn't used to having something flopping around between my legs when I moved. Maybe I should put on the briefs , I thought, but I was too tired to get up.

The TV remote was clipped to the bed and I decided to see if there was any mention of a missing woman on the news. Flipping through the channels, I found a local station and was surprised to see that it was almost 11:30PM by the clock on the wall behind the anchor's desk. After listening to a recap of the days top headlines, none of which were about me, I turned off the TV and lay down. As I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep, I wondered whether you dream in your dreams. Whatever the answer, I didn't.

I woke up to one of the attendants shaking me. I rolled over and smiled at him. Maybe he was my lover I thought, still half asleep. I used to have lots of imaginary lovers. Once I even fantasized about dating the high school track team. Don't ask me why the track team. Maybe because they didn't have cheerleaders for track, so I didn't have any competition? Then I saw someone in a white jacket and pants, not traditional athletic gear, looked around and realized that I was still stuck in the same hallucination. Whatever, I thought, real or imagined, I might as well get up.

"Dr. Stanley wants to see you in half an hour," he told me. "Your breakfast is over there," he added, pointing to the bed table, which was still over by the arm chair.

"Thanks," I said politely, sitting up, throwing back the covers and swinging my legs over the side of the bed.

Then I realized that my nightgown, well, johnny, had ridden up and my dick and balls were hanging out. I tugged on the hem of the gown, the way I would pull down a skirt, so as not to flash my panties. The attendant gave me a funny look, I assume because we were all guys, as far as he knew, and it wasn't something he hadn't seen before.

"Gotta take a leak," I announced huskily, to make up for my unmanly behavior, and headed for the bathroom.

Since I didn't bother to put on the other gown as a robe and the one I had on was open in the back, the attendant got a good shot of my backside. Hah, I thought. Take a good look at my butt. That will show you I'm one of the guys. Glancing over my shoulder, rather than being impressed, I could see him turn to his partner and shake his head. Apparently, male culture is not as simple as scratching your crotch and spitting, as it is portrayed on TV. It's okay for us to expose our manhood, but not our buttocks? Perhaps guys are used to seeing each others dicks, because peeing is done publicly, but exposing your ass suggested gay sex, like the officer said would happen to me when I went to prison. Somebody definitely needs to write a book about men for women who have sex changes.

After relieving myself in proper male fashion, washing up and brushing my teeth, I came back out. The attendants had left. I sat down in the armchair and ate my breakfast. The same set up as before, Styrofoam and plastic everything, except this time there were scrambled eggs, a bowl of some type of pasty hot cereal, a slice of whole wheat toast, a little tub of grape jelly, and two Saran wrap cover cups, one milk and the other grapefruit juice. I ate it all and quickly got dressed. Pulling on the briefs, stepping into the jumpsuit and slipping into the shoes took a lot less time than the complicated feminine morning routine necessary to make ourselves, oops, themselves, attractive, although I did miss the lipstick. I always thought I had a pretty mouth I mean, a girl's got to have at least one good feature, right, and I liked to accent it with a sexy color. Then again, as kissable as I made myself, I never provoked enough passion for anyone to take advantage of the opportunity, not that I wasn't willing. Well, those days are over, I reminded myself. Now you're the kisser instead of the kissee.

While I waited, I turned on the TV, to see if there was any news about me, but there wasn't. All sorts of calamities were described, except for one about Petula Barker, who a pervert, dressed in her clothes and carrying her handbag, claims he used to be, before he underwent a sex change as the result of being injected with spider venom. Small wonder nobody released that story or they'd join me here in the psychiatric ward. It was the same station as last night and the clock behind the anchor desk showed 10:30AM, so I had a good long sleep. Apparently changing sexes is both famishinge and exhausting.

Eventually, the attendants returned and I was taken to Dr. Stanley's office. He was seated behind his desk, as he was yesterday, and I took the chair I sat in yesterday. He greeted me and asked me about my night, whether I got fed and if there was anything I needed. I told him that everything was okay, but that I was anxious to get out. He laughed, which annoyed me, because I was being serious, but I kept my composure. He told me that he had a conversation with Dr. Jameson and that he was on his way. It took some convincing, Dr. Stanley went on, but my threat to reveal the details of his spider research as my defense got him to come. I thanked Dr. Stanley for his help. He reiterated that it was up to me to convince him that what he believed was a medical impossibility could, in fact, happen. I nodded my understanding.

While we waited, Dr. Stanley made some notes and reviewed some papers. I sat quietly, rehearsing my examination of Dr. Jameson to prove that I was Petula Barker. Finally, I heard the door unlock and, turning around, saw Dr. Jameson entering. He was a tall, thin man with wire rimmed glasses and a bushy head of white hair, the classic image of a scientist, complete with a white lab coat and the traditional pocket protector holding an assortment of pens. He walked confidently up to Dr. Stanley's desk. Dr. Stanley extended his hand, colleague to colleague, which Dr. Jameson rudely ignored.

"I'm a busy man, Dr. Stanley," Dr. Jameson said with annoyance, ignoring my presence. "You have dragged me down here with some insane story about spiders, not surprising considering this is a mental ward," he muttered under his breath, "and I want to put an end to this right here and now. I told you when we spoke before and I am telling you again, we are not doing any spider research. There are no spiders in our lab," he shook his finger at Dr. Stanley for emphasis. Ms. Barker was working on an antifungal powder for athlete's foot," he ranted on, "and she hasn't shown up at the lab for days. She quit. Now, unless you have something more than a story made up by some delusional patient of yours, I demand that you cease this nonsense and let me get back to my work."

"Are you quite finished, Dr. Jameson?" Dr. Stanley asked patiently. "If so, then this gentleman would like to speak with you. And please do sit down." He motioned towards the seat next to me. "This is my office, not your laboratory. I am quite used to dealing with tirades and I am not intimidated by your rudeness. Our meeting will be over when I say it is over and you will leave when I give you permission. Now sit down," he ordered.

I had never seen a look on Dr. Jameson's face like the one he had now. He was the absolute dictator of a world class, multi-million dollar research facility. His employees were terrified of him, as he held the power of professional life or death, and nobody challenged him. His face went red, the veins bulged out, he sputtered, then turned to leave and realized the door was locked and he wasn't going anywhere. He turned back to Dr. Stanley, and demanded to be let out.

"This is false imprisonment," he contended.

"Dr. Jameson, you came here of your own free will and you knew this was a locked ward when you entered. You are not a prisoner. You are simply subject to the same restricted movement as everyone else. Now really,” Dr. Stanley admonished him like a petulant child, "the sooner you stop making a fuss and let us get on with our business, the sooner you can leave and get on with yours. Now please do sit down."

Having no choice, Dr. Jameson begrudgingly sat down in the designated chair.

"There, that wasn't so difficult, was it?" Dr. Stanley said patronizingly. Dr. Jameson gave him a nasty look, which he ignored. Turning to me, he continued, "Mr. Barker, please tell Dr. Jameson whatever it is you have to say to him."

"Dr. Jameson, I am Petula Barker, or at last I used to be, no I still am, but now I'm a man." I babbled. Taking a breath and regaining my composure, I warned him, "if you don't want me to tell the world about your spider research, then you had better tell Dr. Stanley the truth."

Dr. Jameson looked blankly at me and then turned to face Dr. Stanley.

"I have no idea what this man is going on about. "I told you, we don't use spiders in our research," he reiterated.

"You also told me yesterday on the phone that Ms. Barker was working on a hemorrhoid preparation. Just now you said it was athlete's foot powder," Dr. Stanley challenged Dr. Jameson.

"Hemorrhoids, athletes foot, who cares what some junior lab assistant was doing before she quit. I can't keep track of everything. Whatever it was, she wasn't working with spiders." Turning back to me, Dr. Jameson went on, "I have no idea who this person is, but he is obviously not a woman and I have had enough of this charade. You are wasting my time."

Dr. Jameson stood up, made it all the way to the door this time and tried to open it. As he was doing so, Dr. Stanley stood up, which the two attendants waiting for me outside took to mean that we were done and for them to come in. Seeing two big men in white coats approaching the door and not knowing it was me they were after, Dr. Jameson backed off. Dr. Stanley waved the attendants away and motioned for Dr. Jameson to return to his seat, which again he did begrudgingly.

"Dr. Jameson, please let Mr. Barker finish. Another five minutes is not going to interfere with your work, I'm sure. After that, you have my assurance you can leave, if you want to do so. Go ahead, Mr. Barker," he directed me.

"Look, Dr. Jameson," I said more forcefully, "if you don't care about an innocent woman, man, me, going to prison, think of the consequences for you, if my story gets out. I read the protocols and I have a good memory. The spiders come from a remote part of the Manu rain forest in Peru and their scientific name is phoneutria apidae. You found them and so can one of the other big drug companies, if they have a reason. There's not enough of them to go around, so that's the end of the spiders and that's the end of your research. Instead of the biomedical discovery of the century and a Nobel Prize," I appealed to his vanity, "you get nothing."

Dr. Jameson didn't look as worried as I thought he would.

"Ms. Barker signed a confidentiality agreement. Even if what you say is true, and it isn't of course," he insisted, turning to Dr. Stanley and then back to me, "she can't reveal any information about her work in my laboratory," he said confidently.

Holy cow, was I screwed here? Was my plan to blackmail Dr. Jameson into revealing the truth doomed by a stupid form I signed years ago? I gave Dr. Stanley an imploring look, well it would have been imploring if I was a woman, hoping that he would put aside his neutrality and help me out. To my relief, he got the message and nodded.

"Dr. Jameson, I have done medical research and I had to sign those forms. NDA's they were called, non-disclosure agreements," he explained for my benefit. They all have an exception for legal proceedings and, even if they didn't, I work in the criminal justice system. No judge is going to prevent a defendant from testifying in his own defense. Also, the only way that Ms. Barker would be revealing confidential information is if her story was true, which you persistently dispute. What's more," he concluded, "Petula Barker may have signed the form, but Peter Barker didn't. The only way you could enforce it against him would be to convince a judge that he and she were the same person, which is exactly the identity you deny. So, what will it be, Dr. Jameson? Have Mr. Barker tell his story it to the world or for you to tell the truth to me. You are the one in a hurry to leave, so decide quickly."

I could see from Dr. Jameson's expression that did not like being challenged. Finally, he made up his mind and answered. I was on the edge of my chair, waiting to see if between us we had convinced him to tell the truth. I was about to wet my pants, I was so nervous. Do guys do that?

"Yes," Dr. Jameson conceded.

"Yes, what?" Dr. Stanley asked.

"Yes, Ms. Barker was working with spiders."

"You see, Dr. Stanley," I interrupted excitedly, "I was telling you the truth. This is all the result of the spider venom. That proves I'm Petula Barker. You have to release me."

"Mr. Barker, I told you before, I have no say in whether you are held or released. Moreover, the fact that Ms. Barker was working with spiders may have been something she revealed to you. It is a creative explanation for her disappearance, but one which, also as I told you before, has no medical basis."

"Dr. Jameson, can check it out," I replied. "All he has to do is inject some of the venom into a female lab animal and it will be transformed into a male. I'm sure of it. Well, pretty sure of it. Some of the lab animals do not make good human models. A primate would be a better test subject. I am sure it will have the same effect as it did on me. Please, Dr. Jameson, please do the study," I pleaded.

"We did and it does" he said succinctly.

"You've known all along and you denied it," Dr. Stanley said angrily.

"No. When we got a call yesterday from the police detective about a man in custody claming to be a missing woman who had her sex changed by the spider venom she was working with in our lab, we decided to see if it could have such an effect. Three female chimps received the venom yesterday and all became genetically male in about 18 hours. I believe that the speed of the cellular conversion depends on the body mass of the subject. An adult human would take significantly longer, as did Ms. Barker. The chromosomal analysis was completed only this morning and I got the results just before I left for this meeting."

"Genetically male, Dr. Jameson?" Dr. Stanley asked incredulously.

"That is the result of our chromosomal analysis, yes," Dr. Jameson confirmed.

"That is not biologically possible," Dr. Stanley challenged him.

"It is biologically possible, Dr. Stanley," Dr. Jameson disagreed. "The X chromosome can produce male characteristics, as is observed in hermaphroditic organisms that are XX. Moreover, it has been theorized that in higher animals with separate sexes, the Y chromosome is actually a mutated X chromosome that has lost the female segment of its genetic code. Our hypothesis is that the spider venom somehow duplicates this mutation by uncoupling a portion of one of the X chromosomes, turning it into a Y chromosome, and the body's cells then reproduce as if they were male, causing the morphogensis that Ms. Barker underwent. We believe that for the spiders, it assures the Queen will have a supply of males by allowing her to create them on demand from her female attendants."

"Is the conversion reversible?" I interjected.

"No. Giving the venom to a male results in his single X chromosome becoming a Y chromosome and the resulting YY combination is fatal. Your sex change is permanent, Ms. Barker."

"Well, I suppose there are worse things than being a man," I observed, turning from Dr. Stanley to Dr. Jameson, but neither seemed amused by my concession. Since you now believe that I am Petula Barker, you have to let me go, don't you?"

"As I've told you, I can't do it on my own, Ms. Barker," Dr. Stanley said, showing his acceptance by calling me by my own name, "but I will explain the situation to the District Attorney."

"What about my research?" Dr. Jameson asked self-servingly. "You said you would keep the information confidential."

"No, Dr. Jameson," Dr. Stanley corrected him, "I only told you that you had a choice between Ms. Barker's story being made public or being kept private. As for me, I have neither the supporting research data nor the professional right to publish it. As to the DA, although I cannot speak for him, I would expect that his political ambitions would not be furthered by his becoming involved with a controversial sex-change case. As to Ms. Barker, for the reasons I discussed previously, I believe you will have to make your own arrangements to secure her cooperation."

"Thank you, Dr. Stanley," Dr. Jameson said in his first expression of courtesy since he arrived. "Ms. Barker, will you be returning to work?" he asked me as though I had been home with a cold. "It would be very helpful if we could examine you."

"Dr. Jameson, I am now a man. My apartment, my car, my credit card, my bank account, my driver's license, all of them are in the name of a woman. I have no clothes and no way to access my money to buy myself any. Or pay my rent. Or buy food. The problem I have now is because I tried to use Petula Barker's identity and I have no interest in repeating it. Nor do I have any incentive to be a human guinea pig. That was not part of my job description as a research assistant."

"Yes, well, Ms. Barker, I appreciate your dilemma. I am sure we can come to a satisfactory financial arrangement."

I looked over to Dr. Stanley and he was smiling. My feminine instincts must still be working, even though they no longer matched my body, because I couldn't help wondering if he was married. I didn't see a ring on his finger. Damn. Just when I finally meet the man of my dreams, I was the man of my dreams. Maybe you could dream that he's gay. Maybe you're not dreaming after all. If this is real, you had better stop fantasizing and get on with your life as a man. Saying that I was confused about my gender would be the understatement of the year, no the millennium.

Dr. Stanley did arranged for my parole until the charges could be dropped and the drug company provided me with a really cool apartment, fully furnished with a giant plasma TV and a concierge service that does the shopping, a company credit card in the name of Peter Barker, which I used to buy myself a very expensive wardrobe, and a chauffered limo, until I get a new driver's license and ID's, which their lawyers are working on. Life is really good. As far as the girls are concerned, I'm a really hot guy and I've got more dates than you can shake a stick, or a dick, at. Whoever said that it was better to give than to receive sure knew what he was talking about when it comes to sex, except, of course, for blowjobs, which are the other way around. With testicles comes great satisfaction.

The Black Box

Author:

Missy

Caution:

CAUTION: Sex / Sexual Scenes

Audience Rating:

EXPLICIT CONTENT

Publication:

7,500 < Novelette < 17,500 words

Genre:

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

TG Elements:

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Black Box
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 1

Usually, I don’t go to estate sales, but it was Saturday and I had nothing else to do. The signs led to a dilapidated Victorian house set back from the road behind a stone wall and rusty iron gate. It was late in the afternoon and there wasn’t much left. Rummaging around, I found an old black leather briefcase with the initials DKMvH. Inside were drawings for some type of device and a notebook written in German. Not the kind of thing that a bargain hunter would want, but I had learned the language during a neurobiology fellowship at the Max Plank Institute and was curious about what it could be. The briefcase had a price of ten dollars. I offered two and we settled on five. I drove home, emptied out the contents on the kitchen table, poured myself a glass of cab and examined my purchase.

I could tell from the tubes and coils that the drawings were plans for building some type of old-fashioned electromagnetic device. At the turn of the century people thought that electricity and magnetism were a cure for almost every ailment. Usually, it was one or the other, but this one cleverly combined them into an electromagnetic pulse. That was way more advanced than anything from that time. I picked up the notebook to see if it provided any explanation. It was a lab journal. The first entry was dated 14 April 1938, which made more sense. It would correspond to the beginning of the Nazi’s preparations for war, so this may have been some type of military experiment. EMP’s can disable electronic devices, but there weren’t any at the time and this one wouldn’t have been powerful enough anyway, so it had to have some other use. I took the notebook into the living room and continued reading.

Herr Doktor, I guessed from the D, was excited about a project to restructure the mind. Continuing, I realized I misinterpreted the meaning. It wasn’t an academic study about how we think, but a military program to control what we think. Not surprising, given the Nazi’s obsession with obedience. By the beginning of the war the doctor had made some progress. He could control his subjects’ behavior by using EMP’s to interrupt their thought process, but with a corresponding reduction in their intelligence. The longer they were exposed, the harder it was for them to think coherently and the more juvenile they became. Turning adults into obedient children had no military value.

By 1940 the program had changed to experimenting with drugs. It too was a failure. The doctor’s entries were pessimistic for both his work and his future. Then he had a breakthrough. He found that lab rats exposed to prolonged EMP’s produced a substance in their brains which created a highly suggestible state when injected into humans and during which the subjects could be made to accept new memories. He experimented with brainwashing enemy spies. Unfortunately for the doctor, making them compliant by giving them new memories erased the information they wanted to extract. The notes ended abruptly in 1943.

I thought about the potential use of the device and the drug. Mental illness usually manifested itself in adults, so if you could reduce their mental age, perhaps you could also control their symptoms. And criminal behavior was linked to childhood conditioning. What if you overwrote those negative memories with positive ones? I decided to follow up the experiments.

On Monday I spoke with Alice in our school of engineering. They built the prototype equipment for our lab. She looked over the drawings.
“Can you build it?” I asked optimistically.

She shook her head. “This technology is obsolete and probably a lot of it was specially fabricated back then.”

“So, there’s no way to duplicate it?”

She smiled. “I didn’t say that. Whatever it was used for, it would have been in a cabinet the size of a refrigerator. Using a circuit board would reduce it to about a desktop computer. A chip would make it the size of a laptop. That’s how much progress we’ve made.”

“So you can build it.”

“Yes and no. I can build you something that will do the same thing, but it won’t be identical. And this,” she pointed to the helmet, “looks large enough to fit a person.” She looked at me skeptically. “What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t know yet. It was an early attempt to treat epilepsy, but it appears to have had a side effect of stimulating nerve regeneration,” I lied. “I need it that size to fit over a rat.”

Alice nodded. “Do you want me to bill your department?”

“Yes. How long will it take?”

“Things are slow, so I should get it done in a week. Is that okay?”

“Perfect.”

Chapter 2

Alice called and said the equipment was ready. I stopped by after work. She showed me a black metal box with an on-off switch, a red button and three knobs. Next to it was a plastic bowl with a wire lead.

“These controls,” she pointed to the knobs, “adjust the amplitude, strength, of the pulse; its duration, how long it lasts; and its frequency, how many times it cycles per minute. The red dots on the dials are set to about what the device would have produced. The device will continue to send out EMP pulses until it is turned off. The antenna system,” she pointed to the bowl, “is insulated, so it won’t affect your electronics, and the lead plugs in here.” She picked up the cord and showed me a jack on the side of the control box.

I brought the device home with me. How to test it was a problem. The Nazis weren’t concerned about using human test subjects, but the university’s ethics committee would require years of testing to prove it was safe before allowing clinical trials. I looked over at my desk and the message light was blinking on my answering machine. It was Rob. We had been dating for a few months. He wanted to break up. The bastard couldn’t even tell me in person. Problem solved. I called him back, but he didn’t pick up. He probably expected hysterics. Instead, I left a message that I understood and that I had some friends who I can fix him up with. Why didn’t he come over for a drink Saturday night at about nine? Of course, a few minutes later he called me back. Guys think with their dick. Welcome, Mr. Guinea Pig.

I had my plan worked out. At the lab, I filled a syringe with pentobarbital and put it in my handbag. On my way home, I stopped at the hardware store and picked up a roll of duct tape and a strip of Velcro to secure the cap. Saturday morning the secondhand furniture store delivered a heavy wood armchair. That night, I put the syringe under a napkin on the side table next to the couch and positioned the chair across from it. I took off one of my earrings and tossed it under the chair. For effect, I opened a bottle of wine, poured two glasses and put them on the coffee table. I looked at my watch. It was quarter to. What the hell. I drank the wine and refilled my glass. The intercom chimed at nine. I buzzed Rob in and stood at the open door.

“Hi Rob,” I greeted him warmly.”

“Umm, hi,” he responded tentatively. “Umm, you aren’t . . .?”

“No, of course not,” I reassured him. “Relationships don’t always work out. Better to know sooner than later. We can still be friends.”

“Yeah, friends, sure.”

“Do you want to come in or do you just want me to text you Susie’s phone number?” Susie was an attractive blonde. I knew Rob had eyes for her at one of my parties.

“Susie? Oh, yeah, sure,” he agreed enthusiastically.

I took his arm and guided him in. I could see him looking at the wine. A drink and maybe he’ll get lucky, a twofer. Little did he know. Like I said, guys think with their dick. As we headed for the couch, I reached up and felt my ear lobe.

“Oh Rob, I lost one of my earrings.” I pretended to look around. “There it is, under that chair. Would you be a dear and get it for me, please?” I gave him a big smile.

He had to get down on his hands and knees to reach under the chair. As he did, I picked up the syringe, stuck it in his butt and pushed the plunger.

“Ow, what the fuck?” He tried to stand up and hit his head on the chair seat. “Ow, fuck, fuck , fuck.” He rubbed his head and struggled to stand up, but the sedative was beginning to work.

“You really hit your head, Rob. Here, let me help you up.” I took his arm and guided him to the chair. “You’d better sit down.” I watched as his eyes began to close and his head nodded.

“What’cha do, wha,cha, mmm,” he slurred and slumped forward. I caught him and pushed him back. I used the duct tape around his chest to hold him upright and to secure his arms and legs to the chair. He’d be out for at least four hours, so there wasn’t anything more for me to do. I finished off my glass of wine and toasted him with his. Waste not want not.

Tomorrow was going to be a busy day, so I decided to get some sleep. My alarm went off at 2 AM and I eagerly went into the living room to see if Rob was awake. Nope, but he had pissed himself while he was out. I covered his mouth with duct tape, stood back and slapped him. “Wake up!” No response. I slapped him twice. “Wake up!” He groggily lifted his head. I slapped him again. “That a boy, we’ve got work to do.” His eyes focused on me. I slapped him again, just for fun.

He realized he was restrained and started to struggle. I grabbed his hair and pulled his head up “You must be thirsty. I am going to cut a slit in your gag so you can drink.” I went to the kitchen and came back with a knife, a glass of water and a straw. I showed him the glass. He nodded that he wanted the water. I shook my head. “Not yet.” I put the glass down and used two fingers to unzip his fly. I reached in and pulled out his dick. Assuming the worst, he shook his head wildly.

I cut a slit in the tape covering his mouth and put the knife down. He relaxed. I gave him the water. “Now, here’s the deal,” I warned him picking up the knife and testing the edge with my thumb. I am going to remove the tape. If you make any sound, I will cut off you dick and stuff it in your mouth to shut you up. Nod if you understand. He nodded. “Good.” Menacing him with the knife, I stripped off the tape. I stepped back and glared at him. “I mean it. Not one word or I separate you from your pathetic manhood.”

I brought over the generator and plugged in the cap. He watched apprehensively. I am going to use you as a subject for an experiment. It’s not painful,” I reassured him. Actually, I had no idea. “I am going to put this cap on your head and record your brainwaves.” Big lie. “After we finish, you will sign a consent and release form saying that you volunteered as a test subject. Once the experiment is complete, you can go.” Bigger lie. I tucked his dick back in his pants and zipped up his fly. “Okay, no trouble. We can always go to plan B. I held the knife against his crotch.

I placed the cap on his head and wrapped the Velcro over it and under his chin to secure it. I left the settings Alice thought duplicated the device. “One, two,” I pushed the button, “three.” I thought his eyes blinked, but there was no other visible reaction. “Just answer my questions while I record. What’s your name?”

“Rob.”

“Your full name.”

“Robert Johnson.”

“Where do you live.”

“365 Memorial Drive, apartment 3A.”

“How old are you?”

“37. Are we done? Can I go now?

“No, shut up.”

I didn’t have the doctor’s time or resources. It was also possible that the doctor was making up his results to keep his project and himself alive. I pushed the red button. At the end of the cycle, I questioned him again.

“What’s happening?”

“You had an accident and you’re in a private clinic. We had to restrain you. I need you to answer some questions. Do you understand?” He nodded. “Good. “What’s your name?”

“Robby”

“Your full name.”

Robby Johnson.”

“Where do you live?”

“27 Cypress St.”

“Who lives there with you?”

“My mom and dad and Katie, my sister.

“How old are you?”

“Umm, I, umm, sixteen,” he replied hesitantly.

Apologies to the doctor. Two cycles regressed him about ten years. Just like Alzheimer’s, the EMP’s seemed to wipe out newest memories first. I pushed the red button. He looked scared and struggled to get up.

“Hi, I’m Sally,” I didn’t want him to have my real name, “your babysitter. Your mother and father had to go away and I’m taking care of you. We played a game and I tied you up. Let’s play some more and then I’ll let you go. What’s your name?”

“Wobby.”

“Do you know your last name?” He shook his head. “Is it Jones?” He shook his head. “Is it Johnson?” He shook his head. “Do you know your last name.” He shook his head and started to cry. “It’s okay. Do you know how old you are?”

“Uh huh.”

“How old are you?” He looked at his right hand. I cut it loose. He held up five fingers.”

“You’re five?”

“Uh huh”

“Do you now your mommy and daddy’s names?” He shrugged. “Is her name Mary?”

“I’m firsty.”

“Okay, let’s get some milk and cookies.” I released him and brought him into the kitchen. “Sit down.” I poured him a glass of milk and found a package of chocolate chip cookies. I put some on a plate and put it in front of him. Not the ideal breakfast for a little boy. I suddenly had an image of Tom Hanks in ‘Big.’ A child in a man’s body. Except this wasn’t a fantasy.

While Rob ate, I thought about what to do with him. I assumed his memory loss was irreversible, but I couldn’t be sure. Amnesia victims often regained their memories, while Alzheimer’s and other types of head injuries never recovered. I needed to observe him for a week. At the same time, I didn’t want anyone to know he was here. I called the lab and left a message that there was a death in my family and needed to take time off. As to Rob, I wanted to be sure that nobody could recognize or find him. I had an idea.

“Robby, come with me.” I took his hand and brought him into my bedroom.” I’m your babysitter and your mommy wants you to be a good little boy and do what I tell you. We’re going to play a dress-up game. You had an accident and wet your pants. We have to change you. I undressed him. His cell phone and wallet were in his pockets. I took a pair of pink panties from my dresser and slipped them on him. “You look very pretty, Robby. We’re going to make believe you a girl. You can be my sister Robin, okay?” He looked at me blankly. “It will be fun.”
I found a skirt with an elastic waist and a pullover top. My shoes wouldn’t fit him or now her. She’d have to wear his, oops, her sneakers. Maybe tights. They’re stretchy. I pulled on a pink pair. “Now we’re going to do a makeover.” I took her hand. “You have to stay still.” Luckily, Rob never had much of a beard. Some foundation, a touch of lipstick, a little blush and brushing his hair into bags with a couple of barrettes did the rest.

“Okay Robby, now you can play. Do you want to watch television?”

“Uh huh.”

I looked at him disapprovingly. “Good little girls say, “Yes, Sally.”

“Yeth, Thally.” Too bad he grew out of his lisp and into a macho asshole. She looked and sounded adorable.

“You’re welcome, Robin. That’s going to be your new name. Like a pretty bird. Can you say it?”

“Wobin.” I laughed.

“Say it again, please.
”
“Wobin.”

“Perfect.”

I took Robby, now Robin, into the living room, turned on the TV and found a kid’s program. I left her sitting on the rug. I had an old stuffed teddy bear in my bedroom. I brought it out and gave it to her. I went back into the bedroom, took his cell phone and threw it in a sink of water. There was twenty-three dollars in his wallet. I took the money, shredded his license and credit cards, checked to make sure there was nothing that could be identified in his wallet and threw it and his phone in the dumpster. Robby was gone for good.

I didn’t have any food in the house to feed a kid. Robin looked convincing enough to take out. I decided to take a trip to the grocery store.
“Robin.” She didn’t respond. “Robin,” I said loudly to get her attention, “that’s your new name. You’re Robin and when somebody calls you, you have to answer. “We’re going to the store. When we get there, you have to hold my hand and you are not allowed to speak to strangers. Do you understand?” She nodded. “Remember, use your words. Do you understand?”

“Yeth, Thally.”

“Very good. Let’s go.”

I took her hand and we walked to my car. I buckled her in the passenger seat. To be safe, I drove to a Walmart that was half an hour away. I went up and down the aisles with Robin in tow filling the cart with easy to prepare foods that I guessed she would eat. On our return home I made us mac and cheese.

After dinner I put her in front of the TV and by nine o’clock I had enough babysitting. I took off the skirt and kept her in the panties and top. I wanted to keep an eye on her, so I put her in my bed, gave her the teddy bear, turned out the light and waited until she was asleep. I was concerned that she might recover some of her adult memories overnight, so I filled another syringe with the anesthetic, just in case. At five I rolled over and checked. She was still asleep. At seven I nudged her awake.

“C’mon sleepy head, it’s time to get up.” I watched for any change in her behavior as her eyes opened. “Your name is Robin,” I coached her. “Say it.”

“Wobbin.”

Perfect. No change. That didn’t mean the effect was permanent. Sometimes it took months or years for recovery. I needed a way to get rid of him permanently. Murder wasn’t an option. Not just morally, but practically I had no way to dispose of a body. I could regress him to an infant, but that just postponed the problem, if his memories eventually returned. He thought he was such a ladies’ man, selling him to a brothel in Asia would be poetic justice. I had no idea of the logistics of shipping him. Maybe something closer to home.

I went on the Frederick’s of Hollywood website and ordered their slutty schoolgirl costume with a red plaid pleated microskirt and sheer crop top with a tie and a pink glamour wig. White cotton panties with a unicorn, white over the knee socks and pink glitter sneakers from Etsy completed the outfit. Both had two days shipping. I continued to observe her over the next week. There was still no change.

On Saturday I put my plan into action. I dressed her in all the items, supplemented with bright red lipstick and glamour eyelashes. “Robin, it’s Halloween and we’re going to get you dressed to go trick or treating. You have to be a good girl and do what Sally says. Then we’re going to go out and get lots and lots of candy. Look, a pretty wig, I settled it on her head. And makeup! You’re going to look like a grown-up. We’re going to have lots of fun!”

As it started to get dark, I put her in the car and drove to where the hookers hung out. “Okay, Robin. You see the woman over there?” I pointed to a black woman in a purple Lycra dress and platform heels. “She has lots of candy for you. Go on.” Robin naively went over to her. I got in the car and kept an eye on Robin. The woman confronted her and after a minute realized that Robin was clueless. She looked around to see if this was some kind of a setup, then dragged Robin over to another woman and they had a conversation. The first woman held onto Robin while the second woman used her cell phone. About five minutes later a black Lincoln pulled up, the passenger’s window rolled down, the woman holding Robin spoke to someone, the back door opened, Robin was shoved in and the car drove off. Rob was about to get all the sex he could imagine, although on the receiving end, I laughed at the pun. Mission accomplished.

Chapter3

The device worked. Now I needed to figure out what to do with it. The technology wasn’t patentable and proving that it had medical value, if it did, was expensive. Even if I could get funding, which I couldn’t, because I turned the proof into a tranny prostitute, it would take years for approval. So, right now all I had was a very satisfying way to punish ex-boyfriends.

On Monday, I had to return to work. Helen, my boss, a fifty-something frustrated bitch, was waiting for me. “Come into my office,” she ordered. I followed her. She picked up a piece of paper. “Did you buy this equipment?” she accused me. Without seeing what it was, I couldn’t know for sure, but I assumed that it was the invoice for the EMP device. “Twelve hundred and twenty-three dollars and sixty-seven cents,” she carried on. “What is it for and where is it?”

Shit. I needed to think fast. “What are you talking about,” I challenged her. “I didn’t buy any equipment. Let me see the invoice.” I studied it. “There must be some mistake. They’ve got the wrong name. I have no idea what this is for. Give me the invoice and I will take it upstairs and get it straightened out.” Since she was fat and lazy, she handed it to me.

“Don’t take too long,” she warned me.

The obvious solution was for me to pay the invoice. The obvious problem was I didn’t have twelve hundred dollars. Okay, Plan B. Maybe the device could also get rid of pain-in-the-ass bosses. I went down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee. Twenty minutes later I returned to the lab. “Well,” she confronted me, hands on her hips. Fuck you, came to mind, but instead I smiled and told her that they had the wrong department. She shook her head and went back into her office. I figured it would be a while before they sent another invoice, which gave me time to put Plan B into action.

Tuesday morning, I put the device, the Velcro and the duct tape into a small suitcase and left for work early. On the way, I stopped off at Starbucks for a grande mocha Frappuccino. I only needed her unconscious long enough to secure her and hook her up, so I got a bottle of chloral hydrate from the stockroom, old fashioned knock out drops among its other uses, and added a dropperful to the cup. When my boss came in, I greeted her with the doctored coffee. “I’m sorry about the confusion yesterday,” I apologized using my most sincere voice. Being unable to resist anything both fattening and free, she took it. “You’re welcome,” I mouthed as she carried her prize into her office. Ten minutes later the bitch was face down on her desk. And to work.

I went into her office and shook her. “Are you okay,” I asked with mock concern. No response. Excellent. I duct taped her upright in her chair and secured the helmet. I got her wallet out of her bag and checked her license. She was fifty-three. She also had sixty bucks she no longer needed. Waste not want not. I took fifty. I wanted her gone for good, so I gave her twelve cycles over the next hour. From the puddle on the floor and the smell of shit when I finished, she was regressed to infancy. I released her and her head flopped onto the desk with a satisfying thud.

The next morning when I got to the lab, the VP of HR was waiting. The cleaning crew found her slumped over her desk making babbling noises. He wasn’t sure how it happened. It might have been a stroke. As soon as he left, I called up Alice. The device was promising. We needed something that would hold a dozen rats. An order for two dozen rats completed the preparations.

Chapter 4

The rats arrived the next day. I prepared half of them as a control. On Friday, Alice delivered a metal box with an antenna inside the lid and leads to plug into the device instead of the helmet. I had no idea how you figured a rat’s age or whether they needed to be alive to produce the extract. The notebooks became less detailed as the need for a result became more imperative. I put the rats in the box, closed the lid and gave them one pulse. I checked and they were alive, but not moving. A comparison of the brain tissue with the control group showed a unique protein. I had no idea how much was necessary. A lot of biologicals work in minute doses and with the use of modern technology the extract was pure compared to the homogenized tissue that Herr Doktor would have used.

I wanted to test how effective the drug was at reprogramming a subject. The notes indicated that there was a complete personality change without any loss of cognitive function. I feminized Rob by asserting my authority over him as a child. Changing a straight man into a transwoman would be dramatic proof. I needed a guinea pig and, being short an ex-boyfriend, I put on a red minidress with a plunging neckline that just covered my nipples, red patent fuck-me pumps and headed for the local bar. Within five minutes I was hit on by a dozen hairy chested, gold medallioned, macho assholes. I blew them off, figuratively, and chatted up a short, thin guy with his hair in a ponytail.
“Hi, I’m Karen,” I smiled demurely. “Do you come here much? This is my first time. It seems like a nice place.” He introduced himself as Alex. A couple of drinks later we were headed back to my place for fun and games, at least for me.

At my apartment, I sat him down on the couch, pulled down his pants and gave him a handjob. Mmm, well, mostly a handjob. Professionally, I wanted to confirm that he was heterosexual, which his less than impressive, but perfect for panties, dick confirmed. Personally, I was horny anticipating that I would soon have the little sister I always wanted to boss around. Pretending to be thirsty after our five minutes of cosmic lovemaking, I brought two glasses of wine. Five minutes later, he was out. I took his wallet out of his back pocket, carried him to the chair and taped him in. After a couple of hours, he started to come around.

“Aaah, waah, haahpen,” he asked groggily. I slapped him. “Huh, wha, whaya do?” I slapped him again. Okay, so I like slapping guys. As he came awake, he tried to get up and realized he was tied to the chair. “What’d you, what the …?” He struggled to move his arms.

“Relax tiger. You like sex games, don’t you? You want to fuck me,” I offered suggestively. I could see him thinking about it for a second and deciding that he liked being tied up less than he liked getting laid.

“No, let me go you crazy bitch.” He struggled to get loose.

“I got you off, remember. Now it’s my turn. C’mon. Be a good sport. Relax and enjoy it,” I encouraged him. I showed him the syringe. His eyes went wide. “This is a designer drug that enhances your sexual experience. Better than Viagra. It’ll keep you hard for hours.

“No, no, no!” he shouted,” I don’t want to. Let me go.” He changed his tone. “Please,” he begged, “I’ll do anything you want. I promise.”

“Sorry, not gonna happen and you’re making too much noise.” I tore off a strip of tape and covered his mouth. “There, that’s a good little boy,” I patronized him. “Mamma’s gonna make you feel so good.” I held up the syringe. He shook his head wildly. “Look,” I said sternly, “It’s going to happen and if you struggle and the needle breaks off in your vein, it can go to your heart and that’s the end,” I warned him, “so stay still and let me get on with it.” I moved forward and found a vein. He gave me a terrified look. I smiled reassuringly as I injected the drug. After a few minutes his expression went blank. I had prepared a script:

“Your name is Alexandra, but you like to be called Alexa. You are a man, but all your life you have wanted to be a woman. There is nothing more important to you than being a woman. You love to dress very feminine, in skirts and dresses, pretty, lacy underwear, stockings, shoes with high heels and use makeup. I am Karen, your older sister. When you were little, I dressed you up in girl’s clothes so we could play dolls and now I am helping you to become a woman. You want to please me so that I will help you. There isn’t anything in the world you want more than for me to help you to be a woman. It is very important that you please me so that I will help you. Everything I tell you to do is for your own good. You must do whatever I say. I know what’s best for you and you will never question me. You will be completely obedient to me.”
After about twenty minutes, Alex, now Alexa, I hoped, opened his, now her, eyes. I pulled off the tape.

“What is your name?”

She gave me a puzzled look.

“You have to answer my questions,” I reminded her.

“You know my name. It’s Alexa.”

“Your full name.”

“Alexandra Chandler.”

Interesting, the new memories were superimposed on her old ones. I continued to question her about her date of birth and address. She remembered both the same as they were on her driver’s license. I tested her false memories.

“Alexa, who am I?”

Again, she was puzzled. I looked at her impatiently.

“You’re Karen, my sister.”

“Why are you here?”

“You, you’re helping me to be a woman.”

“Do you want to be a woman?”

“Yes.”

She realized she was restrained and struggled.

“You have been very naughty. You dressed as a man. You know you are not allowed to wear men’s clothes. I had to punish you for disobeying me.”

She looked down and saw she was wearing pants. “I, I’m, sorry. I,” she shook her head, “I don’t remember ….”

“Don’t worry, I interrupted her. I’m not angry with you, just displeased.”

“Oh no,” Karen, “You know I want to please you. I won’t do it again, I promise. I’ll be good, really good,” she pleaded.

I wanted to test her compliance. “All right then,” I pretended to relent, “come with me.” I brought her into the bathroom and ran a bath, adding some lilac scented bath salts. “Get in the tub, soak and then shave off all of that ugly hair. I handed her a lady’s razor and gel. Shave your legs, under your arms and all around your clitty.” She gave me a questioning look. “If you were a man, you’d call it a penis, but you’re a woman, so it is your clitty. You need to remember that. Men have penises and women have clittys.”

“What are you?” I challenged her.

“I’m a woman,” she replied tentatively.

“Yes, I confirmed, “and what do women have between their legs?”

“I have a clitty,” she dutifully replied, looking expectantly at me for approval.

“Now, do what I said, shave off all your hair. Even the hair around you clitty. Just leave what’s on your head and your eyebrows.” I stood over her and supervised until I was satisfied. “Stand up.” I patted her dry with a towel and dusted her with scented powder. “Come with me.” She dutifully followed me into my bedroom. For the time being, I gave her an oversize tee shirt to sleep in.

Chapter 5

Last night’s ordeal must have been physically and mentally exhausting because Alexa was still asleep at eight o’clock. “Hurry up, Alexa, we have a lot to do today.” She opened her eyes, stretched, yawned and then realized she was in a strange room.
“What, who, I don’t …,” she asked in a daze.

I wasn’t sure if the programming had worn off or it was just taking time for Alexa to assimilate her new self. “You’re Alexa. I’m your sister Karen. You came to me because you want to be a woman. You must do as I say if you want my help. You must be completely obedient.” I reinforced her conditioning.

“I don’t, I, uh,” I gave her a disapproving look, she paused for a moment, “Yes Karen,” she conceded.

First, you need to call your work. Tell them you’re sick and won’t be in this week.” Damn, they wouldn’t know him as Alexa. Then again, not my problem. Now, let’s get you dressed properly. I handed her a pair of my panties. They fit, but there was a noticeable bulge. I had her tuck her cock and balls under, but the panties were too skimpy to contain them. “Take them off.” I handed her a pair of white control panties with lace trim around the leg openings. The Lycra was enough to do the job. None of my bras would fit her. She’d just have to be titless until we went shopping. A knee length black pleated skirt and white wool turtleneck jersey completed the outfit, except for shoes. She’d have to wear Alex’s slip-ons. I sat her at my vanity, thinned her eyebrows and put on some light makeup, just lipstick and a little blush. One of the reasons I picked Alex was because of his ponytail. Undone it was almost shoulder length. I brushed it out and trimmed it into bangs. I found one of my old pocketbooks for her to carry and we were off to the mall. I didn’t want to run into anyone we knew, so I picked a mall across town.

“When we go in, I want you to either hold my hand or take my arm.” She looked confused. “Alexa, if you want to be a woman, then you have to act like one. “

“I’m sorry Karen. I ...,” she trailed off. I wasn’t sure if this was Alex breaking through or a just a gap in her experience that needed to be filled. Her expression changed and she smiled. “I, I’m not very good at being a woman yet,” she apologized.

“Don’t worry about it, Alexa. Just do what I tell you. “You do want my help,” I challenged her.

“Oh, Karen, yes please.”

“Good. Then take my hand.”

I wanted to start feminizing her. A perfumed bath, shaving, makeup, eyebrows, clothes and a hair trim were superficial. I wanted to see if there was any resistance to permanent changes. Our first stop was the costume jewelry store that did ear piercing. I brought her to the back. A young woman came over.

“Hi, I’m Becky.

“I’m helping my brother to transition. She wants her ears pierced.”

Becky looked Alexa over and shrugged. “Whatever. I need his consent. Yes?”

Alexa looked at me. I nodded.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” I wasn’t sure if she was testing or teasing.

“Yes, please?”

“Yes, what?” she repeated.

“Um, yes, I want my ears pierced.”

“Gold or silver?”

Alexa looked at me.

“Do you want gold or silver studs? I think gold would be pretty, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

Becky left and came back with another girl. She looked at Alexa than at Becky. Becky nodded. The second girl went over and whispered something. They both looked at Alexa and giggled.

Alexa winced as the guns clicked. I smiled at her. “You look pretty,” She smiled back. The girls explained how to care for the piercings and gave her a bottle of cleaning solution. On our way out, I picked out a gold heart necklace and matching bracelet. I opened the package and put them on her. Alexa paid with her credit card, which brought a grin to the salesgirl, because it was in Alexander’s name.

Next stop was the nail salon. I directed Alexa to an open station. “Just shape and polish,” I directed the Asian woman. She looked at Alexa. Alexa looked at me. “She needs your hands.” Alexa tentatively put her hands out. They were obviously man’s hands. Apparently, nails were nails. I looked over the nail polish selection and picked out a classic red. Alexa sat complacently as the woman filed, applied the polish and put her hands under the dryer.

“Careful not to smudge your nails,” I cautioned Alexa as we walked through the mall with some quizzical looks and a few whispered comments by the people we passed. Obviously, there was still a lot of work to be done. In the department store, I took Alexa to the lingerie department. A young woman came over as we looked at bras.

“Can I help you,” she asked politely.

As before, I explained that I was helping my brother to transition. By her flustered response, she hadn’t looked closely at Alexa. “Oh, um, ah, oh, okay” she stammered, “I, um, oh, ah, I,” she paused composing herself, “I’m going to ask Cecily to help you, she’s, um, she’s ah, she knows about these things,” she finally got out.

“Knows about what things,” I teased her.

“Oh, um, you know, um, men who …,” she trailed off realizing she was getting herself in trouble. “I’ll be right back.” She quickly turned and hurried off. A few minutes later, she returned with an older woman.

“Hi, I’m Cecily,” she introduced herself. I understand you are looking to help your sister,” she looked at Alexa, “select a bra. I believe she might be more comfortable in our fitting room. Taking Alexa’s arm, Cecily guided us into a small room closed off with a curtain. “Do you know what size you are, dear?” Alexa looked at her blankly. “Have you worn a bra before?” Alexa thought for a moment and shook her head. “Really, hmm,” she looked at me skeptically.

“Alexa only came out recently. I tried one of my bras, I’m a 36, but it was too small.”

“Yes, I would think a 38. Take off your top and I can measure you.”

Alexa looked at me. “It’s all right, we’re all women here,” I reassured her. She started to pull up her top. “Wait.” She hesitated. “Not that way. Put your hands underneath to pull the neck away from your face, so you don’t get makeup on it when you pull it over your head.” Alexa awkwardly pulled off her top.

Cecily raised an eyebrow at Alexa’s smooth hairless chest. “You’ve prepared.” I smiled. She proceeded to measure. “Yes, a 38.” She turned to me. “I would recommend a B cup for an inconspicuous figure until she has completed her transition.” I nodded my agreement. “Dotty,” she directed, “pick out some 38B bras for Alexa to try on.”

Dotty hesitated. “I don’t know which ones you want.”

“You’re about Alexa’s size and age,” Cecily observed to Dotty’s embarrassment. “Pick out what you would wear. She’s your customer. You can have the commission.” With that encouragement Dotty left. About ten minutes later she optimistically returned with an armload. Cecily looked over the selection and nodded her approval. She picked up a white one with lace trim on the straps and under the cups and offered it to Alexa. “Try this on. It’s a front hook, so you can slip your arms through the straps and then this clip slides through this loop,” she demonstrated. Once on, Cecily made a few adjustments and stood back. “Do you like it?”

This was the type of active involvement I was curious about. Becoming a woman wasn’t Alexa’s idea, so how would she respond when asked whether she liked wearing a bra? She hesitated.

“Look in the mirror, dear,” Cecily encouraged Alexa.

Alexa looked at her reflection and gave me a confused look. “It’s very pretty.” Alexa took the cue and repeated it.

Cecily proceeded to try on four more bras, black, pink, another white with a back hook and a cute floral print. “Hmm,” she studied Alexa and then smiled. “Something’s missing, isn’t it. That’s the problem,” she surmised, mistaking Alexa’s disinterest for disappointment. You need something to fill it out. Dotty, we have some of those silicone enhancers in the stockroom. Turning to me, Cecily explained, “They’re what in the old days we would call ‘falsies,’ not real breast forms, we don’t carry mastectomy supplies, just pads that add a cup size, but they’ll give Alexa the look she wants.”

A few minutes later, Dotty returned with a package which Cecily opened and took out two clear half-moon shaped pouches which she slipped into Alexa’s bra. “Turn sideways, dear. She nodded her approval, “that’s much better.”

“Is she wearing panties?”

“Alexa, take off your skirt.” She fumbled with the waist looking for a zipper. “No, it just pulls down.” She tugged and with no hips it dropped to the floor.

“Uh huh, a control panty, yes, that would keep everything tucked in nicely.” Cecily peeled down the back. Medium. Dotty, bring some medium control panties.” Dotty hesitated. “What?”

“I don’t wear them.”

Cecily gave her an exasperated look. “You’re getting the commission on the sales,” she remined her. With that reminder Dotty left and appeared five minutes later with an armful of underpants. Cecily sorted through them and picked out four pairs that complemented the bras. “These should do. She looked impatiently at Dotty. “Aren’t there other things Alexa will need?”

