The Chorister
By Pentatonic

My name is Jeff, and making music is what makes my life worthwhile. I have a Bachelor of Music Education degree and a Master’s degree in keyboard. While in college, my faculty advisor suggested the education part, because with it I could teach music in grade and high school. Perhaps my advisor had heard my performances and thought that I couldn’t make it as a concert pianist. I was good, but maybe not THAT good. Perhaps she was right, because I couldn’t find a full time job as a performing musician when I graduated. Well, I did what a lot of other unemployed graduates do in like circumstances; I went to grad school.

Suggesting the education part turned out to be a great idea. Right before I graduated, I started the process of getting a teaching certificate, and found out that I still needed a few education courses. That was another reason I went to grad school. Once I had my masters, I completed getting my certificate. I started looking for a job as a pianist. OOPS! While I had some gigs as a backup musician, I still did not earn enough to move out of my parents’ home. While kicking around the job market, I also looked into a teaching position with my teaching certificate in my hot little hands,

Music education programs at most schools do not need a full time teacher. So I looked over the requirements for an endorsement for my certificate, so I could teach a core course in addition to music. I only needed one additional course in History and two courses in English to get endorsements in both. So, it was back to the local community college, where I picked up the necessary credits to get the endorsements. Then it was back to the job market.

Those endorsements did the trick, and I found a position at the local high school where I taught freshman English, Band, and Chorus. Having a Masters was an additional bonus, because it kicked me up into a higher salary bracket. At last, enough to move out on my own. While I was in the process of packing and moving, my Mom said, “Don’t forget to pack ALL of your clothes.”

The last comment referred to my “hobby” of occasionally cross-dressing. While my parents tolerated this, it appears that they didn’t want to be reminded of it with a closet full of womens’ clothes. Luckily, I had rented a two bedroom apartment, so I had enough room for ALL of my clothes and enough room for the piano which my parents bought for me when I was only six. One of the pleasures in life was to get dressed in a gown, high heels and make-up and pretend that I was this gorgeous concert pianist and play a full program while enfemme. This had been mostly limited to those evenings when my parents were out. While they tolerated it, they just didn’t want to see it. My dressing was curtailed during college because I shared a room and didn’t have much spare money for clothes.

Since I considered myself to be a musician, even in grade school, I decided that I could let my hair grow. My hair grew, but I didn’t. I stopped growing during my sophomore year in high school and only stood 5 feet eight inches. I topped out at 135 pounds. While most of me remained skinny, by behind was not. Perhaps it was all of that sitting while practicing the piano.

I was too small for most sports, but I could run, so during high school I ran on the cross country team. I wasn’t all that good, just good enough to stay on the team. The funny part of all this was that as a team member, I was almost considered to be a “jock,” and I wore my letters proudly.

While in college, I met Amy. She was in the music program and took voice. We dated a bit but didn’t see much or each other after graduation. Imagine my surprise when I ran across her in my hometown. She told me that she had taken a job here, and a second part time job teaching chorus at St. Anne’s, a local girls’ high school. We had the occasional date and spent a lot of our free time together.

That November, she had the biggest smile on her face. “I have a soloist position for a Christmas Program. The Messiah. Maybe you could help me rehearse.”

“Sure,” I said, “I still have my piano at my apartment, and a keyboard. Maybe you could come over to my place on Friday evening. I can order some takeout, and we can rehearse after we eat/”

“That’ll be great,” she replied. “How are you stocked for music?” Well, as you could imagine, as a musician, I have a great quantity of music, most of it in cabinets and shelves in my second bedroom. By the way, the dresser and closet in this room had my “other” clothes. There was no bed in this room, just a couch, but additionally there was a low table with a mirror that I used as my vanity.

That Friday, I came home as quickly as I could and cleaned up the apartment. I made sure that my womens’ clothes, shoes and make-up were safely put away. At least I thought safely. I ordered a pizza, and it arrived about the same time that Amy showed up After we ate, I said, “Let me get my copy of the Messiah,” and I headed for the second bedroom. She followed me closely. My mind raced to try to remember if I had put away all of my girl clothes and make-up. While I really didn’t want her in the room, I could not think of an excuse to keep her out.

She immediately headed for the music collection and pulled out some scores. “Maybe we could do some of these in the future,” she said. I just grunted in reply. After a while, she started looking around the room. Her eyes fell on my sort-of vanity, and she walked over to it and began to study it with interest. Luckily, all of my make-up was in a box under the table. She reached over and turned on the lights beside the mirror and sat down. I could just about see the wheels going round in her head, as she appraised the situation, but she said nothing. A few moments later, she turned around and took in the rest of the room. “You are lucky having this second bedroom. It gives you a lot of closet space.”

I was beginning to get nervous, and I suggested we start rehearsing. She stood up, but rather than walking to the door, she headed toward the closet. I could not think of anything, except to hope that she would head out of the room. No such luck.

She slid open the closet door. I just groaned. I could see our future together disappearing in a flash. There, hanging in the closet, were dresses, skirts, blouses, slacks, tops and coats. The floor of the closet was covered with shoes. Not a single piece of male clothes. She turned to me with a questioning look on her face, which shortly turned to a smile. “Yours?” she asked.

“Mine,” I managed to squeak out, not being able to come up with an explanation that would hold water. .

“I’d like to know about this,” she said sweeping her hand around.

“No, I don’t think you would,” I stammered.

“Yes, I would. We’ve been friends for a long time, but I would never have suspected this. Not that it’s bad. Just unexpected. So, what gives?”

“Well, sit down, and I’ll try to explain it to you.” I really had expected to see her race out of the apartment, but she hadn’t. Instead, she sat down on the couch, waiting.

“I like to cross dress,” I managed to say.

“Obviously,” she said, nodding at the open closet door. “Why?”

“I really don’t know, I just sometimes feel like being a girl. I rather like being a girl.”

