Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. This chapter outlines his early life.

Carlie

I. Beginnings

Some would say it started the night my dad blew up the house, but I think it started one day in the grocery, or perhaps even earlier, on my fourth birthday. Yes, I think it was when I turned four. Dad gave me a baseball and bat, and mom gave me a baby doll. I could hardly swing the bat and was scared of being hit by the ball. So, my first sports experience was frustrating for both dad and me. Maybe if he’d given me a wiffle ball and bat things would have been different, but he didn’t.

You might think that mom giving me a baby doll was meant to feminize me. It wasn't, at least not in the sense of turning me into a girl, or even dressing me like one. She just thought that all children should look forward to caring for real babies. Mom spent a lot of time teaching me how to care for Nancy, as I called my dolly. I really liked playing with her and couldn't wait to care for a real baby. At four, the neighborhood boys didn’t tease me about playing with dolls, but neither were they interested. The girls, however, were glad to play with me. I enjoyed playing with them and loved their company more than that of boys. Dad thought I was a bit of a sissy, not liking baseball, loving dolls and playing with girls. Mom kept him under control, so he was not mean to me, just disappointed.

Mom also taught me how to fix things, as she was the handy one. Dad liked to think he did the repairs, but generally Mom, and later I, helped him, reminding him to turn off the water before working on the plumbing, remembering the sequence of parts for reassembling things, and so on. Unaided, there was a 50% chance that whatever he was working on would not only be worse off, but a complete wreck.

When mom took me to register for school, there was a clerical mix up, and I wound up in first grade instead of kindergarten. As I did well, mom saw no point in correcting the error. Still, I was small compared to my classmates. In fact, I would have been small even in kindergarten, because both mom and dad were small. Given my size and the fact that I didn't like sports, I was usually chosen last for teams, and came to hate sports even more. This didn't matter to most of the girls, so most of my friends continued to be girls.

Mom was killed in a traffic accident when I was seven. Dad and I lived alone from then on. He tried to “man me up,” by watching sports with me. I learned about baseball, football, basketball and hockey to please him, but privately thought it was silly for grown men to chase balls and fight over pucks. On his side, he accepted that most of my friends were girls and that my interests generally followed theirs.

Dad and I did all the work around the house. I did most of the shopping, cooking and washing once I was old enough. He did the yard and we both cleaned the house each weekend. We worked on repairs together. I'd learned from mom how to let him think he was doing them with my help when really there was little chance he could do them alone.

I was 14 when I met Sandra grocery shopping. She was picking out cantaloupes by smelling them, and I asked her how to pick sweet ones. She saw my full cart, and asked why I was grocery shopping on my own. I said I was the homemaker in our family. She asked how that happened. After a while I figured the conversation was centering too much on me, and told her how adorable her baby was, and that I was looking forward to having my own baby to care for when I got older. She was surprised and asked if I knew all that involved. I said I did and explained how mom had taught me to care for Nancy.

Sandra was a lawyer and her maternity leave was ending soon, so she was looking for a nanny. She didn’t want to put Lizabeth, her baby, in day care and expose her other kid's diseases. She asked if I’d like watching her. It was early summer, and I had no job, so I said it would be wonderful. She asked me to come over the next day and she would give me a trial to see how much I really knew about babies.

When Dad came home from the bank, I told him I'd lined up a job. He was happy until I said it was being a nanny. He asked if that wasn’t a girl’s job. I said it won’t be if I’m doing it, because I am a boy. I spent the next two days at Sandy’s apartment learning how to feed, change and generally care for Liz. After the first day I did it all on my own, with Sandy watching, offering suggestions and corrections. But mostly, she read and worked on the computer while I cared for Liz. She was impressed by the way I carried her with me, talking to her and giving her little kisses. When she was down for her naps I put on an apron and did the dishes or dusted. After the second day, she announced that I was her official nanny for the rest of the summer and gave me a little certificate she'd printed on the computer.

I loved Liz, and she came to love me. I enjoyed dressing her like a living doll and teaching her as mom had taught me. When she was old enough, I gave her Nancy. She asked her mother for another baby doll so Nancy could still be my dolly whenever we played. “Carlie” was one of her first words, and Sandy started calling me Carlie too. Sandy was surprised by my domestic skills, and made me proud of being a homemaker and nanny.

When summer ended I went back to school and Liz took her chances in day care. I continued to baby sit whenever Sandy needed me. Sandy and I grew close. She helped me with problems like a mom, so I was happy to be at her place.

Most of my school friends were girls. Judy was my best friend, but not a girlfriend in the romantic sense. When we talked the topics were skewed toward feminine interests, even her boyfriends. We both liked to brag on the babies we cared for, as if they were our own. Judy even told me when her monthlies were giving her cramps or putting her mood off. She also liked my fashion sense better than her mother's and would take me clothes shopping with her.

My only real male friend was Jason, who a lot of people assumed was gay. He never made a pass at me, so I assumed he was like me — not interested in the things most boys were obsessed with — including girls. We'd both gone through puberty, of course, and did the things boys do with themselves, but we weren't ready to hit on girls. I don't know about Jason, as he didn't spend as much time with girls as I did, but for me girls were more people with common interests than sex objects.

As a result of talking mostly with girls, I used a lot of their words and expressions. I also used their movements and body language. Dad tried to correct me for a while, telling me boys don't say “lovely,” “darling,” or “scrumptious” or stand the way I stood. I tried, but doing as he said meant holding my feelings in until I was ready to explode. Even ­tually, he gave up.

Things went along uneventfully until the spring of my senior year, near my seventeenth birthday. One Saturday morning dad and I went to the plumbing supply to get a new hot water heater. I'd just helped him carry it to the basement when the phone rang. Sandy urgently needed me to watch Liz. I told dad not to install the new water heater until I got home to help him, and I rushed out to meet Sandy.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter: disaster and turmoil.

II. A Sudden Change

Liz was 3 and a joy to be with. We played dolls all morning and I was about to cook lunch when a large explosion shook the house. Liz cried and wet herself. I held, comforted and changed her. Meanwhile I could hear sirens rushing to the disaster, whatever it might be. When things quieted down after lunch, I put Liz in her crib for a nap. Sandy came home about 5:00 and we all got in her car to take me home. When I got there, instead of a home I had a smoking hole surrounded by splinters of wood and debris. A fire marshal and a policemen were poking around, trying to determine the cause. To me it was obvious: dad had tried to replace the hot water heater by himself and forgot to turn off the gas. I ran out of the car, shocked and numb, hysterically looking for my dad. Finally, the fireman grabbed me and I blacked out. I remember crying as Sandy held me, and then being in the shower.

The next morning I woke in Sandy’s queen sized bed dressed in lavender satin PJs and a wet diaper. It was almost noon. Embarrassed, I took off the diaper, put it in the trash and showered. When I came out, I found a pair of plain white panties on the bed. Seeing nothing else, I put them on and got back into the PJs. I walked into the kitchen. Liz hugged me and told me she was sorry about my daddy, which started me crying again. I wasn’t hungry, but ate a bit of bacon and eggs. Sandy told me a social worker would come at 1:00 to decide what to do.

“To do?” I asked.

“Yes, to find you a place to live.”

“Can’t I say here with you and Liz?”

“I'd love to have you, but I don’t think social services would like the idea of a teen boy sleeping in my bed every night, and I don’t have another other place to put you.”

“In Liz’s room? No, I guess not.”

After I finished picking at my food, Sandy said I better hurry and get dressed before the social worker arrived. I asked where my clothes were. She told me I'd ripped them in the rubble running around like a crazy person. Also I'd lost control when I fainted and messed them. So, she'd thrown them out. I started to recall Sandy cleaning me with baby wipes on the bathroom floor and diapering me. I was very embarrassed. She said not to worry about it, but I still needed something to wear for the social worker's visit. Of course, all my other clothes were gone in the explosion.

Sandy said, “I have some shorts that fit before I got pregnant. I saved them, but they'll never fit me again. You could wear them if you like. They aren’t very feminine — not compared to lavender satin anyway. They're roomier in the hips and a tighter waist than your pants, but yours always looked tight on your rear and too big around your waist anyway.”

“I know, I have big hips like my mom. Pants that fit my rear are loose at the waist. So, I get the smallest ones I can and wear my belt tight.”

“Since my old PJs you fit you, the shorts should too. Would you like them?”

“If they fit and aren't pink, sure.”

They did fit, and were a lot more comfortable than my jeans, so she gave me the lot. She also had some sleeveless tops that didn’t fit her maternal breasts, but fit me loosely. She said sleeveless wasn't just a girls' style, guys called them “muscle shirts.” I wound up in white cotton panties, white shorts and a violet “muscle shirt.” My tennis shoes were sooty, so I wore Sandy's pink flip flops.

Once I was dressed, I sat with Sandy waiting for the social worker. Liz sat next to me and gave me Nancy to hold so I'd feel better. I took her so Liz would think she was helping, but, frankly, I did feel better with my old friend and reminder of my mommy.

Promptly at 1:00 the doorbell rang, and a rather harried woman in her mid forties announced that she was Mrs. Sanchez, a county social worker, come to talk about “the Robinson child." Sandy introduced me as Carlie Robinson. I stood up to shake her hand when I realized I was holding Nancy with my right arm. As I was fumbled to switch Nancy to my left hand, Mrs. Sanchez told me to sit and relax as she knew I'd been though a lot.

She asked Sandy what relation she had to me. Sandy said that I'd been her nanny for almost three years and and she planned to file Monday to be my attorney ad litem pro bono — whatever that meant. Then the social worker turned to me and, instead of getting down to business, asked me if the dolly was mine and what her name was. I told her that my mom had given her to me, that Nancy was Liz's now, but she was mine when Liz and I played dolls. She smiled and made a note. Then she asked if I was the only child of Edward Robinson, what my birthday was, if I knew of any other living relatives, where I went to school, when I would graduate and if I had any plans for after graduation. I said I didn't know of any relatives and that I'd been accepted for the fall term at State in town.

She told me that I was a ward of the state until I was 18, but that might change when Sandy became my attorney and filed whatever motions she had in mind. In the meanwhile, regulations required that I have medical and dental exams and be given whatever treatments I might need. She would also find me a place to stay as soon as possible. She asked Sandy if I could stay with her for a day or two until she lined up a foster home. Otherwise, I'd be put in a county facility — which she did not recommend “for a child like Carlie.” Sandy said I could stay, was given some papers and told to make appointments with the county-appointed doctor and dentist. The whole interview took maybe eight minutes.

Sandy had planned to buy me some boy's clothes Sunday after the appointment, but I was too emotionally exhausted and teary to go shopping. Mostly I answered Judy's and Jason's concerned texts, watched a Disney princess video with Liz, and slept. Judy came over in the afternoon and hugged me. Shortly after, Jason came too. I was lousy company, so after an hour Judy gave me a kiss with tears in her eyes, and left. When she was gone, Jason told me he loved me, but knew I was “not like that.” Then he gave me a tender embrace and kiss, and left too. I was touched.

That night Sandy suggested that I wear a Depends to bed, since I'd had an “accident” the night before. I did, but I hardly slept and got up several times to pee just in case. I woke dry.

Monday, Sandy filed a petition to be my attorney, and it was granted. Other than that, she stayed home working the phone and computer — making appointments and starting to look into my dad's estate. Mrs. Sanchez called to say she'd found me a place within walking distance of State with a couple that usually hosted exchange students. The girl they were expecting had canceled, so they had an opening. Since I was almost 17 and graduating, the judge had granted a waiver for me to stay with them even though they weren't certified foster parents. Mrs. Sanchez said I'd find them “very accepting” of my “situation.” Also, they were near the bus line, and the county would provide bus vouchers for me to finish at my current school.

When my Nikes were washed, we found holes burned in them. Sandy gave me a plain pair of black flats to wear. While I sat with Liz, she packed a gym bag for me. Finally, it was time to go. She took me out for a delicious Mexican dinner, then drove me to my new home.

The couple I was to stay with, Katherine and Shannon, was lesbian and usually only hosted girls. They were making an exception for me. Their home was a modest three bedroom Cape Cod. They seemed very nice, but, like many lesbian couples, lived on a tight budget. They shared the master bedroom. The second bedroom belonged to Shannon's daughter, Kelly, who was at college. The third they occasionally rented as a B & B in the summer and used for exchange students the rest of the year. After a brief conversation, Sandy promised to keep in touch, said I could call her any time, and left me to settle in.

Shane (as she liked to be called) and Kate lead me to my room. Kate had refinished a mismatched bed, dresser, desk and makeup table in white with antique gold trim so they looked like a set. She'd also made the drapes flanking the window and a gorgeous quilt in a spring flower theme. Goddesses and faerie queens printed off the Internet adorned the walls. A small bath echoed the floral theme in its towels and rugs. Fragrant soaps, shampoos, and lotions stood on a pink counter top. I cried at how lovely it all was and told them it was stunning. They were both genuinely happy that I liked it, and Kate beamed proudly.