Dotty’s eyes lit up. “Yes, ma’am, of course.” She hurried out. A half hour and four hundred and thirty-six dollars and seventy-two cents on Alex’s credit card later we left with three bags of assorted bras, panties, nighties, pantyhose and tights. “Thank you,” Dotty said appreciatively, having been converted by the reward for being trans friendly.

At the MAC counter, Renaldo was happy to spend a half hour enthusiastically educating Alexa to the use of cosmetics in exchange for another few hundred dollars’ worth of cosmetics and brushes. Our outing, both literally and figuratively, was intended to test the effectiveness of Alexa’s drug induced programming, but it turned out with the right clothes and makeup Alexa was pretty.

Our last stop was the women’s shoe department. An impeccably dressed young man with a neatly trimmed beard hurried over and directed us to a seating area. “I’m Richard. Oh my,” he remarked, looking down at Alexa’s shoes. “Do you know what size you are in a woman’s shoe, dear?” Alexa shook her head. He removed one of her shoes and looked inside. He removed the other shoe and went off, returning with a pair of peds and slipped them on. “Now, what did you have in mind? Heels?” he asked with a smile. “Not too high. Booties would look good with what you are wearing. Black, no, purple suede, yes,” he discussed with himself, then looked at Alexa for confirmation. When he got no reaction, he turned to me.

” I’m helping her to transition. This is her first time shopping,” I explained. “Thank you for the suggestion, Richard.”

He looked around and then whispered, “Ricky. What’s your name, dear,” he asked Alexa?”

She hesitated. “Tell Ricky your name,” I encouraged her.

“Alexa?”

“Yes, Alexa.”

“That’s a pretty name,” Ricky complimented her.

“Alexa,” I schooled her when he left, “ladies sit with their legs together or crossed at the knees or the ankle.” She looked at me apologetically. “It’s okay. I don’t think that Ricky minded. I think he likes you. Do you like him?” I tested her reaction to men.

“I don’t know. He seems nice, I guess.”

Ricky brought back the boxes of shoes. He tried on the booties and had Alexa walk around. Her movement was still masculine. The second box had black patent leather pumps with a kitten heel.” The third box had a pair of high heeled black boots. “Kinky boots, for when you go out,” he said suggestively.

“And where would you recommend Alexa wear these?”

“I like Jacques, the French spelling, “j-a-c-q-u-e-s. It’s a bar downtown on Broadway.”

“Do you go there?”

Ricky looked around again and whispered, “Thursdays they have a great drag show. I’ll be there.”

“On stage?”

“No,” he laughed, “but I have some friends who perform.”

On Sunday I helped Alexa get dressed. She readily helped me make the bed and do the breakfast dishes, which I guessed were remnants from her previous life. The image of Alexa in a French maid’s dress with, black stockings and frilly black panties peeking out from underneath a black dress held out by rows of white petticoats came to mind, but that costume was not part of her feminization, at least for now.
“Alexa, you need to learn to do your makeup. I want you to go on YouTube and watch the videos.” I brought out the products we purchased yesterday. “You need to learn how to use these.” Alexa did as she was told and by the end of the day Alexa was fairly proficient at applying her makeup.

Chapter 6

Given her domestic abilities, on Monday I left Alexa to clean the apartment and to continue her instruction on using makeup, as well as adding videos on fashion. When I returned home, the apartment was spotless, Alexa had done her makeup and was wearing the outfit I had put together for her to go shopping. The first part of my experiment on using the drug had been a success. How far I could go with reprogramming Alexa was the next question. In college I took an introductory psychology course which included a discussion of hypnosis. A subject could not be made to act against their nature. Alexa might not have any inhibition about pretending to be a woman - I think that most men are curious about the feminine mystique, but afraid to do anything about it - but how far could I go if he wasn’t gay or bi? Ricky’s invitation was the perfect opportunity to test the power of the drug.

I only had three days to prepare. During work on Tuesday, I went online and made an appointment for tomorrow afternoon at what was recommended online as a trans friendly salon. On my way home, I stopped at the mall and picked out a hot red minidress. My next stop was an adult toy store where I purchased a strap-on with a realistic removable dildo and a pink butt plug. A package of condoms, a tube of KY jelly and six fleet enemas completed my shopping for Alexa’s introduction to oral and anal sex. After dinner, I told her she needed a booster shot of hormones to help her fill out the dress. I prepared the script while she was changing into her nightgown and washing up. As before, within a few minutes Alexa became expressionless.

“Alexa, you are a woman. A woman has sex with men. You want to have sex with men.” I watched her for any sign of conflict or resistance. She remained passive. “You want men to kiss you and you want to kiss them.” No change. “You want them to touch your naked body, to touch every part of you and you want to touch them all over, their cock, their balls and their ass.” Nothing. “You want to play with their cock, to stroke it, to kiss it, to lick it, to put it in your mouth and suck them off. You love the taste of cum.” Still no conflict or resistance. “You want them to stick their cocks in your ass, to fuck you in the ass and to shoot cum in your ass. When you are having sex with a man, you will do anything to please him.” I ended with reinforcing my requirement for obedience “Remember, Alexa, I am your sister and I am helping you to become a woman. There isn’t anything in the world you want more than for me to help you to be a woman. It is very important that you please me so that I will help you. Everything I tell you to do is for your own good. You must do whatever I say. I know what’s best for you and you will never question me. You will be completely obedient to me.”

“How do you feel?” I tested Alexa when she came around.

“I’m okay, why?”

“You passed out for a few minutes.”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Do you remember when you were about ten you had a crush on the boy who lived down the street? What was his name?”

“Billy?”

“Yes Billy,” I agreed.

“No, Karen, I don’t. Did I?”

I planted a false memory. “Yes, Mom caught you and she told dad and he threatened to have you sent away. You must have wanted to be a girl and he wouldn’t let you. But now that you’re going to be a woman you want to have sex with men,” I reinforced her programming. “You want me to help you learn to have sex with men.”

“I, …,” she hesitated, “I, don’t ….”

“I’m your big sister and you have to do what I say,” I interrupted her, “and I say you want me to help you learn to have sex with men. Now come with me.” I directed her into the bedroom. “I want you to pretend that I am a man. Come over here, put your arms around me and give me a kiss.” She moved forward, embraced me and reluctantly kissed me on the cheek. “No, Alexa, what kind of kiss was that? On the mouth and with feeling, like this.” I pulled her tightly against me and gave her a passionate kiss. “Now, kiss me again, like that.” Better. “Again, but this time I want you to use your tongue. Push it into my mouth and move it in and out.” She complied and I French kissed her back. “Don’t stop.” I brushed my hand over her dick to see if there was any reaction. None, but my pussy was getting drippy. Either I was a lesbian or got off on domination, probably the latter, since Alexa wasn’t really a woman.

After about ten minutes of making out, it was time for stage two. I stripped to my panties and bra and strapped on the penis dildo. “On your knees.” I pointed to a spot directly in front of the dangling dildo. Alexa obediently followed my order. “Stroke my cock,” I commanded her. Geez, I was sopping. Definitely a dominatrix. This could get addictive. Alexa mechanically ran her hand back and forth. “Kiss the tip. Again. Now lick the shaft. Imagine that it is a real cock. You’re making love to a big, strong man. He loves it. He’s moaning. Keep it up. Make love to his cock, Alexa. Look up at me and open your mouth. “I moved forward and pushed in the cock. Close your mouth. Suck on it. Keep sucking. Move your mouth over the shaft. Back and forth. Just use your lips. That’s it. Back and forth, in and out. You love it, Alexa. You love giving blow jobs. If this was a real penis, you’d want to make me cum in your mouth. You love cum, Alexa. Pleasing a man by making him cum in your mouth and swallowing it is what women do and you want to be a woman.

So far, so good. It was time for stage three. There’s another thing that you have to do as a woman, Alexa. Stay on your knees and bend over the bed with your ass sticking out.” I put on a surgical glove I brought from the lab, lifted her nightgown, put a generous gob of KY jelly on my finger and started to message around her asshole.” Just relax, Alexa.” I slowly worked the lube around and into her hole with the tip of my finger while watching for any reaction. She was complacent and her dick stayed limp. I inserted my finger up to the first knuckle and wiggled it. Still no reaction. I inserted it fully and began to finger fuck her. After a few minutes, I pulled out my finger, slipped a condom on the dildo, coated it with lube, pressed the tip against the opening and popped it in. “Push back against me and wiggle your butt. Fuck my cock,” I demanded. “Faster.” Holy shit! The hell with Alexa. I was about to cum.

After two orgasms, I was exhausted while Alexa was still dutifully humping the dildo. I pulled it out. “Don’t move.” I picked up the butt plug, lubed it, and held it for her to see. “This is a butt plug. It goes in your ass-pussy, that’s what women like you have for men to fuck, an ass-pussy. I shoved it in. It was bigger than the dildo and Alexa squealed at the intrusion. “You have to keep this in you, except when you go to the bathroom. You can take it out, clean it and yourself and then put it back in. And finally, stage five. “Okay, Alexa, you’ve been a good girl for me. Get on the bed and roll over on your back. Pull up your nightgown. Jerk yourself off. Stroke it! Faster! Definitely a dominatrix. “Cum in your hand,” I ordered. I wondered if Alex’s feminization affected his manhood, which his hardon and handful of cum answered. “You love cum. The feel in your mouth, the taste, lick it up and swallow it.” Watching Alexa slurping her cum, I couldn’t help myself, I stuck two fingers in my pussy and jilled off to a third orgasm.

After I recovered, I continued with Alexa’s introduction to womanhood. “You love being fucked, Alexa, and you have to keep yourself clean so men will want to stick their cocks in your ass-pussy. You have to douche morning and night.” I showed her a fleet enema. “Come with me.” In the bathroom I had her bend over, I stuck the nozzle up her ass. squeezed and emptied the bottle. “Hold it in for ten minutes, then you can sit on the toilet and let it out. That’s another thing. Women sit to pee. You will sit to pee from now on.”

To reinforce Alexa’s instructions on having sex with men, I surfed the internet for transexual porn sites and spent the rest of the night downloading videos. In the morning, I had Alexa drop her panties and bend over to check that she had used the enema. “Very good. You are becoming the woman you want to be.”

“Thank you, Karen,” she said appreciatively. “I want to please you.”

“I am pleased, but you still have more to do. Looking and feeling pretty are only part of your transformation. You still need to work on having sex. That’s the most important part of being a woman, pleasing a man sexually.” Unless you just got off sticking a strap-on cock up some guy’s ass. But then she was already equipped, if it turned out she had similar tastes. Getting back to Alexa’s training, I told her that there were some videos that I wanted her to watch. I had her sit in my tilting office chair, opened the file and started the first one. There was a tranny with a big black dildo pile driving it into her ass while she jerked off and when she came, she licked the cum off her hand. I detached the dildo from the strap-on harness and handed it to Alexa. “I want you to do what you see in the video. You love cum. It’s delicious. You love to eat it. When you finish the video there are five more. Keep using the dildo and wanking. After you’ve watched them, you can clean the apartment. If you finish before I get home, put on the boots and practice walking in heels.”

I left before I got turned on again. HR still had not hired a director, so there was nothing for me to do at work. Helen had conveniently left her password taped inside the top drawer to her desk, so I logged onto the lab account and approved the invoices for the equipment and rats. At two o’clock I closed up and went home to get Alexa for her hair appointment.

“Hello, Karen,” Alexa greeted me. She was wearing the boots. I watched as she circled the living room. You need to take smaller steps and put one foot in front of the other. She complied. “Yes, that’s it.” Combined with the butt plug, the catwalk stroll gave her hips and ass a nice wiggle. “Okay, you can stop now. We need to go to the hairdresser.’ She gave me a questioning look. “A woman’s hair is important. We need to get it done and you need to learn to manage it. Take off the boots, put on your pumps and get your bag.”

The address was in an upscale part of town. I would have thought that a trans friendly salon would be less conspicuous. I checked in and the receptionist politely offered us refreshments while we waited. About fifteen minutes later an older woman introduced herself as Jeanette. She looked Alexa over and shook her head.

“As this is obviously Alexa’s first experience with having her hair done, I believe she would be more comfortable in our private spa,” Jeanette considerately offered. Closing the door, she picked up a comb and circled Alexa, studying her hair. “Did you have a style in mind?” Alexa shook her head shyly. “You?” she turned to me. I told her that we would rely on her. She nodded. “I recommend a trim,” she combed through the side and held it out. “Longer in front to frame her face,” she angled the comb, “yes,” she agreed with herself, “and,” she held the comb against Alexa’s forehead, “wispy bangs,” she nodded her head, “very feminine. Another pause as she considered, “yes,” and a softer color.” Janette cocked her head. “Mmm, a few shades lighter and some highlights.” She looked at Alexa. Alexa passively Looked at me. I nodded my agreement. Jeanette stood back considering Alexa’s submission. “Okay,” she conceded to my control, “let me get Denise to shampoo and we’ll get started.”

Two hours later, Jeanette stood back and admired her work. Alexa was a light brunette, almost a dirty blonde, with subtle reddish highlights. “Perfect, you’re a magician,” I complimented Jeanette on the transformation.

Jeanette shook her head. “If I was a magician, her makeup would disappear. I would say whoever sold you the cosmetics unloaded at lot of product. The colors are wrong for her skin tone, they don’t cover, she could use electrolysis,” she digressed, “and her eye makeup,” she shook her head.

“I don’t wear much makeup and, well, Alexa has been learning from watching YouTube” I explained apologetically.

“Some of the women who get their hair done for an event have Angela, our cosmetician, do their makeup. I don’t think she has a client. Do you want a consult?” I agreed. Jeanette left and came back with a very stylish younger woman rolling a cart. Angela studied Alexa, turning her head from side to side and lifted her chin. Another hour later, a flawless complexion, shaped brows, long black eyelashes, eyeliner, shadow, blush and a glistening pinky red lips emerged. I couldn’t get over the plain duckling being turned into a show stopping swan. Never mind Ricky, she could walk into a regular bar and the straight guys couldn’t keep their hands off of her until they tried to get to third base and found that they were in the wrong ballpark.

Nobody said beauty was cheap. The bill was over two weeks of my salary. With all the other purchases, I was concerned that we had reached Alexander’s credit limit, but the charge went through with no problem. I hadn’t asked Alexa anything about her life as Alexander. All I knew was that he was an accountant and worked at a downtown firm. On our way home, Alexa’s good credit was explained by her alter ego being a CPA with a six-figure salary. Perhaps I should rethink cutting her loose after I finished using her as a test subject.

Back at the apartment, I helped Alexa get ready. I didn’t want to muss her hair or makeup, so I used scissors to cut off her sweater. A black bra with the enhancers and a black control panty replaced the white ones. I held the red cocktail dress for her to step into, pulled it up and zipped it. The red heels, a pair of dangly crystal heart earrings and a matching necklace completed the outfit.

We got to the bar about nine o’clock. As we entered, Ricky stood up and waved. I guided Alexa to a seat that Ricky had strategically left open next to him. I found a seat across the table. If Ricky was interested in Alexa before, he was infatuated with her now. In the guise of introducing her to his friends, he variously held her arm, put his hand around her waist and over her shoulder. He leaned over, whispered something in her ear and she looked at me.

“What does Alexa drink?” Ricky asked in a puzzled voice.

“We both drink scotch.”

He got up, went to the bar, and returned with two glasses. Cocksucker! Literally. It looked like Alexa’s was a double, which left no doubt about Ricky’s less than honorable intentions. A woman doing a Judy Garland impression was on stage. As the show continued, Ricky was cuddling with Alexa and nuzzling her neck and ear. As what I assumed to be a formally straight man, I was curious to see how effective the drug was in programming her to please men, as well as whether the alcohol – Ricky had plied her with a second double scotch – would repress or enhance her feelings. By the time the show was over Alexa was unabashedly making out. I couldn’t see under the table, but by her suddenly raised eyebrows and then submission, it was obvious that Ricky was trying his best to work around the control panty. And from Ricky’s pleased expression a few minutes later, it was obvious that Alexa had found his underwear less of a challenge.

And so, the experiment was a scientific success. Ricky and Alexa became an item, her new life slowly replacing her old, confirming the effectiveness and permanency of the drug. Alexa returned to work while continuing with her domestic duties for me and unknowingly being used as a test subject. Her salary, which she gratefully contributed as compensation for my transforming her into the woman she never wanted to be, was sufficient for me to quit my job; but I still had no idea how to profit from the mind control device. A Google search about age regression, infantilization and mind control only turned up transgendered fiction sites with stories about women turning men into submissive maids, sissies, children and babies and disobedient sons into petticoated daughters.

Chapter 7

About a month after Alexa’s transformation, I saw a news story about a nasty divorce over a billionaire cheating on his wife. Punishing errant husbands was a common theme in the trans fiction stories, but I could do it for real. What if the husband suddenly turned into a child? The wife could take control of his assets. That opportunity had to be worth a lot to her. It was worth a try. The story gave the name of the law firm that was representing the wife. I figured she would have to go there to meet with her lawyers, so I hung around the lobby. Luckily, they had a Starbucks. A few days and a few gallons of latte’s later, I recognized her going through security. I caught up with her as she was leaving. I knew I wouldn’t have much time, so I made it short.

“Excuse me.” I took her arm. She pulled away. “I have a way for you to get your husband’s assets without having to divorce him.”
She stopped. “If this is some type of stunt by my husband, so help me,” she threatened angrily.

“I have a device that can undetectably regress you husband to an age where he is not capable of managing his money.”

She looked at me skeptically and started to leave. She paused at the door, turned back and handed me a card. It had her name and an address. “Four o’clock.”

I arrived at appointed time and used the intercom. The gate opened and I drove in. She met me at the front door and silently guided me outside to the pool. I followed her to a cabana. She pointed to a bikini bathing suit. I looked at her questioningly. “Put it on or leave.” She inspected me as I changed. When I finished, she handed me a pony elastic. Again, she watched intently as I put up my hair. When I was finished, she walked me to the pool and pointed to the steps. I slowly waded in. She sat down about midway along the edge with her feet dangling. I swam to her and held onto the edge. She reached down and held my head under. I struggled wildly, thinking that she suspected I was working for her husband and that she would claim my death was a pool accident. What seemed like a minute later, she released me and I came up gasping for air.

“My husband is a devious bastard and I had to make sure you weren’t hiding a transmitter or a recording device,” she explained. “Your claim was so bizarre that it intrigued me. I’m listening.”

Having recovered, I told her the story of my discovery of the notebook and using the device on my ex-boyfriend and boss.

“Why not just sell it instead of trying to con me?” she asked incredulously.

“It’s not a con,” I insisted. “Medical devices take years and cost millions in testing to prove their effectiveness and safety before they are marketable and the technology isn’t unique, so I can’t prevent a company from duplicating it. And what if it got out that there was a device that could turn adults into children or infants? In the wrong hands,” I winked, “it could have devastating effects.”

She looked at me skeptically. “How does it work?”

“It’s just like reformatting a computer. The device erases memory, newest first, ultimately rebooting the brain to its bios, infancy.”

“Is it like a ray gun? You know, like in the cartoons. You zap someone and poof, they’re turned into a baby?”

“No, it needs to be attached to them. The longer it’s used, the more the subject is regressed.”

“What good is it then? My husband is not going to sit around while you hook him up.”

“I would need to get him alone and sedated.”

“Well, good luck with that.” She got up and held out a towel. I swam towards the steps. “Stop,” she said abruptly, “there might be a way.” “Back,” she pointed towards the middle of the pool where we had been talking. I went back and she stood over me. “My husband loves pussy,” she shrugged. “He has a trophy girlfriend, big tits,” she put her hands under her own ample breasts and bounced them, “bubble butt and I’m sure she sucks like a vacuum cleaner. Even so, he isn’t any more faithful to her than he was to me. He’ll fuck any target of opportunity.” She studied me. “I’m sure you’re pretty enough to catch his eye.”

“Me?” Actually, it wasn’t a bad idea. It worked for my ex and for Alexa. “Okay,” I agreed, “how do I get him alone.”

“My husband plays golf at his country club on Wednesday afternoon. Afterwards he has drinks with his buddies. I can get you in. After that it’s up to you. He uses the pro shop for the wives he seduces.” She frowned. “I should have asked. Is your device portable?”

“Yes, it fits in a carry-on suitcase.”

“You understand that my only involvement in this is getting you into the club. After that you’re on your own. Speaking of which, I assume that this is not a public service for women with problem husbands.”

I shook my head. “One million dollars cash.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Yes, but you’re going to pay that much to your lawyers before you’re finished with the divorce and still end up with only a fraction of your husband’s wealth. For the same money, you can have control over him and his finances with no risk to you.”

“Let’s go back to the con. How much up front?”

“No con. Nothing.”

She nodded. “When do you want to do it?”

“Next Wednesday.”

“I’ll leave word that you are coming as a guest of Bitsy Carlisle. She’s in Europe. There are cc cams all over, so I can’t be seen with you. Bring the suitcase here on Tuesday. I will leave it for you in the pro shop.”

“How much do you want him regressed?”

“Will he know what happened to him?”

“No, but I can turn him into a helpless infant who will spend all day in diapers crapping and pissing himself or into a little boy whose life you can make miserable.”

“Helpless or miserable. Hmm,” she mused. “Miserable.”

Chapter 8

Over the weekend I picked up a pair of fuzzy handcuffs, a riding crop, blindfold and a ball gag, an enema kit with Bardex nozzle and a jar of Vaseline, and a bottle of 90 proof vodka. I put the handcuffs and the gag in a big shoulder bag with a pair of surgical gloves and a tampon and added the other items to my suitcase with the EMP device. Wednesday afternoon, I walked into the clubhouse in my red titty dress and fuck-me pumps. In the bar, I recognized my victim. I didn’t see anything that would make a woman want to fuck him, but maybe he was packing something special in his pants or maybe a billionaire’s cum was tastier. I waited until he went to the bar and sidled up next to him. The fish took the bait.

“Hi, I’m Donald,” he introduced himself with a phony smile. “I haven’t seen you here before. I’d remember a beautiful woman like you.”

“Oh, you’re sweet. I’m Cassandra.” I put out my hand. He held it. “My husband is around here somewhere,” I pretended to look for him while gently trying to retrieve my hand, which he wouldn’t release. “Somewhere,” I repeated and shrugged.

“What are you drinking?”

I got right to the point. “Are you flirting with me?”

“Yes.” Hooked.

“Mmm, in that case Scotch, please.”

“I know a quiet place where we can get to know each other better.” Reeled in.

“Oh, Donald, I don’t know. What will I tell my husband?”

“You can tell him that I took you to see the pro shop.” And ready to be fried, literally.

“What about the drink?” I reminded him.

He called the bartender over, whispered something to him, he left and returned with a bottle and two glasses.

“Chivas,” Donald proudly held up the bottle as an enticement. “Let’s go.” He escorted me through a door at the back of the bar, down a service corridor and to an exit door. Furtively look around, he hustled me across the parking lot to a building with golf carts being charged. Inside, I stopped to admire a rack of skorts.

“Oooh, this is really cute. I held it up and spun around. “Would you like to see it on me?” I asked suggestively.

“Yah, sure, take it,” he said impatiently, tugging on my arm. “This way.”

He led me to the back of the shop and into a stockroom. As soon as we were inside, he grabbed me and started kissing. I slid my hand down and rubbed his crotch. Encouraged, he held onto me with one hand and started to feel me up with the other.

“Hold on, Lover,” I protested. He kept groping me. “Donald, slow down. I am going to give you the best blow job you’ve ever had, but you have to do it my way. Now behave!” I doubt he was used to a dominant woman. “Now, turn around and put your hands behind you.” I took the handcuffs out of my bag and locked them on him.

“What the fuck, Cars. . ., he couldn’t remember my name, “what the fuck,” he repeated as he struggled to get free.

“Really, Donald, don’t you like bondage games? They really get me wet.” I placed my hand on his crotch. “And it looks like there’s someone else who likes them too.” I loosened his belt and pulled his pants and underwear down around his ankles, confirming his hardon and also immobilizing his legs. “Just one more little toy.” He looked worried. I took at the ball gag. “Open up.” He kept his mouth closed and shook his head. “Oh, really, don’t be a baby. Open and mama will make her little boy feel really, really good.” He couldn’t be enticed. Okay, B and D it is. I grabbed his nose. When he finally opened his mouth to gasp for air, I pushed the ball gag in and secured the strap. “Now, wouldn’t it have been easier to obey me. Good boys get rewarded,” I smiled, “but bad boys get punished.” I frowned, took the crop out of my bag and swatted it against my palm. His eyes went wide. I wasn’t sure if he was afraid or excited, although he still had a hardon, so maybe this was going to be easier than I thought.

My initial expectation of his endowment was not confirmed. His dick was nothing to write home about. That left the second possibility still open. I got down on my knees, wrapped my fingers around his cock and slowly ran them up and down, rubbing my thumb over the head at the end of each stroke. Whatever resistance faded and I looked up at him, licking my lips as I jerked him off. Stamina wasn’t his secret either. After a couple of minutes, he began to moan and shake, signaling an impending eruption. I gave the head a kiss and then slid the shaft in my mouth, slowly moving up and down. Maybe he was into B and D because he shuddered and blew his load. Nope, I swished it around like you taste wine, but it was just plain old cum. I spit it on his tummy.

“That was just round one. I am going to fuck the daylights out of you.” Well, it was true in a way. “But not with that limp noodle. I want you to rest for a while, but I’m warning you,” I said menacingly, brandishing the crop, “if you give me any trouble, I am going to beat those little marbles,” I gave his balls a squeeze, “black and blue.” I took out the blindfold. “Just in case you have any silly ideas.” He docilly let me put it on.

I looked through the shop for my suitcase and found it tucked behind the sales counter. I had put a small luggage padlock on it. Not to prevent anyone who was intent on opening it, but enough to deter curiosity. I wheeled it back into the stockroom and started to prepare. Donald could hear the movement, but with the gag and blindfold there wasn’t any way for him to know what I was doing. I attached the enema hose and nozzle to the bag, filled it with vodka and coated the nozzle with Vaseline.

“Okay, Donald, this is the fun part. Do you like anal sex.” I assume he thought I was asking whether he wanted to fuck me in the ass, because he enthusiastically nodded his head. “Good.” I slipped a surgical glove on my right hand, dipped the first finger in the Vaseline, took his cock in my left hand and stuck my finger in his ass up to the knuckle. He bucked at the intrusion and started to grunt. “Relax,” I teased him. “You said you liked anal sex.” I pushed my finger all the way in wiggled it around, pulled it partially out and slid it back in. “Do you want me to stop?” I asked him with my finger fully in and the other hand stroking his cock. Not that I would, but he didn’t resist. “Good boy.” I pulled my finger out. He grunted.

“One second baby.” I picked up the nozzle and slid it in. It took a few seconds for him to realize that it wasn’t my finger going up his ass. “Another toy,” I reassured him. “Just relax and enjoy.” I pumped it in and out a few times until it was fully inserted and inflated the bulb. He bucked when he felt the pressure. “Now comes the fun part.” I released the clip on the enema. As he started to feel the liquid flowing, he struggled to get up, but I straddled his chest. “It’s a booze enema. You bought that nice bottle,” I reminded him, “and you can’t drink with the gag. Cheers.” I got off and started to jerk him off to distract him down while the enema did its work.

After a minute, I gave the bag a squeeze and clipped it off. A few minutes later, his cock stopped responding to the hand job. I undid the gag and removed the blindfold. “Hey, Lover, speak to me. His eyes didn’t focus and he mumbled something. “Donald?” I slapped him. No response. “Donald, wake up.” I slapped him twice more. Nothing. I slapped him twice more just for fun. Yeah, I know, but he deserved it for all the women he molested. I unlocked the handcuffs and his arms flopped on the couch.

With him incapacitated, I deflated the nozzle, pulled it out and plugged him with the tampon. I got a golf towel and ball cleaner, aptly named, to tidy him up. I unpacked the EMP device and set it up. Shit, there was no outlet in the stockroom to plug it in. I grabbed him under the arms and tried to drag him into the shop, but I couldn’t budge the tub of lard. Shit, shit, shit. All of this for nothing? Shit. Then I remembered the golf carts. There was a long cord connecting the battery charger. Back in the shop, I found his wallet, checked his age, adjusted the device and turned it on. There was no resistance as as his adult memories were wiped.

After ten cycles, I turned the device off. I did not have a lot of empirical data, but if it worked as it did on Rob, then he should end up as about a five- or six-year-old. I packed everything up, pulled out the tampon, wiped down the couch, opened the bottle of whiskey – I still had the surgical gloves on so as not to leave any fingerprints – poured a little bit in his mouth and doused him with the rest. I took a picture as insurance and left, replacing the cord on my way out.

Chapter 9

Each day I checked the papers to see if there was a story about a billionaire reverting to his childhood, but they must have done a good job of covering it up. Finally, there was a story in the Sunday financial section about Donald’s wife taking over while he pursued philanthropic work. More likely, crayons and a coloring book. The next day, I called the office and left a message that her childhood friend would like to meet her and left my cell phone number. A few hours later, I got a text message with a time.

I arrived at the house and went through the same precautions.

“I assume you want to be paid.”

“Yes and no.” She raised her eyebrows. “A million dollars showing up in my bank account would raise too many questions and I don’t want the tax headache. As the concerned wife of a man suffering from an unexplained brain condition, you can fund a foundation to find a cure. Of course, I will be the director with a generous salary, benefits and an expense account.”

A big smile crossed her face. “Brilliant. I can write it off. Donald would have liked that, he hated to pay taxes. Just one more thing. I’m rethinking infancy. Donald was a horrible person and he’s no better as a little boy. Daily tantrums if he doesn’t get his way and unfortunately spankings don’t help. He likes them. Figures. Can he be regressed further?”

“Yes. Or perhaps you would prefer him as an obedient little girl in petticoats.”

“You can do that?” she asked enthusiastically.

“Yes, but that’s another story.”

Author’s Note: I wanted to try a different method of age regression, mind control and feminization, instead of the usual hypnosis stories. I don’t intend to continue, but anyone who would like to try their hand at using the “black box” in a story has my permission to do so. I waive any copyright. Enjoy. Missy Crystal

The Blue Fairy

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

Transgender

TG Themes:

Autobiographical

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Blue Fairy

By Missy Crystal

Chapter 1. When you wish upon a star.

When I was little, I'm not sure how old, young enough not to understand the literal and figurative ins and outs of being female, I wished I was like my sister, Betsy. She was my twin. Obviously, not identical. Funny how you call boy and girl twins fraternal. Maybe if you called them sororital, I wouldn't be writing this story. Attitudes would have been different. But in those days, boys were boys, girls were girls and otherwise you were a homosexual. A perfectly acceptable term then. Gay meant happy. Funny how times change. Thinking back, it wasn't that I wanted to be Betsy. She was outgoing, always smiling and giggling, with lots of girlfriends coming over to play Barbies with her or have sleep overs. I was quiet and shy. I liked books. Pinocchio was one of my favorites. Actually, not the story. Monstro the whale and the fox who didn't want him to go to school, I didn't like them. I didn't want my family to be swallowed up and I wanted to go to school. So, if I wanted to go to school, then I probably wasn't in school yet. Or not. I'm not sure. It doesn't really matter. The part I liked was when Pinocchio wishes on a star and the Blue Fairy comes down to turn him into a real boy. I believed in her. As hard as I wished and as sincerely as I promised to be a good girl, every morning I woke up the same as I went to sleep.

I'm not sure what I expected to happen. During the night she, the Blue Fairy, would wave her wand and my room would change. Not me. Pinocchio looked the same, sort of. He just was real, not pretend. That's what I wanted, to be treated by my parents and Betsy and her friends as a girl, Donna. My name was Donald and I wasn't very creative. The fairy tale princesses always had strange names, like Cinderella or Rapunzel, and Mom only read those to Betsy. I got Hansel and Gretel and Jack and the Beanstalk. Children who stole from adults and then killed them. Although Snow White was homicidal too. Actually, she snoozed while seven little guys and a posse of enraged forest animals did the dirty work. No wonder I was a confused child. Sorry, back to my story. My white cotton underpants, undershirts and socks would magically turn into pastel nylon panties, Betsy got a set of day of the week panties for her birthday, camisoles with little bows, lacy slips with big full petticoats, in those days girls wore skirts and dresses, they only wore pants underneath them in the winter, tights and ankle socks with ruffles and patent leather shoes with a little strap. Oh, and, of course the special Barbie nightgown she wore for her sleepovers. She wore pajamas otherwise, pink with white ruffles around the wrists and legs. Mine had cars and trucks. I made a fuss about going to the barber too. I wanted long hair that I could braid into pigtails. "My goodness, Donny" Mom would cajole me, "people will mistake you for Betsy's sister. Do you want them to tease you about being a girl?" Yes to the first please. No to the second. That's where the Blue Fairy came in.

Chapter 2. It doesn't matter who you are.

It took me a while to realize that the Blue Fairy discriminated against real children. If I was going to be a girl, I would have to take matters, meaning wardrobe, into my own hands. As far as I could tell, that was what distinguished between boys and girls. My plan wasn't very sophisticated. At our age we outgrew our clothes quickly. I was too young to be left at home, so Mom took me with her when she went shopping with Betsy. I'd just tag along as they browsed through racks of pretty clothes, but Mom couldn't leave me when they went into the dressing room and I saw Betsy in her underwear at home, so I got to watch as she tried things on, modeling a dress for Mom's approval or twirling around to flair out a skirt. Finally, one shopping trip I got up my courage. As Mom and Betsy were gushing over a pretty Easter dress, I still remember it was white organza, sleeveless, peachy pink with big beige and cream flowers under a sheer layer and a white belt that tied in the back with a big bow. Mom held it up and measured it against her to check the size. It was too much. "Me too."

Mom turned her attention to me. "What did you say, Sweetie, sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I want one too."

"I'm sorry honey. Just a little while longer, then we can shop for you," Mom placated me. Her confusion was understandable. I'm not sure that transgendered was even a word back then. Well, no, it's probably always been a word. Just not one that was in most people's vocabulary. I've seen some of the old magazines and they called men who dressed as women female mimics. Gay men who liked to cross-dress. Funny how times change.

"I want a dress like Betsy," I clarified.

"Mom, tell Donny to stop. He's being silly," Betsy dismissed me. "I want to try it on, please, come on, please," she persisted, tugging on Mom's arm. Maybe Betsy didn't want anyone to know that we were going to be real twins. More likely she was happy to get all of the attention and all of the compliments as the only girl in the family. So much for the storied sympathetic sister. Mom took two of the dresses. I followed them into the dressing room in eager anticipation, Betsy took off her blouse and skirt. I looked expectantly at Mom. She unzipped the back and lifted the dress over Betsy's head, settling it on her shoulders and zipping it up. She fussed with the skirt and studied the top. "Turn around." Betsy spun. "Stop. I'm not sure. You might need the next size." I watched with disappointment as she tried on the other dress. I wanted that dress more than anything. As I followed them through the forbidden girls department, she and Mom completed their shopping with a pair of cream colored tights that matched the flowers. Mom took my hand. On the way out, we stopped at the shoe store to find white flats and an accessory shop for a pair of barrettes with rhinestone hearts. On Easter, Betsy and her friends looked like angels with their hair done up and nail polish. I got a blue and white striped tie to complement my ensemble of khaki pants and a white shirt.

Plan A having failed, actually plan B, since plan A was the recalcitrant Blue Fairy, I proceeded to plan C, or I would have, if I could have come up with one. Okay, I know what you're thinking. Why didn't I dress up in my sister's clothes or pilfer panties from the laundry basket. I've read the stories too about caught with consequences and the resulting petticoat punishment. Those boys must have been braver than me. Than I? At best, Betsy would have noticed that one day of the week was missing and I would have had to give it back with some lame excuse for my panty raid. The idea of my actually wanting to wear them probably would not have occurred to them. If I did get caught wearing them, in addition to my sister's delight in taunting me, it would have resulted in a scolding from Mom, a spanking from Dad and a dire parental threat of severe consequences, perhaps a lifetime of confinement to my room, a particularly dreaded punishment in the days before video games and the internet, if I ever did it again. Whatever were the consequences for coopting the Blue Fairy's magic transformation, I had no intention of finding out.

As I got older and applied more mature logic, it occurred to me that, like Pinocchio before the Blue Fairy grants his wish, I had to earn the right to my reward. He saved his whole family. Well, his father and a cat and a goldfish. We didn't have either. Well no, we had a father. We didn't have pets. I had a goldfish once. I got it on a class trip to the aquarium and I named her, as far as anyone can tell about a goldfish's gender, lucky fish, Cleo. Mom was allergic to cats. Sorry about reminiscing. So, anyway, since the chances of my saving my family, sans pets, from the digestive tract of a large marine mammal was minimal, and I was already a good boy for lack of a companion to lead me astray, I decided that, like Pinnochio, I needed to be a good girl before I could become a real girl. By then my reliance on the Blue Fairy had waned, but preparing for my transformation, however it came about, because I knew it would someday, made sense. I think I was about seven or eight, maybe nine, when I decided to shadow Betsy. Unfortunately, she was less than appreciative about my attention. I would go into her room when Mom was brushing her hair or perusing her wardrobe.

"Donny is being weird again, Mom. Make him go away."

"Donny, is there something you want?"

Well, yes, I want to be a girl. "No, I was just hanging out."

"We're busy right now, Honey. Why don't you watch TV."

It went the same with all of my other efforts to infiltrate Betsy's mother daughter relationship. Cooking, shopping, pigtails, braids and buns, did I mention she got to take ballet lessons, wear clingy leotards, tights, little chiffon skirts and, for the recitals, a tutu, mani's, and most important, watching Mom get dressed, an opportunity to be indoctrinated into the intricacies of being a 'big girl.' Mom wore bras, stockings and high heels, those coveted items, along with makeup, of which little girls and boys who would emulate them dream. I'm not even sure what letter of the alphabet my plan was up to. The best I could do was to learn fashion from the Sears and JC Penny catalogs which came at the holidays and I made off with thereafter, disguising my true purpose as an interest in model trains. I was an authority on panties, petticoats, party dresses and American Flyer. The hardest part was controlling myself when we went shopping for Betsy's seasonal wardrobe. Mercifully, or not, depending on your perspective, her modesty finally excluded me from the dressing room.

"Donny, would you please sit out here like a good boy and hold our pocketbooks. Okay?" Small consolation for exemplary behavior. Sitting there, I imagined that it was the kind of good deed that deserved a magical reward, but no. And so it went. Where was the Blue Fairy when I needed her?

Chapter 3. Your Dreams Come True.

It took me fifty years to realize that Pinocchio wasn't about getting your wish. It was about being true to your nature. When the puppet stops letting others pull his strings and acts like a real boy, he becomes one. The Blue Fairy's magic did work. It just took a lot longer than I expected, because the fair folk see the big picture. I'm who I was born and a whole generation of children now can express their true gender identity. So, thank you Blue Fairy. I take back all of those things I said about you and, my apologies, but I couldn't wait for your transformative magic. I had a surgeon do my nose job and the genital reconstruction. Love, Donna.

Author's Note: For my next story I was thinking about Maleficent. Not about a transgendered princess. I did one of those. (The Prince Bride, hint, hint). I just have this picture in my mind of Angelina Jolie waving her hand with a glitter of dust and commanding, "Into a girl." Mmmm, if only.

The Prince Bride

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Taxonomy upgrade extras:

The
Prince
Bride
by Missy

The Prince Bride - 1

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 1
By Missy Crystal

Prince Charles was heir to the throne. At his christening, three of the four fairy protectors of the Kingdom (the kind with wings and wands) appeared to give him the customary blessings for a future king. The fourth fairy sister, arriving late from partying all night with the elves, mistakenly believes the baby is a girl and gives her the blessing of being a happy bride. Can the fairy magic be undone? Will the prince grow up to be a queen of one kind or another? Read the story and find out. This is not a typical TG story and, therefore, it is hard to categorize. Please do not be deterred.

Chapter 1. Prince Charles

Once upon a time, in a far off kingdom, the castle was buzzing like a beehive with preparations for a grand celebration. All of the nobility from far and wide soon would be arriving to attend the christening of King Henry's and Queen Charlotte's first born son and heir to the throne, Prince Charles. The royal pair had been trying for many years to conceive a child and, having finally secured the royal succession, no expense was to be spared to make this the most memorable event in the history of the kingdom. Barrels of wine were readied, dozens of sides of beef were roasting on spits, mountains of vegetables had been boiled, and the various royal craftsmen had been working for weeks on beautifully embroidered table cloths, silver dishes, utensils and serving vessels and gold candelabra to light the hall. Throughout the countryside, not a bolt of cloth, not a spool of thread could be found, as each family commissioned their tailors to design splendid outfits for the lords and ladies, vying to outdo each other as they made their grand entrance. The royal tailors had been busy too, weaving gold and silver thread into fabric that would be decorated with exquisite jewels, so that no mere noble would be more fashionable or more elegant than the royal couple.

Finally, all was ready. The gilded carriages, drawn by pairs of matched white horses with the finest silver decorated leather harnesses and feathered plumes on their bridles, rolled through the castle's gates to the foot of the stairs. Liveried footmen opened the doors and magnificently coiffed and dramatically made up women were assisted down, then escorted up the red carpeted palace steps by ushers in the finest brocade waistcoats and knee britches, the women's less ostentatious husbands and escorts following behind. Each was announced, entered, and was seated at long rows of tables piled high with savory foods. The wine goblets were filled by an army of servants, in plentiful supply, since any commoner would have given all that he or she owned to see such a sight and some did, bribing the royal quartermaster for a job. When all of the quests were seated, the orchestra struck up the royal march, a hush fell over the great hall and the King and Queen made their grand entrance. All of those in attendance, who had risen to their feet at the first notes of the familiar tune, bowed low, as they passed by, on their way to the royal table.

After they had seated themselves on their thrones, the Archbishop entered in a religious procession and advanced to a cradle placed in front of the King and Queen. When the entourage arrived, they bowed low. In contrast to all of the other extravagant decorations, the cradle was plain brown wood, with obvious signs of wear. It was the same cradle that had been used for christening the princes and princess of the kingdom for the last 200 years. The royal orchestra played softly as the royal nursemaid slowly and carefully carried the infant prince in her arms, escorted by a dozen royal household guards in splendid red, black and gold uniforms with gleaming gold and silver helmets, led by the Captain of the Guard. When they reached the cradle, the royal nursemaid gently placed Prince Charles inside and withdrew. The guards remained, bound to sacrifice their lives to protect their royal charge from harm. The Archbishop looked at the King, who nodded his approval, and he began the christening ceremony, ending with, "I hereby christen thee, Charles, prince of these lands and heir to the throne." He stood back, and there was a deafening salute from the audience, "Long live their Majesties, King Henry and Queen Charlotte. Long live His Royal Highness, Prince Charles."

The King and Queen rose in acknowledgement of their guests' respect. As if on cue, there was the sound of tinkling bells, a soft white glow and three fairies appeared, their gossamer wings fluttering and their sheer dresses, sparkling like a million diamonds. Each was in human form, perfect in every feature, although only about four feet tall, with long golden hair and small pointed ears. Each curtsied to the King and Queen.

"Congratulations, your highnesses," they said as a chorus. "We come to honor the ancient tradition of bestowing a gift on the heir to the throne."

They moved forward to stand by the cradle. Although fearless and dedicated to the Prince, the guards knew that the fairies meant no harm and, even if they did, that it would be both futile and deadly to interfere with these creatures, so remained rigidly at attention.

The king addressed the three fairies.

"Mistress Daisy, Mistress Rose and Mistress Iris, I and those Kings before me are forever in your debt. You are most welcome." A puzzled look came over his face. "But where is your sister, Mistress Buttercup?" His face fell. "Oh dear, has something happened to her? Is she not well? Is there anything I can do to help? Whatever I have is yours for the asking," he said in dismay.

The fairies proceeded as if nothing was amiss.

"Long ago," they recited, their small voices magically amplified so that the entire hall could hear them, "your ancestor, King Harold, the first of your line, did a great service for us. There was a wicked dragon who had taken up her residence in our woods and would not leave, despite our polite request that she live elsewhere. This was a serious breach of the peaceful way in which we magical creatures live and necessitated her removal by force. Although we have limitless power to affect the real world, our magic will not work on another magical creature. Therefore, we enlisted the aid of your forbearer and his knights. We abhor violence of all kinds, magical and mundane, but we were left with no choice. After giving the dragon fair warning, King Harold was sent to dispatch her. There was a fierce battle, all of his brave knights were slain and King Harold alone charged the dragon, lance lowered. His aim was true and he struck in the only spot where her armor can be pierced, directly over her heart. The wound was fatal, but in her death she struck out and caught the King with a deadly blow. Our woods were saved, but at a terrible cost." The fairies paused, to give the audience time to appreciate the sacrifice that had been made to protect their home. "It was then that we vowed to forever be the guardians of his home as he had been of ours. Ageless and timeless, we fairies are, and it is this promise we now keep by each bestowing upon the prince a gift that shall enable him to guide this Kingdom to a new age of peace and prosperity."

Having finished their presentation, the three fairies looked up at the King and Queen with vexed expressions.

"We apologize for Buttercup, your highnesses. She is in fact well. There is no harm that can come to us, but she has a terrible sense of time. She could be a century ahead or behind. We shall begin and I am sure she will sort it out and show up."

The King and Queen looked at each other, not knowing what to make of the strange excuse, but knew better than to question the fairies.

Daisy raised her wand and recited, "of all those qualities necessary for a king, none is more important than intelligence." She lowered her wand and touched it to the Prince's forehead. There was a bright light.

Rose raised her wand and continued, "without intelligence, a king cannot rule; but wisdom is necessary to guide its use." She lowered her wand and touched it to the Prince's forehead. There was a bright light.

Iris raised her wand and added, "a keen mind and sound judgment are necessary to rule, but they must be tempered by sensitivity to the needs of others. Head and heart together make a king." She lowered her wand and touched it to the Prince's forehead. There was a bright light.

The three fairies looked around impatiently and shook their heads. They held hands, closed their eyes and concentrated. Suddenly, there was a tinkling of bells, a soft white light and a fairy appeared, identical to her sisters.

To the amazement of the King and Queen and the guests, the fairy seemed to be unsteady on her feet.

"Hey, girls," she greeted her sisters informally, "what's up?" I was over at the elves' place. They just finished a new batch of their wine. Those guys really know how to show a girl a good time. They have this little trick they do with their… ." She caught herself. "Ooops. Heh. Heh. Forgot all about the christening. Let me just get myself together here. Oh, Oh. Where's my wand. Must have left it in one of those elves' rooms. Hard to party with it. Just about poked a guy's eye out. Be right back."

There was a tinkling of bells, a soft white light and Buttercup disappeared. A few seconds later, the process repeated and she was back holding her wand.

"Okay, got it. Now then," she turned to face the cradle. "Let's see. Fair of face, full of grace, loving and giving, caring and sharing, a happy bride she shall be." She lowered her wand.

Her sisters rushed her and tried to grab her arm before the wand touched the Prince, but they were too late. There was a bright light. Buttercup turned and her sisters couldn't stop in time. They crashed into each other and ended up in a pile on the floor.

When they finally untangled, Buttercup sat up. "What's the problem?" she asked.

"The problem is," Iris said sternly, "that the child is a prince, not a princess. You were supposed to give him, she emphasized 'him', courage. Really Buttercup, what in the world were you thinking?"

Buttercup looked puzzled. "Are you sure? I mean, did you check to see if she had a, well, you know," she demurred politely, "to make sure that she's a he?"

It was Daisy's turn to admonish her sister. "Yes, Buttercup, we're sure. The Prince is a boy."

Buttercup shrugged. "Oh well, look at the bright side. He'll get to wear a really pretty dress at his wedding and on his honeymoon, he can just relax and let his husband do all the work."

Rose folded her arms on her chest in exasperation. "Buttercup, humans are not as liberal about gender as we magical creatures. Boys don't wear dresses and they don't marry other boys."

Buttercup looked baffled. "Really? I'm sure they do at some time or other. Can't we put him to sleep for a few centuries like what's her name, that girl that stuck her finger on the spinning wheel? That worked out okay for her, as I recall. He can just chill until customs change and some prince who wants another prince who looks good in a bridal gown comes by to wake him up with a kiss. I can whip up a really nice designer number right now, so he'll be ready when the time comes. I'll even throw in the veil and some matching high heeled pumps. Okay?"

"No, Buttercup," Daisy scolded her, "it's not okay at all. The girl you're talking about was cursed. You know the rules. We can't put an entire kingdom under an enchantment, just because you made a mistake. See if you can reverse the spell."

Buttercup tried to concentrate. She closed her eyes, thought very carefully, raised her wand and touched it to the Prince. Nothing happened. She tried again. Nothing. And again. Still nothing. Finally she shook her head.

"Sorry, I was in a hurry and didn't pay attention," she admitted sheepishly. "I can't duplicate the spell and I'm afraid if I mess around with it, I may end up making things worse."

The King and Queen had been following the conversation in shocked silence. Finally, the King got up his courage and spoke to the fairies.

"Kind fairies, we are and always will be grateful for all that you have done for us, but please explain to me what will happen to the prince?"

