Chapter 1: Humiliation and a Dream

The exit doors at the Banks Township Elementary School were clogged with parents, mainly mothers, a few grandparents and one tow-headed boy, about 12 years old, all waiting for the children exiting from their school for the day.

Brian Kendall, the boy, was tall for his age so that he measured the same height as most of the women. The boy, his blonde hair long and neatly brushed, had a gentle face and sparkling blue eyes, and he seemed always to be smiling. The boy was pale and appeared to be a bit chubby, his body a doughy softness.

Suddenly the tiny grade schoolers, all ranging in age from 4 to about 7, were excitedly exiting the school, giggling and pushing a shoving in an easy exuberance, many trying to avoid the eyes of their caregivers, waiting on the sides to take them safely home. The mothers, grandparents and even Brian were all eagerly looking for their particular charges, waving and yelling for each child, claiming them and removing them from their clusters of young friends to begin the trip home.

Brian didn’t yell, though; he waited patiently, knowing that his six-year-old sister, Marietta, would find him. She loved her older brother, who had become as much of a mother to him as the children’s own mother. Because their mother, Amy Kendall, had been deserted by their father years ago, Brian when he reached age 11 was given the responsibility of escorting little Marietta home, watching her and preparing supper for the two.

“There’s no other choice, honey,” Amy told Brian at the start of the school year. “I can no longer afford letting Marietta stay for the after-school program, and I know I can trust you.”

Brian had accepted the chore, even though his mother placed strict rules on him: No others in the house, just you and Marietta . . . only one hour of television . . . homework done by suppertime. “After supper, you and Marietta can play together until her bedtime at 8:30,” she ordered.

“Oh honey,” his mother said, placing her arms about his shoulders. “You’re such a good boy and mommy hates to do this to you when I know you’d much rather be out playing with your friends.”

“That’s OK, mom,” he replied.

In truth, Brian had no real friends in the neighborhood, and he hated playing with the boys, anyway. They were always so rough and crude, he thought, and he was scared of all of them. Even though he was as tall as most, he didn’t like fighting; perhaps it was because he’d always lose, since he knew most of the boys were stronger than he was. Yet, the real reason was that it really wasn’t in his nature to fight or dislike people.

“You’re mommy’s helper, and I love you so much,” she said, rewarding him with kisses and hugs.

He loved being drawn into his mother’s soft ample body and pressed against her large bosom. Like her son, Amy Kendall was somewhat overweight but nicely proportioned. She had a dimpled softness that belied her strength and toughness, qualities that she needed as a single mother with two growing children whom she loved.

Amy was troubled by her decision to use her son as a caregiver for little Marietta, a dimpled, blonde girl with a lovely disposition. She was comforted by the fact that her two children seemed to enjoy each other. Since their ages were significantly different so as to ward off any sibling rivalry, there were few fights between the two. She knew Brian would be a good substitute mother but she worried about what effect this enforced chore would have on him in robbing him of chances to play with friends.

Amy Kendall, however, had no other choice it seemed; due to the recession, she had gotten laid off from her computer programming job at a local company and forced into a second shift position as an admissions clerk at the St. Vincent’s Community Hospital, where she was promised eventual promotions as openings might occur for computer programmers. The job included all the benefits, particularly a great health insurance program, and was too good an opportunity to pass up. Amy accepted it.

“Let’s hope, Brian, I’ll soon be on first shift,” she told the boy. “Then I’ll work from 6 a.m. to 2:30 and I can pick up Marietta. You’ll just have to get her up and ready for school.”

“That’s OK, mom, I don’t mind. I don’t play with those boys much anyway, and I like playing with Marietta.”

Amy wondered: did her son merely want not to make her feel bad about the decision, or did he really enjoy being with his little sister?

*****
Brian didn’t have to yell and wave to attract the attention of his little sister; she always eagerly looked for him, and this day was no different, except that she pulled along another dark-complexioned little girl whose dreadlocks were adorned with colorful beads.

“Bri, can Tamara come home and play with us?” she said, using the name she always called her older brother.

Brian knew all about Tamara Henderson who had become his sister’s best friend in the first grade. Marietta talked about her everyday when they walked home from school. “Tamara did this . . . Tamara did that . . .” Both Brian and his mother had encouraged the friendship and had discussed the possibility that one day Tamara might want to play at the Kendall home. Their mother had agreed that Tamara could come over after school if the girl’s mother agreed to it.

Brian noticed a tall, handsome African-American woman approaching as the two girls stood expectedly in front of him. It was obviously the girl’s mother.

“Are you Brian?” the woman asked.

“Yes ma’am, and my little sister wants Tamara to come home with us this afternoon. Is that OK?” he replied.

“Yes it is, Brian,” she said. “Didn’t your mother tell you she and I talked several days ago on the phone?”

“No, ma’am, but she’s been so busy at work.”

“I know, Brian, but I was concerned about having an 11-year-old boy in charge of two first-graders, but your mother said you’re very responsible.”

“I try, ma’am.”

She suggested driving the three of them to the Kendall’s upstairs flat so she could see the place and know where to pick them up. The woman gave Brian her phone number and said to call if he had any problems, assuring that she’d be by to pick Tamara up at 5:30.

*****
It was a warm late September day, and Brian changed into a tank top and shorts when he got home, two bits of clothing he rarely wore since he was self-conscious about his chubby thighs and breasts that showed through the thin, tight-fitting cloth. But the flat was hot and stuffy.

“Can you be the mommy?” Tamara asked Brian when he joined them on the floor of the living room where the two girls had gathered all of Marietta’s dolls.

“He’s always the mommy when we play,” his sister informed her friend.

“Goody, she’s a pretty mommy,” Tamara said, displaying a toothy smile.

The girls had decided they would dress their dolls as teenage girls who were planning to go shopping together. Brian joined them on the floor, tucking his legs under himself, copying the position of the two girls and grabbing a doll that the girls had designated as the mommy.

The three had lots fun, Brian using his imagination to alternately be the stern mommy and then a kind mommy, bringing giggles to the girls. When he finally agreed in the role-playing that the girls could do their fictional shopping with the dolls, the two climbed onto him to give him hugs of thanks. As they hugged him, he felt Tamara’s hand grab onto the soft flesh of one of his breasts which hung noticeably inside the tank top. She had been trying to adjust her position and grabbed onto the breast, feeling his nipple.

“Mommy’s like a real mommy,” the child said in all innocence, her hand tracing the contour of the breast with her hand.

“I told you she’s like mommy,” Marietta said. “She cooks and washes and everything.”

Brian was taken aback. “Marietta,” he said sternly, gently pushing the two girls out of their hugs. “I’m your brother. Call me ‘he,’ not ‘her.’”

“But you said in our game I could call you mommy and her,” his sister replied.

“OK, I did, but the game is over. I have to fix supper, and Tamara, you need to get ready since your mommy is coming soon to pick you up.”

“Are you mad at us, Bri?” Marietta asked.

“No, honey, I like you both and I like playing, but it’s time to quit.”

Brian left the room, leaving it for the girls to pick up, and went quickly to his own room to find a shirt to wear over the tank top when Tamara’s mother arrived. He looked at himself first in the mirror of his room.

His breasts showed clearly against the cloth, and even the nipples protrusion was prominent. He looked at his arms, soft white flesh and raised both arms in a fruitless attempted to show muscles. No muscles appeared and the soft fat hung limply from each arm. “I look like a fat girl,” he said softly to himself. Or, as Tamara had noticed, like a mommy.

*****
Tamara’s mother arrived ten minutes early, before Brian could get the girl ready to leave; the two girls had joined Brian in the kitchen, where they were going through the motions of helping him bake cookies, which was to be the treat Brian was preparing for their supper. He wore one of his mother’s frilly aprons as prepared the batter.

Suddenly the doorbell rang, and he sent Marietta to the top of the stairs leading to the front door entrance of the flat and yelled, “It’s Tamara’s mother.”

“Let her in Marietta and tell her to come up,” Brian said, quickly wiping his hands that were dusted with flour.

Marietta led Tamara’s mother into the kitchen, before Brian could take off the apron and be more presentable. He knew he was sweating in the hot kitchen; even though all the windows were wide-open, there was little breeze to provide much relief.

“You’re baking in all this heat, Brian?” the woman said, with a look that was full of curiosity.

“Marietta was bragging to your daughter how good my cookies taste,” he said, flicking his longish blonde hair from his eyes.

“And you bake, too?” the woman said. “Even my older daughter won’t even try. I ought to have you teach her.”

Brian blushed, knowing already that the woman must have guessed that he must have appeared to her to be such a sissy boy. The woman must have sensed she had touched a sensitive nerve in the boy, and quickly added:

“Nothing wrong with a boy learning to cook, Brian,” she said. “Most of the world’s best chefs are men. Marietta’s lucky to have such a nice older brother as you. Your mother must be proud of both of you.”

“She is,” Marietta interjected eagerly. “Mommy always says Brian is a good boy to be such a mother’s helper.”

Mrs. Henderson was tall, slender and quite athletic-appearing. She carried herself erectly, almost like a general would in inspecting the troops. Later Brian learned the woman had been an officer in the Army and now worked as a top administrator at a local hospital. She had a ready, welcoming smile.

“Come on,” she said to Tamara.

“Can’t I wait for the cookies, mommy?” she asked.

“No honey, they have to bake first, and by then we’ll be home.”

Brian offered to save some that Marietta could bring to school and give to Tamara to take home.

While Marietta and Tamara ran off to get Tamara’s school materials, Mrs. Henderson said: “You do this everyday, Brian?”

“Yes, Mrs. Henderson, beginning this year. I’m glad to help mother out.”

“That must mean you don’t get much chance to play with you friends, dear.”

“That’s OK,” he said. “I know mother can’t pay for a sitter. It’s so hard for her.”

“I’ll tell you what we can do,” she said. “If you’d like, sometime you can bring Marietta over to play with Tamara and then you can play with your friends. I can ask Tamara’s older sister to watch them, though I doubt she’s a good with the girls as you apparently are.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Henderson,” he said. “Maybe if Marietta likes the idea.”

“Call me Sylvia dear,” she smiled. “By the way, I can’t wait to eat the cookies.”

“They’re nothing special, Mrs. . . . ah . . . Sylvia.”

“I bet they are,” the woman said with a smile, as she guided her daughter down the stairs and out of the flat.

Brian let out a sigh of relief. He felt so embarrassed, being dressed in a frilly smock and hoping the woman didn’t notice his breasts; I must have looked like a girl, he imagined.

*****
The truth was, Brian liked his breasts; he enjoyed lying on his side in bed, cupping and massaging the soft mounds of flesh, tweaking the nipples so that they grew hard and creating cleavage. So too he relished such moments when he’d caress his soft arms and fleshy thighs and imagine himself in dresses like the 6th Grade girls wore for special occasions.

What he didn’t like was the truth that he was not a girl, but a boy with a penis like other boys, only his, he suspected, was smaller than most. What he didn’t like, too, was that he was supposed to act like a boy and do things boys do, such as play sports and fight and run around, none of which he could do well at all. In fact, he was a downright disaster: he couldn’t run fast and always was last in the make-shift races kids do. They laughed at his breasts, tweaking them when they could. Some like, the Merriman boys down the block had begun to call him “Sister Brian” while Stanley Poloski had taken to call him “Bernice.”

On the Saturday after Tamara’s visit, Brian decided to go for a bike ride; he enjoyed riding his bike and it was the only real exercise he got. He loved riding through new neighborhoods, seeing different types of homes and businesses. He was able to imagine what kind of people lived in the houses or what kind of work they did; he liked looking at groups of girls play, wishing he could join them in hopscotch or jacks or just standing around giggling.

He was day-dreaming as he approached his own block, musing about being a girl, as he seemed to be doing more and more often. He knew it was a pointless dream, since he was a boy and somehow would have to be more like one; why couldn’t he just have been born a girl so that he wouldn’t have to go out and play sports and do all the things boys do? Why couldn’t he be happy playing dolls, learning how to cook and dress pretty?

These dreams were shattered as he turned the bike onto his own street, where it seemed the whole neighborhood of kids was playing a makeshift street football game. There must have been over a dozen, boys and girls alike, all within a year or two of Brian’s own age.

“Hey you’re in our field, Bernice,” yelled Stanley Poloski, using the name that he always used when speaking to Brian.

Brian tried quickly to pull off the street and head onto the sidewalk to avoid the game, but as he did so, he collided with Megan Tompkins, a girl his same age who was running out for a pass. She was a tall, angular girl with close-cropped dirty blonde hair and muscular legs showing beneath her shorts.

“Watch where you’re going, fairy boy,” she said, as he stopped and she bounded into his bike.

The girl hardly brushed the bike, but in swerving suddenly Brian lost his balance and tumbled to the ground. Megan looked down at him, and appeared to offer him a hand to help him get off the ground. He offered his arm, and she grabbed it, pulling him to his feet, quickly twisting the arm around his back.

“Let go,” Brian said, realizing the girl was stronger than he was.

“That’ll teach you to ride your bike into our game,” she said, a mean hiss to her voice.

“But I didn’t know you were playing here.” The girl tightened the arm lock.

The pain was becoming unbearable and Brian could only yell, “Ouch, you’re hurting me.”

As he tried vainly to fight back, he realized the girl was in total control. His arms were too weak to offer much resistance. He started to sob, quietly trying to subdue the crying so as to avoid further humiliation.

All the kids gathered around, many asking Megan if she was OK from the minor collision with Brian’s bike. Then, someone yelled out: “Girl fight. Girl fight.”

There was laughing and more hoots and hollers. He heard the name “Bernice” echoing through the crowd, adding to his shame. “Even a girl is stronger than him,” someone giggled.

Megan held Brian firm, her face so close to his it was like they were about to kiss, and Brian was aware that his breasts were protruding against the cloth of his tee-shirt, the nipples prominent focus for the protrusions.

“My God,” Megan said loudly. “Look at the boobs.”

“They’re bigger than yours, Megan,” said Timmy Merriman, who was a year older that Brian, and always ready to tease. A real bully and someone to be avoided, Brian knew.

Megan laughed and said in derision: “How I’d like a pair like that. How did you get
them, girl?”

Megan relaxed her hold a bit, but not enough to let Brian escape, just firm enough to force him to stand like a freak show performer in front of gawking, insulting kids.

“Let me get a feel,” Timmy said, approaching and putting a hand on each of his breasts, cupping them.

“Come feel,” he urged the others, and a few boys did, some tweaking his nipple as they did so, often accompanied by remarks like: “You need a bra.” “Squishy like a girl’s.” “Yuck!” Brian by now was in full tears.

Some of the kids in the group held back and didn’t say anything; Brian noticed several of them, two girls and a boy, with whom he had played often and enjoyed having fun with. Finally, the boy, Mark Eaton, who was a year older and already developing into quite an athlete, yelled out:

“Let him be. He didn’t mean to run into Megan.”

“Right,” said one of the girls, Janet Gleason. “In fact Megan ran into him and she wasn’t hurt. He’s the one who fell down.”

Megan looked at him, smiled and said. “You can quit crying now, girl.” She let him go.

The kids returned to the street to resume their game, and Brian picked up his bike, and began walking home, still shaken by the events and his total humiliation.

Mark, the boy who had called a halt to the whole incident walked over to him. “Are you all right, Brian?”

Still fighting the sobbing, Brian nodded. “I’m not hurt . . . just a bruise on my leg.”

He was conscious of his breasts bouncing against the tee-shirt as he walked.

“I’ll walk you home,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” Brian said.

“I’m sick of playing with those Merriman boys,” he said. “They always cheat.”

Brian liked Mark; even though the boy was a year older and easily the best athlete on the block, Mark had always treated Brian fairly. They weren’t friends, by any means, but they had shared some talk together, particularly about music, since Mark played both the guitar and trumpet while Brian was taking saxophone. Both liked older style jazz and some blues, tastes rarely shared by the other kids. It developed both of their mothers loved jazz and Mark’s mother occasionally sang jazz vocals at a local club.

“Maybe we can jam sometime, Brian,” Mark offered when they got to Brian’s place.

“That would be fun,” he said.

“You’ll be OK now,” he said.

Brian walked up to his house, locked the bike in the garage, and went up to his room. He began crying again. Soon, however, he began fingering his breasts, which had so recently been the center of so much humiliation. Strangely, he felt satisfaction as he felt them, cupped them and played with his nipples. Soon he was imagining himself in a black, strapless gown, the cleavage appearing at the top of the bodice, so enticing. His tears soon ended, soon to be replaced by a placid smile.

*****
Sylvia Henderson wondered about Brian, worrying that the boy’s apparent pleasure at playing with younger girls offered a sign of something more disturbing. Was the boy a budding pedophile? Did he take liberties with his sister and her friends?

Her instincts rarely deserted her; usually she found her judgments of people to be sound, proven definitely by her marriage to her husband, a fellow Army officer she met at Fort Bragg. The man she married had already a reputation as a womanizer when they met, but Sylvia sensed a decent man existed within his philandering exterior, and she was proven to be correct. The pair remained deeply in love, even after 15 years of marriage.

Her instincts in Brian’s case were that he truly was what he appeared to be, a sweet, loving older brother.

She quizzed her daughter diplomatically about whether Brian had ever touched her or Marietta anywhere, and girl, oblivious as to the reason for the question, answered matter-of-factly, “no.”

What bothered Sylvia, however, was that the boy was so physically undeveloped with apparently weak arms and an androgynous body. Always an athlete herself, Sylvia hated to see the growing obesity among children, particularly in her own black community, and while Brian was not exactly obese, his relatively slenderh body seemed to be layered in soft flesh. He could easily pass as a girl if he wore a dress, she thought.

Several more visits of Tamara with Marietta — followed by discreet questioning of her daughter — soon satisfied Sylvia that her instincts were still correct: Brian was an excellent baby-sitter, if that was the correct term. To add to her growing comfort about the boy, he seemed to have a gentle, sweet disposition. Tamara could benefit from his patient example, perhaps even as an antidote to her often more volatile, more emotional reactions.

Sylvia called Amy Kendall with a proposition: She would welcome hiring Brian to pickup Tamara two days a week — when she had important meetings at the hospital — and watch her for about an hour and a half along with Marietta. “I’ll be back by about 5 o’clock, Amy, if that’s OK with Brian and you and, of course, Marietta.”

Amy was a bit surprised with the proposal, since she was concerned about leaving two first grade girls under the charge of a sixth grade boy, even one as responsible as Brian was proving to be.

“The girls seem so fond of Brian,” Sylvia persisted, “And he seems to be happy with them, too.”

“Yes, I know Marietta talks constantly about your daughter, but together they could be full of mischief.” Amy replied.

“I know, but I seem confident your Brian can handle the situation. I’ll give him my cell phone number and he can call me if there’s any problem.”

“Great Sylvia,” Amy said, still not totally comfortable with the idea. “We’ll give it a try, but first I’ll have to ask Brian and I’ll call you back.”

*****
Amy Kendall’s problem with the idea didn’t stem from the obvious one: the leaving of six-year-old girls under the watch of an 11-year-old boy. Strangely, she was certain Brian would be a responsible, caring person, better than hiring a 15- or 16-year-old girl for the same task.

Her concern was that she was robbing Brian of being a boy: His after-school hours were already consumed with caring for his sister, and now he’d be given an added burden. There’d be no time to play outside and do any sports; yet, the boy always assured her he preferred staying in the house reading in his room, helping his mother or playing with his younger sister.

She came upon the boy in the kitchen, where he was sitting at the kitchen table poring over, of all things, recipe books. His long, blonde hair was draped over his narrow shoulders and Amy couldn’t escape the feeling that she was looking at a girl. Had she made him this way? Had her reliance upon him, once her husband left her, created such a feminine-looking creature, a girl in nearly every sense who could cook, bake, do the laundry and care for a younger sister?

Her concerns had grown even more intense after she found him crying in his room on the Saturday he had been beaten up by Megan Tompkins. She had returned home after shopping with Marietta, surprised at not finding Brian in the kitchen preparing the evening meal, a treat he had promised his mother before she went shopping.

“I want to make you a delicious soufflé tonight,” he had promised Amy.

Hearing the sobbing, Amy rapped on Brian’s door, asking, “What’s wrong honey?”

“Nothing.”

The words were accompanied by sobs, which proved “nothing” was the false answer, and Amy entered the room, seeing her son in a fetal position on the bed, still dressed in his shorts and tee shirt from the bike trip, looking soft and pink.

Amy sat on the bed, coaxing the boy into her arms and held him tightly against her cushiony body, patting his head gently. The sobbing soon ceased and finally Brian felt some peace.

He told his mother everything, every humiliating last detail, crying intermittently through the story. She listened, saying little, letting him pour out his feelings.

“And, mommy, they all laughed at my chest, saying I should have a bra. . . (sobs) and Timmy Merriman started calling me ‘Bernice,’ and . . . (more sobs) and they all called me ‘Bernice.’”

The two had discussed his growing breasts before, and Amy had tried to diffuse the problem by saying, “Lots of boys have breasts like that at your age, but outgrow it.”

“Mommy, why wasn’t I born a girl?” he said finally.

“Because it just happened that you were born a boy,” Amy said. “It’s nature, darling. Mommy couldn’t choose what she wanted. Nature does that.”

Amy held her son tightly, tears welling in her own eyes. What was to be done for this sweet, gentle boy? How could he ever grow up a man in a world that looked to men to be hard and fighters?

“Sometimes, I wish I was a girl, mommy,” Brian said after a while.

“Oh Brian, dear. You’re a good boy.”

“No mommy, for real. I could be such a pretty girl. I think about it so much now, mommy.”

“Oh darling, don’t bother with that idea,” Amy said. “You’re a boy. You have your pee-pee, remember?”

“I know, mommy, but I’d be a good daughter for you,” the boy said, his eyes brightening with the prospect.

“I know you would, honey, but you are really being an even better son by helping mommy out,” Amy said. “Maybe I’ve tied you down with this too much, and I should make sure you get out and learn to play with the other kids.”

“Oh mommy, I can’t,” Brian said. “They’ll tease me and call me ‘Bernice.’”

Amy knew that Brian would face problems, since she was well-aware of his physical ineptness and androgynous body. She vowed to find something to help build the boy’s self-confidence. Brian, meanwhile, was finding he liked the idea of being a girl, only he didn’t really like the name “Bernice.”

Chapter 2: Finding a Soulmate

“Oh, mommy,” Brian said excitedly when his mother told him of Mrs. Henderson’s suggestion that Brian baby-sit for her daughter two days a week. “You mean she wants to pay me for watching Tamara?”

“Yes, honey, but I want you to think about this carefully,” Amy Kendall said. “This’ll tie your time down even more and you won’t be able to play with your friends much.”

“I don’t care, mommy.”

“You really need to get out of the house, more, dear,” she pleaded.

“No, mommy, I like doing this work, taking care of Marietta and Tamara, too.”

It was Brian’s consistent answer; he had no desire to be out playing with other kids, particularly the boys in the neighborhood who always seemed to pick on him. And now the girls did too. His beating by Megan Tompkins was devastating; he and Megan used to play together in the past, but now she only wanted to beat him up and tease him and make fun of him.

“Ok, we’ll try it for two weeks,” his mother finally said.

*****
Amy Kendall and Sylvia Henderson quickly had become close confidants, in spite of their different positions in life; Amy held down a low-lever clerical job on the second shift at St. Vincent’s Hospital while Sylvia, a college-educated retired Army officer was vice president of operations for the community’s largest hospital, Community Memorial. Sylvia found she liked Amy immensely, and found her to be an intelligent, well-grounded woman who rarely complained about the bad luck she’d already had in her life. Their common interest was the well-being of their children, and from that the two women grew in friendship.

It was to Sylvia that Amy expressed her concerns about Brian’s growing girlishness, and the boy’s recent words that he might like to be a girl. The topic came up when Amy called Sylvia back to tell her that Brian would accept the chore of watching over Tamara after school twice a week for two weeks.