“I never believed you were gay, considering all the times we slept with each other,” she said in a quite voice. “Are you bi?”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’d like to see you as a girl,” she said.

“Maybe, some day,” I muttered, thinking that “maybe” might never come. No such luck.

“No, not maybe,” she insisted, “NOW!”

I just sat there, thinking that this was the end of a wonderful friendship.

She grabbed my hand and pulled me up from the couch. “Showtime!” She exclaimed. “I’ve seen your clothes,” she added, “do you have undies and other unmentionables?

I nodded my head slowly.

“In that dresser?” she added. Again, I just nodded my head.

“This I’ve got to see.” she exclaimed triumphantly, and she walked over to the dresser and started opening drawers. “Wow!” was her comment as she picked up some panties and a matching bra. “You’ve just GOT to wear this for me. Start stripping!” she commanded.

I slowly began removing my shirt and pants, and paused before removing my shorts. “Don’t try to be modest,” she observed. “after all, I’ve seen you naked lots of time.”

She stopped for a moment, and observed my hairless body. “I always assumed that you shaved your body because you were a runner. Now I know differently.” she observed.

She handed me the panties. “I need a gaff first,” I explained, and I reached in one of the drawers. I slipped up the gaff and then the panties. She then handed me the matching bra.

“How do you fill it up?” she asked, looking at the empty cups.

“Breast forms,” I replied, “second drawer down. She reach in the drawer and pulled them out.

“Wow, they feel real,” she said.

“They ought to, for what I paid for them,” I quipped. This brought a smile to her face.

“What’s next?” she asked.

“Waist nipper and pantyhose,” I managed to say, “I don’t suppose that you’d be satisfied with a pair of slacks and a blouse?” I hopefully queried.

“You’ve got that right,” she said, with a smirk on her face.

“Then in that case, a slip.”

“Full or half?” was her next question.

“Depends on what I’ll wear. If it’s a half slip, I’ll need a camisole.” She handed me a full slip with lace at the top and the hem.

I put on the pantyhose, waist nipper and the bra. I slipped the breast forms in the cups and jiggled around to get everything in place. I could feel that I was getting aroused, but thankfully the gaff was doing its job, albeit painfully.

She looked at me with a smile on her face. “I’ll pick out the dress,” she asserted, and she pulled out an emerald green dress with a flared skirt. “This ought to do the trick.”

I lifted up my arms and she slid the dress over my head. I pulled it down and wiggled to get it to sit right.

“Looking good,” she said, “now for some shoes. Have any favorites?”

“Black patent leather, with the three inch heels.” She rummage around the shoes on the floor of the closet, pulled out the shoes, and handed them to me. I put them on.

“Make-up! I assume that you know how to do make-up.”

I was tempted to say no, but I didn’t think it would fly, so I sat down in front of my makeshift vanity and pulled out my box of make-up. First, I brushed out my hair and pulled it back in a ponytail. I then began to put on my face, foundation, powder, blusher and the like. I then began work on my eyes. I decided that green eyeshadow would work, and spent a considerable amount of time to get it just right. I finished off my eyes with some mascara. A little work with an eyebrow pencil gave my eyebrows a more feminine look. I then outlined my lips, and filled them out with lipstick.

“Stand up, and let me see.” demanded Amy.

“Turn around,” she next demanded, and I obliged with a swirl.

“Wow.” she exclaimed, and took my hand. “Let’s go in the living room, and start on some music.”

“Wait,” I said, and pulled the rubber band out of my ponytail, and let my hair fall around my face, after which I tucked it behind my ears.

I smoothed the back of my skirt and sat down at the piano. “Wow, you do that like a real girl. Nobody would think that you are a guy in a dress.” I just grunted.

The next few hours were spent with George Friedrich Handel. It was pleasant, with Amy there and me looking like a girl.

At ten o’clock, I turned to her and said, “It’s ten. We have to stop, so the neighbors don’t get mad. I don’t want them coming up to complain and to see me dressed. They don’t know about my hobby.”

I got out some wine, cheese and crackers and we sat down on the living room couch. Amy sat close to me, and I put my arm around her shoulders. Suddenly, I felt her had under my skirt, moving up my thigh. “Hey,” I said.

“I had so many guys put their hand up my skirt, I just wanted to feel what it was like, and for you to feel it,” she said. “How does it feel.?

“Good,” I answered, “but it becomes painful with the gaff.”

“Then take it off,” she responded, “and maybe take off the dress, we don’t want to have to send it to the cleaners.”

I turned and Amy unzipped me. I pulled the dress off, reached under my slip, pulled my pantyhose, panties and the gaff down my legs, and then stepped out of them.

“Come on,” she purred. “Let’s go into the bedroom. I’ve always wanted to make love to a woman.”

“But I’m not,” I responded.

“Close enough. How’s your tongue doing?” she chuckled. “By the way, what is your girl name?”

“I don’t have one.”

“How about Jenny?”

“Okay.”

Hand in hand we went into the bedroom. Sufficient to say, it was different and wonderful.

Thereafter, we practiced several times each week, and I dressed each time. Amy told me she really liked it that way. I was very happy she did, because I liked it as much as she did.

Finally, it was the night of the performance. Amy came over to my apartment at about 3:00. “Why are you here so early?” I asked.

“Well, I thought we could eat together, and then get you ready.”

“Ready?” I asked.

“Yes, I want you to wear that green dress, and I brought a red scarf to go with it. Christmas colors, you know.”

“But I’ve never been outside dressed,” I complained.

“No time like the present,” she said.

“But what if people point at me and announce that there’s a guy in a dress. I might get arrested.”

“That won’t happen. You look too convincing,” she reassured me.

“But what if I have to take a pee? It’s a long performance. Where do I go?” I said frantically.

“Use the lady’s,”

“But if I’m discovered I’ll be arrested.”

“Then don’t get discovered. Just make sure you sit to pee.”

“But my voice.”