Iris spoke up. "We are not sure your majesty. All magic is unique. It never works the same way twice. You were given the gift of intelligence at birth, so was your son; but it does not mean that you and he will think alike. There are many ways for intelligence to express itself. The magic finds its own direction. All that can be done is for us to wait and see."

"So there is a possibility that the spell will not act in a way that will make the Prince a bride, is that right?" the Queen asked the fairies hopefully.

"Anything is possible," agreed the fairies optimistically. "Only time will tell."

"Well then," inquired the King, using his gift of intelligence, "is there a way that you fairies could cast a spell that would offset Buttercup's gift. Give him virility or something that will make him manly."

The fairies sighed and Rose replied, "no your majesty, I'm afraid not. Once a spell has been cast, it cannot be influenced or undone, except by the person who cast it. Buttercup has already tried and been unsuccessful. For us to intervene would be dangerous. Magic is hard to explain and harder for non-magical folk to understand. It does not follow the rules of your world. For one thing, each magical creature has their own unique magic. Not just differences in magic between elves, pixies and fairies, but even between the four of us. Our magical fields are attuned to us and when we cast a spell, even though we each may cast the same spell, it has different magical components. Think of two chefs, each with their own recipe for the same kind of a cake. Their cakes may look identical and they will both taste like cake, but the subtle differences in their ingredients and cooking techniques mean that the cakes will not be exactly the same."

"It is those differences that prevent us from changing another's magic," continued Iris. "In terms of your world, my magic key will not fit Buttercup's magic lock, so I cannot release her spell. Not only does it not work, but interfering with another's magic, even for a good reason, always has dire consequences." Iris looked up and saw that, even with his superior intellect, the King was having trouble following the intricacies of magic and the Queen was completely confused. "Let me give you a practical example, your Highnesses. Daisy gave the Prince the gift of intelligence."

The King and Queen nodded in agreement.

"Let us pretend, and I need to be very careful, because it does not take much to cast a spell," she held her wand pointing down and close to her side, "that I want to undo that gift by casting a spell to make him dumb. Magic is a force, somewhat similar to lightening in your world, and, like a lightening bolt, once it is discharged, it has to go somewhere. My spell has no power over Daisy's spell, but it cannot dissipate, so it must act in some other way to accomplish its purpose. The word 'dumb,' has two meanings. One is stupid, but the other is unable to communicate. The spell could, therefore, make the Prince dumb, as in not being able to speak or write. He would be smart, but appear to be an idiot, because he could not communicate with anyone. That is just one of many possibilities, and magic usually prefers to work in subtle ways; but it could also take the easy way out. It could kill him, since if he is dead, he would no longer be smart. As you can see, however it works, the results are harmful.

The King and Queen's downcast looks sadly expressed their understanding.

"We are sorry Majesties," all four of the fairies said in chorus, "but there is some hope."

The King and Queen looked up in eager anticipation of the good news.

"This again is a function of magic," said Daisy. "Each of the gifts given to the Prince was a blessing,"

"Even Buttercup's gift, although inappropriate, was a blessing," added Rose.

"When good spells are cast, they inevitably produce good results," continued Iris.

"Although the magic chooses its own direction," finished Buttercup, "one way or another, the Prince will live happily ever after."

"I do believe that it would be better if the guests forgot this unfortunate incident," said Rose.

"No need to spoil the festivities," added Iris.

All four fairies waved their wands in the air.

"Farewell, your Majesties," the fairies said in chorus.

There was a tinkling of bells, a soft white light, and then the fairies were gone.

The King, never at a loss for what to do in a crisis, stood, raised his glass and said, "A toast to Prince Charles. The fairies have assured us that he will live a happy life." He drank and so did the Queen and the guests. "Let us enjoy his christening. He clapped his hands for music."

The band struck up a cheerful tune, dancers appeared and began to entertain the guests while they feasted and drank. Within a short time, all but the King and Queen had put aside their concerns for the future of Prince Charles.

The next day, the King and Queen pondered over what to do.

"If the fairies could not do anything, dear," observed the Queen, "then I do not see how we can change the outcome. Moreover, the fairies said that magic takes its own direction. We don't even know what outcome we are trying to prevent. They agreed that it was possible for Buttercup's blessing not to happen or not to happen the way she said it would; perhaps even more so, because she was," the Queen looked around cautiously, to see if there might be a fairy around who would be offended, "drunk. Maybe the reason Buttercup couldn't undo her own spell was because she got it wrong in the first place and it didn't take."

The King smiled. "As always, my dear, you are most thoughtful and your argument is extremely persuasive. However, one thing you overlooked is the limitation that magical creatures have on trying to undo someone else's magic. They did not try, because they might do more harm than good. Since we will not be using magic, we are free to try and try I will. No son of mine is going to be a bride, if I can help it."

The Queen shrugged. "As you wish, your Majesty. Do you have a plan?"

"Yes," replied the King. "I do have a plan, but I am sure you will not be happy with it."

Fearing the worst, but respecting the fact that he was both her husband and the King, she asked cautiously, "what is it?"

"The boy cannot grow up as a girl, if he does not know what a girl is," he said confidently.

"I guess that's right," agreed the Queen, "but one half of the world is female, so how do you intend to prevent him from learning about girls? I do hope you're not planning on locking him in the dungeon, until he is old enough to marry. I won't hear of that."

"No, of course not," replied the King indignantly. "You know that sensitivity is one of my gifts, I could not be so heartless. He is my flesh and blood too you know. However, you are partially right. We do need to isolate him from the female half of the world. I will have the west wing of the palace renovated to house him and a staff to attend to him. I will build a high wall around the fields and garden on that side of the castle. He will only be cared for by men, until he is of age to be married, at which time he will be introduced to a suitable princess. Brilliant, if I do say so myself."

"Dear, there is one small detail you have overlooked. I am a woman."

"I haven't overlooked that detail, my dear. That is the part I said you would not like. You must not have anything to do with him, until after he is married. I'm sorry, but we all must make sacrifices, if we are to undo fairy magic."

"You can't be serious," his wife protested. "I am not giving up my baby to be raised by men. No. You may be the King, but I am Charles' mother. You cannot deprive me of him. It is not fair, it is not just, it is not right and I will not allow it. No! No! No! No!," she said repeatedly, stamping her foot for emphasis.

The King looked at his wife compassionately. He loved her deeply and would do nothing to hurt her. He also knew how long she had looked forward to having a child. Still, he was convinced that this was the only way.

"My dear wife, mother of my child and love of my life," he began, "you are correct. I would do nothing to hurt you or without your consent. While the boy is a baby, you may see him in the nursery, after he is asleep, and when he gets older, I will construct a place from which you may watch him in secret, but you must agree of your own free will, for his own good, not to visit him. It is the only way and I believe you know this to be true."

The Queen was in tears. "Give up my baby," she sobbed. "Stupid fairies, I wish they never gave us their gifts. I don't care whether they hear me or not. They have done me a great injustice for which I shall never forgive them." She gave the King a cold look. "I love my child too much to deprive him of his only chance for a normal life. I will do as you say." She turned and left the room.

The next day, the Queen directed her staff to prepare a bedroom in another section of the castle and to move her things into it. Until she was reunited with her child, she would have no marital relationship with the King. As sad as the King was about the situation, he respected his wife's wish for separation.

The King directed the royal architect to carry out his plan. Prince Charles was isolated and the royal chamberlain was given the task of selecting a male staff to raise him. From that day forward, the child was to have no contact with anyone other than his care givers. Since a baby requires little more than to be fed, changed and held, all went well for the first few years. Even as a toddler, Prince Charles was content with the sheltered world his father had created for him. He had his toys, wooden soldiers, toy swords, sailboats and horse drawn carts with pretend wares, and he had his picture books of animals, although the illustrations were all of males.

At first, the Queen had come to the nursery at night, when her baby was sleeping. She was allowed to hold him, since it was doubtful that the contact would influence his development at that age. As he grew older, she could only watch him sleep peacefully and tuck the blankets around him. As the years went by, she watched him for hours at a time from the window of a room overlooking the garden where he played.

When the Prince was six, the King had the royal smith fashion a small suit of armor, sword, shield and other weapons, and had the castle's master at arms begin the Prince's military training. To the dismay of his instructors and his father, while he excelled at the footwork, he had no interest whatsoever in using the weapons. No amount of coaxing or threatening could inspire him to attack or defend himself. Nor did he show the slightest interest or aptitude for studying battle tactics. Finally, the King gave up and allowed him to devote himself to those studies at which he excelled. His gift of intelligence manifested itself by an insatiable curiosity, which made things extraordinarily difficult for the castle librarian, who was charged with finding books without references to women or the female of the species. That left geography and mathematics. He also showed an incredible aptitude for languages. Some of the staff had come from the surrounding kingdoms and the Prince quickly was able to converse with them fluently in their native tongue. Over the years, the King also invited some boys to play with the Prince, brought to the enclave blindfolded, but he showed little interest in their rough and tumble games.

Although the King was less than pleased with his son's march towards manhood, still he believed that he had successfully forestalled his feminization, except for two things. From about age six on, while the rest of his body continued to develop, his genitals did not. Although fully functional for going to the bathroom, his penis remained tiny. Even more disconcerting was the fact that, because of its small size, it was more convenient for the Prince to pee sitting down. Even so, the King reassured himself, he is still a boy. Then the magic revealed its direction. When the Prince turned twelve, his chest began to develop small mounds.

Since the Prince had long ago given up on his armor and, in the summer, often went shirtless, it was not hard for his mother to see that he was developing a woman's figure. He may have never seen a woman, he may not have known anything about them, but he was still becoming one. All of the King's efforts and her deprivation were for naught.

The Queen spoke with the King. "Your son is developing breasts," she told him.

"No, those are muscles. He has been working out," he insisted.

"Henry," the Queen replied patiently, "a woman knows breasts when she sees them and it will not be too long before he needs a bodice to contain them. Admit it Henry. You could not undo the magic any more than the fairies could. He is becoming more feminine every day."

Finally, the King conceded. "Yes Charlotte, you were right and you are entitled to say, I told you so," he admitted. "The magic has had its way and taught me a bitter lesson for my arrogance. I am extremely sorry."

The Queen took her husband's hands in hers and looked at him sympathetically. "Henry, I know what you did was out of your love for our son. I would not have gone along with your plan, if I had thought otherwise. However, there is no point in continuing with it. I want him back Henry, if not as a boy, then as a girl; but I want him and he needs me, now more than ever."

The King sadly shook his head. "I only wanted what was best for him, but you are right. The magic cannot be undone. You gave me my chance, now you shall have yours. Do as you wish Charlotte. The fairies promised us a happy ending. We shall see." He turned and slowly walked away.

The Queen gave great thought to the best way to introduce the Prince to the mother he had never known and to the idea that there was another sex, of which he was quickly becoming a member. She finally decided that it would be best to simply meet with him in her rooms. She sent for the royal chamberlain, explained the situation and told him to bring the Prince to her immediately.

Queen Charlotte gave great thought to how she would greet the son she had never known and who knew nothing of her. She practiced a number of different introductions. All were too formal. Her inclination was to take the boy up in her arms, but she worried how he would react to learning that he had a mother. Finally, she gave up and decided to let the magic take its course, whatever that might be. A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door.

"Come in, please" the Queen responded.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prince Bride - 2

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 2, 3 & 4
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 2. Princess Charlene

The door opened and Prince Charles entered. He was dressed in the style of the day for boys of his age, a white linen shirt with long sleeves and a high collar, dark wool knee breeches over white cotton stockings and black leather shoes with a silver buckle. His attire was quite simple compared to the frills and frippery worn by the gentlemen of the Court, a result, most likely, of the King's attempt to shelter him from all feminine influence. Even so, the clothes could not conceal the rounded contours that left no doubt tthe strategy had failed.

The Queen expected the prince to be shocked, but, to her surprise, he calmly surveyed the room, his eyes taking in the elegant fabrics, ornate furnishings, gilded appointments and elaborate decorations, all luxuries denied to him in the austere surroundings in which he had been raised by his all male care givers. Finally, his attention turned to her. He came forward and introduced himself with the customary etiquette.

"Good Morning. I am Prince Charles, son of King Henry. I am pleased to meet you."

The Queen remained seated.

"Good morning, Prince Charles. I am Queen Charlotte, your mother," she replied.

To her astonishment, the prince sat down beside her, looked into her eyes and put his arms around her. The Queen embraced the child that she had lost for so many years and could not control her tears. Through her flood of emotions, she wondered how it was that the boy could react so compassionately to someone he did not know and appeared so different from the men he did know. Whatever the answer, she enjoyed the comfort of holding him and the release of her sadness with his return. After a few minutes, the Queen regained her composure. She took a white lace handkerchief out of her sleeve and dried her eyes. Looking into the Prince's blue eyes and stroking his hair, cut short in the military manner, but even so, framing his face with soft golden curls, she poured out her heart to her son, soon to become her daughter.

"My dear, dear child, love of my life. I have longed for this day and, now that it is here, I have no words to express my happiness. Please forgive me. I so wished to make a good impression upon you. What must you think?"

Gazing back into the Queen's eyes, the boy spoke in a soft, sweet voice.

"I too have looked forward to this day. I have a memory, one that I have secretly cherished, of a kind and gentle presence that now I know was you."

The Queen suspected that it was from her time in the nursery, when she was allowed to hold her baby, and, as he grew older, her nighttime visits, when he seemed to be asleep."

"I am most curious," the prince went on, "about you and these surroundings, for I see that there have been parts of my education that have been neglected for some reason."

The Queen smiled and said, with a quiver of eager anticipation in her voice, "there are not one, but two sexes, male and female. You are male, a young male is called a boy, and I am female, a young female is called a girl. As I am older, I am called a woman and your father, the King, as he is older, is called a man."

"Yes, I know that I am a boy and that I will grow up to become a man like my father, the King, and those that have raised me, but the words you use, 'sex,' 'girl,' and 'female,' have no meaning to me. Please explain them."

The Queen thought about how best to introduce her son to the difference between male and female and the reason for their opposite, but complimentary, characteristics. The Prince waited patiently while she considered the best way to begin.

Finally, the Queen gave a sigh of resignation at the impossible task and said, "I am afraid that I cannot teach you in a morning the lessons of a lifetime. For reasons that you will come to understand, you have been kept apart from me and those like me from birth. When you are ready, I will explain, but for now let us enjoy each other's company. Would you like some tea and cake?"

"I would like some tea, please, but I do not know cake. It looks quite tasty. I should like to try it. The Prince paused. "Is it allowed, Sir? I would not wish to displease my father."

His mother looked at him lovingly.

"Up until today, you have been in your father's charge. You are now in mine. You my do as you wish.

The Prince's eyes went wide.

"Truly, Sir? Anything I wish?

"Yes," the Queen assured him, "anything, but one."

"And what is that, Sir?" the Prince inquired.

The Queen smiled.

"You must not call me 'sir'. I am your mother."

"Yes, mother," the Prince agreed, "I find that name much more to my liking as well."

The Queen rose and walked over to a table on which there was silver tea service and a tray of pastries. He skirt swirled and the multiple petticoats rustled as she moved. She served them both tea in delicate white china cups and cake on gilded plates with silver forks. The Prince took a taste of the cake and smiled.

"It is quite good, mother. Thank you for sharing it with me."

The Queen smiled back.

"All I have is yours to share, dear child."

To her surprise the Prince replied, "Then, may I dress as you? Your clothes look ever so much nicer and more enjoyable then mine."

"These are women's clothes," the Queen explained, "and for you to wear them would mean that those who see you would believe you to be female. Is that what you wish?"

"Must people believe me to be one or the other?" the Prince asked innocently.

"My dear, you are both, but as such you are special, the result of an enchantment."

The Queen decided it was time to tell her son the story of his birth, Buttercup's confused blessing and the efforts that were made to prevent his becoming a bride.

"Must a bride be a woman?" the Prince asked.

"Yes, my darling child, but a young woman is a girl and a girl of royal blood is a princess, not a prince," the Queen explained. "You will need a girl's name too. What shall it be? You are named in honor of my father, King Charles IV, and had you been born a girl, you would have been Charlene. Do you like the name, Princess Charlene?"

"Yes mother, very much so."

"Well then," the Queen said emotionally, "I christen thee, Princess Charlene. Long live Princess Charlene."

The Queen began to cry.

"Mother, is something wrong? I was told by my teachers that I must never shed tears."

"Women cry when they are happy, Charlene," the use of the Princess' name inspiring renewed sobs."

"May I cry too, mother?"

"Yes."

When the Queen and the Princess had composed themselves, the Queen went to her dressing table to repair her makeup. The Princess followed and watched with fascination as her mother sat before the mirror and expertly applied a variety of cosmetics from small glass jars with silver lids, finishing with touches from the gilded stopper of a gold filigreed glass bottle of rose scented perfume. The Queen turned to the Princess.

"Would you like to try?" She asked, sliding over on the cushioned stool to make room.

"Oh, yes, please," the Princess answered eagerly, sitting down next to her mother.

The Queen applied a hint of red lip color and a delicate touch of rouge to highlight her cheeks. On closer inspection, the Princess' eyebrows were perfectly arched and her blonde eyelashes needed no attention. Nor was there a need to hide any blemishes, as her complexion was flawless. She was offered a selection of perfumes and chose a light violet scent that complimented her youth. When the Queen had finished, a beautiful girl looked back at her from the mirror. The Queen was satisfied that she would be accepted at Court as Princess Charlene and all that remained was to find an explanation for her presence.

"Are you familiar with my kingdom, Dalmacia?" the Queen asked.

"Yes," the Princess replied and went on in great detail about its geography.

The Queen listened for a minute before it dawned on her that the Princess was speaking in Dalmacian. Her accent, grammar and vocabulary were perfect.

"Charlene, dear, how do you know so much about Dalmacia and speak its language so fluently?" she asked in amazement.

"When the King finally gave up trying to make me a soldier, there was not much for me to do, except read," the Princess explained. "The only books I had were geography and mathematics. I am quite clever with numbers and I enjoyed reading about the other kingdoms. Over the years, I had teachers who lived or traveled in those kingdoms and who spoke their language, which I learned."

"How many languages do you speak, Charlene," the Queen inquired.

"Six."

"Six!" the Queen said with surprise, "including our own."

"Oh, no, mother, I thought you meant other languages."

"That means each of the neighboring kingdoms. Do you speak them all as well as you speak Dalmacian?"

"Yes, mother."

"Your education has indeed proved fortunate. In order to explain the Prince's absence, a story was made up that he was sickly and had been sent to live with my family in Dalmacia, where the climate was better for him and there were healers knowledgeable in treating his condition. Unfortunately," the Queen said with a mock sadness, "poor Prince Charles is too ill to return and my family has sent a princess in his stead, who the King and I have adopted as heir to the throne. Welcome to you new home, Princess Charlene of Dalmacia."

"Thank you kindly, your Majesty," the Princess replied formally. "I do believe I shall be quite happy here."

Queen and Princess, mother and daughter, fell into each others arms and embraced lovingly.

"Now that is settled," the Queen said, taking the Princess by the hand and leading her back to the sofa, where they sat together, "we must arrange for a suitable wardrobe. I shall summon the royal tailor."

She rose and went to a bell pull against the wall, which she rang. A minute later, there was a knock on the door. The Queen opened it and directed an attendant to summon the tailor. She closed the door and returned to the sofa.

"Would you like to see the rest of my apartment, while we wait for the tailor to arrive?" she asked.

"Yes, mother, please."

The Queen took the Princess by the hand and brought her though an arched doorway covered by a tapestry curtain to her bedchamber. As was the Queen's sitting room, it was richly appointed with tapestries, carpets and art. Against one wall was a gilded bed of intricately carved dark wood with four tall columns at each corner supporting a purple and gold canopy and with a matching bedcover. Against the other walls were half a dozen beautifully decorated wardrobes, which the Queen opened to display her collection of dresses and accessories.

"Do you like these rooms," the Queen asked.

"Yes," the Princess replied.

"Then they are yours," the Queen told her.

"Oh, no, mother, please, I could not."

"You can and shall, my dear child," the Queen insisted. "During the time that you were," she paused, looking for the right phrase, "being educated by your father, he and I have been apart. Now that you have been returned to me, I shall return to him and he and I will once again live together as husband and wife. I will remove my personal things, but my apartment is now yours."

"Then I accept, but I do not know the words, "husband and wife."

"When a man and woman love each other, she becomes his wife and he her husband. They remain together for the rest of their lives, which is called marriage. If, after they are married, they have a child, then the woman becomes a mother, as I am your mother, and the man a father, as the King is your father."

"I see," said the Princess. "When I become a bride, I will be married and have a husband."

"Yes," confirmed the Queen.

"And then I will become a mother, like you, when my husband and I have a child."

"No, I am afraid not," the Queen said with a sigh. "The magic will make you a bride, but you are not able to have children."

"I do not understand."

"Although you appear to be a girl, you are still a boy inside. A boy cannot have a child," the Queen explained.

"That does not seem fair," the Princess complained.

"No, it is not fair," the Queen agreed. "From what the fairies told us, magic does not follow the rules of our world. It works in its own way to carry out the spell and even they cannot predict what will happen, except that, because you were blessed, there will be a happy ending. What it will be, we will have to wait and see."

The Queens discourse on the vicissitudes of enchantments was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"That must be the royal tailor," the Queen assumed. "Enter."

The door opened and in came an older man with grey hair and a well trimmed mustache. He was dressed in dark blue wool knee breeches with a matching waistcoat fastened with silver buttons, underneath which was a white shirt with a high collar. Except for the waistcoat, his attire was similar to that of the Princess. In his hand, he carried a slate. When he saw the Queen, he dropped to one knee and bowed his head.

"Rise Master tailor," the Queen directed."

The tailor stood up and his gaze fell on Princess Charlene, who was still sitting on the couch, which blocked all but his view of her head.

"Please come here," the Queen requested.

As the Princess moved towards them, the Queen saw the tailor give her an approving look and then, taking in her clothes, dismay.

"Oh my, your Majesty, this cannot be. No, no, no. Such a beautiful girl dressed as a boy. How could such a thing happen?"

The Queen, although not having thought of that contingency, countered quickly, "I am afraid that there was an accident during the Princess' journey here and the wagon containing her personal belongings was lost."

Shaking his head, the tailor requested permission to approach the Princess and, it being granted, he proceeded to study her with professional scrutiny.

"I regret, your Majesty, that I have nothing suitable. All of the dresses in my shop are designed for the ladies of the Court, whose figures are, how shall I say," he gave a polite cough, "more mature, and, even with alterations, would not do for the Princess." The tailor thought for a moment. "There is a dress, however, that I just made for one of my daughters. I do believe it would fit the Princess, certainly better than what she is wearing, although it is hardly of the quality to which I am sure she is accustomed. I can fetch it straight away and undergarments too."

"That is most kind Master tailor," the Queen said graciously, "but I could not deprive your daughter of her dress. Perhaps just a shift and robe for sleeping and then tomorrow you can begin on her wardrobe."

"Deprive?" the tailor asked with a smile. "For the Princess to wear her dress would make Elisse the envy of every girl in the village. I am afraid that I would have no peace in my household, were she and my wife to learn that I had not persisted, with the greatest deference and respect, of course, your Majesty."

"Well then, we should not wish to promote discord in your family, Master tailor. Your daughter's gift is gratefully accepted, on one condition."

"As you command, your Majesty."

"It is not a command, it is a request. That she present it to the Princess."

"My daughter, Elisse, to come here, to give the dress to the Princess herself, your Majesty? Yes, of course she will accept your invitation. By your leave."

The Queen nodded and the tailor backed towards the door, bowing until he bumped into it, then, reaching behind himself, found the latch and hastily departed.

Princess Charlene looked at her mother.

"How wonderful. I shall meet a girl. Will she be like me?"

"She will look like you, my dear, but she shan't be like you. She is a girl by birth and you are a girl by magic. However, I am sure you will find you have many things in common. Would you like more tea and cake while we wait for the tailor and his daughter to return?"

"Yes please, Mother."

Chapter 3. Elisse

Considering that the tailor had to return to his shop to get the dress, go to the village to collect his daughter and return to the palace, he must have set a travel record, for there was a knock on the Queen's door before they had finished their refreshments.

"Enter."

As before, the tailor came in and bowed. Behind him in the shadow of the corridor, the Queen could see a girl with a bundle of clothes. She motioned for her to come forward and the girl hesitatingly moved into the room, shyly remaining behind her father. The Queen judged the girl to be fourteen or fifteen. She was petite, about the Princess' size, despite their age difference, with long dark hair tied back with a red ribbon, dark eyes and a pleasant face. It was obvious she had not had time to prepare herself, as she was in the white blouse and long grey skirt, both covered by an apron, worn by the village girls for doing their household chores. Nor, thought the Queen, could she have done so, since she probably had only the one dress. Princess Charlene rose, walked over and spoke to her.

"It is most kind of you to bring me your dress. As you can see, it will be much appreciated. May I have it?"

The girl timidly reached forward and handed the Princess the bundle, which she accepted.

Princess Charlene looked towards her mother, who was watching with amusement.

"You name is Elisse, is it not?" the Princess said pleasantly.

"Yes, if it please your Highness," the girl responded softly and dropped into a curtsey, a form of respect that the Princess had not seen before. She remained in that position with her eyes downcast.

"Elisse," the Princess continued, "I come from a far away kingdom and I am not familiar with your fashions," the second part of the statement being true. Would you please assist me in dressing?"

The Queen had not considered that her new daughter had never worn a dress before or the multiple layers of underclothes beneath it and would need assistance with the intricacies of feminine apparel. It seemed a practical request and she nodded her approval.

If being in the presence of the Queen was not enough, being asked to attend a princess was overwhelming. The poor girl couldn't move. The Princess, gently took her by the arm and guided her towards the bedroom. Coming to her senses, Elisse realized her breach of manners by allowing the Princess to carry the bundle of clothes, while she went empty handed. Gathering her courage, she politely requested its return. The Princess handed it to her and they disappeared into the bedchamber.

In the bedchamber, Elisse nervously opened the bundle and spread out the garments on the bed. She was too polite to question why the Princess was dressed as a boy and waited quietly while she began to undress. Having worked in her father's shop, she could not help but observe that the Princess was nicely proportioned and was sure that the dress would fit her. Anticipating the removal of the last of her clothes, Elisse turned to find a proper undergarment and, when she turned back, her eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open. The Princess, unaware of the difference between the sexes or the attendant modesty, was puzzled by the girl's reaction.

"What is wrong, Elisse?" she asked innocently.

Elisee, quickly regaining her composure, turned away.

"I am sorry, your Highness, I did not mean to be rude," she apologized. "It is just that, well, I was not prepared to see that you are not a girl."

"Oh dear," the Princess lamented, realizing that she had disclosed her secret, "how is it that you could tell."

"I do not understand, your Highness. Did you think that I would not know the difference? I am the second oldest in a family of six. I have two younger brothers, who I have helped raise. I can recognize boys' privates."

The Princess sighed.

"As you have discovered, Elisse, I am not who I seem. This all comes as a surprise to me as well, but, until today, I was kept apart from my mother and all females, because my father, the King, believed that by doing so, he could prevent an enchantment that was placed on me at birth, that, even though I was born a boy, I am to become a bride.

"I am sorry, your Highness," she said sincerely.

Returning to the task at hand, Elisse reached behind her and held out the undergarment.

"Please put this on, your highness. It is not proper for me to see you undressed."

The princess stepped into the pantaloons and tied a knot in the ribbon at the waist to hold them up.

"Shall I cover myself on top as well?" she asked.

Elisse turned.

"No, your Highness, from the waist up you are a girl," she explained.

Noticing the knot, Elisse approached the Princess.

"A bow would be much prettier, your Highness. May I tie one for you?"

"Your assistance would be appreciated, as I have no experience dressing myself as a girl, but I do not understand your words. What do 'pretty' and 'bow' mean?"

Undoing the knot and retying it, Elise explained, "pretty means pleasing to look at and is used to compliment a woman or a girl on her appearance. You are pretty, your highness," she said with a smile, "and a bow is a way of fastening a ribbon with two loops, so."

"I am sorry, Elisse. I did not mean to embarrass you. I thought that that it was the swellings on my chest that made me a girl, since mother and you have them too."

"The swellings are called 'breasts', your highness. Girls are not born with them, as I would think you were not. Little girls resemble boys in that regard. They grow as we get older, some larger, some smaller." Elisse looked down. "Mine are small, but shall get bigger, I hope. Yours, if I may be so bold, having worked in my father's shop and fitted many of the young ladies of the Court, are quite well developed for your age. There would be no doubt by those who saw you in a dress that you are a female."

"That is most comforting, Elisse. Perhaps we should complete my dressing, since I would not want the Queen to think anything is amiss."

Elisse obediently picked up a camisole and helped the Princess into it, again tying the ribbon at the neck in a bow. Next were black stockings, followed by a long white linen petticoat.

"A village girl does not dress as finely as the daughter of a lady and so my dress has only one petticoat. Your mother's dress and those of more fashionable design have many," Elisse explained. "However, having no experience as a girl, it may be easier for you to learn to manage your skirt in this."

Finally, Elisee held out the dress. It was of fine wool, pale blue in color, long sleeved, with a white bodice which defined the waist and accented the bust. The dress was slipped over the Princess' head and the bodice laced tight. Silk slippers completed the ensemble. Elisse approached the Princess and made some final adjustments, fussing with the skirt to fluff out the petticoat, smoothing the sleeves and retying the laces. She made a circle, inspecting how the dress hung in back. When she was finished, Elisse stood back and nodded her approval.

"You are ready, your Highness."

Princess Charlene turned to leave, then stopped.

"Elisse, it would be best if what you saw and what I told you was kept to yourself."

"On my oath, your Highness, your secret is safe with me."

Elisse moved forward to page the curtain. The Queen was at her desk, making a list of the clothes for the Princess. The tailor was watching attentively while she wrote. Both turned at the sound of the Princess entering and looked admiringly at the beautiful girl who appeared. Elisse had discreetly remained behind to gather up the old clothes.

"You have done well, master tailor," the Queen complimented him. "Simplicity suits the Princess. Let her not be bound," the Queen said with amusement at her pun, "by the fashion of the Court. Stays and corsets are a confinement she neither needs nor should suffer."

"Yes, your Majesty. It appears that Elisse's dress fits her well and needs little alteration. The tailor made some notes on his slate. I have the pattern and can have most of the items on your list by tomorrow."

"Please, do not set yourself to such a task," master tailor. "The princess can wear but one dress at a time. There is no hurry."

"Your Majesty, I could not rest knowing that the Princess lacks proper attire for every occasion. Should she wish to ride or entertain or dine in royal company, for her to have but one dress would be a breach of my duty as royal tailor that I could not abide. Your soldiers would gladly give their lives in your service. A night without sleep for me and my apprentices and a few dozen needle wounds are of no consequence."

"Well said, master tailor. You shall do me one additional task. Should any of the ladies of the Court complain of the delay in your completion of their commissions, you are to inform them that the Queen has commanded their attendance at the next royal function naked. Should they wish otherwise, they may petition for my favor."

Had the tailor not been constrained by his position, he would have burst out laughing. Looking around to compose himself, he saw that Elisse had entered and was waiting patiently.

"By your leave, your Majesty. Come Elisse, we have much work to do," her father told her as he bowed low and backed towards the door.

Elisse curtseyed to the Queen and followed.

"Please wait," the Princess spoke out.

Elisse and her father came to a halt.

"Mother, Elisse has been most helpful. You have said I may do as I wish and I wish her to remain with me."

The Queen gave the Princess a curious look and raised an eyebrow, suspecting that there was more to her request than just convenience.

"Master tailor, would you allow Elisse to join the royal household as handmaiden to the Princess? There would be a stipend of one gold crown a month for your loss of her services."

Both father and daughter were in shock. It was unheard of for a commoner to serve as the handmaiden to a lady of the Court, let alone a Princess, and a gold crown a month was a fortune for tailor who was lucky to end up with a few silver for a week's work. Nor did one refuse a royal appointment. The tailor bowed, signifying his approval.

The Queen turned to Elisse.

"Do you accept the position," she inquired.

"I do, your Majesty," she answered without hesitation.

"Then it is done. Would you wait outside for a moment, master tailor. I wish to speak with Elisse."

After the door closed, the Queen turned to Elisse and said sternly, "are you privy to the Princess' secret?

Elisse stood silent.

"Answer me or forfeit your life," the Queen threatened her.

Elisse remained silent, tears forming in her eyes, confirming the Queen's suspicion.

"Mother, no. Elisse has done no wrong," the Princess spoke in her defense. "It was I who exposed myself to her, knowing no better. She has sworn an oath to me and it would be unjust to punish her for honoring it."

The Queen's face softened and she smiled.

"I am sorry to have frightened you so, Elisse, but I needed to be sure of your loyalty. I am most pleased that my daughter has found herself a companion."

Elise dropped into a curtsey.

"Your Majesty, I am a simple village girl. I know nothing of life here in the palace. With the greatest respect, would the Princess not be served better by someone of noble birth?"

"The Princess would be served best by someone she can trust," the Queen replied. "Do you want the position?"

"With all my heart, your Majesty."

"Summon your father," the Queen directed.

Elise began to back towards the door.

"Wait, Elisse," the Queen told her. "I am sure I will be seeing a great deal of you and it serves no purpose for you to be constantly bobbing up and down and walking backwards when we are in private. In public, you will, of course, show the customary respect."

"Yes, your Majesty," Elisse answered, making a small dip.

She walked to the door, opened it and bid her father to enter.

"Master tailor, Elisse will have a room near the Princess. She may return with you to collect her things. Of course, she will also need a wardrobe suitable for her position."

Elisse's eyes went wide. Her house was comfortable, but modest, and she shared a straw filled mattress in the loft with her two sisters. The thought of moving to the palace and the luxury of her own room had never occurred to her, nor had she expected the exchange of one dress for many. What pleased her the most, however, and for which she would have gladly given up all the rest, was to devote herself to the enchanted boy for whom she felt such great compassion. She could not believe her good fortune.

The Queen went to a cupboard and took out a pouch, which she handed to the tailor. Here are twenty gold crowns, one year's wages for Elisse and an additional eight as an expression of our gratitude. I shall hear no protest. I will not destitute your family on our account and your dedication and generosity has served the Princess and me far better than you know. She smiled at Elisse who made a mini-curtsey in response, to the puzzlement of her father. The Queen opened a large gold box decorated with jewels and took out a ring which she strung on a gold chain.

"Mistress Elisse," the Queen addressed her as she would an adult, "this ring carries the royal coat of arms. It shows you to be under our protection, to possess it otherwise is an offense punishable by death, and gives you indisputable authority to carry out your duties, as well as entrance to the palace and command of the royal guards in the course of your service."

She walked over to Elisse, who bowed her head as the Queen fastened the chain around her neck.

"You may go," the Queen directed.

Elisse looked at the Queen, who nodded, confirming that she was permitted to dispense with formality, and walked to the door, opening it for her father, much to his astonishment. The two departed, closing the door behind them.

Chapter 4. A Whole New World.

"Are you angry with me?" the Princess asked her mother.

"After all of these years apart, there is nothing that you could do, my darling, that could ever make me cross with you and, in fact, I do like the girl," the Queen assured the Princess. "Besides, I am certain that this was not a coincidence, but the work of the magic in furthering its purpose, which I have learned through experience not to question. Now then, changing the subject, I must see your father and report to him the events that have taken place. My staff will begin to remove my personal belongings. This would be a good time to acquaint you with the palace library."

"I will do as you say, but what is a 'library', please, mother?"

"I am sorry, Charlene. I had forgotten your seclusion for all these years. A library is a place where books are kept."

"More books on geography and mathematics?"

"More books than you can imagine about everything in the world of which you know naught."

"Oh, mother, please. Let us hurry. I cannot wait to see such a wonderful place. May I read them all?"

"Even with your gifts, my sweet Princess, it will take you more than a day, but yes, they are yours to read as you will."

The Queen and the Princess left and walked through the palace, accompanied by the royal guards stationed outside her apartment, who had fallen in behind them.

"Mother, must these men accompany us? Are we in danger?"

"No, Charlene, the Kingdom is at peace and we are quite safe. Perhaps, in days gone by it was not so and the custom has continued. As you will come to understand, there are traditions that must be respected, of which one is to be escorted by the royal guards. Besides," the Queen asked provocatively, "do you not find them handsome?"

"In truth mother, I have grown up surrounded by men in uniform, who encouraged me to fight and to study ways in which to kill not one, but many. I have no fondness for those who make war."

The Queen pondered as to whether the Princess' aversion was to soldiers in particular or men in general. The Princess' tutors were adults, who were understandably formal when educating a Prince, even more so when carrying out the King's plan to prevent his son's feminization. Perhaps when Charlene was older, she would be attracted to young men. The magic would see to it when the time came for her to be a bride, the Queen expected.

When they reached the library, they paused as one of the guards came forward to open the door for them, bowing as they passed and taking up a position at the entrance with his companion, after they entered. The Queen motioned to the librarian, who quickly approached her, stopping at a respectable distance and kneeling.

"Master librarian, this is my adopted daughter, Princess Charlene of Dalmacia. She has come here to assume the place of the Prince, who has been living there and unfortunately is too frail to make the journey home," the Queen announced, starting the story to explain the Princess' sudden appearance that would be spread quickly by palace gossip.

The Queen turned to the Princess to see her amazed expression at the thousands of books which lined the walls of the library from floor to ceiling.

"Truly, mother, it shall take me more than a day to read them all," the Princess agreed.

"I must be off," the Queen told the Princess, "but you may remain."

"Attend me," the Queen directed the royal guards, in deference to the Princess' dislike of the military. "The Princess is quite safe here," she assured them.

After the Queen departed, the Princess addressed the librarian, who was still bowed down before her.

"Rise, Master librarian," she directed him.

The librarian stood up, although averting his eyes from the Princess.

Making the best of the situation, the Princess inquired, "Are the books arranged in some order?"

"Yes," your Highness, "all of the books on the same subject are together in alphabetical order by title. Should you require one, I shall get it for you. We have quite a selection of poetry and stories which you might find entertaining."

"Master librarian," the Princess rebuked him, "I am here to learn. What books do you have about women?"

"Women, your Highness? I regret we have none, as that has not been a matter of scholarly interest."

"Then do you have books about sex?" the Princess inquired naively, remembering one of the words her mother had used in reference to women, although not in the context in which the librarian took it.

Caught in the dilemma of how to respond to a question by a Princess about a subject that was not spoken of in polite company, let alone to a child, the librarian stammered, "Not as such, your Highness. We have books about animal breeding, but not about people, as such writing would not be proper."

"Misinterpreting the librarian's answer, the Princess replied, "I shall start with those. Bring them to me."

The librarian hesitated.

"If you would like to seek the Queen's permission, I can send for her," the Princess threatened the librarian, although it was not in her nature to truly cause him trouble.

The librarian, concluding that discretion was the better part of valor in this instance, invited the Princess to a seat at a long oak table and hurried off to find the books. He returned after a few minutes holding four volumes. He placed the books before the Princess and backed away.

When he reached a respectful distance, he explained to the princess, "these are about breeding horses. Two are in our language, one is in Dalmacian and one is in Crinthish. You did not specify, so I brought them all. We have three more volumes on cattle breeding, one of which is in Silasian, and two on poultry breeding, both in our language. Do you want them too?"

"No, these will be sufficient for now. You may return to your duties," the Princess told him.

The Princess opened the first book in the stack and found it was the one in Dalmacian. Although she had learned the language conversationally, she had never seen it written. Many of the words were familiar, but some were not and she quickly put it aside. From the time she had been old enough to sit in a saddle, she had been trained in horsemanship, one of the few outdoor activities she enjoyed, and so the book in her own language was understandable. However, it only described the characteristics of different breeds and was of no interest to her. The other book in her language did, however, have anatomical illustrations of male and female horses. Comparing the stallion to the mare, the Princess understood how it was that Elisse easily recognized her as a boy, although the book assumed that anyone breeding horses would be familiar with mating them, so the functional part of the difference remained a mystery.

The Princess could have completed her education by consulting medical texts, had she known such books existed or had she understood that the difference between males and females was more than visual. Then again, what she had just learned was sufficient for her present needs. Rather than read more about livestock, the Princess decided to correct the all male history of the kingdom which she had been taught. She beckoned to the librarian, who quickly approached and assumed the customary respectful position.

"Are there books about the history of this kingdom?" she asked him.

"Only one, your Highness. It is in many volumes, each chronicling the reign of one king, from the first until the present, although the last volume is, of course, incomplete," the librarian explained. "Long live King Henry," he added as a precaution.

"Does this history include the Queens?"

"I have not read it, so I do not know for certain, but I would expect there to be a reference to the kings' mothers when tracing their lineage," the librarian speculated, his answer reflecting his traditional chauvinistic view of women's role in society.

The Princess asked him to bring her the first volume.

"I apologize, your Highness, but those books are locked away."

"Do you have the key?"

"Yes, your Highness, but I do not have authority to open the vault."

"Who does?"

"Only the King and the Chamberlain, your Highness."

"What about the Queen?"

"The Queen, your Highness, for what reason?"

"Must the Queen have a reason to be obeyed?"

"No, your Highness," the librarian conceded.

"Must I?" the Princess challenged him.

Pausing to consider the certainty of being punished for his refusal to obey a royal command, as compared to the possibility of being punished for his compliance, the librarian reluctantly agreed.

"No, your Highness, I will get the book for you. By your leave."

The Princess dismissed him and the librarian backed away.

While she was waiting for him to return with the book, the Princess decided to explore the library. As she was examining one of the shelves, the door opened and an old man entered. He had white hair, a bushy white beard and was dressed in black robes and a soft cap, which she recognized from her own teachers as the garb of a scholar. He paid no attention to the plainly dressed girl and went to one of the shelves, selected a book and sat down at the table. The Princess, inquisitive by nature, went over and greeted him.

"I do not wish to be disturbed. Go away," he said brusquely.

The Princess, noticing that he had a Norvigian accent, spoke to him in that language.

Just then, the librarian returned with the precious first volume of the royal history, which he nearly dropped when he saw the seated figure before the Princess. He rushed over and admonished the man.

"Sir, have you no respect. Kneel before Princess Charlene," doing so himself.

The man, realizing his serious breach of etiquette and the serious consequences of insulting a member of the royal family, slid off his seat and onto his knees.

"Forgive me, your Highness. I was not aware that this kingdom had a Princess and meant no offense," he hastily apologized. "I am Cedric de Gothsburg and I have journeyed here to study philosophy."

"In truth, there was not a princess of this kingdom until today and it was I who spoke to you. Under the circumstances, your mistake is understandable and your apology is accepted." the Princess said with a reassuring smile."

"You are most gracious, you Highness. May I be of service?"

"You can explain philosophy to me, Master Cedric, as my education has been lacking in certain respects."

"I expect that you were not troubled with learning philosophy, because the reasoning required is complicated and serves women naught in their domestic endeavors, your Highness" Cedric replied, thinking himself to have artfully excused the Princess from having to trouble her pretty head.

To his amazement, the Princess disagreed.

"I am not aware of any difference between men and women by reason of which one would be less than the other," an observation which, unbeknownst to the scholar, the Princess was uniquely qualified to make.

Knowing better than to argue with a Princess, the scholar expounded on the subject, expecting that the girl would soon become bored, allowing him to get off his knees, which were beginning to ache from contact with the cold stone floor, and return to his studies.

"Philosophy, your Highness," he lectured, "is the use of reason and logic to explain the natural world. For example, as I had said, philosophy teaches us that women, by their nature and constitution, are suited to being mothers and wives, and men, by their strength and wit, to provide and protect them. The proof is that babies have a natural affinity for their mothers and women have no aptitude for war," the scholar concluded authoritatively.

"Perhaps so, master scholar, or perhaps babies recognize the sensibility of their mothers in remaining safely at home and the foolishness of their fathers in risking their lives to kill those with whom they have no quarrel for a cause of which they know naught. Have philosophers so inquired of them?"

"Your Highness, none can speak to a baby."

"And so, you do not know for certain."

The scholar suddenly realized that he was losing a philosophical debate with a child, although taking some comfort that she was a princess, and, anxious to get up, as well as recognizing the political benefit of humoring her, agreed.

"There must be more to philosophy than that of which we have spoken and I would also like to practice my Norvigian. Would you visit me tomorrow afternoon for tea and cake? I had it with my mother, the Queen, this morning and it was quite tasty."

"Me, your Highness? Come to visit? Tomorrow afternoon? For tea and cake?" sputtered the astonished philosopher. "Yes, of course. Thank you, your Highness."

Returning her attention to the table, the Princess declared, "the librarian has brought me a special book which I wish to read. You may return to your studies as well."

As the Princess opened the book's black leather cover with an elaborate gold royal crest, she noticed that Cedric remained kneeling. The Princess looked down at him.

"You may rise, Cedric."

"I cannot, your Highness, for it would not be proper for me to stand while you are seated or to sit in your presence, as I now know better."

"I see. Well, I cannot remove the royal history book. It was most difficult to persuade the librarian to get it for me and I am sure that he would be most distraught, if I made off with it. However, I do not see why you cannot borrow a lesser book."

The Princess beckoned to the librarian, who hurried over and joined the scholar on his knees.

"It seems that none can use the library when I am here and here I must remain to read this book. Therefore, Cedric shall take out his book."

The librarian's eyes went wide.

"You Highness, please, it is not permitted."

"Have we not already had this conversation?" the Princess reminded the librarian. "On my order, you shall make a record of the book and Cedric shall give his pledge to return it. As it is the property of the King, I am sure he understands the consequences, should he not keep his word. As I expect to spend a great deal of time here, this will allow those who wish to use the library not to be inconvenienced."

Having learned the futility of arguing with the Princess, the librarian conceded, creating the first lending library. The scholar gratefully accepted the offer, signed the paper, thanked the Princess, and backed towards the door with his book.

The Princess returned to her reading. Of greatest interest was the complete story of how the four fairies came to be the protectors of King Harold's descendants, bestowing on his heirs those gifts, but one, which she received. Perhaps, the Princess thought, smoothing her skirt and feeling the softness of her petticoat against her legs, she had gotten the better blessing.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prince Bride - 3

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Preteen or Intermediate

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 5, 6 & 7
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 5. Mother Knows Best.

Queen Charlotte found the King in the Council chamber. He was anxious to hear of her reunion with their son and dismissed his advisors, so that he could speak with her in private. Once they were alone, he instructed the royal guards outside the door to permit no one to enter.

King Henry, fearless in battle, stood nervously before his wife, anticipating her anger at the harm he had caused by keeping the Prince from her. Instead, to his astonishment, delight and arousal, in that order, the Queen put her arms around him and gave him a passionate kiss. When she finally released him and he regained his power of speech, he expressed his joy at the resumption of their marriage and his surprise at her ardor under the circumstances.

"Henry," the Queen said happily, "the Princess is a delight. She is everything I could have hoped for in a daughter."

The King was totally bemused, Prince Charles having been delivered to his mother only a few hours ago.

"What princess are you talking about, dear?" he asked the Queen.

"Princess Charlene, of course," the Queen answered with a laugh. "That is the name we have chosen. The magic has undone your efforts of the last dozen years in less than a day. Charlene's personality is convincingly feminine and, to my surprise, she has taken to wearing a dress as though she had worn one all her life."

"You have put the Prince in a dress, Charlotte?" the King asked incredulously.

"No, Henry, the Prince put himself in a dress and, upon learning of the fairies' enchantment, has accepted his becoming a bride. You have kept him from me in hopes that it would turn out differently, but there is no doubt, by outward appearance and by temperament, he is a girl. I agreed to try it your way and I have cried myself to sleep in the loneliness of my bed as the price of my concession. Now I shall mend my heart and yours, dear husband," she said lovingly.

The King, anxious to get his wife back in his bed, knew when to leave well enough alone.

"If, as you say, the Prince has been changed so quickly by your feminine influence, then I shall defer to your raising him to be a Princess. I must say, however, I am quite confused as to how one refers to a boy who has become a girl."

"Henry," the Queen cautioned him, "if Charlene is to be accepted as a Princess, then none must know of her origin. While in your care, she learned a great deal about my kingdom, even to speak its language, and we have agreed that she will present herself as having been sent by my family to take the place of the Prince, who will remain with them, because of his health. You will see for yourself that she is, to all appearances, a girl and that all will treat her as such, if we do. Does that answer your question, dear?"

"Yes Charlotte," the King said, shaking his head at the conundrum, "I will pretend he is a she."

It was the Queen's turn to shake her head.

"No, you must not pretend!" she insisted. "The magic has transformed her and you must accept it. As the fairies told us, there is no way to prevent it and there is no way to undo it. You have a daughter, Henry, and with our help or without it, as you have seen, she will be a bride. In fact, the magic has already provided Charlene with a companion upon whom to model herself, a delightful young girl from the village named Elisse."

"The magic, Charlotte?" the King asked skeptically. "What makes you think it would choose a commoner to be an example for him, I mean her. If he, I mean she, is to learn to present herself properly, then she should have a girl of noble birth who is schooled in Court etiquette."

"Yes, of course, dear," the Queen humored the King, "a young woman from a good family. One who has been brought up to practice the intrigues and politics of the Court for her own advancement would be best to keep the Princess' secret."