Kate stayed to help me unpack. She was concerned that I had only one small bag. I said all my things were lost in the explosion. I was not to worry — the county had given them a budget to buy me “some lovely new things.”

She found Nancy on top and handed her to me. I placed her on the dresser as a reminder of my mom. I wished I had pictures, but alas, they were gone with the rest of my life in the explosion. Next came the shorts, “muscle shirts” and panties that no longer fit Sandy. There were three pairs of slacks I hung in the closet. Near the bottom Kate found “my” lavender PJs. If they weren't enough to make me blush, under them were a couple dozen Depends. Kate saw them as she handed me the PJs, but said nothing. She left me to put them in the dresser. It was only 8:30, but I was drained from stress and lack of sleep. I put on my PJs and went to the kitchen say good night.

They could see that I was exhausted, but needed to tell me the house rules. Shane said I must tell them where I went, be home by 10:00 PM if I didn't clear a later time, help with the housework (we'd divide up tasks later) and not pee standing up, because they couldn't abide males “making the floor pissy.” (I never liked cleaning pee off the floor myself.) All the rules seemed reasonable. So, I readily agreed.

I turned to go to bed when Kate said she had an idea to help me relax. She invited me to sit by her and slowly brushed my hair, telling me that 100 stokes every night would make it lustrous. Her mother had brushed hers every night, and, if I didn't mind, she'd like to do mine. It would also give us a chance to talk when I needed to. It was very relaxing, but I was tired and sad, and didn't say much. When she was done brushing my hair, she asked if she could trim it, “just a little.” Too tired to give it much thought, I nodded. She put a towel over my shoulders, trimmed the sides and back, and then cut my (previously non-existent) bangs above my eyebrows. When she was done, she patted me on the bottom and said, “Off to bed.” I started to leave, but she held my hand and whispered, “Be sure to wear your protection. The mattress is new.”

Back in my room, I saw a girlish bob with bangs in the mirror. I dreaded the teasing I'd get at school. Maybe I could say it was Beatles style. But right then, in lavender PJs and bangs I looked like a sissy or maybe a flat-chested girl. I decided it really didn't matter. Compared with loosing my father and home, how I looked wasn't worth thinking about.

I cradled Nancy and started getting into bed when I remembered Kate's reminder. I'd never wet the bed. Well, not until Saturday night. Still, I was a guest and shouldn't take chances. Reluctantly, I pulled down my PJs and replaced my panties with a diaper. I'd expected to feel embarrassed, but strangely, the diaper, my diaper, felt comforting. I hugged Nancy and cried. I didn't think I'd miss my dad so much, but I really hurt — and it brought back the pain of loosing mommy. As exhaustion and sadness overtook me, my thumb found its way into my mouth.

I had strange dreams. Mommy was holding me, then nursing me. Then Sandy was giving me her breast. Sandy turned into Kate brushing my hair, and tying a bow at the back of a blue play dress she'd put on me. Later, I asked her to change my diaper. I woke up. It was 2:00 and I realized my diaper did need changing! I'd forgotten to use the bathroom before going to bed. I got up and took off my diaper. Someone, probably Kate, had put white plastic bags on the bathroom counter. I put my wet diaper in one and cleaned myself with a washcloth. I sat and drained my almost empty bladder. Taking no chances, I put on dry diaper. It made me feel warm inside and safe, almost as if someone were holding me.

I woke about 9:00, wondering if I'd wet again. Happily, I was dry. I showered, and shampooed and conditioned my hair. It had a sheen and body reminiscent of shampoo commercials. I put on fresh panties, shaved my virtually non-existent beard, and wondered how to style my hair. It would be rude to change the style Kate had given me without trying it a few days, so I parted my hair in the middle and brushed my bangs forward. It was a cute style, and I liked it. I took a cell picture and sent it to Judy and Jason. Judy texted back “Fab gf!” Jason said “For me?” I blushed.

It was a cold morning, so I opted for slacks. I choose a black pair with a fly. They were a cotton-poly blend that flowed like water, but dragged on the floor. The other two pair had elastic waists, were flyless and the same length anyway. Maybe Shane or Kate could shorten them. I put on a royal blue “muscle shirt” and the flats Sandy'd given me. I was cold, so I put my PJ top over my shirt.

Shane was already at work. (She was an elementary school principal.) Kate was the home ­maker and worked as a substitute teacher until she could be hired full time. She saw that I was cold and loaned me a periwinkle cardigan. After a breakfast of fruit, unsugared cereal and skim milk, I asked if she could shorten my slacks. She said they were meant to be worn with heels, not flats. Also, I had doctor's appointment in an hour, so there was no time for alterations. Shane had some sensible black boots that might fit. I could borrow them.

The boots were “sensible,” but still had a 2” heel. Still, they were less feminine than the flats Sandy'd given me. Kate loaned me cranberry boot socks that came almost to my knees. Although a bit narrow in the foot, the boots fit well enough. Once they were on, the slacks were a perfect length, but the heels made my butt more prominent. Oh well.

Kate told me the plan for the day was to go to the county medical center for my exam, and then to the mall for clothes shopping. Kate hated being late for anything, so as soon as I got the boots on, we left.

We got there 15 minutes early. Even so, I had to wait an hour before “Carlie Robinson” was called. The nurse gave me a urine container. When I returned it, she took my height, weight, BP and three vials of blood. I sat a long while, maybe waiting for the lab, then the doctor saw me. She had me pull up my top and drop my pants. She said nothing about my black nylon panties or cranberry socks, but I still felt like a complete sissy. I was healthy except for my acne, and she promised to prescribe something for it.

My panties were still on display when a nurse poked her head in. Luckily, I had my back to her. The doctor said, “Carlie Robinson, standard regimen — acne.” The nurse made a note and the doctor left me to pull my pants up. Total time: 3:45 minutes by my watch. I was given an appointment for a follow up blood test in a month, and sent to the dispensary. After another long wait, the pharmacist gave me my meds and asked if I'd taken BC pills before. I'd never had a prescription before, so I said no. She said, “Don't worry, everyone in the system gets them. They should help the tetracycline clear up your acne. They might make you a little nauseous at first, but that should pass in a week or so. If not, call the doctor. Any questions?” I was tired and had to pee, so I said no.

As I waked out to meet Kate I looked in the bag and found a three month supply of birth control pills and tetracycline, each with three renewals. I'm not the brightest bulb in the box, but I knew what birth control pills were for. I just didn't know they gave them to boys. The pharmacist said everyone in the system got them. Maybe they stopped boys from getting girls preggers. I remembered Judy saying they cleared up her acne. The doctor had promised something for my acne, and the pharmacist said they'd help. I decided that's why I got them.

Carlie

III. Back to Boyhood (Sort of)

While I felt and looked cute in the clothes I'd been wearing, I couldn't wear them to school. So I was firm with Kate about not wanting things that were too “lovely” at the mall. I needed an outfit for my father's memorial service, so we started at a discount men's wear store. A suit would have blown the budget, so I got black wool slacks and a navy sports jacket. As the tailor started measuring me for my pants, he said, “Will you be wearing these slacks with the heels your wearing, miss?” If I was embarrassed when the doctor and nurse saw my panties and said nothing, you can imagine my color then. Kate said no, we'd be back in an hour or so when I'd gotten the shoes I'd be wearing.

We went a discount store, but didn't find dress shoes we could afford. Kate did find a dress shirt and tie, some generic jeans that fit (i. e. girls'), a couple of polo shirts and a sweater. Payless had a shop worn pair of girls' black loafers with a 1” stacked heel for $9.99. They were leather and not obviously feminine. (The cheapest black boys' shoes were $24.99 and not real leather.) We got them, but I couldn’t wear them to the men’s store because my slacks would drag. Once there, I put on my new shoes and changed into slacks to be measured. The tailor, seeing my cranberry socks, (and my panties when he adjusted the waist) was still convinced I was a flat chested girl — until he measured my inseam and ran into something he hadn't expected. He was very professional, but now he was as red as I was. Everyone was relieved when finally we left.

Kate and I tallied up our purchases. We didn't have enough for new underwear. I'd be wearing panties a while longer. They felt nice, so I didn't mind as long as I wasn't teased.

When we got home I texted LOL to Judy about being on BC pills for my acne. She thought it strange, but said they really helped with hers, so give 'em a try. She also said I shouldn't take the tetracycline too long as I could get thrush, whatever that is. I didn't text Jason as I thought he might take my being on BC pills as some kind of encouragement. I know that makes no sense, but it's what I thought. Kate made us a late lunch and I took a nap. I didn't wear a diaper, but made sure to empty my bladder.

I stayed home until my father's memorial service on Saturday. I took tetracycline and a BC pill every day. The pharmacist was right, they made me a bit nauseous at first. By Saturday, it was hard to be sure, but my acne seemed marginally better. Maybe the pills were starting to work. I also wore a diaper every night, but only needed it once more — the night of my doctor's appoint ­ment — maybe because I felt like such a sissy. After that, I got my control back, but they felt so comforting I continued wearing them to bed. Maybe it was a rationalization, but I told myself better safe than sorry.

Saturday I wore my new slacks and jacket to the service. There was no body, so it didn't last very long. Judy and her parents were there. Jason came alone. Sandy, Kate and Shane came and there were some people from dad's bank and a couple of our old neighbors. Everyone was very nice except a guy from the bank who kept looking at me like I was a freak. Sandy had arranged lunch and, as I later found out, paid for the whole thing. I cried a lot and didn't say much. I half wished I'd worn a diaper because I wanted to shrink away, be a baby and forget everything.

Monday, I went back to school. No one said anything about my bobbed hair or girl's jeans and loafers, except Jason and Judy. They both liked the look. I think everyone else felt sorry for me and decided to give me as break.

Later that week I realized I'd forgotten my 17th birthday, which was the day of my father's service. When I told Jason, he offered to take me to a movies for my birthday. We saw “Stardust.” We both enjoyed its combination of adventure, romance and comedy and it took my mind off my dad. Jason held my hand and I let him. He also touched my bare leg affectionately as we watched the movie, but didn’t try anything. At the end he kissed me on the lips, but with no tongue. After, as we ate pizza, he asked me if I’d like to wear dresses like Robert De Niro in the movie. I hadn’t thought about it. Later I decided it would be too embarrassing. When he dropped me off, I gave him a hug and a thank you kiss. From then on we had a movie and pizza date each weekend. He was a gentleman and we never did more than innocent kissing. His affection made me warm but not excited. I wasn’t ready to think about what it might mean

I toned down my femme look at school at the beginning of May when the county’s check came. We went to Costco. I got khakis that Kate took in and white tennies to wear instead of my girl’s jeans and loafers. There was enough money for boy's underpants, but I'd been wearing panties for weeks without repercussions after the embarrassing day of my medical. I liked how they felt and looked, so I didn't replace them. It was getting humid and I needed undershirts. On one side of the aisle were men's white tees. Across the aisle were cheerfully colored camisoles styled like wife beaters. I needed cheering up, so I bought two three-packs of bright camis. They were softer and stretchier than boys’ undershirts.

There were only a couple weeks of school left. My teachers saw I was depressed and Shane had called my principal to ask that I be let out of finals. So, I was. My skin was smoother and softer and my hair shone from brushing and conditioning. Jason was the first to notice and asked if I was doing anything different. I told him I was taking acne meds but not what. He said he should get some. Judy, who knew I was taking BC pills, snickered a bit.

Meanwhile, Sandy had been working on my dad's estate. I didn't have much coming as the house was underwater, and the bank took most of what my dad owned. I had my saved nanny wages, some social security benefits if I stayed in school, and the county would pay Shane and Kate to keep me until I was 18. That was about it. Maybe it would cover resident tuition at State and used texts. Of course, I was welcome to continue as Liz's nanny. I could apply for emancipation, but then I'd be on my own and the county payments would stop. Sandy felt I was still too fragile to be on my own, so she recommended against it. Since I was still playing baby every night, I knew I wasn't ready to be an adult.

Graduation was pretty much a non-event. Sandy threw me a small party at her apartment with Shane’s and Kate’s help. Judy and Jason showed up, but they had their own celebrations, so didn't stay long. Even though I was barely 17, I got to have a rum and coke to celebrate. It was good and made me a little high, but I couldn't see what the big deal about alcohol was.