“It’ll be a trial, Sylvia,” Amy said. “I must tell you I’m uneasy about this whole thing.”

“Amy, I guess I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” Sylvia replied. “I don’t want you uneasy about it, but I want you to know I trust your son one hundred percent. I have no qualms over Brian’s sense of responsibility.”

“Of course, Sylvia, so let’s try it, but Brian’s trustworthiness was no issue with me either,” Amy replied.

“What’s bothering you, Amy?”

Amy was silent for a moment, uncertain whether to bare her true concerns about Brian to a person who was a total stranger just a few weeks earlier. Amy, however, felt a warmth and sincerity in the woman that she found in few others; no way could she have gained such responsible jobs at such a young age without being a solid person.

“Well, Sylvia, if I tell you my real concerns, I hope you’ll keep this conversation between just the two of us,” Amy began. “I need to share my thoughts with someone who is sensible, and you seem that person.”

“Amy, let me assure you, this is between you and I. I’ve always respected confidences. You may have not known but I had top secret clearance in the Army since I was assigned to Army Intelligence.”

“My issue is with Brian,” Amy began. “I think you’ve noticed he’s hardly like most boys. What other boy would welcome caring for a younger sister, and now your daughter, over playing outside with his friends?”

“I wondered, too.”

“He really looks forward to it, Sylvia, and won’t go out and play ball with the boys and he really has no other friends. He’s teased constantly about his looks, particularly his breasts. It’s no wonder he won’t play with the others.”

“Kids can be so cruel sometimes, and to such a sweet boy,” Sylvia commented.

Amy continued: “Just last week he was beat up on our block by a girl, who held him in an armlock while a bunch of the kids taunted him and played with his breasts, calling him ‘Bernice.’

“I don’t know if he’s not strong enough to fight back, or if it’s just not in his nature, but I am ashamed to admit that he seems to react as a girl might in these situations and ends up in tears. I hate it, Sylvia, and I feel the hurt as much as he does.”

Amy paused, feeling she was near to tears as she related this.

Sylvia replied, her voice soft and warm: “Oh, Amy, I’m so sorry to hear this, and sadly, I’m afraid Brian feels the hurt many times more than you do. Kids at that age are so sensitive. You’re so right to be worried.”

“And the worst of it is that now he’s telling me he should be a girl, that he wishes he was a girl, and that he hates being a boy,” Amy blurted this out, adding: “How can he think that?”

“My God, Amy.”

“So you see why I am concerned about him taking on this chore with Tamara,” Amy continued. “I’m so worried I’m just driving him into this girlish behavior. I feel like a failure as a mother.”

“Stop right there, Amy,” Sylvia said, using a military-like stern tone. “You’re not at fault, Amy, and don’t make yourself the center of Brian’s problems. You’ll just make matters worse.”

“I guess you’re right, but what can I do?”

Sylvia suggested the possibility of canceling the trial job for Brian, but Amy said, “No. All three of them, Marietta, Tamara and Brian are looking forward to it. Let’s do the two weeks and see where it goes, OK?”

“OK, but I think I may have some ideas for you, but I’d like to think about this a bit,” Sylvia said. “I think Brian is a bright, caring lovely child and I share your concerns. Let’s talk in a few days.”

*****
Brian looked forward to those days when he would care for the two girls. It gave him something to do after school, and also gave him an excuse to avoid getting involved in any activities with other boys, like a pickup football game or something. He could tell other boys that he had to “babysit” his little sister, and that would end their questions or ideas about bullying him.

He escorted Tamara and Marietta from school back to their upper flat, often holding hands with the two little girls, sometimes even skipping part way home. The girls had tons of energy, but the heavier Brian, feeling the heft of his breasts bouncing as they skipped, soon gave up the skipping, breathing heavily.

“You don’t have to be with the girls constantly, once they’re home,” his mother told him. “They can play together and all you need to do is to check up on their periodically.”

Brian, however, found himself more often than not joining in with the two girls, often dressing dolls and playing an innocent game of house where he was always the “mommy.” He tucked his legs as he sat on the floor of Marietta’s bedroom, handling the dolls with great daintiness and care.

Once a week, he took the girls into the kitchen where they baked cookies, giving a partial batch to Tamara’s mother when she came by to pick up her daughter.

“You make the most scrumptious cookies, Brian,” Sylvia told him after she finished the second set of cookies. “I can’t do half as good.”

Brian smiled; everyone said his cookies were tasty and crisp. His cooking, however, had its drawbacks, since he found himself sampling his own creations and soon was gaining weight again, most of it ending up on his hips, thighs, tummy and breasts. Indeed, as he looked around at the girls in his sixth grade class he realized his own breasts may have become bigger than any he saw. He was embarrassed by this, of course, but for some reason he enjoyed have the soft mounds of flesh, prompting him to reflect more and more on becoming a girl.

He even introduced the two girls to sewing, a skill he had taught himself after watching his mother on the sewing machine. He loved the tiny intricate work he could do on the machine and had even sown a pink doll’s dress he created out of his own pattern. It was a crude job, he admitted, but Marietta loved the dress and her main doll wore it all the time.

He was, he realized one day, doing only things that girls seemed to do, and he felt comfortable and happy doing them. He tried to think of one thing he did well that other boys did and he couldn’t think of anything.

*****
Since Sylvia Henderson saw Brian only twice a week when she picked up her daughter at the Kendall household, she could see easily that Brian was gaining weight and was growing noticeably fatter. His own mother, seeing him each day, didn’t seem to notice at first until Sylvia mentioned it to her a week after their initial discussion about Brian.

“Amy, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Brian seems to be gaining weight,” Sylvia said, raising the subject delicately, recognizing that most mothers don’t like being told something negative about their child.

“He has a tendency to put on weight,” Amy replied. “I guess he gets that from me. I’ve always been a little chubby.”

“Oh dear, I know. Every child has a different metabolism, so I’m not really criticizing, but Brian is such a sweet boy and so smart, I think he needs more physical activity.”

“You’re right, Sylvia, but I can never get him to go out and play with the boys,” Amy said. “He feels he’s no good at sports and now they all make fun of him.”

“Well, maybe if he lost some weight and put on a little muscle, he’d feel better about it,” Sylvia said.

Amy realized that what Sylvia said was accurate; Brian had become too much of a home-body and seemed locked into doing so many girlish activities that he had little opportunity to exercise or tone up his muscles.

“He’s not really that fat, Sylvia,” she said, still responding defensively. “But I know he could get some more exercise. I just can’t seem to get him involved in anything.”

“Maybe I can help,” Sylvia replied.

Amy realized that the other woman might just have an answer. Sylvia, she knew, had been an Army officer for 20 years before retiring, and still had a trim, firm figure of the young athletic woman she had once been. She also had the disciplined life style that Amy would love to emulate, but never seemed to be able to do so.

*****
“Brian, I’ve taken the liberty of signing you up for Saturday classes at the Boys and Girls Club on North Avenue,” Sylvia Henderson told him as she stopped by to pick up Tamara one day after school.

“What?” Brian asked, somewhat shocked at the idea.

“Well, honey, I’ve talked this over with your mother and we think you’ll like doing this,” she said. “You don’t have to do it, of course, but we both think it’s a good idea.”

“What kind of class?”

“Aerobics for teens,” she said.

“Aerobics? What’s that?”

“Well honey, it’s not too tough, but it involves doing loosening up exercises of all types, and it helps you to feel a little bit better and is good for your health,” Sylvia said.

“I don’t know, Sylvia,” Brian said, feeling very skeptical about the proposal. Would these classes mean he’d have to wear shorts and a tee-shirt and show everyone his chubby thighs and breasts?

As if sensing the boy’s concerns, Sylvia hastened to say that he could wear whatever he wanted to the classes, including sweats to provide him some cover.

“And they won’t be asking you to do things you can’t do,” she said. “Most of the kids will be like you so you won’t be out of place.”

“Is it like a class for fat kids?” he asked, shamed at being associated with such children, feeling he wasn’t fat, just a bit chunky.

“Well, yes,” she admitted, “But not just for fat kids. It’s for kids who need a little more activity in their lives. It’ll be fun, and it’s both boys and girls. You’ll like it.”

“And my mother likes the idea?”

“Yes, and don’t worry about the cost,” Sylvia said. “It’s part of your pay for helping care for Tamara. You’ve been such a great help, honey.”

“Maybe it’s OK,” he said finally, “But I want to talk to my mother first.”

“I need to know by tomorrow, and the first class is at 10 a.m. Saturday,” she said with a smile.

*****
Even though the idea of taking such a class seemed so embarrassing, Brian took his mother’s advice and agreed to accept Mrs. Henderson’s offer. “You really need to start getting more exercise,” his mother said. “Maybe this will help, and if you don’t like it, you can quit, but I asked you to give it a try for at least three sessions.”

“OK, mommy,” he said.

It was mid-October when the classes began, and already most of the leaves had been stripped from the trees as autumn descended quickly in this northern city in the upper Midwest. Brian dressed in a pair of sweat pants and a loose fitting tee shirt, covered by a hoodie; even so the bike ride to the Boys and Girls Club was a cold one and he was glad to enter into the warmth of the two-story brick building where the moisture from the swimming pool seemed to add a steamy feeling to the whole building.

He registered, was given a locker assignment and a key and directed to the Boys Changing Rooms. He was surprised to see there were no other boys in the place getting ready for the class, and began to wonder if he misunderstood the time and place for the class. He looked at the information sheet he had been given and was surprised to see a warning near the bottom: “Please DO NOT put female items in the toilet. Use special receptacles.”

He double-checked the sheet and realized he was in the correct place and at the right time. Well, OK, he told himself, he better lock up his hoodie and bicycle lock key and get ready to report to “Workout Room No. 2” as instructed on the sheet.

At precisely 10 a.m. (not a second earlier or later, as he was a stickler for being on time), he entered the workout room, following two chubby girls wearing shorts that exposed their soft thighs.

He looked around; there were about 15 young people in the room, and one tall stern looking women with short-cropped brown hair streaked with gray. All of the others appeared to be girls, either his age or a little older. What’s this? He wondered, looking at the older person, who must be the instructor.

The woman looked at him, nodded slightly and walked toward him, carrying a clip board, looking at it as she walked.

“You must be Brian,” she said, greeting him, her stern demeanor giving way to a gentle smile.

“Yes, ma’am. Am I in the right place? Is this class just for girls?”

“No, Brian,” the woman assured him. “We usually have more boys in the class, but for some reason you’re the only one this session.”

“Oh,” was all he could say. Maybe he should just bolt out of the room, he thought.

“Oh, they won’t bite,” she said, with a smile. “I’m sure you’ll like it.”

“OK, ma’am.”

“Didn’t you wear shorts today?” she asked. “You’ll get too warm once we begin our exercises.”

“No ma’am, I didn’t know what to wear.”

“OK, but next time, you should wear shorts, dear. You’ll enjoy the classes more.”

*****
Brian took his place, as ordered in the midst of the second row of girls; they had been assembled in three rows of five each. As he looked about, he noticed only one or two girls who might have been his age; the others appeared to be mainly 13- and 14-year-old girls. They all seemed to have one thing in common: they were fat, and while some could be described as chubby a few were downright fat.

“Now young people,” the instructor said, “Let’s have some fun.” There were a few groans, since it was obvious some of the girls may not have welcomed the idea of exercising on a Saturday morning, instead of lying in bed until after noon lunch.

She began: “We’ll make this fun for all of you, but it’ll be work too, and you’ll soon learn that you like what happens to you.”

“First of all, I want to get us to know each other well, so let’s introduce our selves, telling only your first name and what school you attend, then I want each of you to turn to the girl . . . er . . .person on your right and introduce yourself in more detail and spend a few minutes talking together. Let’s all be friends.”

She paused for a minute, then said: “I’ll start and tell you my name. I’m Mrs. Goldsberry, but you may call be Debbie for the class periods, and I went to Woodrow Wilson High School . . . many years ago.”

Her introduction brought chuckles to the class, and the introductions began.

Brian felt frightened and shy, afraid to introduce himself as “Brian,” since it would single him out as the only boy in the class, but as the girls began introducing themselves he could see most of them were also shy and maybe a bit scared. Mrs. Goldsberry had to tell several of the girls to speak up so that they could be heard.

Finally, Brian’s turn came, and he tried to speak out loudly, but his voice came out as a high-pitched squeak as he said: “My name is Brian and . . . ah . . . I go to John Muir Middle School.”

He heard a couple of snickers in the group, and all of the girls looked around at him, many not realizing there was a boy in the class. It finally dawned on him that will his longish hair and his cherubic face many must have thought him just one of the girls.

“Now girls,” Mrs. Goldsberry said. “Yes, we have a boy in the class, and usually we have more than one. For some reason, Brian is the only boy here, and I want you all to welcome him as one of us.”

Brian reddened as he noticed every girl in the class looking at him, some smiling and detecting a smirk on several of the faces. He gave a tentative wave as if to acknowledge the attention, and then brushed the hair from his eyes as he lowered his hand, a habit he had seemed to adopt.

“Hi, I’m Amanda,” said the girl to his left after the general introductions were completed. She was one of the heavier girls in the class, having already developed a large belly, wide hips and grossly flabby thighs.

“I’m in 7th Grade at John Muir Middle School,” she said. Brian was struck by her incredibly pretty face and sparkling blue eyes.

Later, he introduced himself to the girl, saying to her, “You go to Muir, too? Funny I never saw you there, and we’re both in the same grade.”

“I never saw you either, but it’s a big school,” she said.

The he mumbled something about hoping she didn’t mind having a boy in the class.

“No, I don’t mind,” she said. “Just so you don’t show off as one of the strong boy types.”

He giggled. “Do I look like one?”

“No,” she said. “Or else you wouldn’t be in this class.”

“What do you like to do, Amanda?” he said, trying to make conversation.

“Oh I don’t know, but I do like to cook and bake. Can’t you tell?” she said, giving out with a slight giggle.

“Me too,” he said. “Can’t you tell?”

Amanda and Brian laughed together, both realizing that their love of cooking — and sampling their own creations — had made them both overweight, along with other things.

“We’ll have to have a bake-off, you and me,” she proposed. “See who makes the best cookies.”

“Hmmmmmmmm, I’ll win, easily,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “Everyone says I make the best oatmeal cookies anywhere.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Mrs. Goldsberry interrupted the buzzing conversation with a loud whistle blow; it would become her way of getting attention from the class, and she used it often, both to begin and exercise and end one. The class soon learned, as friendly and warm as she could be, she demanded military-like precision during the exercising.

The participants were lined up again in three rows of five each, Brian smack dab in the center of the girls, thankful to be somewhat hidden behind the others as the exercises began. At first they consisted of simple arm-waving actions, but Brian was surprised that after only a few repetitions his arms felt heavy and he was growing a bit breathless. He was further surprised that Amanda — even with her extreme weight — seemed to be handling the exercising more easily.

He was further chagrined to find he had great difficulty in reaching down in attempts to touch his toes, while most of the girls seemed to do it more easily.

Finally, after about ten minutes — it seemed like an hour to Brian — Mrs. Goldsberry blew the whistle signifying a short break, and the class either sat down on the floor or went to the water cooler for a drink. Brian collapsed where he stood, Amanda joining him on the floor next to him. He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely.

Amanda, to his amazement, didn’t seem winded at all. “You must be hot in those sweats,” she said, kindly.

“I didn’t know what to wear,” he said.

“I didn’t either and I wanted to wear sweats, too,” she admitted. “I hate wearing shorts and stuff that shows how fat I am, but my mom said everyone else in this class will look much the same.”

Brian smiled, realizing he hated, too, to expose his soft, flabby body to others, especially his breasts and fat thighs.

“Well, I can see you’re not one of these macho types, Brian,” she said. “And I like that.”

The class lasted an hour, and Brian felt totally exhausted at the end, even though all of the exercises were light and required little physical strength. Most of the girls seemed to hold up better than he did in the exercises and he felt discouraged when it was over.

“I hope you’re coming back next week,” Amanda said, as they left the room to change into clothes.

“I think so,” he said, realizing that he indeed did need the exercise the class provided; he could hardly keep up with the girls in the class.

Amanda gave him her email address and suggested they contact each other online; she also had a Facebook page, she said.

“I’ll show you how to set one up,” she said.

“I’d like that,” Brian said.

“Maybe we could bake cookies together,” she suggested.

He nodded and said something that he immediately wished to take back: “Just like two girl friends.”

Amanda giggled. “Yes, just like girl friends,” she said, quickly correcting herself to say: “Just like two friends.”

Brian rode home on his bike, tired but refreshed from the class and happy to have a new friend. The thought of being “girl friends” together lingered in his mind, a sweet memory of his first day in the “Aerobics for Teens” class.

Chapter Three: Brassieres

When he got home just before noon, Brian saw that his mother and Marietta were gone, leaving a note that they were shopping and would return about 2 p.m. His mother had come to trust Brian now to care for himself, including making his own lunch, so she hadn’t prepared anything for him to eat.

In truth, he was exhausted from the exercising and the bike ride home; he just wasn’t used to all that physical activity and he knew he would ache all over on Sunday, the next day. He went directly to his room to change into more comfortable clothes, but as soon as he had stripped down to his briefs, he collapsed on his bed, day dreaming about the hour he spent with the 15 girls, imagining he was one of them. He smiled as he lay on his side, his legs crossed and his one hand cupping and playing with a breast.

As he exercised he had felt his breasts bouncing and shifting as he moved, realizing his own breasts appeared to be larger than at least half of the girls in the room, including those girls who were several years older than he was and were beginning to mature. All of the girls, he noticed, wore bras, the younger ones in training bras and the others in sports bras.

After a few minutes of massaging his breasts, and growing more and more convinced in his mind that he was a girl, he rose and examined himself in the mirror, standing in just his briefs and without a shirt. Normally, he avoided looking at himself in a mirror, especially when he wore no shirt, afraid he’d feel shame at seeing his soft, pathetic body. Not this time, however, since he was reflecting on the image that he was a girl, seeing the hanging flesh of his breasts clearly outlined in his mirrored reflection, his narrow round shoulders and looking at his arms, relatively slender, but soft looking and without muscle tone. His eyes drifted down to his legs, noticing how fleshy they grew as they neared his crotch, but also see that his lower legs were slender and smooth and quite pretty.

“I need to wear a bra,” he said to himself.

He sat down on his bed for a minute to reflect on his situation. Maybe his mother had a bra he could wear, he thought.

Within a few minutes, he entered the laundry room and rummaged in the laundry basket, finding an older bra, a plain white one that she apparently wore around the house. He also found a pair of cotton pink panties. Quickly he put them on, but realized his mother’s bras were far too big; she was a large busted woman. He found a few socks in the laundry basket and stuffed them into the bra to fill out the breast cups.

In front of the full-length mirror in his mother’s room, he posed, excited to see that his image was that of a girl, about his age, with a soft, white fleshy tummy giving way to his wide hips and squishy thighs. He realized, too, that he had lovely facial features, full lips and cheeks that were framed in his longish hair. He brushed the hair back in a girlish manner, smiling at his image.

It was the first time he had ever put on female clothes and he found a new excitement stirring in him. For the first time in his life, too, he felt his penis growing hard and he seemed to have a spacey feeling.

He looked at the clock that now had turned to 1:45 p.m., just a few minutes before his mother and sister were to be home. He better change back to his boy clothes, he realized. Yet, the memory of those few minutes in his mother’s clothes felt so magical he knew it was just the beginning.

*****
“Mom, do you think I need to wear a bra sometimes?” he asked his mother later that afternoon, as they were both preparing supper.

“What? You, a bra? Boys don’t wear bras.”

“Yeah, I guess,” he said, taken aback at her rather stern tone of voice.

“Why do you ask, honey?” she said, more gently.

“Oh, never mind.”

“Something’s bothering you, Brian. You may as well tell me.”

Brian was sorry he brought the subject up, but he knew he’d eventually tell his mother about his feelings. He always shared his thoughts with her.

“Mom, you know I’m the only boy in that aerobics class?”

“Yes, does that bother you, dear?”

“At first it did, but now I like it,” he said, blushing. “The girls all seem to like me, and they’re all kinda fat or chubby. I guess I just fit in, like I’m one of them.”

“I’m glad you like it,” his mother said. “That class should be good for you, but what’s that got to do with having a bra?”

“Well, my breasts bounce around when we exercise, and I notice all the girls were wearing some sort of bra to hold their breasts,” he said.

“Won’t they tease you, dear?”

“No, I don’t think so mom. All the girls have their own issues with being chubby, so they would understand. Besides I could wear a loose shirt to hide the bra.”

“Are you serious about this, honey?” his mother asked, showing concern.

“Yes, mom, then I’ll be just like them,” he added.

“What?” she said in surprise. “You want to be like the girls there?”

Brian caught himself, realizing he had gone too far now in admitting his continued thoughts that he should be a girl. He loved the idea of being a girl, but wondered if that was a true feeling, or just some sort of passing fancy.

Amy completed peeling the potatoes and moved next to her son, pulling him into her arms and hugging him tightly. What was happening to her oldest child, she wondered? As she drew his soft body next to hers, she felt his budding breasts pressing against her and looked as his sweet face. He did indeed have girlish features, she thought, and worried about what was going on in the boy’s mind.

“Mommy, why can’t I be a girl?” he asked again.

*****
The following week Brian continued his regular schedule of picking up his little sister after school and walking her home. Two days a week, Tamara joined them and Brian watched the two of them until Mrs. Henderson came by to pick up her daughter.

Brian was already wearing his mother’s frilly apron and preparing supper when Mrs. Henderson rapped on the door. He waved her in.

“Did you like the aerobics class?” she asked.

He was cutting up onions and, as might be expected, was tearing up a bit.

“Yes, very much, except that I’m the only boy.”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that,” she said. “If that bothers you, you can quit and I’ll find you another class. They told me it was co-educational.”

“Oh it is, Mrs. Henderson, except that they only rarely have boys in the class, but that’s OK. The girls all seem nice.”

“OK, Brian, I’m happy to support you and I think the exercise will do you good,” Mrs. Henderson said.

“Oh and we’re getting a nutrition information there, too, since all the girls are fat, like me, and we need to lose weight,” he said. “In fact, I found this recipe for a veggie burger which I’m making tonight. I hope mom and Marietta like them.”

“I’m sure they will, Brian. Are you still going to bake those marvelous cookies?”

“Yes, Sylvia, but I’ll only be able to eat one of them. I save some for Tamara and you, if you like.”

“If I like? Of course, I like.”

Mrs. Henderson, besides paying for the aerobics class, paid Brian $20 a week for the two afternoons of watching Tamara. Brian found he enjoyed these afternoons the best, because Tamara and Marietta played so well together; often he joined in with them, but more and more he was becoming, in a sense, a mother to them. It was all feeling so natural. He was the woman of the house for several hours each day; he felt useful, wanted and a part of something sweet.

*****
After supper that night, Amanda called and suggested that the two get together after supper some night just to be friends.

“My mom can come and pick you up and we can play at my house,” she volunteered.

“I can walk,” he replied. “It’s not too far.”

“But it’s getting dark so early now,” she pointed out. It was October and the sun was down right at suppertime, meaning Brian would do the walk in the dark. He tried to insist that he’d walk over, since he didn’t want to inconvenience Amanda’s mother, but Amanda said firmly that his mother would pick him up. He finally agreed.

*****
On the appointed night, Amanda and her mother arrived in a huge, oversized SUV, and Brian had some difficulty climbing into the rear door, the step was so high.

Amanda’s mother was a round-faced, cheerful woman who had the same short, stocky body frame as her daughter. Brian could see the woman had a huge tummy that seemed to press up against her breasts as she sat in the driver’s seat of the car. Her hands held the steering wheel and her bare arms appeared muscular and powerful, not at all what you’d expect from such a short chubby person.

“Hello, honey, I’m Toni, ‘manda’s mom,” she said in a clipped tone that appeared to be a New York accent. “Call me Toni and I’ll call you ‘Bri.’”