"You are right to deride me, Charlotte," the King said contritely. "The next time the fairies appear to bestow their blessings, I should beg to exchange wisdom for common sense. I will trust to you and the magic."

The Queen smiled and took her husband's hands in hers.

"The more I see of the magic, the more I am sure that things are as they were meant to be and that, as the fairies promised, there will be a happy ending. There will certainly be one for you tonight my dear," she said with a saucy wiggle and a wink, "but I still have much to attend to before we become reacquainted. I wish you to meet the Princess and shall arrange for her to dine with us. Until then, my dear, a small token of my affection."

The Queen moved forward, sliding her arms around the King's waist, pulling him towards her and pressing her breasts against his chest. Given that the King was wearing tights, his amorous anticipation was not difficult for her to detect. She gave him a kiss on the lips and then released him.

The Queen turned in a swirl of petticoats and exited. Arriving at her apartment, she found the servants packing her belongings in brass bound wooden chests, of which half a dozen were already stacked by the door, waiting to be transported to the King's quarters. Upon the Queen's entrance, one of the women stopped her work, curtseyed and asked whether certain items were to stay or go. As the Queen was finishing her instructions, the door opened and Elisse entered. Although she had gone to the village to collect her things, the Queen saw that she carried nothing with her. Upon seeing the Queen in the presence of others, Elisse observed the formality of a deep curtsey.

The Queen beckoned for her to rise and approach.

"How is it, Elisse, that you return with naught?" she questioned her.

"If it please your Majesty, I have but the clothes I wear and a comb and brush, which I share with my sisters and have left for them."

"Have you no nightclothes or undergarments?" the Queen asked curiously.

"Oh yes, Your Majesty," Elisse replied, "but my father said that I should also leave them for my sisters, as he would provide new ones when he delivered the wardrobe you ordered for me. I can return home and gather those items, if you would rather not go to the expense. They are well cared for, my mother being an excellent laundress and my father having taught me to sew."

"My goodness, Elisse, your concern for the royal treasury is commendable, but I do believe we can afford to have you properly dressed, as we do the rest of the palace staff. Although, come to think of it, I do not know if we provide them with pantaloons and shifts. Perhaps you will step out and so inquire of the guard" the Queen said with a laugh.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," Elisse said obediently, curtseying and backing towards the door.

"Stop, Elisse, I was making a jest," the Queen acknowledged. "It is of no consequence and there is no need. Your father is quite right." She paused in thought and then added, "as you have left your toilet articles, so you have reminded me that the Princess is without hers. I shall make sure that you both have the necessary items for your grooming. Now that is settled, would you like to see your room?"

"Yes, if it please Your Majesty, very much so," Elisse said enthusiastically.

The Queen went into a bedchamber with Elisse following at a respectful distance and moved aside a tapestry covering one wall to expose a door. She opened it and went inside. Upon entering, Elisse found a bed with what looked to be a down mattress covered with white linens, a wood stand with a white china pitcher and basin on it and a door underneath, which she assumed held a container for her personal needs, a large carved wood wardrobe and, best of all, a small dressing table with a mirror, beneath which was an upholstered stool. There was a window with heavy curtains in a red material with green floral embroidery to keep out the drafts and a small fireplace for warmth. On the floor were thick carpets with intricate designs. In size, the chamber was larger than the common room in her house in the village, where the entire family gathered. Elisse was delighted with her room and the good fortune that had come to her.

"May I speak, Your Majesty," Elisse inquired?

"Of course, Elisse, there need be no formality between us in private. Now then, you were going to say?"

"I was going to say, your Majesty, that this is the most beautiful room I could imagine, but I see only the one door. Is there no way for me to come and go without disturbing the Princess?"

"For the protection of those who reside within, none may enter without passing by the guard at the door," the Queen confirmed. Looking into Elisse's eyes, she added, "As none may approach the Princess without passing by you. The ring with the royal coat of arms which you wear gives you the power to act on the King's behalf. To disobey you is an affront to the Crown; but, be warned, for with authority comes responsibility and, once reported, the offense is punishable by death without excuse or exception."

Elisse's eyes went wide and she turned white.

"Oh, no, Your Majesty, please, I am but a simple village girl and have no experience in such matters," she pleaded. "I have great affection for the Princess and would give my life for her, but not the life of another. I could not."

"Elisse," the Queen reassured her, "it is for those very reasons I have placed my confidence in you. If I am mistaken, then you may return to your home without consequence. Do you so choose?"

"No, Your Majesty, I could not leave the Princess, she needs me. I shall do what I must," Elisse confirmed with resignation.

The Queen nodded her acceptance.

The first thing that you must do then," the Queen directed her, "is to go to the library and bring back the Princess to prepare her for dinner with the King, and yourself as well."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Elisse replied with a small curtsey. Then it struck her that she had been included in the invitation."

"Me, Your Majesty," she said in shock, "meet the King? Please Your Majesty, I am not presentable." She pointed to her apron. "I am dressed for keeping house."

"I know my husband, Elisse. Clothes mean naught to him, for he has seen his fill of finely dressed ladies and gentlemen of no worth. It is you and not your apron with which he will be concerned and well pleased, I am sure. Trust me in this."

"I could not but trust you in all things, your Majesty."

Elise made a mini-curtsey and started for the door, then stopped and turned to address the Queen.

"Your Majesty, I am sorry, but I know not what a library is or where to find it."

"A library is a room with many books," the Queen explained patiently. "Ask the guard at the door to escort you there. He knows the way."

"Thank you, Your Majesty, I shall do so," Elisse replied politely.

Chapter 6. Sergeant Ulrich.

Elisse went back through the bedchamber and sitting room to the corridor door and opened it. On either side were two royal guards in blood red tunics with two rows of shiny brass buttons and black pants with a gold stripe on the side of each leg, tucked into polished black leather boots. On their heads were black peaked caps with gold braid, the same as on their shoulders and around their waists was a black leather belt, with a large rectangular brass buckle embossed with a design of crossed swords. Hanging from the belt at their side was a sword in a brass scabbard.

Both guards came to attention as the door opened and Elisse stepped out. She had no preference, but the one on the right had three gold stripes on his sleeve, two pointed down and one up, the other only two pointed down, so she chose him.

"Please take me to the library," she requested.

The guard studied the plainly dressed girl for a moment, saluted, and set off quickly down the corridor. Elisse, having shorter legs, trotted after him.

After they had gone a short distance, Elisse asked him, "is it permissible for me to speak with you, Sir?"

"Yes, my Lady," the guard answered. "I am at your command."

"Then please slow down."

"As you wish, my Lady," the guard responded, reducing his pace.

Catching her breath, Elisse introduced herself.

"I am no lady, Sir, but Elisse from the village, the eldest daughter of Franc the tailor."

"Not 'Sir', my Lady. That honor is for those of noble birth," the guard advised her. "I am Ulrich, son of Thad the farmer," he continued, "but when I put on this uniform, I am Sergeant Ulrich of His Majesty's Royal Guards. You, by the ring you wear around your neck, are a lady and so shall all address you in my presence or answer for it. Nor do you need to say 'please,' as I serve the Crown whose authority you carry."

"Your guidance is most appreciated, Sergeant Ulrich, as I have no experience in these matters. Until today, my ambition was to be a good wife and mother. Instead, I find to my surprised I am handmaiden to the Princess."

"What Princess would that be, my Lady?" Ulrich inquired.

"Why Princess Charlene, of course," Elisse answered. "Do you know of any other?"

"I know of none, my Lady."

"Do you know all that goes on in the palace, Sergeant Ulrich?" Elisse asked defensively.

"No, my Lady, not all, but I would know of a princess, as my duty is to guard the royal family."

Elisse had not been present when the Queen and the Princess made up their story of her arrival from Dalmacia and so had no way to know the official explanation. Being an honest girl, she told the truth of sorts.

"She is new and perhaps you have not yet been told."

"Of course, my Lady, as you say," Ulrich conceded politely.

By the time their conversation ended, they had reached the library. Ulrich stopped and opened the door, then stood to attention and saluted.

"I know that I need not, but I see no reason why authority should excuse ill manners. Thank you, Sergeant Ulrich. Please remain, as we will need to be guided back."

Elisse entered the library. As the Queen had said, there were many books, but they meant nothing to her, as she had never learned to read. Looking around the room, she saw the Princess seated at a long table. Elisse walked towards her and stopped. She curtseyed and waited patiently, not wanting to interrupt her. When the Princess did not recognize her presence, she spoke softly.

"Your Highness."

There was no response, so she spoke louder.

"Your Highness."

The Princess turned her head and, seeing Elisse, stood up.

"Elisse!" the Princess exclaimed happily, motioning for her to rise and approach. "How nice of you to keep me company. Shall I have the librarian bring you a book? There are many to choose from."

"No, thank you, your Highness. I am to bring you back to get ready to dine with the Queen and King."

"Excellent, for I do so want to show my father my pretty dress. Will you come too, Elisse?"

"The Queen has invited me, your Highness, although I am uncomfortable to go as I am," Elisse admitted, holding out her apron for emphasis. "If I could wait but a day, my father will have something proper for me to wear to meet the King."

The Princess thought for a moment.

"Let us exchange clothes then. You shall go in your dress and I in what you have on. That will solve the problem."

"No, your Highness. It will not solve the problem," Elisse insisted, "for I have made a gift of it and shan't take it back. It is yours and you must wear it. I will not hear otherwise." Realizing that she had just scolded the Princess as though she was one of her little sisters, she put her hand over her mouth and fell into a curtsey. "I am sorry, your Highness. I spoke disrespectfully. Please forgive me."

"Get up, Elisse. You did no wrong. Quite to the contrary, you must be strict with me, if I am to learn what I must know. I will not hear otherwise," the Princess pretended to scold her back. "Now, let us go."

Elisse rose and started for the door.

"Wait, Elisse. I must return this book."

The Princess beckoned to the librarian, who, although attentive to his royal guest, had busied himself, so as not to intrude on her conversation. Getting his attention, he came over and knelt down.

"I am returning the book to your safekeeping. I shall require it tomorrow." In keeping with the story of her arrival from Dalmacia, the Princess added, "I must say that I am disappointed about how little is recorded in your history of this kingdom about the Queens. I shall speak to King Henry about it, for I am sure Queen Charlotte would not take kindly to being mentioned only as his wife. Good day, Master librarian."

The Princess turned and followed Elisse to the door, which she opened. They went into the corridor, where Ulrich was waiting. He drew to attention at their arrival.

"Your Highness," Elisse introduced the guard to the Princess, "this is Sergeant Ulrich."

Being more used to orders than introductions, it took Ulrich a few moments to realize that the ordinary looking girl standing next to Elisse was the Princess. When the recognition came to him, he started to kneel, but in his haste he forgot to swing his scabbard out of the way and it stabbed against the floor, throwing him off balance. He tried to recover, but could not and ended up sprawled on the floor at the girls' feet.

The Princess, amused by the poor guard's embarrassment and remembering Cedric's similar reaction, turned to Elisse and jested, "I really must start wearing a crown, so that people will stop injuring themselves when they meet me."

Elisse, wishing to spare Ulrich further embarrassment, pretended not to have noticed. Ulrich quickly righted himself and, properly adjusting his weapon, was back on his knees.

"Rise Sergeant," the Princess commanded. "Forward," she directed, recalling her own military training.

Ulrich rose and, remembering that Elisse could not keep up, set off at a slow pace.

On their way back, Elisse whispered to the Princess, "is not Ulrich quite dashing, Your Highness?"

"That is the same question my mother asked me about the guards who escorted us here. Are women required to comment on the appearance of men in whose company they find themselves?" the Princess questioned Elisse. "If so, I suppose I will have to learn, although I find nothing appealing about soldiers, having been raised to be one, as I told my mother."

"There is your Highness," Elisse spoke softly into the Princesses ear, "a natural attraction between women and men. Not every woman finds it so, I expect, because there are those who remain unmarried, but most look forward to being wed when they are of my age. You are young yet, your Highness, and girls do not become so interested until they, well, I can not tell you, as it is not discussed, you will have to ask you mother about it, although I do not believe that it will happen to you. My little sisters have not found boys to their liking," Elisse laughed. "You would think from the way they treat them, they were enemies, but that will soon change, as I think that it must for you, if you are to be a bride."

By the time Elisse had finished her explanation, they had reached their destination. Ulrich opened the door and stationed himself beside it, coming to attention and saluting, in a much more impressive ending than beginning. Elisse started to enter, but stopped when the Princess turned to address Ulrich.

"Sergeant, Mistress Elisse finds you pleasing and, as we will need a guide until we become familiar with the palace, I appoint you to that post. Of course, a Princess should have an officer for an escort, so inform your commandant that you have been promoted to lieutenant. That will be all Lieutenant Ulrich," the Princess dismissed him.

Ulrich was overcome, first by the unexpected disclosure of Elisse's favor and then by his sudden promotion to a rank that he had never dared to aspire. Elisse was also overcome by the Princess's candor, blushing as she followed her into the apartment, closing the door on the stunned Ulrich.

Looking at the color in Elisse's cheeks, the Princess apologized. "Oh dear, Elisse, have I done something dreadful. It would seem so. I am not very good at being a girl yet. What shall I do to set it right?"

Regaining her composure, Elisse assured the Princess that it was not dreadful, just not proper for a girl to tell a boy of her feelings.

"I am sorry, Elisse, but I am confused. How is it that you are to find a suitable husband if you cannot tell a man that you like him and why is it that you can not tell him so? Will you be punished by your parents or will he be offended by your interest in him?"

"Your Highness," Elisse began, fussing with her apron while trying to find the best way to explain the romantic games that girls played, "there is no penalty, as such, but boys are not kindly disposed towards girls who are bold. We show our interest by acting in more gentle ways. A glance in their direction," Elisse demonstrated, looking coquettishly back over her shoulder, "a little smile," she briefly turned up the corners of her mouth, or a look," Elisse pouted prettily and batted her eyes, "are enough encouragement."

"I do not understand why it is so, but I shall follow your directions in such things. Must I practice or shall it come to me as I gain experience as a girl?"

"Well, your Highness," Elisse said, beginning to feel more comfortable with the Princess, "I expect I shall have to flirt with all of the young men in the palace, so you will learn to do it properly."

"Not to be outdone, the Princess replied, "I assume that what you have just described is called flirting and I command that you do it to all the young men we meet."

Both the Princess and Elisse broke into girlish giggles.

Upon composing herself, Elisse returned to more practical matters.

Chapter 7. A Girl Like Me.

"It is getting late and I should prepare you for dinner with the King and Queen. We will have to make do as we are. I shall brush your hair and in place of a crown, which we lack, a comb or clip will do, if I can find one."

Looking around the room, Elisse saw the Queen's dressing table and went to it. There was an ornate silver brush and a number of silver topped glass jars and small bottles with elaborate stoppers left by the Queen, but with which preparations she had no experience. In one corner was a small chest, which Elisse recalled being the one from which the Queen had taken the chain and ring which she wore.

"The Queen has left us a brush," your Highness, "and perhaps an ornament in the chest. May I open it?"

"Of course, Elisse, you need not ask. I am in your care."

Elisse opened the lid and found a collection of jewelry. She had some familiarity with gems from those that were occasionally sewn on the noble ladies' gowns and knew of their worth, but paid them no mind, searching for something for the Princess to wear in her hair. Towards the bottom, she found a gold clip in an intricate floral design. Taking it out, a chain came with it. As she worked to untangle it, she saw that attached to the chain was a gold pendant in the shape of a flower with what she recognized as a pearl enclosed by the petals. The Princess saw the necklace and asked to wear it. Elisse fastened it around her neck, the flower resting perfectly on her chest. She then brushed the Princesses hair and fastened the clip with the pin, removing and replacing it, until she was satisfied with its position.

"There," Elisse said, standing back and surveying her handiwork. "You are indeed quite pretty, your Highness, and the necklace you have chosen suits you well. We are ready."

"Would you not like to wear something from the chest, Elisse? And my mother put something from one of the jars on my lips. Would you like some of that? Oh, and something that smells nice too from one of the bottles, the tall one with the silver gilt stopper, I believe."

"It is not for me to wear jewelry, your Highness, and I am afraid I have no knowledge of the paint used by ladies on their face or of perfume, as the scent is called. The ways of the palace are much different than the village."

"Fancy ways and pretension suit me not either, Elisse. I am quite content to be a girl like you. Let us go."

Elisse went to the door and opened it. She was hoping that Ulrich was still staioned there, but the guards had changed. She directed one with three stripes like Ultrich to take them to the King's quarters. He saluted and marched off, the two girls following behind. After passing down many long corridors and taking many confusing turns, they arrived at a door outside of which were stationed two more of the Royal Guards. Their escort saluted, turned smartly and left. One of the guards knocked on the door and a soft voice from within bid them enter. Summoning her courage, Elisse followed the Princess.

The room into which they entered was large and appeared to be for receiving visitors. It was elaborately decorated with paintings and tapestries on the walls and rugs on the floor. In the center was a large, ornate table on which stood a gold four branched candelabra with long wax tapers and along the walls were double sconces with more candles, all extravagantly lit, providing a soft yellow light. Along three of the walls were a number of upholstered settees and armchairs and set into fourth wall was a large fireplace with a crackling fire providing warmth against the evening's chill and more light. Above the fireplace mantle hung a large ax and a sword crossed behind a shield with what Elisse recognized as the same royal coat of arms as on her ring. Taking all of this in, Elisse's eyes turned to the Queen, standing next to the table. She was dressed in a beautiful pale blue gown accented with white lace, long sleeves, flaring at the wrist, also trimmed with lace, with a full skirt and a cutaway lace trimmed bodice that exposed her chest. A very daring ensemble, compared to the styles with which Elisse was familiar, but then the Queen could do as she pleased and her dress was obviously meant to please. Around her neck was a string of sparkling blue stones set in gold links, beautifully accenting her dress. Her hair was done up and adorned with more sparkling blue stones set in two large gold combs and her face had a trace of color on the lips and cheeks. Elisse was overwhelmed by the Queen's appearance, as the expression on her face left no doubt.

The Queen, however, had eyes only for her daughter. As soon as the Princess entered, she viewed her approvingly and then moved forward to embrace her. They remained entwined, with the Princess enjoying her new freedom to express emotion. Finally they released.

"Elisse, you have indeed done well. I quite approve."

The Queen's eyes fell to the Princess' necklace.

Turning to Elisse, she asked, "how could you have possibly know that was my necklace when I was a girl? It was a gift from my mother and to see it on my own daughter brings tears to my eyes."

Elisse shook her head.

"I take no credit, Your Majesty. The necklace selected itself, being drawn out with the hair clip which I took from your chest and catching the Princess' eye."

"A most curious coincidence, indeed," the Queen observed. "One among many it appears. Shall we go?" she requested, directing them to a doorway.

Elisse and the Princess followed the Queen into another large room, this one with a long table covered with a white linen cloth on which stood two large four branched silver candelabra's. The table held an assortment of meats on silver platters, some of which Elisse recognized and others she did not, steaming vegetables in silver bowls and glass carafes of red wine. Each place was set with a white china plate painted with the royal coat of arms, a sparkling crystal goblet and silver utensils. As Elisse looked along the table, her eyes came to the head, where a man was sitting in a high backed chair, with a carved crest embellished with gold. He was dressed in purple and wore a gold crown set with jewels. Realizing that this was the King, Elisse dropped into a deep curtsey.

The King stood when the entourage entered the room. He saw what at first glance he took to be two ordinary girls with the Queen.

"My dear, where is Charles? Dinner is getting cold."

"Charles, will not be coming, Henry. He has been detained in Dalmacia, due to his poor health. Princess Charlene has replaced him as heir to the throne."

At that cue, the Princess spoke up.

"Hello, father, do you like my dress? Isn't it pretty? It was Elisse's and she has let me wear it. She did my hair too. She is quite good at being a girl, but then I suppose it is because she was born that way. I am still learning, but I do believe I shall be quite good at it too."

The Princess spun around, her skirt flaring in a perfectly feminine display and then, as earlier demonstrated by Elisse, she gave an innocent smile and fluttered her eyes. The King's jaw dropped and it was all the Queen could do to control her laughter, as he stood with his mouth open in astonishment.

"I take it you approve, dear," the Queen said, breaking the silence.

"Who, how, what?" The King sputtered at a loss for words. "It cannot be, come here, Charles, let me look at you," he finally got out.

"No Henry," interrupted the Queen. "We agreed. Charlene is a girl and must be so addressed and treated. To do otherwise will only make it harder and increase the risk of discovery that will spoil everything. You saw once what mischief is done when the magic is displeased. Please do not provoke it, as I could not bear to lose my child again.

"Yes, Charlotte, you are quite right," the King agreed. "It is just that, well, in truth, I was expecting a boy in a dress and not the girl I find before me. I am not pleased with the situation, as I would much prefer to have my son as he was born, but, as that is not to be, I will have a daughter." Turning to the Princess he told her, "Your dress is quite becoming and you look quite lovely in it, Charlene. I hope that you will find happiness on the path on which you have been set by the fairy's mistake."

The Princess, although untrained, made a perfect curtsey and replied, "thank you father. I am quite content to be a girl," adding naively, "you should try it. Perhaps the Queen will loan you one of her dresses as Elisse has done for me."

The King scowled at the Princess's suggestion and the Queen put her hand to her mouth at the thought of His Royal Highness in petticoats. Eager to change the subject, the King turned his attention to Elisse, who remained supplicated during the conversation.

"Rise, child, and approach," the King directed.

Elisse got up and moved towards the King, her head bowed.

"Chin up, I wish to look upon you," the King ordered.

As Elisse was short and the King was tall, she had to crane her neck to look him in the eye.

After studying her carefully, the King turned to the Queen and proclaimed, "indeed Charlotte, I would exchange this girl for all of those useless ladies who clutter up my Court, were it possible. I am quite pleased, as you had foreseen." Turning back to Elisse, the King warned her, "You understand that the future of my kingdom is in your hands."

Looking up at the King, Elisse answered him, "I am devoted to the Princess and will allow no harm to come to her, on my oath and on my life, as I have so pledged to her and to the Queen, but her future is not mine to manage, Your Majesty."

The King nodded his agreement.

"Charlotte, I do not know how Elisse has come to us, by accident or design, but I would have none other for the Princess. My kingdom is in good hands and she shall be rewarded, an estate I think. I know of one baron in particular who has been an annoyance for years and I am most anxious to dispossess."

"Henry, dear, your approval is most gratifying and your generosity commendable, but the poor girl has not been here but a day. Do you not think we might wait, so she can concentrate on the Princess and not on managing an estate, having just arrived from the village?" the Queen suggested.

"You are correct, as usual, Charlotte," the King conceded, then, turning back to Elisse, inquired, "if not for you, then your family, Elisse. What shall I do for their benefit?"

"If it please your Majesty, we are satisfied with what we earn by our work. My father is the royal tailor, as was his father and his father before him and so shall my second eldest brother be, my older brother having been called to serve in your army. My sisters look forward to having their own husbands and homes, when it is their time. They are content, Your Majesty, and I would tempt them not to lead a life for which they are not suited. Nor, with respect Your Majesty, could I or my family profit from another's misfortune, deserved or not. As for me, to serve the Princess, the Queen and the King, is reward enough. I too am content, your Majesty."

The King looked at Charlotte.

"Must I constantly be schooled by women?" he complained good naturedly. "This is most frustrating. I shall have to take up my defective blessings with the fairies, for with their gifts I understand little of what good, honest people think." The King sighed. "I am in your debt, Elisse, both for your service and for your lesson in humility. "Now then," the King announced, "it is time for us to eat, please be seated. I have dismissed the staff for our privacy, so I am afraid each of us will have to serve himself, urr, umm, herself," the King corrected his choice of pronouns.

"If I may, your Majesty, as the eldest girl I served my family their meals and I would be pleased if you would allow me to work for my keep by serving you," Elisse offered.

"Your keep is earned by your attention to the Princess," Elisse, "but your offer is graciously made and graciously accepted."

"Although some of the food is known to me, Your Majesties and Princess, many I do not know and will need your guidance to suit your taste. If you would, your Majesty, please tell me what I may bring to you."

"Princess Charlene is the guest of honor and so she should be served first," the King said with a smile.

The Queen smiled too at her husband's acceptance of the Princess by use of her name and the correct gender in his directions to Elisse.

Elisse turned to the Princess, who replied, "What is it girls eat, Elisse? You may bring me some of it."

"Girls eat the same things boys eat, Your Highness," Elisse explained, "except less, as we need to fit into our dresses without bursting our laces. As to a choice, that would be for your mother to make."

Queen Charlotte beamed at Elisse's considerate deferral to her in making decisions for her daughter, acknowledging her satisfaction with a nod and a smile.

"I would recommend the roast fowl," Charlene, "some greens, I think, and a slice of the white bread with the wonderful cheese that is made here."

Elisse had no trouble recognizing the foods that the Queen had picked out for the Princess, as her father occasionally received poultry from villagers who had something to mend that needed his expertise, and greens were common, as was bread and cheese. She placed a small portion of each on the Princess' plate and then turned to the King.

"Your Majesty?" she inquired.

"I favor the roast venison, Elisse, you should try some, it is quite tasty, and a turnip, some of the greens and bread and cheese."

"Might the roast venison be this meat, Your Majesty?" Elisse questioned, pointing to one of the platters, "as I have not seen such before."

The King nodded and Elisse added a large helping of the foods to his plate.

"Your Majesty, what may I serve you?" she asked the Queen.

"The same as the Princess, Elisse."

Finally, it was Elisse's turn. Although not wishing to offend the King by ignoring his recommendation, the meat looked unappetizing, sitting in a puddle of bloody juices, and she did not want to be embarrassed by taking food she could not eat.

"If it please your Majesty," she said diplomatically, " being used to simple meals, the meat might be too rich for my taste and I would prefer the fare on which the Queen and Princess sup."

"As you wish, Elisse. I am sure there will be time enough for you to acquire a taste for it, but you must try the wine. It is the finest in the kingdom. Fill the Queen's and the Princess' goblets as well and we shall have a toast."

"I have never sampled wine, Your Majesty and know not what is a toast," Elisse admitted.

"Well," the King observed, "tonight is the first of many unexpected things, to which you enjoying our fine wine shall be added."

"Elisse, dear," the Queen cautioned, giving her husband a disapproving look, "the King has been overly enthusiastic in his recommendation of the wine. It is an intoxicating beverage and, for one who has no experience, can cause more ill than good. Try but a taste, until you become accustomed to its influence."

"Thank you, your Majesty, I shall follow your advice."

Elisse picked up one of the carafes and filled the King's goblet, then the Queens, pouring only a small amount for herself and the Princess.

The King raised his glass and proposed, "to Princess Charlene, may the magic truly bring her a happy ending, as the fairies have promised."

The King took a drink, as did the Queen. Mindful of the warning, Elisse and the Princess took small sips and both made faces.

"Wine takes some getting used to," admitted the King, "try it with food and you will find it more to your liking."

Elisse waited politely for the King and Queen to begin eating and noticed them tucking a linen cloth into their neck or, in the Queen's case, her bodice, and using a knife and fork, instead of their fingers. Although her mother had a large fork in the kitchen for holding hot food and a large carving knife for butchering, most of their meals were stew of some kind, eaten with a spoon. She did her best to copy their table manners. As the meal went on, she took small sips of the wine and did find that it went better with the food.

After having finished the meal, the King inquired of Elisse whether she had enjoyed it. She did not answer, resulting in a more urgent question.

"Elisse, is something wrong? You may speak freely."

Encouraged by the wine, Elisse answered, "your Majesty, the meal was better than any which I have ever had and I am most grateful to share your table, but," she paused.

"But what Elisse? Do go on."

"It is just, well, it is just that you have so much and there are those in the village who send their children to bed hungry."

The King rose and said angrily, "why have I not been told of such conditions in my kingdom! How can this be that there are those who go without" he questioned, "and what kind of King must I be to have cared more for the affairs of state than the condition of my subjects?" Trying to understand, he asked Elisse, "why is it that the men do not work and earn a living for their families?"

"Your, Majesty, not all are able," she explained. "Some have been injured, others have been unlucky. I know them, your Majesty, they are good, hardworking people who want little for themselves and suffer greatly. Thom the woodcutter struck his leg with an axe and the wound has festered. He will most likely die of it and his wife and children will be forced to beg or worse. My father is charitable and gives what he can, outworn clothes from his customers that he has mended, and my mother gives food, when there is some to spare, but it is not enough. Thom is but one of many in need." Pausing and looking sadly at the King, Elisse apologized, "I hope that you do not find me to be disrespectful, your Majesty. I know only of my one village, which is of little importance compared to the many over which you rule."

Looking across the table, the King saw that Elisse's concern for her fellow villagers had brought sympathetic tears to the Queen and the Princess.

The King shook his head.

"Elisse, you need not be concerned. It is my advisors who I shall take to task." Turning to the Queen, the King agreed, "there is indeed more to the fairies' enchantment then meets the eye, Charlotte, for I am now convinced that you are right in believing Elisse has come to us through no accident. The Princess has already brought good fortune to the kingdom by her selection of a companion and I am now satisfied that this is but the start of the happy ending to come."

The Queen smiled and nodded her concurrence.

"I would set things right," the King continued, "but cannot trust those of my Court to put the needs of others who are less fortunate before their own comfort. There is but one in whom I have complete confidence, my Queen, and so I commission you to do what is necessary to provide for the common welfare of my subjects. Woman's work for sure." Then the King broke into a broad smile and clapped his hands together, announcing, "I have just the estate of a particular baron to serve as the royal asylum for the sick and poor. He will be most anxious to keep his title and his head in exchange for contributing to such a worthy cause." Turning to Elisse, the King asked her, "I assume that you would have no qualms about such an arrangement?"

"I know not of qualms," Your Majesty, "but I would not have done to him what I would not want done to me. Instead, should not the people build their own estate and by so doing be employed and have pride in what they have done in your name?"

The King looked vexed.

"Charlotte, this young woman is impossible. First she pains my conscience and now rightly chastises me for abusing my power."

Elisse gave the Queen a frightened look, who shook her head and smiled reassuringly, knowing her husband's sense of humor.

"I order her to leave immediately with the Princess and not to return until tomorrow night, as I believe that there is a promise made earlier that needs to be kept. Goodnight Princess Charlene and Elisse. You both have my approval and my affection."

The Queen looked lovingly at her husband and, catching his eye, gave him a romantic look that left little question that she was prepared to make up for lost time, which, being a dozen years, would occupy them until morning.

The Princess and Elisse returned to their apartment, where they got ready for bed, Elisse supervising the Princess as she disrobed, neatly folding the dress and petticoats, then herself undressing, until both were in their pantaloons and camisoles. Elisse then showed the Princess the nighttime beauty routine, cleansing her face of the cosmetics the Queen had applied and brushing her hair until it shone.

"Goodnight, your Highness," Elisse said softly, picking up a candlestick to light the way to her room.

"Elisee, please stay with me," the Princess requested.

"You do not wish to sleep alone, your Highness?"

"I have slept alone for as long as I can remember. I am so pleased with you, I do not wish for you to go."

"I do not know if it is proper for me to sleep with you, your Highness."

"Do you sleep alone at home, Elisse?"

"No, Your Highness, I share a bed with my two younger sisters."

"Then is it because I am a boy that you will not sleep with me?"

"No, Your Highness, it is because you are a Princess."

"May I not be your sister, Elisse? I would like that greatly. I could command you, you know," the Princess said petulantly.

"Yes, Your Highness, you could, but sisters do not command each other."

"Nor I you, Elisse."

"Into bed then little sister and make room for me."

The Prince Bride - 4

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 8 & 9
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 8. True Love

Under the influence of the magic and with the guidance of Elisse, Princess Charlene blossomed. Even the most critical ladies of the court could find no fault about which to gossip and all else were captivated by her grace, poise and charm. As she enjoyed meeting foreign visitors, practicing her languages with them and learning about their countries, word of the beautiful princess spread quickly. In return, inquiries came from other kingdoms seeking alliances by marriage. All were politely declined by King Henry, who professed that the Princess was too young for consideration of such proposals.

One morning, as the Princess' sixteenth birthday approached, she remained in her apartment, instead of going to the library. Elisse, who would not relinquish her domestic duties and passed the time while the Princess read by housekeeping, expressed her concern.

"Is something wrong, Princess? Are you ill?"

"No, Elisse," the Princess assured her as she sat down on the settee and arranged her skirt, "all is quite well, but I wish to speak with you and so have tarried. Please come and sit by me."

Curious as to what could be of such importance that it would keep the Princess from her usual routine, Elisse joined her.

"Dear Elisse," the Princess began, holding out a red velvet covered box, "I have a gift for you."

"Your Highness, please, it is not necessary."

"Of course it is not necessary, Elisse," the Princess agreed with a smile. "If I was obliged to do it, then it would not be a gift. Besides," the Princess reasoned with her, "it is not for your pleasure that I do this, but for mine. Would you be so cruel as to deny me?" the Princess added with mock sadness.

"I have taught you too well the feminine arts, your Highness," Elisse conceded, shaking her head. "You know I can deny you nothing."

"Then open the box Elisse," the Princess said eagerly, holding it out to her.

Removing the lid, Elisse saw a gold chain with a flower pendant, the petals of which held a pearl. She immediately recognized it as the one that had come from the jewelry box on the night she had first dressed the Princess.

"Your Highness, please, I cannot accept this," Elisse protested. "It was a gift to the Queen from her mother, as it was a gift from your mother to you and as you must give it to your own daughter."

"Elisse, what you saw when I first undressed before you has not changed," the Princess reminded her. "I shall never have a daughter. It is you on whom I must depend to provide me with nieces and nephews, a task too long postponed on my account. We each have our magic which must take its course. Mine is to be a bride and yours, the greater, to be a mother. There is in that regard, I believe, a handsome young lieutenant who is quite taken with you."

"Please, Your Highness, do not send me away."

"Send you away, Elisse? As the pearl in the pendant is clasped by the petals of the flower, so you are the pearl held forever in my heart," the Princess comforted her. "Not a day goes by that I do not have occasion to ask myself what Elisse would do if she were I. You are, of course, to remain here in the palace and, for that reason, I have another gift. As you know, the Queen moved to these quarters when the King took me away from her. As she has returned to him, so I wish to be closer to them. These rooms are now yours. Your bedroom should make a most convenient nursery."

Elisse could find no argument to contradict the Princess' decision and so her eyes filled with tears. The Princess moved to tears herself, put her arms around her constant companion and best friend and the two shared the tender moment. When each had exhausted their emotions, they separated.

"Although I am reminded that sisters do not command sisters Elisse, there is one order to which I believe you will not object. Upon my departure, you are to invite Lieutenant Ulrich in and obtain a proposal. I shall be quite cross if you are not betrothed on my return," the Princess pretended to admonish her."

"I am your obedient servant," Your Highness," Elisse retorted, "but may I have your permission to wait on my royal commission of motherhood until after the wedding?"

Both girls broke into laughter and hugged each other. The Princess then went out, leaving the door open

"Lieutenant Ulrich, would you please come here," Elisse called to him.

The Lieutenant responded immediately. Ever vigilant when it came to the Princess and Elisse, he looked around suspiciously, hand on his sword. Seeing no danger, he stood to attention, awaiting his orders.

"If I was in distress, Ulrich, would you come for me?" Elisse asked, addressing him informally.

"Were we separated by a convention of dragons, my lady, they would be in peril for their lives, need I reach you."

"I see no dragons, Ulrich. Might we attempt my rescue without them?"

"Are you in danger, Lady Elisse?"

"Yes, Ulrich, for my heart has been taken captive and only you can free it. As I recall, you were most awkward when you first met the Princess. Perhaps this would be a good opportunity for you to practice kneeling, do you think not?"

"Yes, my Lady, I could think of none better."

Ulrich placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, tilting it backwards and got to his knees, looking up at Elisse.

"Elisse, I have loved you since I first saw you and would have you as my wife, if you would accept me."

"And I, dear Ulrich, would have none but you for my husband. Luckily, the dragons are still absent, so you may kiss me without interference."

Ulrich rose and took Elisse in his strong arms. Bending down while she stood on her toes, their lips met.

The King and Queen were delighted with the news of Elisse's engagement to Ulrich. They offered the couple a royal wedding, but, true to their natures, they preferred a private service with only their families in attendance. On their wedding day, all were present in the royal chapel. The Archbishop entered and proceeded to the altar. When his preparations were completed, he signaled to the orchestra. There was a blare of trumpets, announcing the entrance of the royal family. As Ulrich was a Royal Guard, the King had chosen to wear his own military uniform, a red tunic with two rows of gold buttons, festooned with gold braid, black trousers with a gold stripe and polished black boots. On his head was a gold crown set with gems that glittered in the light from the hundreds of candles which brightly lit the room. The Queen was elegantly attired in an emerald green long sleeved dress with a full skirt ballooned out by a half a dozen petticoats. The low cut bodice was embroidered with gold thread in an intricate floral design and displayed on her neck, ears, wrists and fingers were literally the crown jewels. On her head she wore a gem studded coronet. It was the Princess, however, who captured everyone's attention with her natural beauty as she demurely followed behind her mother and father. She had chosen a dress in a light green which coordinated with her mother's, but was more understated. The bodice was higher and fitted tightly with gold laces, complimenting her figure. Her long, wavy blonde hair cascaded around her shoulders and was set off by a plain gold tiara.

The men knelt and the ladies curtseyed as the King, Queen and Princess passed by on their way to the dais behind the altar, where they seated themselves on gilded thrones upholstered in purple. The King nodded to the orchestra, which stuck up a military air. All eyes turned to the door from which the royal family had entered, as the traditional approach to the altar from the rear of the chapel was prevented by the need for the guests to face the King while in his presence. Ulrich marched in, knelt when he came before the King, stood and saluted, as the King was also his commander-in-chief, and took his place beside the altar. All eyes turned back to the door, as the band began the traditional wedding processional. There was a chorus of oohs and ahhs from all assembled, as Elisse appeared. Her dress, designed and lovingly sewn by her father, was made entirely of white lace, yards and yards of the fabulously expensive fabric made into a voluminous skirt which swirled in a cloud of petticoats atop which was a fitted bodice with a high neck and long sleeves. Her head and face were covered with a traditional white lace veil, secured by a wreath of white flowers and in her clasped hands she carried a bridal bouquet. Elisse had not wanted such an elaborate gown, but the Princess insisted that she would not be married in any dress, but the one Elisse had worn, insuring that it would be fit for a princess. As usual, the Princess got her way, although, in truth, it was a concession that all brides would gladly make.

Once she arrived at the altar, Elisse took her place beside Ulrich and the service began. Each plighted their troth and Ulrich slipped a plain gold band on Elisse's finger. The Queen had also offered to commission a fine ring as a wedding gift, but on that Elisse had her way, despite the Princess' cajoling.

"While my dress we may share, little sister," Elisse gently chided the Princess, "my wedding ring shall not part from my finger."

The ceremony concluded with the Archbishop placing Elisse's hand in Ulrich's, symbolizing their union. Ulrich then turned, lifted his wife's veil, and tenderly gave her the first of a lifetime of kisses. The orchestra resumed the wedding processional and the newlyweds exited, stopping on their way to pay their respect to the King. Once they had gone, the King rose and addressed the guests. "Although Elisse and Ulrich would not accept our offer to make them a royal wedding, they cannot deny my hospitality," he announced jovially, "and so, you are all invited to a reception in their honor. The pages will direct you to the hall." The King then extended his arm to the Queen and escorted her out, the Princess following behind them.

Once the royal family had left, the guests were led to a large hall, down the center of which was a gigantic table that could seat dozens, but was set for the number of guests. At the head of the table was an elaborate chair on either side of which was a smaller ornate chair, the right slightly larger than the left. At the other end of the table were two other chairs of more importance than the rest, each with a white cushion and decorated with white ribbons, the seats of honor for the newly wed couple. All stood in attendance on their majesties entrance, which was heralded by the trumpets. The men knelt and the women curtseyed as the royal procession took their places. The King then gestured for all to rise.

"Although our time at court is filled with ceremonies, none pleases us more than the celebration of the marriage of two who have served us faithfully and whom we hold in great regard. In their honor, you are today relieved of all formality. Please be seated and enjoy your meal."

The King then sat, but the guests hesitated, giving the Queen occasion to speak.

"It is most difficult for us to enjoy our dinner, if the guests stand while we eat, and the offense shall be in your disregard of our invitation to join us, by which the service of our meal will be delayed. My husband can be quite cross with those who have caused his food to cool, and so I advise you, for your own good, to sit," the Queen said with a smile, to put the guests at ease.

All took their seats. The King then gestured and a convoy of waiters made their way to the table bearing platters of roasted lamb, beef, fowl and fish, bowls of steaming vegetables, loaves of freshly baked bread with tubs of creamy butter, trays with an assortment of savory cheeses and carafes of the finest wine in the kingdom. When all of the goblets were filled, the King stood and raised his, the guests quickly following.

"I propose a toast to the bride and groom. May Ulrich and Elisse live a long and happy life filled with the joys and blessings of marriage." Still holding his goblet aloft, he continued, "and to their mothers and fathers, by whom they were raised, our gratitude, for they please us well."

The King then signaled to the orchestra, which commenced a traditional romantic tune, upon which cue, Ulrich and Elisse made their entrance. Ulrich still wore his uniform, but Elisse had changed into a more modest white dress, to protect her bridal gown from distress during the meal, as it was yet to attend a royal wedding. The couple walked slowly, arm in arm, to the end of the table, the King completing his toast upon their arrival at the place of honor.

"To Ulrich and Elisse," he repeated, taking a swallow of wine.

"Long life and happiness," all echoed, drinking a libation.

The King seated himself and motioned for all to follow. His plate was filled and the banquet began. The children, used to the small portions and the limited fare of their frugal parents, sampled all before them, expecting that never again in their lives would they have such a feast, and royal belly aches were guaranteed by the assortment of pies, pastries and confections which followed. Their parents, although recognizing the consequences of their offspring's gluttony, indulged them, both in deference to the King and in recognition that, indeed, it was a once in a lifetime occurrence. When all had eaten to bursting, the King again rose, the guests struggling to their feet in response.

"A wedding celebration would not be complete without gifts, and so it pleases us to bestow upon the bride and groom these tokens."

The Queen then stood up.

"Elisse, might I have your presence," she requested.

Elisse came forward and curtseyed.

"When you first entered the service of Princess Charlene, you were given a symbol of your authority which now needs to be returned."

Elisse understood that the Queen meant the ring with the royal coat of arms on the gold chain which she wore. Although she had never removed it, her duty as a wife would conflict with her commitment solely to the princess and so it was proper for her to relinquish it. She reached behind her neck, unfastened the chain and handed the necklace to the Queen.

Smiling, the Queen then produced a small purple velvet covered box. Opening it, she explained to Elisse, "Although the necklace served its purpose, such jewelry may prove tempting to tiny hands when dangled over a cradle."

Elisse blushed and looked over to the Princess, who returned a nod and smile.

"Please accept this replacement," the Queen said, opening the box, removing a brooch and holding it for Elisse to examine.

In deference to Elisse's taste, it was of simple design, a miniature gold shield with the royal coat of arms intricately inlaid in silver. Elisse's eyes were filled with tears by the renewed expression of royal confidence and confirmation of her continued service to the Princess. The Queen stepped forward and pinned it on Elisse's dress, appropriately above her heart. Elisse returned to her seat to a round of applause, her family filled with pride at the award of such an honor.

The King then rose.

"Lieutenant Ulrich, front and center," he ordered.

Ulrich came forward and knelt.

The King beckoned and a long polished wood box with fancy gilt fittings was brought to him. Opening the box, he withdrew a sword.

"Your dedication as protector of the Princess has been commendable, Lieutenant Ulrich, but for such a duty, not any blade will do."

The King motioned for Ulrich to stand and when upright, handed him the sword. As would any soldier, Ulrich admired a finely crafted weapon and even a cursory look showed this to be the finest he had ever seen. The scabbard was of tooled black leather and the tip was capped with a gold dragon. The hilt was covered in matching black leather, bound with gold wire, and the guard continued the dragon design, the gilded tail extending across the bottom of the hilt to form the cross guard and the body extending up the hilt, the head and mouth curved backward, to form a hand guard. It was the pommel, however, from which Ulrich could not take his eye, as inset into its flat gold top was the same royal coat of arms bestowed upon Elisse. Since Elisse was seated behind him, he could not turn to look at her, but he was sure the dragons were her design and, had he been able to do so, he would have seen that she had a smile which, were it any wider, would have done damage to her cheeks.

"I take it that you find the sword acceptable," the King asked casually, full knowing the answer from Ulrich's expression. "You may speak."

"Your Majesty," Ulrich replied with humility and uncharacteristic eloquence, "I would guard the Princess with a wooden stave, should it come to that, and give my life in her service, for which duty I need no encouragement or reward; but wielding this weapon it will ne'er come to that, for I shall have no match, much to the pleasure of my bride, who seems to favor my return. I am greatly honored."

"Well said, Lieutenant Ulrich. It has been my observation that a husband should have authority equal to his wife and so you too are permitted to display the royal coat of arms, as is she; but it has also been my observation," the King counseled, turning to look at the Queen, "that discretion in its exercise is necessary, should you wish to produce a goodly supply of heirs."

The Queen, understanding her husband's reference to his insistence on carrying out his plan for thwarting the magic and their resulting separation, nodded her agreement at his deference. The adults in the audience smiled knowingly at the King's sage marital advice.

"Might I have the sword for a moment, Lieutenant," asked the King, although such a request was one not to be denied.

Ulrich knelt and offered up the sword across his two hands, which the King accepted. Drawing the sword from its scabbard, something only he could do, as it was a capital offense to unsheath a weapon inside the palace, he held the polished blade aloft, then gently brought it down, first on Ulrich's left shoulder then on his right.

"Arise, Sir Ulrich."

Although steadfast in battle, Ulrich could not mobilize his legs to stand. The King patiently waited while Ulrich composed himself and, finally regaining his strength, he got to his feet.

"You are Elisse's knight, of that there is no doubt, and she should have none less."

He returned the sword to its scabbard and replaced it in its box, closing the lid. He handed the box to Ulirch and, looking to the end of the table, the King told him, "I believe that there is a beautiful young woman waiting to bestow a kiss, who, for both your sakes, should not be kept waiting. You are dismissed."

Ulrich saluted, wheeled around and marched to his bride, carefully placing the fabulous gift on the table before her. Taking her in his arms, he accepted the expression of her affection and pride for an exceedingly long time, to the great enjoyment and eventual applause of their families.

Chapter 9. Love and Marriage.

At the end of the evening, the newlyweds were sent off with the customary congratulations and well wishes, farewells were said and the rest of the guests departed. The King and Queen retired and, when in bed, recounted the celebration.

"I do so enjoy weddings," the Queen commented. "They are such happy occasions."

"Yes, dear," the King agreed, "and, speaking of weddings, you know that Charlene is now of age. I cannot keep putting off the proposals from neighboring kingdoms. It is time I selected a prince for her to marry."

"Do you think that is wise, Henry? Charlene is quite headstrong and I do expect she will want to select her own husband. Nor do I think it prudent for us to intervene, as the spell appears to find its own direction."

"Perhaps you are right, dear," the King acknowledged, "but how then is she to meet her prince? Our marriage was arranged and it has been most satisfactory."

"Most satisfactory, Henry, after all of these years? That is how one refers to a meal, not a wife. Am I no more than that?" the Queen challenged her husband.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Charlotte, I did not mean that you were most satisfactory. I mean, well, of course you are most satisfactory. I mean, you're more than most satisfactory," the King sputtered. "I love you. If I quested my whole life, I could find none better. I was only trying to say that there was nothing wrong with our parents making the choice for us. Are you not pleased?"

"You recovered well, my love," the Queen relented, snuggling close and giving her husband a kiss on the cheek. "Indeed, I am pleased, but my pleasure is of no importance. It is the magic with which I am concerned. What if your choice is not its choice? Might it not dispose of the prince in some dire way to make things right, as the fairies warned us can happen when a spell is contradicted? Dare we risk it?"

"Your intuition has been good," the King acknowledge, "and I have no reason to doubt it now, but how then is the princess to find a husband? Shall we wait for the magic to bring her one? What if we are wrong and none come? How then will she be a bride?"

"There may be a way," the Queen suggested, "for I believe that it is the end, not the means, of which we must be careful. So long as the choice is Charlene's to make, we may offer her suitable princes to consider. I think a grand ball, to which those who wish to court her are invited, would do. If all who are eligible are there, then surely the enchantment will do the rest."

"It is a good plan indeed, Charlotte, for I suppose that, under the circumstances, her being a bride is more important than the diplomacy of who she marries. Please make the arrangements, although there is one matter of concern to me."

"What is that, Henry?" the Queen inquired.

"Charlene is a perfect daughter, so much so that it has been many years since I gave thought to her true nature. Although we have always assumed that she would marry a prince, how do we know for certain that her taste, well, given that she was born a boy, that she is interested in men? I have never seen her show any such interest, although perhaps it is something a girl confides to her mother. Has she?

"No," the Queen replied, "she has not."