“Then don’t talk. Anyway, if you do talk, keep it short. You’re a high tenor. If fact, your voice is a lot like a woman’s. Keep your voice high, use head tones, and speak softly,” she explained.

“Do it for me.” she said, “I’ll make it worth your while later.” I wasn’t sure about the alternative, but I didn’t think it would be good or that I would like it.

So, I wore my green dress, the red scarf from Amy, a black wool coat and a black purse. Both of us had a score, Amy because she was a soloist, and I because I liked to follow the score during the performance. I had my ears pierced a month before, and Amy produced some cute snowman earrings for me.

My first time outside, enfemme. The first thing I noticed was the cold breeze on my legs and up my skirt. I mentioned this to Amy, and she just smiled as we walked to her car.

We arrived quite early, because the conductor wanted to go over some parts and to warm up the voices. I noticed that there were a lot of red and green outfits among the choristers. I was just standing there, score in hand, waiting. A woman with a clipboard in her hand walked up to me. “Soprano or Alto, dear?”

“Oh, I’m not singing. I’m Amy’s friend, and we came together,” I replied.

“Well, I saw that you have a score, so I assumed. . .”

“I haven’t practiced with the chorus, so I don’t think I should sing.” I responded. “I just like to follow along during the performance.”

“We have a few walk-ins, if you’d like to sing. Have you ever sung the Messiah? she asked.

“Yes, quite a few times,” I answered.

“I hate to ask this, but do you read music?”

“Yes, I have a bachelor and a masters in music, and I teach music” I replied.

“Well, then, back to my first question, Soprano or Alto?”

“Alto, but I’ve also sung the tenor part, if that matters.” I volunteered.

“We can always use tenors. Come over to the piano, and let me hear your range.”

“Okay,” I replied. I didn’t see a problem because I have a good range.

She seemed to agree when she checked me out. “You have a good strong voice, and a good range. How about singing tenor? You won’t be alone. We have some other women singing tenor, because we don’t have enough men volunteering to sing.”

Amy thought it was hilarious that I had been “roped into” singing the tenor chorus parts. Amy sang beautifully and, in general, the performance went well, or as well as could be expected from a volunteer chorus. In any event, the audience loved it.

After the performance, the singers and musicians were treated to punch and cookies. The lady with the clip board kept looking at me. I was afraid that she had “read” me, but Amy explained that she was impressed with my voice, and wanted me to sign up for later performances, and maybe try out for a solo.

“If you do, you’ll have to do it as Jenny,” Amy said with a smirk, thinking it would bother me.

It didn’t. In fact, I liked being Jenny, and looked forward to it. As I said, making music makes my life worthwhile. If I do it in a dress, that’s okay, well, maybe more than okay. An added plus is that Amy seems to like it too.

The Chorister - Part 2
By Pentatonic

Let me start off by saying that my name is Jeff, but sometimes I go by the name of Jenny. Yes, I’m a transvestite. Last Christmas my girl friend, Amy, had a solo in ‘The Messiah,’ and I was helping her rehearse. I have music degrees and teach music at a local high school. Well, when Amy was at my apartment for rehearsals, she discovered my girl’s clothes and insisted that I wear them, not only for rehearsals, but also when I attended the performance.

On the day of the performance, the chorus call was two hours before the performance, and since I drove to the hall with Amy, I was standing around wearing a rather fetching emerald green dress. Since I knew The Messiah, one of the choral directors roped me into singing, and that evening asked if I would be willing to join the chorus, and maybe do some other singing and perhaps a solo.

A week or so later, Amy and I were at my apartment. At Amy’s insistence, I was wearing a gray woolen skirt that came to about three inches above my knees, along with a gray sweater and gray panty hose. Oh, of course, gray 4 inch heels. Amy turned to me and asked, “Have you thought about joining the chorus?”

“Maybe,” I replied. “I noticed in the program that the chorus has open auditions coming up after the first of the year. Maybe I’ll try out.”

“For what part? Alto or tenor? As Jeff or as Jenny?” she asked.

I have a high tenor voice. “As a tenor, and as Jeff,” was my answer.

Amy frowned at my answer. “I’m not sure I like that answer. You could handle both alto and tenor, and if you auditioned as Jenny, you would be available for both parts. Anyway, I like you as Jenny.”

I just grunted.

“Guys grunt, girls don’t,” she exclaimed.

“But I’m a guy.”

“Said the boy in the skirt and heels,” she rejoined, and laughed at her own cleverness. “You don’t look a lot like boy right now.”

I stood up and smoothed down my skirt. Amy leaned forward and slapped me hard on my behind. “You’ve got a nice big butt, and it really fills out that skirt. It would be a shame to waste it in a pair of men’s slacks.”

I do have a rather large butt. While I stopped growing taller during my sophomore year in high school, my butt didn’t stop its growing. I am 5 feet 8 inches, 135 pounds, with a big butt. “With your long hair and a big ass, you look a lot like a girl from behind,” Amy commented.

“Yeah, I heard that more than once when I was going to school,” I replied.

“Too bad you didn’t grow boobs, too,” she added. I just gave her a dirty look in response. “Look, I’m not complaining,” she explained, “in fact, I rather like you, just the way you are.”

“How much do you like me this way?” I asked. She responded by taking my hand and leading me into the bedroom.

On the day of the audition, Amy came over to help me get ready. I really think that she wanted to make sure that I looked as girly as possible. “So, whatcha going to wear?” she asked.

“Slacks and a sweater,” I replied.

“Which slacks and which sweater?” she asked in a menacing tone. In response I pulled out a pair of black slacks with a side zipper from my girl clothes closet, and a sweater with a scoop neck.

“Okay,” she said. “I just wanted to make sure you didn’t try for a Jeff look.”

“Perish the thought,” I replied sarcastically.

“Then get dressed, girl,” she said.

When we got to the auditions, I noticed that the woman with whom I had talked on the night of the performance was there, with her ever present clip board. There were about a dozen girls there and two boys. “What’s her name?” I whispered to Amy.