“Nice meeting you, Mrs. Donatelli,” Brian said.

“It’s Toni, darling. I’m so happy you and ‘manda are friends. She’s talked about nothing else except you for three days.”

Brian grew red; what possibility could this girl see in Brian? Didn’t nearly every other kid in school look upon him as a sorry specimen of a boy.

“She said you bake good cookies, Bri, but you’ll have to prove to me they’re better than either mine or ‘manda’s. How dare you try to better an Italian mom when it comes to baking?”

She laughed heartily as she said this, and Brian could see she winked at him through the rear view mirror.

“Oh mother,” Amanda interrupted, showing some exasperation with her mother’s gushing behavior.

The Donatelli family lived in a large 100-year-old Victorian-style house that had obviously been restored; it sat back on a double city lot, facing a well-manicured lawn with tastefully placed flower beds, which had already been mulched for the coming winter.

Amanda told Brian that the Donatelli’s were longtime produce merchants in the city, dating back from when her great-grandfather came from Italy in the early 20th Century.

“You’re that ‘Donatelli’ family!” he exclaimed, recalling all of the produce trucks around town with the Donatelli name on them. “Wow.”

Amanda scoffed at him. “Brian we’re nothing special.”

“Still you don’t see any trucks around town with the Kendall name on them,” he said.

They both laughed.

What impressed Brian most in the house was the basement playroom that took over most of the lower lever of the house. It was well-appointed and lighted; on one end was a workout area, complete with a treadmill, stationary bicycle, and several weights machines.

“Who uses these?” he asked.

“We all do, but mom and me do a lot on them.”

He looked at this overweight girl with a puzzled expression. She didn’t look like she had ever done any exercise.

“Oh don’t let this fool you,” she said, jiggling her tummy with both hands. “I’m strong.”

“OK.”

“Really, let me show you,” she said. “Let me arm wrestle you, just to show you.”

“No that’s not necessary. I believe you.”

“Come on, it’s no shame to wrestle a girl,” she said.

“I suppose,” he said, and he agreed to the competition.

True to her word, Amanda was the stronger of the two; it took her about ten seconds to pin his arm.

“Oh you are strong,” he said. Actually in his mind, he knew how weak his own arm was, realizing the many of the girls in the aerobics class might have been able to pin him back just as quickly.

“This is just between you and me,” she said. “I shouldn’t have done that to you. I want you as my friend, Brian.”

“Me too, and I know I need to get stronger. That’s why I’m in the class. Do you girls think I’m weird being with all you girls?”

“No, most of us think you’re brave to join us,” Amanda said. “Maybe you can come over here and use this workout stuff with me. I’d like that. I need someone to work out with.”

She showed Brian the rest of the house, including her huge bedroom, which decorated in a strange mixture of dolls and photos of sports stars, both male and female stars. Her shelves contained several trophies from softball tournaments Amanda had been in; she also had a picture of her in a catcher’s outfit for the Tigers, where she was one of the few girls on a Little League team, yet was one of the best batters.

“I’m plenty active,” she confessed. “I just eat too much.”

“Me too,” he said. “Except I don’t get any exercise.”

“Now you will,” she promised.

*****
“We’re going to push you girls a bit harder this week,” Mrs. Goldsberry said in opening the second week’s session. “If you’re going to get anywhere close to being fit young ladies, you’ll have to sweat and work at it. Now let’s go to it.”

Brian blushed; it occurred to him that he was now lumped in with the group as one of the girls. Mrs. Goldsberry seemed not to notice anymore that there was a boy amongst the group. Should he protest? No, he thought, best to just keep it undercover. Besides, he sort of liked the idea of being just one of the young ladies in the class.

“Ready for the jumping jacks, young ladies!” the instructor ordered.

This involving jumping up, spreading the legs while simultaneously bringing the arms up over the head, a callisthenic that Brian found particularly tiring. The layer of fat that covered his body jiggled with each jump, his breasts bouncing heavily. He noticed with some envy that the girls, their breasts held tightly with brassieres, seemed to be having an easier time of it, spreading their legs farther apart than he seemed to be able to do.

“Spread those legs wide, girls,” Mrs. Goldsberry demanded as they continued into the fifth and sixth jumps.

Brian tried harder to spread them wider than he had been, but found he was falling behind the pace set by Mrs. Goldsberry and followed by most of the girls.

“Come on Brian, keep pace with the girls,” she ordered.

He grunted, nodding his head, trying mightily to pick up his pace, which he did a bit, and for which Mrs. Goldsberry smiled and said, “That’s great, dear.”

After 12 jumps, she blew the whistle stopping the exercise, and she said, “OK, girls, take two minutes rest,” and Brian almost collapsed as he sat on the floor, breathing heavily. Amanda plopped down next to him, breathing heavily but seeming to have an easier time of it.

“I hate those jumping jacks,” Brian said, his words coming out between gulps of breath.

“Oh but they’re good for us,” Amanda replied, her voice more even.

“I know,” he said, placing his right hand on his left breast, cupping it, as if to support it.

Amanda noticed his action, leaned over and whispered, “You know Brian, I bet you’d do better if you could have something to keep your breasts from bouncing.”

He blushed, nodding in affirmative.

Mrs. Goldsberry blew the whistle for the next exercise.

*****
The following Tuesday evening Brian biked over to Amanda’s house for their regular workout session. He both welcomed and disliked these sessions, welcoming them since he always enjoyed his time with Amanda but disliked them since they were so exhausting and somewhat humiliating since he couldn’t keep up with the girl.

He wore his workout clothes underneath sweatpants and sweatshirts, taking the outer clothes off for the sessions.

Amanda greeted him at the backdoor, leading him down to the workout room.

“Here I brought this for you,” she announced once they were in the room.

She held up a brassiere; it was a simple black one of fairly firm material.

“What’s this?” he said, not believing what he was seeing.

“I told you you’d feel better if your breasts were tied down, Bri’. It’s a sports bra.”

“For me? But I’m a boy.”

“Don’t be silly,” she said. “You need it for exercises. You’ll feel better with it on.”

“But . . . but . . .”

“Take off your shirt now and let’s put this on,” she commanded.

He did as she ordered, lifting his shirt up over his head, feeling so exposed. He hated taking his shirt off since he exposed his pathetically soft body, his breasts and his lack of arm muscles.

“How do I put this thing on?” he asked, holding it in his hand.

“Here, give it to me and turn around,” she said. “I’ll show you how to put it on.”

She had him put his arms through the straps, holding the cups of the bra tight against his breasts as she hooked the bra in the back. Amanda showed him how he could put the bra by himself.

“It’s a bit difficult at first,” she said, “But you’ll soon do it easily enough.”

Amanda was right. The workout session seemed to go much more easily for him now that his breasts were held in place and didn’t bounce around as he jumped and ran. When they finished, Brian was sweating heavily and felt totally exhausted. He was surprised that Amanda, however, who also carried some extra weight, seemed far less worn out.

Mrs. Donatelli invited her daughter and Brian to join her in the kitchen, beckoning them to sit at the kitchen table. She provided the two young people with glasses of lemonade and cookies (lo-cal, of course). Despite his fatigue, Brian felt good. He even felt like his arms and legs grew in muscular tone after the hour of workout, which was not possible, he knew. And for some reason, he felt happy and content, even though he was physically tired.

He was weary as he rose from the chair in the kitchen to begin his walk home, but Amanda told him to wait a minute.

“I want to give you something, Brian. It’s up in my room.”

“OK, what is it?”

“You’ll see,” and she bounded off to her room on the second floor.

Brian looked at Mrs. Donatelli, who merely shrugged her shoulders indicating she had no idea what Amanda was to get.

“How do you like all this exercising, Brian?” she said.

“It’s tiring, ma’am. I’m not used to so much activity.”

“It’ll be good for you, young man,” she said. “I could see you weren’t getting much activity.”

He blushed a bit.

“I got to take care of my little sister so much,” he explained.

“I know honey, and I wasn’t being critical. You’ve been good to both your sister and your mother, from what Amanda tells me.”

At that moment, Amanda rushed into the room, holding a plastic bag. She thrust it out to Brian, who grabbed it instinctively.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Open the bag and look.”

He did. “Two brassieres. For me?”

“Who else, silly? You know you felt better tonight with the bra on when you exercised.”

Mrs. Donatelli looked shocked. “Amanda,” she demanded. “What are you doing giving this boy a brassiere?”

“Look at him,” she said, reaching over and tweaking one of his soft, breasts whose mound of flesh were framed against the tight fitting shirt he wore. “He needs it when he exercises, mom.”

Brian felt totally humiliated now, and wanted to run out of the Donatelli house, never to return. He wanted to lash out at Amanda, angered for drawing attention to his breasts; yet, he knew she was right. He did need the brassiere when he ran about and jumped during the exercise period.

“Amanda,” her mother said firmly. “You’re being mean to him.”

“But, mom . . .” she began.

“That’s OK, Mrs. Donatelli,” Brian interjected, coming to his friend’s defense. “She’s right. I guess I do need it.”

“They’re clean, Brian, and I don’t wear them anymore,” Amanda said. “One is a sports bra and the other a training bra. Should fit you fine.”

Brian left the house, carrying the bag. He realized he wanted to get home quickly so that he could model the bras.

*****
“What’s in the bag, Brian?” his little sister asked as he bounded in the door.

“None of your business, Marietta,” he said, running up the stairs to his room, trying to shut his door before his sister could follow him inside. But he was too slow.

“Come on, show me,” she persisted, grabbing at the bag as he tried to hold it far away from her.

“It’s not for little girls to see,” he said, petulantly.

“I’ll tell mom that you must have drugs or something in there, and then you’ll see,” she threatened.

“Marietta, please, maybe I’ll show you, just quit jumping on me trying to grab the bag,” he pleaded. “Come sit with me on my bed, first and slow down.”

His sister did as he said, joining him on the bed. He put his arm around her, and said, “You know I love you, Marietta?”

“Oh yes, Brian, I know that, and I love you.”

“Good, now what I’ll show you must be kept between you and me and mom, OK?”

She nodded.

“And you can’t tell anyone else, right?”

“Right.”

He opened the bag, displaying the two brassieres, letting her pull them out and hold them up. She let them dangle from both her hands.

“Are they for you?”

He blushed, and nodded yes.

“They’re for girls,” she said.

“Usually,” Brian agreed, “But I kind of need them, I guess.”

Marietta giggled, and played with the bras, waving them gently in the air, saying “You could be my older sister, Brian, and we could have so much fun together.”

“We already have lots of fun together, Marietta, don’t we? Don’t I play dolls with you and stuff like that?”

She giggled again, smiling up at him. “Maybe you could dress up like a girl, Brian, and then be my sister.”

He laughed, excited by the thought, drawing his sister tightly against him, hugging her. Suddenly he was picturing himself in a dress, wearing sheer tan stockings and ballet slippers, looking sweet and demure, holding hands with his little sister, also in a dress and looking so lovely together.

“Maybe someday for fun,” he said at last.

“Now Brian, now, be my sister,” she said.

“No honey, I’m not ready for that yet, and besides I don’t have any clothes.”

“Oh Brian, please.”

“No honey, not now.”

“You could wear mom’s stuff,” she volunteered.

“No, not now, please go, I need to do my homework.”

“OK,” she said with a pout.

“Now remember, tell no one, OK?”

She nodded in agreement and walked out of the room, leaving Brian to his dreams of being a pretty teen girl.

*****
As Brian, Marietta and their mother sat down at the supper table that night, the first words out of Marietta’s mouth were to reveal that Brian brought home to bras.

His mother’s face aimed a stern face toward Brian. “You brought home what?”

Brian blushed, finally answering, “Two brassieres”

“Where did you get them?”

“From Amanda, to wear when I exercise, mom. I can move much easier now. It’s just for exercising.”

“Oh honey,” she said, more sympathetically. “I guess that’s right. Are they new? Should you pay her something for them?”

“No mom, they’re old ones of hers, and she won’t take any money. I wore one today when were exercised. It works, and it held them in place,” he said.

Brian felt humiliated now as he talked about it, and his face reddened, at the thought that as a boy he had to wear brassieres.

Marietta, however, failing to sense the shame her brother was feeling, said: “I want Brian to be my older sister.”

“What?” their mother said.

“She’d be so pretty, I bet mom, and we could have so much fun as sisters.”

“Now get that thought out of your head, little girl,” his mother said. “Right now he’s your brother. Now both of you eat your supper and I’ll talk to you later, Brian. And you, Marietta, just don’t tell anyone about Brian and the bras, OK? Is that understood?”

The girl hung her pretty head, and said almost soundlessly, “Yes, mother.”

With his shame, however, came exciting thoughts of being a girl.

*****
“Brian, dear, do you like the idea of being a girl?” his mother asked him directly that night. She entered his room as he was preparing for bed, telling him to sit on the bed, while she took the chair from in front of his desk, pulling it opposite him. She had reached over, holding his hands in hers.

Brian for the moment seemed ashamed to admit he was seriously thinking about it, and feared what his mother might think. He looked down at his hands, being held so gently by his mother.

“That’s OK, honey,” his mother said.

“Yes, mom,” he finally admitted. “A lot.”

“I thought you did, darling,” she said.

“Are you mad, mom?”

“Oh my darling, not at all. It’s just that’s going to be so difficult for you.”

He started to cry, all the emotion of humiliation coupled with desires to be a girl mingled with his ineptness and weakness in physical activity boiling up within him. It now burst out anew, and his sobbing wracked his body, forcing his mother to move to the bed and take him in her arms, rocking him as if he were an infant.

When his crying subsided, she gave him a tissue to wipe his eyes.

“Darling, I’ve been thinking about this for sometime, and I’ve done some research,” she said.

“Yes, mom?”

“I think we’ll need to get you to a specialist, and I’ve contacted one in our hospital staff who deals with cases like yours, and he’ll be worth you talking to.”

“A shrink?”

“Sort of a shrink, Brian, but he knows about this kind of situation, and he’ll be discreet, of course.”

“Whatever you think, mom.”

He felt his mother’s hugs so warmly now, and that comforted him. He was loved and protected and maybe soon it would be as her daughter.

Chapter Four: The older sister

The idea that he could live as a girl excited Brian. It occupied all of his waking hours; he looked at girls in school and pictured himself in their skirts and blouses, and like them having a budding breasts just beginning to form. Already he noticed that his breasts were as large as any of the girls in his class, even those of his friend, Amanda, who had matured earlier than the others.

At night, he’d lay awake in bed, his thoughts building up into his intensity. Lying on his side, his breasts pressing together to form cleavage, Brain reached up with his hand to cup them, using his fingers to trace the crack between to two soft mounds of flesh. As he did so, he pressed his penis between his fat thighs and felt it grow.

“I could be so pretty,” he muttered to himself, his body beginning to rock and his penis growing harder. His fingers moved down to find one nipple that had also grown harder.

Suddenly, he felt warm moisture ooze between his thighs as he ejaculated, and he hurried quickly to restrict the flow of the sticky fluid, hoping not to stain the sheets, and reaching for a towel he kept close at hand. As he cleaned himself off, he felt a bit of remorse and some slight disgust with himself for thinking such thoughts. He wasn’t a girl. No, he was a boy, but such a poor excuse for a boy. What was to happen, he wondered?

He couldn’t help himself. It seemed to happen almost nightly now and always when he pictured himself as a girl.

*****
Amanda had a rather sheepish expression when they next got together for their two-on-two workout session, and her question came out haltingly. “Brian, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” he said, puzzled by her uncharacteristic hesitation.

“You won’t get mad with me. It’s kinda personal.”

“Never with you, Amanda,” he said, with a smile.

“Well . . . ah . . . you know Janet Gleason, she lives on your block, I think?” she began.

“Yes, she’s nice,” he said, recalling the incident when he was shamed by Megan in the bike collision. Janet tried to be helpful.

“We were talking the other day . . . at piano lessons . . . we have the same teacher and walked home together,” she started.

He waited patiently for what was to follow.

“Now don’t get mad, at me or her, but . . . well . . . we both thought that we’d like to see you all dressed up like a girl. We think you’d be so pretty, and then we could go as three girls to the mall.”

“Oh, no!” he said, almost screaming it out.

“I’m sorry,” she reacted. “I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just that you do have such a pretty face, and such a nice complexion.”

“Me? A pretty face? It’s too fat.”

“No it’s not, and with a little makeup, you’d be so cute.”

He blushed. He had looked in the mirror and wondered whether he had a face that could be pretty. It’s just that he had the beginning of a double chin, and that wouldn’t make a girl look pretty. And, he remembered playing with his longish hair while looking in the mirror, modeling it in a girlish style.

“Really?” he said, finally.

“Yes, really, Brian. Gosh, I hope you’re not mad at me for thinking that, or at Janet.”

“No, not at you or Janet. But it’s kinda weird. I’m a boy.”

“But you’d be so pretty as a girl.”

“Oh, Amanda, how could I be pretty. I’m too fat.”

“Not as fat as me, but look we’re both losing weight and you look so soft and with your lovely hair. It’s such nice hair, so long and flowing and we could fashion it to make you a hottie.”

“I couldn’t. What would happen if I got recognized? I’m teased enough now. Janet will tell you that. Timmy Merriman would never leave me alone. Or even Megan.”

“Come on, Brian, do it. Do it for me. We’ll have so much fun, and we can go to the Eastside Plaza, across town. Nobody we know will be there.”

“I don’t know, Amanda. Let’s just do our workout,” he said, changing the subject.

“OK, but think about it,” she said. “I got some lovely clothes that I’m too fat for and I think they’d fit you fine. We’re both about the same height and I’d love to see a pretty girl in them. You!”

He blushed, merely nodding. As he and Amanda puffed and groaned through their exercise routine, building up a huge sweat, he couldn’t stop thinking about being a girl shopping at the Eastside Plaza with two girl friends. He liked the idea.

*****
The following Saturday, after aerobics class, Brian accompanied Amanda back to her house. Amanda had persuaded Brian that they could dress him up, just to see how he’d look, and he had accepted on the promise that no one else would know. They were to be alone in the house, since Amanda’s mother was doing her duty at St. Rose’s Church preparing the altar for mass, as she did nearly every Saturday.

“I feel weird about this, Amanda,” he said as they walked together.

“It’s just for fun, Brian, you don’t have to do anything but let us make you pretty,” she said.

“Us? Who’s us? I thought it was just you and me.”

“Oh didn’t I tell you, Janet’s coming over, too.”

“Janet Gleason? Why her?”

“Her mom’s a beautician and Janet knows all about makeup and I don’t. Besides, she won’t say anything.”

Brian nodded, realizing he had two choices, run from the scene and lock himself in his bedroom, or go along with the girls’ plans. Why not try it, he mused?

*****
Amanda brought out several dresses that she said she hardly had ever worn, since she had grown too heavy for them.

One-by-one, they had Brian hold them up in front to get a quick look at how they might look. Brian was able to glance into a full-length mirror to also see how they looked, and soon was joining with the two girls in admiring each item.

“You have such nice outfits,” Brian said, as they completed the impromptu fashion show.

“And you looked so real modeling them,” Janet explained. She was, in contrast to both Brian and Amanda, slender, almost anorexic in body, and quite tall for a girl her age. She was healthy looking and was known to be quite athletic.

“Really.”

“I can’t wait to see how he’ll look in one of the dresses,” Amanda said.

“Me too,” Janet smiled. “Which is your favorite, Brian?”

Without hesitation, Brian pointed to a bright lavender-colored knit dress, which Amanda lifted up and asked Brian to hold it up.

“Perfect,” Janet said. “I liked that too.”

Amanda gave Brian a pair of purple satin panties and suggested he change out of his male clothes, and put the panties on. He already wore a bra, which he now wore regularly during workouts, a fact that the girls in the group had accepted without comment. One of the comforting things about being in a group of overweight kids his own age was that no one made fun of your body issues.

She also gave Brian a robe — it was obviously Amanda’s own robe, since it carried the scent of the soap that Amanda used — to wear when he came out of the bathroom.

The panties — a size 10 — fit perfectly and he looked at himself in the bathroom mirror seeing a girl with substantial breasts and ballooning tummy looking back. He smiled at the view, his desire to being a girl overriding any sense of shame he may have felt as a boy.

Returning to the room, the girls were awaiting, with Janet holding the lovely dress.

“Now turn around, with your back to me, Brian, and then take off the robe,” Janet ordered.

He did so and stood there awaiting instructions.

“Now let us slip this dress down over you,” she said.

She did so, and after a slight struggle in getting his arms through the proper opening, he was in the dress.

“Now turn around and let us see you,” Janet said.

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Amanda. “It’s perfect for you.”

“It is,” Janet added. “She’ll have the boys getting all excited.”

Brian heard the “she” pronoun, and blushed. “Let me see, let me see,” he pleaded.

“Just a minute, Brian,” Janet said. “We’ll let you see yourself in the mirror in just a minute.”

Janet busied herself, brushing down the dress with her hands. The action excited Brian as he felt her hands caressed the dress, which framed his soft body. He felt his penis grow hard, but knew that in its tiny size it would not show.

Janet then brushed his hair vigorously, smoothing it out, and letting it fall about his shoulders.

“Now, you can look,” she said, leading him by the hand to the mirror.

He was stunned by what he saw. There was no Brian to be seen, only a round, lovely plump girl, with dishwater blond hair framing her face. It was a sweet face. The dress was a halter style, with the bright, almost fluorescent, fabric rippling down her breasts which were prominent, due to a tie at the waist, which accentuate the natural curves of the body, including the broad hips. The dress ended at the knees, revealing a pair of truly lovely legs. Plump arms created an image of a warm, lovely girl.

“She’s so pretty,” Amanda said. “I can’t wait to get her made up.”

“Me either,” Janet said, “But we can’t keep calling her Brian.”

“No, we can’t,” the other said. She turned to Brian: “What name do you like? What girl’s name?”

Brian, still stunned by what he saw in the mirror, didn’t answer at first. He smiled at the image looking back at him. He did look like a sweet girl, he thought to himself.

“I don’t know,” he said, finally. “Brenda, Belinda, maybe?”

“I don’t know about those two names,” Janet offered. “Brenda seems like a name for an older woman and Belinda’s kind of a cute name, but just doesn’t sound right.”

“How about Bailey or Briana?” Amanda suggested.

“Bailey,” Brian said, leaping on the suggestion and almost squealing in delight. “I’m Bailey Kendall. How does that sound?”

“That sounds so classy,” Janet said. “You’ll be a girl with lots of class and good taste.”

“Oh this is so neat and so much fun,” Amanda said.

Brian looked in the mirror, did a slow turn around, mocking the manner in which models do their turns. He felt totally feminine now and finished with a curtsey.

“Bailey, you’ll be really hot when we finish with you, dear,” Janet said.

She pulled out a makeup kit she had carried in with her and ordered Bailey (the former Brian) to sit at the vanity while she pulled up a portable chair. They draped a towel over Bailey’s shoulders to protect the dress from spatters of makeup.

“We won’t overdo it, since girls our age shouldn’t wear too much makeup,” Janet began.

She used foundation first, working it into Brian’s face, following up with a bit of eye shadow to frame the eyes. She applied a bit of coloring to the cheeks, and then trimmed his eyelashes a bit, which worried him.

“Don’t trim them too much, Janet, since I’ll have to go back to being Brian, and I don’t want to look too girly,” Brian said.

“Don’t worry, no one will know later.”

She finished with a light lavender tinted lipstick and covered it with a satin gloss, giving the face a warm, soft glow.

“She’s just so lovely now, Janet,” Amanda said when they were done.

Brian loved what he saw now in the mirror and he stood up, enjoying the free flow of the dress about his thighs.

“What about shoes?” he asked.

“I think she should wear hose,” Amanda said. “And I have some new thigh-highs that might work for her.”

She went to a drawer, removing package, which when opened revealed a pair of sheer, coffee-colored stockings.

“Sit on the chair, young lady,” Janet ordered.