"Would it not then be an embarrassment to invite the princes and send them all away, if Charlene is not of that mind? Should you not inquire before we do so?"

"Me, Henry?" the Queen asked with dismay. "I was innocent when I came to you and know only how to please my husband. Might we not find a woman of experience to advise the Princess in that which wins a young man's heart and in so doing discover her romantic preference."

"Charlotte, have you lost your senses? You want Charlene to consort with a common prostitute? I will not hear of such a thing," the King objected.

"Really, Henry, of course not. I meant a lady of the Court, one of good family and breeding, but who, well, I have heard rumors of such things, is generous with her affection and, to retain her station, would be discreet. Do you not know of such a woman, dear?"

"Me, Charlotte? I too must protest. Although, in truth, I cannot claim innocence on our wedding night, I have kept my marriage vow and there has been none other, even during our years of separation."

"I am sorry, Henry dear," the Queen apologized, "for I meant it not as it sounded, but only that men speak more openly about their affairs then women and so thought that you would be privy to such conversations."

"Perhaps amongst themselves the men of the Court so boast, but my disdain for such ungentlemanly behavior is no secret and so they avoid discussing their amorous exploits in my presence for fear of incurring my displeasure."

"Well, then, Henry, it would seem that it is I who must find a suitable instructress for the princess and so I shall inquire. For now, dear," the Queen whispered provocatively in the King's ear as she slid her hand under his nightshirt, "I believe a reward for your fidelity is in order."

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prince Bride - 5

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 11 & 12
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 11. Lady Marlyne

The next morning, the Queen began her search by questioning the servants, who she expected would know the palace gossip. Indeed, with her royal assurance of confidentiality, they were eager to tattle, leading her to conclude that promiscuity was the favorite pastime of the court. Only one woman, however, was consistently mentioned as having the unusual combination of popularity and respect, and so the Queen sent for her.

Lady Marlyne was in her dressing gown, considering which of her admirers' dinner invitations to accept, when a maid brought her a note that had just been delivered by a messenger. One more boring offer to wine her, dine her and do her she thought as she began to open it. Then she recognized the royal seal. She reasoned that it would have been brought by a guard, were it to take her to task for some transgression, so it must be of a social nature. Breaking the seal and unfolding the paper, she read: HRH Queen Charlotte requests your presence in her chambers at 1 of the clock this afternoon. Recalling that she had just heard the tower bell strike eleven, she ran to her closet to find a dress for the occasion.

"No, no, no," Lady Marlyne conversed with herself while searching her wardrobe, "none of these will do for an audience with the Queen. Have I no purpose for dressing, but to arouse the passion of men? What will she think of me, if I go with my tits hanging out like a cow? The note was delivered and so she will be told. Therefore, I must keep the appointment. Oh well, I will have to make do. Perhaps, ah yes, a blouse under the dress will serve to cover me. Do I have something demure? I think not. Wait. Yes, yes, yes!" she exclaimed elatedly, rummaging through her wash basket and holding up a white linen long sleeved man's shirt with a ruffled jabot. "How convenient," she mused, "that he could not retain his passion until unclothed." Putting on the shirt and the dress over it, which covered the stain her lover would not have wanted his wife to find, she looked in the mirror, turning side to side. "Most attractive," she complimented herself, fussing with the jabot. "I may start a fashion trend."

Lady Marlyne spent the remainder of the morning coifing her hair and applying her makeup, much more sparingly than if her rendezvous was with a man. When she was satisfied with her appearance, she gave her face a few finishing touches with the powder puff, dabbed on some scent and departed. As it was some distance, she wanted to leave herself plenty of time, lest she keep the Queen waiting, an offense not worth risking. Approaching the royal reception hall, she heard the tower bell strike one o'clock. Upon entering the hall, Lady Marlyne crossed the large, opulently decorated room, obviously intended to impress visitors, and stood before a secretary impeccably dressed in royal livery seated in an ornately carved high backed chair behind an exquisite gilded desk. He examined the invitation, beckoned for a page and directed him to escort Lady Marlyne to the Queen's quarters. Accompanied by the page, Lady Marlyne passed through an opening in front of which two royal guards were stationed and followed him down a long corridor, making a number of turns, until they reached a heavy wooden door with ornate polished brass fittings. The page knocked and the door opened. To her surprise, it was the Queen herself who was standing before her. The page bowed low and backed away until he was out of sight.

"Lady Marlyne," the Queen greeted her cordially, "it was so good of you to come on such short notice. I hope that I have not inconvenienced you?"

The question was purely rhetorical, for none would admit to being put out by a royal invitation.

"Not at all, your Highness. To be summoned to attend the Queen at any time is an honor," Lady Marlyne replied tactfully as she dropped into a deep curtsey.

The Queen nodded her acceptance of the compliment, bid Lady Marlyne rise and motioned towards a luxurious pale green silk upholstered settee, before which was set an engraved silver tea service on a low gilded table which also held an elaborately worked silver three tiered stand piled high with delicious looking pastries and confections.

"Please do come and sit, for I wish to speak with you about a matter of great importance. Would you care for some refreshment?"

Lady Marlyne was frozen by the Queen's invitation to socialize like equals.

"My dear Marlyne," the Queen reassured her, "please do not stand," the Queen smiled at her play on words, "on ceremony. In public, respect is accorded and enforced. In private it is tedious. Do join me."

The Queen went over and sat on the settee, arranging her skirt and patting the cushion next to her. Lady Marlyne followed and stood beside the small table.

"Your Highness is most gracious. If I need not observe the usual formalities, then may I at least serve you tea?" Lady Marlyne asked politely.

"Yes, you may," the Queen agreed.

"How does you Highness prefer her tea and would she care for something to eat?" Lady Marlyne inquired, pouring a small amount of the strongly brewed tea from the tea pot into a white china cup with a delicate floral design and adding hot water from a heated kettle on a stand.

Once the social amenities had been observed, the Queen spoke what was on her mind.

"Lady Marlyne, I have chosen you for a very delicate matter, because of your," the Queen paused, "unique qualifications."

Lady Marlyne looked at the Queen, shrugged and replied, "you need a woman of loose morals?"

Although she expected to be rebuked for her candor, instead the Queen said pleasantly, "no, Marlyne. From what I have heard, the Court is full of those. I need a woman who can keep a secret. If have misjudged you in that regard, you are free to go and nothing will be said of our meeting, you have my word."

"And you have mine," your Highness.

"Very well then, but be assured that your life is forfeit, should you reveal what I am about to tell you, regardless of the reason or excuse. Given the penalty, you may wish to reconsider and I will not think less of you, for none should be commanded to accept such a responsibility."

"Should I betray your confidence, I would deserve no less," your Highness. "Please continue."

The Queen nodded her satisfaction and explained, "many years ago, when Prince Charles was born, there was an unfortunate mistake which has caused the King and me great anguish as his parents. You have seen the Princess, have you not?"

"Yes, on many occasions. She is a most beautiful and charming young lady."

"She is a most beautiful and charming young man," the Queen corrected her.

"Your Highness is testing me?" Lady Marlyne questioned. "I have seen young men who, for amusement or pleasure, transform themselves into females. As convincing as they may be, they cannot compare to the Princess."

"Yes," the Queen agreed, "except when fairy magic is involved. It would be best if I told you the whole story."

The Queen then proceeded to explain the confused blessing, the King's futile effort to prevent its influence and their concern for the wellbeing of both the Princess and the Kingdom, should the enchantment not be fulfilled.

Lady Marlyne listened attentively and, when the Queen had finished, replied, "I am deeply sorry, your Highness, for it is indeed an unfortunate state of affairs, but I do not see how I can be of assistance."

"In fact," the Queen said with a smile, turning Lady Marlyne's words around, "it is exactly your assistance with an affair of state that we require. For the Princess to become a bride and fulfill the enchantment, she must wed a prince. Normally, her marriage would be arranged by the King, but the fairies warned us that the magic chooses its own means to its end. It cares naught for our politics and, if the King was to choose wrongly, whatever corrective action the magic might take could be dire, even deadly. We dare not risk it. Instead, we have decided to hold a grand ball to which all of the eligible princes from the neighboring kingdoms will be invited. The Princess will select one of them for her husband, which choice, we hope, will be as the magic intends."

"That seems like a good plan," Lady Marlyne agreed, "but I still do not see how I can be of assistance."

"We," the Queen hesitated, "well to be frank, we don't know if the Princess likes men, since she was born male. She has shown no inclination in that regard and we hoped that someone with your experience might determine her preference."

Lady Marlyne had respectfully averted her eyes during their conversation. Gathering her courage, she turned to face the Queen, to be sure that there was no misunderstanding as to her assignment. "You wish me to consort with the Princess?"

Queen Charlotte stood and said softly, "For the Princess' sake and that of the Kingdom, I need to know whether she would be receptive to a prince as a suitor. Please spare me the details."

"I am your obedient servant," Lady Marlyne replied with a curtsey.

"No," the Queen said, motioning her to rise. "I have more than enough servants. You are my confidant, Countess Marlyne."

It took a moment for the Queen's words to register. Her eyes went wide.

"If it please your Highness, I need no reward for my service.

The Queen shook her head and said with a smile, "it would not be proper for me to send someone of lesser estate. I will inform the Princess that the Countess Marylyne will call on her at seven this evening and you shall report back to me tomorrow morning. You have my leave."

Her sincere protest having been dismissed, Lady, now Countess, Marlyne, knew better than to persist. She curtseyed once more, backed to the door and opened it. The guards came to attention as she exited and one of them fell in beside her, as a stranger was not allowed to roam the corridors unattended. Upon reaching the doorway to the reception hall, the guard came to a halt and did an about face.

Chapter 12. Husbands and Lovers.

Countess Marlyne hurried from the Palace and returned to her apartment. Once inside, she began her preparations. Browsing through her wardrobe, she picked out a revealing dress that men found enticing, although she doubted that the Princess would have the same fondness for breasts, since she had her own. Then again, they were not hers by nature, but by magic, so perhaps there was a difference. In a few hours, she would know the answer.

Laying the dress across her bed, the Countess called for her maid and directed her to bring hot water. The maid returned with a copper kettle and emptied it into the white porcelain washbowl on the washstand, tempering it with water from the companion ewer. After satisfying herself that she would not offend, the Countess opened a chest and picked out her finest undergarments of white linen, trimmed in eyelet lace and gathered at the waist, leg and arm openings with pink ribbon. White stockings with pink ribbon ties and black leather shoes with silver buckles completed her ensemble. With the assistance of her maid, Countess Marlyne dressed and then sat at her dressing table, where she carefully applied her makeup and did up her hair, securing it with two silver and tortoise shell combs. Looking through her jewelry box, she selected a gold link chain with a sparkling pendant which nestled just above her exposed cleavage. Standing, she surveyed herself in the mirror and gave a nod of approval.

By the time the Countess finished her preparation, the sun was setting. After a final primp, she found a purse, dabbed on some floral scent from a glass vial, replaced the stopper, put the vial in her purse, took a cloak, both for modesty in traveling and warmth against the chill night air, and left for her appointment. She heard the tower bell ring six as she crossed the courtyard. Walking slowly, so as not to arrive disheveled, she still reached the royal reception hall with time to spare. Familiar with the procedure from her audience with the Queen that morning, she presented herself to the secretary.

"Lady," she paused to correct herself, "Countess Marylyne. I have an audience with Her Royal Highness Princess Charlene."

The secretary politely asked her to take a seat. She selected a richly upholstered side chair and waited patiently. On the first stroke of seven, the secretary called for a page to escort her. She stood and, asserting her feminine prerogative, kept him waiting while she disciplined her dress, tugging, smoothing and adjusting, until she was satisfied. She then nodded to indicate her readiness and they set off. Upon arriving at the Princess' apartment, the page knocked on the door. As the servants had been dismissed to insure privacy, it was the Princess who greeted her. The page paid his respect with a deep bow and withdrew.

Although Countess Marlyne had seen the Princess numerous times at court, it was always from a distance. In her presence, she was taken by the Princess' beauty. Her flawless face was framed by a cascade of blonde curls which fell to her shoulders. Her figure, although more girlish than womanly, in keeping with her age, was perfectly proportioned and unmistakably feminine. All together, there was an alluring air of innocence about the Princess that made her both demure and desirable. There was no doubt in Countess Marlyne's mind that any man to whom the Princess was introduced could not help but fall in love with her at first sight. The confusion that such magical charm would cause for a boy being raised as a girl explained why the Princess had been kept away from men.

The Countess' preoccupation with the Princess' appearance was interrupted by a soft, gentle voice politely reminding her that she was still standing in the doorway.

"Countess Marlyne, might you not find it more comfortable to visit with me inside?" the Princess asked.

Countess Marlyne entered and the Princess extended her hand, directing the Countess' attention to a table set for diner.

"Please, do dine with me." Then with a small exclamation of dismay, the Princess apologized, "Oh dear, I hope you have not supped. Mother did not say whether you were expecting a meal. I have had the kitchen prepare a variety of foods you may enjoy and there is some most delicious wine from the royal vineyards. It is made just for my father and he is quite partial to it," she said with a girlish giggle. "There are sweets too, quite delicious."

The Countess could not refuse a royal invitation, even if she was not hungry, which she was, having forgotten about eating in her preparation for the evening.

"I would be pleased to accept your hospitality, your Highness," the Countess replied, walking to the table and standing by a chair, courteously waiting.

The Princess joined her at the table. After the Princess sat down, the Countess seated herself. The Princess selected small portions of the fish and fowl, a few spoonfuls of vegetables and a slice of bread. She filled her goblet with wine from a carafe. The Countess did the same. Watching the Princess as she took dainty bites and small sips, dabbing her mouth frequently with the corner of her napkin, the Countess remarked to herself that by her manners too, she was unquestionably feminine. It was the Princess who initiated the conversation.

"Mother has told me that you have many suitors. How to be familiar with a man is a part of my education that has been lacking, although through no fault of mine," the Princess stated with a pretty pout. "Do you know, Countess Marlyne, that there are no books on the subject? But you will tell me, won't you? That is why you have come, is it not?"

"In part to tutor you, yes, your Highness, and in part to discern your feelings on the subject," the Countess replied candidly.

"How is it that you have found none of your many suitors suitable?" the Princess asked naively, with a tiny giggle at her wordplay.

"The Queen was overly complimentary, your Highness. The men are not my suitors, but my lovers. Most are already married or have commitments that prevent them from freely choosing a wife, even if I were to prefer one to another. As it is, each has some qualities which I find attractive, but one not more so than another.

"Why would these men seek your company when they have wives or are betrothed?" the Princess puzzled. "And why would you prefer the husbands of others to having one of your own? Do you not wish to have a family?"

"As to your first question, your Highness, it is customary that marriages are arranged for social or financial advantage, as your mother's was and yours would be, were it not for the enchantment. Once married, it is the wife's duty to bear her husband's children, but there is no need for her to take pleasure in it. To the contrary, innocence is considered proof of chastity, so mothers withhold knowledge from their daughters for fear that it may be taken for lack of virtue. When such naivety is brought to the marriage bed, often it is to the wife's relief that she submit to her husband no more than necessary to produce heirs. By her indifference, it is I who enjoy her husband's affection and generosity."

"I am fortunate indeed then to have your instruction, Countess Marlyne, so that my prince will be both husband and lover," the Princess said appreciatively.

"As to your second question," Countess Marlyne continued, "when I was young, I allowed myself to enjoy the company of a stable boy. By itself that indiscretion might have gone unnoticed, but my being with child could not. My father considered it a disgrace. When I gave birth, my baby was taken from me. I have never seen him," the Countess said regretfully. "I lost not just my child, but also my opportunity for marriage, for confidence in purity of the bloodline requires a virgin bride. My father, seeing no benefit to my continued support, sent me off to the palace as a lady in waiting. It was not long before the gentlemen of the Court noticed me. As there is not much to do, I found their company to be agreeable and so I pass the time."

"I am most grateful that you would share such a confidence with me, Countess Marlyne. I shall speak with my father. I am sure that with his resources he can find your son," the Princess said reassuringly.

"Please, your Highness, although your sympathy is appreciated, I comfort myself by believing that the baby suffered no misfortune on my account. The truth could mend or break my heart. Some wounds are best not reopened."

"As you wish, Countess Marlyne, and, by your disclosure, I believe you have answered my third question as well." Tactfully changing the subject, the Princess suggested, "let us repair to the settee and resume our conversation about being with a man. Do fill your goblet and come sit with me."

The Princess rose, seated herself and arranged her skirt. The Countess sat down next to her. Again, it was the Princess who spoke first.

"Although I have found no books on women, I have studied animal husbandry and have learned how to breed all manner of livestock. I assume the process by which babies are made involves the male mounting the female, although the writers seem to assume that from that point on the animals do not need direction. How is it that beasts know what I do not?"

The directness of the Princess' question and her casual reference to rutting animals caught the Countess off guard. She took a swallow of her wine to gain her composure and then answered.

"Creating babies requires no special knowledge, your Highness. For a woman, all that is necessary is for her to be docile and the man then does what is necessary by his nature, no different from the bull, the stallion and the ram." The Countess took another swallow of wine. "The question to which you seek the answer is not how to make a baby, but how to make love."

"Might you instruct me then, Countess? You will find that I am a most apt student. I speak six languages, seven if you count our own. I know of the history and geography of all the neighboring kingdoms, I can do sums and I have had many conversations with visiting philosophers and scholars."

"One can describe a piece of fruit by color, texture and whether it is sweet or tart, but to know the flavor of an apple, one must taste it. So too, the art of making love, your Highness, is not one that can be put into words. It must be experienced."

"Then might we try, Countess?" the Princess asked enthusiastically.

Taking the opportunity to carry out her commission, the Countess gave the Princess the choice of roles.

"Shall I be the man or the woman?"

"Since I am to be a bride and a bride is a woman, then you must play the part of my prince." The Princess pondered her decision for a moment and then equivocated, "unless, of course, you find such pretense to be disagreeable. Please do not acquiesce to such an intimate request by reason of obedience."

"I have no preference," the Countess assured the Princess.

"How shall we begin?"

"One begins, your Highness, by becoming acquainted. Nothing easily gained is greatly valued and so you must postpone physical intimacy, if you wish for love and not lust."

Countess Marlyne turned to the Princess. The Princess, most astute, took the cue, casting her eyes down and batting her long, silky eyelashes.

"Oh do, my dear prince, tell me of your country, for I have heard of the beautiful blue ocean on which your ships sail to distant lands. Have you ventured to sea?"

The Princess paused, raising her eyes, parting her lips in an encouraging smile and gazing at the Countess in seeming rapt anticipation of her response. To her surprise, Countess Marlyne found herself so charmed that she felt compelled to satisfy the Princess' curiosity. It took her a moment to realize that this was most likely the magic's influence and that, in fact, she knew nothing about the subject. She returned the smile.

"Well done," Lady Marlyne complimented the Princess. "Would that we had more time to practice romantic conversation, but we must accomplish in a night the lessons of a lifetime of courtship, or perhaps courtesanship, for, with all my experience, I have encouraged naught but indecent proposals. I am sure you will fare better."

The Princess' smile faded.

"You do yourself no service by such talk, Countess. Though I lack experience, it takes little to understand that she who seeks naught finds naught."

The Princess moved over and placed her arms around the Countess, gently comforting her. In response to her tender expression of affection, the Countess leaned forward and returned the embrace, their cheeks touching. As they untwined, their lips brushed and lingered. Drawing the Princess to her, the Countess surrendered to the most perfect kiss. When they finally parted, the Countess fell back in a near swoon, fanning herself with her hand.

"Oh dear," the Princess exclaimed in dismay. "Perhaps if I loosen your laces, you will regain your breath," she offered, innocently placing her hands against the Countess' bodice with the contrary result.

The Countess let out a low moan, which dissuaded the Princess from further unintentional erotic ministrations. Sitting back, she waited while the Countess recovered.

"You need no instruction from me, your Highness," the Countess complimented her. "The fairies' magic serves its purpose well. Were we to continue, I fear my heart could not bear our separation and I too would seek your hand."

The Princess' eyes went wide.

"Is such a thing possible?" she asked. "Can a woman marry another? Have I been mistaken in believing that I must wed a prince to be a bride?"

"No, your Highness. I spoke emotionally, not practically." The purpose of marriage is to secure the wife's fidelity, so that the husband's estate can pass with assurance to his legitimate heir. The union of two women would be fruitless in every sense."

The Princess looked serious as she considered the Countess' answer for a minute and then she nodded her understanding.

To lighten the conversation, the Countess jested, "And besides, were we to wed, I believe it is I who would naturally be the bride."

"Then the ceremony would be most confusing," the Princess retorted, "for my wedding dress has already been fashioned." My companion Elisse wore it for her nuptials and, by my argument to persuade her, so too shall I be wed in it.

Both women broke into laughter.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prince Bride - 6

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Romance

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 13 & 14.
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 13. Tea and Sympathy.

Countess Marlyne arose early the next morning in anticipation of her audience with the Queen. The acceptance she had received upon their first meeting emboldened her to dress as was her usual custom, and so she favored fashion over modesty in her selection of attire.

"Yes, the décolletages blue dress with the silver embroidered bodice and the grey kidskin shoes with silver buckles will do nicely," she thought to herself.

Selecting the complimentary undergarments, she put on the dress and was assisted with the fastenings and laces by her maid. After doing up her hair, applying her makeup and choosing her jewelry, she preened before the mirror and then settled herself on the divan in the drawing room, awaiting the arrival of the Queen's messenger. Upon the first stroke of nine by the tower bell, there was a knock on her door. It was answered by the maid, who ushered in a visitor.

Countess Marlyne was expecting to receive a note as before and was surprised that the messenger would insist on delivering it in hand, even more so when she realized that the caller was a woman. Her dress was of light blue wool with black piping and laces, austere by palace standards, and her dark hair was braided into a chignon held in place by a single polished wood comb, a practical style not worn by women of the Court, but favored by those of the village. She wore no cosmetics and had but two simple pieces of jewelry, a gold wedding band and a brooch worn over her left breast. Upon closer scrutiny of the design on the brooch, the royal coat of arms, there was no doubt as to the young woman's identity, although, up to now, the Countess had only seen her from afar in the company of the Princess.

"Lady Elisse," Countess Marlyne greeted her cordially. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?" she inquired.

"The Queen would like you to attend her at your earliest convenience," she said, although such an invitation was not one to be postponed for other than the most dire circumstances. "I also wished to offer you some words of comfort, for the Princess has told me of your loss."

It took a moment for the Countess to realize what Elisse mean. Remembering that she had told the Princess of the heart breaking consequence of her affair as a young woman, her face registered surprise.

Observing her reaction, Elisse assured her, "the Princess and I have no secrets. I apologize if I have caused you any dismay in speaking of it."

Countess Marlyne shook her head.

"I only asked the Princess not to repeat it to the King. I trust her judgment and, knowing the secret to which you are privy, I trust your discretion."

"Countess Marlyne," Elisse began earnestly, turning to face her and taking her hands, "I was born in the village and expected that I would live out my life there, as did my family for as many generations as memory serves. When the Princess was returned to her mother, my father, the royal tailor, was summoned to provide her with suitable attire. Having none at hand, he offered her a dress he had made for me and the Queen considerately granted me the privilege of delivering it. By what coincidence was it, I later wondered, that not only was I the same size as the Princess, but that I was of the proper temperament to accept with my whole heart a boy who was to be a girl. And by what coincidence, I wondered as well, was it that my husband to be, for whom my love knows no bounds, was awaiting my arrival? I have come to believe that the magic has the ability to shape both past and future to fulfill its purpose and, having done so, compensates those whose lives it has altered."

Elisse looked into Countess Marlyne's eyes and said compassionately," I have done all that I can do to teach the Princess to be a girl. I believe that you were chosen to teach her to be a woman and so prepared, although cruelly it would seem. If I am right, then all that has happened to you was by the magic's design. The fairies assured the King and Queen that a blessing always turns out well, so I am told, and I cannot but believe that such an enchantment would see that no harm befell an innocent baby. I have the greatest confidence that your child is well and prospers."

Countess Marlyne looked back at Elisse tearfully.

"Thank you, Lady Elisse, for your kind words which do give me comfort."

Elisse nodded her head gently in recognition.

"I could do no less, Countess, for it is but this very cycle of the moon that I did not stain myself," Elisse revealed, patting her stomach gently, "and so, by yet another coincidence, we two servants of the enchantment are bound."

Countess Marlyne could not control herself, but moved forward and embraced Elisse with soft sobs of both joy for her and relief for herself. Elisse sympathetically wrapped her arms around the countess and allowed her to release her emotions. When she felt the Countess' breath return to a regular rhythm, she let go and stood back.

"We should go," she reminded the Countess.

"Are you to accompany me, Lady Elisse?"

"Yes," Elisse answered with a smile.

"Then please let me repair my appearance. It would not do for Her Majesty to see me in such a state. I shall only be a moment," the Countess told her as she turned. "Well, perhaps a few moments," she said lightly as she hurried to her boudoir.

Upon her return, Countess Marlyne carried a shawl to provide a more modest appearance in public and a purse. As they left her apartment, Elisse politely took her arm. They walked in silence, appearing to be two friends out for a stroll, so as not to arouse the curiosity of those wags in the court whose daily fare was intrigue and gossip. Upon arriving at the palace, Elisse took a different route from the one leading to the reception hall. She approached an archway beside which two royal guards were stationed. Upon her arrival, they came to attention. Elisse nodded and passed by. After a number of confusing turns through corridors and up a stone staircase, they arrived at what Countess Marlyne recognized as the door to the Queen's apartment, with the customary two guards stationed outside. Elisse knocked on the door to announce their arrival and the door was opened by the Queen, upon whose recognition the guards knelt and Countess Marlyne dropped into a curtsey. With a wave of her hand, Queen Charlotte bid them rise, nodded to Elisse, signaling her dismissal, and then motioned for the Countess to enter, closing the door behind her.

"Countess Marlyne, you are most timely," the Queen observed appreciatively. "I am anxious to know of your inquiry and you have accommodated me by your promptness. I am well pleased. Do sit," the Queen motioned to the settee, before which was the stand with tea and cakes, "and take some refreshment." The Queen seated herself and Countess Marylyne served. When they had settled, the Queen turned to Countess Marlyne. "Have you discovered how the Princess feels about men?" she inquired.

Not wanting to keep the Queen waiting by indulging in social amenities, Countess Marlyne replied, "the Princess was most eager to learn how to gain the affection of a man and, knowing of my experience in such matters, sought my guidance. Upon my proposal, she confirmed her preference."

"What was it that you proposed, Countess, and what was it that she preferred?" the Queen questioned.

"I proposed marriage," your Highness," Countess Marlyne answered truthfully.

"Marriage?" the Queen repeated skeptically. "Knowing that the Princess must be a bride and so marry a prince to fulfill the enchantment, for what reason would you make such a proposal?"

"The Princess is charming. Whether by her nature or magic, I know not. You and the King see her as a daughter and, by their youth when they first met, Elisse and the Princess have grown up as sisters. All others cannot help but fall in love with her. As we could not both be brides, it was her prerogative to claim that role. She did so choose, as I expected the enchantment would direct, and so her preference for a male partner was confirmed."

"A most clever ruse, Countess," the Queen complimented her.

"Not a ruse, your Highness. The Princess' innocence makes insincerity impossible."

"You would have married the Princess, had she accepted?" the Queen asked incredulously.

"No, had it come to that, for reason need overrule passion to protect the innocent, as I have bitterly learned, your Highness."

Although not knowing the full import of the Countess' confession, the Queen agreed as to the general proposition of romantic restraint with a nod of her head.

"You are convinced, then, that there will be no embarrassment to the Kingdom by the invitation of royal suitors for the Princess?"

"Yes, your Highness, I am sure. But there is still a concern not yet considered."

The Queen looked puzzled.

"If I recall the blessing given by the fairy, as you repeated it to me, the Princess was to be a happy bride, is that correct?"

"Yes, those were the fairy's words" the Queen affirmed.

"No mention was made then of a happy marriage or a happy wife?"

"No, none," the Queen agreed.

"What then, your Highness, will happen when the Prince discovers that all is not as it seems on their wedding night?"

The color in the Queen's cheeks drained and she put her fingers to her mouth in consternation.

"Oh dear! We have for so long considered the Princess to be a girl that I had not given thought to how her husband would perceive her. I am at a loss," the Queen conceded. Then her dismay turned to hope. "The fairies assured us that a blessing, even one bestowed by mistake, always produces a good result. Should that not suffice?"

"I am not versed in the ways of magical creatures, your Highness," the Countess answered, "and therefore cannot say what outcome their kind would consider sufficient or whether they are familiar enough with our customs to realize that a marriage can be annulled, if not consummated. What then of the happy bride?"

The Queen's optimism faded and her face fell.

"Is there no solution to our dilemma, Countess?" the Queen asked earnestly. "Must I report to the King that I have failed and so there shall be no wedding for fear of reprisals when the truth is revealed? You are so clever in such affairs, can you think of nothing?"

"There is but one way to know how a man would feel about courting the Princess, your Highness."

Once again, the Queen looked hopeful and then frowned as she realized the implication of the Countess' suggestion.

"Countess, such a liaison is impossible," the Queen argued, waiving her hand in dismissal of the idea for emphasis.

"I meant no offense, your Highness," Countess Marlyne responded quickly. "I too care for the Princess and would make no proposition that could compromise her virtue, but, with all due respect, I do not believe that under the circumstances the Princess' virginity is in danger."

The Queen paused and reflected.

"My reaction was as a mother, Countess, not as a Queen who must put the welfare of her Kingdom before the chastity of her daughter. Your suggestion was offered sincerely, for which there should be no reproach. However, I doubt the King would be of like mind and for me to arrange or even approve of such an affair would be worth my life, despite his affection."

"Then leave it to me, your Highness. You have asked me to determine whether the Princess is suitable for marriage and, if I exceed my authority, then the ax shall fall on my neck, not yours."

"You would sacrifice yourself for me, Countess?" the Queen queried.

"Yes, your Highness, I would," the Countess assured her. "My life is of little value; a succession of meaningless affairs and wasteful self-indulgences. My demise in your service would be a far better end."

"Your offer is much appreciated," the Queen replied, "but I cannot accept it, for there is no honor in allowing you to be punished in my stead."

"Please, your Highness," the Countess entreated. "It is my commission, for the execution of which, in either meaning, I alone am responsible. With all due respect, I do not need nor do I seek your permission to tutor the Princess in the amorous arts, however it is accomplished, and so you remain blameless. Were it otherwise and should you suffer for a plan of my devising, I could not live with myself and so there would be two deaths where one would suffice. Again, with all due respect your Highness, you must promise me that you will not intervene on my behalf."

"Very well, Countess," the Queen conceded. "You have my word. But know that you have a friend like no other. Upon the completion of your task, ask what you will and it shall be granted, if it is within my power or influence."

"You are most generous, your Highness, but I have seen that position and wealth bring no comfort to the heart. Your friendship is reward enough." Returning to the problem at hand, Countess Marlyne observed, "If I am to do what is necessary, then I should be off. Please tell the Princess that I have arranged to complete her education and would like to see her in my apartment to sample the fruit of which we spoke at seven of the clock this evening. By your leave, you Highness."

The Queen smiled at the cryptic message, rose and bid the Countess to do the same with an upward gesture of her right hand. The Countess dropped into a respectful curtsey and took the liberty of turning away as she headed for the door.

"Wait," the Queen ordered.

The Countess stopped, puzzled by the Queen's unexpected outburst. Had she changed her mind, she worried.

"There is something you will need, if you are to be carry out your plan," the Queen paused, "whatever it may be," she added in furtherance of their understanding.

Moving from the sofa to her desk, she removed something from a small chest and returned.

Standing before her, the Queen requested, "please do sit and present your back, so that I may fasten this around your neck. As it is for my convenience, there is no offense taken."

Although the Countess had already disavowed any need for compensation, she could not decline a royal gift and so returned to the sofa, adjusted her skirt beneath her and sat sideways, so that the Queen could come up behind her. By the rustle of the Queen's petticoats, Lady Marlyne could tell that she had moved forward and then felt a light touch as a chain was strung about her neck and clasped.

"This royal symbol served its last mistress well, Countess Marlyne, until I replaced it with a more formal setting."

"Following the chain down with her hand, the Countess came to a ring. Turning it upwards, it took a moment for her to recognize the design as the royal coat of arms. Remembering the brooch worn by Elisse, she observed, "this belonged to Lady Elisse."

"Yes, Countess, it was hers, to insure that there would be no interference with her care and protection of the Princess as she underwent her transition. It shall again serve to promote the Princess' welfare, as I doubt you could do that which must be done without some proof of your authority."

Recognizing the truth of the Queen's concern, Lady Marlyne discretely tucked the ring into her cleavage, leaving only the fine gold chain exposed, no different than any other piece of decorative jewelry.

"A resting place which many in the Court would envy," the Queen suggested.

The countess returned a smile, curtseyed again as an expression of her gratitude and departed. Upon her exit, one of the guards stationed outside the door fell in beside her and delivered her to the reception area.

Chapter 14. Sir Reginald

The Countess hurried back to her apartment, dropped her cape and purse on the settee and went to her desk, where she penned a note. Calling her maid, she directed her, "Jeana, you must take this message to Sir Reginald, the Commandant of the Palace Guard. I am not sure where you will find him. Start at the Guard's headquarters and seek him out. Do not tarry and do not detour. Return immediately once you have made your delivery. Should he question you about my request, you are to tell him you know naught but to do as you were bid. Do you understand?

The maid confirmed her instructions, curtseyed and left. Countess Marlyne went into her bedroom to freshen up in anticipation of Sir Reginald's arrival. When she was satisfied with her appearance, she settled herself on the settee with a book of poetry. It had been before noon when the maid left and tower bell had already tolled one when she returned.

"Well?" Countess Marlyne asked expectantly, upon the girl's entry.

"Please do not be cross, you Ladyship. I did try my best, honestly, my best, I swear upon my oath I did, but the Commandant's orderly, he, he" she stammered, "he wouldn't grant me entry. He said that I could only see the Commandant if I was on official Court business. I," she hesitated nervously, "I gave him the note to give to Sir Reginald and told him it was important. He said he would deliver it. He said he would deliver it," she repeated, nodding her head for emphasis.

"I am not cross, Jeana. To the contrary, you did well to place the note in the hands of Sir Reginald's orderly. In fact, to show my appreciation, you may take the rest of the day off and the evening as well. Do not return until after the tower bell tolls ten tomorrow morning."

The maids eyes lit up at the through of being released from her chores for a full day, as vacations were not permitted the servants.

"If it pleases you, your ladyship, I will spend the night with my sister. It has been ever so long since I saw her. May I be of service before I leave?"

"No, Jeana, you may go. No, wait," the Countess ordered. Feeling generous, she went to her purse and took out a silver coin. "This is for you to buy your sister some sweets, as it is not polite to impose, even on a family member, without a proper gift."

"Thank you, your ladyship," the maid said gratefully and curtseyed. No further conversation being necessary, she turned and hurried to the kitchen, where she gathered her things and left by the back door.

The Countess returned to the settee and took up her reading, patiently awaiting the arrival of Sir Reginald. As the tower bell struck the half hour and then the hour, she began to worry that he had not received her note, or worse, that he had taken it as some trivial social invitation of no urgency. She rose and began to pace in a swirl and rustle of petticoats. The tower bell struck the half hour and still no Sir Reginald. Then, just as the Countess had conceded the failure of her effort, there was a knock.

"Reginald," she greeted her guest upon admitting him. She looked around to assure herself that he was alone and closed the door

He was the picture of a soldier. Tall, ruggedly handsome, with dark close cropped hair and steely eyes, mutton chop whiskers running into a neatly trimmed mustache and impeccably dressed in his red, blue and gold detailed Royal Guard's uniform, brass buttons gleaming and boots polished to a mirror shine. It was no wonder that he was irresistible to the women of the Court, regardless of their age or marital status, a situation of which he was quite pleased to take constant advantage.

"Lady Marlyne, I shall not take kindly to being summoned on a whim," he warned her.

"Really Reginald," she replied confidently, "have we not been acquainted long enough for you to know that I am not one of those self-indulgent doxies who curry your favor. I assure you, it is a matter of greatest urgency. Please do take a seat and I shall explain. And," she added, as she preceded him to the settee," it is not Lady Marlyne, but Countess."

"Marlyne," he responded sternly, "you go too far. Such pretense is an offense from which even our friendship will not protect you, were I to take it seriously."

"I have a right to the title, Reginald," Countess Marlyne insisted. "It was bestowed upon me by the Queen when she enlisted my service and it is the completion of that mission for which I need your help."

"Marlyne, mind your tongue! You go too far," Sir Reginald threatened upon her mention of the Queen, placing his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Reginald," the Countess replied quietly, "you have my parole that I will neither attack you nor try to escape, if you would but listen to what I have to tell you. Afterwards, should you still be of a mind to take me into your custody, I will not resist. Might you not give me that courtesy?"

"Very well, Marlyne," I will listen," Sir Reginald conceded, "but do not tax my patience."

"Will you sit then Reginald? It is quite awkward to have a conversation when you are looming over me. If you wish to search my person," she offered with a smile," you may assure yourself that I have no weapon and so may be confident of your safety while in my company."

Sir Reginald seated himself. Countess Marlyne drew the ring from its concealment and held it out.

"Do you recognize this device?" she asked him.

Expecting it to be a trinket, Sir Reginald glanced at it briefly. It looked familiar and he reached out to take it in his hand for a closer inspection. Studying it, he recognized the royal coat of arms and dropped the ring, as though it had suddenly turned red hot and burnt his fingers."

"Marlyne, how came you by this!" he demanded, jumping to his feet and drawing his sword menacingly. "Theft of royal property is punishable by death."

"Yes, I know," the Countess answered calmly. "So too is disobedience to one who rightfully posses it. If I have deceived you," Countess Marlyne reasoned with him, "there is time enough for you to take action. If I am truthful, then you will have not only done yourself a disservice, but the Kingdom as well. Choose, Reginald. And do sheath you sword while contemplating."

Sir Reginald had a pained expression on his face while he pondered the alternatives. As a dedicated soldier in the service of the Crown, he was honor bound to obey anyone who exercised royal authority, as the ring conferred, without question. In that regard, the Countess was right.

"Very well, Countess Marlyne," Sir Reginald replied, graciously recognizing her title, "how may I serve you?"

Accepting his concession, Countess Marlyne began, "Reginald, what I am about to tell you is a state secret known only to the royal family. If you think it odd that I have been entrusted with it, I too find myself at a loss to understand the unexpected turn of events. However, as you will come to hear, there is fairy magic involved and so our lives are influenced it would seem. You know of Princess Charlene, I expect," she continued, pausing for his reply."

"Yes, of Course, Marlyne, umm, Countess, as she is under the protection of the Royal Guard, as is the King and Queen and high Court officials."

"You know too of Prince Charles?"

"Yes, although he has been gone from the Kingdom since his birth."

"No, Reginald, he never left. Princess Charlene is Prince Charles, transformed by an enchantment placed on him at his christening. That is the secret," Countess Marlyne revealed.

Sir Reginald shook his head.

"No, Marlyne, Countess, it is not possible. I have seen the Princess and she is a woman, of that I have no doubt, having more than my share of experience with that sex, as you well know. Moreover, in my youth, I was one of the Royal Guards who escorted the infant Prince and stood by as the four fairies gave him their blessings. All went well."

"No Reginald, one of the fairies believed the baby was a girl and gave him a blessing meant for a Princess, that she would be a happy bride. The blessing could not be undone and so, to prevent controversy, the fairies cast a spell on those present to believe as you do, but for the royal couple. In hopes of preventing the outcome, the King devised a plan to keep the Prince from all feminine influence. Reginald, do you recall in the past a section of the castle which was off limits?"

"Yes, the west wing of the palace was closed and the grounds appurtenant surrounded with a high stone wall. A detachment of Royal Guards secured the area. None were permitted in or out without royal permission."

"Were you not curious as to what was inside?"

"It was speculated that the King was protecting another ruler who had been exiled."

"Did it not seem a strange coincidence that the security was removed at the same time that Princess Charlene arrived?"

"A coincidence, yes, but no more. The Princess selected Lieutenant Ulrich as her protector and he had the good fortune to win the hand of her companion, Lady Elisse. He would certainly recognize any deception, as would she, but neither has so revealed."

"He would see what appeared to be a girl. Lady Elisse discovered the truth and was sworn to secrecy. This ring once was worn by her as authority to shield the Princess while she transitioned into womanhood."

"Even if this fantastic tale were true, Countess, what business is it of mine?" Sir Reginald questioned.

"The business is mine, Reginald, for I have been asked by the Queen to determine if the Princess, male by birth, would be receptive to wedding a prince, as she must in order to fulfill the enchantment. Should she not, then the King and Queen fear that there may be dire consequences for the Princess and perhaps the Kingdom too."

"From what little I know of them," Countess, "the fairies are clever creatures. Why should there be any doubt that they have provided for the ending foretold? Has the spell not already done so by turning the Prince into a princess, if what you have told me is true?"

"While the Princess may appear to all who see her as female, I am assured that," the Countess paused, considering her words, "her transformation is not complete."

Sir Reginald's eyes went wide in disbelief.

"You mean, she still has …," he paused discreetly.

"So I am told," Reginald, "which is why my business has become your business."

Sir Reginald shook his head in disbelief.

"Marylyne, Countess," he replied apologetically, "I am a solider. Such matters of magic are beyond my experience. I do not see how I can be of assistance."

"You are a man, Reginald, and so you are quite suited for the task."

Sir Reginald gave the Countess a puzzled look.

"I need you to determine how the Princess feels towards men and how a man feels towards her under the circumstances. I have made a preliminary inquiry and believe that all is well, but there is only one way to know for certain. To allow a Prince to wed her without such assurance is to invite disaster. Do you understand now?"

"I know that I have a headache greater than had I been felled with a mace," Countess.

"Reginald, as the Queen offered me the opportunity to decline for personal reasons, so I offer you. I need your experience as a man, freely given, not your obedience as soldier."

"Marlyne, Countess, I, I," Sir Reginald replied haltingly, "I have no experience in such matters. Would not someone who prefers such liaisons be better suited?"

The Countess shook her head.

"We cannot count on the prince who weds the Princess to favor men. Nor would I think that the Princess, feminine in all appearances, would care for such a husband. If I am wrong in both respects, then all is to the good. Otherwise, there is but one who can answer the question, Reginald. What say you?"

"Then my answer is yes, Countess," Sir Reginald said formally.

"I am pleased, Reginald, as I believe you too will be upon becoming acquainted with Princess Charlene. Please return here when the tower clock strikes half after the hour of seven and report back to me tomorrow morning.

Sir Reginald stood up. The Countess rose and looked up at him.

"The Princess was an innocent baby when the course of her life was changed. She is, Reginald, like a feather, unable to resist the forces that direct it. Judge her not by who she was born, but by who she has become."

Reginald looked down and his face softened for the first time in their conversation. He nodded.

"Well spoken, Marlyne," he replied familiarly. "I shall do so."

He stepped backwards, extended his left leg, bent at the knee, paged his sword back with his left hand, placing his right arm across his chest in a sweeping gesture, and bowed slightly.

"Until tomorrow then, Countess."

He turned smartly and walked to the door, letting himself out and closing it behind him.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prince Bride - 7

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 15 & 16.
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 15. Love is Blind.

Upon Sir Reginald's departure, Countess Marlyne set about preparing for the Princess' arrival. Unaccustomed to housekeeping, she regretted the necessity of dismissing Jeana, but served passably well in her stead, tidying up the few items that had strayed from their usual lodgings and arranging the sideboard with a pair of crystal goblets, a decanter of her best wine and silver table service for two. She then gathered up her shawl and purse and left for the village market. Although the shopkeepers were unaccustomed to dealing with nobility, they gladly accepted her silver and she returned with a basket of tasty morsels, fruit, cheese and freshly baked bread, which she arranged on the sideboard. The tower bell tolled six by the time all was ready. Satisfied with her hospitality, she checked her appearance, making a few adjustments to her hair and makeup, and reposed on the divan, awaiting the arrival of the Princess.

The Princess, having been apprised by her mother of Countess Marlyne's invitation and understanding its import, had enlisted the assistance of Elisse in dressing for the occasion. She fluttered about her chamber, studying different ensembles, unable to make a choice, finally turning to her companion.

"Honestly Elisse," the Princess complained, vexed at her indecision, "I have read most every book in the library and none has the slightest advice on fashion. Would not such a work be of great use? Perhaps I will commission one, although it would be of no help to me when I need it most."

"I am afraid, dear Princess," Elisse teased her, "that only a woman could write such a book and, alas, our training is domestic, not scholarly. What could a man know of the intricacies of feminine attire?"

"Perhaps not all of those who are born male favor breeches, Elisse," the princess teased her back.

It took Elisse a moment to understand the innuendo and then both women broke into laughter.

"As you are familiar with what manner of dress pleases your husband most, I will rely on your judgment. Do choose one for me."

"I am afraid, Princess, that the attire my husband favors most is unsuitable for your purpose," Elisse continued with her teasing, patting her rounding belly, "unless shifts are now the style for entertaining."

"Knowing Countess Marlyne, I should think that whoever she has chosen for me would not be adverse to such informality, but I do think that propriety dictates a more modest introduction," the Princess retorted, getting in the last word, as usual.

"Well then, your Highness, you have dictated your own choice, if modesty is that which you desire. The pale blue brocade with silver detail is the most maidenly of all."

"Is that how one wins a man's heart, Elisse, with maidenly restraint?"

"My husband's heart was so won you Highness. The dragon device on his sword bears witness to its capture," Elisse confirmed, referring to Ulrich's offer to slay a dragon, should it interfere with their romance.

"What you have said rings true. I know naught of romantic love, but do believe that it must be freely given, as Ulrich's was to you and yours to him, not gained by artifice. I will wear the blue dress."

Elisse found the necessary undergarments, all of the finest quality linen, accented with lace and intricate embroidery. She assisted the Princess with her wardrobe, adjusting the petticoats and fussing with the ribbons, finally securing the bodice and tying off the laces. Black leather shoes with gilt buckles completed the ensemble. Since this was to be a clandestine affair, the palace hairdresser was not enlisted. Instead Elisse did up the Princess's long blonde hair and secured it with a pair of finely worked gold and silver combs for a look of understated elegance. The Princess' natural color and perfect features required no makeup for enhancement, but for a slight tinge to her lips and the restrained application of a light floral scent. Standing back to admire her efforts, Elisse was pleased with the result.

The Princess held out her skirt and spun around in a swirl of petticoats, looking coyly over her shoulder at Elisse.

"Do you think my mystery gentleman will find me attractive?"

"You are most beautiful, Princess," Elisse complimented her.

"You flatter me, Elisse," the Princess challenged her.

"You know me better, Princess."

"I know you best of all."

"We have yet to select your jewelry, Princess. Would you favor me by wearing this?"

Elisse held out a red velvet covered box. Princess Charlene immediately recognized it as the one holding the flower pendant she had given to Elisse.

"Elisse, I am most grateful, but a gift freely given cannot be reclaimed. It is yours and your daughter's when you have one. Please return it to your safekeeping."

"It is not for your pleasure that I do this, but for mine. Would you be so cruel as to deny me?" Elisse repeated the words spoken by the Princess when she bestowed the gift.

Recognizing the source, the Princess smiled and completed the discourse from long ago. "You know I can deny you nothing." She turned and Elisse fastened the gold chain from which hung the treasured flower pendant clasping a pearl.

As with the Princess and Elisse, Sir Reginald was carefully selecting his wardrobe. He was sure that Lady Marlyne, having somehow come into possession of the ring, had contrived to use it for her advantage, although he could not imagine what she hoped to gain by concocting such a story or enlisting his participation in her scheme. Did she really believe that he would not recognize an imposter or that he would show clemency for having been duped? Then again, he knew Lady Marlyne, or Countess as she now proclaimed herself, well enough to doubt that she was either frivolous or conniving. Better to be prepared, he concluded.

He called for his orderly and a basin of water to bathe. Admiring his whiskers in the mirror, he carefully trimmed his mustache and brushed his hair. Satisfied with his personal hygiene, he took out his dress uniform. Although impeccable, he instructed his orderly to poliwh the buttons, the clasp of his belt, helmet, and the fittings on his sword, until they gleamed and required that his boots be buffed to a mirror shine. Admiring himself in the mirror, making a final adjustment to his mustache, he left his quarters on the first tolling of seven.

Princess Charlene had also left at the first tolling of seven in the company of Elisse. The Princess had donned a hooded cloak to travel incognito. Although the guards fell in, she dismissed them and the two companions hurried to Countess Marlyne's quarters. Upon delivering her to the door, Elisse asked, "shall I return for you, Princess?"

"No, I am sure that I will be quite able to make my own way, should it be necessary," she assured her companion.

Elisse hugged the Princess, an intimacy long permitted between the two, and waited for the door to be answered. It opened and Lady Marlyne greeted them.

"Princess Charlene and Lady Elisse, please come in."

Elisse courteously declined the invitation and departed.