“Mrs. Benson.” she whispered back.

Mrs. Benson walked over to us. “What’s your name, honey?” she asked. I gave her my Jenny name, my address and email. “Oh,” she added, “I spoke with you when we did The Messiah, and I heard you sing. Alto or tenor, right?”

“Either,” I replied.

“Well, having heard you sing, I don’t think you really need to audition, but, since you’re here, we may as well. Anyway, I don’t want to give the impression that I’m showing any favoritism.”

Mrs. Benson then turned around and announced, “We’ll take everyone in the order they signed in.” Since I was the last to show up, I would get to hear everyone else sing.

The first girl to audition was pretty bad. The other girls ranged from “fair” to “really good.” The two boys appeared really nervous, and it showed during their auditions. Mrs. Benson grimaced, but I am sure that the boys made the grade, if for no other reason there were not that many boys who would volunteer to sing.

At last it was my turn. “What are you going to sing, honey?” Mrs. Benson asked. I wasn’t so sure about the “honey” part, but let it go.

“‘Plaisir d’amour,’ by Martini,” I responded.

“Nice one,” commented Mrs. Benson. “Did you bring the music?”

“I have it for the accompanist. I don’t need a score.” I had studied french in high school and college, and was very familiar with the song.

“Okay, go ahead.”

Plaisir d’amour is an old french art song from the late 18th century. It is a song about the pleasures of love being fleeting, followed by pain. It is a song where you can really turn on the emotions. I gave it my all, singing it directly to Mrs. Benson. I saw her blush slightly, and I knew that I had her. When I finished, I just stood there. No one made a sound for quite a while.

“Oh my God!” Mrs. Benson finally said in a hushed voice. “That was wonderful,” she said after another pause.

“What other musical tricks do you have up your sleeve?” she added.

“I teach music at a high school.” I added, intentionally omitting the name of the school. I was afraid that she would check up on it, and find that there was no Jenny on the music faculty of the school. “I can accompany on the piano, and conduct a choir or an orchestra.”

“I can certainly use you here. I might want you as a soloist, too,” she said. “I work with other groups, and there might be a place for you in one or more of them. By the way, do you have a demo?”

I did, but it was Jeff’s demo, not Jenny’s.

“I can make up a CD with some songs. Any in particular you want?”

“Definitely what you sang today. I’ll let you pick out what ever you want, but please include some alto and some tenor songs. By the way, do you need an accompanist?

“No, I do my own accompaniment. I record my voice first, and then dub in the accompaniment,” I responded.

“You must be pretty sure that you will stay on pitch, if you do it that way,” she commented with a smile.

On the ride back to my apartment, Amy turned to me and said, “You really flirted with poor Mrs. Benson, you vixen.”

“Who me? Flirting?”

“Shamelessly. If you came as Jeff, she probably would want to seduce you,” Amy added.

“How about me as Jenny? After all, we don’t know what turns her crank,” I added.

“I’ll tell you this. You turn my crank both as Jenny and as Jeff. I don’t want you turning anyone else’s crank.” she warned me.

A few weeks later, I received an email from Mrs. Benson, offering me a part in a concert performance of some arias, duets and trios from various operas. I accepted.

“Too bad I can’t put this on my resume,” I mentioned to Amy.

“You could if you became Jenny full time,” she replied with a smirk. I decided to let that drop.

“Hey, I’m going to need a formal gown for the performances. Will you help me?” I asked.

“I thought you’d never ask,” she said, “how about we go shopping on Saturday. I’ll come by about 10 to help you get dressed.”

“Do I need help?”

“I don’t know, but I really like doing it.”

So, that Saturday Amy came by my apartment, carrying a bag. “Did you shower and shave everything?” she asked. I nodded my head.

“Good,” she said, “we need to pick out some nice looking clothes, including underwear.” With that she grabbed my hand and pulled me into my room where I kept my Jenny clothes. “Strip,” she commanded.

“Oh, I bought you a present in honor of the occasion,” she said and handed me a bag. I looked inside and saw some hosiery, a black garter belt, and some other things, all in black.

“There’s no panty hose in here. What’s wrong with pantyhose?” was my question.

“The garter belt will make you feel more girly and sexy,” was her answer.

“I don’t think I need to feel sexy to just pick out a dress,” I commented.

“Maybe not, but it helps,” she rejoined. “Put the garter belt and hose on first, and then your gaff and panties over the straps. It makes it easier when you have to pee. You don’t have to mess with your garter belt and hose.”

I did as I was told. Amy handed me a pair of brief black panties, with lace on the waist and leg holes, and lace in the front. Just holding them, started getting me aroused.

“Looks like I’ll have to do something about that,” she said pointing at my cock. Sufficient to say, she did.

After I put on the gaff and panties, she handed me a black bra with lace around the cups. “Here, this ought to do the trick,” she said. I put it on and slipped the forms in the cups. “When you perform you might want to use the adhesive, so nothing comes loose when you are singing,” she added. I just nodded in consent.

“We might look for a bra that will lift you up and give you some cleavage,” she said.

I gave her a frown. I didn’t know if I wanted cleavage, or at least visible cleavage. She just shrugged her shoulders and handed me my black waist nipper. “You want to have a good figure when you try on clothes,” she said. I put it on.

“What slip?” I then asked.

“Let’s try a full slip,” she answered, “and see how it looks. She handed me a black full slip with lace on the hem and the top. I pulled the slip over my head, and smoothed it over my body. I looked in the mirror. With the waist nipper and my fat butt, I had a pretty good figure.

“You look great!” Amy said, “if we didn’t have to go shopping, it would give me other ideas.”

I just gave her a disappointed look. “Later,” she said.

“I think that a dress with buttons in front would be a good idea. It’ll be easier to get on and off when you are trying on gowns,” she said. “By the way, what shoes will you be wearing for the performance? You need to be wearing those shoes when you try on long gowns.”

“How about the black patent leather, with the three inch heels?”