Brian obeyed, enjoying the attention he was getting now as a girl. It seemed natural to him as he held out his legs for them to assist in putting on the stockings. He loved how his legs looked in the stockings, slender and pretty, and with no ugly muscles to ruin the contours of his calves.

“Your legs below the knees are like a model’s,” Janet proclaimed.

“But my fat thighs ruin everything,” Brian said, his voice reflecting the disgust he felt for his flabby upper legs.

“That’s why this dress is perfect for you,” Janet said.

Amanda found a pair of ballet sandals that fit perfectly and Brian soon walked about enjoying being the girl he had finally become.

“The boys will drool when she walks by,” Janet said. “I wish I had those contours.”

Brian blushed, as he posed before the full length mirror. His girl friends had done a masterful job, turning his soft, chubby body into one with sweet curves, emphasizing the width of his hips, his lovely lower legs, and the protrusion of his breasts created through the pushup bra that showed cleavage. Even his tummy seemed not too noticeable.

Brian knew that many boys loved plump girls who weren’t too fat, and it seemed he would fill the desires of many teen boys. He smiled.

“Next Saturday,” Amanda said, “Let’s all three of us go to the mall — you, Janet, and you, Bailey.”

“You mean, I’d go as Bailey? No way,” Brian protested.

“Aww com’on,” Janet said. “Think of all the fun us three girls would have.”

“No way, what if somebody we know sees me?”

“Nobody could possibly see you as a boy when you’re all prettied up, Bailey,” Amanda persisted.

“Right,” Janet echoed. “But maybe we should not go to Westside Plaza mall, where all our friends go.”

“Maybe my mom will take us to Woodside Mall, nobody from school ever goes there,” Amanda suggested. “It’s so far away and is so ritzy.”

“We’ll have to dress real nice there,” Janet said. “They’re really fussy.”

Brian smiled at the thought. He had been spending lots of time recently looking at girl’s fashions in catalogues and fashion magazines, imagining himself as a classy, well-dressed girl. The more elegant he could be the better.

“What can I wear?” he asked. “Have you got anything for me, Amanda?”

“You could wear my First Communion dress,” she said, teasing him.

The three laughed at the suggestion.

“Don’t you have a nice plaid skirt for him, Amanda?” Janet asked. “With a nice white blouse and a cardigan sweater, she’d look divine.”

“I think we could find something for her,” Amanda said.

Brian did a little skip, showing his happiness at the idea, of being accepted as a girl. It just seemed so natural. What excited him, too, was the way his two friends so easily used the female pronouns and called him “Bailey.”

“I love you both so much,” he said, his voice high and lilting. It sounded so girlish.

*****
“You’re going to do what, Brian?” his mother was outraged when Brian told her of his plans to dress as a girl and go shopping with Amanda and Janet.

“Nobody’ll know, Amanda says. We’re going to Woodside Mall and nobody’ll know us there, mom.”

“But Brian, I’m not sure this is right for you to do. You’re my son, my boy.”

“I know, mom, but Amanda and Janet and I have so much fun together.”

“But, honey, I feel I’ve let you down,” Amy said. “You should be out playing football or doing boy things.”

Brian reddened, feeling a bit sheepish, and at a loss to explain why he so enjoyed being with girls and doing girl stuff.

They were sitting on a couch in the late evening of a school night when Brian finally got up the courage to tell his mother of the plans for the Saturday trip to the mall. It had become a custom to join his mother to watch re-runs of the 70’s show after the evening news. By then Marietta had gone to bed and he snuggled up to his mother, feeling secure against her warmth.

Both of them said nothing for a few moments; Amy put the television show into “mute,” since they had seen this particular version before. Anyway, neither was paying attention to the television set, each buried into reflection. Brian pressed more tightly against his mother and she put an arm around him, drawing him protectively against her. Brian felt so comforted.

“Ok, honey, I’ll let you do this,” she said finally. “But I want you to dress here at home. I want you to look like a proper young lady.”

He broke from his mother’s hold, and turned to face her, throwing himself into her arms and raising his lips to hers, kissing her eagerly.

“I love you mommy. Thank you, thank you.”

“Well if you’re going to Woodside Mall, you need to look proper, dear, and I don’t want any daughter of mine to not look her best.”

“Oh mommy you’re the bestest.”

“Maybe we’ll have to go and buy your some outfits for the trip,” his mother said. “None of my outfits are proper.”

“Oh you won’t have to mommy. Amanda has plenty of outfits and she’s outgrown some of them, but they fit me perfectly.”

“You’ve tried them on?”

“Yes, mommy, the other day at Amanda’s house. They said I looked hot.”

“Oh my God. Who are they?”

“Amanda and Janet.”

“Well, I need to call Mrs. Donatelli about this. She’s taking you to the mall, right?”

“Yes, mommy, and she knows about me. She was going to call you, but I told her I wanted to tell you first and then I’d tell her to call her.”

“I just wonder what she thinks about this business.”

“Oh I think she’s OK with it.”

“OK, honey, it looks like I’ve got another daughter,” Amy said, realizing that she had better make that appointment with the gender specialist soon.

*****
“Guess what?” Amanda said to Brian during the lunch period at school the following day.

“What?”

“The Fashion Girl store is having a showing on Saturday of fashions for plus-sized teens,” she said as she attacked the cottage cheese and peaches concoction she got from the lunch line in her latest effort to diet away her excess weight.

Brian had chosen similar foods; they both said they were on a starvation diet, and the most recent effort was only two days’ old.

“For girls like us,” he whispered so that only she could hear.

They both giggled. Between their aerobics exercising and their off-and-on dieting the two had lost a few pounds, and they claimed to both feel better. Yet, they could see no outward appearance of weight loss. That fact was discouraging.

“What do you say? The show starts at 2 p.m. Saturday. We should go,” she persisted.

“As long as Janet wants to,” Brian said.

“She’s cool with it.”

“I told my mom last night and she was mad at first.”

“Will she let you go? As Bailey?”

“Yes, but she wants to talk to your mom first.”

“My mom is not too happy with the idea, either,” Amanda said, “But she thinks you’re such a sweet boy. She wants to make sure your mom is OK with it.”

“Oh this is going to be so much fun, Amanda,” Brian said.

“Maybe we should celebrate with that brownie dessert with ice cream and whipped cream,” Amanda said.

“No, we girls have to watch our weight.”

*****
At the suggestion of Sylvia Henderson, Amy Kendall contacted the community’s leading Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender agency for information about transgenderism; could her son be a candidate for eventually living as a woman, she was beginning to wonder. The literature she received was unusually frank and direct, telling of the pitfalls that face persons who may wish to transition; yet, it indicated that Brian’s tendencies might indeed be symptomatic of a person whose inherent makeup calls for such drastic steps.

She had watched him closely in recent weeks, and saw a girl inside him becoming more and more prevalent. She saw it in the way he walked, his feet straight forward and his stride tight and quick so that his hips even swayed a bit. When they sat together on the couch, he tucked his legs underneath his body as he leaned his body next to hers. And, in such a girlish fashion, he called her “mommy” now, just as his younger sister Marietta. He flayed his hands about as he talked, almost daintily.

She wondered, too, whether his growing femininity may be due only to his physical weakness and his soft body. She noticed his wide hips and his obviously weak arms and wondered whether that was motivating his more feminine behavior. He had always avoided playing with other boys, and she realized that he always felt at a disadvantage with them in their competitive games. How often had he come home crying because he was being teased for his ineptness, his pathetic physical strength?

Yet, he was getting good grades in school, seemed to enjoy helping around the house and becoming a great cook, with dinners always ready when she came home from work. Who could want more from a son? Or, a daughter?

Mrs. Henderson told her how pleased she was with Brian’s after school care for her daughter, Tamara. Brian had continued the twice-a-week practice of picking up Tamara, along with Marietta, at their school, and guiding them home, where he acted as a nanny for the afternoon. His enjoyment at caring for the two young girls was obvious; he joined in their games, giggled with them and even played “house,” where the always asked him to be the mommy.

“It’s almost like he could be a nanny,” Mrs. Henderson said. “I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment to hire him as a nanny. He’s such a lovely person, Amy.”

The two women had discussed Brian’s situation several times, and it was agreed he should be seen by a specialist to determine if the boy should be seriously considered a transgendered person. As a result, Amy made an appointment to see Dr. Wendy Ettleman the week after Halloween.

At first she was shocked with the suggestion that Brian would dress as a girl for a trip to the mall. Yet, the more she thought about it, the better the idea, since it would provide a test for whether he was truly inclined to live a female life. Besides, he’d be with two close friends and one mother, all of whom seemed to understand and appreciate the situation.

*****
Brian was surprised at the interest his mother took in helping him dress for the Saturday outing; she had stopped off at the Gourmet Fashion store and picked out some undies and a dress for him on Friday night.

“There’s no need for you to wear Amanda’s stuff, Brian,” she announced when she got home. She handed him two plastic bags with the pink Gourmet Fashion logo, and gave a similar third bag to Marietta.

“I’ve bought both of my girls treats because they’ve been so good,” Amy said proudly.
“You mean Brian’s going to be my older sister?” the little girl said.

“Just for tomorrow honey,” she said. “It’s for fun only, and you know you’re not supposed to tell anyone that Brian is doing this. Right?”

“I won’t mommy, criss-cross my heart and hope to die,” Marietta said. “Oh Brian will be so pretty, I just know it.”

“Yes, he will, dear, but just for tomorrow. It’ll be like dressing up for Halloween, dear.”

*****
At Saturday morning’s aerobics class, Brian puffed his way through the exercises, and though he had improved his activity level he still was unable to keep up with at least half the girls in the class. He still seemed to trail Amanda in the exercises, even though she clearly carried much more weight than he did. It was obvious, as a boy he was not as strong as many girls; it was embarrassing, and brought him to realize that he was ill-equipped to move into manhood. Doesn’t this just prove that he’s a girl, or at least should live as one?

His presence as the only boy in the class had weeks earlier ceased to be a novelty to the girls, or to Mrs. Goldsberry, the instructor. In giving directions, she long before had quit adding a reference to his presence and merely addressed the class while giving orders, with “Now girls . . .”

Indeed as he looked into the full-length mirror that lined three-quarters of the south wall of the exercise room, he could see that with his hair, tied in a bun and his bouncing breasts he truly was just one of the girls. He had even begun wearing leotards and tops that matched many of the girls and he had felt right at home. Was he not truly just one of the girls?

He and Amanda always worked out as a team, and it always amazed him that this girl, so round in the tummy and wide in the hips, could perform with such stamina and strength. She always encouraged him to do more, but never in an embarrassing way; always she stressed that a bit more effort would bring him quicker rewards as a “hot girl.” Her urgings were always done quietly so as not to draw attention.

This Saturday, the expectation of his travels to the mall as Bailey excited him and scared him at the same time. It would be his first outing as a girl, and in spite of the assurances that no one would see him as a boy underneath the skirt and blouse, he felt wary.

“Bailey,” she said softly while holding his legs for situps. “Gimme just five more on your way to a better waistline.”

He puffed through laboriously the last five situps, motivated by the pictures in his mind of what a lovely girl he could eventually become. He tensed up as he realized his afternoon’s adventure would be his inaugural as a girl in public.

*****
His mother surprised him when he got home after morning aerobics class.

“Get yourself showered and cleaned up,” she ordered as he entered the house, all out of breath and excited and scared about the upcoming trip. “Then I’ll help you get ready.”

In the bathroom, she had replaced their regular soap with a bottle of lovely scented body wash, which Brian applied to his skin, relishing in caressing his smooth, soft body. Silently he cursed his tummy, while enjoying the cushiony feeling.

“I smell so nice, mommy,” he said when finished and returning to his room, a towel tucked under his arms to cover his breasts, just as he thought a real girl would do.

“Here are your undies, darling,” she said, pointing to peach-colored panties and a matching bra that were placed on his bed. “I’ll be back in a minute, after you get them on.”

Brian had enjoyed the sensation of putting on a bra; he had learned to do, even hooking it in the back. He looked at himself in the mirror once he had put on the two garments, amazed at the image of a girl and her pinkish cushion of a body.

“Here, try this on, dear,” he mother said, carrying the dress she had bought.

“Oh mommy, I can’t wait to try it on.” Brian said, hugging her, like an excited teen girl.

She held the outfit up to display a grey and black sweater dress, cinched at the waist with kimono sleeves and a v-neck. She assisted him in putting it on and when he went to his mother’s room to look into her full-length mirror, he loved what he saw. With the pushup bra he was wearing, a bit of cleavage showed, and the dress went to the knees, leaving his lovely lower legs exposed.

“You look lovely, darling,” his mother said.

“I know mommy, and I don’t look too fat in it, either.”

“No, you look so nice, dear. Mommy is so proud of her daughter,” she said, kissing him gently.

His mother attached a black over the top head band, and then assisted him in putting on a pair of sheer natural thigh high stockings. Then he wore a pair of black ballet-style flats. His mother also helped him apply makeup, a neutral color lipstick with gloss and some light darkening of his eyelashes. She trimmed his brows slightly and finished off with a light application of foundation to add color to his plump cheeks.

“Now, there you are, my girl,” she said when done.

As Brian continued to prance about in front of the mirror, there was a sudden knocking on the door to the bedroom.

“Mommy, where’s Brian?” It was Marietta pounding on the door. “I wanna play with him, and I can’t find him anywhere. Mommy, why is the door locked?”

The pleas were insistent, and Brian and his mother looked at each other. His mother finally answered, “Just a minute Marietta, mommy’ll be out in a minute.”

“Where is he, mommy?”

His mother looked at him: “It’s Marietta. Do you want her to see you now?”

“Oh mommy, I’d hate her to see me like this?”

“But she’ll have to sooner or later if this continues. She’s your sister.”

“I know,” he nodded. “Better now, I guess.”

His mother unlocked the door, and Marietta bounded into the room, confused by the scene.

“This darling is your new older sister, Bailey,” his mother said.

“My . . . my . . . sister . . . Brian, you did it, whee,” the words tumbled eagerly from her mouth.

“Now this is between just us for now,” his mother cautioned. “Brian sometimes will wear dresses and be like a sister to you. He enjoys that and he likes being your older sister. You two can have all the fun you’ve always had.”

“Oh,” Marietta said. “That’s OK. I’d like an older sister.”

“That’s a good girl. Now don’t tell anyone, not even your friend Tamara, OK?”

“OK, mommy,” she said, running over to Brian and grabbing him jsutbelow the hips, hugging him. “I love you Brian, my older sister.”

Chapter Five: A Walk Down the Red Carpet, Maybe
Amanda and Janet — driven by Mrs. Donatelli — arrived precisely at 1 p.m., enough time to get to Woodside Plaza, find the Fashion Girl store and find a place to watch the fashion show. Like Brian, as Bailey, both girls wore dresses that seemed to make them older in appearance; they could best be described as classy.

“We three look like we’re going to church,” Janet said, following that with a giggle.

“Yeah, not like ratty tweens,” Amanda agreed. “But look at how sharp Bailey looks.”

“You both also look hot,” Brian said.

The three got to the store with about 20 minutes to spare, and after a brief tour looking at outfits, found three seats together on folding chairs arranged in a makeshift manner around displayed tables and mannequins on both sides of a red carpet that stretched down the middle of the store.

“We’re lucky to get these,” Amanda observed. “Look at all the kids here.”

“I feel out of place,” Janet said, obviously referring to her tiny, slender body since all of the young ladies already seated (some with mothers) were all what could euphemistically be called “chubby.” In truth, a number were clearly obese; even the portly Amanda and the less chubby Brian looked slender in comparison.

“This is a show for plus-size girls, after all,” Brian said, with a mischievous glint in his eye. “You are out of place here, Janet, and we all hate you.”

The three girls giggled in unison.

It appeared there were about six different models showing off the outfits, and when each one marched down the red carpet, and narrator, a woman called “Miss Temple,” described how each outfit would help flatter the girl and hide her fat body.

“You know what’s wrong with all of this,” Brian said. “All of the models are skinny. They should use some of us fat girls to model them.”

“I know, anything would look good on those models. They’re all so skinny,” Amanda agreed.

After the show, the three spent another half hour scouring the racks of fashions, holding them up at times in front of themselves. At one point, Brian held up a navy blue halter style dress, looking in the mirror.

“I like this one,” he said.

“It would look great on you,” said Janet.

At that point, a middle-aged woman, dressed in a brown suit, with a light blue blouse and cravat, approached. Her name tag said simply “Clarice.”

“Would you like to try that on, young lady?” she addressed Brian.

“Can I?” he said, his voice had a girlish tone. Thankfully his voice hadn’t changed yet and still had a soprano’s range.

“Of course, the fitting rooms are in back on the left. If you need any help, I can assist.”

“No thanks, I can manage,” he said.

It was an exhilarating feeling. She thought he was a girl.

“Why don’t you have some chubby models wear those clothes?” he heard Amanda ask the woman as he walked away. He kept going, eager to see how he’d look.

The dress looked divine on Brian; the halter developed a v-neck that showed his cleavage and was belted at the high waist level, accentuating his hips with pleats of cloth. The dress was sleeveless, exposing his smooth, lovely arms.

“That was made for you, young lady,” Claire said, as he modeled it in front of a full-length mirror.

Brian blushed; the continual reference to “young lady” excited him, and he pirouetted about, as if her were modeling it.

“What is your name, dear?” the woman asked.

“Bri . . .ah . . . er . . .Bailey,” he said haltingly, afraid he may have blown his cover.

“That’s a lovely name,” she replied, obviously not aware of his almost goof.

“I can’t afford this dress, though, ma’am,” he said.

“That’s fine and you’re not obligated, dear,” Claire said.

“Thank you for letting me try it on.”

“Well, aren’t you sweet, but girls can try on dozens of clothes sometimes without buying anything. That’s why we’re here.”

Of course, Brian knew better, but he wondered what she would say if she knew he was a boy underneath. She wouldn’t be so nice then, he was sure. By then Amanda and Janet had gathered and they, too, were excited how lovely Brian looked in the dress.

“She could be one of the models,” Amanda said, directing her comments to the woman.

The woman looked at Amanda, as if considering how to reply. “You know, she could,” she said finally.

“Yes, she’d be great to help you sell those plus sizes,” Janet agreed. “You should use more full-figured girls to model.”

“You girls are right,” Claire said. “Now Bailey, would you walk out about ten steps and turn and come back to me. I want to see how you walk.”

“Me?” Brian asked.

“Who else? You’re so pretty in that dress, dear,” Claire said.

Brian looked scared; it seemed a strange request and he wondered if his walk might give away his real gender. He could see both Janet and Amanda wearing silly grins on their faces, and he felt like slapping them.

But, he did as ordered, walking slowly toward the front of the store, drawing the attention of several other shoppers, hoping he didn’t take too long a stride so as to betray his boy-self. It felt so good to be modeling the dress he had to admit to himself. When he finished, he got a few claps of approval from his friends and the store clerk.

“Bailey, you’re really a lovely girl,” Claire said. “Is your mother or father in the mall now?”

“What?” he asked.

“Are they here, Bailey?”

“Ah, no, mom’s at home. My father’s not around.”

Claire told the three girls that she was manager of the Teen Plus section that the Fashion Girl store was initiating, and the store was holding a competition to select a girl about 12 years old as the lead model of the new line of Teen Plus clothes. “You might be perfect for the job, dear,” Claire said.

“Yeah, she would be so perfect,” Amanda said, enthusiastically.

“Oh I couldn’t ma’am,” Brian said.

“Yes, she could,” Amanda said, gaining an enthusiastic nod from Janet.

“No,” Brian said, flatly, knowing full well that such a task could expose his real identity.

Amanda and Janet, however, insisted and said they’d urge that “Bailey” would tell her mom about the offer.

“It’s not automatic that you’ll get the assignment,” Claire said. “You’ll have to compete with several other girls for the job, but I think right now you’re the cream of the group, Bailey. You really are lovely, and you have such sweet complexion.”

*****
Brian, however, didn’t tell his mother that night, afraid to admit that not only had his growing femininity completely fooled everyone so far, but fearful of admitting that he found the idea so appealing. Never in his young life had he felt so special, and almost so perfect; and, it was as a girl. Not the boy he was supposed to be.

His heart pumped hard that night as he tried to get to sleep — a chore that was made impossible by the thoughts running through his head about how lovely he’d look walking down a runway in the latest of fashions, his soft, white body so luscious in the gowns that were created for him.

At school on Monday, Amanda and Janet pestered him, asking if he’d told his mother yet, and then, why not? “We could tell all our friends we knew this hot model,” Janet squealed.

Brian tried to ignore the questions, but they persisted. Maybe, just maybe, he’d tell his mother after all. What would it hurt? She already knew that he often felt more like a girl. But then what?

Meanwhile, his days in school were always a challenge; rarely could he avoid the teasing and taunting — some of it downright nasty — that sometimes he got directly, but more often he could feel as eyes bore down upon him in the hallways, seemingly always accompanied by whispering, followed often by giggles. He knew the words: “The fairy,” “The faggot,” “The sissy,” “Girly,” and on and on they went. His ineptness in gym class even made it worse, even Coach Andrews saying one day as he was bringing up the rear in a running exercise, “You run like a girl!”

The one activity he liked was band; he had been selected as the No. 2 saxophone player, a rarity for a 7th grader. He had been known, too, for letting out with a couple of jazz licks at times, bringing admiration from some of the other band members, but a scowl from the band director.

Mark Eaton, one of the few boys who had befriended him, was also in the class as No. 1 trumpet.

“Hey you came out with a couple of hot licks there, Brian,” Mark said as the class ended. “I told you were should jam together sometime.”

“Really? You’d wanna do that with me?”

“Why not?” he said, “You sound pretty hot on that sax.”

“Thanks,” Brian said, blushing, and silently cursing his quick tendency to blush.

“Wanna come to my house and jam some day after school?” Mark said, not noticing Brian’s redness.

“Can’t. I have to pick up my sister in grade school and be with her after school ‘til my mom gets home.”

“Oh, we still need to do it sometime.”

“I know, you can come to my house. The girls won’t mind.”

“Girls?”

“Yes, I kind of care for my sister and her friend. They’re both eight. And they’d get a kick out of it. Come on.”

Mark smiled. “Why not?”

And it was agreed they’d try it two days later on a Thursday.

*****
Tuesday night came, and Brian was tense, realizing that if he wanted to model as a girl he’d have to let Claire at the store know of his desires. That meant he had to tell his mother of the offer. He knew he should just forget the idea it was so outlandish, but it nagged at him. He did look so pretty in the outfit. It excited him as he thought about it. But, no, he couldn’t. Or, could he?

After school, he followed his usual routine of stopping by to pick up Marietta from her school, and leading home. Tamara would not be joining them that night, as her mother had arranged to pick the child up.

Brian felt tense, though, as he led his sister home, thinking all the time about how he should approach his mother about the offer for him to become a girl model; the thought of modeling pretty clothes sounded so captivating, thrilling him immensely. He made sure Marietta was occupied before preparing dinner for his mother.

He changed from his boy clothes, putting on a pair of beige Capri pants with a blue camisole over his bra. He loved how he looked in the outfit, since the pants seemed to provide him with such a roundish, curvy shape. His lower legs, he knew, were slender and lovely, since he had such narrow feet. He found a pair of navy blue ballet flats, and wrapped a scarf about his head.

“Bailey,” his sister wailed from her bedroom. “Bailey I need you. I can’t figure this homework out.”

Marietta knew that when Brian dressed in a girlish manner that she was to treat him as his older sister, Bailey. The younger girl had found great joy in having an “older sister” and the two seemed to get along better than ever as “sisters,” a situation that pleased their mother.

“You smell pretty, Bailey,” Marietta said, as he hovered close to her, examining her math homework assignment.

“Do you like that, Marietta? It’s the new bath soap mommy got for me. Would you like to use it?”

“Oh nooooooo,” she protested loudly. “That’s too girly for me, but it smells so nice on you.”