"We do not have much time. I have asked Sir Reginald to call at half past the hour and I do not want to be present when he arrives. There are refreshments on the sideboard and my maid will not return until the tolling of ten tomorrow. Enjoy your evening. I am sure that you will find it, how shall I say, educational," the Countess concluded with a knowing smile.

"Sir Reginald, Countess, the Commandant of the Royal Guards?"

"Yes, Princess, do you find him objectionable?"

"No, but he serves the King. Would not another gentleman better suit our purpose?"

"As you are aware, Princess, I am intimately acquainted with a goodly number of men. None do I admire more than him. I would trust him with my life and so I have, for he has threatened me with severe consequences, should I have deceived him into coming."

"Then I shall be sure to see that he is satisfied in all respects," the Princess replied suggestively, "but I detect your own affection for him. I should be remiss if I were to intrude on your relationship."

"In truth, I do have some affection for him, but he only fancies me among many. Do not be concerned, Princess, for a relationship must be acknowledged by both."

"If he does not see your true worth, Countess, then perhaps I am not the only one who requires an education. I am most anxious to meet this man who chooses quantity over quality."

"You are naíve, dear Princess, but I thank you for your compliment. My Sir Reginald" the Countess making light of the Princess' reticence, "is yours for the evening without regret, but I must be off. I will leave by the servants' door to avoid a confrontation."

"Countess," the Princess called after her, "please, what am I to do with him. Might not you leave me with some directions?"

"No, Princess, you need none. Let nature and the magic take their course."

Upon Countess Marlyne's departure, the Princess surveyed the room. Although not as lavish as the palace décor, it was tastefully appointed and very comfortable, obviously arranged for entertaining. As she completed her observations, there was a knock on the door. The Princess nervously called out, "please enter," not wanting to be seen from the corridor.

Sir Reginald, upon arriving at Countess Marlyne's quarters was fully prepared to castigate the perpetrators of the hoax. He boldly opened the door and strode in, hand on the hilt of his sword. Coming from the gloom of the corridor into the brightness of the room, it took a moment for his eyes to adjust and for him to recognize the person standing before him. There was no doubt, it was Princess Charlene. He reflexively dropped to his knee.

The Princess remembered that Countess Marlyne had mentioned his suspicion and daintily turned around to display herself, completing the circle to face Sir Reginald with an impish smile.

"May I assume you are satisfied that I am indeed Princess Charlene and therefore the Countess is in no danger of reprisal?"

The stunned Sir Reginald was speechless to find himself in the presence of the Princess.

"Please rise," the Princess addressed him. "Under the circumstances, I do not believe that such formality is necessary and I take your silence as confirmation of your satisfaction. If you would be so kind, I would enjoy a glass of wine and some conversation. Would you bring me one and join me?"

The Princess seated herself on the settee. Sir Reginald found the refreshments on the sideboard and poured two glasses, returning to stand before her, a situation he found extremely uncomfortable. Disregarding her earlier permission, he knelt and offered her the wine.

"Sir Reginald," the Princess challenged him, "do you usually entertain your women companions in that position? It would seem to be most uncomfortable and inconvenient."

"No, your Highness, but I have no experience in the protocol of entertaining a Princess," he confessed.

"Has Countess Marlyne explained the purpose of this appointment?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"Do you think it will be served by you down there and me up here?"

"No, your Highness?"

"Then should you not correct the problem?"

"Yes, your Highness"

Sir Reginald cautiously got up, so as not to spill his wine, and hesitatingly seated himself on the settee, as distant as possible from the Princess.

"There now, is that not more congenial and would it not be even more so, if you were not armed?"

"Yes, your Highness," Sir Reginald agreed, unclasping his belt, removing it and reaching over the back of the settee to drop it on the floor, so that the sword was out of sight.

"And do you not think that our conversation might be improved if you were to be more familiar by calling me Charlene. I assume that you refer to the other women of your acquaintance by their first names."

"You are the only Princess with whom I am acquainted, your Highness."

"Sir Reginald, this is tiresome. I command you to call me Charlene. There. You cannot be censured for obeying me."

"Yes, your High, Charlene."

"You see, Sir Reginald, we are making progress. If I am to properly receive my suitors, I must have some experience with a man and you are to provide it. Is that not your understanding of the purpose for which you are here."

"I, well, I, I," Sir Reginald stammered in response to the Princess' request for confirmation of his mission," I," he finally gave up and shook his head to clear it.

The Princess waited patiently.

"Your High, Prin, Charlene, I never expected that it would be as Lady, Countess Marlyne claimed. I am sorry, your High, Charlene, I was not prepared for your presence or your beauty. I am at a loss."

"There Sir Reginald, you have said that I am beautiful." She smiled charmingly. "A compliment is always appreciated, even by a princess. Have you been to war?" she asked, remembering Countess Marlyne's advice on first becoming acquainted by engaging in familiar conversation.

"Yes, I have," he answered.

"When I was a boy, my father wanted me to be a soldier. I'm afraid I was quite dismal at the use of weapons and paid no attention to my training in military tactics, to his disappointment and that of the Master of Arms, who feared for his reputation and his position. I have no affection for war."

It took Sir Reginald a moment to register the Princess' off-hand confirmation that she was male by birth. Recovering, he offered in return, "nor I Princess."

She looked at him incredulously.

"A soldier who cares not for combat, Sir Reginald, how can that be?"

"As an officer, I have ordered my men forward and watched as they were carried from the battlefield that night, when the sides gave respite to collect their dead. I have brought the news of their sacrifice to wives and children, whose grief wounded me deeper than any lance. I do my duty, Princess, but I take no pleasure in it. The glory of war is for bards and minstrels, not soldiers."

The Princess was impressed by the candor and ardor with which Sir Reginald expressed his feelings. Countess Marlyne did choose well indeed, she thought to herself. She reached over to him and sympathetically rested her hand on his. Sir Reginald felt a rush of warmth move through him and was captivated by the Princess' gentle assurance.

"Might I call you Reginald," the Princess requested, expressing her new found affection for him.

"Yes, please," Sir Reginald approved, becoming more at ease in her company.

The Princess continued, asking Sir Reginald about his family. They all served in the military for as many generations as was remembered. She asked about his experience in the Royal Guard. He told her of his campaigns and promotions, including his attendance as a young soldier at her christening. If the difference in their ages was of concern, she did not remark on it. She was curious as to his memory of the event and he recalled nothing amiss, but that it was so by way of a spell cast to conceal the mistaken blessing, according to Countess Marlyne. As the evening wore on and the wine in the carafe dwindled, the Princess sidled closer to Sir Reginald and cuddled against his arm, a liberty of which he did not complain.

"Reginald, would you think me bold to ask if you have any scars. I have read of such marks, but have never seen one. The women of the Court would certainly conceal any such blemish and I have been sheltered from the men."

"I do have scars, Charlene, but none which I could show without offense."

"Has Countess Marlyne seen them?"

"I, well, I, perhaps, she might, I mean, well, she," Sir Reginald equivocated.

"I take it she has."

"Yes."

"Would you show them to me, please?" she wheedled.

"I would have to remove my tunic."

"Might I help?" she asked, reaching up and undoing the first button at his collar and proceeding to the next, until they were all undone. "Oh my!" she exclaimed, playfully inserting her hand into the opening and caressing his chest, I did not know that men had fur."

The evening continued with the Princess making additional discoveries, completing her education as to the appearance and performance of male anatomy. An exhausted Sir Reginald awoke to the sunrise with the Princess' head on his shoulder. Upon his movement, she snuggled closer.

"Mmmm, Reginald, I had the nicest dream."

Fearful of provoking another amorous encounter, which he doubted he would survive in his weakened condition, Sir Reginald tried to move their activity in a more practical direction.

"Charlene, we must get dressed. Countess Marlyne will be returning soon."

The Princess reached up, drew his face towards hers and gave him a kiss, moving her hand over his chest and into his lap.

"I doubt that your trousers will fit. Perhaps I should help you," she suggested seductively.

"Charlene, I can't."

"Really? Should you not make a valiant effort before conceding defeat?" she appealed.

"I believe the troops will stand down of their own accord, if not provoked," Sir Reginald continued with her military metaphor.

"I am sorry to assert my superior rank, but I insist on a frontal assault."

"I thought you paid no attention to your training in military tactics?"

"Who said anything about military tactics, Reginald?"

When the tower bell tolled seven, Sir Reginald and the Princess had finally dressed themselves. Familiar with removing women's garments, Sir Reginald was less adept at restoring them, but managed to assist with the various fastenings and laces.

"Would you please accompany me to my chambers, Sir Reginald?" the Princess requested formally.

"I am at your command, your Highness," Sir Reginald acknowledged, bowing in deference.

He went to the door, opened it and stepped out, hand on hilt, making sure the passage was secure. The Princess waited for his approval and then followed him out. Once in the courtyard, the Princess requested his arm.

"Be of no concern," she assured him, "the public display of affection by the Princess for the Commandant of the King's Royal Guard will not diminish your reputation with the ladies of the Court."

"It was your reputation, not mine, of which I was mindful, your Highness."

"Let them think what they will. Their idle gossip concerns me not." Continuing with their walk, the Princess commented, "Countess Marlyne is indeed a remarkable woman."

"She is indeed," Sir Reginald agreed.

"She holds great esteem with my mother, the Queen, and with me. The two of you share a secret known only to the royal family. Is that not a significant coincidence?" the Princess pondered provocatively.

Upon that remark, they arrived at the Princess' chambers. The two guards stationed outside her door stood to attention and saluted. Sir Reginald opened the door and dropped to his knee as she entered. He rose and closed the door, returning to his quarters to take the first of many dousings with cold well water, to the bewilderment of his orderly. When he finally had composed himself, he went, as he was bid, to report to the Countess.

Chapter 16. Wedding Bells.

The Countess returned to her quarters on the toll of nine and surveyed its condition. The empty carafe and the disheveled settee confirmed the success of Sir Reginald's inquiry. Jeana appeared at ten and was directed to restore order. Countess Marlyne went to freshen up, anticipating the arrival of Sir Reginald. When he arrived, she dismissed the maid, sending her on an errand to fetch an item she intentionally left at the apartment of a friend, with whom she had spent the night.

"Well, Reginald, are you here to take me into custody?" she asked, toying with the ring on its chain.

"Yes, but not in the manner you mean, Countess Marlyne.

"I do not understand. Did things not go as we anticipated last night?"

"I cannot speak of it."

"Reginald, this is not the time for chivalry," Countess Marlyne admonished him. "The future of the Kingdom depends on whether the Princess is receptive to a male suitor and he to her. I need an answer."

"Were I a prince, I would claim her hand."

"You did not find the Princess'," the Countess paused, "difference to be a problem?"

"What difference would that be, Marlyne?"

"Her lack of," the Countess paused again, "what it is necessary for a woman to have for the purpose of conception, Reginald. I am certain you have some familiarity with that particular feature."

"The Princess is perfect."

"That was not my question, but it will serve as an answer. I take it then that you see no obstacle to her becoming a bride?"

"None, but for the rivalry between her suitors."

"Yes, well, I would hope that the magic is capable of accomplishing its end without placing her husband-to-be in jeopardy. Well done, Reginald. You have discharged your duty honorably and I am most grateful."

"I have one more task to perform."

"Arresting me, Reginald? I had thought my rightful possession of the ring was confirmed last evening. Am I mistaken?"

""It is not your person, but your heart that I have come for."

"Reginald, you talk in riddles."

"I wish to marry you, Marlyne, if you would have me," Sir Reginald proposed, dropping to one knee."

"Oh, for goodness sake, Reginald, do get up. You are acting like a moonstruck calf. The Princess has that effect, of that I know myself. I do have great affection for you, but think of your reputation. The Commandant of the Royal Guards has lost his senses and married the palace tart. That is what will be said of you, Reginald. I could not bear to be the cause of your dishonor."

"Those words would be spoken but once before their death by my sword."

"Reginald, that is very gallant, but you cannot dispatch the entire Court to protect a virtue long lost. I doubt the King would approve of you slaughtering his nobles and I would not allow you to perpetrate such carnage in my name. I am what I am. In truth, I have considered leaving the Court. If it would please you, then I shall be your mistress and have no other lovers."

"No, Marlyne, you will be my wife and it is I who shall have no other lovers. You have my solemn vow of fidelity. I have wasted my time with women of no merit and, having found one of worth, I shall wed her. You cannot dissuade me. If I must bear ridicule to be your husband, then so be it. I have no fear of words."

"Reginald, I cannot marry you, for I have already borne a child. It is not an admission I make easily, but you deserve to know the reason for my refusing your proposal."

Reginald laughed heartily.

"You find the disclosure of my shame amusing, Reginald?"

"A child, Marlyne? Only one? I have lost count of those doddering husbands who believe their sons and daughters to be their own. Marry me and I promise to be tireless in my effort to provide you with another child, my love."

"Very well, then Reginald, but know that I will hold you to your promise."

Sir Reginald moved forward to embrace the Countess. To his surprise, she stretched out her arms to hold him off.

"Really, Reginald, what kind of woman would I be to allow such liberties before you have given me a ring?"

"Oh, yes, of course, Marlyne. I, I, apologize," he offered contritely.

Extracting the ring from her cleavage, the Countess announced, "oh, wait, I have a ring after all, how convenient" and rushed forward to bestow a kiss of such passion that the stalwart Commandant's knees buckled. Seeking another, the Countess playfully placed her fingers on his lips. "All things in good time, dear Reginald. I must not be deterred from reporting to the Queen and do you not have your own duties to perform?"

The pair departed and Countess Marlyne hurried to the palace. Her display of the ring was enough to insure her immediate audience and the page promptly delivered her to the Queen's door. She knocked and the Queen herself admitted her. As before, they were alone and the Queen had set out tea and pastries. Dispensing with the social amenities, Countess Marlyne revealed the good news.

"I am pleased to report, your Highness, that the Princess is female in all respects but one, which does not seem to be cause for concern. I believe that you may proceed with the plans for inviting suitors."

"Countess Marylne, you have done a great service for us and I am deeply grateful. I have one other favor to ask of you."

"Anything, your Highness."

"The King has charged me with overseeing a charity for those of our subjects who are ill or destitute. As I will be engaged in preparing for the royal ball to which the Princess' suitors will be invited, I would like you to be my secretary in this endeavor."

"Gladly, your Highness, although I have an affair of my own to arrange, since I am to be wed," the Countess happily proclaimed.

"Oh, I am so pleased for you, Countess. Who is the fortunate man?"

"Sir Reginald."

"The Commandant of the Royal Guards?"

"Yes, your Highness."

"A handsome couple to be sure, you are to be married in the Royal Chapel and my gift to you shall be a wedding gown that rivals the one to be worn by the Princess. I would allow nothing less and will hear no protest. It is a royal command. Provide me with a list of your guests and I will see that they receive proper invitations."

"I have no family, your Highness."

"You have me and the Princess. The King himself shall deliver you and bestow a generous dowry. In fact, I have changed my mind. The wedding shall be in the Cathedral and all of the Court shall be required to attend. Let them see who is the favorite of the Queen."

"No, please, your Highness, no spectacle. A simple ceremony will suffice. Nor is a dowry necessary."

"As you wish, but for my convenience, you and your husband will take quarters in the palace, for I shall require your company, and you are to keep the ring, Countess, until a more suitable symbol of my favor can be fashioned."

As the Countess returned to her quarters, she realized the truth of Elisse's observation. The magic did indeed reward those who furthered its purpose.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prince Bride - 8

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 17 & 18
By Missy Crystal

Chapter 17. All's Well.

Hurrying through the palace, the Queen arrived at the Council Chamber. The King was seated on his throne pondering proposals for trade alliances with the neighboring kingdoms and the consequences of giving preference to one over another.

"Henry, all is well!" she exclaimed excitedly.

Lost in thought, the King had not noticed the Queen's arrival. Unaccustomed to being spoken to without leave, the King looked up, intending to mete out a severe reprimand for the disturbance. Seeing that it was his wife, his menacing look turned to a smile.

"Good morning, Charlotte dear. I'm afraid I missed what you said."

"All is well," the Queen repeated.

"I am delighted to hear it, dear, but might you elaborate as to what is all well?"

"Not what, Henry, who."

"Who then, Charlotte?" King Henry indulged his wife.

"The Princess, Henry."

"Has she been ill? Why was I not informed?" the King asked with concern.

"No, Henry, Charlene is in good health."

"Charlotte, please do me the favor of starting from the beginning. I have no problem with affairs of state, but my own family's affairs are a puzzlement."

"You wanted assurance that there will be no complaint when the Princess' husband learns of her true nature.

"Yes, I do recall having some misgivings and you offering to make an inquiry. Have you done so?"

"Yes, Henry, I have done so and we have concluded that all is well."

"We, Charlotte?"

"Countess Marlyne and I."

"Who is Countess Marlyne?"

"The woman who spoke with the Princess, Henry. Have you not been paying attention?"

"Yes, but I am still at a loss as to the Countess. Do I know her?"

"I would hope not, but you will meet her when she is wed."

"If I do not know her, why am I going to her wedding?"

"Someone with experience in romantic affairs was required, Henry. You professed to have no acquaintance with such a woman. If you do know her, then there is a reward I bestowed which needs to be returned," the Queen pretended to accuse her husband, knowing full well his honor would not permit deception. "And she is to marry Sir Reginald."

"The Commandant of my Royal Guards?" the King asked, eager to change the subject.

"Yes, him."

"I am most pleased for both of them, but could we get back to the Princess. This woman has determined that Charlene is receptive to a male suitor and therefore we may proceed with our plan to introduce her to eligible princes. Am I right?" he asked hopefully.

"Yes, Henry, you are right."

"How did she manage to do this, Charlotte," the King inquired, looking askance.

"I do not know, Henry," the Queen answered truthfully. "Suffice it to say that the Princess confided in her and I trust her."

"Why would the Princess confide in such a woman and why would you consider her to be trustworthy, Charlotte?"

"Up to now you have deferred to my judgment in these matters. Henry. I believe the magic has provided her, as it did Elisse. Need you know more, dear?" the Queen artfully avoided answering the question.

"No, Charlotte. I am still mindful of my last attempt at intervention," he answered contritely to the Queen's relief. "It is in your hands. I hope for all our sakes you are right."

"May I have your permission to begin the preparations for the royal ball, Henry?" the Queen requested."

"Of course, my dear, and spare no expense. Charlene can wed but one of the Princes and the others will not take kindly to being deprived of her hand. Let them at least return home impressed with our hospitality for the sake of our future relations with their kingdoms."

"I shall see to it, Henry, that the royal ball is unrivaled and that our guests are most lavishly entertained. Before I send forth the invitations, are their any of whom you disapprove?" the Queen asked deferentially.

"I dare not, Charlotte, for such an insult to another royal house would not go without retaliation in some form. Nor do I think it prudent to limit the Princess' suitors, if the magic is to have its way," the King cautioned.

"Yes, you are quite right, Henry," the Queen agreed, nodding her head. "All of the princes who are eligible must receive an invitation."

The Queen gave the King a smile, turned and departed. She hurried to the Chamberlain's office and conferred with him as to those kingdoms which had previously sought alliances by marriage. To her surprise, all of the neighboring kingdoms but Dalmacia, which was already allied by her own marriage, had inquired. Could it be a coincidence or was it more of the magic's furthering its purpose?

The Chamberlain estimated that it would take about a fortnight for the fastest messengers to deliver the invitations and return with the responses. It would take another fortnight for the princes to arrive, more if they were traveling by coach, as was most likely. Assuming that they would not set out immediately and estimating an additional month to prepare for their arrival, he recommended that the date be set for three months hence. That would also be the time of the fall harvest, when food and wine would be plentiful, as it had been an exceedingly good year for crops, the meadows were lush and the cattle and sheep fat. Was it another fortuitous coincidence or more of the good result promised by the fairies?

Five messengers were outfitted in splendid uniforms of blood red tunics with a double row of gleaming gold buttons, black riding breeches with a gold stripe and black leather riding boots. They were given the fastest mounts in the royal stable, saddled and bridled with lustrous black leather tack adorned with silver trappings. In their matching black leather saddle bag, embossed and gilded with the royal coat of arms, to signify that they were on the King's business, they carried a beautifully penned invitation on the finest parchment that read: Their Royal Highnesses King Henry and Queen Charlotte of Trimontaine request your attendance at a Royal Ball to vie for the hand of Princess Charlene. The favor of your reply is requested. Upon inquiry, the messengers were to inform the recipient of the other princes to whom invitations had been sent.

The day following the dispatch of the messengers, the Queen arranged for Countess Marlyne's and Sir Reginald's wedding. Upon their introduction the morning of the ceremony, the King was taken by Countess Marlyne's lack of airs and pretense and was pleased to accept the honor of delivering her to the altar. Sir Ulrich stood up for his Commandant, Princess Charlene and Lady Elisse served as bridesmaids and the Queen was matron of honor. Following the service, the King, Queen and Princess bestowed the same symbols of their favor on the bride and groom as were given to Ulrich and Elisse, a brooch with the royal coat of arms for Countess Marlyne and a finely crafted sword for Sir Reginald, the Countess choosing a rampant lion, representing her husband's courage, in place of Ulrich's dragon. Following the reception, the newlyweds repaired to their apartment where Sir Reginald indeed did learn the pleasurable difference between love and lust. Keeping his promise of tireless effort, one month later, Countess Marlyne happily informed the Queen that she was pregnant.

Chapter 18. The Princes.

Upon arrival of the messengers, all of the kings, coveting a union with Trimontaine, were quick to accept on behalf of their sons and so the messengers reported upon their return. To have one prince visit was an historic occasion; to have five princes at the same time was unprecedented. The Court was frantic with anticipation. Recognizing that four of them would go away empty handed, those of the nobility with eligible daughters schemed how to pander them in consolation.

Like it was for the Prince's christening years ago, an event still remembered, but not for the right reason, every craftsman and tradesman worked night and day, an army of maids furiously scoured the palace and their butler counterparts polished silver, gold and brass from dawn to dusk. Mountains of firewood were stacked to fuel the ovens and stoves that would feed the princes and their entourages, storerooms were overflowing and, by no means least, the Royal Orchestra practiced until the lips of the trumpeters were so raw that they had to refrain from kissing their wives goodnight. No wonder, as the conductor had threatened to run his baton through anyone who missed a note and under the circumstances the musicians doubted he was jesting.

The Royal Family was no less caught up in the frenzy of preparation. Queen Charlotte and Princess Charlene had to sit through multiple fittings of their elaborate gowns and even King Henry was cajoled into fashionable new raiment for the occasion.

"Honestly, Charlotte," he complained, "must we decimate the poor creatures of my forests to adorn my cape with fur? Their pelts make it unwieldy and when cloaked I appear to have been swallowed by a beast which has suffered some ill fortune to its hide," being unappreciative of its intricate design of sable and white.

"Henry, dear, it is a burden of your own making," the Queen made light of his complaint, "for do you not recall requiring an ostentatious display to impress the princes? As to those poor creatures for whom you are so concerned, this is fall and the stoat's white fur is its winter coat. Your royal pardon comes three seasons too late. Should their sacrifice be for naught?"

Just as the first frost of fall settled into the valleys, King Henry was informed that a contingent of mounted soldiers accompanied by a train of carts had crossed over the border from Norvigia. Within a few days, reports of other border crossings were received. Word spread quickly and those farmers and villagers on the routes to the palace stood shivering in the morning air awaiting a spectacle the likes of which had never been seen before and would never be seen again.

Traveling light and outdistancing their supporting caravan, Prince Johanus of Norvigia, and his troop of lancers, resplendent in their black and gold uniforms with plumed helmets and flowing capes, was the first to arrive. The Prince was invited into the palace and his soldiers were directed to a bivouac area nearby to set up camp once their supply wagons caught up. Although he had hoped to be welcomed by the Princess, he was instead greeted by the Chamberlain who escorted him to his quarters. Princess Charlene would, he was told, greet him at a reception once all had arrived. A brilliant military strategist, the Prince had prepared for such a contingency. He came from a kingdom known for its fine horses and had brought with him a mare for the Princess. Would she not ride with him?

The Princess excitedly accepted his invitation. That afternoon the mare was saddled and Prince Johanus stood by his own black stallion eagerly awaiting Princess Charlene's arrival. For many years, travelers to Trimontaine had returned with glowing accounts of the beautiful, charming and inquisitive Princess and he was eager to see for himself his future bride, since he was confident he would prevail. What appeared to be a young man dressed in a cavalry uniform approached and the Prince moved to challenge him.

"Good afternoon, Prince Johanus, I am Princess Charlene," she introduced herself. "The mare is most beautiful and I thank you and your kingdom for such a fine present. Does she have a name?"

The blue eyes, fine features, flawless complexion, red lips parted slightly to reveal white teeth, rounded figure and blonde hair tied back with a gold ribbon confirmed her identity. The Prince could not have been more stunned if his stallion had struck him in the head with his hoof. The Princess gently patted the white mare while awaiting his recovery.

Although they were peers, the Prince could not help but take a knee. Gazing up, he apologized, "I was not expecting you to be so attired, Princess, although it is most becoming," he added tactfully. "The mare's name is Dove. I hope she pleases you."

"She pleases me greatly, Prince Johanus. What say you Dove, shall we take flight?" she addressed the mare while mounting her. Dove pawed the ground and whinnied in acceptance of her rider's gentle hand on her reins. The Princess nudged her with her unspurred heels and Dove compliantly moved forward in an easy gait.

It took Prince Johanus a few moments to regain his composure. He quickly mounted his stallion and started after the Princess. She held Dove to a walk as he caught up and then moved her into a trot. As they cleared the palace grounds, she broke into a canter and then full gallop with Prince Johanus keeping apace. For the rest of the afternoon they rode through fields and woodlands, vaulting fences, hedges and streams, occasionally slowing to allow their mounts to get their wind and then racing off through the countryside. By the time they returned to the stable, Prince Johanus was determined to win the hand of Princess Charlene at all costs.

"Thank you again for Dove, Prince Johanus. She is most beautiful. Thank you too for your company. I do hope you were not put off by my appearance. Skirts are such a nuisance for sitting ahorse," the Princess said coyly, finally having a practical use for Elisse's lessons in flirtation."

"You are most welcome, your Highness," was the best he could muster in awe of a woman whose skill in equestration matched his own.

She turned and walked off, leaving the Prince to berate himself for his lack of eloquence and to consider kidnapping her if all else failed.

Prince Johanus hoped for another opportunity to be alone with the Princess, but his invitation to ride was postponed by the arrival of Prince Nehlsen of Crinthos. His gilded coach was preceded by a mounted military band heralding his arrival with thundering drums and blaring trumpets. The Prince, dressed in his royal regalia, befitting his position as Minister of State in preparation for his ascension to the throne, was greeted by the Chamberlain and shown to his quarters. He too was anxious to meet the Princess and had brought a gift that he calculated would catch her fancy. Would the Princess take custody of a puppy bred in the royal kennels?

Never having her own pet, the Princess enthusiastically agreed. They met in the Chamberlain's office, where Prince Nehlsen presented a cream colored spaniel with long floppy ears and a wavy silken coat. Completely taken by the puppy's big black eyes and affectionate disposition, the Princess held her gently, stroking her head and bestowing little kisses on her muzzle, an intimacy the Prince envied, having confirmed for himself the reports of the Princess' beauty.

"Her name is Merry, Princess Charlene, and I am Prince Nehlsen, your most humble admirer," he introduced the puppy and himself haltingly in Trimontese.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Prince Nehlsen," the Princess greeted him in perfect Crinthish, to his amazement, making a polite curtsey while still cuddling the puppy, "and I am delighted with Merry. I do believe she will be a most comforting companion in my bed on cold nights," she added provocatively, continuing to practice her flirting.

"Merry is a most lucky dog," the Prince complimented the Princess, emboldened by her fluency in his language. "She requires but food, water, exercise and affection, Princess Charlene. She is a natural hunter when grown, so do not let her off her leash outdoors, lest on her return she rewards you with a rodent," the Prince bantered.

The Chamberlain discretely having left to allow the couple privacy, they conversed with Merry napping in the Princess' lap, waking occasionally to lick her hand. The Prince was amazed by the Princess' knowledge of animal breeding, although he would have been even more amazed if he knew the reason for her interest in the subject, and captivated by her familiarity with his kingdom. On his return to his quarters in the late afternoon, he calculated whether there was enough gold in his father's treasury to serve as an irrefusable bribe to the King, the bankruptcy of his kingdom of little matter if it would gain him the Princess' hand.

As the Princess had already broken with convention by keeping company with Prince Johanus and Prince Nehlsen before they were formally received, she felt it only fair to afford the same opportunity to the other princes, much to the disappointment of those two who already had their turn. Prince Louis of Silasia was the next to arrive. His kingdom was the only one bordering on the sea and he commanded the navy. Dressed in his gold braid festooned admiral's uniform and cocked hat, he presented the Princess with a fully rigged model of his flagship, the HMS Victory, carved in intricate detail from the white bones of a giant sea creature called a whale. The Princess was fascinated with the ship, having only read about such vessels. She passed the afternoon learning about sailing with Prince Louis's instruction facilitated by her command of Silasian. As their time together drew to a close, the Prince enticed her with the promise of commissioning the HMS Charlene. It would be the greatest ship ever built and carry them on a voyage to explore distant lands. Would her Highness care to continue her lesson in seamanship in preparation?

Following Prince Louis was Prince Wolfric of Wurthenborg. Although he was an engineer by education, overseeing his kingdom's royal construction projects, his passion was music. He presented the Princess with a rectangular box of polished wood that held a harp laid on its side, the strings of which were plucked by pressing on wooden blocks, which he called keys, arranged in a row at the front of the instrument. The Princess had a good ear and with the Prince's patient instruction, she learned to play a duet. Prince Wolfric enthusiastically offered to continue her lessons.

Last to arrive, although with no less pomp, was Prince Ayndrew of Estlund. Slight of build and mild in temperament, he had dedicated himself to academic pursuits. His kingdom boasted the finest university, over which he presided. Having heard of the Princess' invitation to visiting philosophers and scholars for colloquy, he brought no enticement but his intellect. While the tangible presents were greatly enjoyed by Princess Charlene, the opportunity to discuss philosophy and natural science engaged her completely. It was only when the candles had melted down to stubs that the Princess excused herself to rest. As far as Prince Ayndrew was concerned, he would wed the Princess or remain celibate, for no other woman would ever match her beauty and intelligence.

"I am at a loss, Elisse," Princess Charlene confided to her the next morning, "for in truth each of the princes has qualities which I find attractive. I cannot choose between them. What say you as to how your heart was won?"

"Our lives are set on different paths, but you have asked and so I shall answer that I knew when first we met that I wanted Ulrich's child." Elisee ran her hand lovingly over her swelling belly. "There is still the royal ball. The magic may yet reveal your prince in another way. Give it time little sister," she advised, using a term of endearment from long ago and giving the Princess a reassuring hug.

Once all of the Princes were comfortably settled, a reception was held in their honor. Upon arriving in the banquet hall, they greeted each other deferentially, the language barrier and their rivalry avoiding more than rudimentary conversation. When informed that all were present, the royal family entered. All eyes turned to the Queen and Princess, who were exquisitely dressed, coifed and bejewled, causing the ignored King to conjure up the amusing image of an onslaught of outraged stoats seeking retribution for the unnecessary deaths of their relatives. Proceeding to the head of the table, they took their places.

"Princes, we are pleased to offer you our hospitality," King Henry announced. "Although I know well your names, I call them not, lest the order be considered significant. Would that I had five daughters, for in truth I would welcome all of you as their husbands. As I have but the one, it is for you to win her heart and her hand without my influence or intervention." Princess Charlene demurely lowered her eyes, disguising her eagerness to fulfill the blessing by her marriage. King Henry, raising his goblet, toasted, "long life and happiness to Princess Charlene and good luck to you in your courtship of her."

The Princes were conversant enough in Trimontese to understand the King's words. They rose, raised their goblets and returned the toast, "to Princess Charlene," omitting the wish for luck to their rivals. The meal was then served and when all had their fill, the King and Queen excused themselves, leaving the princes and Princess to socialize. Princess Charlene retired to the drawing room where brandy and port were offered to the princes. Sipping their drinks, the adept Princess simultaneous carried on conversations in five languages. When the tower bell tolled twelve, she bid the Princes goodnight and retired. Elisee was waiting for her, as she would not allow anyone but her to undress the Princess, nor could she sleep until she received news of the reception.

"Well, Princess, are you betrothed?" she asked, although unlikely, but not impossible where magic was involved.

"No, Elisse, I am bewildered, for the more familiar I become with the Princes, the greater my fondness for them grows."

TO BE CONTINUED

The Prince Bride - 9

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

Novel Chapter

Genre:

Character Age:

Teenage or High School

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

The Prince Bride - Chapters 18, 19 & 20 (FINAL)
By Missy Crystal

Prince Charles was heir to the throne. At his christening, three of the four fairy protectors of the Kingdom (the kind with wings and wands) appeared to give him the customary blessings for a future king. The fourth fairy sister, arriving late from partying all night with the elves, mistakenly believes the baby is a girl and gives her the blessing of being a happy bride. Can the fairy magic be undone? Will the prince grow up to be a queen of one kind or another? This is the LAST CHAPTER and it is a SPOILER. To enjoy the story, I strongly recommend that you read it from the beginning.

Chapter 18. The Royal Ball.

The morning after the reception, the palace staff began preparing for the royal ball. In deference to the princes, the hall was decorated with the flags of their respective kingdoms crossed with the flag of Trimontaine, symbolizing the prospective union. To avoid any appearance of favoritism, the series was repeated along each side of the balcony which overlooked the hall and discontinued over the dais where the royal family would be seated. On the dais were the elaborately carved and gilded throne for the King and lesser, although suitably ornate, thrones for the Queen, to be seated on his right, and the Princess, to be seated on his left. The tapers in dozens of candelabra and sconces brightly illuminated the room and the two massive fireplaces at the sides of the hall were kindled for warmth against the night air.

The guests were preparing as well. An army of hairdressers were coifing elaborate hairstyles for the ladies and tailors were stitching pulchritudinous women into their gowns with heavy thread to avoid the embarrassment of an avalanche of bosom and belly, should the lacing on their bodices fail in mid-dance. Their husbands and escorts were no less vain, enlisting a battalion of barbers to shear and shave them. When all were satisfied with their appearance, they embarked in a fleet of carriages, coaches and other conveyances to the palace, each vying to impress the princes, although to no avail, as royal guests were not to be introduced until after all of the others had arrived.

The princes were also readying themselves for the evening. Their valets dressed them impeccably and adorned them with jewel encrusted gold medals and medallions for those in uniform and elaborate gold and gemstone chains of state for those in civilian attire. Cautioned not to overlook even the smallest detail, upon the pain of a death too excruciating to consider, every inch of their attire was scrutinized, adjusted and readjusted. When no further preparation was possible, they left their rooms and were delivered to the hall by two Royal Guards. Their arrival was heralded and they were ushered to a position of honor at the foot of the dais.

The King, Queen and Princess waited to make their entrance, together with their escorts. Sir Reginald and Countess Marlyne had the honor of attending the King and Queen. Of course, Sir Ulrich and Lady Elisse, had the honor of attending Princess Charlene. Observing that Marlyne's and Elisse's gowns conspicuously displayed their maternity, the King jocularly remarked to his wife, "I hope that their condition is not contagious," to which she replied, "I believe that with time a woman develops immunity, but then I have not been exposed to the source recently." "Hrrmph," was the King's response to being bested at humor.

Asserting his royal prerogative, the King, disregarded his earlier directive and wore his dress military uniform.

"Really, Charlotte," King Henry argued over his wife's criticism of his decision, "this is Charlene's affair and, as it was at the reception, so too my attire will go unnoticed tonight. Besides, Prince Johanus and Prince Louis will be in their military uniforms and so it would make them feel welcome for me to wear mine. There! Is that not good reason and am I not the King?" he added in the event his rhetoric had not been persuasive.

"Yes, dear," Charlotte conceded, "indeed you are the King, although one might mistake you for a general in your uniform," she got in the last word, but to no avail.

The Queen and Princess Charlene were in the most exquisite matching ball gowns of the finest brocade with bodices embellished with gold and silver embroidery in an intricate floral design, each flower set with a sparkling gem, their long skirts ballooned out with multiple layers of white linen petticoats. The Queen's neck, wrists, fingers and ears were adorned by an array of fabulous crown jewels and sparkling gemstones dotted the snood covering hair. Neither the King nor Queen opted to wear their crowns, which were heavy and cumbersome, this being a social affair and not one of state. Princess Charlene chose a plain gold diadem to confirm her royalty, as the ball was in her honor. A delicate gold chain necklace with pearl drops adorned her neck and, with her matching earrings, she was a vision of understated elegance.

When all were assembled, the trumpets signaled the beginning of the royal processional. The band joined in as the King and Queen, flanked by Sir Reginald and Countess Marlyne, and the Princess, with Sir Ulrich and Elisse at her side, entered the hall. The royal family slowly walked to the dais and seated themselves, their coterie stepping aside and joining the guests, bowing and curtseying in deference. With a nod of recognition from the King and an upward movement of his hand, all rose. Upon that cue, the band began the first dance. The King extended his arm to his wife and they took the floor. He bowed, she curtseyed, they joined hands and gracefully moved to the music. When the dance ended, all applauded. The King reclaimed his wife's arm and the couple returned to the dais.

The next dance was for the Princess and posed an unanticipated dilemma. When the music began, each of the princes approached and claimed her. The King judiciously solved the problem by calling for a bowl.

"Your Highnesses," he addressed the princes, "I believe each of you wears a ring different enough in appearance that you may recognize it among others. If you would place it in this bowl, the Princess will draw one out and he who owns the ring, will have the dance. We will proceed through two sets of six dances, as I too shall throw in my ring, for I am not yet ready to relinquish my daughter's hand."

Although the princes understood the gist, the Princess translated for them and each removed a ring and placed it in the bowl. The Princess closed her eyes and reached in, drawing a signet with the coat of arms of Crinthos. Prince Louis was delighted to have the first dance and led the Princess out onto the floor. The band began to play and the couple moved gracefully through the steps. The other princes, appearing to be politely waiting their turn, were wishfully imagining a humiliating misstep that would send their rival sprawling. No such misfortune occurred and when the music ended, Prince Louis returned the Princess to her throne. She continued drawing rings until each prince had had a turn, the King claiming the third round. The rings were then replaced in the bowl and a second round was drawn, although the King withdrew from the contest. As the tower bell tolled twelve, the remaining ring belonged to Prince Johanus, the other princes envying him the last dance. The King and Queen then bid the Court a goodnight and, accompanied by the Princess and their attendants, retired as they had entered. Upon their exit the guests departed and the royal orchestra congratulated themselves that none had suffered a fatal wound by their conductor.

"Well?" Elisse eagerly asked the Princess as she helped her undress.

"A hole in the ground from which water is drawn, I do believe," the Princess teased her.

Disregarding the Princess' attempt at evasion, Elisse asked more specifically, "have you chosen?"

She shook her head disconsolately.

"The magic has failed me, Elisse, or else I have not understood that which it would have me do. There must be something more, but I am at a loss to discover it. Have you no advice for me?"

"My father once asked me to bring him a skein of white thread. I searched the shop high and low, but could not find it. Returning, I admitted my failure and looking down it was before me on the table. All along I only needed to reach out my hand. Sometimes we make difficult that which is simple."

The Princess broke into a smile.

"You know the answer, Princess?" Elisse asked excitedly.

"No, not yet, but I know the question. Come Merry," she called to the puppy, "it is time for us to sleep. Goodnight dear Elisse," she happily dismissed her companion.

Chapter 19. The Happy Bride.

Early the next morning Princess Charlene hurried to her parents' apartment.

"Well, Charlene, which one of the princes has won your hand?" the King inquired. "I wager it is the dashing Prince Johanus," he answered his own question.

"No father, it is not Prince Johanus."

"Prince Louis?"

"No, father, it is not Prince Louis."

"Of course not, Henry, really," the Queen interceded, "it is the charming Prince Nehlsen."

"No mother, it is not Prince Nehlsen?"

"Prince Wolfric?"

"No, mother, it is not Prince Wolfric either.

Then it is Prince Ayndrew!" the King exclaimed elatedly, by process of elimination. "Congratulations, Charlene. I am sure you two will be very happy together."

"No, father."

"I am losing my patience, Charlene. You must choose one or I shall choose for you," the King threatened

"Henry, wait," the Queen pleaded. "Charlene is sensible and so let us hear her out. Why can you not choose?"

"Mother, would you deceive father?"

"Charlene, of course not, it is unthinkable."

"And so neither shall I deceive my husband."

It took the King and Queen a moment to comprehend the meaning of the Princess' scruple.

"Even if you told them," the Queen reasoned, "they would not believe you."

"They would," the King continued, "think it a ruse to send them away for some political purpose. Your honesty would do no good, Charlene."

"You are right mother. You too father," the Princess agreed. They would not take my word. They must see for themselves."

"What," the King raged, "absolutely not! I will not allow my daughter's modesty to be compromised and so dishonor our family and our Kingdom."

"Your son, Henry," the Queen reminded him. "Dishonesty or dishonor, choose the lesser."

The King shook his head.

"I cannot, Charlotte."

Turning to the Princess, he looked at her lovingly and said with a sigh of resignation, "Charlene, you are my child. Son or daughter, both or neither, it makes no difference. I love you. Follow your heart and be happy."

"My heart directs me to give a hug to my father," the Princess responded, moving to embrace him.

The Queen dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief.

Once her affection was bestowed, the Princess hurried to her apartment. Going to her writing desk and taking up a quill, she penned a note: HRH Princess Charlene requests your presence in the main salon at noon of this day. Folding the paper, she sealed the flaps and addressed it, then wrote another and another, until all of the princes had been invited. Calling for a messenger, she handed him the notes to deliver. The princess then set about preparing herself for the meeting.

At the appointed time, the princes arrived. Princess Charlene, making sure that she was there in advance to insure civility, greeted them. All were nervous with anticipation, believing that she was to announce her decision, eyeing their rivals and plotting by what means they might do away with them without being detected as they waited for her announcement.

"My dear princes, I am not yet ready to choose," Princess Charlene began in Trimontese with the expectation that all of them would comprehend her simple statement and so be reassured. "I would like to know you better and for you to know me. Therefore, I shall spend an evening with each of you in turn. I assure you that first, last or in between matters not. All of you will be given the same consideration and so I have decided to follow the sequence in which you arrived. Prince Johanus will call on me at the tolling of seven tonight. Is there anyone who does not understand what I have said?" she asked in each of their languages for confirmation. None responded. "The pleasure of your company is sufficient. Please bring me no tokens of your affection," she concluded.

Over the next five nights Princess Charlene entertained the princes. On the following morning, she again met with the King and Queen. They eagerly awaited her decision, encouraged by the Princess's beaming countenance that whatever difficulty she had making a choice had been resolved.

"Good morning mother. Good morning father," the Princess greeted them cheerfully.

"Good morning Charlene," they both greeted her expectantly.

They waited and finally the King's patience expired.

"Do not keep us in suspense, Charlene. Tell us which one you have chosen."

"I cannot father."

"You cannot tell us? What nonsense is this, Charlene?" the King demanded.

"I cannot tell you which one," the Princess qualified her reply.

"Your prince has asked you not to reveal it until he formally asks the King for your hand," the Queen suggested.

"No mother, it is not a secret. The answer to father's question is that I cannot choose one," the Princess reiterated.

Turning to his wife, the King complained, "Charlotte, this is what we get for indulging her all these years. I will not tolerate such disobedience."

"I do not think that Charlene is being disobedient, dear," the Queen responded calmly. "It is not in her nature. We have waited this long, a few more minutes will not make any difference. Give her the opportunity to explain," she wisely counseled.

The King nodded his assent.

"I choose them all," the Princess informed her parents.

It took the King a moment to comprehend what he had just heard and then his face turned dark with rage. Rising up, he pointed his finger and admonished the Princess.

"No woman can have five husbands. It is not legal. It is not moral. It is not," he paused in his tirade, "it is not possible. I will not permit it; the princes will not accept it; and their fathers will not recognize it." The consequence of such a proposal suddenly struck him and his eyes went wide. "You have not, you have not, you have not," he sputtered, "you have not told the princes, have you? They will return to their Kingdoms to report that our royal blood is tainted with lunacy. What of the enchantment then, Charlene? No Prince will have you and so you have doomed yourself and our Kingdom. Tell me that you have not spoken of this to any but us," the King implored her.

"I have spoken to my princes and all have agreed to wed me, father," the Princess replied.

"What! No. It cannot be. Charlotte, your daughter has disgraced herself and our Kingdom by accepting five proposals." The King fell back into his chair in dismay, holding his head in his hands.

"My daughter, Henry? As I recall, you had an equal part in her conception," she reminded him. "Nor yet is it time to despair. The magic circumvented your efforts to undo it and there is no reason to believe that it would allow itself to be defeated by Charlene's whimsy."

Turning to the Princess, the Queen asked her, "tell us please how you have come to this conclusion."

"Mother, you have yourself answered your question," she replied enigmatically.

"I'm sorry, Charlene, I do not understand."

"When father first released me to your care, you took me to the palace library. In making up for the education which was denied me when I was being raised as a boy, I read the royal history of our Kingdom. No mention was made of their queens, except as mothers. Is that not then the role which a queen most fulfill above all others and, if I cannot provide an heir to the throne, how then can I be a queen? That was why I needed to reveal my true nature. The question each prince was asked when we were together was would he marry me knowing that I cannot conceive a child?"

"I had expected that it was the magic's intention for only one of the princes to accept me as his bride and so the choice would be made for me. To my surprise and delight, by their love for me, all would abdicate and, by my love for them, I could not countenance it. Would the magic be so cruel as to taunt me with five princes who love me and who I love, but cannot wed? A broken heart cannot be the good result promised. So I reasoned that, if not one or none, then it must be all. Now do you understand how you have answered your own question, mother?"

"I do," the Queen acknowledged.

"Although the princes may all want to wed you, Charlene, what makes you think that they would share you?" the King questioned.

"Father," the Princess explained, "it came to me that I can wed my princes and, as our marriage cannot be consummated, they are released from their vows to take a queen who can provide them with an heir. They have all agreed to this arrangement and to return each year on our anniversary to visit and sit in council for the common good, as all are bound by my love. Five husbands shall make me the happiest bride in all the world.

The King and Queen both sat in stunned silence. Although it would seem to be impossible, neither could deny that the magic had fulfilled the enchantment in its own way. The King, concerned about the deterioration of relations with the kingdoms of the unsuccessful suitors, instead gained five alliances and so too did the princes' fathers, ameliorating their disappointment. The Queen, recalling the premonition of Countess Marlyne, that nothing was promised as to the Princess having a happy marriage or being a happy wife, remarked to herself that, although she would have both for but a night, it was a fair exchange for a happy bride. The Princess' parents looked at each other and nodded their agreement.

"Charlene," the King lovingly consented, "you have our blessing."

Upon the word 'blessing', there was the sound of tinkling bells, a soft white glow and fairy appeared.

"Bingo," she said.

Chapter 20. A Fairy's Tale.

"Mistress Buttercup, it is a pleasure to see you," the King greeted her politely, but with trepidation, remembering that it was her mistaken blessing that turned the prince into a princess and also concerned by the timing of her return. "Are your sisters to visit us as well and is 'Bingo' a means of summoning them?"

"No, King Henry, I am on my own and 'Bingo' is not a spell. It is the name of a game and also called out when a person completes their card and wins the prize. It will be a real money maker for the Church someday.

"Mistress Buttercup," the Princess elatedly added her greeting on learning of the fairy's identity, "I am so pleased that you have come so that I might thank you."

"You are most welcome, Princess, although I do believe your parents might have a different view of my blessing gone awry, for which deception I must apologize."

"Deception, Mistress Buttercup," the King asked incredulously, "how so and for what purpose, if I may inquire without offense."

"None taken, your Highness. It is not in our nature for fairies to lie, but things are not always as they are perceived. Did it not strike you as odd that a fairy would not be able to hold her wine? It was an academy award performance."

"I am sorry, Mistress Buttercup," the King apologized, "but I know not of the capacity of fairies for intoxicating beverages and what academy has bestowed an award on you for blessing the prince?"

Buttercup whacked herself in the forehead with her right hand, causing her antennae to vibrate, and made a face.

"Never mind, it's not important. The point is that the blessing was not made by mistake. It only appeared so. That is why you are owed an apology."

Recalling all of the tribulations that the blessing caused, the Queen entreated the fairy, "why would you do such a thing, Buttercup. Have we given some offense to you or your kind?"

"No, Queen Charlotte, to the contrary, it is because of a good deed performed by King Henry's ancestor and the fact that my sisters don't know when to leave well enough alone."

The King and Queen listened attentively as Buttercup continued with her explanation.

"You know of King Harold and his knights. How they died to save our woods from a dragon and how we fairies have forever after blessed his house. Well, I warned my sisters. I told them not to mess with the dragon. She must be removed they insisted. Why? Leave her alone and eventually she will get bored and go squat someplace else. The elves just built some really sweet condos at Oak Hill Park. We can move in there. They have hot and cold running wine and Jacuzzi's.