“Well, maybe, but you might want to think about getting a new pair. A girl just can’t have too many shoes. I’m thinking about something open toed, strappy and sexy. If you do wear them, we’ll have to polish your toe nails.”

We finally settled on a dark blue shirt dress with buttons on the front. I put in on and started with the buttons. Before I got all the way to the top, Amy said, “Leave the top two unbuttoned. Show off your body.” I gave her a dirty look. I didn’t want to show off my body and have men leering at my chest.

I then looked at her with a question on my face. “But you can see the top of my bra!” I exclaimed.

“Darn right,” she said, “it looks sexy and you need to look sexy.”

I just shrugged. It appeared we were going to do things Amy’s way.

“Okay. Hair and make-up.”

I sat down at my makeshift vanity and started with my make-up while Amy fiddled with my hair. When we were done, I stood up and checked my appearance in the mirror.

“You’re looking hot, girl,” Amy said approvingly, “just don’t try to pick up any men, or for that matter, any women. Especially no women, ‘cause you’ve got me.” I just pouted my lipsticked lips. “Oh, you vixen!” was her reaction, “I’ll have to keep a close eye on you.

At first, I was nervous walking out of my apartment in broad daylight, but no one seemed to notice. I liked the feeling of my nylon clad legs and the hem of the skirt rubbing my legs. The cool breeze on my legs and under my skirt reminded me how I was dressed. I actually liked it; I liked it a lot.

The ride to the mall was filled with girly chatter. “You seem to be picking up the girl part,” Amy commented. I did notice that when we stopped for a light, guys in the cars next to us were checking both of us out. I kind of gave me a thrill.

We parked the car, and I demurely swung my legs out first, with my knees together. Amy smiled approvingly, and we went into the mall.

At our first stop they had THE dress. It was a Halston Heritage Faille structured gown, in black with a fitted bodice, cap sleeves and a full skirt. It was made of silk and cotton, and the lining was polyester There were two problems, however. First, the v-neck showed a lot more cleavage than I had or wanted. Second, it was $725. Oh well.

After many stops, Amy found a dress which we believed might fit the bill. It was a cap-sleeve beaded-waist formal gown with rhinestone details and made of a stretch crepe fabric of polyester and spandex. It had a jewel neckline and was lined. It was $104. There was a small problem, it was 60" long from the shoulder to the hem. Being 68 inches, myself, I would need some really high heels or it would have to be hemmed.

It needed a short jacket with long sleeves, which we found and it was not overly expensive. I bought the dress and the jacket. “I think that we should try to move up the hem,” Amy said. “The problem is that I don’t have a sewing machine, otherwise I could easily do it.”

“Well, my mother does, and she is pretty good at using it,” I volunteered.

“You told me that your parents just tolerated your dressing. Do they tolerate it enough for us to go over there and hem you ball gown?” Amy asked.

“Why don’t I call my mom, and find out,” I concluded.

So, when we returned to my apartment, I called my mon. After the usual, like why haven’t you called before, and are you still trying on girl’s clothes, I got down to the problem at hand.

“Yes, I still do, and that is part of why I’m calling you.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I have some solo and duet work at a concert staging of parts of operas. It’s a paying job,” I added.

“That’s wonderful. Are you calling to invite your dad and me to the performance?”

“Well, sure, but I need a favor from you. Amy and I need to come by the house and hem a ball gown.”

“Whose ball gown?”

“Mine.”

There was a dead silence on the line.

“Mom?” I asked.

“I’m still trying to digest what you said,” my mom answered.

“You never had a problem with it before.”

“Your dad and I tolerated it, we just didn’t like it or want to see it.”

“So, I guess the answer is ‘no’,” I said resignedly.

“I didn’t say that,” my mother countered.

“While I really don’t like it, why don’t you come over on Sunday afternoon. Your father will be visiting this Aunt Emily at the retirement home, and he should be gone for a few hours. Come over about one o’clock.”

“Okay, mom,” I finally said, “Love you.”

“Your dad and I love you, too. We just wish you would get over this skirt and dress stuff.”

I didn’t want to talk about my dressing, so I just said, “Okay, see you Sunday. Bye.”

“Bye.”

After hanging up the phone, I turned to Amy and said, “It’s all set. We can go over on Sunday, and hem the dress while my dad’s away visiting his aunt.”

“Are you going there as Jenny or Jeff?” She asked.

“Jeff. But I’ll bring all my stuff and change there, after dad leaves.”

So, on Sunday, Amy and I loaded the ball gown, some of my Jenny clothes, shoes and make-up in the car and headed to my parents’ house. I was wearing panties, a garter belt, and nylons under my Jeff clothes and wore regular boy’s socks over the nylons, figuring I could get away with that. When we got there, I saw dad’s car in the driveway. “Oh oh, we better leave the stuff in the car. Dad’s still here. We’ll bring it in after he leaves.”

Amy and I visited with both of my parents until dad left to visit his aunt. When he pulled out of the driveway, Amy and I went out to my car and brought in all my stuff. I took it to my old room, and changed into my Jenny clothes and the ball gown and four inch heels. I very carefully walked down the stairs and into the living room, where my mom and Amy were talking and having a coffee.

When I entered the living room, my mother heard the rustle of fabric, and turned to look at me. “Oh my!” was her only comment.

She left the room but came back a minute later with a stool. “You’ll need to stand on this stool while Amy and I mark the hem.” With that, I stood on the stool while my mother and Amy got down on their knees and pinned up the hem. “Okay, you can step down and take off your dress,” she said.

“I want you to know that you look absolutely fabulous in that gown. If I had a daughter, that’s what I’d want her to look like.”

“You do have a part time daughter who happens to also be your son,” Amy suggested.

I could see the grimace on my mother’s face, but she said nothing. She stood up, and picked up the gown. “Let’s go up to my sewing room and get this done.”