“Well, you’re a girl, too,” he said, smiling.

“Oh I know, but my friends would laugh at me for smelling so girly,” she said. “It would smell weird when I play soccer.”

He laughed, and put his arms around his sister, drawing her tightly to his own ample bosom. She squirmed in his arms, and squealed, “You’ll get that perfumey smell all over me.”

He kissed her lightly on the cheek; it was almost a motherly kiss, and released his hold.

“Now let’s solve that math problem,” he said.

*****
“Aren’t you pretty,” his mother said. She had arrived home from work, seeming more tired and harried than usual.

Brian did a dainty twist of his body, as if to model his outfit. He so loved wearing capris, which not only felt comfortable, but seemed to add to his girliness. He loved also seeking his slender ankles a feet protruding from the pant leg. Of course, he blushed with the compliment, causing his mother to let out with “wow.”

“I made shepherd’s pie for us tonight, mommy,” he said. “I hope you’ll like it.”

“I will, honey,” she said. “Just seeing you brings joy to your tired, old mother. It seems every day you’re getting prettier.”

“I feel prettier, too, mommy.”

“Well, dear, I hardly think I have a son anymore,” she said, taking her shoes off and sinking into a kitchen chair, seemingly in exhaustion.

“Is that OK mommy?” he asked, worried about whether his mother approved of his desire to look so much like a girl.

“On honey, it’s OK if that’s what you want, but you really are a boy, you know?”

“Oh mommy, I’m not,” he said. “I’m just a pretend boy. I don’t like being a boy.”

She reached over and pulled him to her, hugging him and whispering. “I know honey. We’ll see what the doctor has to say about all this when we see him.”

Just then, Marietta came bounding into the room.

“Hi mommy,” she boomed. “Doesn’t Bailey smell nice?”

“Yes, honey, she does,” his mother said. “Wouldn’t you like to smell so pretty too?”

“Ohhhhhhhh, yucky, that’s soooooooooo girly. I can’t smell like that,” she exclaimed.

Brian looked at his sister, and in a stern tone: “Did you finish your arithmetic?”

“Yes, you’re worse than mommy about homework,” she said, sticking her tongue out at Brian.

“I’m glad she is stern with you about that,” their mother said.

“Mommy, mommy,” Marietta said, obviously changing the subject.

“What?”

“They want Bailey to be a model,” the child burst out.

“A model? For what? Who does?” Amy Kendall turned her face to look at Brian.

Brian scowled at his sister and quickly asked: “How did you find out about that?”

“Oh mommy,” Marietta sing-songed an answer. “Bailey’s goin’ to be a girl model. Won’t she be pretty?”

“How did you hear that?” Brian persisted.

“I overheard you and Amanda talking on the phone,” she answered. “How weird, my sister a model.”

“Now what’s all this about?” his mother demanded.

Brian explained the situation to his mother, who had banished Marietta from the room, so the two could talk privately. “And no listening in, Marietta. That’s naughty.”

“I don’t know about this,” his mother said when he had finished. “I’m not sure this is right for you.”

“But, mommy, they pay lots of money for models,” he said. “You should see how pretty I looked in some of the dresses.”

“What? When did you try them on?”

“When Amanda and Janet and I went shopping. I dressed as Bailey at Amanda’s house,” he confessed.

“Oh darling? Who else knows about this?” she asked.

“Only Janet and Amanda. Even the store people thought I was a girl. It was so cool, mommy. And, they need more plus-size teen girls who are pretty, Miss Claire told me. She’s eager to hire me.”

“Oh my God,” Amy said, putting her hand to her head. “What have I let happen? I can’t let you do this, Brian.”

“But, mommy, please,” he said. “Nobody will know.”

“No, Brian, please don’t push on this,” she said. “You can’t do this, honey. You might get hurt.”

“How, she just thinks I’m a kinda fat girl,” he said, blushing as he reflected on his own characterization of himself.

He folded his arms across his breasts, his soft arms flattening out as he pressed them against the two mounds of flesh.

Amy Kendall shook her head, worrying about where her son was going to end up. Brian began to cry; he couldn’t hold back, his brief moments of happiness as a girl shattered by his mother’s refusal to accept that reality.

“At least call Miss Claire at the store,” he said. “See what she says.”

Amy Kendall agreed to do that. “But remember, Brian,” she said, still using his boy’s name. “I’m going to tell her the whole story so she knows you’re a boy. It’s only fair to her.”

*****
Brian knew his mother was right; Miss Claire certainly should know the truth about his gender. And, the more he thought about it, the more he realized it would likely have been revealed anyway since the store might need his birth certificate and social security number.

In bed that night, he thought about how quickly he was beginning to enjoy the feeling that he was a girl; he was pleased to see how many people already knew him only as a girl, like Miss Claire and strangers who may have seen him at the mall. Even when he was dressed in jeans and other more typical boy clothes, he found himself being addressed quite often as “young lady” or “miss” by store clerks or others. He knew his hair — as long as it was — might prove to be a clue, but then many boys had even longer hair and were not mistaken for girls. It could also be his body, his relatively slim shoulders and wide hips, he thought.

“You walk like a girl,” one of the boys in school chided him one day, giving him a clue to the fact that his mannerisms had become girlish; he walked with his back straight, his steps short and almost dainty as his arms moved constantly.

For a while, he tried to change his movements, but soon unconsciously found himself back with his dainty movements.

Brian steered clear of other boys in school, gravitating to the group of girls that had accepted him. Besides Amanda and Janet, three of four others were usually in the group, gathered around the school doors at lunch breaks or before and after school to gossip, giggle and ogle boys.

In these groups, Brian often found himself the center of attention, using the situation to express himself in his high, lyrical voice on matters of girl fashions, makeup and hairdos. “Oh Brian, what do you think of that girl?” they’d ask about a passing girl.

“Oh I wouldn’t be seen dead in THAT outfit,” he’d state in an exaggerated, effeminate manner, and the girls would giggle.

These groups, while lots of fun, had an ugly side. Many of the boys, seeing their girl friends enamored by this “sissy boy,” often found ways to humiliate and torment Brian, either by sending nasty slurs or even pushing him in the hallways. Brian tried to avoid them, often walking with groups of girls as protection. Physically, he knew he could never fight back; he just wasn’t strong enough.

As he tried to get to sleep that night, he contemplated modeling clothes, and all the teasing and torment was forgotten as he reveled in being a girl. He hoped his mother would agree to the modeling job. It was during these musings, which excited him and kept him awake, that he soon found his thoughts moving ahead in his life by a few years to when he would be going to the prom as Bailey, wearing a light blue gown with a ruffled bodice, exposing a sweet cleavage and his soft round shoulders. He pictured Bailey in the Grand March on the arm of the handsomest boy in the ballroom — it was Mark Eaton, his square-jawed visage shining brightly and proudly in the realization that he was escorting the loveliest girl on the floor. Would that it ever happen?

*****
“Well, honey, if you still think you want to model for the Fashion Girl dress shop, you’ll have your chance,” his mother told him the next night when she returned home from work.

“You called her, mom?” he asked excitedly. He was dressed in his tight-fitting girl jeans, a cami with a built-in bra and white running shoes. His hair was tied in a bun at the back.

“Yes, dear, I did, and I told her everything, and she still wants you to audition for the designer and photographer.”

“Really? She knows all about me and still wants me?”

“Yes, honey, they’ve used men before to model hosiery, and this would be something new for them,” his mother said. “But she felt you really looked so good in their outfits, and that you’d be perfect to show how their outfits could make chubby girls look pretty. She thinks, if you’re chosen, you’d help their new line of clothes get marketed.”

Brian scowled at the term “chubby,” but in fairness it did describe his appearance aptly. His new exercise routine with Amanda had firmed his body a bit and seemed to reduce his tummy, but he still had that soft, big girl appearance.

His mother obviously sensed his dislike of the term, and quickly said: “Honey, it’s your cute chubbiness that makes you so appealing, so enjoy it.”

“Well, I’m trying to lose weight, mom,” he said defensively.

“And you’re doing a good job at it Bailey, but I wouldn’t worry too much about it. After all you’ll be modeling ‘plus’ size outfits.”

“Oh mommy,” he said, his voice rising in excitement. “I’m so happy. Thank you. Thank you.”

“We’ll be auditioning next Wednesday after school, dear,” she announced. “I’ll have to take off work that afternoon, since I’ll have to take you there and be there during the filming, since you’re so young.”

Brian hugged and kissed his mother. It seemed like a dream coming true, being a model for girl clothes. Yet, it scared him: what would happen if other people found out? How could he survive at school, with his friends, with his cousins and others? Would he be the laughingstock, the target of abuse? It was definitely a possibility, but he knew he must move ahead as Bailey Kendall.

Chapter Six: On the Runway

Brian’s time with the aerobics group seemed to be paying off. Already he had lost nearly ten pounds, most of it in his tummy area, probably due as much to the dieting information the group was provided at each session as to the regular exercise. Brian found his limbs becoming more agile and easier to move, even though the degree of exercise wasn’t particularly strenuous, and consisted mainly of stretches and light leg and arm movements.

As he looked at himself in the mirror now, he marveled at how soft and smooth his arms looked, even though they seemed to have lost some of their fleshiness. As a boy, he knew he should be ashamed of the seeming weakness of his arms, but they appeared to be totally in tune with his desire to be a girl.

In spite of his weight-loss, his breasts seemed to not have changed, still retaining their fleshiness and definite feminine appearance. If anything, as his tummy seemed to diminish, his breasts seemed to grow more prominent, and he played with them in front of the mirror, cupping both of them and creating obvious cleavage. As he did this, he felt his tiny penis grow hard and threaten to explode; it was then that he began masturbating, finding great relief in the culmination, but also great disappointment when the tumult of emanating juices halted, leaving him spacey and weak.

*****
“Mother, what should I wear for the audition?” Brian asked. It was Tuesday night, and he’d have to have clothes ready for a quick change after school on Wednesday.

“Let’s go to your room and see what we can find, dear,” Amy Kendall said. “But Claire at the department store said to dress casually, because they’ll provide you with the clothes for the audition.”

“Maybe I should skip school tomorrow,” he said. “I want to be my prettiest for the tryout.”

“You’ll be pretty, regardless what you wear, dear.”

Brian blushed, realizing his bright blue eyes, full lips, high cheek bones and flowing light brown hair already marked his face naturally as that of a pretty girl.

“But mom, having to run home and take off my boy stuff and change is such a pain,” he protested. “Let me at least skip the afternoon classes.”

“No honey, we’ll have none of that,” she said. “You’re a top student and we don’t want to change that.”

It was true. He was a top student and for the most part he loved his classes. He loved learning about new things and gaining new skills. Yet, he was growing more and more afraid of school, as his growing effeminate behaviors were making him the continual butt of teasing remarks and bullying.

“OK, mother,” he said. “I wish I could just become a girl right now; then maybe I wouldn’t get teased.”

“Oh my darling,” his mother said, bringing him into a tight hug, letting him cry quietly.

For the trip to the audition, they chose a plaid, pleated skirt that went below the knees, a plain white blouse that buttoned easily and a cardigan sweater on the theory that the outfit would be easy to take off and put back on. Brian protested that he thought the outfit made him look fat, but his mother prevailed, noting that he’d be modeling clothes for chubby girls and that being fat was part of the role he would be playing.

“Do you think any of the other girls might find out about me?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, dear. Miss Claire assured me that you should not have any trouble.”

They laid out the selected clothes on a chair in his bedroom; Brian changed into his nightie and prepared for a troubled night of sleep. He was anxious about being in among other potential girl models and remaining undetected as a boy; yet, he was excited about this new public experience as a girl. Together, the anxiety and excitement molded together for a heart-thumping evening in bed, which was finally remedied as reflections on how lovely he looked as a girl flooded his mind.

*****
That day, at lunch, Brian was saddened to see that Amanda was not in her usual place at the table always claimed by a gaggle of girls, most of who were not among the most favored in school. This group included those who were too fat, not stylish or overly smart — all of which seemed to tag them as the “outs” of the 7th Grade class. Brian usually was the only boy at the table, a situation that had long been a topic of derision among other boys of his class.

He could have avoided sitting at the table, but the girls seemed to like him and accept him; besides he enjoyed the talk. In any event, Brian had few other friends that would welcome him. Who would want to sit with a boy known throughout the school as a “faggot,” or “sissy,” or “Nancy-boy,” as one boy who had heard the popular British term called him?

As he surveyed the room, his tray in his hands looking for Amanda, he heard a voice speak out, “Over here, Brian. I’ve got a seat for you.”

It was Mark Eaton, the only boy in his neighborhood who had ever treated him decently. Mark was a year ahead of Brian, and had already established a reputation as being perhaps the best athlete in the school. He was captain of the school’s winning basketball team in the Middle School league.

“Me?” Brian asked, wondering what this popular boy would want with his company.

“Yeah, you,” Mark said with a smile, pointing to a seat next to him.

There were a couple of other boys at the table, all members of the same basketball team, Brian realized.

“Yeah, Amanda said to look for you,” Mark said. “Miss Lombardi asked her to work on the Christmas decorations for the school this lunch hour.”

Mark moved a bit, making room for Brian, and the others at the table nodded a reluctant “hi,” indicating that they may not have been comfortable with him joining them, but realizing that Mark’s own popularity ruled out any objection.

“You’re not eating much,” Mark said.

“It’s my healthy diet,” he responded. “Mainly greens and no dessert.”

“I need all the calories I can get,” said one of the other boys, who had two hamburgers on his tray to eat, plus fries and piece of cake. The boy was slender and wiry.

“He’s a garbage can,” one of the others said of the slender boy. They all laughed.

“I noticed you look a bit thinner,” Mark said, almost as a whisper so that the others wouldn’t hear.

“I’m trying,” was all Brian could say, but feeling happy that Mark noticed.

As the other boys started to talk among themselves, Mark leaned closer to Brian. “How come you never called me about getting together to jam?” the boy asked quietly.

“Really? You were serious, Mark?”

“Of course, I’ve heard you play in band and heard a few licks when you practice,” he said. “You’re good.”

“Thanks.”

“How about tonight after school? I don’t have basketball tonight.”

“Oh, that’d be great, except I have something else tonight,” Brian responded.

“That’s too bad, how about next week, on Wednesday again?”

“That sounds OK.”

“What you doing tonight?” Mark asked suddenly.

“Oh something.”

“Don’t you wanna tell me?”

“My mom has an appointment for me tonight,” Brian answered hoping that Mark wouldn’t ask anything else. He didn’t, and soon the bell rang, signifying the end of the lunch period.

Brian walked to class with a smile on his face. He was flattered that Mark, who was such a popular boy in the school, would be interested in associating with such a loser as himself. His pleasure, however, was tempered with some suspicion over what was Mark’s real purpose in wanting to visit with him.

*****
The Fashion Girl studio was located in a basement area of the mall, and Brian was in awe of several sets that formed obvious backdrops for the fashion shots. There were formal rooms, outdoor sites and beaches (with real sand). There were banks of lights, many tripods, wires and other paraphernalia strung about the floors and overheads.

“There she is, mom,” Brian said, leading his mother over to meet Claire, the Fashion Girl woman who recommended him as a potential model.

“So happy you made it, Bailey and Mrs. Kendall,” Claire said, extending her hand to both.

“Nice to meet you in person, Claire,” his mother said. “I’m so happy you’ve been so understanding about Brian . . . ah . . . er . . . I mean, Bailey and his . . . ah . . . her special situation.”

“I’m just happy you made it, Mrs. Kendall, and our secret is shared only with me and a key person in our management team,” she said.

“Thank you, Claire. I feel I need to make sure Bailey is not humiliated in any way.”

“I’m sure she’ll do fine,” she said with a smile. Then turning to Brian, she said, “You’ve been practicing posing, I hope?”

“Yes, Miss Claire. Just like you said, I’ve been looking at all your ads and posing in front of the mirror, hoping to match what all those girls do.”

“I think you’ll do fine, honey,” his mother said.

Brian had looked across the room; there were seven other girls his age standing about, all apparently trying out for the job of modeling the new “Teen Plus” fashions. None of the girls was overly obese, but all were, like Brian, tall, husky and fairly broad of body. If anything, Brian felt, he had a softer, more feminine look than several of them.

Claire explained the company was to decide what three or four girls they’d select as models, depending on how well the girls looked to the photographer and the fashion designer. In addition, their ability to pose would be taken into consideration, but more importantly would be their ability to respond to commands of the photographer.

“Each girl will be asked to pose in three outfits,” Claire explained after gathering all the girls together. Since all were 11, 12 or 13 years old — and minors — their mothers were along; they were all told to sit quietly in chairs at the back of the studio after having been offered coffee, tea or other drinks, plus cookies.

“Each of you will be assigned a fitting room in which to change,” she continued. “My assistants here, Margot, Haley, Serena and Torrey, will each measure two girls apiece and provide them with the best-fitting outfits. Since, we’re dealing with summer fashions, you’ll each begin with a summer dress, followed by a shorts and cami combination and then jeans and a blouse. Your assistants will help with the changes.

“Now one of my assistants will match up with each pair of girls, and guide you to your fitting room. Oh, and one more thing, we’ll be asking you to all change your undergarments and we’ll supply you with new bras and panties, which you’ll be able to keep and wear home.”

“Now, off you go, girls, and as they say in show biz, ‘break a leg,’” she said with a broad smile.

*****
Serena was a dark-skinned woman, in her mid-20s, with sharp black eyes and a warm smile. She introduced herself to Brian and the other girl she’d watch over, named Kelli, who had a soft, white complexion dotted lightly with barely discernible freckles. Brian had noticed her immediately as one of the prettiest girls, her softness matching Brian’s own features.

“Hi, Bailey, you’re lovely,” Kelli said. “I bet you’ll get chosen.”

“Oh, I don’t know, but I bet you will,” Brian said, taken by the generous attitude of the girl.

“Now, I think you both have a good chance,” Serena said. “You’re both very pretty.”

“But I’m too fat,” interjected Kelli. “It’s not much of an honor to be chosen to model for fat clothes.”

Brian blushed, nodding in agreement.

“Girls, don’t look at it that way,” Serena began. “Look at it this way. First, neither of you is obese and you both have nicely proportioned bodies. Besides, both of you could easily grow up to be truly attractive young women. And, realize that you both have natural beauty and that’s why you were selected for this tryout. Now do your best.”

“Thank you, Miss Serena,” Brian said. Kelli nodded and the two looked at each other, sharing a common moment together.

*****
“We’re in here? Both of us?” Brian asked, as Serena escorted them to a fitting room that was barely much larger than a walk-in closet.

“Yes, dear,” Serena said. “You both should have enough space to dress, and you’ll both be changing outfits at different times so you won’t interfere with each other.”

The arrangement caused Brian to pause. How would he avoid showing his penis to the other girl as he changed undies? It was true he had it tucked now, held in by a gaff that Mrs. Henderson had located for him, but the gaff would be so obvious to Kelli. The other girl seemed to sense Brian’s reluctance, and quickly said:

“Look, since I am to go first for the auditions, and you’re near the end, Bailey, why don’t I go and change first, and then you can follow? Ok?”

“Fine,” Brian said, smiling at Kelli. He felt he was beginning to like this girl immensely.

It took about 15 minutes for Kelli to change, and Brian sat anxiously on a director’s chair that had been placed in the hallway adjoining the fitting rooms. He fidgeted, holding the underclothing that Serena had presented him on his lap. The dress he was to wear was on a hanger inside the fitting room. Three other girls were sitting on director’s chairs along the hall, just as he was, waiting outside the fitting rooms while their room partner changed. He waved tentatively at the girl seated closest to him, and the girl, a husky, muscular girl with close-cropped blonde hair waved back.

“Hi, I’m Sherry,” the girl said. “I go to James Whitcomb Middle School.”

“I’m Bailey and am at John Muir Middle School,” he replied.

“Oh, Muir? Do you know Mark Eaton?” the girl asked.

“Ah yes,” Brian said immediately, then realizing that if the girl knew Mark she’d be asking him about this girl, “Bailey,” whom she met at the Fashion Girl auditions. So, Brian lied: “But I don’t know him personally, just by him being so good on the basketball team.”

“OK,” Sherry said. “I know him from summer baseball camp. He’s nice.”

“I guess he is. I wouldn’t know.”

With that, the girl broke off the conversation, and Brian sat worrying about the ramifications of this conversation. Would Sherry get on the phone to Mark and ask about this girl from Muir Middle School? He hoped not, but decided to stay in the background during these auditions.

“Wow, you look great,” Brian said as Kelli emerged from the fitting room, wearing a navy blue print dress with swirling pink flourishes. The dress flowed loosely from a square bodice, disguising Kelli’s tummy. Short puffed sleeves complimented the dress, and she wore blue pumps with short heels.

“You think so, Bailey? Really?” Kelli asked.

Brian nodded, and just then Serena walked up, taking Kelli by the arm, saying, “Now we’ll get some makeup on you, and fix your hair a bit. Get going now Bailey.”

Brian’s dress was of diaphanous crá¨me-colored material, with bare shoulders and thin shoulder straps. It had a matching cloth belt, that when cinched would accentuate the broadness of his hips. The bra he wore pushed up his breasts, easily creating cleavage and he speculated that he may indeed have the fullest breasts of any of the girls that day. The dress ended at mid-calf, but flowed so freely and airily as he walked that he felt like an angel. He wore beige sheer stockings and ballet flats.

“Oh my,” he said, looking at himself fully dressed in the fitting room’s mirror, “I really look so much like a girl.”

His narrow shoulders and smooth soft arms rounded out the image. He felt like crying, looking at this lovely girl in the mirror.

Once dressed and fully made-up, the girls all gathered in a Green Room to await their turn with the photographer and the audition. There were director’s chairs arranged haphazardly and bottles of water laid out on a table with a green table cloth. There was nervousness in the room, as each girl eyed the other warily, realizing they were competing against each other.

There were some tentative introductions, a few comments along the lines of “I wonder if the photographer is nice” or “I feel almost sick.” Often nervous giggles would follow a comment.

Brian felt strangely at home amid these girls, as if he shared in all of their thoughts and expectations. No doubt all of them had been teased or nagged about their weight and were self-conscious; now, perhaps for the first time in their lives, they would be treated as pretty girls. Brian truly felt he was Bailey at that instant, well-accepted by other girls as one of them. It was a comforting feeling; this was where he belonged.

“The next young lady is Bailey Kendall,” he heard Claire announce, finally ending a long period of expectation as girl after girl had been called to audition before he was. Only one girl remained when Brian got the cue to come from behind the curtain and enter the studio for his tryout.

He tried to walk slowly, with short, tiny steps, his head high, holding his arms fairly straight down his sides. He turned, as instructed, acknowledged the small audience which consisted of three judges with the mothers of the contestants in the darkened background. With the glaring studio lights, he had trouble seeing just who was in the room. He did a dainty turn. He could hear the whir of camera clicks as the photographer shot away indiscriminately. Vaguely, he could see the photographer was a youngish man with long hair tied in a ponytail. He wore jeans and what appeared to be a dirty white tee shirt. He was unshaven and appeared totally out of place in this elegant studio.

“Now honey, I want you to proceed to the bed and sit down, slowly,” the photographer said. His tone was gentle.

Brian headed for the bed, hoping he could sit as he had practiced, like every good little girl should sit, legs to on side, smoothing the dress down as he lowered himself onto the bed that formed the set for the tryout.

“Slowly, I said, Bailey,” the photographer said, more gruff this time.

Bailey finally completed the exercise, placing his hands in his lap, his body turned toward the photographer, who clicked away.

There were perhaps a half dozen poses overall, and then Brian after less than 10 minutes on camera, was dispatched to change for the next shoot. The flow of the audition was so fast and smooth that Brian had little time to relax, always seeming to be changing outfits, and posing for the photographer, whose commands became more and more impatient and commanding as the tryouts dragged on.