"What type of magical device is a Jacuzzi, Mistress Buttercup," the King inquired, provoking a glare from the Queen for interrupting the story.

"A Jacuzzi, you know, umm, a container filled with hot water, like what they do laundry in, but bigger. You sit in it to wash yourself and it blows bubbles up your … . Never mind, it's not important."

Buttercup paused to gather her thoughts and resumed her explanation.

"Would my stubborn sisters listen to me? No. Well, we cannot use our magic on other magical creatures, so they enlisted King Harold. Don't worry Buttercup, we mean no harm to the dragon. Once confronted, she will move on and all will be well. What mushroom have you girls been eating? Dragons have really nasty dispositions on their good days. They're a half ton of plated armor with teeth like daggers, razor sharp claws and really, really obnoxious breath. Nor were my sisters aware that it was a she dragon with a bad case of PMS.

The King, Queen and Princess looked blankly at Buttercup.

"You known, PMS, premature molting of scales, so she was in no mood to be rousted. Instead of politely departing, she decided to invite King Harold and his knights for lunch and they were the main course. It was no contest. Iron suits are the wrong sort of protection against a creature that breathes fire. It took about ten seconds to heat and serve. We just made up that business about there being a battle to honor King Harold's memory."

"How then did the dragon die, Mistress Buttercup," the King asked.

"Well, dragons are gluttons and they eat their victims whole, cows, sheep, horses, people. Mostly they're digestible, a bone or two, a hoof or horn to crunch, but a king and a dozen knights in full armor and their horses in battle dress gave her a terminal upset stomach. Served her right.

"That is indeed unfortunate, Mistress Buttercup," the King sympathized, "but what does that have to do with the prince becoming a princess?"

"Keep you tights on, I'm getting to that. Does he ever keep his mouth shut?" she asked, turning to Queen Charlotte.

Queen Charlotte shrugged noncommittally.

"Did you know that when a beast dies everything lets go?" Buttercup continued. "So we had a rotting reptile, a puddle of pee and a pile of poo on our hands, so to speak. Oh, and our magic doesn't work on other magic creatures or their waste products, dead or alive. Nice going sisters. Not only was there the smelly remains of the dragon cluttering up our woods, but their stupid plan had also left your Kingdom without a ruler and most of its knights gone. So we had to make a pledge to protect King Harold's realm and we've been babysitting his family ever since. Don't get me wrong, it's no big deal showing up every now and then to pop a blessing, but a problem has come up that requires us to put an end to it."

Buttercup surveyed the King, Queen and Princess to make sure they were paying attention.

"Over time, time longer than those of your world can imagine, our arcane scientist have been studying the lessening of our powers. It has been traced to the absorption of magic by your world, as sand soaks up water. At the last GLBT conference, oh, you would not know. G for the giants and large creatures, trolls, ogres and their kin; L for the little folk, pixies, brownies, leprechauns, they do not inhabit these parts, and others small enough to fit under a toadstool; B for the beasts, like dragons and unicorns; and T for the traditional magic folk, fairies, elves and gnomes to name a few. At the conference, it was decided that the only way to save our world was to seal it off from yours, but the promise my sisters made to be the protectors of your Kingdom means that we cannot depart. I'd gladly strangle them and put an end to it, as I was not in on the original deal, but magic creatures cannot do harm to others of their kind."

Buttercup looked up and said into the air, "just kidding, love ya," and then continued. "To solve the problem, we created this plan to turn the prince into a princess. Actually, it was my plan and it’s a doozy, umm, it's a really good one. Queen Charlotte, I know you have thought ill of us for depriving you of your baby and for that I apologize, but it was necessary for him to learn to be a boy before he became a girl. That training in the manly rather than the domestic arts has served her well, I believe."

"I was indeed angry with your kind, Mistress Buttercup, of that I make no pretense, but I have more than been recompensed by the joy the Princess has brought me."

"The Princess shares your good heart, Queen Charlotte, a quality that too serves her well for sure, and your forgiveness is gratefully accepted, but we have one parting gift to bestow, for you shall yet have a baby to care for."

Queen Charlotte and the King both gave Buttercup a startled look."

"Oh, no," she laughed, "you are to be its grandmother. It is the Princess who shall give birth to a son."

Buttercup turned to give the King a nasty look as he was about to speak.

"Okay, Hank," she challenged him, "you were about to say that the Princess is really a boy, so she can't have a baby, right?"

The King slid back on his throne.

"Let's get this straight. You see the little feelers up here?" She pointed to the antennae on top of her head poking through her pinkish hair. "They're useless, but really cute, don't you think?" Before he could agree, she continued, "and you see the little pointy ears and the wings, which I haven't any idea why we have, because we levitate, and the sparkly dress."

Buttercup paused, looked over her shoulder and asked rhetorically, "do you think this dress makes my butt look big, Charlotte? I mean what do little green goblins, whose women are about as attractive as the south end of a donkey going north, know about haute couture anyway? And do you know how embarrassing it is having a bunch of horny ogres looking up to catch a peek at your twat when you fly around? Hmm, then again… . Where was I? Oh, yeah."

Buttercup returned to berating King Henry.

"See the wand, the one that turns know-it-all kings into little green frogs?" Buttercup traced an arc in the air and little sparkles appeared. "Actually Charlotte," Buttercup digressed, "having a frog for a husband isn't such a bad thing. They're really portable. You can stick them in your pocket. Do your dresses have pockets? Well, an apron, whatever. And they have really long, flexible tongues, if you get my drift. What do you say?"

Buttercup winked at the Queen.

"Thank you kindly, Mistress Buttercup," the Queen played along, "but I have become accustomed to my husband in his present form and would prefer he remain so."

"As you wish, Queen Charlotte. So, umm, oh yeah, right. When a fairy says someone is going to have a baby, then you better start buying diapers. Got it?" she chided the King, who remained cowed.

"Here's the drill," she told Princess Charlene. "On your wedding nights," Buttercup paused and again looked up and spoke into the air. "You hear that Petunia, 'wedding nights', plural. You hooked that little servant girl up with just one sissy prince."

Buttercup turned to the King and Queen.

"Heh, heh, sorry, it’s a fairy thing. We tend to be a mite competitive." She looked up and made a rude gesture. "Heh, heh, well more than a mite."

Returning to Princess Charlene, Buttercup instructed her, "on your wedding nights, you're going to have to spit the first load from each of your husbands into the magic receptacle. After that, Sweetie, you're good to swallow."

Buttercup once again turned to the King and Queen, both of whom were blushing.

"What? Like you two never. Oh, yeah, King I'm-Smarter-Than-The Fairies had to make love to his pillow for a dozen years. We told him, don't mess with the magic, it always causes problems, but no, he wouldn't listen. Actually we knew he wouldn't, men never listen. I don't know what it is with them. I mean like last week I had a date with this troll." Buttercup gave Queen Charlotte a big grin. "They're hairy, they're smelly, they're ugly, they're dumb as rocks, but whoever said size doesn't matter never dated one. They can go all night too. Okay, so we're wandering around the enchanted woods looking for his cousin's cave. He grows these really groovy psychedelic mushrooms. Whoa. Anyway, after an hour I say to him, we're lost. No, he says, I know where we are. Okay, I say, where are we? It's right over the next hill, he insists. Finally I say to him, ask a wood nymph. No, they're dumb. Yeah, not like you dung for brains I wanted to say, but the bigger the creature the more sensitive, go figure. A crying troll is really pathetic and having damp fur makes them smell even worse. Anyway, I finally get directions from a wood nymph and by the time we arrived, all the best hors d'oeuvres were gone."

Buttercup paused to regain her concentration during which Princess Charlene observed, "the magic receptacle seems to be absent, Mistress Buttercup."

"Oh, yeah, right, sorry."

Buttercup took her wand, made a circle in the air, it turned black, as if it were a hole, she reached in, rummaged around and out came a crystal globe encased in an intricate web of gold filigree with a short neck and an elaborate gold stopper in the shape of two swans with their slender necks entwined to make a heart by which ring it could be drawn out. The globe had a soft bluish glow denoting its magic nature. Buttercup handed it to the Princess.

"Once you have filled it with your husbands'spe...," she paused and looked over her shoulder at the King and Queen, "specimen," she gave a little cough of derision, "turn the stopper three times to the right. It's not magic, it just seals it tight so the stuff inside doesn't come pouring out. Then recite the magic words: Star light, star bright… no, those are the wrong ones, that's for puppets into boys, we want boys into girls, okay, ummm, magic vessel in my hand, turn into a woman's gland. Eww, that's awful. I stink at rhymes. Actually, you don't need to say anything. The receptacle does it all, but it would have been a nice touch. We fairies love drama."

"Umm," Buttercup paused to once more collect her thoughts. "Okay, after you seal up the receptacle, shake it well. It will splice the genetic material, umm, put together the stuff inside, and your son, it's glowing blue, she confirmed, so it's a baby boy bottle, will have the best characteristics of his fathers. That night, take it to bed with you and hold it to you stomach. When you wake up in the morning, you will be preggo with all the trimmings, back pain, swollen ankles, barf your guts up, mood swings, cravings, wouldn't want you to miss out on the joys of maternity. In nine months you will deliver a bouncing baby prince. Your husbands will return to attend his birth, so that you won't miss the traditional opportunity to curse them out when the contractions hit and so that they can witness that it is your child."

Once again Buttercup looked up. "How about that Petunia? Glass footwear and vegetable transportation is so passé. We're talking about recombinant DNA and transmorphogenesis. High tech stuff. Heh, heh, sorry folks. That Petunia, always bragging, thinks she's such-a-much. Hah," Buttercup spoke back to the air, "no way, Petunia, this is one for the Gnomish Book of Records."

"Mistress Buttercup," the King ventured cautiously, "I wish not to provoke you, but please, the plan is of your devising. Why did the Prince need to become a Princess for it to succeed?"

Since fairies were all female, at least the kinds with wings and wands, they were natural feminists and so enjoyed asserting themselves over men, the King being no exception, but Buttercup, having had enough fun at his expense, relented.

"Your Highness, it is a fair question," she said deferentially to his surprise. "A woman by her nature is capable of conception. Although each Prince may be sure of his own abstention when alone with her, he could have no such confidence in the restraint of the others and none would believe that a child born of multiple unions is not the natural progeny of one. Therefore, for her husbands to have no doubt that the Princess remained a virgin on her wedding nights and that her child was theirs, conceived by magic, she could not be a woman."

Buttercup turned to the Princess and said familiarly, "It is for that reason, Charlene, that after your son's birth you shall have one day to nurse him. I would not deprive you of the most tender time of motherhood. Then the transformation will reverse and you will be as you were. By confirmation of that change when you have your annual conjugal visits, the princes will be assured that they were not duped by some clever masquerade. Unfortunately, with the change your breasts will once again become only decorative accessories. However, your son's godmothers-to-be, Elisse and Marlyne, are conveniently pregnant and will have plenty of milk to spare. As to the legitimacy of your child, the rumor was started upon your arrival that Prince Charles had been sent to Dalmacia. You will retire for one month, a period of recovery you may enjoy after five wedding nights in a row. It will be rumored that the King has decided that it would be more propitious if you were to wed Prince Charles and so the King has sent you to him in Dalmacia, his condition still requiring him to remain, but you returning pregnant. Your son will be accepted as the son of Prince Charles, the rightful heir to the Trimontaine throne, although your husbands will know better, but have no reason to dispute his claim.

"Thank you, Mistress Buttercup, and, if it does not try your patience, might you also explain how this plan of your devising relieves you and your sisters of your promise?"

"Another good question, King Henry," she replied to his relief. "Although the Princess will be her son's birth mother, having not contributed to his conception, her child will not be of King Harold's blood. So his house ends, the onus is lifted and we may depart. We are sorry, but there is no other way, although in consolation we offer you this. The dawning of a new age of peace and harmony for your Kingdom and all of the others, presided over by Charlene's son on his accession to King Harold's throne, and so it will last for ten generations, one hundred years. Beyond that, our magic's influence fails and with it the memory of our existence fades. Only tales of fairies will remain, but our legacy is that all shall have the same ending.

And they lived happily every after.

The Right Alice

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

17,500 < Novella < 40,000 words

Genre:

Transitioning

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Chapter 1.

And if you go chasing rabbits and you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah-smoking caterpillar has given you the call
Call Alice when she was just small.

– Grace Slick, White Rabbit

I woke up early, put on my white panties and matching bra, pulled on pantyhose, tucked in my breast forms, jiggled them into place, shaved and did my makeup. My clothes were still in the guest room. Standing in front of the closet, I couldn't decide. "Helen, I wore a skirt suit yesterday. Should I wear a dress today? "

"Does it make a difference? " she called back from the bedroom.

"No, but I want to look good."

"Why would a dress make you look better than a skirt and jacket?"

"I don't know. Before, it didn't matter. A different suit, the same suit with a different shirt or tie. Nobody pays attention to what men wear. Dressing as a woman is different. We're judged on our appearance."

"Really? You've been a woman for two weeks. When did you become an authority?"

"I've been a woman all my life. I've been dressing as a woman for two weeks. And you're the one who said that you can't wear the same dress to functions twice in a row."

"Social events, yes. Work, no. At the time, it didn't seem necessary to qualify."

"So it's okay if I wear a suit again?"

"Yes."

"So I shouldn't wear a dress?"

"Are you asking for my permission or my advice?"

"Advice."

"Go as you are."

"That's not helpful."

Helen came in and looked at me sympathetically. "I'm sorry. I've become so accustomed to Grace that I forget she's new to being a woman." She laughed.

"What's so funny?"

"I was just thinking. It's like dressing Marissa when she was a little girl. Picking out her clothes. She was so fussy about what she wore," she reminisced and smiled. "Just like her fa . . . ," she caught herself, "like you." She started going through the clothes. "You have lots of nice things. They're all pretty. Why don't you wear a dress today. This is nice." She held out a blue printed Anne Klein sheath. "We bought a scarf to go with it." She looked in the dresser. "Here."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." She looked at her watch. "We should get going. Finish getting dressed and I'll start breakfast." She turned and started to leave, then turned back. "Slip into the dress and I'll zip you up."

After breakfast, we took our pocketbooks and got in the car. I still didn't have my new license. We rode in silence for about ten minutes. While we were stopped at a light, Helen turned to me. "We have to talk."

"What about?"

"Us."

Strange how things have a habit of coming full circle. It was what I said to Helen when I came out to her and now it was my turn to ask, "You want a divorce?"

"No, I'm here for you. I'll always be here for you. But where is here? We're not husband and wife anymore. So what are we? I don't want a same sex relationship, but I have one. So technically, I am, at least by your gender now and anatomy later, married to a woman. If that doesn't make me a lesbian and were not each other's wife, then what am I? Your girlfriend? Companion? Roommate? Fashion consultant? Chauffeur?"

"I thought that you're my significant other."

"As the old song goes," I rolled my eyes at another musical metaphor, which didn't discourage Helen, "love will keep us together." The question remains, together as what, besides lovers, such as that it is or will be?"

"Can't we just be ourselves?"

"Yes, but that's the problem, not the answer. If we were our old selves, you'd be George in a dress and I'd still be his," she emphasized his, "wife. But you're not and I'm not. So who are we now? When you come home tonight, are you still the man of the house and do I still do the cooking and cleaning? Not that I mind things being the way they were, but are they? Should they be? Can they be?" She pulled over to the curb and stopped the car. "Speaking of being here for you, we're here." Helen leaned over and gave me a kiss on the cheek. "It's okay," she reassured me. "Go ahead. You've got enough to deal with at work. We can continue this conversation tonight."

I opened the car door, put my knees together, swivelled in my seat, stood up, adjusted my dress and went into the building. I was greeted with polite 'good mornings' as I walked to my office. Claire was at her desk. She stood up when she saw me and opened the door, following me in. I noticed a pile of file folders on my desk. I turned to aks her the reason, but she anticipated my question.

"Those are the clients who you wanted to keep. I though you would like to contact them. I can put them back otherwise."

"Is that all I have on my calendar for today?"

"That's all you have on your calendar. Most of the work that was left you cleaned up before you went on," she grinned, "your vacation."

"Thank you."

"Your welcome. Would you like coffee?"

I nodded. She left and closed the door behind her. I picked up the first file. It was Tito and Tony Demarco. Tony was a classmate in high school. He and his older brother had started with one truck. The called themselves T & T Trucking, claiming, 'dynamite service,' with literary license replacing chemistry as to the difference between explosives. They had a fleet now and I had been doing their accounting since I became a CPA. I picked up the phone. Claire knocked and brought in my coffee as I was dialing. She looked to see if I wanted her for anything. I shook my head.

The receptionist asked who was calling. Crap, I hadn't thought about how I would introduce myself. Tito had retired a few years ago. If I told her it was Grace calling for Tony, he would have no idea who I was. "Hello, who's calling please?" she repeated into the silent phone

"It's Mr. Demarco's accountant calling." Equivocal, but true.

She put me on hold. A minute of elevator music and Tony picked up."

There was no option. "Tony, hi, it's George."

"George? It doesn't sound like you."

"My voice sounds different because I'm a woman. Grace is my new name."

Tony started laughing. "You got me, George. You do sound like a woman. Good joke."

"It's not a joke."

"Seriously, George? We showered in gym class. I may not know my ass from my elbow, but I know a cock from a pussy."

"That part of me hasn't changed yet."

"Yet? Oh, for crying out loud George, enough. You're not a woman. So what's this about?"

"I'm transgendered Tony."

"Jesus, you're gay. No, you can't be. I mean, shit, you and I, we used to, ... . Christ, when did this happen?"

"No, I'm not gay. Helen and I are still together. I'm living as a woman."

"You're living as a woman with a woman? That's fucked up, George."

If I couldn't get Tony to understand, it was hopeless trying to introduce Grace to my other clients. I sighed. I might as well just get it over with. "I just wanted you to know, Tony. I'd like to continue working with you, but we have other highly qualified accountants, if you ... ."

"Yeah, okay," he interrupted me, "well, you know, I, ... . Listen, I have to take another call. I'll let you know." He hung up.

Claire must have seen that I was off of my phone. The intercom beeped. "Is everything okay," she asked optimistically.

"Not really, " I confided.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"Not unless you have a magic wand and can change people's attitude towards having a transgendered accountant."

"Sorry, I left it in my other purse. More coffee? I think there are still some donuts left in the kitchen."

"It's going to take more than a hot beverage and sweets."

"What about, coffee, a donut and a letter?"

"What letter do you intend to put on my donut?"

She laughed. "Not on you're donut, to your clients. Something like the invitation to your party. Upbeat and positive. Give them a chance to get used to the idea before you talk to them."

"Brilliant. I'm glad I didn't fire you."

"Does that mean I get to kiss you again?"

"Yes."

"I have lots of other good ideas."

"One's enough for now."

"One idea or one kiss?"

"Claire!"

"Just trying to cheer you up."

"I'm as cheered as I can be without coffee and a donut. I also need to use the ladies room."

"I'll take care of the first. You're going to have to take care of the second." I started to walk away. "Aren't your forgetting something?"

"Your kiss?"

"Well, that too. Your pocketbook, if you want to freshen up."

"Thanks. If it isn't obvious, I'm new at this."

"It's obvious. You were heading towards the men's room. The lady's is on the other side of reception. That way," she pointed and started laughing.

"My confusion is amusing?"

"No," she continued to laugh and finally stopped herself. "I was picturing the guys peeing on themselves when you walked in." Actually, it was pretty funny.

I walked to the lady's room and opened the door. There were two women I recognized as secretaries standing at the sinks putting on makeup. Another was just coming out of a stall with her skirt up, adjusting her pantyhose. The two at the sink smiled nervously while they packed up their cosmetics. The other woman was preoccupied and started to say something, then looked up to see me. She looked for her friends, who were gone, made a small exclamation, straightened out her skirt, turned around to get her pocketbook, which was still hanging on the door of the toilet, grabbed it and left. I disengaged my underwear, sat down to pee, washed, put on some lipstick, fixed my hair and returned to my office.

Once I was back at my desk, Claire came in. "Shall we get started on that letter?"

"Thanks, but I need to think about it, first. The invitation to our house was informal: 'Yes, the woman in the picture is me. I'm Grace now. Come meet me.' I agree that a letter is a better form of introduction, but it has to be more professional."

Claire left and I started to work. 'Dear Client,' definitely a good start, 'I wanted to tell you.' No, delete. 'I wanted you to know,' better, 'that I have,' what have I done? The invitation said become a woman, in deference to simplicity. Delete. 'I wanted you to know that after many years of living as a man, I am now Grace, the woman who, whom,' look it up, 'I should have been born.' Accurate, but TMI? Do they care? Delete. 'I have transitioned into a woman,' simple, direct, 'and as Grace,' good introduction, I would like to remain your accountant.' No, don't ask, pretty please, may I? Tell them. Delete. 'I will continue to provide you with the same skill and experience.' No, not you. Delete. 'I will continue to provide your company,' no, delete, account, 'your account with the same skill and experience.' Yes! I sent the letter to Claire to address and print. She popped in the door with a 'perfect' hand sign.

I sat back and congratulated myself. There wasn't much more for me to do. The intercom beeped. "Margaret is here to see you." I told Claire to send her in. Margaret was our office administrator and also she did our HR. She was an older woman, in her fifties, short and pudgy with graying hair, which made her something of a mother figure for the support staff. They felt that they could confide in her, which was good for office morale. She came in and we exchanged greetings. It was the first time she had seen me since I returned. I looked to see any reaction, but either there was none or she was good at hiding her feelings. Given her position, probably the latter. I motioned for her to sit. She wanted to stand.

"You used the lady's room this afternoon," she got right to the point.

"Yes."

"It made some of the secretaries uncomfortable."

"Not going would have made me uncomfortable," I challenged her.

"Please, George." She gave me an apologetic look and sighed. "Grace," she corrected herself. "I'm only doing my job. You're the managing partner and, as the HR director, I am reporting to you that some of the female employees complained. Once a complaint is made, state and federal law require that we respond or we could be sued. Allowing a man to use the lady's room could be creating a hostile work environment. I'm not trying to be contentious, just cautious."

"I'm sorry, Margaret. I know you're just doing your job." I stood up and turned around. "I am a woman. Problem solved."

"By appearance and perhaps legally, yes, but beauty is in the eye of the beholder. To the other women in the office you're still George in a dress."

"What do you mean by perhaps?"

"I spoke to our lawyers about LGBT rights. To qualify as transgendered, you have to have a doctor's certification. Once you do, you have to be allowed to use the gender appropriate bathroom. Since you haven't given me one, you can't. No offense."

"None taken. I can get one tomorrow. Problem solved."

"Legally yes, practically, no. It's like telling a kid that spinach is good for them. Even if it's true, it doesn't make them feel any better about being forced to eat it."

"Okay, Margaret, then what do you suggest?"

"As the HR director talking to the managing partner who makes the decisions about office policy, I suggest that we comply with the law. I talked to my some of the other office administrators. We have an association. They suggested offering the employee, I didn't tell them who it was, use of a handicapped bathroom, which is unisex."

"Do we have one?"

"No. Each of the bathrooms is handicapped accessible, so we don't need one. I checked with building management to see if there might be one on another floor. There isn't. On the single tenant floors, the elevators open into the reception area and the bathrooms are in the tenant space. On the multi-tenant floors, the bathrooms are in the elevator lobby and have key codes for access."

"What about designated times."

"Legally, we can't have disparate treatment by gender. Practically, nature can't wait, which means the women would have to go to another floor. Or you could. The floor below ours is multi-tenant and here's a card with the code. Do you want me to send out a memo about LGBT rights?"

"No. Office morale is more important than political correctness, at least when the person making the decision is the only person affected by it."

"Thank you." She started to leave and then stopped and turned around. "One more question."

"Okay."

"Nylon or cotton?"

"What?" It took me a moment to realize that she was talking 'girl talk.' I could see why she was good at making our office staff comfortable about personal, as well as personnel, matters. Oh," I laughed, "definitely nylon."

She smiled. "Me too."

"And to answer your other question, which you were too polite to ask, silicone for now."

She laughed again and jostled her breasts. "Too much of a good thing and gravity is not my friend any more." Very good at her job, I complimented her to myself.

After she left, Claire came in with a worried look. "Is everything okay?"

"The other secretaries don't like me using the lady's room."

"Easily fixed." She turned to leave.

"No, please don't. We've already worked it out. I don't want to be the cause of contention in the office my first week back. For now, I'll use the public lady's room on the floor below. Margaret, gave me the code. Hopefully, with time, I can gain acceptance. It's not that I can't use ours, as long as it is official with a note from my doctor, but I decided I wouldn't, for now."

"They really don't want you in there? She said that?"

"She said that they were, in her word, 'uncomfortable.'It's probably as much my being the managing partner as it is my being transgendered."

"As far as I know, the other women partners don't pee in a pot."

"Let it go, please."

"Yes. Ma'am." She left and closed the door.

At about three thirty, Claire came in carrying a stack of papers.

"The letters are ready for you to proof and sign." I read the first one and picked up my pen. I thought for minute and put it down. "Is it okay?"

"Yes, it's fine, but I'm having second thoughts. Maybe it's not such a good idea to send them all out at once. That's a lot of calls from good clients with questions which I'm not ready to answer."

"What if you send out just one as a test. Start with Vicki French. She's another of your old clients," Claire suggested, giving our gender more credit for acceptance of diversity.

"If our own female office staff isn't able to accept me, I'm not sure she would be either. Let me think about it." I put my pen down.

For lack of anything better to do, I went over the office accounting. I was pleased to see that the firm was doing well financially, even with me being out for over a month. I asked Helen to pick me up at four to avoid the worst of the evening rush hour traffic. I tidied up my desk, logged out of my computer, got my pocketbook and walked out. "I'm going to stop at the lady's room. Might as well make sure the code works. Got my pocketbook," I confirmed, "and then I'm meeting Helen. Goodnight and thanks."

"Goodnight and you're welcome. If the code doesn't work, come back up. I'll stand guard."

"Maybe you should get one of those pots that the women partners use, just in case," I teased her.

There was no problem. I waited in the lobby for Helen. She pulled up at about ten of four. I went out and got in. "Hi."

"Hi, back at you. Did you have a good day?"

"Not really. Tony, you remember, he's been my client from the beginning, I tried talking to him, explaining about my transitioning. He hung up on me. And then Margaret, the office administrator, she told me the women, the women staff anyway, she didn't specifically say the women partners, were uncomfortable with me using the lady's room. Two rejections in one day."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too. I think Tony will come around. I told him that we had other partners to handle his account. And I'm using the public lady's room on the floor below for now. I need a note from Dr. Rosen to officially use the one in our office anyway, so its okay. How was your day?"

"Nowhere near as stressful as yours."

We rode in silence until we were almost home. "Helen, about this morning . . . ."

"It's okay," she interrupted me, "you've got enough going on at work for now. It can wait."

"You know, I don't mind doing the housework, cooking, cleaning. I'm quite good at laundry now."

"I said it can wait."

"I don't know what else I can do to make you happy."

"You're not going to let it go."

"I can't."

"Honey, Grace, I don't need a maid or a cook or a wife. What I want is . . . ."

"I know what you want, a husband. I'm sorry."

"I didn't say that."

"You were going to."

"No, I wasn't. That ship has sailed. What I want to know is the course of the one were on."

"Based on today, we're headed for the rocks."

"Well, maybe the Captain should consult the navigator before we hit them."

"You're the navigator?"

"No, I'm the first mate." She laughed.

"So, who's the navigator?"

"Dr. Rosen. She pointed us in the right direction for Provincetown and the fair."

"I'll call her tomorrow. Do you want to come?"

"I think this is something you and she need to work out."

Our discussion ended as we pulled into the garage. In the house, Helen started preparing dinner. I offered to help. "Okay, but you should take off that dress. They're expensive to dry clean."

I went upstairs. I picked out a jean skirt, one of my first purchases shopping for myself, and paired it with a pink cotton pullover. I debated taking off my bra, but I liked the way I looked and it made me feel more feminine.

The next morning at breakfast, Helen handed me an envelope. "I forgot to tell you, this came from the DMV." It was the confirmation that my gender had been changed in their database and I could get a new license. That meant Helen didn't need to drive me to work.

My first time driving as a woman was exciting. I loved the feeling of working the pedals in heels, the pantyhose on my legs brushing against my skirt as I went from the gas to the brake, and looking at my nail polished fingers on the steering wheel. As I drove along, I smiled at the other women in their cars. It was great to be sharing the road with my sisters, although, based on the reaction in my office, I doubted that they would feel the same way, if they knew. That got me to wondering what more it would take for me to be accepted in the sorority?

Chapter 2.

When the men on the chessboard get up and tell you where to go
And you've just had some kind of mushroom and your mind is moving low
Go ask Alice, I think she'll know.

– Grace Slick, White Rabbit

When I got to my office, I saw that Claire was upset. Before I could ask her what was wrong, she stood up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it. I should have told him to go screw himself."

I had never heard Claire talk like that in the ten years that she had been my secretary. "Calm down, please." She took a deep breath. "Now, what is it that you shouldn't have done to whoever it is that should screw himself?"

"He, Bob," meaning one of my partners, "asked me if you had contacted any of the other clients. I though it was, you know, nothing important, just a question about what you were doing and I wanted him to know you were working on your accounts, so I told him about the letters. He, he insisted I give them to him. I wasn't going to, but then I remembered I had them stored on my computer, so it didn't matter anyway. I could reprint them."

Bob had no right to talk to my secretary like that and no right to demand that she give him my work. If there was a problem, he should have brought it to me as the managing partner. "I will have a word with Bob. In fact, more than a word."

"That too."

"What too?"

"He wants to talk to you. He said I should tell you that there's a partners' meeting as soon as you got in. They're waiting for you in the conference room."

Now I was furious. I was the one who scheduled meetings, not him, and we had them in the evening, after work, when the staff was gone, so as not to interrupt the work day and for privacy. Claire had said he wanted to know if I had contacted other clients. The only client I had spoken to was Tony and the only way Bob would know is if Tony told him. From Bob confiscating the letters, obviously it was cause for concern. Well, if that was the only problem, I could hold off informing my other clients. I had decided to do it one client at a time anyway.

Bob and the rest of the partners could damn well wait. I went into my office, took out my compact, touched up my lipstick, applied some powder and ran a brush through my hair. I made a mental note to ask Margaret to get me a mirror for my wall. I called Claire and asked her if I had any calls. There weren't any. I wondered if Bob had the audacity to tell the receptionist not to put them through to me.

The conference room was on the other side of the office. When I arrived, the door was closed and the drapes were drawn across the glass window. Inside, all of the partners were seated. At least they had the courtesy to leave me my seat at the head of the table. I walked in, made a show of smoothing my dress under me and seated myself. I looked around the table, but no one would give me any eye contact. They were obviously nervous, fidgeting with their pens or studying their notepads. I sat demurely with my hands folded on the table displaying my manicured nails, waiting for one of them to explain the purpose of the meeting. After about two minutes of awkward silence, Bob spoke.

"George, we have a problem." He paused, waiting for me to respond. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction, particularly since he addressed me as George. When he finally realized there was not going to be a dialog, he continued. "Tony Demarco, the head of T&T Trucking," like I wouldn't know who he was, "called. Being Italian and in the trucking business, I can't repeat what he said in mixed company, but he was very upset about you claiming to be a woman and what's going on with our firm. To put it bluntly, although not as colorful, he doesn't want to work with a bunch of queers. I tried to explain that we didn't know that you were gay or approve of it, but he wouldn't listen. This is serious. We have to do something."

George would have been on his feet, threatening everyone for their insubordination, but George would not have been in this situation and Grace was a lady. "We have lost accounts before." I calmly observed. "Mergers and acquisitions, changes in management, companies closing or moving out of state. We get new ones." I looked around the table to see their reaction. They were all looking at Bob. "And I'm not gay, I'm transgendered."

"If you say so, but whatever you are could ruin our reputation and you were going to send out letters to your other clients telling them, if I hadn't stopped you." I could see Liz Adams, a very capable woman who was my first hire, give Bob a disapproving look. Either he didn't notice or didn't care. "We can't risk losing more clients."

"I understand, Bob. You need to think of yourself first. Your partner's employment agreement requires thirty days notice, but we can waive that provision. Your resignation is accepted. Please leave." I looked around the table." Anyone else who feels the same way is free to leave with him." From the change in Bob's color, his blood pressure was about five points below a stroke.

"What? No. I'm not resigning."

Bob was one of those insecure people who tried to make himself important at the expense of others. He must have thought I was vulnerable as a woman. Thin and balding with a pencil mustache, which he seemed to think made him sophisticated, but really looked like a mishap with magic marker, the only reason he wasn't a bully was that, by his appearance and demeanor, nobody took him seriously. How the other partners let him be their spokesperson was a mystery. Probably too much guilt to take ownership. "Okay, have it your way," I maintained my composure. "You interfered in the management of the firm. You were disrespectful to me. You overstepped your authority by taking documents from my office." I stood up for dramatic effect. "You're terminated for cause. Please leave."

"I, you, you can't, I won't . . . . He sputtered, looking around the table for support.

Liz Adams spoke up. "Grace, please, let's not be hasty. We're all concerned about the future of the firm. I apologize for the way it was presented." I sat back down. "Thank you." I folded my hands and waited. "We want to make a proposal." She turned and spoke to Carla Nelson, the only non-CPA partner. She was a tax attorney who I had hired her a few years ago to assist our clients with their estate and financial planning. Carla reached down and produced a black binder. She handed it to Liz, who stood up and handed it to me. The cover was titled 'Draft Buy-Sell Agreement'.

"You want me to leave the firm?" I asked incredulously.

"We want you to do what is best for the firm and you."

I opened the cover. There was a summary. It was a very generous offer. Their guilt over being cowards and fear of what would happen, if I turned it down, had combined to make, in the words of the godfather, an offer I couldn't refuse. I took another five minutes, pretending to review the plan in more detail, while they all waited nervously. Finally, I looked up. "The terms are acceptable. I could see a look of relief on their faces. "But," and the look of concern returned, "it is unfunded. You want me to turn the firm over to you and get nothing in return but an empty promise. I need your personal guarantees."

"I can't," Dave Davis demurred. He was one of the last to make partner and recently married, Helen and I had been at his wedding. "If something should happen, my share of the long term commitment would put me into bankruptcy." There was concurrence by the other partners.

"So you want me to take the risk, but you don't want to take any?"

"Grace has a valid point. What if we compromise?" Liz suggested. "We agree to guarantee the first year's payment in proportion to our partnership interest. At the end of that time, we can renew the guarantees for another year or Grace can come back as the managing partner. That gives us and Grace an opportunity to work out the transition." She gave me a smile at the wordplay, which I am sure no one else got. "A show of hands, please." All went up. She turned to me. "Satisfied?"

"A few other details. First, I want to leave the firm in good hands. Liz is to become the managing partner and will remain so until I agree to her replacement." She deserved it and she was the best choice. I enjoyed the surprised look on her face.

"I don't .."

"I do. Do you accept?" She did. "Do you all agree?" They did.

"Second," pushing my advantage, "Claire has been with me for over ten years. Liz, you will need her to help you over the next six months." After that, it is up to her and you. If she leaves for any reason, she gets one year's severance with benefits. Plus the balance of her six months, if it is before then. That's up to her. And, she gets a $100 per week raise."

"That may be too generous, Grace, considering that we're also paying you," Liz assumed her new management role. There were nods by the other partners. "How about six month's salary guaranteed and six months severance with benefits, but no, raise."

"How about six months salary guaranteed, nine months severance with benefits and a $1,000 bonus at the end of this year?" I negotiated.
"That seems fair. All in favor?" I believe they would have agreed to walking barefoot on glass just to get this meeting over. All hands went up."

"Finally, my name stays on the firm." I could see eyes roll.

Again Liz took the lead. Good woman, right choice. "Please don't take this the wrong way, but we're paying you a lot of money to avoid any controversy. So far, it's been just Tony, but we need the ability to change the name, if that's what it takes. Fair is fair. Only with your permission. I trust you to do the right thing. We all do." She looked around the table for consensus. Nobody dared dissent. "Okay."

It was time for me to compromise. Actually, who cared. "Agreed." I stood up. So did everyone else. It wasn't a time for congratulations, nobody rushed around the table to hug me or shake my hand, but everyone seemed relieved, particularly Bob, who appeared to have assumed the change in management was a reprieve. "How soon do you want to me to leave?"

"Legally, your retirement doesn't begin until we sign the documents," Carla said. "You are still the managing partner, until you say otherwise."

"Otherwise." I looked at Liz. "Congratulations." I looked around the room. "Good luck to you all." There was no sense leaving on bad terms. With that encouragement, a few of the partners came up to say goodbye.

Liz waited until everyone left. "You know you have a friend."

Chapter 3.

When logic and proportion have fallen sloppy dead
And the White Knight is talking backwards
And the Red Queen's off with her head
Remember what the dormouse said.
Feed your head. Feed your head.

– Grace Slick, White Rabbit

I waited for everyone to leave, took the binder and walked back to my office. Claire followed me in and closed the door. "Do you want the good news first or the bad news?"

"The bad news. Then maybe the good news will cheer me up."

"The bad news is that they fired me."

"What? They can't. It's your firm."

"It was. Now its theirs," I replied calmly.

"You're not angry?"

"That's the good news. They made it worth my while." I held up the binder. "The other good news is that Liz will replace me." It struck me as ironic that they exchanged one woman managing partner for another and that the only difference between rejection and acceptance was an X chromosome. "And more good news. You have six months guaranteed employment, if you want to stay. You said you liked working for a woman. If not, then nine months of severance with benefits. Oh, and a $1,000 year end bonus. Then there's more bad news." I smiled to let her know I was teasing. "You will have to stop kissing your boss."

"Good thing that you're not my boss." She put her arms around me, gave me a hug and another kiss. "Now, we need to start getting organized. Boxes! We need boxes." She turned and left.

It was a good time to call Dr. Rosen and see if she could fit me in. "Hello, Ellie. How are you? No, I'm okay, but I really need to see Dr. Rosen. Does she have any time this afternoon? No, its not an emergency. You don't have to interrupt her. Well, on a scale of one to ten, one being no hurry and ten being send an ambulance, its about a six point five, maybe a seven. Okay, about twenty minutes. Yes, I know, the ER. No, I can wait for her to call. Thanks."

I surveyed my office, trying to decide where to start. Claire came back with one of the young men who provided logistical support. A fancy way of saying he did the mail and errands. He was carrying a bundle of the boxes we used to store files. After they were constructed, Claire directed him to take down the pictures and my diplomas. Redecorating she told him. After he started, she produced a magic marker. "I'm putting an H on three of the boxes, which means they have stuff you want to take home," she explained. 'H' for home." I rolled my eyes. "I'm putting an O on three for things you want to leave in the office. 'O' for office. I will sort them out. And an X on three for whatever you want thrown out. 'X' for out, because 'O' is for office," she persisted. "The last box," she drew a question mark, "is for anything that your not sure where it goes."

"Seriously?" Undaunted, she asked me if I wanted her to help. "Is there a 'P' box?" She wanted to know what would go in it. "You. 'P' for 'pain in the ass.'" She walked over and put both feet in one of the boxes. She shook her head.

After everything was off of the walls, wrapped in newspaper which Claire procured from the break room, and stowed in one of the 'H' boxes, she left. I started going through my desk. Twenty-five years worth of pens, pencils, paperclips and assorted junk that had accumulated in my top drawer got tossed. Ironically, there were a lot of items with the T&T trucking logo, relieving me of any nostalgia for a career's worth of souvenirs.

As I was starting on the next drawer, my phone rang. It was Dr. Rosen returning my call. "No, I'm okay. That wasn't the message? Well, no, I was trying to tell Ellie that it wasn't life or death. I know, sometimes it can be, but it wasn't. That was why I told her it was a 6.5 or 7. I was, you know, trying to quantify it. Yes, I understand. Qualitative not quantitative. Sorry, I'm an accountant. No, I still would like to see you today. Okay, four thirty. I'll see you then."

I continued packing. At four I got my coat and pocketbook. I told Claire I was leaving for the day. She wanted to know if I was coming back or should she finish. I told her that I still needed my lawyers to review the agreement before I signed it, so officially I was still working and I would be in tomorrow. In the meantime, I didn't want to leave the office with a parade of boxes following me. I'd come back over the weekend and pick them up. She offered to come in. I told her thanks, but it wasn't necessary. I left and drove to Dr. Rosen's office.

I got stuck in rush hour traffic and was a few minutes late. The door was open, but Ellie was gone. I knocked on Dr. Rosen's office door. "Grace, come in." We exchanged greetings and I took my usual chair. She came around her desk and took the one across from me. "You look good," she complimented me. "No problem with the hormones?"

"My system still hasn't adjusted to them."

"Are you here to commiserate over menopause?"

"No." I'm here because, my wife and children can't relate to me. My partners and my clients disapprove of me. Our friends don't want anything to do with me. Murphy's law is in effect. Everything that could go wrong has gone wrong. "

"What made you think that being transgendered was an exception?"

"You did."

"Me? How so?"

"You encouraged me."

"I supported you."

"Same thing."

"Do you like ice cream?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Answer the question."

"Yes.

"Then its okay for you to eat it. So, if you go home tonight and have ice cream, whose idea would it be, yours or mine?"

"Mine."

"And I supported your choice."

"This is my life, not my preference for dessert."

"And you chose it."

"I didn't have a choice."

"Then what I did or didn't do doesn't matter, does it?"

I sighed. "No. I shouldn't blame you. I'm sorry. It's my problem."

"Apology accepted and its our problem."

"I'm confused."

"If you weren't, you wouldn't be here."

"What should I do?" She gave me a patronizing look. "Yes, I know. You don't make life decisions for your patients."

"There's a saying, adage, whatever, that's overused, because it's applicable to a variety of situations. You know it. I'll start, with some literary license, and you finish it. 'Give a woman a fish.'" She nodded for me to continue.

"And you feed her for a day."

"Go on."

"'Teach a woman to fish and you feed her for a lifetime.' I'm sorry, Roberta, but I don't get it. This isn't about dessert or fish. This is about my life."

"Patience solves problems, not petulance. What you recited usually refers to charity or welfare. Making people dependent, rather than independent. But it also applies to making decisions for them. Grace, doctors need their patients to trust them, but psychiatry, isn't an exact science. The human mind is structurally and functionally a more complicated machine than any device we can create or even conceive. No one understands the way it works or how to repair it. I have more experience, but I'm not omniscient or infallible. If I give bad advice, then I loose that patient's confidence. If I give good advice, I discourage the patient from trusting herself. Either way, it doesn't end well."

"So you can't help me?"

"I didn't say I couldn't help you. I said I can't make life decisions for you."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"No. I can point you in the right direction. After that, its up to you."

"Okay, where do I go from here?"

"Home."

"That's it? The words of wisdom on my climb to contentment."

"In philosophy, contentment is the ideal to which we aspire, but can never achieve. You asked me where to go. I told you. The question you want answered is how to get there."

"Okay, how do I get there?"

"You identify the problem and deal with it."

"My problem is that everything has gone wrong."

"No, that's not your problem. That's the result of your problem. Your problem is that you're being selfish."

"You mean thinking of myself before anyone else?"

"No, there's a hyphen between 'self' and 'ish'.

"Selfish isn't hyphenated."

"What I mean is that you are looking at things from your point of view. The technical, but less dramatic term, is egocentric. Who are you?"

"Seriously?"

"Humor me."

"I'm Grace.

"Is Grace a man or a woman?"

"A woman."

"Has she always been a woman?"

"Yes."

"Now look at it from your wife's, children's, partners' and friends's perspective. They've only known you as George. You don't see yourself as having changed. You're the woman you were born and always have been. But they haven't changed either. You're still a man to them."

"So what should I do?"

"Change them."

"How?" She gave me an enigmatic smile."You're not going to tell me, are you."

She looked at her watch. "Time's up."

I looked at my watch. "No it isn't. We still have twelve minutes."

"I forgot, you're an accountant. Figuratively, not literally. We're done." She got up, walked to the door and opened it.

"You said you'd help me."

"I have. You're a smart woman. Go fish."

On my drive home, I tried to puzzle out what Roberta meant. How do you change people? She said I was self-centered. So I should be thinking of others. What others? Others like me? Trans-women? Or others who have the same problem of rejection, because they don't conform to social conventions. Does misery love company? Or maybe there's strength in numbers. I've been so preoccupied with myself that I haven't thought about getting involved in the LGBT community. There must be organizations which provide education and support. I have management skills. I have the time. That's it! The little lightbulb went on. I need to help change people's attitude. I congratulated myself on my insight as I pulled into the garage.

"Hi," I greeted Helen. She turned her back to me to put the casserole dish she was holding in the oven. "Hi," I repeated.

She turned to me. "Hi. Diner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Do you want to take off your dress and put on something more comfortable?"

"Yes, thank you." She continued preparing dinner. I went upstairs. I kicked off my heels, took off my dress and hung it in the closet, peeled off my pantyhose and put on my jean skirt and pink wool turtleneck sweater. I straightened my wig and brushed it, checked my makeup in the mirror, put on lipstick and went downstairs. When I got to the kitchen, the table was set. She had opened a bottle of white wine. She took the casserole out of the oven. By the smell and wine selection, it was tuna noodle.

I sat down. Helen served me and then herself. I poured myself a glass of wine and then filled her glass. She looked at me for a minute. I wasn't sure whether we were going to continue the conversation about our relationship from this morning. Instead she asked passively, "How was your day?"

"I got fired."

"What! You're kidding. It's your firm." She took a drink. "After all you've done for them," she continued angrily, "how could they do this to you?" She took another drink. "You know what, George, sorry, Grace, you know what, screw them. Screw them all. If this is the gratitude after all these years, then let them leave. You don't need them."

"It's not that simple. Based on what happened with Tony, I told you about him getting upset that I had transitioned, the partners were afraid that my other clients would react the same way. Some of them, the partners, actually most, were worried enough that they were going to leave, but the negative publicity of them bailing over me being transgendered or being a partner in a firm that closed because they all left would be as damaging to their career as it would be to the firm. Instead, they decided to convince me to retire by making an extravagant offer. Much better than I could have negotiated otherwise."

"You took their offer?"

I held my hands out, palms up, weighing the options. "Get paid for doing nothing," I raised my left hand, "or make a statement and lose the firm," I lowered my right hand. I still need to have the agreement gone over by my lawyers, but otherwise, yes. I will finish out the week. Clean out my office. I got Claire six months of guaranteed employment and a bonus. And Liz is going to be the new managing partner."

"They replaced you with a woman?"

"I replaced me with a woman."

"Now what?"

"I spoke to Dr. Rosen today, like you suggested. She thought that I should try to become more active in the LGBT community. Help change they way people see us."

By 'us' you mean you and others like you. Not 'us' as in you and me."

"Yes."

We ate the rest of the dinner in silence. After dinner, I offered to help clean up, but Helen declined. There wasn't anything to be gained by insisting, so I went into the study and turned on the TV to catch the end of the evening news. I continued to think about my conversation with Dr. Rosen. We started out talking about my problem. Maybe the solution wasn't as obvious as I thought. Helping others didn't help me. Was there more? Was I wrong? How else could I change people? If not their minds, then what? Helen already accepted me. Marissa too, more or less. Frank, well, education wasn't the answer. He had to come to terms with the personal implications of having a transgendered father and explaining it to his children. My partners and my neighbors would never change, no matter what I did.

There had to be something I was missing. Or maybe not. Was Dr. Rosen being cryptic, like the Greek oracles. Giving ambiguous advice that could be interpreted to fit any situation. If it worked out, then they were right. If it didn't, it was because you misunderstood. Win-win. No, she was better than that. The oracles were pretending that they could see the future. Roberta denied having any such talent.

As I was continuing to struggle with the meaning of Dr. Rosen's advice, Helen came in. To my surprise, she sat down beside me and took my hand. She looked lovingly at me. "I'm sorry."

"You? For what?"

"For being selfish. You're under a lot of pressure and I'm not helping."

"You know, well you don't because you weren't there, Dr. Rosen said the same thing about me. She said that I was being selfish, although she said that there was a hyphen between self and ish."

"Selfish isn't hyphenated."

"That's what I said. She explained that it meant egocentric. From my perspective, I'm a woman. I haven't changed. I've just been masquerading as a man. From everyone else's perspective, it's the opposite. I can't expect them to change how they see me. I have to change them. That's what I've been puzzling over.

"It's too bad we couldn't stay in Wonderland."

"Wonderland?

"Provincetown. Everyone could be who they were and nobody had to be who they weren't. That's what Alice says about Wonderland. Things would be the opposite. Like looking in a mirror. You know, through the looking glass."

My eyes went wide. "Of course! You told me the answer when I first came out to you. I should have remembered. You said that you were the right Alice, like the at the end of the movie. She was standing on the bow of the ship on her way to China, no longer afraid, ready to leave her dull boring life and family behind and take on the challenges of a new world."

"Yes, I know the story."

"Don't you see? Dr. Rosen wasn't being figurative. She was being literal about changing the people. Leave behind the ones who only know me as George. My partners did me a favor. We're financially secure. I don't have to work. We don't need this house. We can sell it. Travel. See the world. Grace and Helen can make new friends as women. Now I know who you are too."