She looked directly at me and said, “I don’t think it is a good idea to be standing around in just your undies and a slip. Let me get you a robe or something” she said. “I’d suggest that you change back into your male clothes, but we’ll have to put this back on you to make sure it is right, so you better keep on what you are wearing.”

My mother walked out of the room and came back with a pink robe. “Here, put this on,” she said.

I sat in a chair, and crossed my legs in a feminine manner, while mom attacked the hem. Amy had suggested that she do the sewing, but my mother dismissed it with a wave of her hand and said, “It’s the least I can do for her, I mean him. Amy and I got a chuckle out of her use of pronouns.

When she was done, she handed the gown to me, and said, “Put it on, and let’s make sure it is right. We walked back downstairs, and again I stepped on the stool while my mother pulled at the skirt and made little approval sounds. Finally, she said, “It looks good to me, what do you think Amy?”

“It looks great. Thank you for doing this.” She could see that I really liked this.

I stepped off of the stool, and saw that my mother was examining my made-up face. “You really look great. I see that you had your ears pierced. Wait here for a minute.”

My mother went back up stairs, and returned a few minutes later with a small box. She handed it to me, and said, “These earrings were your grandmother’s. I never had my ears pierced, so I could not wear them. I want you to have them and think of your grandmother whenever you wear them.”

I could see that both she and I were starting to tear up, and I moved to her and wrapped her in my arms. Amy came over and joined the hug.

“Thank you, mom. This means a great deal to me. This is the nicest gift I ever received.”

My mother dabbed the tears from her eyes, and said, “Why don’t you take off the gown, so we can hang it up, but don’t put on your Jeff clothes. Put your skirt and blouse back on, and put the earrings in your ears. I want to enjoy my part time daughter.

“What about dad,” I asked.

“Maybe it’s time for him to come to grips that he has a daughter, who also happens to be his son,” she answered.

We sat in the living room sipping tea until I heard my father’s car in the driveway. I stood up and said, “I don’t know if I can go through with this. I’m afraid of disappointing dad.”

“Don’t you worry about it. I’ll take care of your father’s feelings,” she responded.

When my father walked in the door, my mother said, “Frank, this is your daughter Jenny, who also happens to be your son. We’ve talked and it doesn’t seem likely that he’ll change. It is best we accept him for who she is, and love him, or her. She smiled at her use of pronouns.

“You’re not going to change?” he asked me.

“No,” my mother answered for me, “I want us to accept and love her, I don’t want her to feel that she is not a part of this family. I want her part of our lives.”

My father slumped down in a chair, and continued to stare at me. “It’s not easy, but I don’t want you to feel alienated.” After a minute, he held out his arms, and said, “Come here and give your dad a hug, Jenny.”

I went over to him, and we gave each other a big hug. I could feel tears starting in my eyes. Tears of happiness. My mascara started to run and streak down my face, but I just didn’t care.

The Chorister Part 3 - Conclusion.
By Pentatonic

My name is Jeff. I am a musician and a music teacher. I love to crossdress. While crossdressed as Jenny I sang in a performance, and was later invited to sing in a concert as a soloist.

One evening I was sitting at my kitchen table, pen in hand, with a look of concentration on my face. I heard the door open and Amy, my girlfriend, walked in. “I’m in the kitchen,” I yelled.

“You’re still in you school clothes, Jeff,” Amy exclaimed as she entered the kitchen. The school at which I teach has a loose dress code for the faculty. Men are expected to wear a shirt with a collar. Women can just about wear anything within the scope of decency.

“Yeah, I got busy,” waving my hand at a bunch of papers which were on the table. Normally, if Amy was coming over, I would wear my Jenny clothes, which usually included a skirt.

“What are you up to?” she asked.

“I’ve got to write a bio for the concert program.”

“Well, that shouldn’t be too hard. After all, you have a master’s degree and your teaching certificate has an endorsement for English. You must have written them out for other performances.”

“Yeah, but the circumstances were different,” I said, picking up the latest draft from the table, “I’ve got to be careful. I don’t want anyone to know where I teach, because someone might put two and two together, and come up with zero Jenny’s on the music faculty at that school.”

“I see,” Amy said.

“Yeah, if anyone found out that Jenny was Jeff, the teacher, the administration would know about it in a very short time, and I could have problems.”

“Aren’t there laws to protect you?” she asked, “They couldn’t fire you, could they?”

“I just don’t know if the non-discrimination laws apply to crossdressers, but even if it does, there are other ways the school administration can get to you. First, you get a lousy annual review, secondly, they assign you to classes filled with lazy or block-headed students and blame you when your classes do miserably on the state tests. Not to mention that some parents would go nuts, After a while, they could fire you, based on the lousy reviews and low state test scores, and not because you are a crossdresser. So, you’re out of a job, and would have a hard time getting another one. You would have to hire a lawyer to pursue a complaint. So, you find yourself out of work for a year or more, with lots of legal bills, Furthermore, there is no guaranty you’ll be able to keep or get your job back.” I put my head in my hands.

“So, what are you going to do?” Amy asked.

“For starters, I’m going to write a vague bio for the performance. I’ll just say that I have degrees, without saying from where. I’ll also say that I teach music ‘at a local highschool’ with no name. I can’t put in any prior work that I have done as Jeff, and I don’t have much as Jenny.”

After a pause, I added, “And I have to get a photo, a head shot. I can’t very well use my Jeff photo.”

I just sat there, and stared into space.

“Well, you have to write the bio,” Amy said, “I’ll help you.” The two of us sat down and came up with a plain vanilla bio. It might be the shortest bio in the program, but what was written was all they would get.

A few days later, I made an appointment with a photographer. Amy came over and helped me with my makeup and hair styling. I only wore a pair of slacks, a low-cut top, and flats. I did, however, wear my grandmother’s earrings. Even with makeup and with my hair styled, I still looked a lot like Jeff. It was later that I decided to wear a wig for a new photo and when I performed as Jenny.