At home, Kate continued brushing my hair every night, and I started relaxing with her. I even told her I was taking BC pills for my acne, and asked if she thought it was OK. She thought they did me a lot of good. The week after graduation the weather heated up, and I wore shorts, camis and “muscle shirts” all the time. Kate suggested that I'd look better with shaved legs and underarms. I knew it was a sissy thing to do, but no one I knew would mind, and I'd look cuter, so I did it. I even plucked the few hairs on my chest. Sandy noticed my smooth legs the next day and said they looked fabulous. Judy stuck her tongue out at me because mine looked better than hers. Jason rubbed his hand gently up and down, feeling how smooth they were, but I made him stop after the first repeat. It felt nice, but I did not want to go there, not with a boy anyway.

Since I was shaving my legs, Kate thought I might like wedge sandals to show them off. She got me a pair with cork soles and a 2” heel as a belated birthday present. Shane got me a messenger bag to carry my things in since some of my shorts had no pockets. Not long after Kate persuaded me to try a perm. My new curls were cute, but hardly boyish. Still, I loved them.

I rode the bus to and from Sandy’s morning and evening. Riding with me were a lot of women who worked as cleaners or nannies. One, Lupe, often got off at my stop and we walked the same way for a block or so before she turned off. Naturally, we get to know each other. She had a degree in Latin American literature from a university in Guatemala, but the only jobs she could find here were as a nanny or housekeeper. She was taking night courses to qualify as a Spanish language teacher, but had a long way to go.

After a few days, she said, “You’re a boy, aren’t you?”

I didn’t take offense at being asked, and admitted I was.

“I thought so, but I was not sure. You look nice as a girl, but have no tetas, boobs.” She paused, glancing across as we walked and wondering if she should press on. Seeing that I wasn’t offended, she did. “Why do you dress as a girl and work as a niá±era, a nanny?”

“I love children and wish I could have my own baby to mother.”

“So you are afeminado, gay?”

“I don’t know. I go to the movies every Saturday with a boy who likes me that way, but I’m not sure if I like him like that. We never do anything — you know — physical, except kiss.”

“Then why do you go with him?”

"I’m not sure. He’s been my friend a long time and I like doing it.”

“Is it fair to him and to you not to know?”

“Probably not.” At that point we came to the corner where we parted and said good bye.

I walked stunned that I couldn’t answer Lupe’s questions. I must be one of the most unreflective people in the world. Later, I went easier on myself and thought it had come to a head while I was still wrapping my mind around losing my dad. I needed to think more about who and what I was.

By that time I'd been on BC pills for about 2 months. I’d noticed my nipples getting swollen and tender. They would have been really sore if my new camis hadn’t prevented them chafing against my shirt. My areolas seemed larger too. My chest looked like a 10-11 year old girl’s. Maybe I was getting tetas. If I pressed hard on my areolas, they hurt, but if I rubbed my nipples gently, I got excited.

Should I call the doctor, as the pharmacist had suggested, or did I like my girlish development? I was getting over the depression from losing my dad, school was over, so I had more time and energy to think. Lupe’s questions gave new urgency to deciding if I was gay. I liked Jason, and the affection and kisses he gave me. I even liked going on dates with him, but I couldn’t see myself getting physical with him — or any other boy for that matter. Dating and kissing might be fun, but Lupe was right, it wouldn't be fair to him or me when he wanted to get intimate.

I wondered if I was transsexual. I liked being maternal — taking care of Liz. I liked my cute curls, smooth legs, round tush filling out my shorts and how my budding breasts felt when I caressed them. I might even want to let them grow, but I didn't hate my penis or want a vagina.

I wasn't sure what I was — other than a sissy. I couldn't deny being a sissy. I liked dressing, acting, and looking like a girl. I thought and talked like a girl, but I still liked my boy parts and didn't want to become female. If I ever got married, it would be to a girl. Once I figured out that I was a sissy, I texted Judy. She responded. “Like Duh. Thats why ur my bestest gf.” I didn't text Jason, because he might misunderstand the kind if sissy I was. I told Kate everything that night as she brushed my hair. She wasn't surprised or shocked. In fact, she was pleased that I'd come to a level of self awareness and acceptance. Still, for me, it was a big admission.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, he learns to stop fooling himself and finds a direction in life.

Carlie

IV. My New Self

I was a sissy. I liked my cute perm, smooth legs, round tush and pointy chest. Once I admitted it to myself and saw that the people I loved and who loved me didn't think less of me, I wanted to see what a dress, pierced ears and make up would feel like. Just then, reality intruded. First, Shane said that Kelly would be home from college that weekend. I wasn't ready to expose my femininity to some one I did not know. Second, Mrs Sanchez scheduled a visit, and I didn't want her to think that the two crazy lesbians, who I loved, had corrupted me.

In the event, things went smoothly. First, Kelly came home from college Saturday afternoon. She was almost 21 and had just finished her junior year. She was my opposite in many ways. She was 5' 11”, 155 — a solidly built tennis player on an athletic scholarship. I was 5' 6-1/2”, 128 and couldn’t make a muscle if I tried. A pony tail held her brunette hair close to her head. Mine was an auburn halo of pin curls. Her legs rippled with muscles. Mine were smooth and soft. Kelly was outgoing and decisive. I was shy and infantile. She had a 3.86 average in computer engineering. I’d finished high school with a barely respectable 3.04. My As were in English, French, social studies and home ec. I had Cs and a few hard won Bs in math and science.

I expected her to look down on me, just as the jocks in high school had. But, she was Shane's daughter — warm, concerned and sympathetic. She genuinely seemed to like me. She wasn't a model or centerfold, but I was in love as soon as I saw her. My fantasies that night proved one thing forever — I might be a sissy, but I definitely wasn't gay.

The next day I texted Judy about Kelly all day long. She promised to come by and meet her for herself. I should say that Judy had a boy friend, David, she often texted me about — so fair is fair. Of course, I had no idea what to do about my new love.

Mrs. Sanchez came the following Wednesday. She looked much less harried — maybe because it was a normal weekday call, not an emergency, and she'd allotted time for me. I decided to be no more sissy than when she’d first met me, so I wore my white tennies, jeans and a polo shirt. Of course, my girls' jeans showed a panty line, my hair was permed and a raspberry cami could be glimpsed under my top.

She was pleased that I was up beat and in good health. She asked if I was happy living with Shane and Kate, how my grieving was going, whether I was still planning to go to State, if I was going to file for emancipation and if I’d be transitioning any time soon. I expected all the questions except the last. “Transitioning?” “Yes, you know, becoming fully a woman. You know the county won't pay for hormones. You're lucky we covered the birth control pills you got the doctor to prescribe.”

“I got her to prescribe?”

“Don’t be coy with me, Carlie. I’ve tried to be supportive, but I will not tolerate deception.”

“But, I didn’t ask for them.”

“Why else would she give you birth control pills? They're not to stop you from getting pregnant, now, are they?”

“I thought they were for my acne.”

She looked me over and raised an incredulous eyebrow. “Be that as it may … the county does not pay for HRT for boys or for sexual reassignment surgery. Still, if you want to see a counselor to begin your one year trial — you know, living as a woman full time — that would be covered.”

I decided not to press the issue, even though I hadn’t asked for BC pills. “I'm not sure what I want to do, but there's a lot I've been thinking about, so I'll take you up on counseling.”

“Good, here is a number to call.” She handed me a card. “And don't forget you have a good resource here in Kate.” She said her good byes and left.

That night, as Kate bushed my hair, I asked her what Mrs. Sanchez meant about being a good resource. She said, “I used to be a boy like you, but from what I can tell, you want to stay a feminine boy and I couldn't wait to become a woman.” That came as a shock. She went on to explain that I was placed with them because Mrs. Sanchez saw that I was feminine and probably transgendered. After all, during my interview I went by Carlie, wore women's clothes, worked as a nanny and held a doll.

I didn't think less of Kate, nor was I mad because she waited so long to tell me everything. In fact, I felt privileged to share her secret. As for everyone thinking I was TG, right after my dad's death wasn’t the best time for me to take that on. For the first time I kissed Kate like a mother and went off to bed. I had a lot to think about.

I have to admit that I was never really convinced that my BC pills were for acne. Part of me kept saying I should check with the doctor, but another part of me liked being one of the girls in the system. Now, I had to decide what to do about my breasts. When summer came, I’d reverted to sleeping in my underwear, as I did when I lived with my dad. Looking down, I saw my nipples rising on a very small swell, stretching my cami. If I didn’t want feminine breasts, I needed to stop taking my BC pills soon.

I’d already stopped taking the tetracycline because I looked up thrush, and it seemed pretty nasty. My BC pills and a facial cleanser Kate gave me kept my complexion clear without antibiotics. I didn’t want to go back to being a pimply teen. Still I could not deny what was happening to my chest.

I ran my finger tip over and around my nipples and was rewarded by a warm, almost erotic feeling. I imagined them resting on small pubescent mounds — then on the full breasts of a nursing mother. None of the images repulsed me — or even seemed foreign to who I was — except for one glaring clash. Below my camisole, I saw my night diaper.

I knew I was fooling myself, rationalizing I wore diapers to save the bed. I hadn’t wet since the night of my medical exam. I wore them because I wanted to be a baby — small, helpless, and cared for. But, here were my pointy nipples — pointing in a different direction — pointing toward motherhood — pointing in a direction I wanted to go — toward a goal I knew was absolutely impossible — even if I became a woman by the grace of modern medicine. Still, the direction they pointed was my direction. I’d known it from the time mommy gave me Nancy. It became clearer every day I took care of Liz. Now my body was physically pointing me.

I reached down and untaped my diaper and threw it in the trash. In its place I drew floral print panties up my legs. I didn’t want to get rid of my penis, but it didn’t fit my new image, so I tucked it away to have a smooth front. I smiled at the girl in the mirror, the girl who, God willing, would one day be a mom.

My dad hadn’t been religious, but my mom had. Maybe he was before she died, but lost his faith then. We used to go to Mass every Sunday and I had my first communion just before she died, so we must have been Catholic. She told me that God always answers sincere prayers, but not necessarily the way we expect. She also said that our prayers weren’t sincere unless we did everything we could to get what we’re praying for. So, I made two resolutions. First, I’d start praying again as mom had taught me and second, I’d do whatever I could to prepare for motherhood. I knelt down and prayed that I could have a child of my own to mother.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, Carlie starts walking the walk toward motherhood.

V. An Impossible Quest

I didn’t know how I could become a mother, but I wanted to be ready when God made me one. I knew I wanted to be able to nurse my baby, as Sandy had with Liz. So I needed breasts — not show breasts from implants, but breasts that could suckle a child. I wasn’t going to stop taking my BC pills. In fact, I was going to ask whatever counselor I got about growing bigger breasts.

I got into bed with new resolve, but my thoughts were swirling so much I couldn’t sleep. I thought that while I was waiting for God to give me my baby, I should pursue what I now saw as my “career” — being a nanny. If it was a career, wasn’t there training for it? In the morning I’d call State and make an appointment with a guidance counselor about courses I could take. Once I found something I could do, by mind quieted and I slept soundly.

In the morning I told Kate what I’d decided. She started crying. I hugged her — or rather we hugged each other because I started crying too. I asked her why she was crying.

“Because we’re so much alike. I want to be a mother too, even prayed for it, but I’ll never be one.”

“You have me, Kate, mommy — if you want me.”

“You mean it?”

I nodded.

“Oh, I do. I really do!”

We cried and hugged again. Maybe God wouldn’t answer my prayer, but He answered Kate’s. Or had I? My love answered her prayer. I remembered mom telling me “God is Love.” Maybe there was no difference between my love answering her prayer and God doing it. It was too much to think about. I just knew I was happy to have Kate be my mommy, and she wanted to give me all the love she had.

I had to catch the bus to Sandy’s, so Kate and I didn’t have much time to celebrate our new relationship. Lupe must have been working someplace else, as I didn’t see her. I texted Judy and told her everything. She was still texting me back when I got to my stop and walked to Sandy’s apartment. When I got there, I told Sandy that I had a lot to tell her. Again, there was no time as she had to leave soon after I arrived.

I treated Liz the same, but my actions took on new value now that being a nanny was my career -- and preparation for mothering my own child. During Liz’s nap I called State and made an appointment to see a guidance counselor the next night after work.

When Sandy got home we had a long talk. She was very supportive, but said it might be hard for me to find work as a male nanny. I said, “I’m working for you, aren’t I?” She had to admit that I was, so there was hope. She promised me a glowing recommendation when the time came. She said she’d noticed my nipples had gotten more prominent recently, but didn’t want to embarrass me by saying anything. I asked her to look and see if I was fooling myself about blossoming. She said that my chest looked very like hers when she was starting puberty. I left feeling good about myself and what was happening.

On the way home I texted Jason. He responded, “Awesome,” and asked if he could see my titties on our next date. I liked him a lot, and knew it would make him happy, so I said yes.

When we got home, Kate met me at the door and took me to my room where she gave me three brightly colored AA bras. I took off my top and cami, and she helped me into a padded raspberry bra. I felt ever so feminine as I ran my hands over the cups. I started crying. She beamed that her new daughter was pleased with her first bra. We hugged and cried some more. That’s what girls do.