It was after eight o’clock when the tryouts ended. Claire gathered the girls in a circle, with the mothers standing to the side and explained the photographer and the judges would confer the following day after looking at the photographs and will make their choice to hire two, three or four of the girls for future shoots.

“Our contracts with your parents state that you will all be paid $35 for your tryouts today,” Claire said. “Also, as you know, we might find some of the shots we took today to be of use in our advertising for the new Teen Plus fashion line. And those of you whose photos were chosen will get paid extra for each one.

“Now I want to thank you for your willingness and cooperation today. You were all quite pretty and you all made your clothes look magnificent. We are proud of this new line of clothes since we want to make sure that girls like all of you, who are a bit bigger than other girls, look as pretty as you can be. And I must remind you again that you’re all pretty, lovely and so feminine.”

She finished her talk and then went over to personally thank each of the girls, coming to Brian last. She took Brian’s hand, and said: “You did magnificently, darling,” and then whispering so none others could hear “I think you’re the prettiest girl here.”

Brian blushed, mumbled a “thank you.” He almost wanted to curtsey.

*****
Brian and Kelli crowded into the fitting room to change back into their street clothes. Since Claire said they could wear the panties and bra home, Brian was spared the possibility of exposing his male gender to Kelli. The two dressed hurriedly, giggling a bit as they struggled to stay out of each other’s way in their un-dressing and dressing efforts.

“I thought you were so pretty,” Kelli said as she dressed.

“No,” Brian protested. “You were really very pretty.”

“Don’t be modest, Bailey, several of the other girls said they thought you’d be chosen,” she said. “You had the prettiest face.”

Brian smiled, and then said. “I think we’ll both be chosen.”

As they walked out of the fitting room, Brian was surprised to see both his mother and another woman standing outside; she was tall, slender and elegantly dressed. “Oh mother,” Kelli said, moving beside the woman.

“You girls did just great, both of you,” the woman said. “Bailey’s mother and I had a nice conversation while you all were showing off the clothes.”

“Yes, Bailey,” Amy Kendall said, “Kelli’s mother and I figured both of you must be starving and we thought we’d all stop off at Mariano’s for pizza now. What do you say?”

“I’m famished,” Kelli said.

“But my diet, mother?” Brian said.

“Once won’t hurt you, honey,” his mother said. “Besides they also sell salads there.”

“Let’s go Bailey,” Kelli said, grabbing his hand. “We’ll have so much fun together.”

The two young people almost skipped out to their cars, holding hands along the way. At Mariano’s, as the four squeezed into a booth, they giggled about a couple of the awkward moments they both had in front of the camera, as well as commenting on the fall of Stephanie Balconi who got her feet tangled in cords connecting the many lights and fell ignominiously upon her entrance.

“You had the bestest dress of all, Bailey,” Kelli said.

“I know I loved it, but did I look too fat in it?” Brian asked.

“No, Bailey, you didn’t, and besides you’re not fat, like me,” Kelli said.

“Oh girls,” Amy Kendall interrupted. “Quit it with this fat stuff. You’re both healthy young ladies.”

“Besides you’re just going through a stage in your life when girls tend to get a little chunky,” agreed Kelli’s mother, who had been introduced to Brian as Sharon McBrady.

“Sometimes boys like us this way,” Kelli said with a giggle.

“Some boys, anyway,” Brian agreed, realizing that he had seen a few boys — and even men — eying him as he walked in the mall. The realization that he might be attractive as a girl excited him even more.

*****
“Mom, even if I don’t get chosen, this has been the best day of my life,” he said as they drove home.

“I can see that,” his mother agreed. “You seemed to fit in so well with the girls and you and Kelli seemed to enjoy each other so much.”

“I hope we can be friends,” he said. “She accepts me as a girl, but I wonder what she’ll do if she ever finds out about me.”

“She may not like it, honey. I’m afraid. Her mother and she are so religious, and Kelli’s thinking about going to St. Agnes Academy for high school, too.”

“Mom, I still think she’s going to be a good friend.”

“Well, if you two continue to see each other, she’ll have to find out some day, and the sooner the better.”

“Mom, she doesn’t even suspect. Can’t we just see how it goes?”

“Not for too long, dear, if you want to keep her as a friend,” his mother said. “The one thing you don’t want to do is to lie to a friend. That’ll kill a friendship as sure as anything.”

Perhaps it was the excitement of the day wearing off, but Brian found himself beginning to cry as he lay in bed that night trying to get to sleep. His thoughts wandered over the fact that as a girl he was enjoying life, that he was finding his role in life as a girl to be natural. He felt his softness and feminine mannerisms expressed who he truly was. Yet, he was born as a boy. Was he a freak? Why couldn’t be have been born into what he really was, a girl? What kind of God would do this to anyone?

Reality reared up the next morning. He awoke with his eyes encrusted, his mind in a jumble and the world seemingly a far off dream. At first, his thoughts moved back to the previous night and to the lovely young lady he had been, particularly in the diaphanous dress. If anyone were watching his red-eyed visage then, they’d have seen a smile on his pretty face. Soon, it changed, turning into a scowl as tears began to re-form in his eyes. Brian’s thoughts took him to the fact that in a few minutes he’d be getting up and taking off the baby doll pink nighty he wore, and putting on his boy clothes for the day a school, where he’d likely face derision and teases over his growing effeminate appearance and behaviors. Life just wasn’t fair.

Chapter 7: New Horizons

Brian finally got to tell Amanda about the tryouts at lunch time, as they gathered and we alone for a few minutes in the cafeteria before the others arrived.

“Did you get chosen?” she asked eagerly.

“I don’t know yet, but they’re supposed to call Friday and let me know,” he answered.

“I’ll bet you made it. That Claire lady was so excited about you.”

He blushed. “Well, she whispered to me that I was the prettiest girl, if that means anything.”

“I think you are.”

“Oh, and I met the nicest girl there, one of the other girls trying out. We just hit it off so well. Her name’s Kelli and I hope you can meet her sometime. We’d have so much fun.”

“Does she know about you?” Amanda asked.

“No, and I don’t know if she’d still be a friend once she finds out,” he confessed.

“If she’s as nice as you say, I think she will.”

“I hope so.”

“Maybe she’d like to come over a work out at my place with us sometime?”

“That’d be cool. She thinks she’s too fat but I think she’s pretty.” Brian smiled.

“She sounds like she’s just like you and me in a way.”

“She is,” he giggled.

Janet was the next to join them, and soon the table was full of girls, except for Brian, of course.

*****
Brian tried to hurry home from school on Friday, eager to await Claire’s call from Fashion Girl to see if he was chosen to be one of the models for the store’s new “Teen Plus” line of clothes. That day, however, Marietta was dawdling with her girl friends when he went to pick her up at School. She and Tamara stood with three other girls, giggling and pushing each other around, until he interrupted and told his sister to pick up her book bag and start for home. She scowled at him, but did as she was told and they hurried home, his sister wondering what the rush was all about.

He was saddened when he got home to find a voice message from Claire for his mother, telling her to return the call after she got home from work, even if it was evening. Claire left her home phone number, with instructions saying “I don’t mind being bothered at home, Mrs. Kendall, up to about 10:30. So please call.”

“What does that mean, Amanda?” he said, calling his friend immediately.

“It could mean anything, Bailey,” Amanda said, reverting to his girl’s name. It was a habit of hers to use “Bailey” when they were alone.

“I suppose, but you’d think Miss Claire would have at least said whether I was chosen or not.”

“You said everyone, even some of the other girls, thought you were the prettiest one there so maybe Miss Claire just has some legal stuff to talk over with your mom first.”

“I guess so, but I’m worried about it anyway.”

“I think you made it, Bailey,” she said.

Amanda’s words temporarily stifled Brian’s anxiety, and, after assuring that Marietta was settled down, he began preparing for dinner, still wondering what Claire would be telling his mother.

“At least let me get my clothes changed, Bailey,” his mother said when she returned home from work. “It’s been a tough day.”

It was already 7 p.m., and Brian had finished preparing dinner about an hour earlier; he was worried about the chicken pasta dish he prepared might be getting too dry before they ate. Mostly, though, he worried about what Miss Claire would be telling his mother and in that anxiousness he had dipped repeatedly and nervously into a half gallon of ice cream for large scoops of the marvelous substance, enjoying its smooth, cool texture and heavenly vanilla taste. He had consumed at least half the container, he realized, but couldn’t help it. It seemed his thighs and tummy must have thickened as he ate.

His mother waited until after dinner to call, reasoning that Miss Claire may not want her own dinner interrupted.

He watched while his mother talked with Claire, nodding her head, saying an occasional “yes,” or “ok” and finally, “Yes, I understand.”

As the phone conversation appeared to be ending, his mother’s face took on a grim expression, and she said:

“I know she’ll be disappointed, but I understand, of course, Claire. I appreciate everything you have done. You tried.”

She hung up the phone.

“What, mom? I didn’t get chosen.”

He wanted to cry and his mother gathered him in her arms, drawing him tightly against her own ample breasts, patting his head from behind. And his tears began, his body shaking uncontrollably.

“Actually, honey, you did get chosen,” she began, after he had quieted down and both were seated opposite each other on kitchen chairs.

“But what’s wrong then?”

“Well the judges all unanimously wanted you, as did Miss Claire, but when she went to the Human Resources Department to begin the paperwork, they vetoed it.”

“Why, if everyone liked me? I thought I did a good job, too.”

“You did and the photographer thought you were the easiest of the girls to get into the proper poses. All of that counted. But, it’s your gender, the fact that you’re a boy underneath that Human Resources didn’t like.”

“Oh mom, it’s so unfair.”

“I know honey, but in some people’s eyes you are too different, and the store was afraid if the fact got out that you were actually a boy and not a real girl that would be wrong and a bad influence on teen girls and boys.”

“Mom, mom, what can I do? Can’t we fight this?”

“I don’t see how, honey. The store has a point. Not everyone would look kindly upon you. I know they’re just narrow-minded, but that’s how it is.”

Brian nodded, his tears drying. He looked at his mother, her squat chunky figure slumped in the chair, obviously fatigued and sad. He loved her so much.

“I’ll do the dishes, mom. You can rest.”

“You’re so sweet Bailey,” his mother said, “A mother couldn’t have a better daughter.”

She leaned over and kissed him gently on the cheek. For some reason, Brian felt better.

*****
The sting of not being selected dominated his feelings that night as he stood before the bathroom mirror applying the facial cream that he did nightly. He loved that part of preparing for his bed, dressed usually in a nighty with thin straps over the shoulders. He brushed his long hair slowly and deliberately, reflecting upon how totally lovely he looked in the dress he’d worn for the tryout.

Kelli’s mom had taken pictures of Kelli and some of the girls in the tryout, and Brian hoped that she had also recorded how he had looked. Everyone said he made one of the prettiest and most photogenic of the girls trying out, and he was eager to see if Mrs. McBrady had photographed the girl Bailey as she modeled the dress.

“I don’t see why they couldn’t have chosen me, mom,” he had said to his mother. “You never see the girl’s names on the model pictures in advertisement. Everybody thinks I’m a girl anyway. Who could tell the difference?”

“Oh honey,” his mother replied. “You should start realizing that everything in this world is not fair, and so many people can’t understand why a boy like yourself might feel more like a girl.”

“Oh mom, am I . . . ah . . . ah . . .some freak? Or something weird?”

“No honey, you’re just a bit different from most boys,” his mother replied, looking directly at him. “You may be what is called ‘transgendered,’ that is, a boy who feels he should be a girl. You’re not alone; there are lots of men who feel that way.”

“How do you know that, mommy?” He had asked.

“Mrs. Henderson and I have been doing some research,” she replied, referring to the mother of Tamara, for whom he baby-sat for two days a week. “You were born physically as a boy, but something in your genes is telling you that you really are a girl in side.”

“Really, mom?”

“That’s what it looks like, anyway, and I’ve made an appointment with a doctor at the Vincent Medical Center for you two weeks from now to see if your feelings are real.”

“You mean to see if I’m crazy, or something?”

“No,” she had laughed. “You’re not crazy honey. You’re just a special and very beautiful child and Dr. Benedict is a specialist trained to work with boys and girls who may be confused about things. He will help us figure out what is best for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, dear, whether you really feel you are a girl, or whether it’s just a passing phase.”

“Oh, mommy, I know I am a girl. Look at me.”

She smiled at him, her eyes becoming bright with tears. “Come give mommy a nice hug, my darling sweet daughter.”

As he stood braiding his hair for the evening sleep, he reflected on that conversation with his mother. What it meant, he realized, was that his visit to Dr. Benedict would perhaps take him down the road to becoming a girl for real. It would be a fearful, but exciting, journey, he felt.

*****
True to his word, Mark came over to the Kendall house to jam a bit on Wednesday after school. It was an afternoon in which he had to pickup both Marietta and Tamara and get them home, but since the two girls were easy to oversee and needed only occasional checks to see if they were not getting into trouble, Brian felt it was OK for the two boys to try playing their musical instruments at the same time. Both his mother, pleased that Brian had found a boy to befriend, and Mrs. Henderson, Tamara’s mother, had felt the arrangement was OK.

When Mark rang the doorbell, Brian was in his room desperately trying to hide evidence of his feminine side in case Mark should venture into the room. He had cosmetics on a table, which had to be placed in a box and placed under his bed, and a pink floral skirt around his student desk in order to create a lovely vanity, which had to be removed. He could do nothing about the pink drapes and bed covers. Several pieces of female clothing had to be hidden in his closet, which was stuffed with dresses, skirts, and other lovely items.

Marietta and Tamara rushed to the door to meet Mark and usher him into the house. Brian heard the bell, realized it was likely to be Mark, and finished his “cover-up” chores as best he could. He got into the living room just as Mark was removing his jacket; his trumpet case was sitting at his feet.

Marietta excitedly said: “Here’s your friend, Bailey.”

At first, Marietta’s words didn’t sink in, but Brian realized that with Mark’s surprised look that his sister had used his girl’s name.

“Bailey?” Mark queried.

Brian grew red, but quickly recovered. “Oh that, she calls me that sometime. It’s my middle name.”

“Oh, I just wondered what she meant,” Mark said.

As it turned out, the best place for the two boys to play their music was Brian’s room. There they were able to listen to several jazz CDs on a portable player, and seek to transcribe the music, which meant, in essence, to copy the playing of the jazz master. In this case, it meant trying to duplicate the music of Miles Davis’ “Night in Tunisia.”

“Gosh to play like that would be so hot,” Mark said after listening to several rifts of the trumpet master.

“And I wanna play like Sonny Rollins,” Brian said.

“We got a lot of work to do,” Mark said.

The boys tried to play a few duets together, and after some false starts began to find their notes meshing harmonically. They also took turns doing improvised solos, which their music teacher encouraged, since he was trying to set up a small jazz group among his better music students.

After about 45 minutes, the boys took a rest; Brian invited Mark to go to the kitchen for a soda.

“But first, I need to check on Marietta and Tamara,” he said.

“I’ll tag along,” Mark said.

They found the two little girls playing with Marietta’s dollhouse, fussing over how to dress one of the Barbie Dolls. Marietta wanted to dress the doll in some of Ken’s clothes to express a tomboy nature of the doll, while Tamara, always the more girly of the two, wanted her in a pink baby doll dress.

“We’re tired of playing dolls,” Marietta said. “We wanna play house and maybe we can have both a mommy and daddy.”

“Yes, Bailey is mommy and her friend could be daddy,” Tamara agreed.

Brian was horrified that the two girls would bring up the practice of him being “mommy” in their play-acting of “house” while calling him “Bailey” in front of Mark.

“No, Marietta, Mark doesn’t want to do that. He’s just here to play music with me.”

Marietta began to pout, but Tamara spoke up:

“Oh that’s all right, Bailey, we can play dolls.”

“Thank you, Tamara.”

But Mark taking all this in finally said: “Why not? Sounds like fun. My lips are tired anyway. And this other girl calls you Bailey, too. What gives, Brian?”

Before Brian could answer, Marietta shouted, “Oh goody, Bailey can be mommy as she always is and now we have a daddy, too.”

“So you play mommy for them, Brian?” Mark asked.

“Yes she does and she acts like a real mommy, and she dresses in mom’s clothes, too,” Marietta said quickly. Brian wanted to shove a towel in the little girl’s mouth; he felt so humiliated before Mark.

Mark looked at Brian and quickly broke into a big grin.

“Bailey gets into her dress and then you and she come in here and we play house,” Marietta explained.

Brian grew red with humiliation, as he heard his sister tell this handsome boy that he wore dresses. Mark looked momentarily puzzled, but appeared to quickly understand the situation.

“You mean you wear dresses sometimes?” he asked.

“Oh she does all the time at home,” Marietta said eagerly.

“Oh shut up, Marietta,” Brian barked at his sister. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

Mark smiled. “That’s cool, Brian,” he began. “I bet you look nice in a dress. Show me.”

“No, you don’t wanna see that,” Brian protested.

Finally, with the pleading of the two girls and Mark, Brian agreed to put on a dress so that they could play house with the two girls.

Brian excused himself to change, while Mark stayed with the two girls, helping them clear Marietta’s room of the dolls, the dollhouse and other accessories. Brian chose a matronly print dress that he usually wore for playing house. The dress had a tight bodice, and with the push up bras created a cleavage for his breasts. He wore white ankle socks and ballet flats, hoping to create a modest housewife look.

He noticed the dress was fitting more loosely, and he took pleasure in the fact that his dieting and exercising was slowly trimming some of the ugly fat off his body. And, he felt, his body was growing more and more girlish, too.

“You’re beautiful, Bailey,” Mark said, using his girl’s name, when Brian emerged from his room.

Brian flushed, even doing a modest turn to express his femininity to his friend.

“You do look like a mommy,” the boy said with a giggle.

“You think it’s weird, don’t you?” Brian said, suddenly feeling foolish acting like a girl in front of this athletic boy.

“No, Bailey, really I don’t. I can’t wait to be your husband.”

Playing house with the girls turned out to be lots of fun, for all four of them. Mark acted like the gruff, old daddy, threatening to spank the little girls if they didn’t obey. In turn, they expressed fear over his threats, thus sparing the “spanking.” For his part as mommy, Brian squealed in his high voice to be kind and nicer to the girls. Mark’s response was always something like: “My darling wife, Bailey, you’re such a pushover for the girls.”

Then he’d reach over and with a caring gesture gently caress Brian’s bare arm; the touch of the boy thrilled Brian.

There was lots of giggling in the 45 minutes of playing, but nothing of an untoward nature occurred, to Brian’s relief. He felt a strange attraction forming for the older boy, whose brief touches and become more and more lingering, turning into caresses.

It was after five o’clock when Mark decided to go; he thanked Marietta and Tamara for their role and gave Brian a quick kiss on his cheek, explaining: “I’m just playing at being a daddy kissing mommy goodbye as he leaves for work.” The girls giggled in delight; Brian merely smiled, strangely wishing there was more to the kiss than just play-acting.

“I like Bailey,” Mark said softly, as the two talked briefly before Mark left.

“You mean you like me like this?” Brian said, surprised.

“As Bailey? I never thought I would, but you look so much like a real girl.”

“Oh my.” Brian was speechless and a bit embarrassed. Yet, he felt pleased.

“Do you have any outfits for a girl your age? I bet you’d look cute.”

Brian was silent again, not sure how to answer. What was going on with Mark? He could have any girl in the school. He was so handsome and strong and athletic. Besides, he was nice. What would he want with a boy like himself who was pathetic as a boy? Why would he want such a fake girl?

“Really, I’m serious, Bailey,” Mark said, using the girl’s name. “I have to admit that I’ve sometimes thought of you as a girl, even when you were a boy. I hope I haven’t hurt your feelings.”

Brian thought for a moment before answering. “Maybe sometime I can dress for you in girl clothes if you really want me to.”

“Cool,” the boy said, grabbing his bookbag and bolting from the house.

That night he pictured himself dressed not as a mommy, but more as a girl of his own age, maybe even wearing tight shorts and a cami, looking plump and cute. In his thoughts, he was walking hand-in-hand with Mark, a blonde-haired hunk of a boy. What a tempting picture! Wouldn’t any girl wish to be the girl in such a scene?

*****
The sign on the door of the doctor’s office of the 9th floor in the 100-year-old Commerce Building read:

“He comes highly recommended, darling,” Amy Kendall told her son, as they prepared to enter the office.

For the appointment, Brian wore an androgynous outfit of pants, socks, sandals with short heels, and a loose plaid blouse. He tied his longish hair into a ponytail, so that he could have been taken for either a girl or a boy musician type. He wore only an almost neutral tint of lip gloss and slightly darkened both his eyelids and brows. He wanted to wear a skirt and to look more feminine, but his mother thought he ought to be in more neutral clothes for the first visit.

Brian was unsure just what this appointment was all about. His mother said it had to do with his desire to be a girl, but he worried that the doctor was there to see if such a desire was a sign of mental illness. Then, maybe, he figured, the doctor would want to give him “treatments” to make him more of a boy. That might be OK, he thought; certainly he wanted to be accepted more by others, but it seemed he felt more at home being a girl. It just seemed so nice to be a girl, doing girly things.

Amy Kendall had to ring a doorbell for entrance into the doctor’s office, her buzz was met with a door being opened by a balding man in a brown suit and wearing simple wired-rimmed glasses.

“Hello, Mrs. Kendall and Brian,” the man said, beckoning them to enter.

“Dr. Benedict?” his mother said, thinking the man might have been the doctor’s assistant.

“Yes, that’s me, ma’am, come on in to my inner office so we all three can talk.”

The office was long and narrow, with a desk, computer and other office paraphernalia occupying the far end, up against some ancient, huge sash windows which looked like that hadn’t been washed since Teddy Roosevelt had been president. The office had an old, musty smell to it, with heat still coming from ancient steam radiators so common in older office buildings.

He led them to a sitting area at the other end of the room, where the three upright, upholstered side chairs were grouped around a love seat and a coffee table. On the sideboard was a pot full of what looked like fresh-brewed coffee; an office-sized refrigerator occupied the floor. He offered them something to drink, “coffee, tea or soda,” sounding like an airline flight attendant, Brian thought.

His mother took black coffee, while Brian said, his voice reaching a high tone, “tea please, but without milk or suger.”

“Coming right up, my dears,” he said. His tone was kindly, almost submissive.

Brian began to wonder: if this doctor was so good, why didn’t he have a secretary and a staff and be located in a more fancy office?

Once coffee and tea were served, he apologized for his ancient office, saying merely that he liked it since it was a quiet place, and, he added, “I think you’ll find this most comfortable.”

And Brian realized the setting was indeed comforting; the chairs while they looked like they might not be comfortable proved to be most accommodating. He crossed his legs in a most feminine fashion, a gesture both the doctor and his mother seemed to acknowledge.

At first, Brian was somewhat put off by the doctor, a very ordinary appearing man, wondering why this man was held in such high regard for his skills. He didn’t look very commanding at all. Yet, as the preliminaries began, he found himself looking into the doctor’s grey eyes, growing more and more comfortable with the man.

“Now, dear,” the doctor said softly, “For now I’m going to call you Brian, just so you know.”

Before Brian could object, the doctor held up his hand to stop the comments. “Don’t be alarmed, Brian. For me the name means nothing at this point, just a way to address you. Let’s not put the cart before the horse, dear.”

His words were kindly, and Brian nodded in agreement. He looked at his mother, who seemed to shrug, but nod slightly in agreement.

“Now,” the doctor began. “I’m going to ask each of you why you came to me and what you hope to get out of these sessions? You first, Brian.”

Brian thought for a moment, and doctor, noting the hesitation. “Take your time in answering if you wish.”

It seemed like an eternity, and Brian finally answered: “It’s . . . ah . . . just that I think I should be . . . ah . . . er . . . a girl. And I need you to agree with me, I guess.”

Dr. Benedict merely nodded, making what appeared to be a one-word note into a pad he held on his knee. Without expression the doctor turned to his mother, and looked to her for her answer.