At the next rehearsal, I brought in my bio and photo, and gave them to Mrs. Benson. She read the bio, and looked at me with a frown on her face. “You don’t say where you went to school. You don’t say where you teach. I thought that you took your school band and chorus downstate for statewide competitions. You don’t mention that.”

She paused and looked at me. “It’s almost like you’re hiding something,” she finally said.

If only she knew.

“Oh well, enough of that,” she then said, “let’s sing.”

At the next rehearsal, she guided me to a corner, and began speaking only above a whisper. “I didn’t like your bio, too general, and too short. I thought that someone mentioned that you taught at East, so I called them to confirm. To my surprise, they told me that they didn’t have a Jenny on the music faculty, but that they did have a Jeff, with your last name. You want to tell me about that?”

I hung my head, and after what seemed to be an eternity, I said, “I’m a crossdresser. The first time you met me, I was with my girlfriend Amy. She likes it when I crossdress, and that is why I was wearing a dress. After that, things just happened, and I couldn’t figure out how to tell you. I’m sorry if I deceived you, and if you want me to withdraw from the performance, I will.”

“At this late date, that wouldn’t work. You have a remarkable voice, and we need you,” she said. “I only wish that you had found a way to come clean with me before now. We would have found a solution. As it stands at this time, you are going to have to go through with the performance as a girl. However, the problem is, with your voice, and your good looks, it is likely that you will get further offers after the concert. I’ll let you figure out how to deal with them.”

I lifted my eyes, and with a small smile, I asked, “You really think I look good?”

“Absolutely, If I didn’t find out just now, I never would have believed that you weren’t an attractive woman.”

She turned to go, but at the last moment she asked, “You aren’t, you know, err. . .?”

I got the drift of what she wanted to know. “Gay? No. Remember, I have a girlfriend, who really is a girl.”

That seemed to satisfy her, and with a smile, which contained the slightest bit of an invitation, and said, “Good,” and went to start the rehearsal.

At that point I stopped thinking about what I was and what Jenny was, and focused on my singing.

The next day I called Amy and related the events of the prior night. “She still wants you?” Amy asked.

“Yes,” I replied, “and maybe not just for singing.”

“She better not,” Amy retorted, “you’re mine, panties and all.”

“Hey, let me take you out to dinner tonight,” I said.

“As Jeff or Jenny?”

“I just got home. It was a long day,” I explained. “However, under my manly exterior, I’m wearing a camisole, panties, garter belt and stockings.”

“Does anything show?” she asked.

“I hope not,” I answered, “I’m wearing an oxford cloth shirt, which is a bit loose and heavy and loose pants, so I think my secret is safe. I have regular men’s socks over my stockings, too.”

“So, back to my original question, as Jeff or Jenny?”

“As I said, I’ve had a long day. I’m tired and hungry. I want to go as I am,” I replied.

“Well, I guess it’s okay. Just don’t make a habit of it,” she snickered.

The next rehearsal, I pulled Mrs. Benson aside. “Could I use an assumed name for the program?” I asked.

“I guess so,” she replied. “What name did you have in mind?

“I want to use my mother’s maiden name”

“That’s somehow fitting,” she said with a smile.

One potential problem was averted. So I would sing the concert using my mother’s name. Since I had got tickets for my parents, I hoped they would appreciate the choice of my stage name.

“I also had another picture taken, this time with a wig, as more of a disguise,” I added.

“Probably a good idea.”

On the day of the concert, Amy came over to help me get dressed. I had showered and closely shaved everywhere below my ears. I then filed my nails and put a dark red polish on my fingernails as well as my toenails. I had been using breast forms, and because I was a soloist, I decided that it would be a good idea if I glued them on. I put on a black garter belt, black, sheer, thigh high stockings, and then a gaff and black panties with a lace front and lace around the leg holes and waist. I lay on my bed and Amy came over with the breast forms and adhesive. I could feel her put on the adhesive, followed by the breast forms. “Don’t move right now, wait for the adhesive to set,” she warned.

After the adhesive had set, I stood up and Amy handed me a black lace-trimmed bra, which I put on, followed by a black waist nipper. I wasn’t wild about how it restricted my breathing, but it was necessary to make the gown fit properly. We had decided on a full slip with lace on the hem and the bodice. I sat at my makeshift vanity, and put a towel around my shoulders. I started with foundation to cover any possible shadow of a beard, and followed that with the remainder of my face makeup. Because I would be on stage, with stage lights, Amy and I decided to use more makeup than usual. An important part would be my eyes. I used a dark blue eyeshadow, with lighter blue highlights. I decided to use false eyelashes, and heavier eyeliner. This was followed by blood-red lip liner and lipstick. While I was doing my makeup, Amy was putting on my wig. I thought that a darker color for my wig would help my disguise. She gave my wig a soft wave. I put on my grandmother’s earrings. When Amy and I were finished, I looked approvingly in the mirror while Amy gave a soft whistle. “You look gorgeous,” she said softly.

I removed the towel and Amy went to the closet to get my gown. It was a black cap-sleeve beaded-waist formal gown with rhinestone details and made of a stretch crepe fabric of polyester and spandex. It had a jewel neckline and was lined. Very carefully, to not disturb my hair or makeup, Amy lowered it over my head, and slid it down my body. I added a jacket which came to my waist, also in black, with muted beading. I couldn’t help running my hands up and down the gown, smoothing it to my body. “Quit admiring yourself, and put on your shoes,” Amy demanded. I sat on my makeup stool and Amy knelt in front of me. She picked up a strappy, open toed shoe in black with a four-inch heel, and put it on my foot, followed by the other shoe. One could see the nail polish on my toes through the sheer hosiery.

I loved the sound of my heels clicking on the floor. I loved the feel of the slip and dress on my nylon clad legs as I walked. I picked up a black purse and stuffed some necessary cosmetics in it along with a lace-trimmed hankie and my wallet.

We decided that Amy would drive, and I carefully and gracefully slid into the car seat, keeping my knees together, even though with the long gown no one could otherwise see my panties.