The next day, Lupe sat next to me on the bus, but didn't get off at my stop. She encouraged me, saying I looked much better with tetas. Sandy also smiled and told me I looked particularly pretty that morning, but said nothing about my chest — maybe to avoid embarrassing me.

I went directly from Sandy’s to my appointment with Mr. Jensen, the guidance counselor at State. When I walked into his office, he said, “You are? I have an appointment with a Mr. Carl Robinson.”

“I’m Carl Robinson.”

“Oh,” he said rather uncomfortably. “What can I do for you?”

“Well, as you can see, I’m pretty feminine. I love children, and I’ve decided I want to be a professional nanny.” He had incredulity all over his face.

“Are you planning to become a woman, then? I mean physically and legally?”

“Well, I’m starting gender counseling soon, but right now I don’t think so.”

“I can’t tell you what career to follow, but I will say that a transvestite is going to have a hard time finding work as a nanny.” There was a noticeable emphasis on “transvestite.”

“Well, I’ve been a nanny every summer since I was 14 and I just came from my nanny job. So, respectfully, I think I’ll be able to find jobs. … Anyway, I’ve decided, and I just want advice on what courses to take.”

“I see. We don’t have a nanny program, but you could take early childhood education and maybe some nursing courses. We have a three year BSN program leading to an RN. There are some males in our nursing programs, but mostly women. You might feel comfortable in that crowd.” I took the emphasis on “that crowd” as a suggestion that male nurses were gay and I was too. I decided not to react to his prejudices as long as they didn’t interfere with my goals.

“About half way through the RN program, there’s the option of taking the National Council Licensure Examination for Practical Nurses and being certified as an LPN or LVN. That would qualify you to care for newborns, elderly patients and patients with long-term or chronic diseases. You could stop your nursing training there and continue with education courses. That would give you something like a double major, combining an LPN with early childhood education. Then you could work as a nurse or teacher if you can’t find a nanny job.” I went for that. He laid out a program. With 2 or 3 summer evening courses, I could finish in four years. I had to take some additional tests to qualify for the nursing program. He arranged for me to take them and tentatively start in nursing that September I thanked him and left, glad to be quit of him.

I showed mommy my program. My first year was very full, with courses in English, math, history and psychology, as well as nutrition, basic pharmacology, and pediatrics. The second year included education courses as well as obstetrics, health data collection, and medical-surgical nursing. She was very pleased that I had a direction and plan for my life. Yes, nursing and education would ensure a job if my nanny plan didn’t work out. I went to bed pleased that I was taking control of my life.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, Carlie begins to define his relationships.

Carlie

VI. Changing Relationships

I had my usual date with Jason that Saturday. He was working as a bus boy and had just bought a used car. After the movie and some Mexican food, he drove me out to park by the lake to watch the sunset. Parking was new, and I was a little nervous. He asked if I’d show him how my breasts were growing. He helped me off with my top, then loosened my bra. I felt so like a girl.

“Can I touch them?”

“If you don’t press too hard, that really hurts.”

The next thing I knew, he was caressing them and I was getting excited. I should have stopped him, but it felt too good. Soon he was licking and nibbling them. I lost control and made a mess in my panties. It was the first time that happened with someone else. I was sure the wet spot would show, so I was embarrassed and flustered. I told him to stop and take me right home. Jason was totally confused. I’d been enthusiastically intimate one minute and completely shut him down the next. But, I was too embarrassed and confused to think about his feelings. I just wanted to run and hide. We had a silent trip home, and I ran in holding my bag in front of my damp shorts to conceal my shame.

I ran past mommy, into my room, closed the door, and fell in tears on my bed. After a few minutes she knocked and sat silently on my bed while I tried to get control of myself.

“What happened? Did Jason try to force you to do something?” Her voice had an angry tinge.

“Oh, nothing like that. I let him see how my chest is growing and one thing led to another and I lost control and I … I messed my panties and shorts. I’m so humiliated. I didn’t want any one to see,” I said pulling the sheet over myself.

“Poor baby. That happens with lovers. It’s not terrible. It happened to me when I was still a boy. You needn’t to be embarrassed. I’m sure Jason would be happy to know you find him exciting.”

“Oh … I’m not sure I find him exciting at all. It was just … just what he was doing. My breasts are so sensitive and I … I felt so like a girl. It wasn’t him at all. It … it could have been anyone doing it. In fact I’d rather it was someone else, a girl. … So … so I don’t know how to be with him any more. I don’t know if I can be with him any more. Partly I’m crying because I’m ashamed and partly because I’ve lost Jason as a friend. I can’t see him any more.”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll think it’s a date. Since I let him get to second base, he’ll think it’s OK to steal third and it isn’t … Not with me anyway. I don’t want to do those things with a boy.”

“Then you’ll have to sit him down and tell him.”

“I’ll text him.”

“No daughter of mine will do any such thing! That would be cowardly. Don’t think that being a sissy means being a coward, because it doesn’t. You’ve already shown me that you have courage by being who you know you are. I was so proud of how you dealt with that guidance counselor — telling him what your goal is, and not letting him change it, but accepting his expertise on how to get there — and ignoring his ignorant prejudices. Be just as courageous with Jason and maybe you won’t lose him as a friend.”

“Your right, but I can’t face it now. I’ll call in the morning and ask him over to talk.”

“That’s my girl! Now go wash our your panties so the stain does not set, take a shower and put your nitie on. Meet me in the kitchen because I have something else to discuss.” I did as she said. My nitie was a recent present that she’d made for me. It was a baby doll set, not a sexy one, but a sweet, pale pink cotton print with fairies and unicorns. I loved wearing it and imagining I was a little girl. Mommy understood that I still wasn’t ready to be completely grown up.

When I went into the kitchen I found milk and cookies set at at my place. They and my baby dolls made me feel like her little girl.

“Carlie, I got a letter today that might be important for both of us — if you were serious about accepting me as a mother.”

“Oh, I was Kate ... mommy.” I could see tears form in her eyes. She paused until she composed herself.

“As you know, I have been working part time as a substitute teacher. This letter is an offer of employment as a full time teacher. Of course the position comes with benefits for me and ... my family.” She looked at me. “That would be you if I adopted you. Would you like me to?”

“Oh, mommy, I would really. I don’t care about benefits. I just want you as my mommy.” She held out her arms and I sat in her ample lap. She hugged me to her breasts and we both cried. When we were cried out, she said she’d talk to Sandy and to the social worker Monday to see what needed to be done. By then I was emotionally drained and went to bed a happy and tired sissy girl.

Sunday I called Jason and apologized for being so rude and not telling him what was going on. I asked him over after lunch so we could talk. I decided to wear make up to look more like a girl and less like a boy. Maybe he’d see that I wasn’t the boy for him. Mommy helped me with a light foundation, eye shadow and lipstick.

When he came, he said I looked very pretty, but I could tell it wasn’t a look he found attractive. I was still embarrassed to say what happened and how I felt. Finally, I said, “When you were playing with my titties I melted inside and felt like a girl. Part of me is a girl, and that part felt so right … and what you were doing felt so good. I should have told you to stop, but I didn’t. Then I lost control and made a mess in my panties. I had a huge wet spot on my shorts. I was really embarrassed by what happened and my wet shorts. I just wanted to run and hide. So I asked you to take me home.”

“I understand. … I thought you were mad at me for forgetting you’re not gay and getting physical. I know I shouldn’t have, but your titties are so beautiful. I wanted to touch them and kiss them and well … I wasn’t thinking either. I was really confused. I mean girls have titties and so I thought you’re my girl letting me have her titties, but then I really don’t like girls but you’re a boy. So everything was going in circles and I was getting excited and … Well I made a mess about the same time as you. In fact, I thought you noticed and that’s why you were mad at me … for treating you like you’re gay when I know your not. I feel really guilty for that. Your my best friend and I drove you away treating you like we’re a gay couple instead of you being my sweet girly friend friend. Carlie, I really love you, but not like a boy, if you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do, cuz I love you the same way, but like a boy if you know what I mean.” We both laughed. “You know, you’re a great date, Jason. You really know how to kiss and make me feel dreamy, but I shouldn’t be dating boys … not because I don’t like dating you, but because I’ll never be ready to give you the loving you deserve.”

“Yeah, I know. You’re a great date too, Carlie … so much fun to be with, but I keep wanting to go where I shouldn’t because I love you so much. I want to be with you because I love you, and I don’t go there because I love you. I like dating you and kissing you, but it’s really a strain, too … you know?”

“For me too. I love you and being with you, but every time I think about giving you what you need, it turns me off. Maybe I’d do it eventually to please you, because I love you and want you to be happy, but I’d be faking and we’d start hating each other. I don’t think we can date any more. Besides when we’re dating, your not looking for the boy of your dreams and I’m not looking for the woman of my dreams.” Jason nodded. We cried and I held his hands. Then I kissed him leaving a lipstick stain for his mother to wonder about.

I haven’t said much about Kelly. I had a bad crush on her, but she was out of my league — not that she looked down on me. Rather, she treated me like a little sister. I accepted what I could get. She was genuinely interested in my life, and once we got to know each other, she started telling me about hers, even her dates. She worked long hours as a techie for an electronics store. She dated, but respected herself too much to have sex just because her date expected it. So, a lot of her relationships ended when the guy didn’t get in her panties.

I said that I’d never expect her to have sex with me just because I dated her long enough. She said I wouldn’t date her anyway because I liked boys. I tried to say I liked girls, but it was hard for her to believe when I’d been asking her what to wear for my dates with Jason. She loved me as a mixed up younger sister that was hard to figure. I couldn’t blame her. I was having a hard time figuring myself out.

That brings me to my counselor, Dr. Jane Goodrich. Of course she wasn’t really a doctor, well not the medical kind, anyway. She was a psychologist with a contract from social services to see “troubled youth.” Compared to a lot of her clients, I wasn’t troubled. Maybe that’s why she liked talking to me. I wasn’t into drugs, beating people up, raping girls or cutting myself. I was just sane a transvestite sissy orphan — more the kind of thing she signed up for I suspect.

She told me the county allowed anyone in the system three sessions. After that a case had to exist for more. The first session I told her my history. We talked a little at the end about my grieving, and she decided that it was “progressing normally, and not worth using up limited counseling time on.”

The second session, we talked about why I thought I was a sissy. Of course, sitting there in my bra and panty set, white girls’ shorts, grape cami, lavender top and cork-soled wedge sandals, I thought it was pretty obvious why I thought I was a sissy. She wanted to know why I dressed that way. I told her it was a cute look for me, and I felt more myself than I had before. Did it arouse me sexually? Well, I thought I looked sexy, but there were other things that aroused me a lot more. Like what? I told her about Jason playing with my tittles and especially my fantasies about Kelly. Was I the male in those fantasies? Yes, but just physically. Emotionally, I was very feminine. At the end she gave me homework. I was to write on the pros and cons of changing into a woman.

Of course I’d already decided that since I couldn’t have a baby, there was no point in having a vagina. I certainly didn’t want one to please a man. Breasts were something else again. I loved how I felt when Jason nibbled and kissed mine, and I could imagine how wonderful it would feel, emotionally and physically, to nurse a baby.

At my third session, Dr. Jane and I discussed my homework and why I wanted to work as a nanny and be a mom. She asked to see my breasts. I was glad to show her — they were my favorite feature, even though they were still very small, even tiny. She asked again why I was happy presenting as a female. Did I really want bigger tatas, as she phrased it. I most definitely did. She wanted to go over the pros and cons of a heterosexual boy having breasts and presenting as female, but we were out of time. She said she could authorize 2 more sessions before having to make a case to social services. One would be next week, and if she decided to recommend hormone treatments for me, she’d schedule a follow up later, when my breasts had developed.

The fourth session was designed to scare me, or maybe test me — was I ready to risk not having a wife or girl friend to have breasts. By the end she was convinced that I’d given it thought and was making an informed decision. Mothering a baby was more important to me than having a mate. She referred me to an endocrinologist for hormones. Hurray! I was on my way to being a nursing mom, even if I couldn’t be a birth mom.

I told mommy everything as she brushed my hair. She said how thrilled she was when she was approved for hormones. Then she told me about her figure growing to the point she could not pretend to be a boy any longer. Her mother was happy to have a daughter, but her father was less than thrilled and disowned her after her mother died. She was very lonely for a long time until she met Shane, but now she felt truly loved as Shane’s wife, and I was making her a mom.

After a bit of silence while we both reflected, she said she’d talked to HR and my hormone therapy would be covered with a co-pay once my adoption process began and she started work.