"Yes, you said it. I'm the right Alice to go with you on your adventure."

I pulled my arm away from her and took her hands. "Yes, but you're more than that. The soul has no gender. You're my soul mate. Without you, my life wouldn't be complete. There would be no adventure. I want you with me. Forever."

Helen bit her lip and started to whimper. He eyes teared up. Suddenly, she pulled her hands away, threw her arms around me and gave me a passionate kiss. Finally, she released me and sat back with a few sniffles and a satisfied smile.

"I'll take that as a yes."

"On two conditions."

"Anything."

"How do you know, if you haven't heard them.

"They don't matter.

"They do to me. First, I don't want to go until after your surgery. Some of the places we visit probably won't be as understanding about you being transgendered. If we have to undergo a cavity search, I want to be sure that you have the appropriate number of cavities.

"Well, we have to put the house on the market and sell it. That will take some time. I have to get our financial affairs in order before we leave. We have to plan our trip and make the travel arrangements. We have to say goodbye to the kids. I can wait. And two?"

"I want to take my toy."

"Only if you share."

"Done." She grabbed me and kissed me again. "Whoa." She fanned herself with her hand. "I'm going to have to rethink my not being a lesbian." She stood up and pulled me by the hand.

"Where are we going?"

"Upstairs to get a head start on the cavity searching."

THE END

With special thanks to Angela Rasch for her inspiration, insight and incouragement. Missy.

Through The Looking Glass

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

General Audience (pg)

Publication:

500 < Short Story < 7500 words

Genre:

Transgender

Character Age:

Mature / Thirty+

TG Themes:

Sweet / Sentimental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS

Chapter 1. Coming Out.

"Who are YOU?" said the Caterpillar.
This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then."

– Lewis Caroll, Alice in Wonderland

It was Friday. I left work early. Today was the day. I had rehearsed it dozens of times. None of them were right. It didn't matter. I couldn't wait any longer. I walked into the house. Helen was in the kitchen. "We need to talk." So much for rehearsal.

"We need to talk? She looked surprised. "About what?"

"About me."

"You?"

"Yes."

"I know you've been working really hard lately. Do you want to take a vacation? We could visit the kids. Or just go somewhere and relax. I don't care."

"No, me as in us."

"What?" Her eyes went wide. "You're leaving me. Oh no, please no. I, I, know things have been difficult the last few years, we've seemed to grow apart, but we can work it out."

"No, I'm not leaving you. I'm leaving me."

"That doesn't make any sense."

Please, let's go in the living room and sit down, so I can explain." I took her hand and walked her to the sofa. I sat down beside her. "There's no easy way for me to say this. I'm transgendered." She just looked at me with a blank expression. "I've tried for so long, but now its time for me."

She pulled her hand away. "It's not possible. You're not gay. I would know."

"No, not gay. Transgendered. I'm not in love with another man. I love you. But I hate my body. I should have been born a woman. Now it's time for me to correct that mistake."

"Correct it? How?" She paused. Her eyes went wide. She put her hand to her mouth. "Oh my God, you mean you, you wouldn't. How could you do that to yourself?"

"I'm not doing anything to myself. Nature did it to me."

"What about me, George? What about the children? Nature didn't do anything to us. What about your work? It took you years to build your practice. You can't just give it, you can't just give us, up without thinking it through."

"I have thought it through. For the last forty years I have done nothing but think it through. For my parents' sake, I was their son. For your sake, I was your husband. For the kids sake, I was their father. But my parents are gone. The kids are grown. Over the last few months I have been transferring my clients to the other CPA's and now I'm doing mostly management. Whatever you want or need, the house, our savings, it doesn't matter. I owe you that."

"Owe me?" Owe me!" She waved her arms. "What the hell George. Do you think I married you for a house or money? I want the man," she emphasized man,"I married. That's what I want." She stopped and composed herself. "Look, isn't there some way we can work this out? If it will make you happy, you can wear a dress or whatever around the house. I mean, how do you know you're a woman if you've never been a woman? Try it before you make a decision you can't take back. You'll see. It isn't that wonderful. I get up an hour before you do to do my hair and put on my makeup. You're already in bed while I'm still going through my nighttime routine. You pay $25 for a haircut. I pay $175 to have my hair done and another $35 for a mani-pedi. You wear the same suit and comfortable shoes when we go out. I spend hundreds of dollars for a dress that I wear a few times and heels that I can barely walk in. Why would you choose to be a woman, if you weren't born one?"

"It's not a matter of choice. Grace is who I was born."

"Grace? Who is Grace?"

"I'm Grace."

"Okay, if you're Grace, then where's George? What happened to him?"

"Nothing happened to him. He never existed."

"My compliments to Grace as an actress. She had me fooled. All these years, I thought my husband was a man. I wonder who got me pregnant. Twice. Not Grace."

"I'm sorry, Helen. I know this is confusing. I wish you would come with me to see Dr. Rosen."

"Dr. Rosen? Who is he?"

"Roberta Rosen. She's a psychiatrist who I've been working with."

"For how long has this been going on?"

"Since I made up my mind to come out. Over a year."

"You've been seeing her for more than a year and this is just coming out now?

"No, not coming out as in telling you. Well, yes, that too. Coming out to the world as Grace."

"Why wait? You don't seem to care who you hurt."

"Helen, no, I do care. I care very much. That's why it has been such a difficult decision that took me months of counseling to make."

"So she's the one who told you to do this?"

"No. She's the one who helped me to do this."

"I would like to see her, George. I have some things that I want to say to her about you. About us. If she's a doctor, she should be helping you to get over this, not confusing you."

"I see her on Wednesday afternoons. You can come with me. In the meantime, it's been a long day and I am very tired. I should sleep in the guest room. I'll move my things. Good night. I'm sorry. I, I, don't know. I hoped, I wanted, I thought it might, that I might, that it would go better. I love you." I left Helen on the couch and went upstairs.

I changed into my pajamas and was about to get into bed when there was there was a knock on the door. "Can I come in, please?"

"Yes, of course."

"I know that this must be very hard for you. I'm the one who should apologize. Our wedding vows, for better or for worse. You deserved better." She looked at me and shook her head. "Women only wear men's pajama tops." Anyway, here." She held out something. I took it from her. "I got this for working at the garden club sale." It was a pale pink t-shirt with a bouquet of red roses on the front. "I thought I was taking an M, but instead it was XXL. It's much to big for me." And here." She handed me a bottle. "It's a citrus facial scrub. A woman's skin is her second most important feature." I looked down at my chest. "No, it's our hair. You're lacking in that department too. Good night." She went back into our bedroom. I could hear her crying.

The next morning I waited until I heard Helen in the kitchen. I shaved, got dressed and went downstairs. "Good morning."

She turned. "Grace needs some serious help with her wardrobe."

"I thought you wanted George back?"

"I do, but I'm not going to get him, am I?"

"No."

"Well, if my husband is gone, then I will have to learn to live with Grace." She thought for a bit. "So what does that make me? Her sister? Her girlfriend? Her roommate? Gay women refer to their partner as a wife. Is Grace my wife? I need to know how to introduce you." She thought some more. "If your not gay and I have a wife, am I?"

"Honestly, I thought that you would refer to me as your transgendered ex-husband. I hadn't considered the possibility of an alternative. For now, I think just Grace."

"And where did the name Grace come from? Why not something sexy or exotic? Not that I have anything against Grace. Its just kind of old fashioned."

"I have no illusions that I will ever be either sexy or exotic. Grace was the prettiest and most popular girl in the third grade, with long blonde hair, she usually wore it in pig tails with bows, and big blue eyes. I knew I wanted to be her. To wear dresses with petticoats and black patent leather shoes with straps. I just didn't understand why."

"Why didn't you say something to your parents?"

"I was afraid. I wanted to, but I couldn't. At first, I didn't understand. I knew that I was different, but not the reason. Being transgendered wasn't something that was openly discussed in those days. As I got older, I realized what it was, but I couldn't talk to my parents. They wouldn't have accepted it. Being gay, I don't think they even made a distinction for transgendered, was considered a form of mental illness. At best, Dad would have told me to stop the nonsense, warned me that if he caught me fooling around, as he would have put it, I would get the licking of my life, maybe threaten to ship me off to military school to make a man of me. At worst, I'd be sent for counseling to cure me and, if not, then it wasn't unusual for parents to disown children or at least send them away where they couldn't be an embarrassment."

"Oh."

"I heard you crying last night."

"Yes, the song is right."

"What song?"

"I thought you were good with '60's pop trivia. The Frankie Valli song, you know, 'big girls don't cry. La, la, la. That's just an alibi.' We do. It's our coping mechanism." She looked me over and shook her head. "Grace has a long way to go. There's more to being a woman than not having balls. You know the saying."

"Another song?"

"No, 'pretty is as pretty does." She smiled." You need less talking and more doing. I know, lets go shopping. That always makes a woman feel better."

"Shopping for you?"

"Yes, of course. I need a big strong man to push the cart and protect my pocketbook while I go into the dressing room and try on clothes."

"Last night I thought you were against my coming out."

"That was last night."

"I know what you're doing."

"That makes one of us."

"Reverse psychology. You think that if you go along with me, I'll get over my whimsy."

"Even if that were true, what difference does it make. You told me Grace is her to stay. What harm is there if I choose to believe otherwise."

"I don't want you to be disappointed."

"I'm already disappointed. I don't think there's really a superlative for disappointment."

"Look," I pointed to a glass of orange juice on the table. "Pretend that's a magic potion that will permanently change your gender. Last night you told me it was better to be a man than a woman. Will you dink it?"

She shook her head. "I'm a woman and I like being a woman. I don't want to be a man."

I picked up the glass and drank it. "Neither do I."

Chapter 2. Going Out.

“I can't go back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

"How about a compromise?" she bargained. "I promise that I'll do everything I can to help you experience what it's like to be a woman, a complete wardrobe and personal make over, but Grace stays at home until we see Dr. Rosen. If you're still determined to be transgendered, then we can go away, someplace where nobody will know us. I don't want to change our life until we're both," she emphasized both, "ready." She looked at me hopefully.

"I will always be transgendered. That's not going to change. But I don't mind postponing my debut, if it will make it easier for you. Patience is one of Grace's many virtues."

"I hope housekeeping is another one. There's no end of fun to being a woman."

"I never expected it to be easy. Besides, we have a cleaning service."

"Finish your breakfast. A glass of magic potion won't get you through a day of shopping."

"Maybe I should skip breakfast."

"That's what girdles are for. There's nothing like having your body compressed into an unnatural shape for the sake of fashion. I told you, being a woman is non-stop fun. You can start right in."

There was no sense arguing with her. I got myself a bowl of cornflakes and some milk and fruit from the 'fridge. "We should at least buy skim milk and Special K."

"When Grace does the grocery shopping, she can buy whatever she wants. Right now, she needs to do less talking and more eating, if she wants to have enough time to shop."

It was a bossy side of Helen I hadn't seen before, but maybe she was compensating for being uncomfortable or nervous. She had every reason to be stressed about taking her husband shopping for women's clothes. Not that her attitude mattered. And she was calling me Grace. "Okay, Honey." She frowned. "Sorry, old habits die hard. "Okay, Helen." I spooned up the last of the cereal, rinsed the bowl and put it in the dishwasher. "I'm Ready."

"Is Grace driving or am I?"

"George is driving."

"I thought George was a fiction of Grace's imagination?"

"Grace's driver's license still says George."

"Graces driver's license still says male."

"Can we go, please? I'll drive." She conceded and got into the passenger's side of my car. I pulled out of the garage and stopped at the end of the driveway. "Where are we going?"

"Where would you like to go?"

"I don't know, this is all new to me."

"You've never worn women's clothes before?"

"I would sneak into my mother's room and try on her clothes, but there wasn't a lot that I could fit into by the time I got up the courage to do it and I was always worried that I would get caught. Later, when I was living on m own, I bought some things, but it was really uncomfortable shopping for myself in those days. The saleswomen were much more attentive and lingerie was behind the counter, so you had to ask for it. I would look through magazines or the JC Penny and Sears catalogs for clothes. Then I would write down a description in my imitation of feminine script, go to the store, show the note to the saleswoman and pretend that I was buying it for my mother or sister. My guess is that they knew, but didn't want to pass up a sale, as long as we maintained the illusion. An early version of don't ask, don't tell. I never really had much of anything that went together. As the woman who has everything, what do you think?"

"I suggest we start with some basic skirts and dresses. That way, we can be sure Grace has the right bras and underpants to go with her outfits?"

"I thought women called them panties?"

"Some do. Some don't. To me panties are the skimpy, lace trimmed nylon ones for which we pay $25 to look pretty in case we get hit by a bus and have to hand wash if we don't. Underpants are the comfortable cotton ones that come in three packs, cost $12 and get thrown in the washer, if we avoid hospitalization."

"Oh."

"I take it by your disappointment, that Grace likes panties." I nodded and she smiled. "Don't go by me. You'll see. I'm in the minority. When we get to the lingerie section, there's a sea of panties and a couple of racks of underpants against the back wall. Grace can be as femmy as she wants. Okay?"

"Okay."

Helen thought for a minute. "Lets go to the mall."

We pulled out and headed towards the highway. Suddenly, Helen turned to me. "I've changed my mind."

"We're not going to the mall? You want me to turn around?"

"Yes and no. Yes, we're not going to the mall. No, we're not going home. We're going to Kohls."

"You're worried about being seen shopping with me?"

"Honestly, no. Nobody cares about a woman dragging her husband along while she shops for clothes. All you need to do is follow me around and look grumpy." She paused in thought. "I always wondered why you didn't want to go with me. Now it makes sense. It wasn't that you didn't want to shop. It was because you did."

"Yes," I admitted.

"I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault. It's society's. Boys are boys and girls are girls and never the twain shall meet. I did my best to make you believe that."

"I suppose well done is not comforting."

"No, but it served its purpose."

"A frustrating purpose."

"A necessary purpose. So, are we shopping or commiserating?"

"Both. Um, where was I?"

"Explaining your choice of venues."

"I never thought of it that way. Anyway, the mall has nicer stores, but I'm thinking that for now you just need the basics. The discount department stores like Kohls have a good selection and there are fewer sales people about, which makes it easier to browse. Turn left on Washington and head towards Oakdale. Kohls also has a really good 'no questions asked' policy on returns, turn right at the next light.

Chapter 3. Being Out.

"Alice, you cannot live your life to please others. The choice must be yours, because when you step out to face that creature, you will step out alone."
– Mirana, the White Queen, Alice in Wonderland 2010

Helen looked around and headed towards the women's section. "What should we look at first? Skirts? Dresses?" I shrugged. "Really? All those years of anticipation and now its up to me. That's a lot of pressure." Her face lit up. "I know what you want!"

"Really, how?"

"You told me."

"When?"

"When you were explaining about Grace. You want a pretty party dress with petticoats."

I look down sheepishly. "

"Sorry, Sweetie," as if she was talking to a little girl, "but the full slips with the lacy bodice and layers of frills you remember went out in the 50's. They did make you feel like a princess when you got dressed up," she reminisced. "I remember that my parents took me to Disney World when I was five or six. Mom bought me a Cinderella dress. It had a big full skirt, pale blue silk and white lacy cap sleeves. I wore one of those petticoats under it. There was a sparkly tiara and magic wand too. I have no idea why Cinderella had a magic wand. Her fairy godmother was the one who cast the spell." She waved her hand in a circle and then pointed at me, "bibbity, bobbity, boo." She tilted her head. "Nope. Only works on vegetables and rodents. Sorry." Suddenly she looked at me with compassion. "Oh, you poor dear. Now I understand how hard it must have been for you growing up. All of my memories of being a girl. You'll never have them."

"I can't go back, only forward."

"Maybe you can."

"You brought a time machine in your pocketbook?"

"No, but some things are timeless. I can't turn you into Cinderella. That pumpkin has already left. But you remember Grace when she was a school girl. I can do that. A jumper" she suggested excitedly, "with a blouse and knee socks or tights. A pleated skirt. Or a kilt. Wait here." Before I could say anything she walked over to a woman folding clothes. There was a brief conversation. The woman shook her head. There was another exchange. The woman pointed towards the back of the store. Helen came back and took my arm. "C'mon." I resisted. She tugged. "C'mon," she repeated.

I looked around cautiously. "Shouldn't I be grumpy?"

"I don't care. Grumpy, Happy, Bashful, pick a dwarf, but lets go." She dragged me along. We wandered around while she inspected racks of clothes and then she saw whatever it was she was trying to find. She brought me over and picked out what looked like bib overalls, but it had a skirt instead of legs. She held it up in front of her with her one hand and flattened it against her stomach with the other. "Do you think Grace would like this? She displayed it by swinging from side to side. "It's corduroy and comes in, lets see," she rummaged around,"brown, oh, here's navy and dark blue and hunter green." Do you think Grace has a preference? I like the blue, but... ."

I looked around. There were a couple of women sorting through a rack of clothes nearby and chatting. Nobody was paying us any attention. "I think she would like the blue."

"What size? The large looks about right, but its loose fitting, maybe the medium," she debated with herself. "Turn around."

"What?"

"Turn around. I want to measure it against you."

"I thought we left Grace at home."

"We did. She just happens to be your size. Really, just turn around. Trust me, nobody cares."

I did as she asked and felt her holding it against my back. "I don't know, probably the large. Better too big than too small. We can always take it in or take it back." She took my arm. We went over to the blouses and Helen picked out a white one with a rounded collar. She slid it under the straps of the jumper and held it out for my approval. I nodded. "Turn around." This time I did it without protest. "Probably a large or extra large." We took both.

We continued shopping and Grace ended up with a blue and green tartan plaid wool kilt with two leather buckles, paired with a blue sweater set. In the hosiery department, Helen picked out a pair of wool cable knit knee sox and blue nylon tights. "You don't need a bra for now. Just a camisole. And panties of course." Shoes were a problem. The largest size was 10. "Lets take what we have and go home, so you," she caught herself, "so Grace can try them on. We can go for shoes and do returns tomorrow." We headed back to the car with our arms loaded with bags.

When we got home, Helen went upstairs and ran a bath for me. It smelled like lilacs. I always showered, so this was a treat. Even more so when Helen came in with a pink razor and shaving gel. "Turn around, so I can do your back."

"You don't have to, its not necessary."

"I made a promise and I mean to keep it. And it is necessary. I told you, pretty is as pretty does and pretty doesn't have hairy underarms or legs." She handed me the razor and gel. "You can do the rest yourself." "Don't forget to put on my Secret before you get dressed. You know..." she trailed off as she headed downstairs .

When I got out, I felt wonderfully feminine. I wrapped a towel around me and went into the bedroom. The clothes were all laid out on the bed. I put on the camisole and panties, pulled on the tights, stepped into the jumper and adjusted the straps over my shoulder. I did a turn in front of the mirror to check that everything was in place and went downstairs.

Helen was standing at the counter preparing dinner. I wasn't sure what her reaction would be, laugh, cry, scream. To my relief, she smiled. "Turn around." She came over and fussed with the jumper. "No makeup?"

"Too little time."

"There's always time for lipstick." She got a thin gold tube out of her purse. "This is just a tinted gloss. Not too dramatic, just a hint of color. Open." She applied a coating to my lips and then went over it. Put your lips together. Good." She stood back studied me. "Do you like being Grace?"

"I'm transgendered, not schizophrenic. I like being me."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. This is still, you know, it takes some getting used to," she waved her arm towards me, "all of this."

"Apology accepted." I tried to do a curtsey, holding out the sides of my skirt and extending one leg backwards. It got a laugh.

"Where did you learn to do that?"

"The Shirley Temple movies I watched growing up weren't wasted. I can do "Animal Crackers in My Soup."

Helen shook her head and pointed to the table. "Just as well not, dinner's ready." I went to sit down. "Wait." I paused mid squat. "Run your hands under your skirt, so it doesn't bunch up and wrinkle. Like this." I followed her example and sat down.

After dinner Helen suggested that I try on the kilt and sweaters. I kept on the underwear, but changed out of the tights and put on the knee socks. It took me a little time to master the way the waist wrapped and the buckles, but it was worth it. The kilt was short, about two inches above my knees. I went back downstairs and modeled the outfit. "Mommy's little girl looks very pretty," Helen cooed.

"No, please. I like the clothes, but not the fantasy. I know you're trying to make me happy, but Grace is real and talking to me that way makes it seem like I'm pretending.

"I'm confused. You wanted me to dress you like a little girl, but not for me to treat you like one, because you're not one, even though you look like one?"

"I told you that I couldn't go backwards. You thought I could. I tried, but I can't. Now I know for certain. Grace is my future, not my past."

"Then Grace needs to do some serious shopping tomorrow. I'm exhausted. We should go to bed and get a fresh start in the morning." Helen took my hand and we walked up the stairs together. She stopped in front of the master bedroom.

"Good night and thank you," I said to her, as I turned and started down the hall.

"Good night and you're welcome, but where are you going?"

"To my room."

"This is your room."

"You want me to sleep here? In bed? With you?"

"I promise I won't compromise your virtue."

"You're sure?"

"That I won't compromise your virtue? Very."

"You're sure that you want to share your bed with Grace."

I'm sure that I want to share my bed with you."

Chapter 4. Staying Out.

“Why, sometimes I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.”

– Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Helen was already up. I could hear her in the bathroom and then going downstairs to the kitchen. I got out of bed and took off my nightgown. It still had a faint smell of lilacs from last night's bath, so I took a shower. Helen must have heard the water turn off. "Breakfast is ready," she called up. "Hurry, we still have a lot of shopping to do. I'll be in the study. I have a few calls to make while you eat." Ten minutes later she returned. I was finishing my coffee. "I thought we'd go to Kohls first, return the clothes we bought yesterday and put together a wardrobe. Then we can go to DSW for shoes and to the mall."

"I thought you were against the mall?"

"For clothes, yes, but you need jewelry. You can share mine, but my earrings are for pierced ears. There's a store at the mall that does it."

"You want me to get my ears pierced?"

"Two tiny holes in your ear lobes are the least of the changes you want to make to you body. Besides, if you should change your mind, you can take them out and the holes will close up. A dab of makeup will cover them until the do."

"Okay."

She looked at the clock on the microwave. "We should get going. I made a three o'clock appointment for you at the wig shop."

"A wig too?"

"I promised you the full experience and I am a woman of my word. I can cancel the appointment. Should I?"

"Another test?"

"Another opportunity. So, what's the problem?"

"It's not a problem. Like I told you the other day, I expected you to leave me and tell everyone that it was because I was transgendered."

"You were expecting me to be the harbinger of Grace's arrival?"

"Yes," I admitted meekly.

"I thought you wanted to wear skirts, not hide behind them."

"I'm sorry. The 'Dummies Guide to Being Transgendered' was out of stock at Amazon.

"The best laid plans of mice and men has a new meaning."

"They're open on Sunday?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yes. I spoke to Doris the owner. I wanted to be sure we weren't wasting our time. She said it was no problem, that she has a number of crossdressers and trans-women as customers. According to her, more than I would expect and some who I would never suspect, who require discretion. That's why on Sunday they're open only by appointment and we have an appointment," she looked at the clock again, "which we are going to miss if we don't leave now. Yes or no?"

"Yes."

This time Helen drove. It was a wonderful day of shopping. We bought two skirts, blouses and sweaters to mix and match, a sweater dress and a dress that she thought I should wear if I went back to work, pantyhose, an assortment of panties and a nightgown. She based her selection of sizes on what we bought yesterday, except we didn't buy a bra. We stopped in front of an Olga display. She took a white one off the rack and held it up. "There's such a variation in women's breast size and shape that it's impossible to find a bra with the right lift, separation, shape and support without trying it on. Except of course, if you don't have breasts, and then it doesn't matter. Do you have a preference in cup size?"

"C"

"If men's suit size and bra size are the same, you're a 38." She picked out three and put them in the cart. I followed her as she picked out five more. "Okay, lets go."

I wasn't sure why I needed eight bras, but it was not a conversation I wanted to have in the middle of the lingerie department. Helen started towards the back of the store. "You're going the wrong way. The checkout area is over there."

She kept walking. "We're not checking out yet." We ended up in the men's department. She went over to a table of jeans and picked out two. She carried them towards the dressing rooms. I had no idea what she was doing, but followed her. She stopped in front of one of the open rooms, looked around, took out the bras and hid them under jeans. "Here, go try these on."

"What? You're kidding. What if there are cameras?"

"There are no cameras in dressing rooms. It's illegal."

"What if someone sees me?"

"In a dressing room with the door closed. Unless Lois Lane is shopping with Superman and he uses his x-ray vision, you're safe. If you don't want to attract attention, then stop making a fuss," she scolded me. It took me a while to try them on. "What's taking you so long? The little hooks attach to the little eyes. You have worn a bra before, haven't you?"

"Helen, please. Stop. I'm uncomfortable."

"With the bras or with me talking to you?"

"Both. Okay, I'm done. Can I come out?

"I thought you agreed to wait until after we saw Dr. Rosen."

"You know what I mean."

"Other than a guy trying on dresses in the next room, you're good."

"Helen!"

"Come out." I cautiously opened the door. Helen was standing next to the cart. I handed her three bras. "You want those?" I nodded. She put them in the cart. "What about the other ones? If you're worried bout appearances, you probably shouldn't leave them in the men's dressing room. I went back and brought them out."

We went to the check out area. I hung back as the cashier rang up the sale. I thought she would be curious about the assortment of clothes in sizes which wouldn't fit Helen. She paid no attention, scanning, folding and bagging. Helen handed her a credit card, she asked if she wanted to open a store credit account and get a 10% discount, Helen said no, the woman swiped the card, I dutifully picked up the bags and we went to the car.

We returned home at dinner time with starter studs in my ears, a beautiful brunette wig with reddish highlights, Doris suggested that a straight style and above the shoulder length were easier for me care for, the one I selected had bangs and was angled, longer in front and shorter in back, two pair of flats, two pair of low heels, a pair of boots and a pair of stilettos, which Helen made me promise not to wear while dressed, wanting to preserve my memory as husband and father, if I broke my neck, the shoes being easily removed before the EMT's arrived. Helen told me to go upstairs and start trying things on, confiscating the heels, to be returned when I was safely on the first floor.

For the next two days, Helen kept her promise. On Tuesday night, as we were getting ready for bed, she asked me, "Was being a woman what you expected?"

"I still am. Our agreement was a postponement, not an alternative. Goodnight Helen. I love you."'

"Goodnight, George. I love you too." She rolled over and we went to sleep.

Wednesday morning, things were back to normal, more or less. Helen had to go out to do the grocery shopping and take some clothes to the cleaners. I told her not to bother with my suits or dress shirts, since they were going to Goodwill. She took them anyway. In deference to our agreement, while she was gone I took out the studs, scrubbed off any trace of makeup and removed the nail polish. We left the house at three fifteen for a four o'clock appointment. I drove. At the medical office building, we checked in with the receptionist and took the elevator to the sixth floor. We followed the corridor and stopped in front of a door with "Roberta Rosen, M.D., Dept. Of Psychiatry. Please knock before entering." We knocked and entered.

Dr. Rosen was seated behind a large glass table which served as her desk. I always wondered whether the transparency was an expression of her professional views or a coincidence. She got up when we came in and walked around to greet us. "Good afternoon, Grace, and this must be Helen? "

"Must I," Helen challenged her.

I gave her a disapproving look, which she ignored.

"I can't imagine anyone else who Grace would bring with her, but no you could be someone else. Are you?" Dr. Rosen replied cordially.

"No," Helen conceded.

"Then welcome. Please come and be seated. She directed us to two upholstered arm chairs next to one another and sat in a third directly opposite us. "I assume you are here because you don't agree with Grace's decision to come out."

"I am here, because I don't agree with you encouraging him to abandon his wife, his children, his work and his life."

"What makes you think I did?"

"Because, if you didn't, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"I am flattered that you think I have that much influence over my patients. In fact, it is quite the opposite. We always hope for the best, but my work is to prepare them emotionally for the worst. I cannot ethically certify them for SRS, sexual reassignment surgery, or even HRT, hormone replacement therapy, until I am convinced they are ready. If and when they are depends on them, not me."

"Dr. Rosen ... "

"Roberta."

"Dr. Rosen," Helen persisted," you're a woman." I could see a sudden realization that perhaps she was making an unwarranted assumption. "You are, aren't you?"

"Yes, I was born female, if that's your question."

"Aren't they the same thing?"

"No."

"George isn't female or a woman." Helen turned and looked at me, "I'm sorry, but it's the truth," she apologized. "Why would you encourage him to be something he is not?"

"True, Grace can never by female. Our sex is determined by the combination of our chromosomes at the time of conception. But what makes you think she is not a woman?"

"High school biology, first hand experience and the resulting two children."

"Anatomically and biologically you are correct, but psychologically you are wrong. Grace is as much a woman as you or me."

"That's impossible."

"Grace was born female, but nature gave her the wrong genitals. HRT and SRS, can repair that mistake superficially. The rest is up to her."

"But she will never be able to have children. Isn't that what being a woman is all about?"

"Do you think so? Is maternity what define us? What about the women who can't have children, who never marry, who have a hysterectomy or who choose not to have children. Your ovaries and uterus are non-functional at this stage of your life. Are you less of a woman? Is Grace?"

"I don't know," Helen conceded. "This is all so confusing."

"If it's confusing for you, think about Grace. She's spent her whole life, using your words, being someone she's not. Now she has a chance to be herself and the people who are most important in her life, for whom she cares the most, are against it."

"I'm not against it. I'm just not for it."

"Is there a difference?"

"From what George has said, I can't prevent it."

"Dr. Rosen leaned forward. "You want Grace to be happy, don't you?

"Of course, but I don't' want George to make a decision he will regret."

"Why would Grace regret her decision to transition?

"Because George loves us and wouldn't want to hurt us."

"Who is us?"

"Me and our children."

"How would Grace's happiness be harmful to you and your children?"

Helen thought about it for a minute. "I don't know," she conceded.

"I do," offered Dr. Rosen. "You believe that people will think less of you because of Grace. That is the type of guilt by association which bigots perpetuate to repress diversity." She stood up and walked over to Helen. "I have two kinds of transgendered patients. Those who have reached a point in their life where they are ready to transition and those who, for a variety of reasons, cannot. For those men and women who are struggling with conformity, I can provide counseling and prescribe drugs to help with their anxiety and depression. For those like Grace, understanding and acceptance are the best medicines."

We drove home in silence. Helen had let me be Grace temporarily, but I noticed that she had kept the tags from the clothes. I wasn't sure if it was just in case I changed my mind or just in case she didn't, after speaking with Dr. Rosen. Either way, it would be the end of our marriage. I parked the car and we walked into the kitchen. Helen turned to me. Let's go into the living room. She took my hand. I prepared myself for the worst. She let go of my hand, sat down on the couch and patted the cushion next to her.

"I'm the right Alice." Of all of the possible rejections I had gone over in anticipation of this moment, that was not remotely one of them.

"Who is Alice?"

"Alice in Wonderland."

"The Disney fairytale?"

"Actually, it's a fantasy, there are strange characters, but no fairies, but no, not the cartoon, the movie with Johnny Depp and Mia whats-her-name-I-can-never-remember-or-pronounce. That one."

"What does Alice in Wonderland have to do with me?"

"At the beginning of the story, Alice meets Absalom."

"Who?"

"Absalom, the caterpillar. Be patient. He tells her that she is the wrong Alice to fulfill her destiny, predicted in a scroll, to slay the Jabberwocky. Alice's adventures prepare her to become the White Queen's champion. When she is ready to face the monster, Absalom tells her that now she is the right Alice."

"So I'm the monster and you are going to put an end to me?"

"What? No, you're not the monster."

"Then I'm the White Queen who needs Alice's help? I suppose that's appropriate."

"No, not her either."

"The Mad Hatter? You think I'm crazy?"

"Oh, for goodness sake, no. Stop talking and listen. Now, do you remember the end of the movie?"

"I thought you didn't want me to talk?"

"I changed my mind. It's a woman's prerogative."

"I don't remember any of the movie."

"Alice is standing at the front of a ship bound for China. She gave up the opportunity for a safe, comfortable marriage to a boring man to take on the challenges of exploring a new world. That's me. I'm the right Alice to go on a wonderful adventure. And there is a blue butterfly who appears next to her. It's Absalom. That's you. You're a drab caterpillar who turns into the beautiful butterfly that it was always your nature to become."

"I love you."

"I love you too. Go change."

Why is a raven like a writing desk? And what does it have to do with being transgendered?

Both are riddles which have no logical solution.

Transputer

Author:

Missy

Audience Rating:

Mature Subjects (pg15)

Publication:

Genre:

Character Age:

Child

TG Themes:

Accidental

Permission:

Posted by author(s)

Synopsis:

Daniel was a normal, active, healthy six year old boy until he snuck into his father's lab and accidentally went though his experimental transporter. Now Danielle is a normal, active, healthy six year old girl. Will Danny ever be the same? Will the world?

Story:

"Hi. You're from the magazine right? Do you want to take some pictures of me? I mean, like I'm really hot! See these boobs. Nice, huh? All mine. Not bad for a boy. Want to feel them? What? Forbes doesn't do pictures? No photographer? Bummer. You want me to tell you about my daddy, because he's the richest man in the world? Well doh! Did I tell you I'm really hot! Well, okay, so like I already told you. But I'm really hot. And rich. I mean Daddy did invent the transputer. Where'd the name come from? Like you think I don't know or something. Just because I'm blonde and easy -and really hot, I told you that right? - doesn't mean I'm like dumb. I can't believe they sent a guy."

"Okay, so like Daddy was into this Star Truck thing when he was a little boy. It was a TV show or movie or something about space travel. Well, he was always talking about this guy, Captain Krok, who was like into saving the universe and he had this like thing on his spaceship, I think it was called the Enterprenure or something. No, silly, that was the name of the spaceship. The thing was called a transporter. Well, this transporter beamed people around. Daddy was always saying, "Beam me up, Scotty." He was really into it. I'm into jewelry. Want to see the diamond in my belly button. It'll knock your eyes out. See, I have diamond earrings too. You know, I'm really hot. And rich. Okay, okay, I told you already. I mean if a girl doesn't blow her own horn. Well yes. I am horny, but that wasn't what I meant about blowing, although, once we get though this interview I'd, be happy to give you a hand with anything that happens to pop up. I can't believe they sent guy."

"Daddy's like a real genius. He's got three PhD.'s and he was the head of the Cybernetics Department at the university. Anyway, like Daddy always wanted to build one of those transporters. It was his pet project. He had been working on it since before I was born and for years afterwards. Mom told me that every night when he got home he would like disappear into his lab in the basement. I can't figure out how she distracted him long enough to stick his dick in her. Well, doh. She must have jumped him at least once, because she had me. Maybe even geniuses get laid once in a while. Are you a genius? Yeah, yeah, you're supposed to be interviewing me. What? Put my blouse back on, because it's distracting you. Well doh. I paid a lot for this bra. Whatever. I can't believe they sent a guy."

"Where was I? Oh, right, the Star Truck story. Okay, so anyway about the time I was like six, Daddy actually built one of them. The transporter thingy. But it was run by a computer program, so he called it a transportation computer or transputer for short. That's where the name comes from Mr. Smarty Pants. Thought I didn't know that, huh. Did I tell you that I'm really hot. And rich. And horny. I can't believe they sent a guy."

"Tell you my story? How come I'm a girl? Okay, but if I tell you, then you have to promise to help me check the law of gravity. You know, the law of gravity. Like, what goes up must come down. We'll see how long you dick stays up before it goes down. No, I don't have a one track mind. It has lots of tracks. They just all lead to my pussy when I'm with a guy. I mean, if things hadn't gone they way they did, I'd be the one with a dick who had his choice of hot chicks. Stick to the point? Okay, if you stick your point in me. Promise or I'm not talking. What? Move my hand? Oh, that hand. Sorry. Got ahead of myself. And you'll get some great head later. Well, it's not my fault they sent a guy and cocks are in short supply these days. I mean, like a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do to get laid once in a while."

"Anyway, Daddy got the transputer working when I was about six. Only like it didn't work the way it was supposed to work. He would take a mouse and put it on the analyzer. Oh right, you're a guy. You've never been though the transputer, obviously. The analyzer scans the mouse and records the data for reassembly at the other end. Then the disassembler would convert the mouse's molecular structure to digital signals and broadcast the signals to a reassembler at the other side of the lab. According to Daddy, distance didn't matter. If he could send it ten feet, he could just as easily send it ten miles or ten thousand miles. The problem was, when the mouse arrived it was jelly. Daddy went through lots and lots of mice trying to figure out what was wrong. Like no matter how he calibrated or reprogrammed the transputer, it was always the same. Mouse in, jelly out. He was really bummed out."

"Daddy's degrees were all in engineering. He figured that if there was nothing wrong with his equipment - like, after all, he's the genius that built the stuff, right? - the mice must be defective. I'm just a really hot blonde. Horny and rich too. Yes, I know I've already told you that. It never hurts for a girl to let a guy know he's in for a good time. You'll see. Well, that doesn't make a lot of sense to me. I mean, like what could be defective about a mouse? But Daddy decided to talk to one of his genius buddies who was some kind of biologist. According to Daddy, they puzzled over the problem egghead to egghead."

"You need a blueprint," the guy finally said to him,

"What are you talking about?" Daddy said. "Mice don't come with blueprints."

"I know," said genius number two. "What I mean is that the receiving computer needs something to tell it how to put the pieces back together."

"It has a holographic image of the mouse," Daddy explained, "so all it has to do is reassemble it when it arrives to look like what it was when it left."

"Okay," said genius number two. "Think of it this way. You have a box with one hundred marbles. The marbles are different colors: white, black, red, blue, green and yellow."

"I'm just a hot blonde, so none of this makes any sense to me. I'm just telling you what Daddy told me."

"The marbles are in a particular pattern," the second genius went on. "You randomly move the marbles one by one to another box and want to recreate the pattern, but each marble has to go back to the exact position it was in when you started. If you use a picture, you can duplicate the pattern, but it is impossible to get each marble in exactly the same place that it was before. The pattern is right, but the location of each marble is different."

"I haven't a clue what it all means, but that is what he said."

"A mouse doesn't have a hundred cells," he went on. "It has billions and they all need to be in the correct relationship to one another biologically, not visually, or you just have a blob of protoplasm. Jelly to you."

"Like, I mean the other genius just told Daddy his transputer wouldn't ever work. He was like really pissed. Ten years worth of work in the toilet. He went home and was about to turn the pile of junk into a microwave oven when the phone rang. It was genius number two."

"Eureka," he shouted.

"Actually, I'm making that up. I have no idea what he said, but scientists always say that in the movies. I haven't a clue why, because it sounds really stupid, but what do I know? I'm just a really hot blonde. A really horny, really rich, really hot blonde who's going to get laid, right? You promised if I told you the story. Maybe you just better take you dick out and let me hold onto it, kind of like a down payment. Really, I won't lick it or stroke it or put it in my mouth or anything. I'll just hang onto it for safekeeping. No? You can't take notes when a girl is holding your dick? Really? How many girls have you had hold your dick while you take notes up to now? Hah, I thought so. You won't know till you've tried. Now, if you want to hear my good part, then I get to hold onto your good part. It's up to you. Mmmm. That's nice. Yes, I know I said I wouldn't play with it, but I just want to see. Hmmm, six, no seven inches, I'd say. Eight, you say? Well I could get a ruler. Anyway, I'm inspired, so here's the rest of the story."

"You were wrong," genius number two said to Daddy. "There is a blueprint for a mouse."

"I bet Daddy made a face, because he's a genius and he's never wrong."

"So where is it?" Daddy asked sarcastically.

"If you're going to be a wise ass," said the other genius, "then I'm not going to tell you."

"Actually, I'm making that up too. I have no idea what he said, but if he's a genius, he probably hates people making fun of him. I am getting to the point! Be patient. I know it's hard when I'm holding your dick. No, not hard to be patient, your dick is hard. Tee hee. Told you I'm really hot. Let's see."

"The blueprint is the DNA," said genius number two. "That is what determines what we will become. An elephant has baby elephants, not baby ostriches, because its DNA is a blueprint for an elephant. Got it?"

"Daddy was so excited he never even bothered to hang up the phone. Actually, I'm making that up too. Like I have no idea what he did, but it would be just like him. Where do I come in? Well, you'll come in about twenty minutes. I'll try to come at the same time. Oh, you mean in the story. Well, it took Daddy about six months to figure out how to read the DNA and send it as a carrier to the receiving computer. Like nobody told him that scientists had been trying to do that for years until he solved the problem. I think he got like the Know Bell Prize or something for that. Anyway, the first mouse went though perfectly. Happy and healthy. So did a dozen more mice. Daddy was ecstatic. He had really done it. Invented a transporter. At least for mice, but then who wanted to send mice around the world. Later on, Daddy confessed that our dog Daisy got a ride too. He wanted to see if it affected her mind, but she was the same old dog, piddled on the same spot on the rug and chewed up his slippers. I suspect she got more than one trip, but there was no problem."

"Anyway, by this time Mom had given up on Daddy. Like she spent most days working out at the gym and hanging out with her girlfriends, whose husbands were equally disinterested in their companionship. Little did Mom and her friends know what the future held or they would have been banging their brains out. Usually, she dragged me along, but, when Daddy was home, she left me. I mean how much trouble could a six year old get into? Well, actually a six year old boy can get into lots of trouble."

"One day, I decided to explore Daddy's lab. I snuck downstairs. As luck would have it or wouldn't have it, depending on how you look at it, Daddy had gone to whiz and I wandered into the lab. There was a panel with lots of buttons. I pushed a few and then I started across the floor to look at something that was rotating. I stood on the analyzer pad, just as the countdown I had triggered started the program. The next thing I knew, I was across the room, having the dubious honor of being the first person to use the transputer. When Daddy came back, he did a double take. There I was naked. It seems that my DNA didn't have the pattern for my clothes, so they were just a pile of dust. When I looked down, I noticed something was missing. Daddy, I asked him, what happened to my willy?"

"Daddy had mixed emotions. On the one hand, as a scientist, he was really excited about being able to try the transputer on a human. Apparently you just can't experiment on people willy nilly. Which is what happened to me. My willy was nilly. So that was the good news. Explaining to Mom why her son was missing his manhood was the downside. Daddy, how I going to make pee pee without a willy? I asked him with the logic of a six year old."

"Umm, I think we better take you to the hospital. I'm sure the doctors can make it better," was his overly optimistic answer.

"He took me upstairs, got me dressed and drove me to the Emergency Room."

"My son had an accident," Daddy lied to the admitting nurse. "He fell off his bike."

"Fill out this form," said the nurse. "The doctor will see him shortly."

"Daddy filled out the form: name, Daniel; sex, male; age, 6. He added the bike story and his concerns about my general health. I am sure he didn't want to explain to the doctor how I lost my dick any more than he did to Mom. After about fifteen minutes, a young woman doctor came out and brought us into the examining room. She looked over the form, did a thorough examination, which felt a lot different than I was used to, and then recommended that I have some x-rays, just as a precaution. About twenty minutes later, she came back."

"Your daughter is in excellent health," she said.

"Daddy looked stunned."

"My daughter?" he replied.

"Yes," said the doctor. "I can see you are very upset. On the admission form, you misspelled her name. You have 'Daniel' instead of 'Danielle.' You also checked off 'male' instead of 'female.'"

"Daddy wanted confirmation."

"Are you sure doctor? Nothing happened to his, umm her, umm, you know, umm, umm, reproductive organs."

"The doctor gave him a puzzled look."

"No, I did a pelvic and they are perfectly well developed and normal for a girl of her age. You know, this is usually a conversation we have with the girl's mother."

"Oh," said Daddy, thinking quickly. "Umm, her, umm mother is out of town visiting her, umm, her sister. Yes, umm, her sister. I was supposed to be umm, watching, umm, umm, Danny."

"Ah, well, she is just fine," the doctor reassured him.

"I hope you're getting all this, because so far I'm not getting any. I'm really hot, really rich and getting really, really, really horny. You had better be really, really good at defying the law of gravity with your dick. So, do you want to hear the end of the story or should we just get to sucking and fucking? I mean, your cock is beginning to leak cum. Let me just lick that little dribble on the tip. Just a lick. Mmmmm. Oh, alright. But if you blow your load, you can forget the rest of the story. Yeah, well, okay. Licking it isn't helping. Sorry. So, where was I? Oh, yeah, like Daddy rushed me over to genius number two's house. He explained what had happened and wanted to know if there was a way to put my boy parts back, before my mother came home and cut his off. Being a genius, the fact that my Daddy just turned his son into a girl did not interest him as much as the challenge of figuring out how it happened. Genius number two paced around his study."

"Eureka," he shouted.

"He really did say that this time."

"You used a strand of DNA as a blueprint, right?"

"Right," agreed Daddy.

"That's what you told me and it worked perfectly for the mice." "What sex were the mice?" genius number two asked.

"How should I know," Daddy said. "Who cares?"

"You should have cared," said genius number two, "because I bet they all came out female. You know what parthenogenesis is?"

"Someplace in Greece," I think.

"No," said the other genius, who apparently spent more time out of his lab, "that's the Parthenon."

"Anyway," Daddy argued, "Daisy, our dog went through the transputer without any problem."

"Of course she did," genius number two replied. "Daisy was already female."

"Parthenogenesis is the duplication of a creature from an unfertilized egg, genius number two went on. There is no sperm to provide a Y chromosome."

"I didn't know what sperm was then, but I do now and I better be getting some really, really soon."

"The egg only has an X chromosome," he went on, "so the creature created by parthenogenesis is always female. It is a clone of its mother."

"So what?" argued dad, "I didn't use an egg." "No," said genius number two, "but you used a single strand of DNA, which, is what is in an egg. Anyone who goes through your device will be reconstructed as though they were born female. It is not only a transporter. It is a transmuter."

"What if I change the analysis?" questioned Daddy.

"It won't work," said genius number two. "If you try to duplicate a strand of DNA that produces a Y chromosome to create a male, you will end up with a double Y creature that will have severe defects, if it survives at all. No, I'm afraid that only genetic women can use your device and any man who uses it will end up like Danielle, I mean Daniel."

"Daddy took me home. Mom was waiting."

"Where have you two been?" she asked him. "And why does Danny look funny?"

"Honey," said Daddy, "I have some good news and some bad news. The good news is my transputer works. It will probably make us very rich. Very, very rich."

"Mom's eyes lit up. Very rich was good. Very, very rich was better. Like I am sure she was already planning a trip to Tiffany's."

Seizing the moment, Daddy explained, "the bad news is that Danny went through the transputer by accident and it turned him into a girl."

"Mom hadn't quite focused."

"Now that you mention it, he does look more feminine. Is it permanent?"

"No, Honey," continued Daddy, "not just looks like a girl. He is a girl. A real girl, with girl insides and he will be able to have babies."

"Daddy finally had Mom's attention."

"You mean like he was born a girl?"

"Yes, he is a real girl."

"Can you change him back?"

"No, I'm afraid he will always be a girl."

"Are you sure," asked Mom.

"Very sure," said Daddy.

"Well," Mom said dreamily, probably thinking about a new Mercedes, "you know, I always wanted a daughter. And if we're rich, we can go shopping together and buy beautiful clothes and get our hair done and have manicures. Won't that be ever so much fun, sweetheart? Mother and daughter."

"All things considered, she took it really well. And now I am going to insist on my taking it really well."

Reporter's notes for article:

1. Once it was proven that that people, at least women, could safely travel instantly to anywhere, business changed forever. A woman executive could have a breakfast meeting in New York, a conference in Los Angeles, lunch in Paris, meet a prospective customer in Hong Kong, stop off in Bombay for dinner, check on a project in Australia and be back home in Chicago by midnight. No jet lag and no lost time. Male executives couldn't compete and boards of directors were getting rid of them. Rather than give up their huge salaries and benefits, they decided to fight fire with fire by using the transputers, with the inevitable result. After the first few did it, the rest had no choice. There is no longer any major company anywhere in the world that is not run predominantly by women. Since women now run the world's economy, gender discrimination has ended.

2. The number of remaining men became so perilously low that all of the major industrial nations passed laws prohibiting anyone under the age of 25, those in their prime reproductive years, from using the transputer and they must deposit sperm in a federal bank before they are eligible. Considering that the need for instant travel was trickling down to the younger male junior executives, who found their new maternal instinct irresistible and men to knock them up in short supply, the government had to pass strict laws about using their own stored sperm for self-impregnation. The expression, "Go fuck yourself!" took on a new meaning. It was no longer an insult. It was a crime.

3. Married men set off in the morning and, after attending a meeting in another state or foreign country, returned to a lesbian relationship with their wives that night, ending the controversy over same sex marriages.

Reporter's notes for self:

1. Don't let anyone hold your dick during the interview. It really is distracting.

2. Bring flowers, candy and lots of condoms for date with Danielle Saturday. She is really hot, really rich and really, really, really horny.

Notes:

Readers, Please Remember to Leave a Comment

Want to comment but don't want to open an account?
Anyone can log in as Guest Reader -- password topshelf to leave a comment.