His mother was ready for the question, her answer seemingly rolling off her tongue as if rehearsed:

“First of all, doctor, I love my son very much. You have to understand that as we talk, since I may have not been the best mother I could have been.”

“Mrs. Kendall, Amy, this is not about you or whether you did a good or bad job in raising him,” Dr. Benedict said, his voice growing stern and scolding for the first time. “This is about him. Why did you bring him here and what to you want to see happen? What are your goals for him?”

“OK, doctor,” his mother answered, now less sure of herself. “I think we came here because in the last few years Brian has been acting more and more girlish and has most recently said he wishes he was a girl. Maybe I was wrong, but I haven’t done much to discourage that, even letting him dress as a girl at home. The fact is, too, that he truly seems so much happier when he’s in, what shall I say . . . ah . . . his girl mode.”

“OK, Amy, but what goal do you have for him now?”

“Doctor, we need to find out if this desire to be a girl is real, or just a passing fancy, that’ll go away as he gets a bit older. And, quite frankly, if this is real, we need your support to begin to transition him to begin living as a girl.”

“Thank you, Amy,” the doctor said, his tone, more kindly. “What we need here is honesty. From both of you. I don’t look to find fault or to blame anyone for anything. And, Amy rest assured, I’m sure you love Brian and want the best. I only hope I’m going to be able to help you, but most of the decisions that’ll be made will be your decisions, yours and Brian. Not mine. You’ll have to find the way; maybe I can be your road map, offering you several routes. Understand?”

They both nodded. Brian looked at his mother. He was beginning to like this man.

“Now, Amy, I want you to let Brian and me talk alone and you can sit out in the waiting room for about 15 minutes,” Dr. Benedict said. “Then you and I can talk alone, and then we’ll finish up with both of you here together. OK?”

Brian looked apprehensively at his mother, saw her nod in agreement, rise and leave the room.

Dr. Benedict began by assuring Brian that everything he said would remain totally confidential and that even his mother would never know what he said; his mother would be given the same assurances.

“Now tell me about how this came about, Brian?” the doctor began.

“It just came, I don’t know when, maybe when I began playing house with my little sister and she always wanted me to be the mother,” he began. “I even began wearing mom’s stuff then. That was last year. And we had fun.”

He explained that he enjoyed baby-sitting for his sister and her friend Tamara. He also talked about preparing dinner for the family, wearing an apron and feeling so happy doing so.

“Don’t you want to be out playing football or baseball?” the doctor asked.

“No, I hate those sports,” Brian said almost defiantly.

“Why, Brian? All boys like those sports,” the doctor said, his voice taking on a challenging tone.

“I guess,” Brian said, growing sheepish.

Suddenly the doctor said, “Here, let’s do a little arm-wrestling, you and I. Put your right elbow on the table here opposite mine.”

The doctor put his own elbow on the table, awaiting Brian to follow suit.

“Do I have to?” Brian said. “You’ll beat me ‘cause you’re a man.”

“Oh but you’re a big boy, as tall as I am and so young. Come on.”

Brian began to feel like he was about to cry and as he fought back the tears, the doctor finally took his elbow off the table, reached over to pat Brian’s knee.

“There, we don’t have to do that, Brian.”

He gave the boy a tissue to wipe his eyes.

“Thank you, doctor,” Brian said, his gratitude aimed more at avoiding the arm wrestling competition than for the tissue. He knew the doctor would find out how weak he was.

After a moment, the doctor said kindly. “Brian, let’s suppose you were big and strong and could hit home runs and run for touchdowns, would you still want to be a girl?”

The question surprised him. “What?”

The doctor didn’t repeat the question, but waited patiently for an answer. The silence grew threatening, and Brian finally felt compelled to reply:

“But I’m not big and strong, doctor. How could I know if I’d still wanna be a girl?”

“Thank you, Brian,” the doctor said. “Now it’s time for you to leave so I can talk with your mom for a few minutes.”

Brian got up, leaving the room still puzzled over the arm-wrestling incident. What was Dr. Benedict getting at? He was worried, thinking the doctor maybe thought he wasn’t a girl after all. Maybe he thought he was just a pathetic fat boy.

*****
As he waited for the interview to end, Brian’s thoughts wandered all over the place, from the joys of believing he’d be a girl within a few months to the horror that Dr. Benedict would want him to become a real boy, with muscles and manly desires. He tried in vain to concentrate on a Time magazine he found in the waiting room, re-reading the same story about the fighting in Afghanistan, looking at pictures of U. S. soldiers in heavy fighting gear. If he were to remain a boy and eventually a man, he knew he’d be a disaster as a soldier; he would never be able to carry a heavy pack on his back for miles or endure the lingering expectation of death.

For a moment, he reflected: was he being just a selfish child, worrying only about his own comfort? Should he not be willing to serve others as soldiers do in defending their country? Was his desire to be a girl making him so selfish that he forgot about other people and their needs?

He and his mother didn’t go to church, and he often wondered whether a god — like his friend Amanda’s Catholic Jesus or his other friend Janet’s Jewish prophets — offered answers. Was there some Supreme Being that was steering him into girlhood, or would such a Supreme Being look with disfavor over this unholy idea of switching from boyhood into girlhood? More likely, he conceded, it would be the latter, that such a Supreme Being would condemn him for blasphemy in damaging his boy’s body that, he was told, was born as the “image of God.”

Even though he was only 12 years old, Brian’s mind often moved like this, racing through random thoughts and introspections. It was all so confusing.

After 15 minutes of these reflections, with the Time magazine still turned to the same page containing the Afghanistan story, his mother emerged from her session with Dr. Benedict. His mother’s face seemed grim, although Dr. Benedict had a smile. He said simply, “We’ll see you, Brian, two weeks from Wednesday at 4 p.m.”

“Come on, dear,” his mother said simply, leading the puzzled Brian out of the doctor’s office.

His mother said nothing until they were in the car. She put her key in the ignition, but paused before starting the engine. Brian sat quietly, knowing his mother would tell him what she learned when she felt ready, and not before. He felt his mother’s hand fall over his, which were folded primly on his lap.

“I think there will be a time soon, dear, when I’ll be calling you Bailey,” she said, a tentative smile filling her face.

“Mommy, really? What did he say?”

“He didn’t say much, darling, but asked me a lot of questions about our family, about my observations and about my feelings,” she began. “He told me to be brutally honest with him. He really wanted to know my feelings. Would I have preferred you to be more of a boy?”

“What did you say, mom my?”

“I told him I only wanted you to be happy, that what I thought wasn’t important.”

“Oh mommy, I love you.”

“But he pressed on, Bailey, pushing me to say whether I would have you be more of a boy. Finally, I said ‘yes,’ but quickly added that you’ve never been much of a boy, nor did you seem to want to ever be one. I told him I only saw the girl in you. In fact, I think you’re more of a girl than your sister.”

Brian smiled, and leaned over to kiss his mother on the cheek. He particularly enjoyed hearing her last comment, saying that he was “more of a girl than his sister.” Certainly, he acted more girlish; Marietta seemed to be turning into a regular tomboy.

“So he’s agreed to see you and get things started, Bailey,” his mother continued. “It’s not for sure yet, but I think he’s going to be OK for you.”

She turned the key, the motor turned over, and they returned home. Brian couldn’t wait to change into his prettiest dress, a pink baby doll.

Chapter 8: The Boy Friend

It was the last of 12 sessions of the aerobics classes, and Debbie Goldsberry, the instructor, weighed the girls (and Brian) as they began sessions on the December Saturday. The girls also stood tensely as they awaited the results of weight loss, some expectantly and others nervously fearing the scale.

Brian watched as his friend, Amanda, mounted the scales. In truth, Brian couldn’t see that she had lost much weight in the 12 weeks, but announced that her new weight was 173 — eight pounds had been lost during the classes. It was typical that the weights were always announced as they were recorded, probably in the hopes that public exposure to the others might motivate quicker losses.

“Let’s have a hand for Amanda,” Miss Goldsberry said. The girls applauded, but Amanda scowled, feeling that eight pounds was not a lot to lose.

“Now Brian, our single brave boy: Let’s see how you did this week.”

Brian had been steadily losing weight during the sessions, and had even seen his tummy go down so that he gained a notch on his belt.

“He lost 19 pounds since we started, girls!” the instructor announced. “The most of any of you girls, unless one of you to come can beat that.”

None of the remaining girls could. One other girl lost 16 pounds, but Brian’s 19 was the most. As a result, Brian was given a small, simple trophy for being the “biggest loser” during the 12 weeks.

Brian had to admit he felt lots better now that he had lost weight; it hadn’t done much to make him look any more strong, since his arms still retained a round soft look and his thighs, while more firm, still were pudgy and a bit gelatinous. Happily, his breasts had not seemed to be affected and he wore the same size bra as ever — a girl’s B-cup. If anything the weight loss had improved his looks; in fact, he wondered whether he might be slowly developing into a lovely, slightly overweight girl.

*****
Several nights later, while Brian was home, still awaiting the arrival of his mother from work, the phone rang. Brian picked it up and was surprised to hear the voice of Claire from the Fashion Girl store on the line.

“Bailey, is that you?” Claire asked.

“Yes, is this Miss Claire?”

“Yes, honey, it is. Sorry to call at night like this, but is your mother home.”

Brian said his mother was still at work, but asked if she could tell him why she was calling. The woman hesitated for a minute, finally saying, “Oh I guess I can tell you why I’m calling, but I’ll still have to talk to your mother about this, honey.”

“Ok, but what is it?” Brian became anxious, wondering why Claire was calling.

“Are you still interested in modeling?” she asked.

“Oh yes,” the boy said eagerly.

“Well honey, we need you to pinch hit for our fashion show, which is scheduled for next month. That’s if your mother is agreeable, so she’ll have to call me.”

“Really? Me back modeling again? Oh, Miss Claire I’d love to.”

“I thought you would and it’ll be a great help for us if you could.”

Brian was so excited he was speechless, and there was an eternity of silence, it seemed.

“Bailey,” Miss Claire continued. “It seems Kelli, you remember her? Well, she fell and broke an arm and is in a big cast. She’ll have to be wearing it for another six weeks, I’m afraid. You’d be a great replacement, since you both wore the same-sized outfits.”

“Oh no,” Brian said, clearly shocked. He liked Kelli immensely, and the two had promised to stay I touch, but in fact they hadn’t. “I hope she’s not hurt too bad, and I hate to take her spot.”

“I know honey, you and she were such sweet girl friends, but there’s no way she will be ready to model for the show and several other shoots we have scheduled.”

“What about the Human Resources Department? I thought they were against me,” Brian said.

“They didn't want you, but I talked them out of their objection, saying it was an emergency, which it is.”

“Oh Miss Claire, that’s so nice of you, but I feel so sorry for Kelli. I’ll have to call her.”

“That would be sweet of you, darling,” Miss Claire said, hanging up after getting a pledge from Brian to have his mother call her.

When Brian showed up and returned to model for the shop, Claire was impressed with how attractive he had become and with his ability to model outfits for the store in a way that made the clothes look so well suited for the “bigger girl.” The photographer found Brian easy to pose, as the boy quickly understood and could interpret the photographer’s commands.

With the hope that his modeling days would resume, Brian gained new incentive to keep himself well-groomed, to keep his weight down and to maintain his feminine mannerisms. His girliness — even in boy’s garb — was thus growing more and more obvious. Only at school was it becoming difficult.

*****
“I’ve never had a girl friend,” Mark Eaton, his friend, confessed to Brian on a Saturday.

The two were alone in the house, with Brian’s mother taking a weekend shift at the hospital and his little sister, Marietta, was spending the day with her friend, Tamara, at the Henderson house. Mark had come over to share some jazz licks with Brian; the two were being set up to form the nucleus of a group the music teacher was hoping to form among some of the more accomplished music students.

During their 30 minutes of “jamming,” Brian noticed that his friend was looking at him strangely, almost like he was examining Brian.

“Well you’re only 13,” Brian answered.

“I know, but I think about girls a lot now, wondering how it would be to have a girl friend. Jason says he’s dating Tiffany, you know?”

“I suppose so,” Brian said, realizing he was flicking his hair in a most feminine manner as he talked. His long hair often drifted over his forehead, and he knew he mimicked girls in their actions.

“Remember, you promised to be a girl for me. Do it now.”

“Really?” Brian hoped his eagerness to dress for Mark didn’t show. “You really want me to dress for you?”

“Yes, Yes. I think you’d be so pretty as a girl. I even think about you as a girl at night sometimes.”

“You do?”

“Yes, especially after you dressed up when we played house.”

“Come, become my girl friend.”

*****
Brian didn’t admit it, but he was hoping Mark wanted him to dress for him; he had even set aside a short denim skirt, and lavender blouse, with a v-neck and buttons down the front, just in case Mark suggested it. Dreams do come true!

“Oh my God,” Mark exclaimed when Brian walked out of his bedroom 20 minutes later dressed in the clothes he had laid out.

“You like?” Brian twirled.

“You’re hot. Wow!” The boy was seated on a couch his legs tightly together, looking tense and excited. The boy’s legs were jerking slightly, and Mark had a strange look on his face.

Brian giggled, his voice rising in crescendo, and walked seductively in front of his friend.

“Come sit next to me,” the boy said, a pinched look still on his face.

Brian sat down, careful to smooth the skirt as he sat, crossing his legs, the skirt rising up exposing the white softness of his inner thighs. He folded his hands on his lap and he felt the heat from the other boy’s body as they two nestled together. Suddenly, Mark reached over, placing a hand over his two folded hands.

The two boys sat there unmoving for a few moments, and Brian sensed a growing uneasiness from his friend, who was eyeing his feminine-clad body. The boy’s eyes seemed to halt at Brian’s breast, and upon the cleavage that showed above the top button of the blouse.

Suddenly one of Mark’s hands began massaging the inside of his thighs, and Brian felt his own penis grow hard; it was stuffed between the fat of his upper thighs and was throbbing.

He began to feel light-headed and suddenly he found Mark was kissing him on the lips; the kiss was a bit hesitant and lasted just an instant, before Mark moved quickly away, letting out with a low, squeal that he was obviously trying to suppress and removed his hands, grapping his crotch. Suddenly his body relaxed.

Brian was mystified.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

Mark sat on the couch, still holding his crotch, finally answering: “I jacked off!”

“You what?” Brian asked, not sure what he was saying.

“I gotta go to the bathroom and clean up.”

“OK, but what happened?”

“I jacked off, Brian,” the boy said. “Don’t you know what that is?”

Brian, by now his own hardon having relaxed, had heard the term from other boys, but wasn’t quite sure what it meant.

Mark sensing Brian’s ignorance explained: “It’s like wetting your pants, but it’s really like when you’re turned on by a pretty girl.”

“Oh?”

“Well, you’re only 12 so I guess you haven’t done that yet.”

Brian suddenly realized what had happened. He smiled; it was his own girliness, his own soft, feminine appearance that had so excited his friend.

“So you wet your pants?”

“I guess you could say that, and it’s all because you’re such a hot girl, Bailey,” Mark said. “Yes, you’re such a girl, Bailey.”

After Mark had cleaned up and Brian provided him with clean underwear, the two boys returned to the kitchen where Brian produced some cookies he had baked, along with milk.

“It’s just like you’re a real girl, Bailey,” Mark said, continuing to use his female name. “Like a girl would do on a date, including baking cookies for her boy friend.”

“I like to bake cookies,” Brian said.

“You could be a wife someday.”

Brian became flush-faced with the idea.

“You know what we should do, Bailey?”

“What?”

“Go to the movies next Saturday, but you could go all dressed like Bailey.”

Brian looked at his friend. “You think so?”

“Sure, you look so much like a girl like that. You’d be my first girl friend.”

Brian blushed, a picture forming in his mind of sitting next to this blonde, muscular boy, holding hands, maybe sharing a bag of popcorn. It was a lovely picture.

“Wouldn’t somebody guess? Maybe somebody from school?” Brian asked.

“No one would think you’re not a girl, and besides I could say I met you at summer camp.”

“I don’t know. I’ll have to ask my mother. She may not want me to do it.”

*****
Amy Kendall, hearing about the idea from her son, was hesitant at first; she was also suspicious as to what was going on between Brian and his friend, Mark.

Brian admitted finally to dressing up for Mark; he said Mark thought he looked pretty and came up with the idea that the two should go to the movies as boyfriend-girlfriend. “Mom, he said nobody would think I’m anything but a girl,” he said with enthusiasm.

“Well, darling, I’m concerned about this boy, Mark,” his mother began. “He’s older than you and I’m not sure he won’t want to make fun of you or something.”

“He won’t, mom, he’s my friend.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” his mother continued. “I just can’t imagine why such a boy would want you as a girlfriend. You’re not a girl, at least not yet, and he’s so popular, isn’t he? He should be able to have any girl as his friend.”

“Mark is handsome, mom, isn’t he? And, I know he likes me.”

“How do’ya know, dear?”

Brian turned red and didn’t answer. How could he tell his mother that he sensed how strong Mark’s affection was by the warmth of his kiss and the eagerness of the boy’s hands as they caressed Brian’s soft, smooth legs and arms? How could he tell is mother of the joy and comfort he felt in Mark’s arms?

“What have you two been doing while I was at work?” she demanded suddenly, obviously having sensed that her sweet son — who always in the past told her everything in his mind — was hiding something.

“Oh nothing, mom, just practicing our jazz and listening to CDs and playing,” he said.

“Nothing else, dear?”

“We’re not doing anything bad mom.”

“Then what are you doing?” her voice taking a stern tone. “You didn’t spend all that time on music, I’m sure.”

Brian was confused. He always confided in his mother. He loved her so much and she was so open to all of his feminine feelings. Yet, he was sure she wouldn’t approve how affectionate the two boys had become. Amy Kendall prodded, and finally her son burst into tears, his sobs high-pitched and his body shaking.

“He kissed me!” he squealed. “And hugged me. He wants me as his girlfriend, mom.”

Amy Kendall took this girlish boy in her arms, drew him to her ample breasts and held him tightly. His body shook as she held him and he cried for what seemed to be never-ending.

“OK, honey,” his mother said, when the crying finally ended and they had separated. “I’ll let you make the decision, but I think it’s a dangerous thing for both you and Mark.”

Brian, his eyes still red from the crying, looked at his mother in some confusion. “You’ll let me decide, mom?”

“Yes, it’s your life you’re dealing with here, and Mark’s. If you two get found out, well there’d be so many problems for you. And think about Mark, think about what might happen to him. He’s got several high school coaches looking at him for basketball. I understand he’s quite a shot.”

“Oh, he is, mother,” Brian said with a smile. “I know he can get a scholarship to Countryside Academy for one.”

“Countryside!” his mother exclaimed. “I thought that was only for rich kids.”

“They’d give Mark a scholarship, and St. Catherine’s is looking at him, too. He’s so good, mother. I just love to watch him play.”

Mark, Janet and Amanda had gone to several recent games to cheer on the middle school team. In their excitement, the three had squealed and acted up, prompting one of the parents seated nearby to say to them: “You three girls sure have a lot of team spirit.” At the time, the three began giggling, since it was obvious Mark with his long hair and mannerisms was mistaken for a girl.

“You’re like a love-struck girl,” Amanda said to Brian at a recent game, when his cheering about Mark’s play had seemed to continue nonstop.

Having had his first kiss from Mark, Brian felt he was indeed a love-struck girl whose boyfriend had become God-like in her eyes. Brian (no it was Bailey) was enamored with her Adonis, her Hercules, her strong Superman, her lover. How could he refuse attending the movie with him?

Yet, he realized, going to the movie, being a cute teen girl, could trigger all sorts of problems. He was being harassed constantly, both in the neighborhood and in school, and if they now knew he dressed as a girl, it could only get worse, maybe even dangerous. He heard of a high school boy — who dressed as a girl — in California who was murdered by a group of young men.

But Brian, as Bailey, felt he could weather such critics. What bothered him most was that if Mark were found out to be dating a boy, or even kissing, he might be banned from the basketball team and any chances of him going to a good school, and maybe even college, might be doomed.

In the end, he decided that he’d turn down the date with Mark. He hoped Mark would understand, realizing that maybe, after he became a girl, Mark might still be around.

*****
“There’s no denying the fact, Mrs. Kendall, that Brian here indeed believes he is a girl,” Dr. Benedict told the two of them at the end of the next visit.

“I’ve been convinced of that for the last year at least,” his mother said. “I tried to deny it for the longest time, convinced he’d grow out of it and begin caring more about the Green Bay Packers than his dolls and acting like a girl.”

“Brian,” the doctor said, his voice low and his words coming slowly, “I hope I am correct in my conclusion here, because the course of action I’m about to propose will affect your whole life. There might be no coming back, so we have to be totally honest with each other. You have to be sure in your own mind and heart about this, dear.”

“Doctor, I’m really only happy as a girl, really,” Brian said.

“It seems that’s true, Doctor,” his mother affirmed.

Dr. Benedict paused, sat back in his executive chair, and placed his hand, as if in contemplation, on his chin. Finally, in his slow cadence of speech that sometimes infuriated Brian because of time it took him to say anything, the doctor began:

“The first step, Brian and Mrs. Kendall, is to put Brian on testosterone blockers, which will slow his puberty, probably stunting any male sexual urges that otherwise begin developing at his age. To start that, I’ll refer you to an endocrinologist — Dr. Frank Chytowski — and he’ll give you some tests to make sure your body is OK with those blockers. Then, if all is well, he’ll probably start you on female hormones, and you’ll be on your way.

“Meanwhile, you’ll keep seeing me — or some other psychiatrist if you’re unhappy with me — to determine if you’re progressing safely under those drugs. It’s a long process.

“For the time being, you’ll have to continue to live as a boy, at least as far as the outside world goes. That means anytime you’re in public and that includes school. You and I and your mother will discuss when you’ll be able to start living outwardly as a girl. At home, and in other private settings, you should always try to live in your female mode. Is that understood?”

Brian and his mother both nodded. His mother reached over, putting a hand on his, and smiled.

“This is a big step, really, once these drugs begin working, your ability to father children, should you at age 20, for instance, find a girl you liked and wanted to marry, you’d likely not be able to give her children, Brian. You have to think about that.”

Brian looked apprehensively at his mother and said:

“I don’t think that could happen doctor. The more I think of it, the more I’d like to be the mother and to be able to have a baby.”

Dr. Benedict gave a short laugh and then smiled. “When we’re done, medical science will make you a complete woman if every way, Brian, but one. We still haven’t figured out how to make it possible for a person who was born male to be able to give birth to a child.”

“Maybe it’ll be possible in the future,” Brian said.

“Maybe so, Brian, but for now we don’t know how to do that.”

“At least I can dream about it,” Brian said.

*****
Mark Eaton said he understood why Brian had turned down the idea of going to the movies as Bailey; in fact, Brian suspected, the boy was happy about the decision. Brian began to suspect that the invitation came at the height of Mark’s passion — amidst all the kissing and cuddling that Saturday — and was made on the spur of the moment. To be sure, Brian also was somewhat relieved by the fact that such a date would not occur soon.

The dream of being a lovely girl on the arm of a handsome boy still tantalized him; maybe that would come in the future.

His friendships with Amanda and Janet, however, continued to thrive. Amanda and he spent much time together, both working out at her home and, until the sessions ended, in the Saturday group. Janet and Brian, on the other hand, began spending lots of time talking about two items: women’s fashions and the environment. It was a strange combination of issues that seemed to fuel Janet’s always active mind, and Brian found the discussions with his friend to be most stimulating.

“Simple is beautiful,” Janet exclaimed. “And it’s good for the environment, too.”

Brian and Janet had both tried their hand at designing some clothes, first on paper and later by turning to the sewing machine and the cutting table to create their own outfits.

“You have a lovely touch, Brian,” Janet’s mom told him one day when they were at her place designing clothes. “I’ve never known a boy to take such an interest in fashion.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Gleason,” he said, wondering whether the woman’s comments were meant to embarrass him.