The next day I talked to Sandy and told her Kate wanted to be my mommy. What did we need to do? Sandy said she would talk to Mrs. Sanchez, and see. That evening Sandy told me that because I was 17 and a high school graduate, the family court judge would waive some formalities and expedite my adoption. Still it would take six months for it to be final. She said that was not a bad thing because the county would continue paying Shane and Kate for my upkeep until the adoption was final, and, by state law, Kate’s insurance would cover me as soon as the adoption process was started. She’d set up an appointment for Kate to sign the papers. Once they were filed there would be a meeting with the judge that would only take a few minutes. I was so excited, I cried.

By the time I got home, Sandy and Kate had talked on the phone. I was a little disappointed, because I wanted to be the one to tell mommy, but still we both had happy tears. After that everything went fast. The judge was very nice and quick, just confirming that an adoption was what Kate and I wanted, and Mrs. Sanchez had no objections. At the end of August, Kate started work with teacher’s meetings. I had an appointment with the endocrinologist the same day. I hoped to leave with a prescription, but she needed to review my country medical file and do more blood tests. I finally started my hormones the day I started classes at State — not a happy coincidence because I got morning sick all that week. But, isn’t that part of the price for becoming a mom?

The strain between Jason and I had eased by the end of summer, but we still didn’t see each other much. Judy had worked as a waitress and spent her free time with Dave, her latest boyfriend. We three finally got together the last Sunday before school to say good bye and promise to stay in touch with video chats and emails.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, Carlie begins college, makes friends and an enemy without trying.

Carlie

VII. Friends and Not

When classes started, I decided to dress as I liked. That was usually in a bra and pantie set under slacks and a sleeveless top. I wore light make up and my wedges or flats as long as the weather held. I was feminine enough that people I met in passing took me for a girl, but most of my classmates figured out I was male. Two conservative Christians and a Mormon girl treated me like I had a terrible contagion, but most of my classmates didn't make a big deal of how I dressed and were glad to be chatty with me.

My nursing and education classmates were mostly girls, with a sprinkle of boys. (Some sprinkles were almost as cute as me, but most looked masculine.) I was one of the few who knew what I wanted to do with my life. Many were in college because it was expected, or because the alternative was finding a job. A few were more intent. One of the serious ones, Sharon, was very shy and seemed lonely. I knew what that felt like. So, near the end of our first week, I made a point of sitting next to her at lunch.

“Hi, we’re taking nursing together. May I sit with you?”

She was surprised. “Hi. I guess ... if you really want to.” It wasn’t hard to tell why she was alone. She was tall and chunky, not graceful, dressed plain, had acne, and her hair looked like she washed it with soap instead of shampoo and conditioner. There were better pickings for boys and most of the girls wanted to hang with aces to have their leavings. On the other hand, I wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, just a friend, and from the little I’d seen, Sharon seemed smart and nice.

“I’m Carlie Robinson, by the way.”

“Sharon Kawalski.”

“You going for a BSN?” I assumed she was, but I was trying to make conversation.

“I guess. I wanted to be a premed, but the guidance counselor said I didn’t have the personality for it, so he put me in nursing.”

“Can he do that?”

“I don’t like fighting, so I said OK.”

”Who was the counselor?”

“Mr. Jenkins.”

“I met with him. He told me I couldn’t be what I want, but I just ignored him. You should do the same.”

“I’m not like that. I don’t make waves. It never does helps anyway. … What do you want to be?”

“A nanny.”

“You have a good personality. I bet you like children too. I think you'd be a good nanny”

“Thanks, I do love them. I already work as a nanny summers and Sandy, the lady I work for, promised to write me a glowing recommendation.”

“You’re a boy, aren’t you? I can see why Jenkins would say you can’t be a nanny. He has no imagination.”

“You’re right — but I do, and I can imagine you as a doctor. You care and pick up on things quick. That‘ll really help when you’re a doc.”

“If I ever am.”

You can’t change people in a few minutes, so I decided not to push her. I switched to a point that I didn’t understand in pharmacology, and we had a pleasant lunch. I sat next to her in class, and soon we were friends. As you may have guessed, Sharon was much smarter than me — she was taking computer methods while I was in college algebra — but still we studied together. Mostly, she helped me, but I helped her a bit with her writing assignments in English.

Sharon was orphaned when she was 6 and had been raised by a maiden aunt Catherine, who’d been jilted. Her aunt discouraged Sharon from having anything to do with men. I met her aunt when she visited Sharon in October. She gave me a pass because I didn’t qualify as a man in her view. She assumed I was gay and Sharon was safe enough with a sissy.

Sharon seemed to notice girls more than boys. Maybe it was because of her aunt, but I thought it was a way for her to pretend she didn't care that boys ignored her. A couple of times I pointed out that I was a boy and liked her. Still, that did not do much to build up her self confidence, because, as she pointed out in a kind way, I was not the regular kind of boy.

Sharon wasn’t my only girl friend. Peggy was another. She was the class gossip. The main object of gossip was our classmate Russ. I thought Russ was cute in a boyish way, but not really athletic. Still he was better looking than Jason, and much more outgoing and ingratiating.

The consensus was that the only reason he was in nursing was to bed as many girls as possible. You’d think that with a reputation like that, he'd be a pariah, but a lot of the girls seemed attracted to bad boys — or maybe thought they could hook him. Either way, his score rose steadily as the weeks went by.

One morning after algebra, he asked if he could borrow my notes from the previous class, which he’d missed. I said of course and handed him my notebook pages. The next day he said he didn’t understand completing the square and could I explain it to him. When I did, he told me how smart I was and it was rare to find anyone as smart and pretty as me. I reminded him that I was a boy. He said that made me even more interesting. Would I go to the football game with him Saturday? I told him that I wasn’t interested in football, so he asked me to a concert. I turned him down on that as well.

This went on for a while, with him touching my arm, leg or breast “accidentally” as we passed. I started to understand what the girls saw in him. He made me feel wanted, and gave the impression that he’d be warm and tender with me. Still, I knew from my experience with Jason, that however fun it might be to date boys, it would not take me where I wanted to go, So, I kept brushing him off.

After many brushoffs, he finally cornered me in an empty hallway after a late class. “I know you wanted it, so stop playing hard to get.”

“Look Russ, I don’t like boys that way and so you can keep it for whatever bimbo finds you attractive. Now, let me go!” I tried to leave.

He grabbed me, squeezed my breast and forced his tongue down my throat. He was too strong for me, so I pretended to relax, then kneed him in the groin. I ran for it while he was doubled over holding himself. He yelled, ”I’ll get you for this, you bitch!” When nothing happened after a week, I dismissed it as an empty threat.

Peggy’d seen him hitting on me, and asked if he’d bagged me. I told her he hadn’t, but the juicy morsel for her was that he knew I was a boy and wanted me anyway. Word got around that he was bi, and his success with the girls dropped. Next, a few of the sprinkles hit on him. Some of the girls decided he was gay, and only hit on girls to have a beard. That was why he dumped them, they said. Three of the girls he’d dumped picked up on that and enhanced the rumor with juicy details, which, real or fictitious, lent weight to the impression that he was gay. Since he was cute, that was enough to get him hit on by guys that weren’t even in nursing. None of this made him happy, and he made it clear he blamed all of it on me. Still, he didn’t do anything, so I figured he was all bark and no bite.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, Sharon's new self-confidence blossoms into intimacy with Carlie.

Carlie

VIII. Self-Confidence and Intimacy

Sharon had a room on campus. After the first grading period, her roommate (who imagined she was Madonna but was nowhere close), left to share a room with a more attractive girl whose roommate had dropped out. Studying there was nicer than the library because I could leave clothes and stuff, and no one shushed us if we got excited, talked loud or giggled.

I thought we were getting along well when one day she said, “Carlie, your the best friend I’ve ever had, but its embarrassing to walk around with you.” I felt stabbed. I teared up and gathered my things to leave. “Why are you upset?”

“Because I thought you were my friend!” I yelled.

“But I just told you you’re my best friend!”

“Then why are you embarrassed to be seen with me? Because I’m a sissy, right?””

“No, silly, because you’re a boy and so much prettier than me.”

“Shar, you’re beautiful, which is much better than pretty.” Shar was tearing up too. I hugged her and apologized for yelling and misunderstanding. “I could help you be prettier if you like.”

“Really? How?”

“Sure. I’ll show you. Put your jacket on. We’ll walk into town and get a few things. My treat.” I didn’t have a lot of money, but it’s always a privilege to help a friend. I got her shampoo, conditioner, setting lotion, facial cleanser, basic make up and curlers at Big Lots.

As we walked back she said she’d never look pretty because of her awful acne. I said, “I had worse acne, but I took tetracycline and birth control pills. They also helped my friend Judy with hers. You should get a prescription from the campus clinic. Besides, you’ll need BC pills when all the boys start chasing you.”

“Oh, Carlie, I don’t want to be with a boy — just you!” She said it without thinking, then blushed. We didn’t say anything the rest of the way back. I hadn’t thought of Shar as a girl, at least not one that might want to be with me.

When we got back to her room, Shar took off her blouse so it wouldn’t get wet when I shampooed her hair. She was a solid C, but her white cotton bra was more like a medical appliance than lingerie. She insisted that since I saw her in her bra, she should see me in mine. No one but mommy had seen me since my date with Jason, but I felt comfortable with her, so I took my top off. I was in a lilac push up with lace-top cups.

I felt very girly doing her hair in my bra. After shampooing and conditioning, I blow dried and set it while she watched in the mirror. “You’re very sexy in your lace bra Carlie.” That made part of me feel very ungirly.

Once I put the last curler in, she pulled me onto her lap and kissed me. Kissing Jason had been nice, but not exciting. Shar kissed with a pent-up urgency that was contagious. At the end of the long kiss, I discovered that my bra was loose, and she was caressing my breast.

“You have beautiful little breasts, Carlie. Are they sensitive like mine?” Before I could answer, she was running the tip of her finger around my left nipple. I grew light headed as it hardened in response to her gentle touch. Shar kissed and nibbled me onto her bed. “I always wondered what that would be like, but I was too shy to kiss anyone’s breasts ... before now. … Do you like it Carlie?”

“It’s wonderful. Would you like see how it feels?”

“Yes, take off my bra.”

Delicious, thoughtless sensations washed over me as her teat brushed my lips. I latched on like a starving baby. As I sucked, Shar began panting and moaning. She barely suppressed a scream by biting her lower lip. My own gasp was muffled by her pillowing breasts.

I wasn’t guilty or embarrassed as I’d been with Jason. Instead, I lay back glorying in what we’d done for each other. Shar smiled down at me with half moon eyes, brushed her breasts across mine and kissed me deeply. “It looks like Carlie had a accident in her panties. I’ll take care of it sweetie.” She pulled off my damp slacks and panties, and cleaned me with a warm cloth. Her ministrations roused me again, but her mind had regained control over her libido. She kissed me and said “No more today, Carlie.”

I couldn’t wear my pants home on the bus, and Shar’s were two sizes too big for me. Looking though her things, she found a spandex panty and a draw string skirt I could wear. I’d not worn a skirt before. As I walked it continually kissed my bare legs. I wondered why girls ever wanted to wear pants. I had to wear skirts more often.

“Now finish my hair, girl!” I brushed and sprayed her curls and used concealer on her acne. She looked in the mirror, obviously pleased. “Oh Carlie, you’re perfect! Not only do you make me feel like a woman, but a pretty one. I love you.” I was still topless, standing behind her chair. She turned and kissed my breast, but broke it off before I could respond.

After that we had sweet treats in her room everyday after lunch. Neither one of us had been so intimate before, so new joys and discoveries continually delighted us. Still, as time went on, I started feeling frustrated. Shar had no interest in making love as a girl and boy, even after weeks on BC pills.

What we did have was good for both of us. Shar’s confidence increased daily. Her acne cleared and she let me put highlights in her hair. Lifting her head and eyes made her walk graceful. I convinced her to let a bit of lace show under her blouse. She became truly beautiful — not like a movie star, but in the way that showed she knew who she was and deserved respect. She even told (not asked) Mr. Jenkins she was switching to premed for the Spring semester. On my side, I came to a new sense of self worth -- realizing that my love could transform those I loved.

Still, part of Shar’s new confidence made me unhappy. Before, I’d had her all to myself. Now she teased the boys, and even chatted up some of the the cuter girls.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, Sharon and Carlie have different views of sharing.

Carlie

IX. The Little Girl

One Monday a few weeks later we were walking across campus when Shar pointed out a petite girl I’d seen before. Her name was Cindi. Like many of us, Cindi had her own distinct look. I’d once seen her in a Bonnie Jean sailor dress I thought I might look darling in, but mostly our tastes were very different. That day she wore a puff-sleeved blouse with a Peter Pan collar, pink shortalls, and black patent Mary Janes with ruffled ankle socks. Blond pigtails with ribbons matching her shortalls bounced as she almost skipped along, and her books were in a Princess Ariel pack. A very substantial chest and killer legs broke her little girl image.