I met Mrs. Benson at the stage door of the auditorium, and she looked me over with admiration and approval. “You look absolutely fabulous, honey,” she said. The other singers and I then walked to the stage and ran through some of the music with the orchestra to warm up our voices. We then went to a lounge to await the beginning of the performance.

The audience applauded when we walked on the stage. There is nothing like the rush you get from this. I smiled at the audience. The concert was a success. Everyone stayed on pitch and our voices blended nicely. The audience seemed to like it. I felt secure and comfortable with my disguise, well, as comfortable as a person can be while wearing a waist nipper.

On Sunday, I called my parents’ house and spoke with my mother. She told me how wonderful I looked and sounded. She was flattered that I used her maiden name for my stage name. I did mention that it would be best if she did not tell anyone about my performance as Jenny.

The next Monday, I was savoring a cup of coffee in the faculty lounge. One of the other teachers came up to me and said, “I went to a great concert on Saturday. It was your kind of music. I kinda thought that I would see you there.” I was tempted to say that he did, only that I was on the stage, but I kept my thoughts to myself.

“Oh?” was all I said.

“Yeah, they sang a bunch of stuff from operas. Look, I brought the program with me,” and he handed me the program. Although I had seen it many times, I kept up my disguise and read it.

“Yeah, these are great works,” I said as I looked at the program. “What did you think of the singing?” I asked innocently.

“It sounded quite good. The women who sang were really good looking, especially the alto. I’d like to meet her,” he added.

“Oh?” was my only reply. If only you knew that you met her and were speaking with her this instance, I thought, but I kept my mouth shut. Inwardly, I was pleased, because I felt that this was an unexpected compliment.

That evening I related my conversation to Amy. “Well, it looks like no one ‘read’ you,” she concluded. A wicked little grin crossed her face. “How does it feel to have a man lusting after you?” she said.

“Oh, get real,” I said, “it was nothing like that. I’m sure that wasn’t the case.”

“Oh yeah? Don’t bet on it,” she said. “You better watch out as Jenny, in case he, or any other man, sees you. They’ll want to hit on you, and be careful around Mrs. Benson.”

“Oh bah,” was my only comment, but I took her comments to heart, and decided to be more careful when I was Jenny.

Over the next few weeks, I thought about my future with Amy. While wearing the emerald green dress that started everything, I proposed to her and she accepted. “Are we going to get matching bridal dresses?” she playfully asked me, and then laughed at her own cleverness. I just made a face at her and stuck out my tongue.

I instantly realized that what I had just done was rather girly, so I composed myself, and in my most serious voice said, “That wouldn’t work. We’ll have to invite some of the faculty from my school, and they can’t know about Jenny. It would cause too many problems, and I might end up unemployed.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s just a thought,” she said.

“Not a good one. It would be fun, but no,” I added.

I looked at her for a minute, and then said, “At this time, only you, my parents, and Mrs. Benson know that I am Jenny. As far as I know, no one else knows. I’d kind of like to keep it that way. When we started with me singing as Jenny, I, for one, never saw it becoming a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” she asked.

“You know, if my school finds out about me, I would really be in trouble. I just don’t know how to handle it,” I said.

“Well, we just have to make sure that your school never finds out,” she said.

“But the more that I appear as Jenny, the more likely they will find out. After my last performance, one of the other teachers talked to me and said he thought that I would have attended. Naturally, I didn’t confess that I was there, in a dress. However, there are events in which I would be expected to be in the audience. Someone might make the connection between Jenny and Jeff, and then the cat’s out of the bag,” I explained.

Amy just sat there, digesting what I had just said. With a sad look in her eyes, she finally said, “It almost seems that you don’t want to be Jenny anymore.”

“No, that’s not true,” I responded. “I really like being Jenny, at least part time, and I don’t want to let her go. What I’d like to do is to plan for a way to be Jenny and still be Jeff at school.”

“You mean to carefully control when you appear in public as Jenny?” she asked.

“Yeah, kind of like that,” I responded.

“You could sing as Jenny,” she suggested. “Mrs. Benson knows, but you said that she promised to keep it a secret. I certainly won’t spill the beans, and I think that your parents will keep it quiet, for various reasons, not the least that they might not want their neighbors and friends to know that I crossdress

“Yeah, that might work,” I said. “I am now using my mother’s maiden name as a last name for my performances, and I have established an email account under that name. I’ll do what I can to disguise myself when I sing as Jenny.”

Amy finally let a small smile emerge on her face. “That sounds like a plan, but I think that you will have to keep Jenny’s singing career on a rather low key. No talking with the media, no interviews, no recording contracts, or anything else which will bring attention to you while you are Jenny.”

“Yeah, I think I could do that,” I said. “Do you really think it would work?”

“If you or I see the situation getting out of hand, we could have Jenny back off from further performances,” she suggested.

“How about when we go out shopping or go to dinner? It’s no secret that we are engaged. If people see you with Jenny at the mall, or out to dinner, they may wonder where Jeff is,” I said.

“That may be a problem,” she responded. “Any ideas?”

“Maybe we could put lots of miles between us and this town when I shop or dine with you as Jenny?” I asked.

“We would be seen only as Jeff and Amy around town,” she added. “Yeah, we may have to do that.”

“It’s a shame that people don’t seem to tolerate crossdressing,” I commented. “I can continue to dress, but on a limited basis. I don’t like that, but it may be the only thing I can do.”

“Yeah, but you can still be Jenny on evenings and weekends when you’re home.”

“It’s just not the same,” I complained. “I really like to go out dressed and I don’t like to be limited.”

“Yeah, but we have to compromise,” she said. “Life is full of compromises, and this is one of them. At least you don’t have to give up dressing completely.”

“True,” I responded, “I think that we have a plan that will work, even if it carries some risk of exposure.”

We then retired to the bed to celebrate our plan, wearing matching nightgowns.