“Really, Brian, there’s nothing wrong with being interested in fashions,” she said, perhaps sensing his discomfort. “The world’s best designers are usually men. Think of Ralph Lauren and Tommy Hilfiger.”

Brian’s first creation was a light blue chiffon dress he made for Janet; it was a simple design, modified from a pattern he found in a magazine. The dress included a high waist, a moderately high bodice, with a layered look. The dress flowed plainly beneath the waist to just above the knee. In all, the effect was to give Janet a more full-bodied look to fill out her elfin figure. It took several weeks for Brian to finish it and he was eager for Janet to try it on.

“I love it, Brian,” Janet said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. “You’re a genius with the sewing machine.”

She ran out of her bedroom to show her mother, Brian following.

“Why darling, that’s adorable on you,” Mrs. Gleason said. “Is that your creation, Brian?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“It does marvels for you Janet,” her mother said. “And Brian you seem to have such a good fashion sense. How could you possibly know that would look so nice on Janet?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Gleason,” he said. “It just seemed I needed to give her a fuller look. I hope it works for her.”

“Oh it does, honey,” she said to Brian. “What do I owe you for this?”

“Nothing, it’s just my first dress and I hoped somebody might actually wear it.”

“Oh don’t be silly, Brian, a customized dress like that would cost over $100 anywhere,” Mrs. Gleason said.

“No it’s my gift, ma’am.”

“At least I should pay for the material,” she said.

Brian shook his head ‘no.’

“Tell you what, Brian, the Fashion Girl store is having a special showing of girl’s clothes next week at Claude’s Restaurant. It’s that fancy place on University Avenue, and why don’t I treat you and your mom and you could join Janet and myself for the show.”

Brian looked at Mrs. Gleason, and then at Janet, who was trying to suppress a giggle. He was horrified. He was supposed to model in that show, a fact that only Janet and Amanda knew about.

“Oh I don’t think Brian would enjoy that, mother,” Janet said, in an obvious lame attempt to stifle the idea.

“I think he would, darling. Wouldn’t you darling?”

The exchange gave Brian time to collect his thoughts, and he said: “That’s a week from next Saturday, Mrs. Gleason, and I’m sorry but mom and I have another engagement then.”

“Oh that’s too bad,” Janet’s mother said, adding quickly. “I still owe you Brian, so I think I’ll call your mother and maybe the four of us can do something else. It’ll be on me, of course.”

Brian let out a sigh of relief. Trying to mix his girl’s life while pretending he was a boy was getting mighty complicated.

*****
“Your daughter is trimming down nicely,” Claire at the Fashion Girl store looked at Amy Kendall as she and Brian arrived for a photo shoot.

“Yes, Claire, I think the aerobics class, some dieting and taking care of herself has helped a lot,” Amy said.

“And I feel so good now, too,” Brian added with a smile. He was dressed in a new pair of tight-fitting jeans that seemed to form nicely on his butt and legs, and was wearing pink tennis shoes along with a purple peasant blouse with white piping. His breasts were neatly packed inside the blouse, with a small bit of cleavage showing.

“Well, you may be taking yourself out of Teen Plus-sized clothes soon, Bailey,” Claire said. “But you really have lovely legs, and perhaps you can still do some modeling for us, dear.”

“I’ve really enjoyed doing this, Miss Claire,” he said. “I hope to continue.”

“I’m sorry, dear,” she replied. “You’ll remember I told you that these assignments for girls your age are really only for a short time, since you all grow so fast at that age.”

“I know, but I don’t think I’ll ever be as skinny as models have to be,” he said.

“Probably not dear, but you have a very photogenic face, and the photographers love working with you. I’ll try to keep you involved someway, Bailey.”

“Thank you, Miss Claire.”

“Well, thank you and your mother for being so courageous, dear,” Claire said. “I knew I was taking a gamble on you and it would have been a disaster if anybody ever figured out you were a boy underneath. But, we’re so pleased with the result. I think your image helped us sell lots of outfits. In fact, the ones you modeled tended to sell-out.”

“She tried hard to be a good model for you, Claire,” his mother said.

“I know she did, and she easily was the best girl we had in this project,” Miss Claire said, giving Brian a short, friendly hug.

For the moment, Brian couldn’t have been happier.

Chapter Nine: Bailey Comes to Life

“Who’s the girl staying at your house, Brian?” Megan Tompkins asked one morning as she caught up with Brian as he was walking to school. It was several weeks after the Fashion Girl show, and Brian, in the mode of Bailey, had already appeared in some of the clothing store’s advertisements.

“What girl?” he asked, feigning an ignorance about the question.

“That girl I saw getting into your mom’s car the other day,” the girl explained.

Brian wondered why Megan was suddenly being friendly; the previous summer, she had beaten him up on the street, making fun of his girlishness. Since then, he had avoided her judiciously, even though they were in the same classes at school. Their friendships had been close since they were toddlers, having lived several doors apart on Garfield Avenue, but had soured as Megan seemed to take on the “tough girl” role. She had developed into quite an athlete and had bested a number of boys beyond Brian.

“Oh her,” Brian said, trying to fake his disinterest in the question. “Just my cousin from Wausau.”

“I never knew you had a cousin,” she said. “She looks just like you.”

“I hadn’t noticed.” His face grew red.

“You’re blushing, Brian. You in love with her or something?”

“I’m not blushing.”

“You are too,” she said.

Brian realized that his face was probably growing more and more red; how he wished Megan would run off with her rude friends.

“She looked very pretty,” Megan continued. “Just like that girl in those Fashion Girl ads on TV and in the newspapers. That girl is so pretty, even if she is a fatty.”

“She’s not that fat,” said Brian quickly, suddenly wishing he could take the words back.

He sensed Megan must have been looking at him, questioning his denials. He tried to speed up his walk, hoping to discourage further talk, but Megan persisted:

“Oh, so you look at Fashion Girl ads, just like all of us girls? Don’t they have the prettiest outfits?”

“I wouldn’t know,” he lied.

“You know what I think, Brian, I think that girl is you.”

“No, what are you talking about? How could I be a girl?”

“Easily,” Megan said, grabbing his wrist, holding him firmly in her grasp.

The two had paused along a walk that adjoined a small city park that was heavily wooded, and they were alone, without others in earshot.

“Come on Brian, tell me. You’re that girl, aren’t you?”

“Let me go, we’ll be late for school,” he protested.

“I looked at how that girl walked on the TV commercial, and you walk the same way. And your hair, it’s just the same, too.”

“Let me go,” he pleaded, finding her grip too firm, realizing there was no way to get away from the strong, athletic girl in front of him. Tears began to form, in spite of his efforts to not be reduced into crying, as he so often did when facing tense or embarrassing moments.

Megan’s tone of voice suddenly softened, and her grasp was slightly loosened, but she still held him firmly. He was not going anywhere, he knew; he was her captive.

“Don’t cry, Brian, I don’t want to hurt you,” she said. “And I’m sorry for being so mean to you. I want us to be friends.”

“You do?” He asked as he felt the need to cry grow less intense.

Megan said she had recognized Brian the first time she saw the advertisement on television. The mannerisms between the girl in the ad and Brian had seemed so similar. It were those same feminine gestures and movements that had caused Brian, when in his male mode, to be so harassed as being “gay,” “a faggot” or a “sissy.”

“I’ve been thinking of you since then more as a girl, and thought it would be fun to be girl friends,” Megan said, a mischievous glint in her eye.

“But I’m not a girl,” was all Brian could think to say.

“You are to me, Brian,” she said. “Oops, we better run or we’ll be late.”

“But, you won’t tell anybody will you?” Brian said desperately, as she released her grip, and turned to head to school.

“So you are that girl,” she said gleefully. “I knew it.”

Brian nodded, pleading as she walked off ahead of him, “Don’t tell anyone, please.”

“Come on, let’s run together,” she said, grabbing his hand in a friendly gesture. “I know you’re in better shape now.”

“Megan, please,” he said as they began a slow run to school.

“You’re my friend again, Brian, I promise, cross my heart and hope to die, I won’t tell anyone.”

“Thanks Megan.”

“By the way, when we’re girl friends, I can’t call you Brian,” she said, breathing easily as they ran.

“Call me Bailey,” he said, his breath growing a bit short from the exertion.

“A pretty name for a pretty girl,” she said.

Brian suddenly pictured himself as a pretty girl, with his hair in a pony tail that was tucked through the hole in the back of his pink baseball cap, the pony tail bouncing as he ran.

*****
Several days later, Brian had his appointment with Dr. Benedict, his psychiatrist, a quiet, unassuming man with whom Brian found growing trust. His advice, as it developed, seemed to always work and Brian felt reassurance in confiding in him.

“I think I can tell Dr. Benedict anything, mother,” Brian said to his mother, after relating how Megan had discovered that he was the popular Fashion Girl model.

“If she figured it out, Brian, I’m afraid others might, too,” his mother said.

“I’ll have to tell him and see what he thinks,” Brian said.

Brian realized too late that his enthusiasm over being chosen by Miss Claire to be one of the featured models in the Fashion Girls Teen Plus television commercial was misplaced. Many people who hardly ever noticed the models in newspaper advertising became far more attuned when the same model appeared on television.

Even Mark had mentioned one day as the two of them were watching television that “the girl in that ad looks just like you, Bailey.” Brian blushed at the comment, but his friend didn’t notice, as he was otherwise deeply engrossed in the program they were watching.

“Perhaps it’s time for a discussion with your school principal, Brian,” Dr. Benedict began. “You realize that now that you’ve begun testosterone blockers that your body features may become even more feminine.”

“Yes, doctor, I understand.”

“More and more of your classmates will notice that too, exposing you to even more chances for teasing and trouble from some others. Are you prepared to stand up to that?”

“I don’t know, doctor, but what can I do?” Brian felt tears about to come. Why was he so different than others?

“You’re a very special person, Brian,” the doctor began. “You’re intelligent and courteous and have a sweet, gentle nature. You seem to care about others, and that’s so important in life. I know that physically you’re not strong, but mentally you are, or else you wouldn’t have gotten this far. I think you’re ready to stand up to this challenge, Brian.”

Brian was puzzled. “What challenge?”

“I’m going to suggest to your mother that you begin attending school starting next semester which begins in a month, in late January, as Bailey Kendall. What do you think about that?”

Brian was stunned. He didn’t think this would happen, but the idea scared him. At the same time he was excited; wasn’t it what he always wanted?

The doctor took off his glasses, taking time to bring out a tissue and clean them, before continuing, leaving Brian to think about the prospect.

“Well what do you think?” the doctor said.

“I’d be scared to do that, doctor,” Brian said simply, not sure what else to say.

“Of course you would be scared, dear girl, but isn’t that who you are?”

Brian smiled, nodded his head.

“Let’s bring your mother in now and talk with her about all this and see what she thinks.”

*****
Armed with a long letter from Dr. Benedict, Amy Kendall and her son and soon-to-be daughter met with Walter French, the middle school principal. He was a stern, humorless man who commanded strict adherence to school policies in all matters. For the most part, he got total attention from both students and teachers alike when he demanded it. That was no small feat among children of middle school age, when many of them were seeking to challenge authority at that age.

Behind his back, the kids called him the guillotine man, since his disciplines were often overly tough they felt and since someone figured out it would fit well with his last name of ‘”French.”

“This is outrageous, Mrs. Kendall,” he boomed as she presented him with Dr. Benedict’s letter.

“But Mr. French,” his mother began, only to be interrupted.

“I’ll not have it, not in my school. No freaks here and that’s it.”

Brian began to cry and his mother put a hand on his arm and got up from her seat in the principal’s office and began to lead her son from the office.

“Thank you Mr. French,” his mother said sarcastically, adding, “We’ll see about that.”

“Wait, Mrs. Kendall,” the principal ordered.

“You’re an abominable ass,” his mother said, and she and Brian strolled out the door, banging it shut behind them.

Brian was in tears and his mother was red with rage as the two left the school.

“You’ll be absent today from school, Brian, while we figure out what to do,” she said.

As they drove home, Brian suddenly began to laugh; perhaps it was laughter arising from tension, but laugh he did.

“What’s so funny, Brian?” his mother asked.

“You calling him an abominable ass, mother. That was great.”

“I wonder if he knows what abominable means,” she said, joining now in the laughter.

*****
At home, his mother called the school board office and got the assistant superintendent of student affairs on the line, a woman by the name of Mrs. Jackson.

Brian sat nearby as his mother talked on the phone. He could tell by how rapidly that his mother talked that the person on the other end was an impatient person.

“I thought the school board had a LGBT-friendly policy, Mrs. Jackson,” she said.

Brian could hear the faint tones of a strident person coming through the earpiece.

“Yes, that’s right, Mrs. Jackson. I know Brian might be the youngest ever in the school system to be transgendered, but it’s still his right.”

Brian listened as more unintelligible sound came through the receiver from the other person.

“The man is an ass, Mrs. Jackson, I don’t know how he ever became principal. You know that he told Brian to become more of a man and not be such a sissy. Can you imagine? And he treated us so rudely. Is that school board policy?”

There was a long pause.

“OK, thank you, Mrs. Jackson, you’ve been so kind.”

His mother hung up. “What did she say, mother?”

“She said she’d have to talk with Mr. French, but she really sounded like she would do something. She did mention that you could transfer to the specialty school for LGBT students and others who face such issues, but I said you wanted to stay at John Muir Middle School if you could. That’s what you wanted, right?”

“Yes, mother, all my friends are there,” he said with a smile. He only had four such friends, Mark, Amanda, Janet and now, apparently, Megan. But they were so special.

“She’ll see what can be done,” his mother said. “She’s aware of the school board policy and she’s committed to it so I think there’ll be action.”

“Oh mother, you’re so marvelous to do this for me,” he said, hugging her.

*****
The next Monday, there was a new principal at John Muir Middle School, a Ms. Luchtenfeldt, a chubby, short women whose no-nonsense attitude gave her a commanding presence in spite of her height, slightly more than five feet. On Wednesday, her greetings to Amy Kendall and Brian were gracious, even offering Amy coffee, which she declined.

She apologized for the treatment Amy and Brian had received from Mr. French, and said she was there to try to carry out school board policy in all matters, especially for LGBT students.

“I’m fully aware of Brian’s situation, Mrs. Kendall,” Ms. Luchtenfeldt began. “I’ve read Dr. Benedict’s letter. It’s not that we haven’t dealt with these situations before, but it does seem that Brian is awfully young to begin such a life change.”

“Oh, we’re sure that it’s for the best now, ma’am,” Amy said.

“I wasn’t questioning that, Mrs. Kendall,” the other woman said. “We won’t be debating that decision. After all that’s yours and Brian’s to make.”

The plan, as Ms. Luchtenfeldt outlined was to permit Brian to enter the next semester in three weeks as Bailey Kendall. As Bailey, he would be excused from physical education classes and would take dance classes in their place; he would be able to use staff bathrooms, which were all unisex.

“Maybe as the children grow used to Bailey,” she said, “She can begin going into girl’s facilities. But right now, many other girls might feel it strange.”

“I understand, Ms. Luctenfeldt,” his mother said. Brian nodded agreement.

Brian couldn’t control his enthusiasm as they left the office.

“Just think, mommy, I can be Bailey all the time now.”

*****
There were lots of raised eyebrows as Brian — now Bailey Kendall on the school’s pupil listing — entered the second semester of the 7th Grade. The school had gone through many paperwork exercises as the huge city school district dealt with this change from Brian to Bailey, but thanks to the combined persistence of Ms. Luchtenfeldt, Mrs. Jackson and Amy Kendall the alterations were accomplished.

Bailey was escorted to her homeroom that first morning, a gray, dampish late January day; Bailey hardly slept the night before, worrying about how she’d be received in the morning by her schoolmates. Amanda and Janet both agreed to walk with her to school, where Bailey hoped she’d be viewed as just another girl. Yet, she knew the word of her change had spread through the school community; both she and her mother had received numerous anonymous calls during the weekend leading up to this first day.

“There’s no room for a faggot in my child’s school, you ___ __ _ _____,” one man screamed at Amy Kendall, who slammed down the phone and began to shake uncontrollably.

“You’ll pay for violating God’s plan,” threatened a husky woman.

Finally his mother unplugged the phone, and Amy called the school principal to question whether Bailey should show up for the first day.

“Yes, Mrs. Kendall, we’re ready for the worst, and I believe Bailey should be OK,” she said with seeming positive assurance.

As Bailey and her two friends approached the school, they were shocked to see a huge conglomeration of students and parents gathered about the two stone lions that marked the entrance to the school. Two police cars were parked at the curb, and four police officers stood next to their cars.

“I can’t go through that,” Bailey said.

“That’s scary,” Amanda agreed.

“But let’s show ‘em you got a right to go to school, Bailey,” Janet said. She was always the more daring of the three.

“I’m scared,” said Bailey.

Just then they saw the short stocky figure of Ms. Luchtenfeldt emerging from the crowd. She beckoned to Bailey to join her; she also called to the police officers.

“This is the girl we need to escort in,” she told the officers.

“OK, we’ll do it peacefully, ma’am,” said an officer, a red-faced, husky man with a badge the said Sgt. Peterson. “We’ve done this before.”

“You’re looking lovely today, Bailey,” Ms. Luchtenfeldt commented. “Let’s go.”

Amid a scattering of home-made signs that quoted the Bible and made nasty comments, the crowd yelled. Suddenly, there appeared a group of boys, led by Mark Eaton, came forward, yelling “Let her through,” Let her through,” “Let her through.”

He came forward, took Bailey’s arm as his friends — about two dozen — gathered about them, with the police officers retreating in the background.

“I’m so proud of you Bailey,” Mark said to her amid all the shouting. “May I escort this pretty girl to school?”

“Oh, Mark, you’re so sweet,” she said, clutching his arm.

At that moment, Bailey saw Megan Tompkins struggling with one of the teachers and he heard her yelling at the teacher: “Let me through, I want to join Bailey. She’s my friend.”

Bailey waved at her new friend, and yelled at the teacher that was restraining Megan, “Let her through,” and the teacher did. Megan ran to the head of the line, linking arms with Bailey and Amanda, Janet and Mark.

Bailey felt like a princess as they marched among the crowd of students and parents. Outside of some nasty comments, the group made it peacefully into the school. Mark guided her to her locker, helped her put her coat and scarf away, before guiding her to her first class.

Thus, began Bailey Kendall’s first day in school.

Afterword: Six Years Later

“Mother, you don’t think I look too fat in this, do you?” Bailey asked, as she twirled before the bedroom mirror in the pink gown she had chosen for the senior prom.

“No darling, you look just fine, really,” Amy Kendall assured her daughter.

“I love this gown, mother,” the girl said. “I wished I just wasn’t so fat.”

“You’re not fat, honey,” her mother said, perhaps for the 10,000th time in the last few years. “You have a lovely figure, but you’re just built a bit bigger than most girls. You can’t do anything about that.”

Bailey smiled at her mother, and looked at herself in the mirror. In her mind, she knew that she truly wasn’t a fat girl, but that her body was such that it would never fit in a size 2. She was more like a size 10 or 12, she realized.

Actually, she had become quite narcissistic about her body, convinced that through the years of moderate, regular exercise (usually a form of aerobics) and careful eating she had developed a truly lovely, feminine body. A bit thick in the waste, perhaps, but that was offset by lovely firm breasts. Overall, the girl in the mirror looked soft and smooth, with just about the prettiest neck, shoulders and arms a girl could have. The gown was strapless, and showed off her lovely features just fine.

“Maybe I should have gotten a darker color so I wouldn’t look fat,” Bailey said.

“Bailey, darling, if you keep this fat business up, I’ll rip that dress right off your back and you’ll have to tell Melvin that you can’t go to the prom,” his mother responded, truly angry this time.

Bailey couldn’t help herself. Her weight had always been a sore point with her, likely going back six years when she was nothing but a fat, pathetic sissy boy. For the last five years she had lived as a girl, and she had easily passed into the world of girlhood, particularly when she entered Lincoln High School, where only a few students remembered that at John Muir Middle School she once had been the boy named Brian. Bailey thrived at Lincoln, which was the college-bound honors school in the urban school district. She had been the featured sax player in the school’s renowned jazz band, was on the debate team and the National Honor Society.

Her dating — in spite of repeated invites — had been nearly non-existent, largely due to her mother’s fear that her date might seek to take advantage of her and through fondling in the car realize that Bailey still had her penis. Otherwise, Bailey had become as much a girl as any in the school. She was tall for a girl, nearly 5’10” but she had lovely legs and she’d heard boys comment that she was “stacked,” a phrase that embarrassed her, yet made her feel more of a woman.

Melvin Jackson, a senior honor student like herself, had taken Bailey on a few dates in recent months, the first boy she had dated — or even kissed — since Mark Eaton dumped her the previous year. She had cried for weeks, it seemed, after Mark, who had encouraged her transformation in middle school, said he had fallen in love with another girl at the college he was attending in the East. Mark had been sweet about the breakup, she knew, even coming home for a weekend to tell her. She should have been mad at Mark, she knew, but she realized that he had likely moved to a new phase in his life; often, at night, she wondered if he had rejected her because, even though in a few years she would be anatomically a complete woman, she could never bear any children. Perhaps, too, Mark would always carry with him the thought that she once was a sissy boy called Brian and that would always be a factor in their relationship.

“I have to be grateful to Mark,” she told her mother. “He as much as anyone, except you, mom, made me realize how much of a girl I was. I guess I’ll always love him.”

“And he stood by you when he could have walked away, too, dear,” Amy Kendall reminded her daughter.

“But Melvin is so sweet, mom,” Bailey said, referring to the current young man in her life.

Melvin Jackson, who was a tall, slender African-American boy, played bass in the jazz band with Bailey, where the two had become close; they loved improvising together, particularly when joined by Janet who had become a top-rate drummer. It was one of the friendships that developed through mutual interests, with no apparent romantic overtones. Bailey had been surprised then when in March of her senior year he suggested the two go on a date; he wanted to take her to dinner and a jazz concert.

After some consternation, including consultations with her mother and her two still best friends, Amanda and Janet, she agreed, but only if he knew her full story; that she was still anatomically still a boy. The testosterone blockers had worked to slowing Bailey’s puberty and female hormones had helped to add to her feminine features; still to be done, however, was sexual reassignment surgery that would have to wait until she was 18.

Melvin was shocked, of course, at the revelation, told after she had met him one cold Saturday at a coffee shop; they had retired to a quiet corner, hoping that being in a semi-public place the boy would not overreact or become violent, although he had always projected a quiet, almost shy demeanor. His only aggressive times came when he was strumming his bass.

“Oh my, Bailey,” was all he could say.

He remained speechless, content to look at her, his eyes examining her, finally stopping and shaking his head in dismay.

“Say something for God’s sake,” she said.

He hemmed and hawed. “It’s just . . . ah . . . ah . . . that you’re such a girl. It can’t be.”

“Well, it is, Melvin,” she said, slowly explaining the whole thing to him.

He listened attentively, nodded and finally said simply: “Will you still go out with me to the movies tonight?”

“Really, you still want me to?” she said, tears filling her eyes.

“Of course, you’re still the prettiest girl I know,” he said, a broad smile brightening his face.

Bailey turned her head so that he wouldn’t see the tears that began steaming down her face. Suddenly she saw his hand come forward, holding a tissue and she felt his other hand grip her shoulders and she couldn’t hold back the sobs. He quickly rose, moved to her side of the table, kneeled down and took her in his arms. He held her body firmly, but with gentleness, as she slowly quieted her sobbing.

“Is she all right?” she heard a young female voice ask. It must have been the waitress.

“Yes, she’s fine,” she heard Melvin reply.

Bailey nodded her head, ashamed of this outward display of emotion, hoping others in the coffee shop would just stay away. Slowly, she dried her tears, and looked up at Melvin’s dark eyes, so gentle and sweet.

She was — at this particular moment — the happiest girl in the world.