Shar asked how I liked her look. I was hardly in a position to criticize how anyone dressed, so I said she looked cute and sweet, but it wasn’t a look I’d choose. I thought nothing more about it until lunch, when Cindi joined us shortly after we sat down. Cindi’s little girl didn’t stop with her clothes or pink nails and lips. She called Shar “Auntie Sharon,” and asked if she could call me “Nanny Carlie.” I wasn’t very comfortable being her nanny, but I didn’t want to be rude, so I didn’t object.

The only two people at State who knew I was a nanny were Mr. Jenkins and Shar. So, Shar must have told her about me. I wasn’t sure what to think about that.

“Cindi, Nanny told me she thinks you look cute and sweet.”

“Thank you, Nanny.”

“You're welcome, Cindi.” She did look cute, but not entirely sweet up close, as her white blouse did little to obscure her braless nipples.

Cindi was nice enough, but it became apparent that she and Shar were playing some kind of game. Shar would say things like “Sit straight, dear” or “Take small bites, sweetie,” and Cindi would say, “Yes, Auntie,” and do as she was told. Occasionally Cindi would look at me as though I should also correct her. I finally decided to tell her to finish her milk and said what a good girl she was when she did. She beamed a smile at me and seemed to relax.

“Nanny, I’ve eaten all my lunch may I have an ice cream?”

“Yes. What kind would you like?”

“Cherry, with sprinkles … pretty please.” Shar didn’t want dessert. When I came back with Cindi’s ice cream, she and Shar were whispering. They stopped when they saw me. I was a bit miffed at being excluded.

Cindi made a mess of her face with the ice cream — on purpose, I suspect, because there wasn’t a speck on her blouse or shortalls. I cleaned her up. “Thank you, Nanny.”

We’d spent much longer at lunch than usual, and I was anxious to get to my own sweets with Shar. I got up. Shar followed, but turned to Cindi. “Come along, sweetie.” I was disappointed that we wouldn’t be alone, but Cindi was too close for me to object to Shar. In fact, she grabbed my hand and followed along like a little girl. I have to admit that I was starting to like the game. Still, I’d been looking forward to being alone with Shar.

When we got to Shar’s room, I had to ask. “Shar, why’s Cindi here?”

“Cindi and I have been playing auntie and niece all weekend, and I thought you’d like to join in, girlfriend. You like to dress up little girls, and Cindi needs to be put in a pretty dress for our tea party.” Shar laid a white satin and pink chiffon confection on her bed.

I didn’t like Shar comparing my maternal feelings toward Liz with my growing lust for Cindi, but I couldn’t think how to say that nicely, either. So, I just asked, “Tea party?”

“Yes, we’re going to play tea party, won’t that be fun Cindi?”

“Oh yes, Auntie, scrumptious fun! Change me into my party dress. Pretty please, Nanny.” She made a begging little girl face, put her thumb in her mouth and twisted back and forth expectantly. She did make a luscious little girl. She’d look even better without her blouse.

I’d told Shar about playing dress up for the party with my girl friends when I was 5 or 6. I didn’t think this would be the same. Images of Cindi out of her blouse and shortalls flooded my imagination. I looked at Shar for direction, but she was fixed on Cindi — her face flush, her pupils wide and her breath quick.

I recognized the look. It wasn’t one I wanted to share with Cindi or anyone else. Cindi still stood innocent and childlike, but when she looked at me she started sucking her index finger. Was she being suggestive, or was I projecting? Maybe she’d let me do what Shar hadn’t — make love to her like a boy with a girl. Make love … but I didn’t love Cindi. I barely knew Cindi. I wanted her, but I didn’t love her. I knew where the game would go — even if Shar and Cindi hadn’t already planned it — I knew because I’d take it there. I had no self control, not once I was breast to breast with a girl as I’d surely be with Cindi.

Images of Shar and Cindi playing auntie and niece flashed in my imagination, making me feel like a replaceable part. A mix of anger, jealousy, and revulsion at my own loveless lust filled me. “I’m sorry, but I forgot that Sandy wanted me to take care of Liz this afternoon.” It was a lie, but one that wouldn’t insult the girls. I left. Angry tears streaked my mascara as I made my way to the bus stop.

Both mommy and Shane were still at school, so I went to my room and cried until I fell asleep. Mommy woke me for dinner. She could tell I’d been crying, and sent Shane off to watch the news as so we could talk. Faithfulness and cheating had been abstract terms for me, but now that Shar had been with another girl, I understood their full impact.

“Another girl, Carlie?”

“I did say that didn’t I?”

“Yes.”

“Well, we made love like two girls, never like a boy and a girl, so I guess I was her girlfriend.”

“Is that what you wanted?”

“Well, I liked it. But, I wanted more, to be with her like a boy with a girl. Still I loved her.”

“I’m sure you did and maybe still do. But, it's like you and Jason. You loved each other and maybe you still do, but you could not give him what he needed, and maybe Shar can’t give you what you want and need. And — maybe — you can’t give her what she wants and needs. Maybe a girl — like Cindi — can. If so, you might not be right for each other. You know it took a lot of searching for Shane and me to find each other — but eventually we did.”

“Thanks, mommy.”

It was still early. I went back to my room to try doing my algebra homework. About 8:00 Shar called to find out how I was. I said that I was very unhappy, but I couldn’t find a way tell her why because I didn’t want to hurt her. Still, I was hurting. Finally, I told her I didn’t like sharing her with Cindi.

“Well, dear, that’s not how I was thinking about it. It was more like I was sharing Cindi with you. She’s so cute and childlike, and I know you love taking care of children, so I thought you’d like playing with her. Besides, she was interested in you as a boy. It’s a long story, but being with you as a boy might be a breakthrough for her.”

“Shar, I’m faithful to you and I thought you’d be faithful with me — not playing auntie and niece with another girl.” (There, I said it.)

“Is that what’s bothering you? It’s only sex, Carlie. It doesn’t mean anything. She’s just fun to play with, and I invited you to play too. I wouldn’t be upset if you and Cindi made it.”

“Well, sex means something to me, Shar. It’s how I show you you’re special to me. That’s part of the reason I ran off — cuz I knew if I undressed Cindi what would happen. Also there’s no comparison between my taking care of Liz and playing games with Cindi.”

“I wouldn’t have minded if something happened with you and Cindi. That’s why I invited her — so we could both play with her. … So, if that’s part of the reason, what’s the rest of the reason you ran off like a little cry baby?”

“Because I’m hurt that you made love with someone else.”

“Carlie, sex isn’t love — get over it.”

“Maybe I will, but I’m not over it now. I’ll think about it, but we better hang up before I say something mean. Bye”

“Bye.”

I did think about it, but didn’t get over it. Shar wasn’t trying to hurt me. She thought she was being considerate sharing her toy with a friend … but, I never thought people were toys. We didn’t see sex the same way — so we weren’t the ones for each other. I wasn’t a toy. If she wanted to play with Cindi, let her. If not, she could find someone else to play with in no time flat.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, Carlie learns what he is not.

Carlie

X. A New Hope

I was angry and feeling sorry for myself — I didn’t know if I’d ever find the right person. Maybe Dr. Jane was right — maybe I’d given up any chance of finding a mate when I decided to follow my dream of being a mother. Maybe my whole life was a waste. Mommy saw my dark mood, but knew I just had to work through it as I’d worked through my father’s death.

My break up with Shar might of have been the end of it, but a couple of days later I was eating lunch alone when Cindi sat next to me. This time she was in an adorable cap sleeve aqua tween dress with a bow-accented waist and a butterfly applique. She still wore her MJs but with turned down bobby socks. Her hair was loose, held back on one side by a barrette matching the butterfly on her dress. Unlike Monday, she wore a modest sweater bra.

“Hi, Carlie.”

“Hi, Cindi.”

“I want to apologize. I didn’t mean to break you and Shar up. I’m really sorry about that. She said you’d like it … if we all played together.”

“I guess she didn’t understand me. I’m a one-girl guy or girl or whatever I am, and Shar thinks it’s a game.”

“I know, Shar told me. I really admire that. There aren’t very many one-girl whatevers at this school.” (She smiled to show me she was not making fun of me.) “I’d like to get to know you better.”

“I’m not fast, Cindi. If you want fast, you’d be better off with Shar.”

“I’m not looking for fast Carlie. Been there, done that. I want to spend time and get to know you.”

“I’m not too good company just now.”

“That’s OK, I’d just like a walk. The leaves are beautiful and we don’t need to talk. Do you want to come?”

There was more depth to Cindi than I’d imagined, so I said OK. We walked along the river looking at the fall color and not saying much. After a while, she took my hand, but not in the little girl way she had on Monday.

Cindi wasn’t looking for fast. We just went for walks or movies, or talked over lunch. We’d talk, not in long intent conversations, but in bits and pieces that, like the dots of color in a Seurat painting, combined to paint our lives. Over weeks she asked about my family, how I became feminine and my goals in life. She was interested in all my friends from Liz and Sandy though Judy, Jason, Shane and Mommy. I asked about her life in return.

The little dots of light had an earnest tone that can’t be summarized, but the over all picture can be. Her parents are surgeons and were too busy to spend much time with her. Like Victorians, they hired nurses and au pairs to raise her. She was presented to them, prissily dressed, every day at 5:30 to spend an hour before they prepared for dinner. Like any child, she wanted and needed more affection. When she was old enough to have a say, she dressed in the way she thought most endearing — as a cute little girl.

Eventually she was shipped off to boarding school. The staff was nice enough professionally, but the only real affection to be had was from the other girls. She was attractive to girls who wanted to treat her as a child — well as a child in some ways, but as a plaything in others. When Shar showed an interest in her, she fell into the same pattern with her.

Shar lead her to think of me as a quasi-male version the efficient nannies who cared for her as a child. Her little girl behavior had squeezed a few reluctant drops of affection out of them, and maybe it would with me. Shar said that I wanted to be with a girl as a boy. While Shar wasn’t interested, Cindi didn’t know if she was or not, and wanted to find out. So, in her mind, I’d be a safe test object to see if she liked boys.

Cindi knew the effect her braless breasts and sexy legs had. So, she was set back by my refusal to play because I loved Shar and not her. It shattered her view of people as pawns in a game where winning meant affection and sexual relief.

Much of her story was reluctantly told. Her parents inattention not only hurt, but made her feel unlovable. Her boarding school experiences made her feel weak and needy — worse, she feared I’d reject her as a lesbian slut. She only told me when I sat holding her hands on a dark park bench. After she finished she was shaking. I hugged her to me and told her I loved her. She loved me too.

After such emotional intimacy, you’d think physical intimacy would follow. Yet, despite her experience, Cindi was reluctant to do more than hold my hand, or give me a hug or peck on the cheek. She feared that I’d think she wanted to use me. I, of course, had never made the first move with anyone. I still wondered what kind of love Cindi had for me. Maybe it was the kind Judy and I had. So, our relationship stalled as we each waited for the other to make a move. Again, mommy came to my aid.

Mommy had been afraid I’d be hurt again when I told her that Cindi wanted to know me better. So, each night as she bushed my hair, she asked about us. Finally, she said, “Carlie, I know you think you’re feminine and passive, but that won’t do with Cindi.”

“What do you mean?”

“Deep down you’re strong, dear. Cindi has been so emotionally beat up, she’s never had a chance to realize how strong she can be. I know you’ve imagined yourself as a mother and wife, and assumed your mate would husband you. But, that’s not you. You need to husband Cindi. That does not mean you can’t be a mother, because sometimes mothers are the strong ones in their relationships. So, you need to take charge, and not let things drift.”

What mommy said ran against my whole self-image. Still, I knew she was right. Mother had been the power with my dad. She’d let him think he was in charge, but mother and I, even at 7, knew he wasn’t. When dad and I lived alone, I’d come to be the leader. I admired Sandy and looked to her as a model for motherhood, and she was as strong as anyone. So, mommy was right, I was feminine, but that didn’t mean that I was weak.

I’d been passive with Jason and Shar, and neither relationship had worked out. Cindi needed me to be strong, and I could be for her.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, Carlie starts following through on his feelings for Cindi.

Carlie

XI. Carlie Makes His “Move”

While I realized that Cindi needed me to take the lead and show her how lovable she was, years of shrinking passively into the background take their toll. Irrational fears of angry offense and rejection filled my mind. More importantly, I had no idea of how to “make my move.” Frankly, I didn’t have any “moves” to make. I asked mommy for advice, but she had no experience of move making to share. She could only say, “Be honest and things will work out in the end.” Since my empty head generated no alternative ideas, that is what I decided to do.

The following day, Cindi was in red bib overalls and a pink jacket with a fur-trimmed hood when I met her in front of the student center. I’d long since given up skirts for jeans and pantyhose. I asked her if she’d like to take a walk by the river. She was a bit puzzled as to why because the autumn color was long gone and there was a chill in the air. I’d chosen the spot because we’d be alone and walking there was the first thing we’d done together. Despite the chill, my bra and blouse were damp with sweat. I thought what a waste of bodily fluid, I could have used some of the moisture in my dry mouth. I had no idea what to say, so I just started talking.

“Cindi, our relationship has not been going anywhere for a while ...” I stopped when I felt her tense up and saw tears forming in her eyes. For a second, I was puzzled. Then I thought she might think we were breaking up. “No, it’s okay, Dee, I’m not trying to dump you.” She relaxed a bit, but was still tense as she wiped the corners of her eyes.

“What then?”

“What I mean is that we’ve been stuck on a plateau because you’re afraid to move it along, and I never made a move in my life and have no idea how to do it.”

“You’re right. I’m scared. I want to do more, but I’m afraid you’ll think I’m fast and dump me. Are you saying that’s how you feel?”

“Well sort of. I mean Shar told me you wanted to use me to see what being with a boy would be like, but now you’re different. You said you didn’t want fast, just to get to know me. Now I think you might be just a friend friend like Judy. If that’s what you want, I’d be your friend, but … but I want more.

“You know I’m a sissy, but that doesn’t mean that I’m weak. I want to take care of you and show you how lovable you really are — and I want to do it like boys love girls — not like two girls. Neither one of us has done that before, but that’s what I want — if you do, I mean ...” I was running out of steam and very uncertain as Cindi was just looking at me not saying anything, or even changing her expression.

All of a sudden she put her arms behind my neck and pulled me down into the most wonderful kiss the world has ever known — well, my world anyway. I didn’t feel at all girly — just like a boy with the most beautiful girl in the world. We stopped at a bench and kissed for a long time. Eventually the cold air won out over the heat of our passion. When I looked at my watch, I saw that my pharmacology class was in 20 minutes.

I escorted Cindi back to the quad and then broke off to go to class. “Think of a place.”

“I will.”

That night I told mommy I’d done it, and asked if it would be okay to have Cindi stay over night with me in my room. I didn’t think it would be a problem.

“How old is Cindi?”

“Almost 19.”

“Well, that’s a problem, you know.”

I was surprised. Mommy was not a prude. “Why?”

“Because you’re still 17 and in this state sex with a minor is a crime.”

“Well. No one is going to care.”

“What about her parents? If they decide they don’t like you, they could make trouble. They could even stop your adoption by arguing that I was an unfit mother by allowing you to be ‘abused’ in my own house. Have you met them?”

“No, but Cindi's 18 and they don’t seem to care what she does.”

“It might not be what she does, but who she does it with. There is still a lot of prejudice in the world.”

“Grrr!”

“You might not like it, but it’s true. I’ll tell you what. You talk to Cindi about what I said and get a sense of what her parents might do, and if they won’t make trouble, you can have Cindi as an over night guest — if you are responsible about it — that means birth control, Carlie, got me?”

“Yes, mommy.”

It was not this complicated in the Harlequin romances Judy’d lent me. They just kissed and the next thing they were making sweet love.

I decided to do the most embarrassing thing first. I went to the student health clinic, showed my ID and was given a box of condoms — no big deal. Still, I felt strange carrying condoms in my purse. (I’d given up calling it a messenger bag when I’d started putting make up in it.)

Next, I met Cindi at the library and told her what mommy’d said. At first she said, “No problem, I’ll just ask Katelyn [her roomie] to spend the night with her boyfriend.” I said her parents might still decide to mess things up for us when they found out. Cindi considered her parents non-entities whose sole function was to pay her tuition, but she agreed to take me her home with her the following weekend. With luck, we might find ourselves in together in her bed after her parents went to sleep.

I told mommy. She fretted over whether I should go dressed as a boy or not. Given that my breasts had grown into perky A’s that protruded from any shirt I wore, I convinced her it was not an option — and dishonest to boot.

I packed my better clothes. I didn’t have a good dress to wear to dinner if they should decide to take us out, so I packed the sport coat and slacks I’d worn to my dad’s memorial service. (My breasts were small enough not to show under my jacket.) About 5:30 Friday night Dee picked me up in her Porsche for the two hour drive to her parents.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, he meets Cindi's parents.

Carlie

XII. Meeting the Parents

As Cindi drove down the interstate to her parents' home, I asked her what she told her parents about me.

“I told them that I was bringing my friend Carlie to stay the weekend with me and we’d be there about 7:30.”

“Did you tell them I was a boy?”

“I told them you had a double major in nursing and early childhood education and wanted to be a high-priced nanny.”

“I never said I wanted to be high-priced.”

“I know, but they respect people that charge a lot.”

“But you didn’t tell them I was a boy?”

“No, why should I?”

“Because it would be honest.”

“There are lots of honest things about you I didn’t tell them — like your dad blowing himself up or Sandy being your lawyer. There is no reason for them to know any of them. They’re lucky they know you exist and I care about you.”

“Well, I wanted to get to meet them and see how they feel about us sleeping together.”

“You will and you will. Leave it to me and they’ll send us to bed together knowing we’re lovers. Look, if they ask if you’re a boy, you can tell the truth, but if they don’t ask, let’s just say that means they don’t care. You’ll see. They don’t care what I do or who I’m with because they don’t care about me. I’m just a margin note on their resume: Child 1, age 18, sex f. It would be bad form not to care about me, so they pretend they do.”

“That’s sad.”

“Yeah, ain’t it?” There was a hard coldness in her voice that I’d never heard before. We were both quiet until her mood improved.

“Guess what?” she asked.

“What?”

“I’m wearing big girl panties and a matching bra — went to Victoria’s Secret to get them special for you. I’m going to be a big girl for you tonight.”

“Let me see.”

“I can’t silly, we’d have an accident — or maybe you would as we drove along safely. Either way, you'll just have to wait for the unveiling.”

“Can you get me tickets?”

“You got 'em all, lover.”

“Good, because I don’t like sharing.”

“I know. I don’t either anymore.”

After that the conversation went back to things that wouldn't arouse our passions before we got there.

About 7:15 Cindi exited the interstate. Soon we were in a neighborhood of large houses set well back on huge lots. They weren't estates, but they were close. When we came to a mail box with “McCartney” on it, Cindi turned in and parked under a side portico.

Cindi let herself in. I followed carrying her overnight bag, and the gym bag I’d used when I came to Mommy’s house. Her parents, Eileen and Sean, were sitting in the living room watching Fox news. Cindi introduced me. Sean gave me a warm embrace — almost a bit too warm for my taste. Eileen stood, eyed my gym bag for an eternal second, said “Any friend of Cynthia’s is a friend of ours,” and gave me some air kisses. I wasn’t sure what to do with air kisses, so I found myself making a bobbing curtsy which she didn’t know how to respond to. “1-1,” I thought.

“Well, we thought we’d put you two together in Cynthia’s room. Cynthia, I do know how you so like to share the bed with your girlfriends.” The latter was said with a unmistakable mix of condescension and innuendo.

“That is just what I expected, mother,” parried Cindi. She was right, her parents didn’t care what she did — as long, I suppose, as it didn’t embarrass them. Glancing at her father, I saw a vague sadness cross his face before he recomposed himself.

Eileen continued, “We have dinner reservations at the club for 8:30. So, you two just have time for a wash and a change.”

I followed Cindi to her room, shocked by the atmosphere. “You’re right, they don’t give a fuck about you, do they?”

“I told you — and here we are — sent off to share a bed with her knowing we’re lovers.”

“Well, technically, we’re not. Not yet.”

“All in time, lover. … did you bring a dinner dress?”

“I don’t have one. We poor folk don’t go to the ‘club’ much. I brought a sports coat and slacks.”

“Well, this should be rich.” She slipped out of her flirty A-line to reveal deep violet hip hugger panties and matching demi bra before she disappeared into her in suite bath. I stood there for a few seconds until I remembered I was supposed to change for dinner.

Due to mommy’s expert packing, neither my pants nor my jacket were wrinkled. My dress shirt was still folded from the cleaners. I took off my bra and put it on, but it’s starched front irritated my nipples. A raspberry cami solved the problem, but could be seen though my shirt. I'd finished dressing and was struggling with my tie when Cindi came out of her powder room, topless. Of course, my concentration was completely broken. She put my hands on her breasts, then gave me a passionate kiss. When we broke for air, she stepped back leaving my hands in place and tied my tie. I'd wear a tie every day if this was how they'd be tied.

“Sit here lover,” she said as she pushed me down on her vanity seat. She turned her back and made a show of lowering her panties to put on a garter belt. Sitting on her bed, she slowly pulled up and fastened her nylons. A strapless bra and a very adult LBD followed. Finally, she slipped into black metallic Jimmy Choo glitter pumps. Where was my little girl? Then I realized the whole outfit was designed to hide her real self from her parents. Still, I was embarrassed at being way under-dressed and told her so.

“Don’t worry.” She went to her dresser and replaced my birthstone studs with a pair of 2-3 carat flower button diamond earrings. “My parents gave them to me for my 8th grade graduation, but they wouldn’t let me take them to boarding school. So, they've been sitting here gathering dust ever since. I doubt they even remember buying them. Probably, Lydia, their office manager, bought them. Anyway, they really power up your dyke look.”

I wasn't sure I wanted a dyke look, but that, and not a sissy boy, is what I saw looking in the mirror.

We went down to the living room where her parents were still watching Fox news. Eileen was not pleased. “Carla, do you have to dress like a complete dyke? What will our friends think?”

“Now, Eileen, let the girl be herself! They will think we are in the same situation as the Cheneys — not bad company, I’d say. … Carlie, you look fine. Just be yourself, honey.”

I was starting to like Sean, despite my feeling that faithfulness was not his forte. I thought maybe that was forgivable given who he was stuck with.

The club was one of those closed gate places which you can’t even see from the road. We were shown to our table by a maitre d’ who obviously knew the Doctors McCartney well. I got some stares and murmurs, but nothing overt. The McCartneys were served their cocktails almost before they were in their seats, and there was no hesitation in asking Cindi and me what we wanted to drink. Cindi said we’d both like Brandy Alexanders, and they appeared toute de suite.

We had the best steaks I’d ever tasted. I’d thought, from the chewy meat my dad bought, that I didn't even like steak. Boy, was I wrong. We had a flaming dessert, Bananas Foster, and finished with aperitifs.

“Well, I'm sure the young folks are anxious to get to bed. Let’s go home,” said Sean.

“I’m sure they are,” Eileen said, giving us a disgusted glance that changed into a pleasant smile as George, our waiter, brought the bill to be signed.

When we got back Eileen air kissed us all and went up to her room. Sean gave me a nice hug, said he could see what Cindi saw in me and he hoped to see more of me. I almost felt like coming out to him, but I could see Cindi looking nervous, so I didn’t.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, he and Cindi share her bed.

Carlie

XIII. Bedtime and Beyond

I expected Cindi to lead me back to her room as soon as her father started up the stairs, but she didn’t. Instead, she watched as he went into a room across the hall from her mother’s and closed the door. “Don’t they sleep together?” I asked.

“They haven’t for years. I think that is why she’s always rude to anyone I bring home — can’t stand the idea of people loving each other.”

“Oh, I thought maybe it was just me. Why don’t they get a divorce?”

“Who the hell knows! … Sorry, I just hate being here.”

“Why do you come?”

“Because I’m a good little girl — and I came this time because you wanted to meet them,” she said with some vehemence. “I’m sorry, I’m ruining our special night.”

“It’s okay. Any night with you is a special night. I’m here for you, not what’s on the agenda.” Tears filled her eyes. I picked her up and carried her to her room like a child.

“Where are your night gowns?”

“In the third drawer.”

I undressed her as I do with Liz, slipped a princess nitie over her head, and laid her in bed. I decided not to wear my own baby dolls, but stripped to my panties and cami and slid in next to her. Still weeping, she put her head on my shoulder, snuggled against me and was soon asleep. It was not the bedtime I’d expected. Her warm body roused my passions at first, but helped me sleep soundly in the end.

The sun pierced the open window and stabbed at our eyes. Cindi, trying to fend it off, rolled over and threw a leg across my panties. “Not bad for a sissy.” I blushed. Her thigh moving slowly up and and down my front a couple of times aroused us both. “Hurry up. Let’s eat some breakfast and then have play time.”

“What about your parents?”

“Dad plays golf every Saturday morning, then has brunch with his golf buddies, and mother meets with her coven for breakfast and then has her hair done. We have the house to ourselves." She went to her bath to get ready. When I came out after my turn she said, “Here, you look cold,” and threw me a pale green kimono with French seams and lace trim. “It’s not my style, so mother got it for me for Christmas.”

Down in the kitchen, a pot of coffee was still on. I lifted her onto a stool and tied a towel for a bib. “Sit in your highchair, snookems, and nanny will make breakfast.” Cindi got hot chocolate and I poured myself coffee. There were the makings for pain perdu. “How’s about some French toast?”

“Yummy, nanny.”

Soon, I had two plates ready. I fed her bite by bite, eating mine when I could. When she was done I washed her face with a warm cloth.

“Enough little girl time, Cindi. Now up to your room and get ready for big girl play time.” I tidied up the kitchen, then followed. She was laying against the pillows with the sheet held to her neck.

Remembering mommy’s admonition, I went to my purse and got a condom. Once in bed, I put it down between us, and started kissing and petting Cindi. With Shar I’d learned how to make a woman feel loved, and soon Cindi was no longer feeling like a little girl. “Carlie, I’m ready, get on top.”

I looked where I’d put the condom, and it wasn’t there. “Grrr!”

“What?”

“I can’t find the condom. I put it right here.” We both looked to no avail. Finally, Cindi turned to look on her side of the bed and there it was, stuck to the back of her shoulder. We both laughed, but now neither of us were ready. We kissed and held each other for a while. Soon, the mood built again, and this time the mechanics worked. Cindi used her hand to guide me into her. She gasped a bit as her resistance broke, and I slid into her. Afraid of hurting her, I stopped. Soon she was moving under me, and my instincts took over.

At the end, any lingering doubts we had about preferring the same sex were washed away in a flood of ecstasy. By noon, we’d gone through a whole strip of condoms, and decided to call each other Mr. and Mrs. Bunny. We were trying to decide if we were up to a fourth go when we heard the front door open.

“Cindi, Carlie, I’m home!” her dad called out.

“Where up in my room changing to go out!”

We took a shower together and finally made our way down to the living room where her father was watching the State game. Cindi was a bit sore and her walk showed it. Fortunately, State was first and goal, and he hardly looked at us as we sat on the sofa.

During the commercial after the TD he turned to me. “Carlie, I know you have your own style, but it makes Eileen uncomfortable to have you in slacks and a jacket. … I wonder if you would let me buy you a cocktail dress?”

“I couldn’t accept anything so expensive.”

“You’ve already taken something far more valuable — Cindi. I feel you are part of the family now, Carlie. … Cindi, would you take Carlie shopping for a dress and shoes?”

“I’d love to Daddy!”

At half time he walked us to the side door where Cindy had parked. As he showed us out, I felt his hand lingering on my rear.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, The Calm Before the Storm, Cindi takes Carlie shopping.

Carlie

XIV. The Calm Before the Storm

I debated whether to tell Cindi about her dad feeling my rear, but thought it was just possible that he was being inappropriately affectionate without meaning anything more. Her relationship with her parents was already bad enough without me adding fuel to the fire. Maybe I was just not used to how older men treated girls. In any event, I decided to hold my peace.

The town was not big enough to have anything approaching a Fifth Avenue or a Rodeo Drive, but it did have a few up-scale stores. One was Lucile’s Pour La Femme, a high end shop where the McCartneys had an account. Cindi’s mother always took her there when she was trying to make her “dress like an adult.” The result was the half rack of unworn dresses I’d seen in her closet. Still, Cindi knew my taste well enough to know that I’d like some of some of the dresses in the juniors department.

Neither of us were dressed for high-end dress shopping. Cindy was wearing bib front overalls and MJs with a pink Jacket and I was in Walmart jeans, Payless loafers and an androgynous jacket. I was a more than a bit uncomfortable, because I’d never shopped in a women’s wear store, let alone an exclusive one, and if I’d thought about it, I would have worn my best, not an outfit for watching football on TV. Also I’d spent no more time on my make up than I did for class.

When we walked in, Cindi was greeted by Denise. “Miss McCartney, how nice to see you again,” she said with apparent sincerity. “And this is?”

“My friend, Carlie.”

“And your father is treating your girlfriend to a dress and shoes?” Apparently, this was a regular thing for Dr. McCartney.

“Yes, he is.”

Just then, Miss Lucile, as her gold name tag proclaimed her, came up. “I’ll take care of these guests, Denise.” Denise looked a bit disappointed at the possible loss of her commission, but stood to one side. “I’m sorry, but I do not know your companion’s name, Miss McCartney?”

“Carlie Robinson. We’re looking for a cocktail dress for Carlie.”

“Of course. If you would take your jacket off Miss Robinson ...” Lucile passed my jacket to Denise who left to hang it up. She looked me over with an eye so practiced she had no need of a measuring tape. “I think you would like something flirty, but not too revealing. Am I right?” I nodded. “In a size 4?” That was the pattern size mommy used in making my everyday dresses, so I nodded again. “Let me show you three or four that I think you’ll just adore.”

Denise had returned and was standing by. “Denise, I think I can handle it from here. Thank you.” Denise left and returned to her station by the front door. “Let me show you to the fitting salon.” Cindy and I followed to the back of the store, where an ornate door opened onto a room that must have been 12’ by 15’. At one end was a sofa with a coffee table. At the other was a raised platform with mirrors. Below a Degas painting stood table with an assortment of drinks — hard and soft — and canapes. “Help your self and have a seat while I select some dresses for your consideration.”

I looked very nervous. I’d expected a little 3’ by 4’ cubical for me to change in and hide my secret, but this was a huge space with no place to hide. I looked at Cindi, who gave me a “Sorry, I didn’t think” look. She turned to Lucile and started saying, “Sorry, I don’t ...” when Lucile said, “Don’t worry dears, Pour La Femme caters to all types of femmes. I have dealt with women with Carlie’s figure problem many times. That is why I sent Denise away. So, relax, have a drink and some canapes, and you’ll receive the confidential service every woman deserves.” I felt a bit relieved, but was still nervous as I picked at my snacks.

The first selection was a white silk blend Coast Kamika textured dress with a full skirt, halter top and open back. I loved it so much, I wasn’t sure I wanted to see more. The only problem was the open back. I could not wear a padded bra to enhance my nascent breasts. Still, when I shyly stripped to my panties and tried it on, Lucile said I had enough of a top to carry it off as it was not form fitting. Cindi whispered that she loved the way my nipples were outlined by the silk falling from the halter.

The second was a white Aqua by Aqua Evangalista dress with one sleeve. She’d sold it to a number of women with my "figure problem" as it had a very high neckline that would hide a prominent Adam’s apple. I didn’t have much of an Adam’s apple, so I did not need that feature. The skirt was much less full than the Coast dress. To me that meant it was less fun to wear. Cindi thought the asymmetrical design was too sophisticated for me to carry off. Looking in the mirror, I had to agree.

The last was an Aqua by Aqua skater dress in a digital print poly fabric. It was a flirty mini with a round neckline and a fill skirt. I loved the cut, but the print did nothing for me. It was a dress to wear clubbing — one that said “I’m here, dears.” So, I stayed with my first choice.

“The only problem is that it is too cold at night to wear an open back or even a sleeveless dress.”

“Don’t worry, dear, I have the prefect wrap to go with it.” Lucile went into the shop and came back with a hand woven raw silk and unbleached wool ruana. “Try this.” I did. It was warm and the perfect compliment to my new dress.

“Now shoes dear. I think I have some that are absolutely you.” She returned with a very surprising selection, but one I loved: Pedro Garcia 'Chenoa' Booties. They were stylish enough to wear to dinner, but wouldn’t look out of place if I wore them to class. I tried them on. They were a bit narrow, but Lucile said that since they were leather, they’d stretch to fit me perfectly.

I was very happy when we finished and told Lucile so. She responded that I was a lovely girl and deserved the best.

Carlie has sissy predispositions, but overcomes difficulties with love, courage and increasing self-awareness. In this chapter, the storm hits.

Carlie

XV. The Game

When we got home, Eileen was still out. We showed my new clothes to my benefactor, who insisted that I model them. He made Cindi and me pina coladas while I changed in Cindi’s room. I came down the stairs very dramatically, and did a little runway show in the living room. He seemed to like me in my new dress as much as I liked wearing it. After we drank our pina coladas, Cindi was yawning and looking sleepy, Her dad told her he would entertain me if she wanted a nap. So she went up for a rest.

I was hungry. Sean suggested that I microwave us a package of pop corn. I nuked a package.

“Do you know anything about football?”

“A little. I used to keep my dad company when he watched it.”

“Well, I’m kind of alone here myself, so how about watching the game with me?” Watching sports was not my favorite thing, but he’d been very generous to me, and had even taken my side against his wife the night before. It would’ve been rude rude to refuse. He made room for me on the sofa and I put the pop corn on the coffee table in front of us. Apparently he’d been busy while I’d made the pop corn, because there was a fresh pina colada on the table in front of me.

“Oh, thanks.” I sipped it. “It’s delicious.”

“Most girls like them. I’m glad you do too.”

Things went nicely. We ate our pop corn and Sean explained various points I’d forgotten or never knew. It was very relaxed. As we munched, he got closer to me so he could reach the bowl easier. When the pop corn was done, he went to refill my drink. When he came back, he sat with his arm on the back of the sofa behind me. That made me a little nervous, but after 5 minutes or so, nothing more happened so I calmed down. I didn’t want to over react.

I was kind of light headed, but it was a pleasant feeling. Sean had his arm around me and had pulled me closer. I thought he’s being affectionate to me like a daughter. That was a good feeling. I missed my dad, and even though dad had never held me like that, an affectionate warmth ran through me. I leaned my head against his shoulder. He kissed me on the top of my head. “Hmm.”

Somehow I lost track of what was going on. A hand was in my halter top, massaging my breast. “You have lovely little tittles for a boy, Carlie.” It all felt good, but more like a dream than reality. My eyes were closed and I couldn’t think who owned the hand fondling me. Someone was kissing me. Cindi? Shar? Jason? Another hand was rubbing my panties. I lay back on the sofa feeling warm — ready to please whoever was making me feel this way.

I was being carried up stairs. My booties were off. My dress was unzipped and my panties pulled down. It was just happening and I was there — none of it was very alarming. Someone big and sweaty put me on my hands and knees, then was on top of me, pushing.

Suddenly the fire alarm went off. Not really, but it was like that. A piecing shrill shattered my dream. “Get off him you faggot!” I got a painful bruise as whoever was on me pushed against me to get up. A hard slap shook my brain and stung my cheek. “Get the hell out of my house, you freak!” Cindi stood dazed and blinking in the doorway. “You’ve been screwing this thing, haven’t you? You slut!” the voice shouted at her. “Get out! Get out! Get out, all of you! Vipers! Perverts! Freaks! Out! Out! OUT!” I grabbed my shoes, panties and dress and ran to Cindi’s room. She slammed and locked the door behind us.

She was dazed as me. Between the fuzz in our heads, and the pounding and screaming at the door neither of us could think. We fell back on the bed, struggling to stay aware.

Suddenly the pounding got much louder — too loud. It wasn’t pounding, it was shots. We pushed her vanity and bed against the door just as explosions shattered its lock. We ran to her bath and locked that door. I prayed. Cindi just said “me too.” We heard pushing and cursing. The furniture groaned, but held. It was quiet for a while. Then we heard sobbing ... sirens … and one more shot.

“Can you hear me? Wake up.” A woman was shaking me. I was in a bed in a white room. The lights were too bright. I closed my eyes.

“There was shooting. Someone was shooting. Who was shooting? We were hiding. ... Is Cindi okay?”

“There was no shooting honey. The girl with you is okay. We think you were both drugged — roofies for you maybe. Something to put your friend to sleep — some kind of sedative. The tests haven’t come back yet. Do you remember what happened?”

I told her as much as I could, but what happened and what I dreamed were all mixed up. She looked understanding, but not happy. When she left, Cindi came in — awake, but still groggy.

“Mother sort of apologized to me, but she kept calling you a ‘that thing’ and ‘it’. So, I didn’t accept it.” She started crying.

“I’m sorry about what happened. I thought dad liked other women, not trans people. If I’d known he was like he is, I wouldn’t have brought you home.”

“How did he know I was a boy? Your mother didn’t.”

“He told the cops he knew when he heard your name. He read the article about your dad blowing himself up and he remembered there was a son named Carl.”

“So, what’s going to happen?”

“Well, they locked him up, but he’ll probably be out on bail soon. Mother’s finally going to divorce him. I’m not going home again. I don’t even want to be a McCartney anymore. I’m going to change my name. I think Cynthia Robinson sounds nice.”

“I’m too young to get married, Dee.”

“I know, silly, but I still like the sound of Cynthia Robinson. It has a lovely ring to it — and it has the extra benefit of pissing off the bitch-witch. I thought for a while about Cynthia Thing, but I like Robinson better.” The nurse came in to shoo her off. She gave me a gentle kiss and left.